Amukelo swirled the liquid in his glass, staring at it as though it might provide answers to the questions. With a deep sigh, he lifted the glass and drained it in a single motion. And after a long pause, he finally spoke with low voice, but with a hollow undertone that betrayed his inner turmoil.
"Well," he began, exhaling heavily, "I think it comes down to two reasons."
"The first was the tools you provided me for the mission," he said, nodding toward Berthold and Alaric. "Particularly helpful was a potion Miss Joslin gave me. It had an incredibly strong enhancing effect. It… pushed my body beyond its normal limits."
Amukelo hesitated, his brow furrowing as he recalled the painful side effect. "But the side effects were severe. It drained me in ways I didn't fully understand until it was too late."
"The second reason," he said, "was my sword." He glanced at the others. "I don't remember much of the confrontation itself. It's… all a blur. But there was a moment when Neclord—or his mages—cast some kind of spell. It was like an earthen box surrounding me. I was trapped."
"At that moment, I felt an incredible surge of power. I don't know where it came from, but I was able to cut through the spell. It shouldn't have been possible. My best guess…" He trailed off. "...is that it was because of the sword."
For a moment, no one spoke and Amukelo simply stared at the table. Finally, Berthold broke the silence. "It's still incredible that you were able to achieve such a feat by yourself."
Amukelo didn't respond immediately, he lowered his head slightly. For him, it didn't feel incredible. It didn't feel like a victory at all. Instead, there was only emptiness, a void that seemed to grow larger with every passing day. He had sought revenge with everything he had, but the result had brought him no peace, no closure.
Berthold, observing the hollow look in Amukelo's eyes, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the armrests of his chair. He exhaled deeply before speaking. "You know, young man," Berthold began, "for you, this loss is probably even harder than it is for us."
Lady Cressida turned sharply toward her husband, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. "What!?" she exclaimed with outrage. "How could you possibly say that?"
Berthold raised a hand. "Hear me out, Cressida," he said. "It's true that they were our children, and the pain of losing them will never fade. But… we had to accept the risks that came with the lives they chose. They were adventurers, after all. We knew the dangers. It doesn't make it any easier, but we've had to come to terms with that reality. And if not for this young man, we would live for years without knowing what happened to them."
He turned back to Amukelo. "But for you… it's different. For you, it wasn't just the loss of someone distant. It flipped your entire world upside down. It took away what brought joy and happiness to your life."
Amukelo's jaw clenched slightly as Berthold's words struck a chord. He didn't respond, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes.
Berthold leaned back slightly. "The fact that you took the effort to get here," he said, his tone more personal now, "just to tell us what happened… it speaks volumes about how close you were to our children. How much they meant to you. And for that… I respect you."
Amukelo glanced up, his eyes meeting Berthold's for a fleeting moment before darting away again.
"You did what you thought was best at the time," Berthold continued. "You can't say that you failed. None of us can."
With a small smile, he added, "What you can do now, Amukelo, is learn from this. Learn from the pain, the hardship, and the choices you made. And, somehow, you must find a way to move forward."
Amukelo sat in silence. His hollow gaze lingered on the half-empty glass in his hand, and though he gave an occasional nod of acknowledgment to the conversation around him, his mind felt disconnected, as if he were observing the moment from a distance.
After a beat of silence, Amukelo finally broke it. "Yeah… Roland and another friend of mine said this journey might be a good idea." He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, staring at it for a moment before taking another large sip. "I don't know what to expect, though. It all feels… aimless."
Berthold nodded thoughtfully, and Lady Cressida gave Amukelo a look of quiet understanding. "Sometimes, we just have to trust that the path ahead, as unclear as it is, will bring us fulfillment." she said softly.
Amukelo nodded, though the words didn't quite resonate. The hollow feeling remained. He wasn't sure if it was exhaustion, grief, or something deeper, but it dulled his emotions, leaving him feeling more like a ghost of himself than a person.
The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that. Berthold and Lord Alaric asked about Amukelo's journey—details of the terrain he'd crossed, the challenges he'd faced along the way. Occasionally, political matters were brought up, ranging from disputes between noble families to rumors of unrest in distant regions. Lady Odette shared a few humorous anecdotes about the eccentricities of certain guild members she had met over the years, prompting small chuckles from the group. Amukelo, though not much of a participant, found himself loosening up slightly with each sip of his drink. The alcohol dulled the edges of his hollow feelings, making him feel a bit more grounded—more real.
Eventually, as the sun dipped lower, painting the room in deep orange hues, Amukelo rose to leave. The group stood as well, exchanging handshakes and farewells. Berthold clasped Amukelo's hand firmly, his gaze steady as he asked, "How long will you be staying in Gathe?"
Amukelo thought for a moment, then replied, "I think we'll head off tomorrow. I want to reach the orc's nation as quickly as possible. I believe it might bring a sense of… freshness to our adventure."
Berthold nodded, though there was a hint of disappointment in his expression. "That's a pity," he said. "But before you leave, could you do me a favor?"
Amukelo tilted his head slightly agreeing.
"Bring Eliss here tomorrow morning," Berthold continued. "I'd like to meet the young woman my old friend Roland raised. If she's traveling with you, I'd like to see her myself."
Amukelo hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. I'll let her know."
Berthold gave a faint smile, releasing Amukelo's hand. "Till tomorrow, then, young man. Safe travels."
Amukelo nodded once more, turning to leave. By the time he stepped outside, the cool evening air greeted him like a sobering slap. He inhaled deeply, letting the crispness of it clear some of the fog from his mind as he began making his way back to the inn.
The drinks he'd consumed had left him slightly unsteady, but not enough to dull his awareness entirely. As he entered the inn's main corridor, he heard a door creak open, and out stepped Eliss. She looked like she'd just woken up, her hair slightly disheveled, and she moved sluggishly as if still recovering from her earlier illness. She paused when she spotted him, her gaze locking onto his suit.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Eliss's lips twitched, and she burst into laughter.
"What are you… marinating meat under that suit?" she managed between laughs. "Or are you trying to impress someone?"
Amukelo's expression darkened, his eyebrow twitching as he clenched his fists. "You little brat!" he barked, his voice filled with mock outrage. "How dare you talk to me like that! What did I waste my time babysitting you for today?"
Eliss didn't answer; she was too busy clutching her sides, laughing uncontrollably as she backed toward her room. "I still feel sick," she called out between giggles. "See you tomorrow!"
With that, she slipped back into her room, closing the door with a resounding click and locking it for good measure. Amukelo stared at the door, his frustration momentarily turning into disbelief. "What is wrong with that girl?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.