— 1 weeks later —
Amos looked down into the drink in his hand. It was amber and tasted like piss. But for Amos, none of that mattered except for its effect. As long as it helped him to forget, it was good beer.
Unfortunately, this current drink was not a good beer, so he was forced to remember.
He thought back to what happened after he killed the drake. His max level limit increased to level 100. Now he could be considered an elite among elites.
Amos laughed to himself over that thought. He didn't feel very special.
Soon his mind drifted to the money he got from the drake. 18 gold coins. Combine that with the rest of his money and he was rich. But he didn't feel very rich.
He remembered what he used to think about rich people. How they were all nobles laughing at the peons below them while drinking fine wine. Amos could only wish he was as uncaring as his past stereotype.
After Amos realized how much money he had, he no longer saw a point in going into the dungeon anymore. So for the last week, he had been spending his money on almost anything. Strong liqueur, prostitutes, gambling, hell he even went to some high-end theatre performances. And while it was all nice in the moment, once it was over he went back to feeling empty as he always did nowadays.
And that brings him to where he is now. Sitting alone in a bar, drinking enough alcohol that it could kill a bear.
Amos got up from his seat and walked back to his inn.
— 30 minutes later —
Once he got back into his room he looked around the place. He could see his dimensional bag that acted as his wallet. Even after everything that happened he still had a lot of money left. Yet he no longer even felt like spending it.
He looked over to the table on the side of the room. On top of the table lay what Amos had dabbled in for the past couple of weeks, to try to take his mind off of things. It hadn't worked. It was a mix of alchemy and alcohol distillation. He had tried to make a potion or alcohol that would get rid of the recurring nightmare. But nothing worked. No matter how strong the alcohol or poison he made, he would still face the demons of his past.
Eventually, he purchased a book that contained all kinds of poisons, paralyzers, and tranquilizers. They only ever made him sick.
Finally, Amos looked at himself through a mirror. He looked like he was a homeless man or a beggar. His bandages were dirty and facial hair was sticking out from beneath them. His normal attire was filthy. He hadn't taken a bath or washed any of his things in days, maybe weeks.
He looked down at his hands. They felt wet, yet they weren't. They looked like they were a dark tint of red, but Amos knew they weren't. His hands always felt like they still had blood on them. No matter how hard he washed them it would never change. Amos stared at his hands for a few more seconds before he let them drop to his side. He then simply stared at the ceiling lost in his thoughts. He felt truly empty inside.
'I killed all of those people. Thousands including women, elderly, and children, and for what? For this? To die by myself in misery. Or is this perhaps my divine punishment for the sins I've committed? . . . I can't take this anymore. I'd rather feel nothing than continue like this.'
Amos kneeled on the floor. He then drew his sword that was at his side. As Amos looked at the blade. He saw his reflection off of the sword.
'A pitiful parasite that has never done anyone any good,' He thought.
Amos then turned the blade toward his chest. The tip was a hair's breadth away from his vitals.
Amos's hands dripped with sweat. His breathing quickly picked up. His heart began to beat like a drum in his ears.
'All it will take is one smooth thrust.' Amos thought.
But his hands would not move. Instead, they began to shake.
Amos closed his eyes and held his breath. He then tried to thrust forward quickly, but he could not. Instead, the sword only went forward bit by bit.
Finally, the tip touched his chest, right below his heart. He could feel the cold metal against his chest. The sword then drew blood.
Amos's heart beat even faster. His hands could barely hold the sword, and every impulse in his body was telling him to stop. But he did not stop.
He pushed the sword in a little deeper. It went through flesh and muscle until it finally stopped. It had hit Amos's ribcage.
Amos's whole body screamed in pain. But Amos himself only panted like a bellows, while staring entranced at the sword.
One more thrust and it would all be over. All the pain, the loneliness, and the memories. And then Amos could rest forever. Maybe even join Salis and Balgroff.
Amos steeled himself. He tensed up his arms in preparation for the push. But at the last second a resounding thought went through his head.
'I don't want to die!'
Amos then ripped the sword out from his chest. The sword fell to the floor with a thud. Amos wrapped both his arms around his chest while lying on the floor. Tears streamed down his face.
Amos lye there in his blood while in the fetal position. He was dejected and enraged that even though he truly hated himself and what he did, he was still selfish enough to want to continue living.
So Amos slowly cried to himself as exhaustion overtook him. Returning him to another hell he was familiar with. His dreams.
Although the world around Amos had changed to the endless void of his dreams, he hadn't noticed. He continued crying to himself while curled up in a ball.
Eventually, he no longer had any tears to shed and he realized that the pain was no longer there. Amos slowly realized that he was in his old familiar nightmare. The same endless sky, the same broken down road, and Caro still sitting atop the broken wall.
Amos stretched out his limbs. He now was lying flat on his back while he stared into the starless sky above. Although he was still distraught he was at least capable of thinking straight again. Although he was unsure of what to think of.
