In Elturgard, the tranquil night sky was blanketed with a scattering of bright stars as a Tiefling girl held a telescope, observing the gorgeous nightscape.
Suddenly, a massive roaring explosion caught her attention. Without even needing the telescope, she could see a magical Nautiloid suddenly tearing across the sky. Its hull engulfed in flames, it streaked through the night like the most dazzling shooting star, dragging a long tail of fire as it lit up the entire firmament and plummeted straight toward the direction of The Cove.
"Bang!"
Ethemon was numb with pain. He had lost count of how many times his poor back had taken a beating today; he didn't even need to look to know it was a bloody mess.
Enduring the agonizing pain, he pressed himself flat against the hull of the Nautiloid as violent gales roared through the interior. Ethemon looked around, trying to find members of his squad. But the moment he turned his head, a similarly injured Mind Flayer resting nearby was staring right at him with its pale, milky-white eyes. For a split second, Ethemon didn't even know how to react.
Howling winds whipped up a stone amidst the violent turbulence, and it hurtled straight toward Ethemon's head at breakneck speed. Darkness swallowed his vision, his body went completely limp, and he slipped right through a breach in the Nautiloid, plunging headfirst at a terrifying velocity.
I'm done for. That was the last thought that flashed through Ethemon's mind.
The next second, he lost consciousness entirely.
When he woke up again, it was the morning of the next day.
＊
After a night of chaos, the soft morning sunlight spilled as usual over the golden beach, glittering with dazzling brilliance.
The slender half-Elf had short black hair, stained faintly with red—whether from blood or something else.
His originally handsome face bore a scar running from the bridge of his nose down across half his face. It had faded considerably, likely an old wound from years past. Though it slightly marred a flawless piece of jade, it also lent a certain temperament to his features.
He wore the lightest and simplest soft leather armor, which had split open from prolonged combat and tumbling, exposing the tattered tunic underneath. He still clutched a longsword in his hand, its surface covered in cracks, looking as though it wouldn't hold out much longer.
The sunlight draped unsparingly over him. The young man frowned slightly, as if suddenly realizing something, and snapped his eyes open. His blue irises gleamed brilliantly in the light.
He was actually still alive?!
Ethemon pushed himself up in disbelief, though even the slightest movement made him frown. He reached out to touch his back lightly; it felt sticky, his clothes likely fused with his flesh by now. He needed to tend to his wounds as soon as possible.
He surveyed his surroundings: an unfamiliar cove and towering crags, with billows of thick smoke rising not far away, where the silhouette of the Nautiloid loomed indistinctly.
Ethemon felt a measure of disappointment. His mind was still a painful void, plagued by that lingering sensation of being torn apart, stitched back together, and torn apart all over again.
Beyond that, Ethemon had only seven days to figure out a way to deal with the Mind Flayer Tadpole in his brain. He had zero desire to transform into a Mind Flayer.
Yet what unsettled Ethemon even more was the lingering intuition that the reason he had ended up aboard the Nautiloid differed from everyone else's. Frustration churned in his chest; he desperately wanted to unmask the culprit behind his plight right now and subject them to an unforgettable death.
Right now, however, he had no time to dwell on that. Heading toward the Nautiloid to explore, Ethemon hoped to try his luck and find some healing potions.
Walking onward, countless human corpses lay lifelessly scattered about. Ethemon approached one of the humans who had died a gruesome death and crouched down.
His usually cold and empty mind suddenly surged and boiled the moment he drew near the corpse. Ethemon didn't know where this inexplicable excitement stemmed from, but he abruptly realized he was unconsciously wearing a strange smile as he looked at the corpse.
Ethemon froze for a moment, then shook his head. The rhythmic pulsing of blood still throbbed clearly in his ears. That bizarre sense of euphoria had also surfaced earlier when he had wanted to smash an Intellect Devourer into paste.
Wiping the odd grin from his face, Ethemon began scavenging the body, finding only some dried salted fish and a few gold coins.
These were likely local fishermen who had been caught in the catastrophe of the falling Nautiloid and lost their lives.
His back was deteriorating rapidly. Ethemon had to stop and rest every few steps. When he spotted Shadowheart lying on the ground not far ahead, before he could even release a breath of relief, his heart leaped back into his throat.
Hurrying to Shadowheart's side, he saw she was in fair condition, bearing only minor scrapes. Clutched in her hand was a strange, multifaceted die—likely something she had secretly pocketed while aboard the Nautiloid.
Putting aside his curiosity, Ethemon crouched down and checked her breathing. Excellent, she was still alive. Without further ceremony, he began shaking her awake.
Shadowheart blinked awake and looked at Ethemon in astonishment. "You're alive? And I'm alive? How is that possible?" As she spoke, she instinctively tucked the multi-sided die back into her pouch.
"Never mind all that," Ethemon took a deep breath. "If you don't cast Cure Wounds on me right now, I'm likely going to die any second."
Shadowheart: ......
