“A “Bleeding Curse.” Quite a nasty infliction, I’m afraid. Wounds etched with such a vile thing will bleed and bleed until you’re shriveled up,” Gunter explained, waving his hand as he guided the azure flame close to the guest’s shoulder, “Now, take that off.”

Bastian nodded before sliding his arm out of its sleeve, lifting his shirt enough to completely unveil his wound.

The mystical fire moved on its own, sprouting embers on either side of it that waved like tiny arms, bouncing itself in the air before landing on the gushing wound.

“Ngh–” Bastian winced, though not from the flame burning him.

In truth, the bright-blue blaze didn’t scorch his flesh in the least–the opposite; it laid upon the hole in his shoulder, nurturing the evisceration.

“Just stay still and relax now, my friend,” Gunter calmly assured him, moving to the wooden bench that was surrounded by shelves of vials and strange materials, “Now, can you explain what’s going on? The entire Copper Sector is shut down right now.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Bastian asked, keeping still as he watched the lively flame caress his wound.

The beastman’s whiskers twitched as he grabbed a wooden cup, sprinkling an earthy, green powder from a sack into it before tossing in a thistle and a cobalt leaf. The unorthodox doctor used a block of stone to begin mashing the different ingredients together in the bowl, concocting something on the fly.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed everybody is staying in their homes right now. Even the guards seem to have been told to patrol elsewhere for the time being,” Gunter explained, “Sellswords are patrolling the streets–I overheard them going door-to-door earlier, asking specifically for you, my friend. I wonder what sort of trouble you’ve found your way into now, hm?”

The question was asked as the young adventurer could feel the cat man’s sharp gaze look at him, as if an answer was the least he could give in exchange for the aid he was being given.

“I…Well, long story short, Frederick Ul Samson wants me dead,” Bastian admitted, gazing down at the messy floorboards his boots rested against.

The sounds of the materials being ground up came to a sudden stop with the well-spoken, soft voice of the beastman emitting in a delayed manner, “...Frederick Ul Samson, you said? Ah, I’m sure I’ve misheard you, my friend…”

“Nope, you heard me right, unfortunately,” the adventurer quietly sighed.

As he glanced behind him, it looked as though the fur-clad doctor was about to pass out, who was gazing up at the ceiling with the back of his hand against his forehead, exhaling heavily.

“Gunter, I appreciate the help, but it might be best that I go. I knew it was bad, but what you told me…You could be in danger, too,” Bastian advised hesitantly, mumbling to himself, “I’m not going to let anybody else get killed over my choices.”

There was silence from the doctor, not even the noises of vials being fiddled with or powder being mixed, though after a moment, Gunter finally spoke again.

“...Ah, you needn’t worry yourself about that, my friend. We’re perfectly safe here, nobody will find this place, So, just sit back and relax–here, sip this,” Gunter assured him, pouring the colorful powder that had been made into a glass of water, mixing it well with a spoon.

It felt strange to Bastian; as long as he’d known the beastman, he was always an overly cautious person, almost to a nauseating degree. Still, he was thankful for the aid given to him as he accepted the glass.

“It’ll ease your pain and, hopefully, purge that curse from your body,” Gunter informed him.

“Thanks,” Bastian said quietly, staring at the now green-dyed water, smelling the natural, earthen aromas that come off of it.

Bringing the rim of the cup to his lips, he allowed the chalky liquid to slip into his mouth, traveling down his throat. It was surprisingly cool, as if housing ice that was not there, bringing a refreshing briskness to it immediately.

“It’s nothing. You helped me out when I needed it most,” Gunter sat in the seat by the shelf of concoctions, reminiscing as he looked up at the wooden ceiling, “My boy wouldn’t be alive today if you didn’t retrieve that magic branch from the Tower. I had only a few copper to my name, yet you asked for nothing.

Sitting there as he listened to the doctor, he found himself watching the flame within the lantern that hung on the wall flicker, finding his eyelids becoming heavier as he yawned. The pain in his body had all but vanished, replaced by a relaxation unlike anything else.

“Others may think of the “Dungeon Master” as a coldhearted man, but I know you’re truly kind. I’m forever in your debt for that, my friend. So, think nothing of this, please,” Gunter continued.

The words warmly presented to him from a heartfelt place made the wounded adventurer recall that very scene.

“Forgive me, my friend,” the doctor apologized quietly with a restrained guilt lining his words.

‘That’s right…It was back then, on the fourth floor…I was with them, my friends…’ He tiredly thought, finding his own memories blending with reality.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Simpler times perhaps; a kinder era, more fondly remembered. Before his eyes, he saw that scenery–the vast forest of overbearing trees, with branches that extended and intertwined like a maze of wood.

“You comin’ or what, Bast?”

It was a girl with silken, silver hair with her hands behind her back playfully, wielding an onyx staff between her fingertips. Her eyes couldn’t be seen, like a faraway beauty hidden behind the veil of fog, yet her pure smile was as clear as an afternoon sun.

“Annaliese,” he responded, finding the name leaving his lips like a treasure.

A slap on his back came, causing him to stumble forward as he watched a man fully dressed in steel armor walk past him, greeting him with a bright smile and a laugh as well–a dear friend.

