Pointless Apologies

Oscar's voice woke me up in the middle of the night. It lacked its usual melodious tone, and I also knew for sure he wouldn't bother me unless it was something urgent—something like…

"Dori, I just heard Rasbora sneaking out of her room."

No way.

"I think," he continued, "she's going to search for the cast of Cursed."

Thinking could wait—acting took priority.

I put on my armor and blitzed out of the inn with my weapon, only remembering to bring a lantern because otherwise it'd be the same as running with closed eyes. The outside was a sea of tar—like nothing existed farther than the reach of my light, the planks and walls only manifesting as my lamp shone upon them.

Save for one exception: a second light, more or less at the distance where the port would be. Rasbora was still in town. I could afford to walk at a sane pace rather than risk taking a bite out of the floor.

"Dori, I'm getting sleepy."

"Don't worry, I'll handle it." My response came so naturally I didn't stop to consider its meaning.

"I'll leave it to you. Please make the right choice."

He abandoned me with the weight of that responsibility. It wasn't heavy—just a soaked bag of oozing goo that clung to my skin and stunk more rotten with each step.

The right choice.

I didn't even know what that meant.

The other light came close enough for me to see and hear what was going on. Rasbora was leveraging her negotiation skills to convince a half asleep boatowner to carry her across the lake.

"Clams snap ma balls, another one?" he grumbled upon noticing me. "What's da matter tonigh' that ever'one wants ta—"

"Corydorin?" Rasbora exclaimed. "Ah'm… ah'm real sorry for sneaking out, but ah ain't going back. Ah'm gonna deal with the trouble and Betta won't have nothing to complain about because ah won't be delaying the journey."

Of course you'd choose now of all times to be stubborn.

Meaning I'd need to get into an argument in the deadest of night, potentially ruining the closest thing to a new friendship I had. The already uncomfortable meals with Betta would become double trouble, Oscar would inadvertently torment me—and all of this because everyone's favorite answer to any Cursed problem was to ram weapons into it.

Divines curse it.

Regardless of what I did, their days were numbered.

So what even was the point? Avoiding the trouble of doing it myself?

That sure turned out great last time…

I massaged my temples, feeling the reasons to care slip through my fingers, then spoke after a moment.

"Sure, let's go."

"Uh? What do ya mean?"

"We deal with the problem together."

"So easy? Won't ya try to lecture and force me to go back?"

"Would I ever convince you to do so?"

"Ah don't think so, but—"

"There you have it. Let's finish this fast so I can at least get an extra nap." I knew it wouldn’t be happening though.

She looked me in the eyes, or at least I thought she did, given the shy lighting.

A cute snicker followed.

"Thanks, Corydorin, ah owe ya."

Huh.

For a moment, a part of me believed that what I was about to do could be worth the trouble—then I remembered what I was about to do.

Still, there was only one answer I'd allow myself to give, and it was mandatory to wrap it up in a smile. "You're welcome."

"Geh, ha, ha. What a cute pair of lovebirds ye two make," the boatowner added in.

I rolled my eyes and Rasbora blushed so vividly she almost glowed in the dark.

ᗢ⫘⫘⫘⫘𖦹⫘⫘⫘⫘♡

Even with two lanterns, under the empty sky the visibility around the marshlands barely allowed us to discern the obstacles. Weeds, old trees and patches of swamp water crossed us at random patterns. It could've all been the same three spots repeating on loop and we wouldn't have noticed.

The muddier areas demanded additional care—some of them could hide quagmires—so I used my weapon both as support and to feel the ground before each step. My brass pickspear was basically a stick with two metal tips at the end—one pointed in the same direction as the rest of the pole and the second perpendicular to it. A design as simple as it was reliable.

According to Chub and Cod, the last sighting of a Cursed was around half an hour upstream, on the east side of the river. In order to have a chance to find them in the dark we'd brought a piece of the boatowner's leftover dinner. The less-than-a-day-old sardines packed enough smell to punch out all my appetite, so for any Cursed this would be as alluring as honey.

They'd appear at any moment.

Then we'd murder them for the crime of existing near a human settlement.

A few more minutes passed, then a clicking sound crept up from beyond our lamps' light.

"Eeep!" Rasbora drew out her mace, almost hitting me in the hurry.

