"Here."
Noel handed over a glass flask of green liquid to the panting Renault.
The man's shredded leather armor hung from him in strips, caked in streaks of dried and fresh blood. What had once been a fighter's gear now looked more like a butcher's apron—an eerie, macabre mess of dark crimson and torn hide. The blood clung in thick lines across his arms, chest, and throat. Some of it was his. Some... maybe not.
Renault didn't meet his gaze. "Th...nks."
He could barely force the word out. Even speech had become a chore.
Bracing himself against the wall, he sank down with a groan, the rough dungeon stone scraping his back as he slid into a sitting crouch. His fingers fumbled the flask for a moment, then brought it to his mouth. He bit off the cork, spat it, and took a long, greedy gulp.
The cork hit the floor with a soft bounce, rolling in a lazy arc until it stopped at Noel's feet.
"Haa…"
The exhale left Renault's body in a long, shuddering breath. That familiar, faint green glow spread across his frame as the potion took effect. His wounds, once open and ragged, began to stitch closed with an unnatural smoothness. Blood clotted and fell away like dust. Muscle sealed. Bruises faded. But not all of them.
This was the third time today.
Even someone like Renault had limits. The deeper they went, the more the war shadows learned. They struck harder now, smarter—exploiting every faltering swing, every slowed dodge. And Renault was slowing. His blade had become clumsy. His stance, sloppier.
And the wounds he carried now... they weren't like the first few. These cut deep. These bled longer.
A consequence of his mind wearing thin.
Noel's hand drifted to his belt, passing a certain magic stone, fingers brushing the worn leather holster that held their final potion.
One left.
He traced the shape through the pouch with quiet precision, eyes never leaving Renault's exhausted form. The older boy leaned forward slightly, chest rising and falling in uneven intervals, still catching his breath.
Noel shifted his arm, rotating the shoulder until the dull ache subsided slightly. The strap of his pack had been digging into him for a while now—ever since Renault started taking on more of the fighting. The bag had grown heavier, burdened with the spoils of the war shadows. Too many stones. Too much weight.
Even with the help of that nifty little blade, Noel's fingers were starting to cramp. Carving through carcass after carcass, prying the crystals loose with practiced tugs... the repetition was getting to him. His knuckles ached. His wrists throbbed. He had to start thinking about conserving strength.
"How many potions now?" Renault croaked from the side.
Noel didn't look at him. "One left."
They had been down here for—what? An hour? Maybe more? Time felt warped in the Dungeon, bending between skirmishes. They had rushed through chamber after chamber, only pausing for short, five-minute rests—always when Renault was too injured to press on.
"Then let's make it count," Renault said, pushing himself up with a grunt.
"Right."
He didn't need to say it. Noel already knew what Renault was planning.
Use every drop of strength. Push himself to the edge. Only then, right before it all went dark, would he drink the last potion. That was the idea. That had always been Renault's idea.
Noel glanced at his pack again. It was bulging now. He had long since discarded the lesser stones, making room only for the high-quality crystals harvested from war shadows. There was barely any space left. If he left the flap open, he could squeeze in a few more, though he'd have to be careful not to lose any while moving.
'No'
Noel shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing.
'That's not the problem here.'
His gaze slithered back to Renault, to what was left of his armor—or what had once resembled armor. Now, it was little more than scraps and straps, torn and useless. The right pauldron had been ripped clean off. The chestpiece hung like a loose bib, barely tethered by one dangling strap across his shoulder. His arms were exposed, skin marred with bruises and lacerations that hadn't fully healed, even after the potion.
Noel studied his person.
Tired. Beaten down. Still trying to act like a shield.
He clenched the potion pouch without meaning to.
This… this was almost over.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-
A thunk echoed in the dark.
A pebble clacked against the far wall of the chamber.
Warshadow eyes—dark and malevolent—snapped in its direction.
Then came the sound of leather boots slamming into stone, a grunt of effort, and the screech of metal biting into flesh.
Renault barreled into the nearest warshadow with a savage roar, his battered sword cleaving down in a wide arc. The monster hissed and split diagonally from shoulder to hip, its body dissolving into a cloud of smoke. Before he could draw breath, two more lunged at him, blades of shadow flashing in the gloom.
He twisted, parried one, sidestepped the other. His footing slipped slightly—his boot skidded in something wet—but he caught himself, grit his teeth, and forced another counterstrike through.
Clang!
The reverberation rattled down to his elbows.
From the back, a rock zipped through the air and struck a third warshadow square in the side of the head. It reeled toward the source of the noise.
"Left!" Renault barked, barely dodging the curved blade that was it's finger.
The monster's arm slashed through the space where his ribs had been a heartbeat ago. Renault retaliated with a short stab, skewering it through the neck. Another kill. Another burst of magic vapor.
He ripped the sword out of it's neck before it was welded.
He exhaled hard. His shoulders were burning. His sword arm was shaking.
The zip of another rock whipped by.
Behind him, Noel stood near the archway, sling in hand, expression unreadable in the half-light. Each stone he lost was precise—always at the edge of combat, never quite helping, but always just enough to provoke another warshadow, to keep them coming.
They never gave Renault time to breathe.
He swung again.
And again.
The monsters were relentless, but worse—so was the silence behind him. No callouts. No concern. No panic. Just the steady rhythm of sling-winding and the occasional pebble whistling past.
The latter two he may be best without.
It was support, technically. But it left Renault alone in the storm.
