Chapter 11: Artorias Suddenly Collapses (Patreon)

The clamor never stopped.

Shouting, crying, hurried footsteps, and the occasional distant blast of an explosion tangled together into a chaos that made it impossible to think clearly.

"Stop the bleeding! Quickly! Clean cloth, clothing or bedsheets, anything that hasn't been soaked in mud, bring it here!"

Astrea knelt beside a wounded man, both hands pressed against the wound on his chest.

Ordinarily she was gentle and composed, her voice rarely carrying any urgency. But now, the battle had worn the softness from her tone, leaving only the decisiveness needed to make people move at once.

"Lady Astrea, we've brought the cloth!"

A female Guild clerk ran over with an armful of fabric, her shoes skidding on the slick stone pavement, nearly sending her sprawling.

Astrea reached out and caught one of the bundles.

"Thank you. Kalian, please disinfect the wounds together with Xiuyi. If you find a fracture, cool the swelling with cold water first, then splint it with wood. Never pull at the wound on your own."

"Understood!"

"Honey, let's go over there!"

"Right!"

A human couple in rough cloth clothing split up at once and went to work.

They had no blessing, and they weren't healers—just ordinary residents who lived nearby. But seeing Astrea tend the wounded with her own hands, heedless of the blood staining her clothes, the two of them had joined the rescue effort on their own.

At this moment, there were many others like them.

They carried the wounded, boiled water, washed cloth strips, and gathered whatever food and medicine they could find. Some worked until their hands trembled, yet still refused to stop.

The open-air camp wasn't far from the Central Plaza—a makeshift shelter for residents who couldn't get into the central district.

The nearby two- and three-story shops and taverns were mostly intact and had been converted into temporary medical stations. Blankets covered the floors inside, and the wounded were packed into narrow corridors, barely enough room to turn around.

Those who couldn't be housed inside could only lie on the bare stone ground of the open-air camp.

Thin cloth mats beneath them did nothing to block the cold of the night.

Astrea lifted her head and looked around.

There were too many wounded.

Too few healers.

Bandages, disinfectant, and healing potions were all running low fast.

"Lady Astrea!"

The female clerk and a male volunteer ran up to her.

"How much do we have left?"

"Bandages, disinfectant, and painkillers have arrived, but not enough. All the healing potions are being sent to the walls and the front lines first. Both the Dian Cecht Familia and the Miach Familia have sent healers, but the other camps are just as short-handed."

The clerk spoke as she unfolded the record board in her hands.

"At the current rate of casualties, we can hold out for maybe half a day more."

The male volunteer lowered his head.

"If another batch of wounded comes in, we'll—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

Astrea stared at the record board, her expression sinking.

"Prepare blades."

"What?"

"A sword will do. Get three ready, and burn some alcohol."

The clerk froze.

"Lady Astrea, what are you going to do?"

"Three of the wounded have had metal fragments pierce straight through their limbs from the explosions. Metal poisoning has already started to spread. If we keep waiting for healers, they'll die of the poison first."

Astrea rose to her feet.

"I'm going to amputate."

The record board nearly slipped from the clerk's hands.

"How could you! You're a goddess—how can you do something like this yourself!"

"Whether I'm a goddess or not has nothing to do with it."

Astrea held out her hand.

"I'm only doing what I'm able to do, while this body of mine can still move."

The male volunteer stood frozen for a moment, then unclasped the sword at his waist and offered it up with both hands.

His fingers trembled with tension.

Astrea took the katana and turned to look toward the area where the wounded had gathered.

"Prepare a fire, heat the blade thoroughly. Find a few strong people to help hold the patients down."

"Understood!"

The male volunteer turned and ran toward the camp.

The female clerk still stood where she was.

Astrea glanced at her.

"You don't have to come."

"No, I'll help."

The clerk pressed her lips together and forced her feet to move.

The first patient was a human man.

His upper body was covered in burns, and his right leg had been pierced by a mass of fragments. The flesh around the wound had already begun to blacken, swollen to a horrifying degree.

He had just been brought in from a camp attacked by Evilus, and he hadn't been conscious for even half an hour.

"Hold him down. Get a cloth ready for him to bite on."

Astrea knelt beside the man.

Several adults gathered around, pinning down his shoulders, waist, and left leg.

The man stared at the firelit blade, his body shaking violently.

"No, no!"

"It will be over quickly."

"I don't want to lose my leg! Lady Goddess, I don't want to lose my leg!"

He reached out and grabbed Astrea's sleeve.

Astrea didn't pull away immediately.

She raised a hand and gripped the man's wrist.

"I'm sorry."

"Why won't you use your divine power! You're a god, aren't you! If you just used your power, couldn't you heal me!"

Fear and resentment mixed together in the man's voice.

The people around them fell silent.

They had all wondered the same thing.

The gods held power beyond the Lower World. If Astrea wished it, perhaps a single raised hand could set the wounded back on their feet.

