Chapter 68
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: Visiting the Sickbed
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I bought some fruit.
I didn't know what kind he liked, so I picked my favorites.
Apples, lemons, oranges, and even a pink fruit about the size of a fist that Marcel recommended as expensive and delicious, though I didn't know its name.
Is it because it's a game with no real roots?
Or some other reason?
All sorts of fruits were piled high on the stalls, ignoring seasons entirely, so buying gifts was a breeze.
The only other thing I grabbed was some clean clothes.
The fight was anticlimactic, but I hadn't exactly been relaxed, so sweat had soaked my outfit.
Visiting the sick looking like this felt rude, so I bought new clothes and changed.
Marcel kept asking why I always wore such short stuff, so I went with something a bit longer.
The long pants felt awkwardly uncomfortable—more than I'd expected.
"Dress a little more modestly for once. Don't you look so much better?"
"...What do you mean, 'how I usually dress'?"
"You strut around like you're bottomless, so a prostitute's getup would look downright modest by comparison."
"That's too harsh..."
Chatting with Marcel, we soon stepped into the temple clinic.
Pure white marble floored the place, ornate sculptures carved into the pillars.
Temple healers bustled about, a few temple folk among them. Their guidance led us to where Hector was being treated.
Asking about a noble's treatment spot could've easily been shot down.
But the temple folk already knew who I was, so they pointed it out without fuss.
Second floor, rightmost room.
The second-floor treatment rooms were at least twice the size of the first floor's.
Upper-class quarters.
I took a deep breath, swallowed dryly, and rapped lightly on the door.
Knock knock.
Shan and Marcel had come along, but they wouldn't barge into the treatment room for chit-chat.
Just knowing I had reliable backup at my back.
That's why they'd tagged along—the situation was mine to handle solo.
The door opened.
Opening up without even checking who it was felt downright bold.
The opener was an attendant.
No weapons on him, but his presence was something else.
I couldn't size up strength by aura alone.
But as prey, I could sense the predator's vibe.
Before him, I felt endlessly outclassed, instinctively stepping back.
Even barehanded, without some lightning-quick ambush gimmick, he'd crush me unilaterally—fold me four times over while I was still breathing.
"...Ah, hello."
I stupidly stammered.
My face heated up, but backing down wasn't an option, so I pressed on steadily.
"...I'm here to visit the sick. May I see him?"
I hoisted the fruit basket with both hands and flashed an awkward smile.
The attendant's eyes skipped right over me.
Maybe I didn't look threatening.
He stared at Shan and Marcel behind me instead, fist clenching tight—I caught it.
"...Um."
Sensing danger, I piped up quick.
Any friction would spell headaches galore.
My voice finally made him glance down at me.
Then, oddly, his eyes went wide.
"...You were too small to notice."
"This jerk..."
Not because I seemed harmless and he checked behind.
I was just that tiny—invisible—so he'd mistaken the knock for Shan and Marcel.
"...I even made a sound."
"Didn't hear it."
"You were too small."
"Trembling with that 'hel-looo...'"
Shan backed the attendant; Marcel straight-up snickered.
Did I look that pathetic? Or really? Face burning, I ducked my head.
If so, he probably missed my sick visit line too, so I yelled louder.
"I'm here to visit the sick!"
"...Please wait here."
My shout drew stares all around; I bit my lip. The attendant pondered my look, shut the door, and vanished inside.
"Wait" probably meant checking Hector's say-so.
Pacing fidgety circles outside, Marcel shoved my head lightly. "Quit twitching."
How long? Two minutes? Three?
Door finally cracked; attendant said I could enter.
Leaving Shan and Marcel out front, I eased into Hector's treatment room.
Wider than I'd thought.
Nearly three or four times my inn room.
"Never dreamed you'd visit even this cramped treatment room."
Hector's voice.
He'd been lying down but raised his upper body, gaze fixed on me—not the vibrant spark from the arena.
Not dead-fish eyes like mine, but vitality dulled just the same.
"I figured sure victory, but claiming carelessness would just undercut your worth."
"No way. Rematch? I'd lose seven out of ten."
My win? Purely exploiting his gap.
Chasing the same fluke twice? Greed.
Next clash: straight-up brawl. Win rate? Thirty percent tops, generously.
"If you hadn't pulled that sword, I'd have lost right there."
"...Had I not, Ellie—your head rolls."
"But I'd have won."
Obvious.
Weapon fights: neutralize foe to win.
No safety gear in tourneys like this—casualties standard, deaths now and then.
Regrettable flukes, but par for the course.
Hector went wordless, head bowed to my cool reply.
That nagged at me.
"Hector."
I'd come to patch any frayed ties.
Situation wasn't bad for me.
Hector seemed non-hostile; attendant indifferent.
'Good Connection' buff snagging him last-minute, or whatever—it looked solid. Better than neutral.
But Hector's vibe? Off, beyond mere non-hostility.
Self-esteem gutted: eyes floorward, shoulders slumped.
"Didn't figure a loss to me, huh?"
Only explanation for his broken demeanor.
Losing to an unexpected foe—from weak will, not skill gap—rattled him.
"Frankly? Right... Never saw defeat coming."
"Sure win, yeah?"
"...Haa."
Hector sighed, peering down.
I fished out a fruit, peeled as I spoke.
"I clocked it. Too idealistic adventurer dreams, eyes way too kind."
Knew he couldn't kill.
"Still, shouldn't I have gamed out no-withdraw... or couldn't?"
"Adventuring's life-on-the-line gig. Overthink, you just get sluggish."
Words might land as barbs, not bridge-building—but someone had to say 'em. Five-second hesitate, then out they tumbled.
"You're too kind, Hector."
"...Outta nowhere?"
"Way too kind."
Second round—he clocked no praise. Hector and attendant clammed up. I sliced the peeled apple, plated it, eyed their reactions.
"...Spit it out."
"Permission granted: You idealize adventurers too pure. Too soft, too saintly—not cut out."
Not "turn villain."
But dial up the edge some.
Heads flew easy here.
Gentleness? Strong's perk. Hector strong-ish for age—not strong.
Shan, Marcel? Short still. Saint-tier barely toes strong line.
Thus.
"No ruthlessness? Hang it up."
My survival sans strength? Ruthless streak.
Vicious heart, rotten person—keeps me kicking.
Yet.
Kind without power.
Playing adventurer? Suicide act, my eyes.
"...Ellie, bit harsh."
"Not the romance you think."
Still steamed he "dated" me cluelessly—but genuine like too.
Didn't want him croaking stray.
Screwed courage, locked eyes—no dodge.
Spotted the weirdness.
"...Can't deny you're spot-on."
Twisted smile from Hector.
"But not words for the resolved."
"...Huh?"
"Ellie, no need your nudge—I'm hardening up. No more this shame."
Hector's eyes shed vitality.
Not vacant.
Venom filled the void. Dawned: his gaze held no pure warmth anymore.
No hate.
This was...
"Ellie, thanks."
"...Huh?"
"Next round? No hollow wipeout."
"That so..."
"Ellie, you hit peer rank first—but I won't trail far. Wait up?"
"Wait for what?"
"First loss to you? Perfect benchmark."
"Wait—I climb quick, join you side soon."
Rivalry.
No clue what to say—nod it was.
My awkward vibe drew his eye-smile, kind tone back.
"Ellie, win congrats."
"...Thanks."
Hector too, 'Good Connection' material.
Felt pretty good.
Getting the nod from someone.