A week passes after that fateful duel in the dark; Ronin's wounds mend quickly with the aid of his magic, but the overwhelming amount of damage still keeps him bedridden. The wolfman visits only to bring food or water to prioritize giving him windows of longer rest. Most of the wounds vanish entirely, yet a collection of new scars litter Ronin's body around the worst of the damage accumulated. Each one is a reminder of prior battles, attacks, and spells that came chillingly close to ending his life.

Only one of his still-remaining scars actually proved to do the job: a vertical, thin mark of a sword's tip.

Ronin staggers to his feet despite the sunlight through the tent walls making him want to keep resting. One hand clutches the tent's support beam, whilst the other finishes securing his new belt around his looted pants. The old clothes he wears now are not too different from the rags he came with; burlap sacks and similar clothing is given to prisoners eventually sees repurposing by all natives here, even bandits who prefer to use the leather of beasts still enjoying looser and breezier burlap over the protective material. Ronin's gaze turns to the broken fragments of a mirror in the corner of his tent, looking at himself.

Compared to before all of this, his body's muscles are all but unnoticeable without careful inspection. The density and definition of a man's physique are appealing in normal society but the complete absence of them here isn't entirely bad. Living long enough to eat well is often the test of that most stagnante fail.

The only reason he hadn't so far is thanks to the wolf.

The stagnante pulls the last piece of his new clothing on, pulling the straps of his repurposed and refitted leather jacket tight around the loose and sleeveless shirt beneath it. Almost all of his cuts kept most sets in good condition, but the majority of the leather is too hard to repurpose at this point into new sections. The wolfman kept a lot of the best of it, too, which forces Ronin to take the only thing that fits not only his needs but his capabilities.

As of right now, it'd be impossible to wear more than a pauldron or single greave with this vest. This battle nearly killed me... I can't take any great risks for the time being.

Ronin spins his sheath strapping around his belt and ties it in a half-knot with a traditional tie afterward, securing the scabbard in a loose enough manner to move his blade within without any discomfort. There are many ways soldiers back in Londelia carry swords and each one has advantages; although this style of sword is best used for cutting, the most effective thing in the Land of Stagnation is being able to fight. A tighter-carry position is useful for Iai-style skills, but this looser position makes it easier to cut the bindings and free his sheath for emergency use as a shield.

Everything in the Land of Stagnation relies on the ability to strike first. If that fails, defense or dodging is vital to evade a hasty death. The biggest downfall of the bandits is an obvious example: they carry shields, spears, and use light or heavier armors of leather. Their gear is specialized for group tactics and facing beasts... which is precisely why they're in the wolfman's belly or burned by now and Ronin is alive.

"Human," the wolf growls, poking his head in whilst Ronin finishes the knot. "Food."

Ronin's head turns, raising a hand to stop the wolf from kneeling to put it on the ground. "I'll eat it outside today. I've had enough staring at this monster hide."

His savior growls in acknowledgment, pulling away and dropping the heavy sack beside the tent's entrance.

Ronin is only a few paces behind him, closing his eyes momentarily and setting one hand over his face whilst leaving the tent. The trick allows him to open his eyes once outside and to slowly let them adapt, parting the fingers to allow more light only when the pain vanishes.

By the end of it, his vision is normal and he sees the first glimpse of the camp post-carnage since being bedridden. All the bodies are gone from normal sight and many of the tents are now flattened. Corpses inside the camp are obviously bad but flattening the tents allows their smaller numbers to use them for comfort within their tents and as material for new things, such as sacks for makeshift waterskins. These skins being made of leather is helpful, given all water in the camp is boiled over a fire after being pulled from the nearby spring. After these changes, this camp is useful for starting anew and gathering new stagnante and possibly becoming far more useful than a mere bandit hideout.

The wolfman sits down on a rock near the fire, immediately retrieving a set of sticks nearby that he's fashioning into new bolts. Ronin steps over to a cut log seat before he relaxes, opening the nearby sack.