But she couldn't.

Astrea lowered her head, then looked back up at the man.

"If I use divine power here, other gods will act too."

The man froze.

"What would happen then?"

"Divine power clashing with divine power. The Lower World would become a battleground for the gods. Your city, your families, your future—all of it would be swept into it."

Astrea handed the heated katana to the volunteer beside her and picked up a short knife instead.

"And then Orario would no longer be your story."

Her gaze swept over those around her.

"It would become a board the gods rearranged as they pleased."

The man still couldn't accept it.

"But we're dying right now!"

"I know."

Astrea's voice was soft.

"It's precisely because I know that I can't pretend I could easily solve everything."

She placed a strip of cloth into the man's mouth.

"Please bear with it."

The man squeezed his eyes shut.

Astrea tightened her grip on the hilt.

"I won't forget the blood and flesh I take from you."

The blade fell.

A scream tore through the camp.

Some turned their faces away, some covered their ears, and others' legs went weak, barely able to stand.

Astrea didn't stop.

She personally treated three wounded patients, cauterizing the stumps, binding the vessels, and confirming their breathing had steadied before finally setting the blood-soaked katana aside.

Three limbs wrapped in white cloth were carried away by the male volunteer.

He stayed silent the whole time.

Not out of indifference—only because if he opened his mouth, he wouldn't be able to hold back his nausea.

Astrea watched his retreating back, her cheeks, the backs of her hands, and her pure white dress all stained with blood.

The female clerk brought her a clean cloth.

"Please, wipe yourself off."

Astrea took the cloth and gently wiped the blood from her arms.

"Thank you. Are you all right?"

The clerk's eyes suddenly reddened.

"Compared to you, I can't do anything."

"How could that be?"

"You can save people, face wounds like these, carry everyone's pain. All I can do is keep records, pass along orders, and just now I nearly ran off out of fear."

Astrea looked at her.

"Do you know what you're capable of?"

The clerk blinked, startled.

Astrea pointed to the record board in her hands.

"Getting supplies to the people who truly need them, keeping track of the wounded, confirming where the healers are, and passing that information on to the next camp."

"Does that even count—"

"Of course it does."

Astrea's smile carried exhaustion, but it hadn't lost its warmth.

"Don't think of justice as something so distant. Justice isn't only for those who charge at the enemy with a blade raised."

She looked toward the residents carrying the wounded.

"Someone brings water to the injured. Someone gives their own blanket to a child. Someone risks danger to carry news to the front line. As long as you're willing to take one step for someone who's suffering, you're already doing justice."

The clerk nodded firmly.

"I understand."

She gripped the record board and ran back toward the supply area.

Astrea watched her return to work, then slowly let out a breath.

She knew she couldn't save everyone.

Even a god had things she couldn't do.

But precisely because of that, she needed to think all the harder about what remained within her power to accomplish.

"Lady Astrea!"

Asfi's voice carried from the camp entrance.

She pushed through the crowded camp, the hem of her robe soaked with mud, her eyes weary behind her glasses.

"Asfi, what brings you here?"

"I want to borrow the Astraea Familia's scouting strength."

Asfi didn't pause.

"The enemy's underground routes keep expanding. Ordinary scouting parties can't track Evilus's movements. I need Lion's help—she's the best fit to work with me."

At the mention of Lion, something shifted faintly in Astrea's expression.

"Ryuu isn't with Alise right now."

"Where did she go?"

"She's out with Kaguya and Lyra, sweeping up the remaining enemy stragglers."

Asfi clenched her fists.

At this moment, Ryuu was tending to the wounded in the northern camp, and searching alongside Artorias and Ais for traces Evilus had left behind.

What tormented Ryuu was that another companion had lost contact amid the chaos, and that she had watched too many residents die without being able to save them all in time.

Astrea saw the worry in Asfi's eyes and softened her tone.

"Asfi, could I ask you to go find Ryuu?"

"I will."

The tension in Asfi's shoulders finally eased, and she turned and ran.

"I'll bring Ryuu back!"

Astrea watched her go, her expression gradually softening.

A faint sound came from somewhere nearby.

Astrea turned her head.

In a side alley at the edge of the camp, a figure darted back swiftly into the shadows.

She only caught a glimpse of a human man's back.

The man leaned against a wall, breathing hard.

His gear was mismatched—the breastplate and vambrace clearly weren't his own. A few days ago, he'd been caught stealing Hermes's coin pouch by Ryuu and Alise.

He remembered that elf girl.

He remembered how she hadn't cursed him for his crime, only warned him not to use despair as an excuse to hurt others.

"That Adi girl is still alive."

the man muttered.

"That black-haired kid too."

He raised a hand and pressed it against his chest.

There was no wound there, yet it hurt worse than a knife would have.

He had once thought that if he ran fast enough, he could cut himself off from this city's suffering.

