11.2

The one-week break of Moxnet Academy passed, one by one, the students have returned to school.

 

In the main hall where many of the returning students were well dressed and gathered, a single male passed them by, garnering looks from everyone due to his rather…disheveled attire.

The bags underneath his eyes were evident, his sharp eyes muddled with uncertainty, his dark hair was in a mess, his attire was decently kept but a slight odor could be whiffed if one’s nose was sensitive enough.

His broken expression was exactly what a convicted criminal of looked like when they were released from decades imprisonment in Registoria’s underground dungeons, the place where many minds have become broken due to the relentless torture that the empire punished them with.

All eyes turned to the guy’s direction as he lifelessly walked to his destination, fearing that this person who, although his rather average figure, and foreign looks, might be someone dangerous in disguise.

When he finally disappeared into the cafeteria, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, their tensed shoulders relaxed and returned to doing what they were doing.

 

None of them wanted to be involved with such a person.

 

His looks were savage, the light in his eyes are no longer there, it is only a matter of time that people like him dropped out of the academy, even if he stayed somehow, it was doubtful that he would get along with anyone.

 

However, there were two students from among the crowd that thought otherwise.

“H-hey, Matilda, did you notice it?” said one while he tapped on the shoulder of the other. “That was him right? That black hair could only mean it’s John from the other day. Tell me I am not seeing things, that was him earlier, right?”

“No doubt that’s him but he looks...different…” Matilda replied. “Bran, do you think he got consumed by some black magic…?”

Bran’s face darkened, “I-I…no way, someone like him from the East Wing? What is up with that suggestion?”

Matilda shot a look at Bran.

“…He has the hero’s party, they’ll definitely take care of him, we just spoke to him once remember? E-even if he got into some trouble, I am sure he isn’t that kind of guy who would end up—”

“That’s very assuring, Bran. You sound very confident in that.”

Sensing her sarcasm, Bran made a straight line with his lips, “Matilda, you know I don’t have time to worry about John Sarvod, especially not when the mass teleportation event is in two days. One day and eighteen hours, to be exact.”

“Says the guy who only changed his habit until he advised you to. You’re the one who kept praising how powerful his healing magic was and went on about how great it would be if he could join us to act as our healer.”

Bran lowered his head in defeat, “You know me, I just don’t want to deal with flashy stuff—” the moment those words left his mouth, Matilda raised a brow at him, implying how often he overexerted himself.“Okay, my powers are different. I mean, I don’t want to have Scywell Shatterstep, the up-and-coming hero to have a grudge against me for stealing him away.”

“Is it that hard to ask how he’s doing?”

Matilda remained silent as she stared at Bran, normally she would not care if her fiancé said something as apathetic as that, frankly she could not care too much as long Bran knew what he was doing.

But just this once, she thought that Bran should pay his tithes for someone who helped changed his attitude in life. In this case, she referred to John, who had a soulless expression on him when he passed them by earlier.

After Bran’s interaction with John Sarvod, he no longer wasted his magic at the expense of his health for the slightest things, Bran no longer wasted his life and used his powers foolishly. Instead, by some random miracle, his interaction with John had caused him to learn control his unhealthy habits of using his magic that detriments his well-being.

It was odd that a random guy like John could talk sense to Bran regarding his magic usage, something that Matilda who’s always by his side had failed to. Regardless, she was thankful that Bran finally realized it and matured from it.

“Fineeeee!” Bran threw his arms in the air. “I’ll ask him if he wants to join us when I get the chance okay?”

With that, Matilda dropped her pressuring gaze.

These two were just the one of few that took notice of John Sarvod’s sudden shift in attitude.

Others who were keeping a close eye on the hero, Scywell, also took notes to what John Sarvod was like just a moment ago. And those who bore malice in their minds…

“Just you wait John, I’ll prove that even you can’t escape my charms~”

 

 

John trudged his way through the cafeteria, ordered a plate of whatever the chef had made for the day, all without uttering a single word. He had been neglecting his physical and mental by doing whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased.

Today was just as the same as yesterday’s, he ate, he slept, he mourned for the harvest, and blamed himself for his misfortunes.

