Accidental Healer-Chapter 43 - It never was a game

Five minutes and 2,000 UBC's later, we step through the newly acquired territory—out of our very first portal.

It's seamless. Like walking from one room to another.

The portal itself is a double-wide stone doorway—unassuming until activated. Once the destination is chosen, one side shimmers like rippling water, allowing passage.

Stepping through feels warm, almost fluid.

A little weird, but not unpleasant.

There are some customization options, like setting permissions and access restrictions, but Jared wants to meet Ellison before tweaking those settings.

Placing the exit portal is surprisingly simple.

The system’s map interface let us pinpoint a drop location near where the Guildians were stationed. We place the exit accordingly and step through. The placement is damn near perfect.

We emerge just a short walk away from where Mischief and the others are waiting.

“Well, that was fast.” Alex greets us as we approach.

“Right?” I grin. “When I told Jared about everything, he figured it made sense to connect our new territories with a portal. It's awesome—feels like taking a one-second shower. Except you’re not wet, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t actually clean you.”

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“Is it like Star Trek?!” Nick calls out.

Jared answers before I can. “Yeah, I guess it was a bit like star trek.”

“You know,” I muse, “we probably have things handled here if everyone else wants to head out. We still need to track down the dungeons in the next territory.”

Most of the group jumps at the offer, eager for some action. Only Elise stays behind.

“I think I’ll stick around,” she says crossing her arms. “I’m glad we didn’t have to fight, and no one got hurt. I want to see how things go from here.”

I nod. Elise has been gaining confidence over the past month, and I see no reason to exclude her.

“Sounds good. Let’s head down.”

Jared and Elise fall into step beside me as we make our way toward Ellison and his waiting Guildians.

“Welcome back, Layton. This is Jared I presume? And forgive me, but I am not familiar with your name.” Ellison bows slightly, indicating Elise.

“It’s good to be back. Hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long.” I gesture toward my companions.

“Yes, this is Jared, our faction’s steward, and Elise, is one of our healers.” Jared had suggested on the way over that we offer help if they have wounded to help build trust.

“Actually, I should’ve mentioned before—Elise and I are both healers. If you have injured, we’d be happy to help while you and Jared talk.”

I feel a small pang of guilt. Of course they had wounded. I should have offered before running off to get Jared. It botherd me that I hadn’t thought of it on my own.

Ellison’s expression softens. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Jared.” He bows again before glancing toward the injured. “And yes, we have many in need of aid. Your kindness is most welcome.” He turns to an older Guildian, murmuring a few words.

The man—Jamus, I think—looks at me in shock, though I'm not sure why. Had he not expected us to actually help?

His surprise vanishes in an instant, replaced by a polite nod of his antlered head and he gestures for me to follow. Elise and I move after him, leaving Jared and Ellison to their discussion.

We find the wounded gathered in the grass—more than a dozen of them, wrapped in bloody bandages, their bodies marked by deep gashes and bruises. I approach the closest one—a smaller female, unconscious, her thigh wrapped in blood-soaked cloth, another wound hidden beneath crimson-stained fabric on her head.

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I kneel beside her and cast Weak Heal.

Light flares, washing over her body. The tension in her limbs ease, but its hard to tell how much more she needs with the bandages in the way. I unwind them carefully, casting again as I work, watching her wounds knit shut as if they were never there.

Her breathing steadies. Slowly, her eyes flutter open.

First, confusion. Then, fear.

Jamus kneels beside her, murmuring reassurances. She turns to me, hesitates, then dips her head. A silent thank you.

One by one, Elise and I move through the injured, restoring them to health. It feels good, even if it doesn't erase the deeper wounds—fear, grief, whatever losses they had suffered.

Then, we reach the last one.

He's young—maybe about the same age as me. His midsection is torn open, his fur matted thick with blood. But I don’t need to examine him to know.

He is already gone.

Another Guildian sits beside him, cross-legged, hand resting on his shoulder. His eyes are puffy, fur streaked with dried tears, and as I watch, fresh ones spill silently down his face.

How long has he been gone?

If I’d gotten here earlier… if I didn’t waste time… would it have made a difference?

A voice in my head says no. It isn’t my fault. I didn’t strike the blow. I didn’t force them to fight. It didn’t change the gnawing ache in my gut.

