Damned If I Do, Damned If I Don't (Chapter 15) (Patreon)

AN: Expect some violence in the next chapter, to satisfy you guys' thirst for blood.

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I didn’t have friends, and always assumed the worst anyway, so agreeing was easy.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Willem sighed, absentmindedly spooning some stew into his mouth. For a moment, the gaze he aimed at me seemed vaguely regretful.

“What’s your father do?”

It was another seemingly nonsensical question, but I was a bit less confused this time around.

I snorted.

“You can just get to the point. There’s no need to try and ‘lead me to understanding’ or something. You’re not my school-teacher.”

Willem frowned.

“Don’t act clever, just answer the question.”

I fought to keep a frown off my face. Honestly, I was still butthurt over losing my last few coppers.

“He’s a blacksmith.”

Willem didn’t seem surprised. In this day and age, a lot of people had some metal-working skills. It was useful knowledge, no matter your trade.

“He taught you?”

The question sounded rhetorical, but I answered anyway.

“Yeah.”

Willem nodded.

“If you were born without hands, could you learn blacksmithing?”

The question was matter-of-fact, and I immediately guessed where he was going with this.

I exhaled slowly.

“No, but…”

Before I could continue, Willem cut me off.

“Being born without hands sounds pretty unbelievable, right? Forget about that for now, just humor me.”

After chewing and swallowing, he gave me a grim smile.

“Most people would just give up, but if you’re the annoyingly persistent sort, you might try learning some other trades. Maybe leatherworking, tailoring, carpentry, farming…”

He started listing names on his fingers, but then he suddenly showed a mock-surprised expression.

“…except, you need hands for all of those. So, what’s a poor cripple to do?”

He grinned again, then shrugged.

“Does that answer your previous question?”

Listening to him talk, I felt my frown deepen. I was pretty sure Willem referred to our talk a few days ago, where I’d asked about learning alchemy or enchanting.

Unconsciously, I started chewing my nails. I simply couldn’t accept his words—that I was incapable of all but the most mundane professions.

“But why not alchemy…?”

Willem scoffed, not letting me finish.

“Alchemy without magic? That’s just chemistry, kid.”

Spooning the last of his food into his mouth, he met my eyes. Though he seemed cavalier, I got the impression he didn’t enjoy being the bearer of bad news.

There was a period of silence as I digested his words. I wasn’t taking them well, not at all.

Willem wiped his mouth and beard.

“Anything else?”

I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt try, and my limbs numb. If I’d truly been dealt such a poor hand, if this fantastical world was closed off to me, what was even the point of being reborn?

I tried my best to shake off the gloom. After spending my last few coppers, I was determined to get my money’s worth—at least, I’d get something useful out of Willem.

“Can you teach me numbers?”

Of course, I knew how to count, and was quite comfortable with math, but I couldn’t do it on paper! Hell, I hadn’t even seen a sheet of paper, and only one book from a distance.

Willem scoffed.

“You said it yourself—I’m no school-teacher. Don’t got the patience for it.”

He started fumbling in his pocket, taking out a wooden pipe and stuffing it.

I was almost tempted to throw his words back at him, tell him not to act clever, but I restrained myself.

“Can’t you just write them and tell me which is which? It shouldn’t be hard.”

Willem lit his pipe, taking a drag and biting it before showing me his empty hands.

“What am I supposed to write on? No paper, nor a pen & ink.”

I got the impression he was just being mischievous. This time, I didn’t restrain myself, blatantly rolling my eyes.

“You’re a wizard. Surely you can make do without? Maybe burn it into a piece of tree-bark, or something.”

For a few moments, Willem looked at me thoughtfully.

“You’re headed for Northshire, right?”

I startled, not expecting him to know something like that. However, after thinking it over briefly, I assumed he noticed Erik’s affinity for the Holy Light.

“…yes.”

The mage bent over, taking a waterskin and filling his pot. Then, he grabbed a handful of ashes and started scrubbing it clean.

“Then there’s no sense in me teaching you. The church’ll provide an education.”

I showed a thoughtful look. I expected something like that, but I didn’t want to take chances. However, since Willem confirmed it, I might as well ask for something else.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t think of anything in the moment.

Likely guessing my predicament, Willem chuckled.

“Usually, fifteen coppers don’t buy much, but I’m in a generous mood. If a question comes to mind, just spit it out.”

He continued wiping down his cast-iron pot, rinsing it with leftover water.