Caro stared at Amos from atop the wall. His face was blank with a slight undertone of pensive thought. Finally, Caro made up his mind. He then said, "You need help."
Amos turned to look at Caro. He then turned back to the sky and said, "No shit. But it's not that easy. It's not like my situation is common."
Caro replied, "You need to talk to someone. You need to let it off your chest."
"And who am I supposed to talk to? You? Sorry to break it to you, but as far as I am concerned I am just crazy and you are just someone in my dreams. Plus you already know everything that I have done since you can read my thoughts, so that ship has already sailed anyway. And I can't just go into a bar and say 'Hey, did you know that I used to be a brigand and slaughtered countless people'"
Amos finished his rant and then went quiet as he continued to stare at the abyss above him. He wished that he could get help, but he did not know how.
Caro also realized this as he went back to thinking until he came up with an idea. He finally came up with an idea, but he hated it. Caro sighed and then said, "You should go to a church."
Amos laughed and said, "Why so I can donate all my money? Or maybe so that I can be converted into a zealot, and then I wouldn't even need to think for myself."
"I hate the idea of going as much as you do, but I think it's the best possibility. You know what a confessional is right?"
Amos saw where he was going and said, "Go on."
"Well from what I have heard, you would go into a church confessional. There would be a priest on the other side, and neither of you could see each other or know each other. Then you could talk about anything you have done wrong and so forth. The priest would be unable to disclose anything you say because of his sacramental seal."
Amos didn't like the idea. He generally didn't like the church.
There were many main religions and beliefs around before humans gained the system, but changed around the system once it came about. It led to the main religion of today. The Holy Pathism. They were the only large religion still around and they had churches in all still standing forms of civilization.
They worshiped the higher realms and used the Holy Mana that came from it—the counterpart to the Necrotic mana of the Abyss.
Obviously, Amos never particularly got along with such god-fearing and fanatical people. So the idea of going into one of their churches and spilling his guts to some holier-than-thou figure wasn't too appealing.
"I know you hate the idea, but think about it. Who else could you talk to? Plus even if you do slip up and they charge you for your crimes, then so what? You just tried to kill yourself, what difference does it make if you succeed the next time or if the zealots do it for you."
Caro had a point. Amos had nothing to lose at this point.
Amos sat up and looked at the horizon. He could see the coming tide of undead.
"You really think that might work?"
"I don't see any other way."
Amos rubbed his chin as he finally seriously considered it. He didn't have anything to lose at this point. The money no longer meant anything to him, and he no longer had anyone important in his life.
Amos finally sighed and said, "I guess I have nothing to lose."
After that sigh, Amos looked to the approaching horde. Amos sighed again and closed his eyes. He could hear them get closer and closer until about a minute later he felt extreme pain all over his body.
Amos awakaned panting and with a cold sweat. He quickly calmed himself down before getting up. The floor below him still had a red stain to it.
Amos walked over and picked up his sword. He stared at the flat side and his reflection off of it.
'Why not? Worst-case scenario . . .'
Amos didn't want to finish his thought as he stared at his sword. The sword then went back into his sheath.
— 30 minutes later —
Amos now stood in front of a large Cathedral. It was made of stone with two large towers at the front. The Cathedral in front of Amos was the main church in the capital city. It was built in the commoner's district specifically for the commoners.
'What am I even doing?'
Amos was having second thoughts now that he was finally here. But he pushed them aside and figured that if he didn't do this then he hadn't truly tried everything.
So Amos walked up to the two large doors of the cathedral and pushed them open. Although they looked large and heavy they were surprisingly easy to open.
A long line of pews faced a large podium at the end of the temple. Candles provided light from almost everywhere.
The cathedral was nearly empty today as it was the middle of the week and not a holy day. If it were, then it would probably be packed. But Amos preferred it being empty.
Amos walked down the center row. A strange orange glow seemed to be everywhere. It must have been holy mana. And for some reason the holy mana made Amos feel slightly sick. He couldn't tell if it was his nervousness or something else, but something deep within him found this place revolting. It was another worrying sign that even holy mana didn't sit well with him.
He also heard a low chant. The chant was quiet and in a language Amos couldn't understand. It seemed to come from everywhere. Although it should have soothed Amos it only made him more uncomfortable.
Along the sides of the cathedral were stained-glass windows. They depicted various things from when humans first gained access to the system, to when the Holy Pathism met its first angel.
When Amos got down to the end of the cathedral he saw the confessionals to the side. It had a little sign out that stated it was open.
Amos gathered his resolve and walked into the open one. He closed the door behind him and sat down in a chair in the middle of the small room.
To the side of the room were a couple of small holes that would allow sound to go from one room to the other.
As soon as Amos got comfortable he heard a male voice from the other room say, "What is it that you would like to confess."
Amos opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. He tried to say anything but it felt as if his throat had tightened like a vice. At the moment Amos was unable to say anything.