I tied my lantern at my waist and gripped my weapon with both hands. We'd agreed I'd fight on the front as the veteran. My goal included covering for her as she supported me and got accustomed to the chaos of real battle.

It was likely we'd get surrounded given their numbers, but I'd reassured her time and again that we'd be fine. Our talents in Punishing and Protective magic may have been lacking, but we were the most skilled Paladin types at healing injuries.

She still trembled like a newborn in the cold.

Forty lesser Cursed—this would be a long night.

The clicking got louder and more numerous, yet not nearly as much as I would've expected.

Five? Maybe six? Where are the rest?

They came into the range of our light. I counted five light brown bodies, each around the width of a barrel but not reaching my knees in height. Their tiny black eyes stuck out of their shells like antennae and swayed left and right, studying us while their pincers clacked idly.

Experience told me they were still determining whether we were prey or not, and that attacking first was the optimal approach. Yet I waited and allowed them to gradually close the distance.

The grip on my weapon tightened and my mouth dried despite the humidity. Disgusting images of cracked shells and mashed organs filled my mind—nightmares that would become reality in the following seconds. Could I be blamed for wanting to delay them just an additional moment or two?

"C-Corydorin, maybe ah was wrong." Shit. My hesitation was showing. "Maybe it's better to go back and only fight when we have Betta to protect us."

Protect us?

Betta didn't do that.

For her, protecting meant eradicating whoever she considered a threat. Did Rasbora really want to trust her for protection?

Did she aspire to become that kind of Paladin? Was that what it meant to be a hero in this day and age?

Why am I cursed to be the only idiot who can see how twisted it all is?

Yet I'd still rather turn Rasbora into a tormented fool like me than allow her to take after Betta.

"I'm sorry," I whispered as I sunk my foot forward and swung my weapon down at the nearest victim. The pick pierced the shell between the creature's eyes with a wet crack and it collapsed on its six legs, eyes bending downwards. A life gone, just like that.

The others backed off and surrounded us from a broader distance, at the fence of our light's reach. Rasbora whimpered and frantically conjured rock projectiles one after another. Lesser Punishing magic—the best she had for offense.

Despite her clumsy display, many of the projectiles did land, some even cracking the shells where they struck. Yet they didn't accomplish much else than to keep the Cursed at bay and hurt them pointlessly.

It was up to me. When she landed the next projectile I dashed at the stunned animal and swung at its vitals, whispering another apology before it connected.

One of the remaining three rushed at me while I was pulling off my pick. Its claw flew at my leg. I could've conjured a shield of wood or even stone to protect myself, but instead let it hit me.

"Corydorin!" Rasbora screamed and threw a spell at the Cursed that, upon landing, froze the creature like time had stopped for it.

My leg was unscathed, the strike hadn't even scratched the armor. It was made from the shell of a far superior species.

They don't stand a chance.

I raised my pickspear to claim yet another life. Despite the creature being paralyzed, I could sense its eyes gazing back at me. Black and unhuman—yet still living eyes. My strike carried such strength some of the brain matter splashed onto my hands. I wanted to scrub it out, slice out the skin that had touched it—or even better, sever the hands that had done this.

The last two began to flee.

"Rasbora, take care of that one," said a voice so rough it didn't feel like my own.

"Eh? A-aye!"

I brought myself to the other one. Raised my weapon a last time and then… struck the grass, burying the tip into the sodden ground. The animal scurried away into the safety of darkness. I didn't chase further.

If it's truly alone it won't be a threat to humans or cattle. It'll only be able to hunt fish and small critters.

That was fine.

It had to be.

I walked back to Rasbora, who was shaking next to the last one. The shell around its head was fractured—but it still moved, dragging itself away.

"You have to hit them harder so they don't suffer."

My strike was barely strong enough to finish off the poor thing.

"Aye. Sorry. Ah've been a bit useless."

"It's alright. Happens to most of us our first time around." Normally I'd say such things in an upbeat tone, but I couldn't be bothered this time. "Come, let's…" look for the rest?

Could I even do that?

Perhaps it would be better to call it a night and go back.

But then what had been the point of killing these four if we left the problem unresolved? Did they die for nothing?

A thunderous impact echoed in the distance, like a boulder shattering.

"What's that?" Rasbora asked.

I signaled her to keep quiet, then listened in. More noise. Powerful strikes.

"Whatever it is, it's powerful," I replied.

And ignoring it was not an option.