He was throwing his life away in wallow and self-pity, ever since the Harvests death, he had become utterly demotivated, he did nothing to improve himself, he stopped training his body, he stopped reading his books, he stopped caring, he stopped being…him.

Pain was all John Sarvod knew.

The Harvests were massacred, he drove Ephinelyth away, A’vetheas denounced him, Kahnira was just someone in his past, in his head, he already denounced his friendship with everyone from the hero’s party for what happened.

John, could really care not anymore. If he died from his crippling depression, then so be it, his life had no worth to anyone, and to those whose life he could have saved had he returned earlier…

John chocked as he raised a spoonful of meat to his mouth.

I am sorry.

He apologized. It was all he could do, it did not matter if he said it a thousandth time for the week, it was all he could manage without breaking into a pathetic mess.

Though, Fester Aquilla, the hero that came before Scywell, had informed him that the Harvests’ burial was completed a few days ago and all repairs to Parac Village have been made, John did not find the heart to go back and visit the Harvests graves.

 

He feared if he had seen them his sorrows would overwhelm him, leading him to break his promise with Kahnira.

 

She was someone from his past, for all he could piece together, she was long dead. It was only recently that he was reminded of her, had Kahnira been someone important to him, why did he not remember her when he was in A’vetheas?

Surely it did not matter if he ignored the promise he made with her.

But when he thought about breaking that promise he made with, the sensation of a cold hand gripped his heart, squeezed him of his strength and will to act on his suicidal notions. Anytime he tried to fight it, his heart would throb, his heartstrings sheared, it was though his body reacted in response to the promise and intended for John to follow it through. 

Perhaps formed a blood pact with her to never entertain suicide and swore to never act on it, because his his mind told him that there would be a fate worse than death waiting for him should he committed suicide.

I can’t live, I can’t die… Just what sick gag is this?

John forced a spoonful of soup down his throat and ended his thoughts.

 

“Did you hear Marie?”

“About?”

“The stairway, the one at the very end of the main building.”

While he gnawed on his sustenance, the conversation of two girls entered his ear.

“I don’t think I know which one you are talking about, they all lead to the lecture halls don’t they?”

“No, no, no, you’ve got it wrong. I meant the ones beyond those, the ones that are in the old parts of the academy. The ones that are retired and not fit for use, they have a rumor to them.”

“I don’t see how knowing this will get me closer to Scywell…”

“I am getting there, Marie. According to the upperclassmen, inside of the older parts of Moxnet, there’s a flight stairs said to be cursed by an evil warlock centuries ago. It is said that if anyone climbed these stairs, they’ll arrive at the border of the dead and living, allowing them to see spirits of the deceased and communicate with them.”

“This is silly, here I was thinking that you thought of a brilliant idea that will help me with Scywell with your occult knowledge, some love potion or something.”

“I am not done yet. So I was thinking, you can climb those stairs, then look into the ghosts of your favorite hero’s past and maybe you’ll find something that you can use to get closer to him—”

“Are you crazy!? Once someone enters the border of the dead and living, it is almost impossible for them to return to the mortal realm, you obviously knew that! I am not risking myself just because you wanted see the undead and spirits, no, thank you!” the girl got angry and stomped away from her friend.

“Marie, wait! I have an idea of…” the friend quickly left her seat and followed after Marie.

 

It had been long established by occult magic experts that a border between the world of the living and the dead exists, countless experiments have been conducted, and even human.

Those are the places where vengeful souls and evil spirits linger, for their worldly desires did not disappear despite their deaths, causing them to be permanently tied to the mortal world and never be able to move on.

“The old building… Perhaps…”

 

Ack! Ack!

 

A series of coughs interrupt his contemplation on Moxnet Academy’s retired buildings.

A beastkin appeared before him, he had a pair of pointy ears, cunning smile, canine tooth on the left side of his mouth, and behind him was a bushy gray tail.

“Jeez, kid, what’s gotten into you— Ack! You look worse than the desert thieves that I’ve met, and smell worse than them too. It’s like your soul’s been sucked out of you…”

I have no time to deal with random strangers.

John got to his feet to leave.

After overhearing the conversation from the two girls who sat behind him earlier, John had a slight idea on what he would be doing next.