Inside is the same ration he'd been getting for a while now: grilled flank. The flank of monsters can come in many different varieties, but nearly all of them are tough. In the civilized world, few people willingly choose this part of a beast to make food... but out here in the Land of Stagnation, its primary use in creating jerky means it's a prized commodity. Even while grilled, this meat's chewy texture makes it useful for dealing with appetites and making meals feel more filling.

It's perfect for wolfmen, but awful for someone who actually needs to consume large amounts of proteins and calories to get back strength.

One of the nearby tents rustles as the wolf's friend moves within, Ronin taking the first bite of his meal and turning his gaze toward it.

"So... your friend needs fixing. I assume that it's because you trusted a necromancer?"

The wolf nods. "Just like you."

His jerky suddenly tastes far worse in Ronin's mouth, his red eyes glaring at the wolfman for a few moments before finishing his current mouthful.

"I didn't trust a necromancer. If it was about trust, I wouldn't even be cursed."

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Telling life stories is normal for adventurers, but Ronin isn't an adventurer. In this new world, the only time he could afford to let his guard down is if he forms or joins a tribe. Even letting the wolfman discover his curse is a significant problem... but killing him at this point helps no one. The pair of them had a deal to carry out and once it is over, Ronin will simply go his separate ways and never have to deal with the furball again. Most wolfmen didn't live long enough to evolve even on the mainland, so the likelihood of them encountering one another again is fleeting at best. This continent's curse is hindering to humans... but to monsterkind like him, it's almost assuredly a way to prevent them from living long lives. The only reason most of them lived long is the curse ignores them due to affiliation. Once they obtain a basic intelligence, however, then all of the ex-beasts here fall under the curse. Without a proper method to evolve frequently, most of them end up dead.

This wolf adapting gives him better odds, but the instant he ventures too far from the shores and into the more dangerous parts? The tribes or stagnante there will skin him.

Ronin lets his thoughts pass for now, though. "But given I'm right, then they were revived shortly after death. Is it from a curse or a normal spell?"

No reply forces Ronin to furrow his brows. The wolf doesn't look his way nor care enough to keep engaging him, instead of picking a claw at his meaty fangs. The tent beside him opens just enough to draw his attention, a whispering carrying across the short space until his attention turns onto Ronin.

"No curse. Fix?"

At this point the question is daft and obviously answered; Ronin isn't exactly able to walk away without a fight breaking out, so at the very least he has to try.

"Fine," he sighs. "But to be direct, I only attempted to do this twice before. Both times failed."

The wolfman stands and grunts. "Enough. Come close."

He opens the tent and heads inside, giving Ronin a long time to enjoy chewing his jerky before finally clambering to his feet and following. And as the tent opened and he passed inside, the strangest and most unexpected thing he could imagine happened.

Inside the tent, the wolfman stood beside a blonde-haired human that Ronin recognized. The effeminate-faced runt he saw catch a crossbow bolt through his neck now sits on his knees, the tell-tale mark of his previous wound scabbed shut. His skin looks smooth but paled, devoid of bloodflow and likely preserved through the necromantic energy flowing within. Ronin never got a good look at his eyes, but the darkness and colorless look to them is normal in the undead.

"You," Ronin husks, reaching down to his sword. "From the beach-"

The blonde flinches and cowers back, moments before the wolfman aims his crossbow at Ronin. Although Ronin didn't mean to attack, his aggression in that moment made the instincts of the monster react. Tension dances between them for only a breath but it feels like an eternity passes before Ronin releases his sword and scowls at him.

"How are you here? Who resurrected you?"

The blonde looks at the wolf, waiting for the mutt to nod before finally turning to face the other human and pull his collar down.

