The Final Stretch

Staggering backward, I sheathed my blade, feeling the weight of my torn, blood-soaked shirt clinging to my skin.

My hand trembled as it brushed against the fabric, once a deep shade of blue, now stained dark with my own blood with the tattered edges barely hanging together from the fight.

Every breath was a struggle, each one more painful than the last.

I turned slowly, feeling as if the weight of the entire world was pressing down on me.

The exit of the alley was just ahead, but every step felt like a monumental effort.

My vision swam, darkening at the edges, but I kept moving, driven by the desperate need to survive.

I had to make it back to the inn.

Gregor might still be there, or Lila—anyone who could help me.

With each step, my legs grew weaker, threatening to buckle beneath me.

My hand gripped the wall for support as the rough stone scraped against my palm while I dragged myself forward.

The world around me was a blur of shadows and pain.

The only clear thought in my mind was to reach the Restful Boar Inn.

I stumbled out of the alley with my breath coming in ragged gasps. Onlookers gasped in surprise, seeing my bloodied appearance.

I felt a hand trying to touch me, but I swept it away.

My sight was blurry, and there were only one or two people I could trust with my body in this condition.

The inn's entrance was only twenty or thirty steps away, but it might as well have been miles.

My knees buckled, and I nearly collapsed, barely catching myself on a nearby post.

[Status Update: HP 6/100]

I could hear distant laughter and the clinking of glasses from inside the inn, but they felt like echoes from another world.

One step. Then another.

My foot dragged across the cobblestones as I forced myself forward.

Every movement was a battle against the overwhelming urge to give in and let the darkness take me.

The warm glow from the inn's windows blurred and faded, flickering like a distant beacon.

I pressed my abdomen with the little energy left in me, hoping to delay my approaching death.

Yet each step carried footprints of my blood.

The onlookers weren't even moving anymore.

They simply stared at a dying man walking toward his final destination, as though it were his last wish.

Ten steps now.

The ground seemed to sway beneath me while my vision narrowed to a tunnel.

I could barely feel my legs anymore.

The pain numbed into a dull throb that pulsed with each beat of my heart.

I bit down hard on my lip and the taste of blood flooded my mouth as I forced my body to obey.

Five steps.

My strength was gone, replaced by sheer willpower.

My vision was nearly gone now, reduced to a pinpoint of light that guided me forward.

The warm morning air bit at my skin, but I barely felt it over the searing pain in my chest.

Finally, I reached the door.

[Congratulations! You have leveled up to Level 3.]

[Stat Increase: +1 to Strength, +1 to Dexterity, +1 to Wisdom, +3 Free Stat Points]

My hand fumbled for the handle with my fingers slick with blood and trembling uncontrollably.

I pushed the door open, and the warmth from inside hit me like a wave.

The sudden change in atmosphere made my head swim, and I swayed on my feet, barely able to stay upright.

"Help…" The word came out as a whisper with my voice barely audible over the noise inside the inn.

I stumbled forward and my legs finally gave out beneath me as the darkness rushed in.

The last thing I heard was Lila's terrified scream, cutting through the haze of pain and exhaustion.

The darkness consumed me entirely, but somewhere through the void, faint voices began to break through the silence.

My body felt heavy, cold, and unresponsive, as if it were slipping further away from me with every passing second.

Pain was a distant thing now, a dull throb that barely registered, overtaken by the crushing fatigue that weighed down my limbs.

I couldn't open my eyes. The world around me was muffled, but I could hear Lila's voice—high-pitched, frantic. There was fear in her words, and it pierced through the fog clouding my mind.

"Papa! Papa, help! It's him—he's hurt!" Lila's scream was desperate, her small footsteps rushing away as she called for her father.

Gregor. I needed Gregor. He was the only one I could trust right now, the only person who might be able to help.

The ground beneath me was hard and cold, the warmth of the inn just barely within reach, but I couldn't move.

My body had finally given in, succumbing to the blood loss and the exhaustion of the fight.

All I could do was lie there, helpless and broken.

I could hear more voices now—panicked murmurs from the patrons inside the inn, chairs scraping against the floor, cups clattering.

Someone shouted something I couldn't make out, but their words felt distant, disconnected from the haze of pain I was trapped in.

Then, heavier footsteps, deliberate and quick, approached.

A large hand pressed against my shoulder, steady but urgent.

"Ethan!" Gregor's voice cut through the chaos like a knife. It was deeper, calmer, but laced with concern.

He knelt beside me, his grip firm but gentle as he checked my pulse.

"Stay with me, lad. Don't you go slipping away just yet."

I wanted to answer him, to let him know I was still here, still fighting, but no words came out.

My mouth was dry, my throat raw, and the effort of speaking felt impossible.