The border between life and death, that place sounded alluring, if he was lucky, perhaps he might just be able to see his family once more…

“Hey, Sarvod, don’t just leave yet, you haven’t told me what happened after I last saw you. Don’t you remember? It’s me, Aurelius, that guy you helped on the first day of enrollment!” the beastkin grabbed his left arm and halting John in his steps.

“Don’t know who you are, don’t care…” John said in a tired voice before wringing his arm free, leaving a stunned Aurelius in the distance with his pointy wolf ears dropped to his head.

“That’s…” Aurelius empty hand floated in the air as John exited the cafeteria.

 

I want to know how to communicate with the dead.

 

That thought propelled John as he moved speedily to the very back of the main building, aiming to reach the older parts of Moxnet to find that cursed flight of stairs.

He cared not for the weird looks that were cast in his direction for his untidy image, all he wanted was to find those very set of stairs that would bring him to border of the living and dead.

 

For the sake of the Harvests, he had to gamble his luck.

 

If possible, he could see them for the last time, he did not need much, just a simple conversation would do. He would apologize to them and ask for their forgiveness…

He needed to know who were the vampires who attacked them, he needed a name, a reason. That way, he would, at the very least, be able to accept the Harvests’ passing.

 

Their lives had meaning.

 

John needed to prove it.

 

He had to know why.

 

They were his family after all.

 

Finally, John entered some old hallways where dust and cobwebs were filled to the brim, places where the mold spots on the walls grew as he traversed further.

The floors beneath him creaked sinisterly as his stepped on them, threatening to cleave into two had he been a few kilograms heavier.

He persisted forward until there were nowhere for him to go to. Finally, he came to a stop at a gloomy chamber dimly lit by small rays of light from its fissures.

His eyes darted to where he was. This was definitely an older section of the main building where the housekeeping magic had worn out, still there was not a stairway in his view.

“This isn’t it, there’s nothing here…”

For a place that housed a cursed flight of stairs, this part of Moxnet academy felt like a dusty warehouse that was abandoned due to structural decay.

“…”

A long exhale came from John’s nose.

Of course, the cursed stairs don’t exist, it is just the stupid rumors where people pass on to one another.

His got to the floor and sat on it, not caring for the sharp creaks that came from it.

“I am retarded… Who in their right mind would think the Empire’s number one magic school would leave something with a stupid curse on it. Everyone who’s been here are the best of the best, they are people who have their names written in history books, heroes, commanders, leaders…” he hung his head as he stared onto the ground that was dimly lit by the light radiating from other parts of the academy. “Here I am, an idiot who knows nothing about life, thinking that he would encounter a curse that doesn’t exist. This is pathetic.”

 

…

 

It was only his wishful thinking that he was silly enough to believe there was a border between the living and the dead.

The longer he thought about it, the less sense the rumor of the cursed stairs made.

“Ahahaha…” a sardonic laughter came from him. “Life sucks, right Kahnira?”

His voice echoed into the distance as John shook his head disappointingly. He thought that speaking to the maid girl in his head would fill the void in his heart somehow, but he only became emptier as he said her name out loud.

“I don’t even know what to do anymore…” he muttered as he buried his head into his knees, taking a woeful solace in this dark and forgotten place.

The thoughts that he long suppressed since his exile from A’vetheas slowly resurfaced.

For what reason was he born? What had he done to deserve this? To witness everything in his life crumble by his very hands. Was it his fate to never succeed in life? Was it his destiny to never achieve peace? Was he to walk down the path of ruin?

 

For the most part of his life, John had given his all for the things he believed in, he was honest, earnest, straightforward, and selfless. He always held a hope that things would eventually work itself out, that he would somehow by some miracle work his way through the trials and challenges that the world had placed in his way. So long he remained righteous and did the right thing, the world would eventually reward him for his behavior.

 

However, these thoughts proved to be just his silly delusions, they were never true. He knew that already. He knew that from long ago.

 

From before he used the dark powers on the thugs that tried to rape Raina, long before he entered A’vetheas, a time before Kahnira was ever in his life.

No matter how hard he tried, he knew that his life would never be as he wanted it to be.

