I woke up lying in a bed that definitely wasn’t mine.Looking around, I realized I was in a white room with rows of beds, each one filled with men looking like they’d been chewed up and spat out by a goddamn bear.Mathias was sitting next to me, arms crossed, looking like a stone statue.

  “Tabarnak, that hurt, man! Why the hell would you do that?” I grumbled, trying to sit up—and immediately remembered that my left arm was gone.

  “Stay down,” Mathias said, his voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t make me send you back to dreamland, please.”

  “What the fuck happened?” I asked, heart pounding now as memories of the fight started to trickle back.I was battered head to toe. Deep scars crisscrossed every inch of me that hadn’t been covered by armor, but damned if I could remember when I'd even taken most of the hits.

  “It’s honestly a miracle you woke up so soon,” Mathias said, his tone softer now.“You had so little blood left in you the head priestess wasn’t sure you’d ever wake up. Or if you did, if you'd ever come back fully."

  “Wait, wait... How long was I gone? Also... can't you grow arms back with magic or something?” I asked, half-serious, half-desperate.

  Mathias threw his head back and laughed.“What a weird kid you are. Of course we can’t grow arms back. You ain’t a lizard, son.Only the Emperor or the Pope might have artifacts powerful enough for that, and I'm sorry to say—"He leaned in a little, voice dropping low."—they wouldn’t waste something like that on you.”

  I chuckled bitterly, then asked the real question burning my throat raw:“What about Hope? Is she... Is she okay?”

  Mathias's expression darkened.

  “She’s still in a deep coma,” he said quietly.“She might wake up. She might not. The battle wasn’t kind to her.”

  He reached into his robes and pulled out a small, rolled piece of paper that looked like a rough hand-rolled cigarillo.

  “Here. Smoke this. It'll help with the pain... and calm you down a bit.”

  “We’re allowed to smoke inside?” I asked, blinking at him, still thinking with my old-world brain where that would’ve earned a beating.

  He didn’t answer. Just pulled out a candle and lit it up for me.

  The thick smoke filled my lungs. The smell was divine—vanilla, mint, and something fruity like candy banana.I coughed, my throat burning, but after a second, the ache in my body eased a bit.

  “Hmmm, that's good,” I muttered, taking a bigger puff and starting to blow smoke rings like a bored teenager.

  “How long was I out?” I asked again.

  “Five days,” Mathias said, glancing at me like he was weighing whether I could handle the truth.

  “Can I see Hope?” I asked. My voice cracked a little.“I just... I need to see her. Know she's still here.”

  Mathias looked at me for a long moment, then nodded.

  “Two conditions,” he said firmly.“One—you don't argue with me again when I tell you you’ve done enough.Two—until we say you’re allowed to walk again, you stick to a chair. No heroics, no dumbassery.Understood?”

  “Yes, Father,” I said, ashamed.“I let adrenaline get the better of me. Took unnecessary risks.”

  He stood up, clapping a heavy hand on my good shoulder.

  “Give me a minute. I’ll grab a chair. Then we’ll go see her.”

  Rolling down the corridor in that battered old chair, I couldn't help but notice how damn quiet everything was.Stone walls pressing in, the air smelled like blood, boiled cloth, and old prayers.The only sounds were the screech of my wheels and Father Mathias’s heavy boots thudding along.

  “You know,” he said, glancing down at me with that same half-smirk he always wore when trying not to look too proud, “I didn’t believe it at first.When they told me you fought Stage Twos. Walked away not a victim, but a victor instead.”He shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping him."But now?Now I believe it.Still think you should quell the fire in your belly before it burns you down to ash."

  I frowned, confused, squinting up at him.“Wait—Stage Twos? That’s what those bastards were?Is that why they were so damn hard to kill?”

  Mathias barked a short, grim laugh.

  “Stage Twos," he said, "aren’t farmers swinging rakes, Sam.They’re people whose strength, speed, and endurance are the match of ten peak men rolled into one.When they swing, they break stone. When they charge, they shatter shield walls.You went toe-to-toe with several.”

  He gave me a long look, one that felt heavier than a sermon.

  “You fought like hell. No one’s denying that.But just 'cause you can doesn’t mean you should throw yourself into the meat grinder every damn time.Understand?”

  I let out a dry chuckle, the motion sending a stabbing ache through my ribs.

  “Got it... Might take a few more beatings for it to really sink in though,” I muttered.

  Mathias snorted.

  “Gods help me, you’re a stubborn little shit.”

  We entered the room, the heavy door groaning on its hinges.I saw her immediately — Hope.Even laid out like that, unmoving, her presence radiated a calm, quiet strength that hit me harder than any sword ever could.

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  She was inside some sort of tube-like chamber bed, glowing softly.A few glass vials were rigged above her, slow drips of potion sliding down thin tubes into her veins.It looked... clean. Sterile. Peaceful, almost.But something was off. Wrong.

  I rolled closer, my gut tightening.

  That’s when I saw it —Her right leg. Gone.Severed clean at the thigh.A cold hand of despair wrapped around my heart and squeezed until I thought it might burst.If I hadn’t taken my sweet damn time, soaking in that damn bath like a moron, maybe — just maybe — I could have made it sooner.The guilt slithered up my spine like a viper, coiling tighter with every heartbeat.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, the words barely a breath.

  “Don’t put that blame on yourself, kid,” Mathias said, his voice steady, no-nonsense.“This was a planned attack. And if it hadn’t been for you raising the alarm, questioning the raid, we’d be stacking bodies right now — not counting the living.The Count survived. He didn't get captured.That’s huge. You probably don’t realize just how important what you did was, but in time... you will.”

  I swallowed hard, throat dry.“If you say so. But I wasn’t the one who did all the work.”

  Mathias snorted, a rough sound, not unkind.

