The Remnant

Chapter 37

I'd lost count of the number of enemies I'd killed. Truth be told, I didn't even remember how I'd gotten here. I'd been so focused on reaching my teammates that I disregarded the chaos. Memories of the past half hour eluded me, fading like whispers in the wind. The last thing I remembered was forcing my way through the northern entrance as a group of familiars rushed to stop me...

None of that mattered anymore. Thankfully, I'd made it in time. Had I arrived even a second late, Pascal would have been dead.

Sensing a mana signature that was fading, I followed my senses and saw a person lying on their stomach. At first glance, I thought it was just another injured foe. But then, my eyes caught sight of something familiar—an unusually long sword resting a few paces away.

SOREN!

I felt my heart lurch in my chest as I approached the fallen figure. I was scared. Terrified that I was about to stumble onto his corpse. I didn't, no, I couldn't accept the idea that he was gone.

Please be alive! Please be alive! Please be alive...

I felt a surge of relief as my gaze fell on the lizard man. He looked weak. Really weak. His body lay in a pool of blood, his body covered in cuts and bruises. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and a large wound sat on the back of his head. It was a miracle he was still conscious.

"Miss me?" I asked as I rushed to his side.

Rummaging through my bag, I grabbed the first potion I could find and opened it.

"W-What's that?" Soren asked, eyeing the bottle. His voice came out raspy and weak.

"It's a healing potion," I said, bringing the bottle to his mouth. "You'll feel better once you drink it."

Soren nodded in agreement, his parched lips parting to welcome the refreshing drink. At first, nothing happened. But as the liquid gradually diminished within the bottle, a miraculous transformation unfolded before my eyes. The wounds that marred his body began to fade into nothingness, a testament to the potency of the potion.

Good thing I brought all of Felix's potions... God knows how many more we'll need...

"You're late," Soren remarked, rising to his feet and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The potion had worked wonders, restoring his voice to its familiar timbre.

I chuckled, a mix of relief and light-heartedness filling the air. "Yeah, sorry about that. Ran into a few unexpected obstacles... But hey, I'm here now!"

A deep sigh escaped Soren's lips, his expression growing somber. "I can't believe I'm suggesting this even after you saved me, but you should flee while you still can. You're undeniably strong, Vick, but the vampire lord is beyond your grasp. He's stronger than I could have ever imagined."

"Me? Run?" The idea seemed preposterous, stirring a fire within me that refused to be extinguished.

Soren nodded solemnly. "I'll buy you enough time to escape. It's the only way."

"I didn't come all the way here to run, you know," I sighed. "Besides, he's not the vampire lord."

"He's not?!" Soren exclaimed.

"Didn't you see his neck?"

"Uhhh, no... Should I have seen something?"

"Yeah. There's a servant mark on his neck."

"Damn," Soren said, lowering his gaze. "He sneaked up on me, so I couldn't get a good look... Is he a vampire though?"

"I think. But he's not the vampire lord... The real vampire lord wouldn't go down so easily," I said, noticing an influx of mana in the air.