* * *
Even though a familiar adventurer recognized me and called out loudly, I stood there blankly, too dazed to respond.
No—more precisely, I was so fixated on the wounded man on his back that I was completely out of it.
It wasn’t red hair.
It only looked red because it was soaked in blood.
In reality, it was brown—plain, neatly trimmed brown hair.
“Is there… cough… a clinic nearby?”
An unpleasant buzzing sound rang in my ears.
I was aware that I was standing in the middle of the road, yet it felt as if I were falling endlessly.
“Vasco…”
That’s right.
I recognized him.
“He’s not breathing!”
“Vasco, open your eyes! Stay with me!”
That body, limp and lifeless like a corpse, was Vasco.
His limbs dangled with every movement of the person carrying him, and his complexion was deathly pale.
His breath was so faint—if he was even still breathing at all.
A life clearly slipping away.
It reminded me of myself before my regression.
It wouldn’t be surprising if he were declared dead at any moment.
‘No.’
My ears were ringing.
My chest tightened, making it hard to breathe.
My mind refused to function.
Only one thought filled my head.
‘No, no, no.’
After the Demon King’s invasion, countless people died.
One by one, I lost the ones I cherished.
And no matter how many times it happened, I never got used to it.
If anything, the more I lost, the more terrified I became.
I had screamed that I didn’t want to lose anyone else.
I had prayed, begged for at least a few to survive.
And in the end, when I had nowhere left to turn, I clung desperately, pleading for just one more.
Adventurers die easily—it’s a profession where you wager your life every day.
But still.
‘No.’
Losing someone I care about—it’s unbearable.
With cold fingers, I fumbled through my pocket.
I didn’t need to take him to a clinic.
Any adventurer worth their salt carried potions for emergencies.
But my hands were shaking too much to grab one properly.
Ridiculously, the Hero came to mind.
If he held my hand just once, I felt like I could calm down instantly.
A stupid thought.
I didn’t even know where he was right now, and he was probably furious with me anyway.
I finally managed to pull out all the potions I had.
“Potions!”
“Thank… you.”
“Vasco, open your mouth. Drink this. Please? Can’t you swallow?”
But Vasco didn’t move.
He couldn’t even open his mouth, let alone drink.
The potion I poured at his lips trickled down uselessly, spilling onto the ground.
And in that moment, I realized.
‘This was it.’
This was when Vasco died.
He had already died.
He had fallen, unable to properly prepare for the increasingly powerful and violent monsters.
He had let his guard down and returned as a cold, lifeless body.
He had died before the Demon King’s invasion had even begun.
So that’s why I never saw him during the war.
Because he had already died.
Because he was gone.
I had completely forgotten.
It was unbelievable that I had forgotten something like this.
I had even attended his funeral, yet just moments ago, the memory hadn’t even crossed my mind.
‘I’m… not okay.’
I had known for a while that I wasn’t in my right mind, but having it shoved in my face like this was a different matter.
I had been drowning in memories of the war, crushed beneath the weight of grief, unable to think of anything else.
Painful experiences, an unbearably heavy burden I had taken on without meaning to.
All I could do was focus on the immediate crisis and the responsibilities forced upon me.
And in doing so, I had forgotten.
I could have saved him.
I could have checked on him.
I could have helped.
But once again, because of me—
Because I wasn’t strong enough.
“D-Do you have any other potions?”
Arthur’s voice trembled violently.
Even in this situation, I was momentarily shocked.
Arthur was known as a cold, ruthless priest.
He lived by the scriptures and had never broken doctrine—most people found him boring because of it.
Reliable, sure, but—
“Not the drinking kind. The ones you pour directly on wounds…”
That same Arthur.
The man who never flinched, who only prayed even when grievously wounded—was now crying.
Tears dripped down his face as he pleaded.
“If you have even one left… I’ll pay, I have money. Please, is there anything?”
He had always been stone-faced, always speaking with impeccable manners, making people wonder if he was even capable of warmth.
But now, his cheeks were soaked in tears, and his voice was hoarse with desperation.
That snapped me out of it.
He wasn’t dead yet.
We could still save him.
I had gotten too used to giving up.
I had forgotten how to hold on and fight for something.
“I’ll get one.”
“This town is too small—they don’t sell potions!”
The adventurer struggling to get Vasco to drink the potion shouted urgently.
Arthur bit his lip.
“If we wait until you return, it might be… too late.”
“Stop talking nonsense! Just do whatever it takes to make him drink it, even if you have to kiss him!”
“W-What?! Hold on a minute!”
I could save him.
I remembered now.
I had spoken to the townspeople a lot while gathering information on Gaspar.
There was a retired adventurer who sometimes brewed potions for injured people.
They weren’t officially recognized by the Adventurer’s Guild.
They were homemade, made by an old man long past his prime.
There was no guarantee they’d work.
But if I was going to cling to hope, then I had to cling to it completely.
I spent every coin I had to buy them.
They were murky, sticky, unrefined—but I took every last one.
Just in case, I even dragged the old herbalist with me and ran back.
Arthur was pressing his lips against Vasco’s, trying to get the potion down his throat.
The atmosphere was strange enough to make me hesitate, but Vasco’s life mattered more.
I yanked Arthur away without hesitation.
He flailed and stammered something, but I didn’t hear a word.
Instead, I poured the thick, viscous potion directly onto the deep wound in Vasco’s abdomen, where blood was still seeping out.
Until there was nothing left.
Even after the bottles were empty, liquid dripped onto the wound.
Only then did I realize—I was crying.
But that didn’t matter.
Even with my vision blurred, I could see one thing clearly.
The bleeding stopped.
Slowly… the wound began to heal.
“…Ra, ul?”
Vasco’s eyes opened.
For the first time, looking into those dull black eyes made me feel nothing but overwhelming relief.
Finally, I could breathe.
“Cough… Why are you… here…? Ugh!”
I had managed some emergency treatment, but he was still critically wounded.
There was no way a novice herbalist’s potion would completely heal him.
The moment Vasco opened his mouth, his body jerked, and he coughed up blood.
“Are you all right? It’s bad if blood pools in your mouth.”
Arthur gently wiped Vasco’s lips with his priest’s robe—always meticulously ironed, never a wrinkle out of place.
Now that the situation had settled a little, a thought crossed my mind.
Did… did Arthur like Vasco?
A guy who was built like a mountain and always kept people at arm’s length—now tending to someone with such obvious care.
It felt so awkward that I couldn’t even begin to guess how this happened.
Or is he just taking care of the severely injured like a proper priest?
“Th-Thank you.”
* * *