 

That was why he was who he was.

 

The reason for his snobby attitude, his weariness, his overthinking mind, his sensitive perception, it was all because he knew that one day, this cruel fate of his would catch up to him, robbing him of everything he so desperately clutched in his hands.

 

And now, he had nothing.

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

Drip.

 

As he craned his head in deep thought, a single drop of water splattered across his exposed nape, causing him jolt upwards in response. His hand reached his nape to wipe away the moisture, but when his palm made contact, he discovered that the area was dry.

John brought his hand forward and rubbed his fingers together, confirming there were no moisture on them.

 

I must be hallucinating from how tired I am…

 

As of late, John could not find himself to sleep in peace, often times in the night, he would be awoken by the severed heads of Miros and Itzella in his dreams. As a result of that, hallucinations often appeared to him when he was tired, appearing in forms of sounds, imagery, and sensations that he never felt.

He tried to ignore them, but whenever he was tired, he was bound to face the music.  

Reluctantly, he got up to his legs and prepared to return to his dorm before he actually dozed off.

“Wait…”

John noticed something and halted in his footsteps.

 

The room structure around him had changed.

 

The broken furniture behind him were nowhere to be seen, the entrance door that was located a viewing distance to his right, was now replaced by a smooth grey wall. Even the very ground that he stood on, had transformed from its fragile wooden planks into solid cement.

His lazy eyelids split wide as he bewilderment grew.

“This isn’t me dreaming right?”

John shook his head, pinched his cheeks, massaged his temples, did all he can to energize himself.

 

But the room remained to be different from the one he was in.

 

In this enclosed foreign room, a gust of cold wind suddenly grazed his cheeks, indicating a path of exit before him.

The hallways of the academy had all disappeared. All that was in front of him was an entrance that glowed with dim red.

Following the draft of wind, John entered the only passage accessible to him, once inside, he found himself navigating through walls and walls of corridors that spanned on for eternity.

Had it not for the growing breeze that guided him forward, he would have panicked for not knowing where to go when his surroundings have so suddenly transformed.

Is this why they retired the old academy buildings? Because they move on their own? 

Details have never been his strongest suit, but in this dim place, John paid close attention to his surroundings, engraving each turn that he took in the various corridors that he moved through, hoping that he would be able to retrace his steps should he reach a dead end.

All of a sudden, the cold breeze that he was trailing vanished.

“!!!”

Following the gust of wind, the walls around him abated, revealing and empty space around him. And at its center, with pale rays of light shining down on it as though it was put on display, was…

 

A stairway that eluded the most sinister aura.

 

“…”

 

Dark sticky blood were splattered on each of its steps, still oozing and trickling.

Though there was no smell, the sight of the liquid that possibly belonged to someone from a long time ago cause all the alarms in his head to go off.

 

Fuck… This is not good.

 

John quickly turned to the path he came from.

 

But a black wall had erected itself behind before he noticed it, blocking his only route to escape.

 

A dry lump formed at the base of his throat, causing him to swallow.

T-this is the c-cursed staircase?

Beneath his feet, a thick layer of fog slowly rose to his knees, inside the fog torrents of wind brushed against his legs.

He moved his feet at it to disperse the unusual phenomenon that was occurring underneath, but it was to no avail, the wind continued to hit his legs as the fog rose.

Gradually, the fog rose past his knees and drew closer to his waist, aside from the uncomfortable sensation he felt on his lower half, he surmised that the winds that hit his pants were not enough to warrant his concern.

All he had to do now was to focus on finding a way to get out of here.

Then, he felt it, a hand grabbed him by his ankle, following that were a few.

“Woah, woah, woah!!”

John kicked at it and the grip disappeared into the wind, but when he stopped, the sensation returned.

Is it part of the fog? That means this is…

It had many names, but it was most commonly known as a death fog.

Death fog is a type of necromantic magic used to channel surrounding souls and negative energy with a thick fog, serving as a medium to combine the two to spawn hordes and hordes of undead.

However, death fogs are a type of ritual magic that required long preparation times in order to be cast successfully, aside from its tedious process, the magic also required a ton of mana.

