Silence reigned in the corridor. None of us spoke, opting for a wordless and formless fight with our eyes.

Do I dare?

The question her gaze seems to convey or, more precisely trying to answer.

The same question my eyes are taunting her with.

With her impressive perception boarding the supernatural, she should have already gotten her answer. Yet seconds pass, and the query in her eyes persists.

I doubt she didn't get an answer already. She is simply having difficulty believing it.

Completely understandable.

We almost died to Shredders not long ago.

We are in a bad state and are in the middle of a danger zone. One wrong turn, unlucky passage, or hatch, and we most likely will die. I'm sure about that. As if we were walking on a fishing line, incorrectly timed breathing would cause an imbalance, followed by our fall.

And in this sensible moment where a clear sense of judgment is critical, taking drugs would be unreasonable and, to some extent, suicidal.

Bell is keenly aware of that, and she also knows I'm not oblivious to the danger we are facing either.

Yet, that isn't why she is having trouble confirming my threat. Not by a long shot. What she is having difficulty with is the one who made such a threat, I.

While the time we spent together was relatively short—too short for common people to know each other, let alone understand each other—she is not a common person. Her years of experience as a soldier aside, her perception and perspicacity are terrifying. And since the moment we met, she has used that perception to capture each gesture or expression I've made and that perspicacity to analyze my words and behavior.

And the profile she ended up with of me is that of a logically driven person with excessive paranoia.

To some extent, she is not wrong. It's just that I'm human, too.

"..."

"..."

I felt an etch on my back, but I ignored it as I held her gaze. None of us moved. Our breathing was strangely calm and steady. Neither of us blinks. The silence stretched our perception of the time, but not the time itself.

The more we waste it, the more risks we take.

Ahh, come on, Bell, would I dare take the drug for such an illogical reason as refusing to listen to me?

Would the paranoid person throw caution to the wind?

Would I risk my life for such a flimsy reason as budding feelings?

For every question I asked inwardly, a voice roared, shrieking at my insanity. Am I being insane?... probably this body influence; yes, that is definitely it.

Ah, I'm even lying to myself now. Yet strangely, I don't hate it. I wonder if she has a good sense of naming.

"Dumdum t-truly suits yuh...," Finally, after who knows how much time had passed, she broke the silence. For a moment, I thought she heard my internal mumbling. "You are fifty percent... dumb and... forty percent idiot."

The corner of my lips raised on their own.

"What about the remaining ten percent?"

Reaching for the pill, she threw it into her mouth without a second of hesitation. She didn't even ask for water. "Now s-shut up and help me up."

"Yes, ma'am."

I did as I was told after I placed both rifles and the backpack on my shoulder. I put her left arm around my neck and then stood with her in tow. For a brief moment, I contemplated carrying her on my back but soon dismissed the idea. Not that I couldn't; this body is frankly not weak for someone without training. But I want to conserve some energy; who knows what we will be facing?

... if she can't walk later, then we will see.

We resumed our hobble once more. The corridor we are following is straight, long, and empty. We started it over a quarter of an hour ago, and we are yet to see it end. It's a bit disheartening, but it's the only path we have. All the previous intersection's other paths led to either a sealed hatch or simply nowhere, a cul-de-sac.

"Is this all you could do after all that talk? Move those legs already."

"Yes, ma'am."

I felt some relief hearing her talk with less strain.

The professor she mentioned previously should be some sort of Einstein-level brainiac; if not, then close to it. The Opioids he made are special. And they are more of an antidote to Shredder's poison than just some sort of morphine. The painkiller effects of the drug are instantaneous, though the antitoxin takes from fifteen to forty minutes to act, along with the side effects.

We will hopefully find the others before then.

Gritting my teeth silently, ignoring the throbbing pain from my right shoulder, I tightened my hold over her waist as I quickened my pace. I had to give it to her, though; even with only one foot on the ground, she didn't stall.

"There is this place, three corners from Leif's church; I mean, it's not his church; Leif is the pastor; I only call it Leif's church because the name of the church is to—"

"I get it."

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"So anyway," she paused for a moment to catch her breath. "The place is not known to many, but it is one of the last bakeries in the entirety of Saint North."

"There are bakeries at the Saint North?"

I was under the impression that Saint North is a fort, and a bakery is generally for civilian use.

"Only a handful of businesses, typically those run by men, are closed. Their owner fled the city, died, or got drafted."

A city?

"Miel, the baker is a widow; she was from a small village not far east from the base. Her husband died shortly before the village migrated to Saint North."

"How did they die?"

"The same way we are going to."

"I mean the bakers." I ignored the flag and opted to get more information on the city fort.

"The same way we are going to."

Her response was the same.

"And it is not just the bakers; everyone is... Hey, would you let me finish what I want to say, already?"

"Yes, ma'am"

"Where was I? Oh right, Miel's place is small, but she makes enough to sustain herself and the seven little grimlings. And do you know how? With the best cake ever made, I'm not exaggerating here, I suspect she is a Blessed but I wasn't able to confirm it yet. So anyway... if we get out of this, I will buy you one of those tebirkes; those made by her are heavenly."

I assumed the delirious effect of the drug had kicked in, making her rumble nonstop, but it was just the uncertainty and fear talking.

"You already promised me one bowl of no-chicken soup, remember? You will eventually end up sleeping beneath the bridge if you continue this line of promises."

"It's alright," she smiled. "You wouldn't let me; you are a gentleman after all."

Gentleman? It's more that you know you have a favor to cash out wherever you want.

"Zane mentioned the Night of Castille earlier. Do you know what he means?"

I decided to shift the topic to a more serious one. That was direct—a little bit too much, I know. But if there's a moment where I should be straightforward, it's now. Besides, wasn't she blunt when I was under the influence of drugs too? I'm just returning the favor.

