Chapter 26 - Trust

Once they left, Argo pushed open the grate, and sent it over to it's side. He looked around, with only his head over the top.

It was a storage room. A bonafide armory. It was stocked for a war. 

He found some left over bandages, and solvents made for bleeding, and got to work, stitching up his arm. 

He'd picked up battlefield tending, a long time ago, but had never gotten the chance to work on a wound this big, nor in this position. Each time he plunged the needle into his flesh, he knew he was doing it wrong, but he needed it done.

However, there was still another worry, that he couldn't deal with. 

The shard of glass in his chest. It was close to his heart yet wasn't dead. But, he knew the moment he pulled it out, that, he would start bleeding profusely, but leaving it in wasn't viable either.

If a battle broke out, it could break in the wound, and stab his heart, killing him. But he didn't have the neccessary expertise, to remove it himself.

There was little time, as well. 

The Giant Roads were massive, crawling across the whole of the Hollow Mountains. If he was to find the Girl before whoever took her, could reach Constance, then, time was of the essence.

He estimated that he was ahead of everyone. After the short cut that was that nightmarish pipe, he was certain that no one could be even close to the same speed of descent.

He had some time to prepare. He grit his teeth.

He'd left the Imperial Capital, and gave up all of his inheretances, influence and even the right to inherit the throne, in order to escape these kinds of complicated situations.

Dumbaran Rebels, Spider, Heroes, Giants… He liked reading stories from the far past, but never in his wildest dreams, did he ever want to find himself in one.

Adventure was just a tame way of describing life or death danger.

Aside from the large donation to the church, he put a nice long warm bath, on the list of things to do, once it was all over… and as he thought of that, he was reminded of the reason he was here to begin with.

Getting to Creedon, and getting the forces together to protect Loch and the South until they could do so for themselves… he shook his head, refocusing.

One thing at a time.

He tied off the stitch, and applied the solvent. The aura in his eyes flickered. He was growing weaker by the second. With the bleeding mostly stopped, and the stitches in place, alongside the solvents, he felt extremely tired.

His eyes drooped. He realized it was the cold, infecting his brain. He needed to heat up somehow. Searching the room, he found the torch that was nearby, and stripped off his shirt, getting close to it.

He would have gotten completely naked, but, his hands were so clammy, that, if not for his aura, he wouldn't be able to keep a steady hold of anything at all. The dexterity required for pants was too much with how cold he was.

Throwing his shirt off, he stood by the torch as close as possible, and briefly considered burning the whole place down.

As he was basking in it's warmth, he heard a click, at the door, and his head swung around, his eyes wide, but pupils sharp. 

The person at the door was frozen. Red instantly saw the sword in Argo's hand, and the eerily calm demeanor on his face. 

He cast a long shadow.

Red stared at him, and swallowed a bit, he was quite handsome, but, for all his good looks, she couldn't give less of a damn, when she could clearly see the glass stuck in his chest, "...Don't move." 

She reached behind her, and Argo feinged raising the sword, his chest and arms effectively couldn't wield anything with weight, due to the muscles being so severely damaged.

But he could bluff.

His breathing was laborious despite his efforts.. The adrenaline was wearing off soon. He was almost grateful for the cold at that moment, for it numbed him.

She brought out a magic crystal. His pupils shrank. She flinched. 

He was worse than the monsters they dealt with everyday.

She had never seen such intense bloodlust in her entire life. From Dumbar to Avancia. It felt like if left alone, it would attract a calamity. 

"You'll die," Red slowly started to approach him, cautiously keeping a close eye on the sword, "That is too close to your heart. If you move, you'll bleed out before your sword can finish falling." 

In measures of truth, he couldn't tell if she was lying or not, but he himself knew, that he was incapable of stopping her without killing himself to do so, which defeated the point.

The shard of glass that had woken him up, was likely covered in all sorts of things, and it was in his chest, near his heart. There was a good chance, a big movement would dislodge it or break it.

He didn't know which was worse. 

His jaw tightened. Did he really have to leave his life in the hands of a stranger? 

She was infront of him now. The magic crystal served as a catalyst for her magic. They were batteries to those who didn't use them as bombs. The magic brought in, could also be used out if one knew the right methods.

She raised her hand to the glass, and he grabbed her wrist. He leaned down, inches from her face. She could feel his breath on her face. 

She couldn't look away from him. He watched her closely.