It was odd given the circumstances, if the stairs before him were the very flight of cursed stairs, it would make no sense for death fog to be set around its premises. After all, it was the only path that he could take in this enclosed space.

It almost seemed like someone was edging him to climb the cursed stairs…

 

Ripppp!

 

The thick fabric of his jeans gave off a loud noise as it was torn, the hands in the fog have multiplied, their grip on him became stronger, some of the wind hands even tried to claw at his exposed skin.

His eyes darted between where he stood and where the stairway was.

He had two options, to climb the sinister stairs, or to be engulfed by the rising fog that undead would soon spawn from.

John hesitated for a moment, but he eventually went for the stairs that oozed out black liquids.

Squish, squish, squish.

The soles of his shoes squeaked as he took a few steps on the cursed stairs, just enough to distance himself away from the rising death fog. His heart thumped so loud that his ears vibrated as he stared to very end where the stairway led to.

At the very peak of the stairs, there was rusty door that had a small viewing glass.

 

“Guuraaa…”

“Buuaaeee…”

Groans and moans came from the death fog as the pale mist before him thickened and caught up to him, bony hands with tattered flesh began appearing from the fog’s surface, sensing his pants, each of the hands converged towards his location.

It was a matter of time before the undead are fully materialized.

Squish, squish, squish…

John took a few more steps up, his eyes focusing on the undead that were lurking below, his hands reached to his back for his weapon, but when he grabbed at its hilt, he discovered that it was empty.

“What.... When did I lose it?”

The fog rose, and John climbed higher.

With each step he climb, the closer his distance between the rusty door became.

“Goarr…”

“No mooree…”

“Ueeghhhh…”

The moans from the beyond the fog slowly became intelligible as misty figures of undead formed before him. Whitened eyeballs, corroded flesh, broken bones, each of the undead all approached him, clawing and grasping at the air while John dashed upwards.

“You are our hopeeee….”

“Kraughhh…”

“End our suffering….”

The undead’s voices became louder the further he got away from them.

 

No… This is all a mistake, I just want to see my family, I am not here for this.

 

Though it might be a lure that the death fog was using to trick him into pitying the undead, he felt bad knowing that these very souls that are part of the death fog used to be normal, living people who were like him, people who once had families and loved ones.

“Free us…”

“We beg you…”

The voices echoed in unison the further he retreated upwards, the undead were now fully formed and had full bodies, though their flesh were tattered and broken as any undead, they seem far to sentient as beings created by the necromantic magic of the death fog.

And in their hollowed eyes, bleeding eyes, scarred eyes… John can’t help but to see the emotions that these undead still bore in them.

 

It all seemed to resemble the helpless all too well.

 

They were all cast on John, looking at him with woeful expressions hoping that he would do something for them.

 

“No, no, get away, I am not—”

 

Thud!

 

John cut himself short when his back banged against the cold sheet of rusted metal.

He had reached the end of the stairway, there was no more space for him retreat to. With his eyes observing the group of undead that reached for him, he hastily twisted the metal handle by the door, hoping that it would lead him out of this situation.

Klak!

The door made a hard noise as it remained still despite John using all his strength on the handle.

It was jammed locked.

He had nowhere to run from the horde of undead.

 

Then he saw it.

 

From beyond the small glass pane of the rusted door, a floating eyeball hovered, not a moment sooner, it focused its gaze on John.

Their gazes met. And the floating eyeball’s pupils dilated as it watched him intently.

John could not help but to squint his brows at this bizarre creature that was beyond the door. He never heard or even seen such a creature, it only had a eyeball for its body, let alone any limbs, it lacked a mouth. Surely, this was a hallucination that his mind had generated in his last moments of life.

 

Then a voice began chanting, a voice in a language that he did not understand came from the eyeball, it seemed to be a magic spell but the death fog nor the undead approach did not stop.

 

The surface beneath him however, had split apart in accordance to the eyeball’s chant, revealing a deep hatch below.

 

Gravity swallowed, John to fell into the deep dark abyss before he knew what was going on. All he could do was to return the gaze of the floating eyeball that was locked on him, moving in mid-air as it tried to tell him something.

 

“…Consignor.”