After a moment of deep thought about the aftermath of the night's confrontation, I made the difficult decision to gather the bodies together.
It was a pragmatic choice, borne out of necessity rather than cold-heartedness.
Perhaps this act of gathering what was left behind was my attempt to temper the unsettling thrill and enjoyment I had experienced in the heat of battle.
It could have been a subconscious effort to reaffirm my sense of humanity, to remind myself that there was still a moral compass guiding my actions, despite the darkness I had navigated.
Yet, this thought process left me questioning: was this truly a path to reconciling with my actions, or was I merely seeking justification for the exhilaration I felt?
Was this an honest attempt at self-reflection, or a convenient way to alleviate the guilt and discomfort that came with the pleasure derived from overpowering those who wished me harm?
I couldn't help but wonder if there was a right answer or if the journey I was on would continually challenge me to evaluate and re-evaluate my actions and their motivations.
"What's done is done; let's just do what we can now."
Before I did, I took a moment to search the dead bodies, extracting any valuables they carried.
It wasn't an act I took lightly, but survival in this merciless world dictated harsh necessities.
My mother had given me some money, true, but it was a finite resource, hardly enough for the long and uncertain journey ahead.
With a sense of somber practicality, I removed armors, weapons, and other items of value from those who no longer had use for them.
Each piece I set aside felt like a silent testament to the brutal realities of survival.
I carefully placed these items in the cart that had brought me and the ones who had betrayed me to this place, now repurposed for my solitary journey.
To begin with, there wasn't much to loot. Much like myself, both the individuals I had traveled with and those unfortunate souls who had crossed paths with us seemed to lack any significant resources.
A handful of bronze coins was all that could be found, along with the armor and weapon they wore, which, when sold in bulk, might fetch a few silver coins. It was a modest haul.
After carefully removing their belongings and gathering them in one spot, I found myself pausing, my gaze lingering on the lifeless forms of those who, for a brief moment, I had thought might become my first companions in this unforgiving world.
Despite the rush of proving them wrong, of their expectations of myself in the most definitive way, a sense of disappointment and sadness crept over me.
There was a poignant sense of what might have been — the hopeful 'ifs' that now would never come to pass.
These individuals, misguided as they were, had momentarily offered a glimpse of camaraderie, of shared purpose, however fleeting and illusory that might have been.
I wandered around the area, collecting leaves and branches, and carefully arranged them over the bodies.
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It was a makeshift preparation, a way to ensure that their final departure was handled with some semblance of dignity, despite the circumstances.
With the foliage and wood piled atop them, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come next.
Activating my Self-Immolation skill, I watched as flames enveloped my hand.
Then, with a resigned sense of purpose, I placed my burning hand onto the pile of debris.
Instantly, a small wisp of smoke curled upwards, quickly expanding into a fierce blaze.
The fire caught eagerly, consuming the dry leaves and branches with a voracious appetite before licking at the edges of the bodies beneath.
In moments, what had been a solemn gathering of the deceased transformed into a large bonfire, the flames reaching skyward as if in a desperate grasp for the heavens.
I stood back, watching the scene unfold. The fire crackled loudly, breaking the silence of the early morning with its insatiable roar.
The sight of the flames consuming the bodies, reducing them to ash and smoke, the finality of death.
As the fire burned, the air filled with the acrid scent of smoke.
I watched until the flames began to wane, their fierce energy spent, leaving behind a glowing bed of embers and the charred remains of what once was.
With a deep, steadying breath, I made my way towards the chariot, the vehicle that had brought me this far. Climbing aboard, I settled into the passenger seat, the map spread out on my lap, its routes and destinations clearly laid out by its previous owner.
However, a sudden realization stopped me cold: I had no idea how to steer a horse, let alone ride one.
The practicalities of travel, which I had taken for granted while in the company of others, now loomed as significant obstacles.
The horses, sensing my presence, shifted restlessly, as if awaiting instruction, but I was at a loss.
The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me. The realization was both humbling and frustrating. My gaze shifted from the map to the horses, contemplating my next move.
Determined not to let this setback deter me, I resolved to learn.
"Let's take this slowly, shall we? I'm learning as we go, so I'm counting on you to be a bit patient with me,. Let's not make this any harder than it needs to be... please."
I approached the horses cautiously, offering a calming hand, my mind racing through every scrap of information I might have come across in my readings or observations. It was clear that if I was to continue on my path, I would need to adapt quickly.
With a tentative grip on the reins and a hopeful plea, I embarked on what was to be one of the most unanticipated challenges of my journey: mastering the art of horse-driven travel.
The first few attempts to coax the horse into motion were, to put it mildly, less than successful. Each tug on the reins seemed to send a different, often contradictory, signal, leading to an awkward dance of starts, stops, and bewildering turns.
"Alright, let's try this again." I muttered to myself, more as a way to bolster my own confidence than any expectation of a sudden breakthrough.
The horse, for its part, seemed to regard me with a mix of curiosity and mild disdain, as if questioning my qualifications for this.
Our first real attempt at forward motion was more of a sideways meander, much to my chagrin and the horse's apparent amusement.
Each pull of the reins, intended to guide us along the path, seemed to be interpreted as an invitation to explore the scenic route—through bushes, around trees, and, on one memorable occasion, directly towards a rather surprised flock of birds that scattered in a flutter.
"Okay, maybe a bit more to the left... No, no, not that much left!" I exclaimed as we narrowly avoided a rather large tree that I'm certain hadn't been in our path a moment ago.
The horse, perhaps sensing my growing frustration, decided to take a more cooperative stance, or perhaps it had simply grown tired of our aimless wandering.
Gradually, through a series of trial and error that would have been comedic to any onlooker, we began to find our rhythm.
I learned the subtleties of the reins, the slight pressures, and gestures that communicated my intentions more clearly.
The horse, in turn, seemed to grow accustomed to my unique style of command, or perhaps it had simply resigned itself to its fate.
Our detours, though numerous and often laughably misguided, had taught me more about navigation than I could have hoped to learn in a more conventional manner.
As we finally settled into a steady pace, the chariot rolling smoothly behind us, I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the endeavor.
"Well, that was one way to learn." I said, glancing down at my four-legged companion, who seemed to flick its ears in agreement—or perhaps it was simply relieved that our erratic journey had taken a turn towards normalcy.
The misadventure had transitioned into a steady journey forward, marking the continuation of my journey toward a destination that had loomed large in my thoughts since the beginning: the Tower.