  “How humble of you.But you should take pride in your actions, boy.Pride and sorrow can share a heart.You’ll have to get used to that.”

  I stayed there, just staring at her.

  There were words clawing their way up my throat, but they stuck.Everything I wanted to say felt too big, too heavy, too stupid.What the hell was I supposed to tell her anyway?“Sorry you lost your leg because I was busy washing my ass?”Yeah. Real poetic.

  I leaned forward, elbow on my right knee, head hanging low.

  “Hope... I’m sorry," I said again, barely louder than a whisper. "I should’ve been there. I should’ve—”My voice cracked, raw and ugly.

  Mathias stayed silent beside me. He understood. Knew some grief you had to bleed out on your own.

  I wiped my face with my sleeve, even though there weren’t any tears.I just... felt hollow. Like the part of me that was supposed to hurt couldn’t even figure out where to start.

  "You were the first person that didn’t look at me like a fuckin’ freak when I showed up," I said, voice shaking."You smiled. You handed me that stupid little bracelet without asking a damn thing.You... you gave me a chance."

  The words poured out, messy and clumsy and real.

  "I don’t care what Father Mathias says. I don’t care about victories or counts or whatever bullshit they’re gonna pin medals on.I just wanted to make sure you were safe.And I fucked it up."

  I sat back, looking at her face.Peaceful. Strong.Even now.

  "You gotta wake up, Hope.I’m not strong enough to do this without you.I’m not..."I swallowed, forcing the words out."...I’m not a hero.I’m just a guy who keeps swinging because he doesn’t know how to stop."

  Mathias finally put a heavy hand on my shoulder.Warm. Solid.Grounding.

  "You’re wrong about one thing, Sam," he said, his voice low, steady like a drum."You’re not just swinging.You’re swinging so other people don’t have to die.That’s what makes you a warrior.Not strength. Not magic. Not bloodline.Choice."

  I nodded slowly, the words settling into the broken mess inside me like gravel finding a home in mud.

  I didn’t know if it made me feel better.But it made me feel something.

  I reached out and gently laid my hand — my one good hand — on the side of the tube.A promise.Silent.Unbreakable.

  I wasn’t going to let her down again.Not while I was still breathing.

  Mathias rolled me back toward my bed, the wheels creaking slightly over the old stone floor.Halfway there, he fished something out of a pouch on his belt — a monster core, pulsing faintly like a dying star. He struck it against the side of my chair like a flint and lit two smokes with the flare, handing one to me.

  I took it without a word. He lit his own, taking a deep pull before speaking.

  "You know, Sam," he said, smoke curling from his nose like some old battle-dragon, "you’re not a bad kid. But you’re clueless.Clueless about this world."

  I grunted, dragging smoke into my lungs and letting it out in a long, slow exhale.

  "What you need isn’t just a bigger sword or a fancier trick.You need proper schooling.Real knowledge."

  He glanced sideways at me, serious.

  "I intend to write a personal letter of introduction — for you.To the Dean of the Grand University in the Holy Capital. The kind of thing that might actually open a few doors."

  I blinked. "And you're coming with?"

  Mathias snorted, shaking his head.

  "I can’t leave the Church, kid.Not now. Not with everything stirring.You’ll have to deliver it yourself."

  I blinked at him, the smoke stinging my eyes. "You serious?"

  "Deadly."He tapped ash off the end of his smoke, his face grim.

  "Trouble’s brewing around here. Real trouble. I don’t like the smell of it.You getting tangled up in it half-trained already messed you up."

  He blew a ring of smoke that drifted over my head before continuing.

  "This is a rare opportunity. The greatest minds of the continent are there.You might find answers to some of those questions rattling around in that stubborn skull of yours."

  He paused, giving me a meaningful look.

  "Besides... the University happens to be where an old friend of mine works. A damn good artificer.If you're still hellbent on your little project, she might be able to help."

  I took a slow drag, rolling the words around in my mind.A place full of people smarter than me.People who could maybe explain what the hell I was supposed to do in a world where monsters wore armor and magic fogs tried to eat you alive.

  "Sounds like a real party," I said, exhaling smoke through my nose."But sure, why not?Worst case, I set the place on fire by accident."

  Mathias chuckled — a low, knowing rumble.

  "Kid, with you, that's almost the best case."

  Mathias leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching me finish the smoke.

  "Also," he said, his tone shifting a little, "I apologize, but I had to go through your stuff."

  I raised an eyebrow.

  "After finding some... worrying shit in the pockets of the enemy."

  He fished into his robes and pulled out two coins, flipping them toward me so I could see.

  One was stamped with a seven-pointed star on one side, an aquila — some kind of stylized eagle — on the other.The second had the face of a sneering elf and a crescent moon.

  "There are two types of currency you need to know about," he said, his voice low. "The first one, with the star and eagle, that's Church-minted. Standard everywhere."

  He flipped the second coin between his fingers, his face darkening.

  "And though you might think this second one belongs to Valakia up north — it doesn’t.Valakia’s got its own banks, yeah, but they use Church currency too, like most of the civilized world."

  He tossed the elf coin onto the table next to my bed, where it landed with an ugly clink.

  "No, this here? This is heretic coin.Cult money.If you ever find more, bring it straight to a Church bank.They’ll exchange it at one and a half times the regular value.But don’t — ever — trade using them.Mark yourself doing that, and you might as well paint a target on your back for Inquisitors."

  I stared at the coin for a second, the hair on my neck prickling.

  Mathias clapped his hands once, sharp.

  "Anyway. I also brought your loot from the battlefield up to your room.You'll find it by your bedside when you're ready to move around."

  He pushed off the wall, grinding the last bit of his smoke into the tin plate.

  "Get some rest, Sam.You'll need it."