SON OF THE DEAD

Unable to spend the night in the tower because of the stinking corpses, they fled. Or rather, retreated like honorable warriors, to reevaluate the strategy to follow.

At that moment they were holed up in a small, humid cave, which, to Matt's urban sense, stank of a wet dog. Rasmus, that was his companion's name, said that the other part of the island had geysers and hot springs, and that it was one of the driest places they could get to rest in safety.

"Are you sure it's not a bear's cave?" he asked.

Rasmus rolled his eyes.

"What would a bear be doing on an island so far south?"

Glax didn't know, he didn't know anything about bears.

A fine drizzle fell outside while they waited. Rasmus was closer to the narrow exit, standing by with his club.

Matt's mind, now being called Glax by his new friend, was still shocked by the simple fact that he was striving for survival and supremacy in a strange universe.

There were only two options for what he was experiencing. Either he had actually died and transmigrated like in a light novel, or...

"DAFUQ!" his lips murmured. 'I hope this is a dream. If it is, I will write it and make lots of money.'

Matt wasn't a writer, but a junior illustrator at the renowned company Dynamoth. It was there that he met Sienna, one of the partners and main designers.

Sienna was famous in the niche, and a few years older than him when they met at the animation studio. It was love at first sight, even if Matt didn't believe it, or in the possibility of falling in love with an older woman.

They moved in together and lived the happiest days of their lives, when it suddenly ended.

A madman came armed into the convenience store where Sienna was buying coffee and granola. He took everyone hostage when the cashier set the alarm, out of panic.

Sienna died trying to prevent the robber from shooting another hostage, a teenage student girl who was panicking.

Matt just couldn't help himself, and fell into a depressed state that dampened him from everything that was going on around him. Only gradually did he realize that they no longer wanted him at Dynamoth.

That day, he packed his things in a box and waved goodbye to his co-workers. He walked down the street back to the apartment, and ignored the impending storm. His mind was darker than the sky, anyway.

He sat on the bench in the square, and felt the cold rain fall. He watched people run to find shelter from the rain. Even consciously, Matt wanted something to get him out of that deep pain of losing Sienna.

Then the lightning struck.

---

Returning from his memories, he looked at the pile of necklaces made with braided hair.

"So I guess these are the trophies for each victory..?"

Rasmus had gotten one more in the escape from the tower. His companion was an accomplished warrior, and Glax gaped at his agility and strength. At the same time, he wasn't even a third as threatening as Proctius... and his 20 tokens.

"I'm starting to worry about your lack of memory… I can't remember the plan we had for me to win the tournament. And now that I'm at it, I don't know if I agree with the plan either. You are doing most of it and even hurt yourself. What if you never recover your memories?"

There was no other way to do that.

"Right now, you better think that the Glax you met died, and another Glax woke up in my place... You need to tell me exactly everything we agreed on, so I can be useful again as soon as possible."

"You sound like one of Pharys' necromancers has brought you back."

"Necro… Okay. Forget that part about dying. Just tell me what this crazy tournament is like."

Rasmus sighed and drank water from his flask, and shook his head in disapproval.

"Armoric Games. The most deadly tournament in our clan, man. The only way for a guy like me, with a common birth in a distant province, to ascend the clan. Become a real krios. You were encouraging me to do it. Saying I could do it. Putting this thing in my head, all of a sudden… Man! And, as the tournament only happens every two years... I don't know why I always fall for your plans."

"Well, if you really didn't want to, I'm sorry. We already had our share of adventure, huh? How about… come home?"

"Are you nuts? You said you were going to help me, distracting the other guys so that I could focus on the more 'woolen rams…' So far I got nine. But you got sixteen!"

"I thought I had just come to be a helping hand..." Glax groaned.

"Yes, that's what you have planned. You said you didn't want to be one of the chosen six. You just said that you wanted to go to the capital with me, and see the Hall of Bones... What's the reason, again?"

Glax removed the mask he wore from his face to examine it while listening to Rasmus. The mask made of boiled and molded leather covered only one side of the face, and had a metallic protection for the nose. The object resembled half a Spartan helmet, redux version.

He ran his hand over the rough, tugged surface below his eye. He had a scar there, but he didn't have a mirror to see how ugly it was. But he had a way of knowing.

Turning so that his face was fully facing Rasmus, he replied,

"Man, I'd like to remember! The lightning really erased all my memory of who I am and what I want, in addition to everything I've lived up to now. Right now, being in this tournament doesn't seem like the brightest of the ideas."

Rasmus at first was distracted, then stared at him with wide eyes, and finally avoided looking at him.

"Hmmm… It could be temporary. I have faith that it will be temporary. Don't they say that since Hell ascended, no one else loses their memories when they die?"

"So you think I died and came back?" Glax asked. 

He was already determined to go with the flow, for lack of a better option.

"How am I supposed to know? But... Now I understand everything. What they did to you. It was your stepmother, wasn't it?"

"The scar on my face? I don't know," he spoke the obvious. 

"Is it that ugly? And is Glax so vain that he can't take a scar on his face?" 

Of course, everything depended on what was considered normal in that society, on which he knew nothing.

"Haha, how funny. But ... Okay, you don't know what that is, do you? Damn, man! On your face is written one of the worst, hm, stigmas... And only a cruel person would do that to another."

"What's written?"

Rasmus hesitated, and looked away. But he noticed Glax's insistent look on him, and remembering his amnesia, he revealed it.

"Son of a dead man..."

Glax blinked. Was that supposed to make sense?

"But what does that mean..."

"But of course it's not true. She just did it to get back at your dad or something. Relax, man. It's not like it's true…"

Just because of Rasmus's clumsy way of handling the matter, he told Glax that he had to worry.

The old Glax had found a solution, with this mask, to avoid social stigma and bullying...

Well, if there really was necromancy in that place, it seemed like a very serious offense to be engraved on someone's face. When did this happen? He didn't know who had done such an atrocity, but he was already angry.

"Well, apparently you didn't know about my secret." 

Glax put the mask back on, determined, like the original Glax, not to take it off in public.

"When our family arrived in Valosia, you were already using it. So… It must have been before the age of 14." 

Rasmus rubbed his hands, and changed the subject. 

"This year, only six women are available for marriage through the tournament. I know you don't remember that, but ... How many tokens should I get to be among the six?"

"Wait a second. Will the survivors of that tournament, I mean, the winners, be forced to marry?"

It wasn't what he expected to hear.

.

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P.S.: This chapter was kindly edited by CeritusOrbis, so I apologize to the readers who had their comments dropped. I opted to have a cleaner edit to make the reading more enjoyable. Thanks for your understanding.