"Aaah, the night of Solonoy's end, why do you want to talk about depressing matters?"

Zane hinted while drunk that the empire we are in, Solonoy, is a shattered country. But from Bell's words, it's not just shattered; it's no more. And the Night of Castille is the night that happened?

"How did it end?"

"Horribly."

Her response was short and bitter. I felt she didn't want to talk more about it, so I didn't press.

I may be a genuine gentleman after all.

But then again, it's not hard to guess what that means or the reason behind the country falling in one night. I don't know if it's an exaggeration for the empire to meet its doom that quickly, but Shredders are highly probable and likely capable of achieving such a feat.

But if the empire has already fallen, in what state is the Saint North? I don't know how to feel about this. No country is eternal; that is evident. A nation falling is a catastrophe, but if it were to fall because of monsters, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it an apocalypse.

We hobbled in silence for some time before Bell, contrary to my expectation, proceeded on the same topic.

"Snolonoy existed with the blood of the lesser people; people who aren't nobles worked, exploited, and bled for the peacocks. It's no different than slavery, really, if not worse. At least a slave is aware of his situation, sees and feels the chains binding him, and knows where to channel his anger. The people from Solonoy, however, aren't given such clarity." She paused and inhaled deeply.

"They. We don't know we are chained by an evolved form of slavery; our chains aren't made of iron but of paper and debts. Our anger and resentment were misguided and manipulated against each other by news hounds. However, consciously or unconsciously, we know who is behind all of it... You asked how it all ended; it's simple, Vic. What do you think will happen if wretched people who only know misery in their bleak life were, for some godly reason, given powers, powers outside of the humanly comprehensible?"

"Mmh," I mulled over her question for a second before answering. "Chaos at first, but if the authorities aren't too incompetent, they could get things relatively under control."

I think I'm missing something.

If the nobles aren't brainless idiots and the Shredders' number isn't overwhelming, then the nation falling in one night isn't possible. In fact, there are even scenarios where the empire could have triumphed.

The Shredders are terrifying, but only if you have a pistol or a knife with you. What about tanks? Missiles? Fighter jets?... Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I believe that Shredders' threats are a godsend opportunity for the nobles. A fearsome, external threat can provide a good opening to maintain their authority over the superpowered masses.

Scaring them and manipulating them so as to redirect their focus away from the corruption is not inventing the wheel.

... I'm definitely missing something.

I was about to ask her for more detail when I noticed the end of this long corridor.

"Which direction?" The end is another damn interaction, with three more paths excluding the one we came from. Left, straight ahead, and right.

"Which one you say?" She then laughed. "To the mooooon."

Shit. Not now. The drug's strong side effects are showing right fucking now.

"Come on, Bell," I halted in the middle of the intersection. "Which way should we go to find Alec?"

"Captaaain?"

"Yes, the Captain."

"Ooooh, princeeeess Eric the prick," she giggled "the prick."

"Yes, Eric too; please, Bell lis-"

"You are here, you bastards. Where the heck you've been?!"

A loud voice suddenly interrupted me. I turned my head to the left path. And sure enough, it was the ever-angry Eric Kelliv, in prime condition, striding toward us.

I breathed a sigh of relief. To think that even unpleasant people could be pleasant sometimes.

"Officer Kelliv, you came at the ri-"

"Don't waste my time, kid." He cut me off with a displeased face. "This is an emergency."

"Eric the prick princeeess emrgency," Bell giggled some more but then stopped. "Emergency? regency? regenss? emergence. princess of emergence?"

I expected a chain of loud swears to follow, but there were none. Eric stared at Bell for a long moment. Next, he pointed at the straight path and commanded, "Go there; you will find Priest; regroup with him." He then pointed to the right corridor. "I will go that way, locate Sergeant Bart, then I will come to find you, and all together we will reunite with the Captain. Do you understand?"

I nodded at his hard glare.

I gestured with my chin to the left path, where he comes from. "Is the control room that way?"

"No!" he exclaimed with a quick and loud voice. "No, that is a dead end; nothing is there. I initially took this direction thinking it was where I sensed Priest, but it turns out he was in a nearby room that you can only reach from there. Fucking maze."

"...oh, I see."

"Then why aren't you retard moving?"

I didn't say anything to the insult and just did as he asked and started walking with Bell in tow to the straight path.

"Seriously... wasting time when we need it the most."

I heard his grumbling fade behind me as he went into the right corridor. We hobbled in silence until we reached a corner. We took the turn and then stopped.

"Bell, do you smell it? It's fishy; what do you think it is?"

"Fiiiishy, pricky," she raised her arm and enthusiastically waved it in the air. "Eric the pricky fishy."

"Yeah," I smiled darkly, "that's right."

There are four directions. The right is where Eric is heading to find and bring Bart. The left is, according to his words, a dead end. Straight ahead is where Zane is located. And the last one is where we—me and Bell come from.

Now what I find fishy is, which direction did Eric initially come from?

It's not straight ahead, since he would've never missed Zane with his supernatural senses. And it's not from the left; it's a dead end after all. That only leaves us with two directions.

The right and the back.

We spent more than an hour in the back corridor, me and Bell. And since that corridor is a long, straight, and empty path, there is no way we would have missed him passing by.

The right corridor, then?

That is where the smell is strongest. According to him, he is heading in that direction to find and bring Bart. If that is the case, where should we go after all five of us come together? To Alec, the Captain? And where is the captain? He couldn't be found in the right direction because it would be ineffective and illogical. Why bring Bart to us if we could just find Zane and then all together join Bart and the captain?

Something isn’t adding up.