Taken aback by Ethemon's bluntness, Shadowheart looked at his pale complexion and decided to drop the matter. Raising her hand, she cast Cure Wounds on him. A flash of blue-green light washed over him, and a cool breeze swept across his back, instantly easing the pain.
Shadowheart glanced at the injuries on Ethemon's back. "That Cure Wounds only offers temporary relief. The wounds on your back still need a healer to clean them thoroughly. On top of that, we need supplies, a place to rest, and—most importantly—a healer who can deal with the little bug inside our heads."
Ethemon used a relatively clean corner of his own sleeve to wipe the blood from his longsword. Hearing this, his movements paused. "We? Do you intend to team up with me?"
Shadowheart shrugged, the pretty half-Elf offering a smile. "We need each other, and we both understand the crisis we're facing right now. You're the best candidate, aren't you?"
Ethemon felt the cool relief spreading across his back and smiled helplessly. "You're right. Very well, let's go."
Having reached a consensus, the two headed inland. They had barely walked a few paces when Shadowheart turned serious. "Before we go, I want to say one more thing." Her green eyes were filled with earnestness. "Thank you again for saving me earlier. You could have left me to my fate in that pod, but you intervened anyway. I won't forget that."
Ethemon was momentarily stunned by the solemn expression of gratitude, then offered a faint smile as if amused. "Alright, I understand. Let's go."
Even though, at the time, he had really only done it to secure an extra combat asset, he hadn't expected to receive such sincere appreciation.
Shadowheart's earnest gratitude put Ethemon in the mood for a longer conversation. As they scavenged and walked along, Ethemon naturally brought up the strange symptoms he had experienced earlier.
"That's hardly a big deal," Shadowheart waved a hand dismissively, casually picking up a grey leather cap from the ground and placing it on her head. "Bloodlust has become terribly common lately; the incidents I've heard of in Baldur's Gate alone are more than enough. Besides, didn't you tell right from wrong? Your conscience already separates you from all the other bandits, monsters, and murder-loving fiends out there. You only wanted to kill an Intellect Devourer; there's nothing strange about that."
Ethemon held back a portion of what he had truly felt.
Shadowheart picked through the fisherman's belongings, fished out a reasonably clean pack, and tossed it to Ethemon. "No matter what you think is compelling you, you likely possess far greater strength to resist it than you imagine. Everyone has unseemly thoughts; being able to resist them is the only thing that separates us from fiends."
The older half-Elf female evidently had a rich past. After their conversation, Ethemon's mood lifted considerably.
Searching along the way, the two upgraded a portion of their equipment. Shadowheart even fished out a "love letter" from a fisherman's tunic.
A young woman named Anna had invited a youth named Seth to travel with her to Baldur's Gate, but unfortunately, he would never keep that appointment.
Ethemon pocketed the love letter without a second thought, ignoring Shadowheart's speechless expression.
He just loved picking up this kind of random junk. So what?
Following The Cove forward, a stone castle soon came into view before Ethemon, its weather-beaten surface bearing witness to the many years it had stood against wind and rain.
Ethemon tried to force the wooden doors open, but whether he attempted to pick the lock or strike them directly, there was simply no way to breach the seemingly fragile wooden portals.
"Well, looks like we can't get in through here," Ethemon said helplessly, turning around to see Shadowheart half-crouched in hiding behind a rock, signaling him with a hand gesture to get down.
Ethemon followed suit, hurrying over to her side. Amidst the wreckage of the Nautiloid, a few Intellect Devourers were busily swarming a corpse and feeding with relish.
Left the Nautiloid = these Intellect Devourers are useless now = free to kill.
Nodding at Shadowheart, Ethemon stalked forward on tiptoe, coordinating with her to easily dispatch the little monsters.
Only to get sprayed in the face with blood again.
Ethemon felt he was getting quite used to it, but clearly, now that the danger had passed, Shadowheart couldn't stomach looking at her own blood-spattered state. Glancing at the nearby cove—the drop wasn't high, and a single strong leap would take her down—she announced, "I'm going down to the water to wash up. Don't wander off." Although this half-Elf kinsman possessed the body of an adult, Shadowheart still felt his mind had yet to mature, prone as he was to childish antics.
"Got it, got it." Ethemon waved a hand in helpless resignation, rubbing his chin in vexation. Was he really that untrustworthy? Though he couldn't remember his age, he looked every bit an adult male; surely he wouldn't get kidnapped, would he?
"Help! Oh, heavens, someone help me!"
A smooth, gentle voice rang out, laden with a deliberately exaggerated panic.
???
Ethemon genuinely felt as though this exact scenario had played out countless times before. Did every single person he met insist on staging a damsel-in-distress routine?
And honestly, my friend, didn't you think your cry sounded just a bit too fake?
The corner of Ethemon's mouth twitched into a smile, completely forgetting about Shadowheart by the edge of the cove as he strode directly toward the source of the voice.
Shadowheart had been right. He really was quite easy to fool.