But that wasn't how it worked.

He had already seen too much death, and too many ordinary people holding each other up with trembling hands.

Even people he'd stolen from, people he'd mocked, were out there on the battlefield saving others.

The man suddenly turned and ran out of the camp.

He didn't know where he was going.

He only felt, on instinct, that he had to do something.

Even if all he could do was carry a body, deliver a piece of information, or shield some fleeing child from a flying piece of rubble.

As long as he stopped standing still.

Astrea looked up at the sky.

Night had fallen.

Thick clouds blotted out the stars, leaving only the distant, broken magic-stone lamps flickering among the ruins.

"The hardship will go on."

the goddess murmured.

"But as long as someone is willing to keep moving forward, hope won't be completely snuffed out."

At that same moment.

Deep beneath Orario.

A vast drainage channel lay shrouded in darkness, stone pillars standing in neat rows to support a ceiling that seemed to stretch on without end.

A large number of Evilus Apostles in off-white robes had gathered here.

Some carried magic swords, some inspected the sealing mechanisms, and some relayed information from the surface to the god at the center.

Erebus sat on a raised platform.

Vito stood at his side, holding a magic tool that had just been delivered.

"My lord, resistance on the surface still hasn't stopped."

Vito reported, head bowed.

"Ordinary adventurers are reorganizing. Several camps have begun to strike back."

Erebus didn't answer at once.

He sat with his eyes closed, as if listening to some melody drifting from far away.

"What do you hear?"

"The sound of struggling."

Erebus opened his eyes.

The corners of his mouth curled slowly upward.

"Justice is still fighting to hold on."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Of course."

The god rose to his feet, arms spreading wide.

"Struggle only sounds this sweet when hope is about to go out."

He tilted his head back toward the dark ceiling.

"Let them keep struggling. Let them believe they can still hold Orario."

"And then break their hope along with everything else?"

"No."

Erebus's smile turned pleased.

"Let them see more hope first."

He looked down at Vito.

"Only that way will despair carry its true weight."

The northern district.

Artorias had no idea his name was already spreading among gods and adventurers alike.

Nor did he know that Astrea felt relief at the news that Adi was still alive, or that Asfi was already setting out to find Ryuu.

Right now, he stood outside a collapsed warehouse.

Rain dripped from his white hair, the bandage around his stomach freshly changed. Adi stood behind him, keeping herself always within reach, while Ais held her sword, quietly studying the ruins ahead.

"There are three people inside."

Artorias closed his eyes.

"A child, breathing very faintly. Someone crying. And someone making no sound at all."

Adi immediately looked toward the rescue team.

"Get support beams ready. Don't move the roof beam above directly."

Ais walked up to the broken wall and reached out to touch the crack.

"We can get in here."

"There's a loose iron frame on the left."

Artorias raised his hand, pointing upward.

"Don't touch it."

Ais paused, then turned to the other side.

"Over there?"

"That works."

She slipped sideways into the gap.

Adi stayed behind to guard the exit.

Artorias crouched down, still listening to the sounds within the ruins.

The child's breathing was growing fainter.

He wanted to tell Ais to hurry, but just as he opened his mouth, an impossibly distant sound reached his ears.

Like flowing water.

Or like some enormous heart, beating slowly beneath the city.

Thud.

Thud.

Artorias's vision began to blur.

"Artorias?"

Adi noticed something wrong.

"What's the matter?"

He didn't answer.

The sound drew closer and closer, as though it had passed straight through the stone walls to echo deep inside his mind.

Thud.

Thud.

A strange heat suddenly surged in his chest.

The strength drained from his fingers.

Artorias tried to steady himself against the ground, but his hand only closed around a fistful of cold, wet mud.

"Artorias!"

Adi rushed to catch him.

Ais looked back from within the ruins, her golden eyes flickering with visible alarm.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, he suddenly—"

Before Adi could finish, Artorias's body gave out completely.

The black-haired boy collapsed into her arms.

"Artorias!"

Ais rushed over to them, dropping to one knee, reaching out to support his shoulder.

The boy's breathing was still steady.

There was no sign of pain on his face.

But no matter how Adi called his name, he wouldn't open his eyes.

"Mr. Artorias, wake up."

Adi patted his cheek.

No response.

Ais pressed a hand to his chest, confirming his heartbeat was still there.

"He's alive."

She looked up.

"Get him to a healer."

"But there are still people in there."

"I'll rescue them."

Ais dove back into the ruins.

Adi lifted Artorias, resting his head against her shoulder, and ran toward the temporary medical station.

Artorias was aware of none of it.

His consciousness had sunk into a boundless darkness.

He couldn't hear the rain.

He couldn't hear Adi's calls.

Nor could he hear the fighting and explosions still echoing in the distance.

Only that slow, heavy sound still echoed deep within the dark.

Thud, thud—

The black-haired boy had fallen into an inexplicable slumber.