“Rhea!” I called the only other person who possibly had a solution; before she increased our speed, maybe she could increase healing or something.

  “Rhea! ” I shouted, scanning the chaotic mess of wounded bodies, blood-soaked dirt, and people frantic with fear. “Rhea!”

  She turned at the sound of her name, still helping bandage someone’s arm, her expression tight and strained. Her face was streaked with sweat and soot, and she appeared on the verge of collapse.

  “Elias?” she started.

  “Come here,” I snapped, waving her urgently.

  She rushed over, boots skidding in churned mud. Her eyes fell on the girl, broken, barely breathing, just hanging on, and her breath caught.

  “God…” Rhea whispered. “Is she...?”

  “She’s alive,” I said through gritted teeth. “Barely. And we are not letting her die. Do you have anything, anything at all, that boosts healing? A ritual? A skill? You increased our speed. Something like that?”

  Rhea hesitated. Her expression twisted with fear, guilt, and conflict.

  “There… is something,” she said quietly. “A ritual. From the grimoire I bought.” She swallowed hard. “But it’s… it’s evil, Elias. It transfers life force. It steals it from one person and gives it to another.”

  I stared at her. “Explain.”

  “It would heal her. Completely, maybe. But whoever it’s taken from would lose years of their life, maybe decades. Maybe they would die.” Her voice dropped to almost nothing. “And I’ve never tried it. It’s complicated. It takes time. And it requires ingredients I don’t have.”

  Of course. Of course it couldn’t be easy.

  “So what? You need a shop?”

  She nodded. “We need to reach another safe area. Then I can buy ingredients. I can do it properly.”

  “Properly…” I muttered. The curse twisted again, a hard yank towardsss her, towardsss saving her, towardsss doing something. “Rhea. Is it possible for you to perform this ritual without the necessary ingredients?

  “I... I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s written in the grimoire. Usually you need everything. I bought some from the shop, but only enough for the basic stuff. Not the advanced rituals.”

  An idea slid into my mind. Dark. Dangerous. But useful.

  Useful for her.

  Useful for me.

  Useful for keeping the curse clawing at my insides at bay.

  “What about modifying the ritual?” I asked. “Dumbing it down. Less efficient. Less powerful. But usable.”

  Her eyes widened. “Modify it? Elias, that’s...” She looked around, panicked. “Maybe. Maybe. I have a book on ritual fundamentals. But I haven’t had time to read it. We’ve been marching since we left the safe zone. I haven’t even opened it.”

  “But you could study it,” I pressed. “You could adapt the ritual.”

  She hesitated… then nodded slowly. “I don’t really know, maybe. If I study both books together. I might be able to make a stripped-down version.”

  “That’s enough for me,” I said. “Can you do it, please?”

  Rhea moved to sit besides the girl, already pulling out two battered books from her pack with shaking hands.

  I knelt and looked the girl in the eyes. “What’s your name?”

  Her lips trembled. “A-Alya…”

  “Alya.” I forced a steady tone. “You’ll be fine. We’re not letting you die.”

  I stood up and turned to the others, letting my voice crack like a whip.

  “Tom!”

  He came running, limping slightly from earlier. “Yeah?”

  “Round up every healthy survivor. We’re forming a perimeter. Anyone who can shoot stands. Anyone who can swing a weapon stands. No more running. If someone breaks and runs again, they’re out. They forfeit protection. We face the next threat together, or we die alone.”

  A few faces flinched. Good. They should.

  “This was a disaster,” I continued, loud enough for the whole group to hear. “A fucking disaster. Twenty-seven of us. Four enemies. And only eight or nine actually fought. If everyone had contributed equally, we wouldn't have suffered half as many casualties. Hell, maybe none.”

  People lowered their heads. Some ashamed. Some are guilty. Some are just terrified.

  “Pack up again,” I barked. “Make stretchers for the wounded. I need volunteers to carry them. We’re heading down the mountain as soon as we are finished with dressing. We’re close to the bottom. We camp there for the night and plan for tomorrow.”

  There was no argument this time; at least they knew they fucked up badly, and the dead and wounded all around took the wind from the sails of even the most vocal of the bunch.

  Everyone moved.

  The fear was gone now, but the shame had taken its place.

  Good. Shame could be shaped into something useful.

  And as they began constructing stretchers and gathering gear, I glanced back at Alya and Rhea.

  If Rhea’s ritual could be altered… if I could make it work…

  I could save Alya.

  And I could use the situation to become stronger.

  Once, the curse inside me pulsed like approval.

  I left Rhea and Alya to head towards the spot where I’d been sent flying. The ground was a mess of churned dirt, ash, splattered blood, and burned grass. My cloak was still half-singed, every step a reminder that the blast had nearly cooked me alive.

  I found my mace not far from there, half-buried in leaves. When I picked it up, the weight felt… lighter. The curse is right; the more I use it, the heavier it gets.

  Ding.