He ducked low, barely avoiding another blow. One warshadow had gotten behind him. He turned, late.
The blade sliced a shallow line across his side.
He stumbled. Gasped.
Noel's voice floated over, quiet, detached. "You okay?"
"Peachy," Renault grunted, through clenched teeth. He pivoted and stabbed upward, driving his sword into the creature's gut.
The floor beneath him was slick now, muddied with blood and remnants. His breathing had turned ragged, short and sharp between each motion. But the rhythm of battle forced him on. Always forward. Always swinging.
Another rock.
Another flicker of motion in the dark.
They were gathering again. Warshadows, drawn by the sound, the scent, the movement. Noel didn't hold back—he kept flinging stones from the periphery, corralling them toward the melee, like a shepherd guiding sheep to slaughter.
Only Renault wasn't the shepherd.
He was the blade.
And blades dulled.
A warshadow came in high, feinting, then sliced low. Renault caught it on his shin. Another lunged while he was mid-pivot and buried a knife-like claw into the side of his thigh.
He let out a strangled curse and shoved it back with his shoulder, stabbing into its chest and pulling free with a spray of black mist.
He glanced down.
Too much blood.
His own, this time.
Still no sign of Noel approaching. Still no footsteps beside his.
Renault reached for his pouch.
Empty.
The last potion…
No. Noel had it.
His lips trembled with a dry chuckle, caught between grim amusement and disbelief.
"Hey…" he shouted through the chaos. "Little help?"
Noel didn't answer. Another stone was already sailing.
A warshadow ducked beneath it, turned—and lunged at Renault.
He didn't dodge in time.
It hugged Renault—claws digging into his back, shearing through skin and muscle like paper.
"Gah!"
He screamed through gritted teeth, the pain spiking white in his vision. But he didn't stop. He twisted his neck, baring his bloodied teeth—and bit into the warshadow's throat.
It hissed.
Then steel clashing rang out.
A dagger pierced its nape, severing its spine.
The creature convulsed and dissolved into smoke.
Noel stood behind it, arm extended.
-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
"I would've appreciated the assist a little sooner," Renault muttered, voice strained with spite and exhaustion.
Noel didn't answer. He was already crouched beside him, wrapping fresh bandages around Renault's ravaged torso. His face was calm, too calm, like the battle hadn't even touched him.
The cloth turned red almost immediately. Renault's back looked like torn parchment soaked in blood.
A brutal reminder of Noel's negligence.
But Noel himself… would never admit th—
"That was my fault."
Renault blinked.
What?
"I should've been using the sling to draw them to me," Noel said quietly, "Not dumping them on you."
Not an apology. An admission.
His voice was low, almost reverent—like a sinner at confession, kneeling before a god he didn't believe in.
A shadow hung over his burgundy eyes.
"…It's…" Renault exhaled, the heat in his voice cooling. "It's fine. You've only been an adventurer for what—ten days?"
Right. That was the truth.
He shouldn't have expected so much. The warshadows weren't the kind of monsters a rookie should even be near. Hell, they'd barely survived.
Still, he'd fought them anyway.
And when he collapsed, Noel had dragged him out of that chamber—through the dark, through the blood—until they found a sliver of silence to rest in.
"Kuh!"
Renault tensed as Noel pulled the bandage tight, tying it off with a firm tug.
"Sorry…" Noel murmured again.
Renault exhaled a long breath and leaned back against the cold stone. It bit into his skin but soothed his muscles.
"You couldn't have made it less painful?" he asked, smirking as he tried to lighten the mood.
Noel didn't meet his eyes.
"Not that."
Renault stilled.
He could see it then—that weight. The thing pressing down on Noel's shoulders. Guilt. Or something that looked like it.
"Just buy me a meal after this," Renault muttered, flashing a crooked grin. The blood from the warshadow he'd bitten still clung to his teeth. "Biggest steak in Orario. I'll even let you cover the tip."
Noel forced a stiff smile.
His hand brushed one of the magic stones in his belt pouch, fingers tightening just a fraction.
Then Renault groaned, shifting upright, wincing as his spine stretched and his back screamed.
"Now," he said, reaching out a hand, "Give me the last potion."
He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck.
"I'm not so injured you have to feed it to me."
He glanced at Noel's face—and froze.
The boy's expression had twisted into something cramped. Guilt, anxiety, fear… all swimming together behind his stiff lips and wide eyes.
Like a bucket of cold water thrown on his senses, a chill washed over Renault.
His mind cleared. His instincts sharpened.
"…You have it, right?"
Silence.
"Right?!"
Noel slowly raised a trembling hand. In his palm were broken glass shards. Flecks of dirt clung to them. The edges were still wet—just barely. Just enough to make it worse.
Renault stared.
His mouth opened.
"Ha… ha-ha… HA—HA—HA!" A cracked laugh exploded from his lungs. It echoed through the cavern, manic, bitter.
His wounds throbbed with every breath, his muscles twitching for salvation that wouldn't come.
Noel didn't speak.
He just bowed his head.
Renault's laughter died as quickly as it came.
Silence.
Cold.
Stale dungeon air.
He could feel Noel's shame like a second atmosphere clinging to his skin.
Then the fury came.
The glare.
"How the hell could you break the damn potion?!"
"I—I…" Noel stammered. "It broke while fighting the warshadows."
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Hey guys, thanks for reading.
The prologue should be finished in 2-3 chapters.