A lone talisman dances around his neck, sporting the insignia of one of the Child Gods. Which one it was escaped Ronin but their importance in the history of the world meant that it was nothing but bad: no child of the gods is free to roam today as each one bore the taint of Faceless Red. The Blue Pillar Faith destroyed their names when Grey Man fell to insanity, ensuring no one could bring more tools of chaos into the fight for Brogdar's future.

"That tells me nothing," he barks. "I said who!?"

"Necklace," the wolf growls.

"Necklaces don't bring people back! That magic is far above Basic! The only way that happens is if it's a relic from the Era of Dungeons!"

The blonde quickly raises it, nodding and pointing frantically at the necklace's charm. Ronin grits his teeth in frustration, turning around and momentarily considering storming out. Thankfully he calms himself just enough to turn and yell instead.

"Are you kidding me!? You expect me to believe someone who came to the Land of Stagnation has a relic from the Era of Dungeons!? Who the hell would believe your family actually partook in raiding a Dungeon to procure that!?"

Neither of them had an answer but the facts were right in front of the stagnante. No one in this land could have acquired this naturally, but furthermore, he had arrived with this man on the same day. Either the charm is real or there's someone on this island capable of using higher than Basic-level necromancy. Neither of those is very good for Ronin, especially if the necromancer discovers he exists. Gaia-element users like him are practically must-haves... even in the case of Ronin who turned away from using his magic to prioritize the path of a sword. A battle with a magic user who wants him and has the ability to muster more MP would be far beyond his current level.

He turns, kicking the floor. "Fuck!"

"Fix?"

The wolf's word draws Ronin's angered gaze, but this time he doesn't reach for his sword. Instead, he steps over and grabs the blonde twink by his collar, lifting him up and onto his feet. The furball momentarily seems ready to jump but, but the runt at least has some aspect of self-awareness and quickly turns and stops him with a raised hand.

Ronin still thought this criminal looked more like a girl than he should but it was even more vexing that this local wolf actually gave a damn about this necromanced corpse. But at this point, the only way he clears his debt and gets to walk away is to fix him... or at least try. And the only way he can do that is to use the exact same spell that his brother used before inflicting a curse on him. The spell list had it but not once had he even imagined using it since the day he cut him down.

But his fight with the bandit leader had done its job and wracked the resistance from him. Denying his own powers in this place is pointless: there won't be a way to escape the Land of Stagnation and any allies, even fellow Stagnante, are going to be necessary. The spell flickers into his view and he grits his teeth, feeling all of his MP shift from mending his body to forming a proper veil around the two of them.

"☼︎♏︎⬧︎⧫︎□︎❒︎♋︎⧫︎♓︎□︎■︎ □︎♐︎ ☝︎♋︎♓︎♋︎📬︎"

The ancient tongue used for the spell rolls out of his mouth in a voice not his own; instead, the voice is lighter and more aloft. Mana snaps and forms thin vines, coiling around the undead in his grasp. Ronin lets go and feels his MP drain further and further until it hits zero... and finally collapses to his knees. Casting this magic drew on the very curse that snares him to this new life, summoning forth the lesser experienced of the Londel siblings' magic. Memories and flashbacks of Sunai spouting his own knowledge of Gaia despite never using it himself pulsed in his head, carving at his own consciousness and understanding of the magic.

The drawback of his curse bringing him back to life is that using this spell invoked the memories of the curse inflictor. Restoration of Gaia - as it was called in their tongue - is a spell that, when cast improperly, kills.

Sunai attempted to restore Ronin's body on that battlefield and killed him, inevitably stealing his magical gift in the process. And later on, he cast it properly. It was that understanding, flawed from his unnatural use, that taught Ronin how to use it. Where Ronin had become a corpse for years whilst Sunai perfected it, the blonde-haired youth's body returns to how it looked when he was alive. The permanent damage of the crossbow mends and he even starts to talk, but the sound of it escapes Ronin.

Once again, he passes out. And does so collapsing into the effeminate lad, dragging both of them to the floor before his consciousness flickers out from mana exhaustion.