“C’mon, Bastian! That magic leaf should be nearby–it’s urgent, yeah?”

It was a scenery too pure, too bright to look at as if it felt like a sin to be able to witness something he cherished and missed dearly.

[“That’s right. I wasn’t always alone. They were with me. She was there”]

The feeling of grass beneath him, the scent of the noon aroma as wind brushed across the luscious fields, carrying the alluring smell of the neighboring flower petals; it was all too serene. Beside him sat the silver-haired, young woman, their hands embracing one another with their fingers interlocked.

His first love; his only love.

Standing beside them on the grass hill were his comrades; family in all but blood.

The clumsy, but gallant swordsman who insisted on carrying enough blades to equip a small army; the swift archer with nimbleness like a feline and a sharp personality to match. Of course, he could never forget the shielder who held the group together. A small group, perhaps without much talent or favor of the gods, but it was all he could ask for.

It was too perfect to be anything but a memory.

[“Ever since that day, have I once smiled not by will? Have I laughed out genuinely, until my stomach hurts? Since that day, have I ever looked forward to what a new day holds? Have I talked and talked with a friend about nothing until the sun rises and until it dips beneath the horizon? Since that day, I’ve never given any of that much thought.”]

[“Once upon a time, I smiled.”]

Without realizing it, slumber had taken him as he was suddenly ripped from the blissful dreams of a time long gone. The fields of green grass were replaced by grimy walls of pale stone; against his nose, the stomach-churning smell of mold washed away the scent of flowers he dreamed of.

“…Huh…”

“Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

It was a familiar voice that greeted him, though he couldn’t find where it was coming from at first as he blinked a few times, adjusting to the new scenery.

Looking around, he was in a confined space, kept enclosed by steel bars—a prison, of some sort.

Across the cell he saw the source of the voice—though it took a couple more blinks to realize who it was. The young man of a similar age to himself sat there with his arms on his knees with his bare back pressed against the wall, covered in welts and bruises.

“…Gaston?” Bastian quietly called out in surprise.

As he attempted to stand up to move over to his friend, he was stopped in his tracks, yanked back down onto his bottom. Looking down, he found a chain wrapped around his ankle, bound by a steel anchor.

“Yeah, we’re in a bit of a pickle here, hehe…” Gaston said with a weak laugh before coughing up.

It began to become clear to his foggy mind just what was going on, seeing that he was in a dimly-lit, grimy dungeon with the friend he sought.

‘I was at Gunter’s…then I fell asleep. Did he…?’ He questioned.

Reaching to his shoulder, he found that the wound that was once there was gone, stitched close. All the wounds on his body were taken care of, in fact, though it felt as if it was only a small mercy in his current situation.

The only sound that occurred in the isolated dungeon was the infrequent drops of water from the ceiling, trickling down. It was a dreadful scenery, with malevolent contraptions of torture placed outside of the cells; stringing devices, racks, saws, and some of which not even he could recognize.

It only took a single glance to know that his friend experienced those devices; though Gaston held a smile in front of him, the youthful man was trembling.

“Gaston…I’m sorry,” Bastian apologized, slumping down against the wall as the words left his lips quietly, “You got mixed up in all of this because of me…You were there for Duncan, too. This should’ve never happened.”

The bandana-wearing youth laughed, showing that a few of his teeth were missing, waving his hand, “Don’t worry about it. I mean, we’re friends. Of course I’m going to get myself mixed into your problems.”

With the same cheerfulness as always, Gaston chuckled and smiled, though the pain he endured in that dark dungeon wasn't something so easily hidden.

They sat in silence as time crept by; ignorant to whether the sun shone or the stars twinkled in the sky.

Gaston fiddled with his own thumbs, holding a bashful smile to himself as he spoke, “I tried to protect Duncan, I did…I know I’m not much. This Curse I was born with…no matter how hard I train, I can’t build any muscle. This body of mine isn’t meant to be strong.”

“The Curse of Magni,” Bastian recalled.

“That’s the one,” Gaston nodded his head, “meanwhile, my brother was born with as many gifts as you could ask for. As strong as an ox, as pretty as a Prince. I really got the short end of the stick, huh?”

They both laughed, almost in spite of the terrible situation they’ve done themselves in.

“I’d lie if I said I didn’t envy him everyday. Still, he’s my brother, so I’ve got no choice but to love ‘im,” Gaston said with a smile, “Really, it's you that’s made me continue being an adventurer, Bast.”

“Huh? Me?”

Gaston nodded with a cheeky smile, “You heard me right! I’ve seen you walk out of Yggdrasil covered in mud, cuts, and all sorts of crap. Yet, you always walk right back in the next day without breaking a sweat. I told myself if I can at least be tenacious, I won’t regret anything, right?”

“Right.”

Bastian couldn’t find any words to say in return as he looked around the dreary cell, seeing the bloodstains on the stone tiles, some of which looked more fresh than others.

The lashes on Gaston’s body were too numerous to count; the purple bruises on his chest seemed to be the cause for his loud, raspy breathing.

It was too painful to look at; the guilt felt by Bastian was only equaled by the rage he felt for their captor.