I watched him, foggy-eyed and chewing on my lower-lip.

“…what do you think I should do? I grew up in a small town, and didn’t see or hear much of the outside world. I just… don’t know where to go, what to work towards…”

I couldn’t help feeling a bit pathetic, asking this total stranger for advice, but as a ten-year-old-kid I could project some vulnerability without arousing people’s disgust.

Surprisingly, Willem didn’t mock me.

“You, kid… It’s better not to be so ambitious. No matter how much you accomplish, how high you climb, there’ll always be someone better than you.”

He stared past me into the forest, the look in his eyes vaguely wistful.

“Living in a quant little village, running a farm, finding a wife and raising a few kids—I don’t see what’s so bad about it…”

Listening to his words, I swallowed a sigh. I could guess Willem was trying to let me down gently, but there was simply no way I would follow such advice.

Not that it was even possible to begin with. The ‘War’ in ‘Warcraft’ wasn’t just there for show—this world was one of constant conflict.

More significantly, the odds being so stacked against me made me even more unwilling to give up.

I was going to succeed, or die trying.

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The mage and I continued conversing until the caravanners returned from town.

The sun was already heading west, so I half-anticipated we’d stop here for today, However, catching a glimpse of mister Westley, I saw him wearing a harried look. Apparently, trouble was brewing.

Maybe they’d heard something from the villagers—I had no idea.

After packing up hurriedly, the caravan continued its journey. We didn’t stop until night-fall, making setting camp rather difficult.

I was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Also, the weather had finally turned for the better, so our sleeping conditions had improved drastically.

I was asleep before my head touched my knapsack-turned-pillow.

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That night, I had a nightmare.

Even in my past life, I was prone to sleep paralysis, but I hadn’t experienced it much, or at all really, since my rebirth. Usually, it was some recurring dream-vision of being asleep in my bed, unable to move.

However, this time was a bit weird.

I dreamt I was dead. Yep, not asleep, but dead.

My corpse was placed in an intricate wooden coffin. It laid in a deep grave, and somehow, despite being dead, I had an awareness of the outside.

I could ‘see’ a small graveyard, littered with countless differently-shaped gravestones. Surrounding it was a dense forest of pine-tress, with a single, narrow road cutting through it.

A single corrugated iron gate with a spiked fence cordoned off the small, rectangular graveyard, with a strange, blue-ish lantern hanging just outside, illuminating a section of the dirt road.

With it being nighttime and the sky covered by a blanket of dark clouds, the setting was rather creepy. However, at that time, I wasn’t unsettled at all.

It was actually pretty comfortable, with a sense of tranquility that I’d never experienced in life.

I don’t know how much time passed like that—‘resting’ contentedly in my grave. Unfortunately, this was not a pleasant dream, but a nightmare, a fact that would soon become clear.

Lying in my coffin, I began to feel an inexplicable sense of dread. With my strange ‘sixth sense’, I swept the graveyard looking for anything unusual. I saw nothing, but I did hear a faint, rhythmic scuffling—footsteps.

Someone was walking down the dirt road, approaching the graveyard. Even in my dream, I found it unusual. Who would visit this kind of place, this time of night?

Suddenly, the lantern near the gate went out, and darkness immediately rushed in, smothering everything. I felt an intense danger—it was like the lantern held something back, protecting the dead’s resting souls.

There was a long, drawn-out whine—the rusted, iron gate swinging open. I heard someone approach dragging their feet across the manicured gardens and raked, gravelly paths.

My heart ached for the trampled flowers, remembering how beautiful they were, and how painstakingly maintained. However, more than anything, I feared for myself. I felt so vulnerable, locked in my coffin and with my body dead.

The faintest breath would scatter my exposed soul!

I would have sweated bullets if I could, and my heart would have hammered in my chest, had it not withered long ago. To my great dismay, the intruder’s lurching carried them straight to my grave, and I immediately heard roots being pulled and soil being moved.

The digging proceeded far too fast, as if the laborer wasn’t human, but some kind of monstrosity. As the distance between itself and my coffin decreased, I heard an uneven wheezing, sounding like it belonged to an old man on the verge of death.

Suddenly, the last barrier of earth crumbled, followed by a quiet scraping sound, like nails against wood.

An infinitely long stretch of time passed like that, my trapped soul trembling in abject terror as I waited helplessly for my coming doom.

Abruptly, the coffin-lid was wrenched off, breaking and splintering in the abomination’s mutant paws!

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