Pyrrhic Victory, Part 4

"I didn't mean to, I—"

I didn't know how to convey the remorse I was feeling. It was not on purpose. It wasn't anything I expected to happen. It just happened, and it was totally out of my hands. So I would want to lie to myself. Now, everything that I did was slowly catching up to me, creeping up my skin and daring to drown me.

Maybe if I had tried to help him, I wouldn't have experienced this musky sensation in my lungs. I just ignored him and went about my day as if it was none of my damned business. I should have at least tried—

That's not actually the case.

None of this would have happened if I hadn't caught him off guard and yelled at him to let out some of my stress.

Not only did I cause it, but I also took away any chance at survival he had by refusing to make the call that may have saved him.

"I said I didn't mean to kill you!" I exclaimed, a cold sweat rolling down my back as I opened my eyes to view the plain ceiling of my small living room.

"Damn it," I muttered, closing my eyelids briefly before opening them again. Not that it did me any good. I could still hear the merchant's gasps for air, yearning for another second.

It was unexpected to see the entire shade of the walls shift so quickly. Only after taking a few deep breaths did I comprehend that it wasn't the morning light that had drenched the entire living room in orange, but rather the darkness that had lingered after the sun went down.

I had no idea time could pass so rapidly, I thought as I attempted to rise, only to be reminded of the bruises I had.

I clicked my tongue and prompted to my feet by placing one arm on top of the sofa's arm. My gaze was drawn to the objects on the table, specifically the keys. In a frenzy, I grabbed them and rushed to the door, only to discover that I hadn't locked it when I first entered the house as soon as I put my hand on the handle.

"No way..."

I've always emphasized the significance of locking the door. If there was one habit I was proud of, it was that one, but now you're telling me I forgot about it?

With a sigh, I locked it and moved back through the narrow corridor into the living room, where I could see the results of my labor with a clearer head than before.

It was incredible. I awoke not just with a box of clarinadryl by my side, but also with an artifact! As I removed the dagger from its sheath, I clutched the handle harder, still taken aback by its cerulean runes. Yes, I couldn't fill it with mana, but it didn't stop me from using what there was already in it. It should still be more effective than any knife I could find. Or, even better—

"I could just sell it."

Yes, it should be possible to sell it for a large sum of money. There was no reason for me to put my life in danger in the 4th District any longer. Or so I'd like to believe...

I shook my head, dragging myself back to reality.

Gray, let's think about this logically. Who could you possibly sell this artifact to? Put it on the internet? No way. The government closely supervised each relic, much like an operator. I'd be investigated as soon as I revealed that I had such a weapon in my possession.

Sell it in the Underworld? Which wasn't a great alternative. I'm not going back there, and it's not like Jacob would simply return the relic I snatched from him. Someone else might be willing to buy it, but who knows what they'd do to me once the deal was over? I've been pursued throughout that hellhole because I had this relic on me, after all.

If that's the case, perhaps someone from the Blake Guild would be interested. Once again, this is not an option. I'd have to explain to Connor and Reyna how I managed to get my hands on it.

"I can't just tell them I've murdered someone for it..."

I raised it higher, the runes casting a soothing radiance over my face. This dagger's smuggled artifact that I couldn't sell even if I possessed it. In a nutshell, it was completely worthless to me.

I smacked the dagger back on the table, almost strained my neck as I leaned back, and yelled: "What was all of that even for?!"

Why is it that if something goes well, everything else goes wrong? It simply didn't make sense. Was everything that I've been through only amounting to this much?

After a moment of silence, my vision gradually fell onto the clarinadryl. It's fine, Gray, I comforted myself. Selling an artifact wasn't part of the plan in the first place.

I should be ashamed of myself for even considering abandoning Logan after he went out of his way to invite me to join him on his 4th District excursion. Tossing all of it aside simply because I discovered a different way out would be excessive.

Not only that, but in comparison to selling a smuggled artifact, my original idea had already yielded results. There was no reason to adjust it when I knew it had a decent chance of succeeding. Because of it, I was able to pay for Artemis' entrance exams, right?

Now that I've gotten my priorities in order—

"All that's left is to recover," I reminded myself as I grabbed the dagger once again and stood up.

I spun it in my grip, careful not to stab myself by accident, then brought it down, cutting through my imaginary opponent's figure. The movement was pathetic, but I continued to practice. Albeit slowly, I was learning to utilize the artifact as efficiently as possible, getting adjusted to its weight and length.

Eventually, the discomfort that ran through my side became nothing more than a mere inconvenience as the turquoise rune's glint caught all my attention. I knew it was just temporary, though.

My phone vibrated, jolting me out of my trance. Despite my displeasure, I decided to answer, thinking it may be Logan proposing the start date for our expedition.

"Hey, Gray, can you come over—"

"I'm busy," I said, hanging up a second after hearing Connor's voice. I'll clear up the misunderstanding later, I think.

Now I should strive to get into top condition.

I was skeptical that the 4th District would be any better than the Underworld.