Isekai'd Into The Wrong World-Chapter 80: Ch - All of them—dead

Ryan rubbed his eyes.

"Good morning, lazybones."

James’s energy was back.

"Morning, sore loser."

"Seriously? Had to go for that?"

Ryan smiled and looked around the room. It was light out. He’d slept in. It was the first time since arriving here, that he hadn’t woken at dawn.

James had already taken his bandage off. The burn looked dramatically better.

The angry red had faded to rosy pink. Most of the blisters were gone, replaced by new skin—still tender-looking, but healing.

"Damn," Ryan said, sitting up. "That healer wasn’t kidding."

James flexed his fingers experimentally. Winced slightly, but the movement was controlled. "Still sore. But usable." He looked impressed despite himself. "I’ve never seen healing work that fast."

"Academy healers are the best in the kingdom," Jared said from his bed, still half-asleep. "Have to be, with all the training accidents."

James rewrapped his hand carefully. "I’m glad. Because we’re going to the festival today."

"Your hand?" Eleanor said.

"Is fine." James’s tone left no room for argument. "Today’s the best day. The Champion’s Exhibition. I wouldn’t miss it even if my hand were still on fire."

"Champion’s Exhibition?" Ryan asked.

"Biggest event of the festival," Jared said. "They bring in the kingdom’s top knights and mages. Tier 4, Tier 5 fighters. Literal living legends."

Ryan blinked. "Tier 5?"

"Yep." James pulled on a clean shirt. "Three years ago, Sir Brennan of Berkberry fought a giant war beast. He’s a tier 5 knight. Killed it in under three minutes."

"You’ll see," Jared added. "It’s incredible."

Eleanor stirred behind her curtain. "Are we all going?"

"Unless you’d rather stay here and read by yourself," James said.

"I’ll come." Eleanor responded.

Ryan reached for his bedside table.

His hand found only wood.

He froze. The bracelet.

I swear I left it here last night. He was sure.

Ryan sat up properly, checked the floor. Under his pillow. His pack.

Not here.

"You alright?" James asked.

"My bracelet." Ryan’s voice came out tight. "It’s gone."

"What?"

"I left it on the table. Right here." Ryan pointed. "Now it’s not."

"Maybe that’s a good thing, it was kind of ugly." Eleanor chuckled.

"Are you certain you left it there?" Jared said siting up.

"Yes." Ryan checked under the bed again. "I remember taking it off. Putting it down. Right there."

James and Jared exchanged glances.

"Could you have knocked it off in your sleep?" Jared suggested.

They searched. Under beds. In blankets. Behind furniture.

Then Ryan realised.

The religious psycho. Marcus, yesterday.

I’ll save you myself.

"That psycho," Ryan muttered.

"What?" James asked.

"His name’s Marcus, Eleanor knows him, he came in preaching about omens in one of our mage lessons. Yesterday he grabbed me and said something about the bracelet being cursed. Begged me to take it off." Ryan looked at the door. Closed and Locked. Unlikely he came through here. "He said he’d ’save me himself.’"

"You think he came in here and stole it?"

Ryan then moved over to the window. Unlocked. But this isn’t ground floor. Ryan opened the window, and looked out.

"Dirt. There’s fresh dirt here, did he climb up the building?"

"That’s insane," Jared said.

"He’s insane," Ryan shot back. "You’ve seen him. Always ranting about omens and blood moons and the end of the world."

James’s expression darkened. "Want us to help you look for him?"

Ryan considered. He liked that bracelet. But hunting down Marcus right now might take hours. And it only cost a few coppers, it wasn’t very special...

He’d deal with it later.

"No," Ryan said. "I’ll talk to Principal Helena about it later. Maybe she can do something." He closed and locked the window. "Let’s just go."

"You sure?" Jared asked.

"Yeah. It’s just a bracelet." He sighed. "I’ll get it back later."

They dressed quickly, ate a hasty breakfast in the hall, and headed into the city.

The streets were packed.

More than any day before. People streamed toward the arena—students, townsfolk, merchants, nobles in fine clothes. The air buzzed with excitement.

"Everyone comes out for the Exhibition," Jared explained, navigating through the crowd. "At this rate we might not even get a seat."

They turned a corner, and James stopped dead.

It wasn’t hard to see him, Navius. Standing near a side street, half-hidden by the crowd, but his hair exposed him.

Beside him, an elf. The one Navius and his dad had sat next to in the arena.

They were talking. Close. Intense, just like before.

They edged closer, trying to eavesdrop.

Navius’s voice rose slightly. "—all of them will—"

The crowd shifted, drowning him out.

Then, clearer: "—fire—"

The elf said something inaudible.

Navius gestured sharply. Another fragment: "—dead—"

Then Navius looked in their direction.

His eyes locked on James for a long moment.

Then he smirked, said something low to the elf, and walked away into the crowd.

The elf went another way down a side street.

"That’s the same elf he was talking to in the arena, isn’t it?" Eleanor asked.

"Yea—"

James interrupted, "What if he’s part of that terrorist group? The one Gregory mentioned?""

Ryan chuckled. "I think I misheard you, what did you say?"

"The LRE, the field marshal said they might target somewhere soon, wouldn’t the festival be perfect? And Navius is talking to a shifty elf. I just heard him say fire and death right before the biggest event—"

"James, no," Jared said firmly. "You can’t seriously—"

"Why not?!" James’s voice cracked with frustration. "You heard what he said! Fire! Dead, All of them!"

"You’re jumping to conclusions," Eleanor said, her tone sharp and cutting. "Just because he cheated in a duel doesn’t mean he’s a terrorist."

"But—"

"Nope." Ryan shook his head. "That’s insane. Navius is clearly a noble, there’s no way he’d be with an elf terrorist group."

"Then what were they talking about?!" James demanded.

"I don’t know," Ryan admitted. "But accusing someone of terrorism because we overheard two words? That’s mad."

James opened his mouth to argue, but Jared put a hand on his shoulder.

"Let it go," Jared said quietly. "You’re angry that he burnt your hand. But come on, a terrorist?"

James’s fists clenched at his sides. "Yeah... I—I don’t know what I was thinking."