82. Aftermath

The closer Isaac got to the arena, the louder it grew. The silence of the subway station was steadily filled with distant shouts and cheers, the clang of metal and the whip of wind. He found himself slowing down as he approached his destination. He frowned. It sounded almost exactly like the matches prior to the…accident, if you could call it that. It was a bit disorienting, and he had a crazed thought that maybe he’d just imagined everything after all. His grip on the tablet tightened. With a steadying breath, he hurried forward.

Isaac barely glanced up as he looped around the stands, not daring to look at the platform. Logically he knew it would’ve been cleared, the surface smoothed back to perfection, but he couldn’t shake the fear that he’d find the aftermath of the fight still lingering in the dirt.

He could feel more than a few eyes looking his way as he passed by, and Isaac did his best to ignore the stares, simply pressing himself to walk faster. Was there blame in those stares, he wondered. Surely there would be suspicion, at the very least.

Shaking his head, Isaac hurried until the healer’s area came into view. It was quieter here, and the gap between the stands and the area felt particularly large as he crossed it. Isaac stepped softly over the grasses, approaching with the trepidation of a thief in the middle of a heist. He leaned forward slightly, listening for any sounds, maybe some voices, but it was eerily silent.

Frowning, Isaac took a deep breath and finally entered the area.

He forced himself to scan his surroundings. Thankfully, it seemed that Rosalinde had already removed and cleaned what he imagined was the worst of the aftermath. In fact, the slight shine of the freshly washed center bench was proof of that. Beyond that, a few fallen bandage rolls lay strewn across the ground. The water basin had been moved back to the corner, and its waters were now a dark, nearly opaque red. He could just barely make out murky lumps bubbling beneath the thick liquid, and he shuddered slightly, grateful that he couldn’t see what they were exactly.

Water basin and conspicuous absence of medical supplies aside, the place didn’t look too terrible. That being said, there was an undeniable iron stench hanging in the air mixed with an almost salty tang that, combined, was both sharp and putrid. He resisted the urge to gag and attempted to block out the smell.

“Isaac?”

Spinning around, he found himself facing a surprised Rosalinde. She was sitting near the back, hidden by the shadows of the stands, which was why he hadn’t noticed her at first. The woman looked remarkably put together, only a very slight drooping below her eyes revealing any exhaustion. Isaac found his gaze focusing in on a pair of gloves that she was in the middle of removing. The fabric seemed to have been white, once, but they were so stained that they looked more like Fable’s gloves.

Rosalinde smoothly slid them off and set them down on the bench. They made a slight squelching sound as she did so.

Standing to her full height, she frowned. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon,” she said. Isaac shifted his weight.

“I…was wondering if you needed help.” He swallowed. “Is Seaton…?”

“Someone came by earlier to take him away,” Rosalinde explained. She hummed in thought. “They likely saw what happened on the screens. I didn’t recognize them, but they seemed to be merfolk.” She shook her head and sighed. “Honestly I would’ve liked to keep him here for a bit longer, but the person was insistent. I can only hope they have better medical treatment in their home kingdom.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“But he’s alive?”

“He was when I last saw him, yes. The operation was as successful as it could be, given the circumstances.” Rosalinde’s eyes shifted, and Isaac followed her gaze over to the table, where a cloth obscured what looked like an array of long, sharp objects. Those must be the medical supplies, if the faint hints of dark splotches bleeding through the cloth were any indication.

Isaac suddenly thought of the matches again, both the one against Igor and the disastrous final one against Aster. The merfolk had looked at home fighting, spinning his spear around in complex motions that had appeared deceptively simple. He stared back down at the ground, wondering if it would be possible for the man to ever fight the same way again.

He would visit once the tournament was over, Isaac decided. He may not have known the merfolk well, and he knew logically that he couldn’t have done anything to stop the fight, but he still felt responsible. That, and he wanted to apologize for running away.

You just want to stop feeling guilty about it, a small voice in his head whispered. He grit his teeth and forced himself to focus on the conversation at hand.

“Thank you, Rosalinde,” he said, voice quieter than he’d originally intended. Thankfully, the woman seemed to hear him without issue.

“I’m happy to help.” She paused, frowning slightly. “I’m actually rather surprised it worked,” she said carefully. There was a lingering hesitance in her eyes that looked at odds with her usually calm, put together aura. “Usually the rot is impossible to stop once the system rules have been broken. I’ve certainly never seen it travel so slowly before.” She took a step forward, eyes sharp. “Do you mind me asking if you would happen to know why that was the case?”

Isaac furrowed his brow, unconsciously glancing down at the tablet screen, which had remained blank since the call with Lilith. “I…I don’t know. That’s the first I’ve actually seen—“ he cut himself off and gestured vaguely. Rosalinde’s eyes widened slightly.

“The first time?” She looked genuinely surprised. “My apologies, I assumed you’d have seen it before.”

He laughed, and it sounded awkward and strained to his ears. “Nah, I just update stats. Nothing like this’s happened around me before. I mean obviously I knew there were consequences for system violations, it’s just I never actually saw it happen.” And he’d never really expected it would, either, now that Isaac thought about it.

The Underside, to him, was effectively a collection of strange beings who he superficially knew were powerful and capable of massive amounts of destruction and violence, but his encounters had done nothing but assure him that, for as weird as they could be, the Underside inhabitants were mostly well meaning. Even during the few “close calls” he’d had on the job, they had never felt like they were out of malicious intent. Most felt like accidents, or a powerful being not knowing how to control their strength. Things like that.

Even in the match that had just happened, he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. Seaton had obviously violated the system rules in some way, but it didn’t look like it had been on purpose. He’d gotten angry and lost control of his temper. Did that warrant losing an arm? A life? He didn’t know, and he was quickly realizing that he couldn’t afford to not know anymore.

Isaac spoke slowly, still processing his thoughts. “I don’t really know much about the system,” he admitted. “I still have a lot to learn.”

Rosalinde nodded in understanding. “I see. Well, thank you for offering to help.” She smiled. “I would say I hoped to see you again soon, but I’m afraid that would suggest more injuries occurring, and I’m sure neither of us wants that.”

Isaac returned the smile, though his was a fair bit more strained. His eyes drifted over to the distant arena, where he could make out two unfamiliar silhouettes clashing.

“Are you going to continue watching the matches?”

Isaac hummed in response. “Maybe.” He frowned, focus shifting to beyond the platform, where the commentator’s booth was barely visible some ways behind it. There was no visible movement inside that he could make out, no hint of glowing magic or red cloth, but he was positive the person he was looking for was still inside.

He took a deep breath and turned to face Rosalinde again. “First I have some questions I need answered.”