If he saw even an ounce of malice in her gaze, towards him or not. He would run her through, and figure things out afterword. 

He had already suffered too many mistakes and the day wasn't even out yet. 

"...I won't hurt you." 

He almost ran her through, for just that comment. 

No one was truly kind, for the sake of it, not in dark places like these. He was absolute about that, at least. 

But, she didn't bare him any ill-will.

If she had wanted him dead, she would not have left the torch here. Or come back. Or have kept quiet. 

He reasoned it that way. But he had also reasoned himself into believing that Marce wouldn't throw him into those cursed pipes. 

His grit his teeth, and let go of her wrist. 

If she killed him, then, the church would not get their big donation. He watched her coldly. 

She took an internal breath, and focused on her work. She put a hand on the glass, and with her spell ready, she spoke, glancing up at him and at the glass, "This is gonna hurt. Alot." 

Argo had long been braced.

She pulled it out, and he felt like a part of his soul, had been ripped out with it. Blood poured out like a fire hydrant. Red's pupils shrank.

She cast her spell, and the bleeding quickly stopped. The wound was closing very fast, as well. Argo endured. 

Healing magic was not like the warm nurture of holy healing, it did not refresh nor envigorate.

It was magic incarnate, a process with an end goal, the path didn't matter. 

He was being reconstructed, and it felt exactly like that. Pieces of himself being pulled together and put where they weren't before, muscle fibers that were too long or short were being cut or stretched.

A bad healing spell, was worse than an injury, but, in this case where it could be fatal, even a botched healing spell, was better than dying.

There was no more bleeding. And no more gaping wound or glass in his chest. There was great discomfort, but he could use his arm well enough.

He turned.

Red was standing there, putting her magic crystal away. He could lift his sword now, and not die from just the movement. She was completely open.

Had she not thought ahead at all? Was there only air in her head? What if he attacked her right now? 

"You left your torch here. Was it on purpose?" Argo looked over her, she as a full head shorter than him.

Red looked up at him, a bit startled that he was talking so normally, as if nothing had happened, but she keenly picked up that he was still holding the unsheathed sword.

"I swore an oath, no nation nor border, be it of race, religion or affiliation, would come into consideration of care," Keeping her belongings tidy, she took a few steps back, and closed the door, leaning against it, she chose to be brave, "Because of that, I need to know. Who are you? How did you end up down here? You must have heard us talking, we aren't normal people, and this isn't a normal place." 

She couldn't let him go out, if he was going to hurt people.

Argo understood that, and weighed the options. She had not exposed him. She had left the torch here, in order to come back and care for him. She had come back alone. And now, she was blocking the door, despite her obvious trepidation.

It was highly likely, she was not out to hurt him. But, he didn't buy the idea that she was just a doctor, trying to help either.

He wondered if there was a good lie, about being a survivor from the battle that had happened above, that would get him anywhere, but he just drew up blanks.

The situation was a complete mess.

"...Your afraid. I understand. But, I can help you. If you just tell me the truth, I can get you out of here. Master Murphy is coming back down soon. He's going to take almost everyone deeper, it'll be simple for you to escape. But I need you to tell me the truth." 

Something clicked in his head. Argo understood. He slowly turned his gaze away from her, and to the armors in the room. He wanted to find one and take it.

"You think of escaping often. Do you?" Argo found an armor, that was of near equal size for himself, it covered the important areas, and kept his face a secret as well.

The chest plate was smooth and somewhat bulged, underneath was a leather pauldron, meant for impact resistance.

The grieves and midsection armor were lighter, but, had a skirt of padded leather around, with the center open, to allow for comfortable movement, creating two leather padded flaps on either side of the legs.

The gauntlets were broken into several pieces, for the best mobility, and the shoulders were sleek, but thin.

The helmet had a visor, that when down kept almost the whole face covered, and while it obstructed some vision, it was incredibly secure against normal foes.

Overall, far more practical than he had expected from the pretentious Dumbaran people. 

"If you don't want to die, you should escape soon. It won't be safe here, much longer." Argo stared at the armor.

He wanted to wear it. It would effectively hide his identity, in case Marce ran into him, and, it would make the Dumbaran's hesitate in attacking him. Not only that, but it was armor.

And well made, by the looks of it.

But beyond all of that. It was dry. And he was sick of water. Perhaps, the Girl had some sound logic to her hatred of it after all.

The girl…

Red felt her heart skip a beat. 

…He could not keep wasting time.