  Right. Notifications.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  I opened the system windows, expecting a level up or two.

  Instead, my breath caught.

  “…holy shit.”

  The power didn’t just flow into me; it flooded. A rush, a surge, like shoving a live wire into my veins. My muscles tightened. My heartbeat thudded heavier. The edges of my vision sharpened. Even the burn pain faded under the sudden roar of strength.

  And I hadn’t even drunk my cursed potions yet.

  The system wasn’t done.

  “Sixteen points,” I muttered. “For killing a level sixteen spellcaster. What a joke.”

  Still... four levels. Not bad.

  Ding!

  A new notification. What’s going on now?

  When it rains, it pours… Everything was good, but there was a lot to unpack here, and nothing immediately useful. Still, these improvements will stay with me and make me advance faster.

  Then I selected the next prompt.

  All of them are useful. All tempting.

  I tried to push more power into the spells, and now I had a way. It seems that the system offers based on desire or effort, I didn’t know, and while these spells were useful, being able to transfer my curse to another, even if only for a time, was something I couldn’t pass up. Already I got ideas on how to use it, and except for the obvious 'weaken the enemy then strike', if I could force someone to take an attack head-on for trying to help a downed foe, for example… well, it could give me a tactical advantage.

  After selecting Curse Transfer, I opened my status.

  It’s not even half a day since I entered the Nexus; my growth has been phenomenal. Despite the pain, I felt so strong. Still, I wasn’t superhuman or anything. I nearly died just half an hour ago. But the feeling of improvement and the satisfaction at my progress were impossible to hide from my expression. I took a moment to calm down; it would be unbecoming of me to look so pleased after the battle.

  Before coming back I looked around for anything useful from the gorg mage. Its staff was huge, gnarled, twisted, and more like a tree trunk carved into a shape than a weapon. Not something a human could use effectively.

  Still, it felt stupid to leave it.

  I hauled the damn thing back to the group and found the firebolt guy, the only one who knew how to cast anything resembling fire magic.

  “You want this?” I asked, holding the staff out.

  He stared at it and winced. “I mean… it’s huge.”

  "That's what she said..." muttered a guy besides us, one of the mages, I think. We both looked at him until he sheepishly started looking at the ground with enormous interest.

  “Anyway, he only used fire spells,” I said, returning my look to the firebolt guy. “Might help you.”

  “Maybe…” He took it reluctantly, as if the damn thing might bite him. “I’ll… try?”

  Good enough.

  I went back to Alya. Tom had taught everyone how to make a stretcher with branches, coats, and shirts – primitive, but it worked. I helped lay out the branches, tied knots, stripped cloth, and secured everything tight. Alya barely reacted except for a soft, pained breath when we lifted her onto it.

  Her face was pale, but even in this state, there was a quiet beauty about her. There was a quiet beauty there. Long dark hair was plastered to her forehead. Her sky-blue eyes were glassy with pain, yet she managed to remain alert. Stronger than most here by miles.

  Mary and Derrick, the doctor, rotated between the wounded, using their healing skills until their mana dropped to fumes. They stopped at Alya every few minutes, just like with me, and everyone else. Despite exhausting themselves and overindulging in mana potions, they never once voiced any complaints.

  Unlike most of the others.

  By the end of it, the final tally came in:

  Five dead. And between them was Mattew; I didn’t even recognise the guy without glasses and with half his face gone.

  I met him just a few hours ago, and not being the most sentimental, I won’t cry for him, but he was one of the few who tried to help, who was competent and who fought instead of running like a coward. I was angry, sad, and disgusted.

  Not only that, nearly every fighter was injured. Three people were on stretchers and unable to walk.

  The others were exhausted, shaken, and barely functioning.

  Twenty-seven people.

  Four enemies.

  Despite the odds, we still emerged from the situation feeling ruined.

  Pathetic.

  We made terrible time down the mountain. Alya’s stretcher slowed us and the others too. The day darkened as the cliffs gave way to the valley, shadows stretching long. One or two hours of light left, maybe.

  No more attacks came, but the trails were heavily used—footprints, tracks, and strange symbols carved into the trees. This wasn’t wilderness. This region was someone's territory.

  Near the bottom, Quinn scouted ahead and came back with news of a clearing deeper into the forest. Better hidden from the path, less likely to be spotted by whoever, or whatever, passed through the area.

  We moved. Slowly. Carefully. People stumbling like zombies.

  The clearing wasn’t large, but it was hidden enough.

  We made camp.

  No fires.

  No noise beyond the absolute necessary.

  Shifts were assigned for the night; everyone took one, but Mary, Tom, Jack, Rhea, and I split so there was always one of us awake.

  Finally, when my shift ended, I dropped onto my bedroll.

  My burns still ached, muscles still bruised, skin still raw in places… but the exhaustion was deeper than injury. It was bone-deep, soul-deep. Even with all the stat boosts, the fight, the curse, the stress…

  I was done.

  Sleep took me the second my eyes closed.