I kneel and gently rest my hand on the lifeless body. It’s still warm.

I cast Weak Heal and watch the faint glow of yellow mana seep into the broken body.

Nothing. The young Guildian doesn’t stir. His eyes—mercifully closed—remain still. I study the young Guildians face. It looks peaceful, like he is simply resting. I focus on his untouched face to avoid seeing the horrible wound.

They had come as a raid. The Guildian in front of me had thoughts, feelings, and hopes—just like Ellison. A vise clenches around my ribs, squeezing the air from my lungs. The other Guildian sits beside him, watching me in silence.

I’ve known—from the first dungeon—that there was more at play than just mindless NPCs or monsters.

Each fight, each kill I shoved every logical thought down into a deep corner–validating each and every kill with my own poorly constructed delusions. Now? My brain was desperate. Clawing and scrambling to hold on to the lie. The lie that I just hadn’t known.

The lie I told myself to justify killing monsters. NPCs. I lied to myself because I wanted to kill. For levels. For growth. And to do that, the monsters had to die.

The lie cracked open, and the broken bodies spilled out—dungeons, raids, slaughter—until my hands dripped red with the truth.

I cast weak heal again.

The body stayed broken and unmoving.

Gritting my teeth I keep going. The more I look into the young boy’s face the more my facade breaks down.

My shoulders sag under the weight of my decisions. Grief coils around me, heavy, and suffocating. I don’t stop casting. If I can just fix this—just this one—maybe the others would forgive me.

Someone moves next to me.

“Layton.” A hand touches my shoulder and I shrug it off. “Layton, you can’t do anything else here. You’ve done enough.”

“Layton." Elise's voice is quieter this time. Careful. Like she thinks I might break. Her words fall on deaf ears.

Again.

Again.

Again.

I burn through every last drop of mana, let it replenish, then cast again. The spell lights up his body, but then fades each time with no effect.

This world bent to stats. To systems. To power. But no numbers could undo this.

My fingers curl into fists. My eyes burn, but I refuse to let the tears fall.

My justifications were dead, rotting in the grass beside this young Guildian. And without them? I had nothing. Just the truth. They wouldn’t be able to carry the weight of my decisions anymore.

In their place? A storm of emotions. Anger bubbled to the surface.

Anger was easier. It drowned out the guilt. I didn’t want to kill. The system made me. How was I supposed to know they were living beings?

What was I supposed to do? Just die? If I didn’t level, if I didn’t grow—then I’d be the one bleeding out in the dirt.

The world began spinning.

Even the anger couldn’t hold. It cracked, crumbling under the weight of guilt.

At some point, I ran out of mana entirely. My hands trembled with exhaustion, though I barely noticed. I stared down at the boy’s still face, frustration simmering beneath my skin.

I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when it did, it crushed me. The dam finally broke.

I was sinking. Drowning. The weight of it all was dragging me under.

Then, like a whisper in the dark, I heard my mother’s voice.

"Layton, it doesn’t matter how fast you run. The truth will always catch you."

She is always right.

Of course she is.

“You can’t outrun it, you can only face it.”

The last thing I want to do is face this.

“It might beat you up a bit, but you’ll be stronger for it.”

This isn’t like when I was in highschool messing around and being dumb though. It doesn’t matter. I hate to face this.

Slowly I exhale. No more lying about what I fight. From the first dungeon I knew. It felt better to pretend, but that crutch was gone now.

It is time I realize that this world is not the one I grew up in. I have been killing sentient beings, just the Guildian laying in the soft grass in front of me.

And I am going to do it again. No more false pretense, I will kill, I will grow. Part of me even feels good doing it, the thrill–the experience. That is the truth.

From now on, no more hiding, no more pretending.

Without words I climb to my feet.

For the first time, I notice the crowd around me. Dozens of Guildians, watching in silence.

They don't look at me with pity. Or judgment.

They simply bow their heads.

I turn away, forcing myself to move, each step heavier than the last.

Jared and Ellison are still deep in discussion when I return. They are seated at a small table—Jared must have pulled it from his storage.

I stand there for a moment, watching them, the grief still pressing against my ribs.

This was never a game. And now, I had no excuse to pretend it was.