Chapter 9: A Chance [1]
Chapter 9: A Chance [1]
Demitas stared at the flickering screen of the system shop, his eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and determination.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, as he observed his brother's arm, now a sickly shade of violet. The once vibrant and lively limb had become a haunting sight, a stark reminder of the urgency that hung in the air.
Time was slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers, and Demitas knew that every passing moment brought Misli closer to the brink of irreversible damage.
The painkiller herbs he had diligently gathered and applied were dwindling, their effectiveness fading with each passing day. The realization hit him like a thunderclap - their current methods were insufficient, a mere band-aid on a gaping wound.
If an infection were to take hold, amputation would become an inevitable fate, robbing Misli of his independence and forever altering their lives.
He knew they couldn't rely on herbs alone, not anymore. They needed a solution that would lead to Misli's complete recovery, a way to heal him from within. The painkiller herbs, a rare commodity in these parts, were becoming increasingly elusive, their scarcity fueling his growing desperation.
'It seems health potion is the only way,'
Demitas gritted his teeth in frustration, his anger simmering beneath the surface. The system seemed to care only about his own progress, disregarding the desperate plea for assistance in healing his brother. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he knew that he had no choice but to follow its instructions.
The weight of the task ahead settled heavily on his shoulders. Demitas couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the thought of taking someone's life, even if they were slaves. But the urgency of Misli's condition left him with no alternative.
Demitas scanned the room, his eyes darting from one sleeping comrade to another. But there was no sign of Babyface, the absence gnawing at his consciousness. The room was filled with the symphony of snoring, Lucian and Ellie blissfully unaware of the turmoil that consumed Demitas.
His gaze then shifted towards Misli, whose whimpering tugged at his heartstrings. The sight of his brother in pain only fueled Demitas' determination to find a solution. With a gentle touch, he soothed Misli's brow, whispering words of comfort.
"Don't worry, Misli. I won't let you suffer," Demitas reassured him, his voice laced with a mix of resolve and tenderness. He knew he had to act swiftly to alleviate his brother's agony, even if it meant braving the unknown.
Demitas's heart raced as he heard the urgent footsteps approaching. The rapid cadence of the steps echoed through the corridors, growing louder with each passing second.
Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak! Tak!
And then, there he was—Babyface, his face etched with worry and beads of sweat cascading down his pale complexion.
"Demitas! Demitas! Demitas! There is a challenge! Berthold and Gale challenge you in the arena of hell!" Babyface's voice trembled as he delivered the news, fully aware of the formidable reputation these adversaries carried from their days as ruthless killers. The gravity of the situation was palpable, etched across Babyface's strained expression.
Demitas's fist clenched tightly, his knuckles cracking in anticipation. This was more than just a challenge; it was an opportunity to redeem both his team's honor and his own tarnished rank. The weight of Misli's recent defeat still lingered, fueling his determination to accept the challenge at all costs.
As the adrenaline surged through his veins, Demitas couldn't deny the flicker of excitement that danced in his eyes. The prospect of stepping into the arena, facing off against Berthold and Gale, stirred a primal thrill within him. It was a chance to let loose, to unleash his pent-up frustration and find solace in the thrill of battle.
He was determined to prove himself in the arena, to show his worth, and to overcome the formidable opponents—Berthold and Gale—who awaited him. They were the teammates of Kian, a rival whose shadow had loomed over their team for far too long.
And so, Demitas prepared for the battle. But to his surprise, he was grabbed by the hands. He looked back, and he saw Misli weeping while holding his hands.
"Don't go, brother! Even if it's for me," he said, his heart aching. Tears welled up in Misli's eyes, streaming down his cheeks and falling onto the cold, hard floor.
Misli's grip on Demitas's hands tightened, his tear-stained face filled with anguish and desperation. Demitas could see the pain etched in his brother's eyes, the fear of losing him, and the plea for him to reconsider. It tore at Demitas's heart, the conflict between his duty and his love for Misli.
"Brother, don't worry," Demitas reassured Misli, gripping his hands firmly. "I still have to heal you. I promise to return." He gently loosened Misli's grip, trying to ease his worries.
A mischievous glint sparkled in Demitas's eyes as he spoke. "Brother, you are worrying too much. Remember, I am stronger than my enemy." He winked playfully and clicked his tongue, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
Misli's grip on Demitas's hands loosened as he listened to his brother's words. A glimmer of hope and reassurance flickered in his teary eyes. Demitas's confident tone and reassuring demeanor began to alleviate Misli's worries, if only for a moment.
Misli wiped his tears and managed a smile, though his worry was still evident in his eyes. "Still, don't go!" he pleaded, his voice tinged with fear and concern.
Demitas let out a weary sigh, his frustration evident in his eyes as he looked at his brother. Misli, always the worrywart, seemed to have a double standard when it came to their roles in battle. While Misli fearlessly launched himself into the midst of danger, he held a protective instinct over Demitas, trying to shield him from harm.
He felt a pang of guilt as Misli clung onto his thighs, desperately pleading for him not to go. With a determined resolve, Demitas called upon his fellow brothers-in-arms for assistance. Together, they approached Misli, gently prying his grip from Demitas' thighs. It was a struggle at first, as Misli resisted their efforts, unwilling to let go.
Demitas and Babyface ventured into the infamous Arena of Hell or so they have named it, a grim battleground reserved for brutal cage fights. In this savage arena, no weapons were allowed; it was a test of raw physical prowess, where fighters relied solely on their knowledge of fistfighting and martial arts.