章 18: Chapter 18
The chatter still hung in the air. Didn't take much effort to eavesdrop—the dungeon had a way of making everything seem closer.
"What do you say, rat?" That first voice said. The tone was directed at someone they didn't respect. "You're pretty quick on your feet, aren't you? Maybe you should try your luck with the ants. Might even find a use for 'em."
"Yeah, 'cause we're too lazy to move our own butts. And you, being so little and nimble, I'm sure you can squeeze into those tunnels where we big guys can't fit. If you're real lucky, you might just make it out alive."
I closed my eyes and lifted my ears in that direction to listen more closely. I could feel the lack of a response. The "rat" had said anything yet. I knew exactly what that meant. They'd been so thoroughly humiliated, they didn't even have the gumption to stand up for themselves. They'd grown used to being the scapegoat for these idiots.
The footsteps drew nearer. I shuffled my feet further back into the shadows. Didn't want to be seen, but couldn't help my curiosity. I was in a position where there was no light moss on the walls to illuminate my silhouette.
"Look, if it wasn't for you skimming Magic Stones off us after every fight, we would've ditched you ages ago. But hey, at least you're good for something, right?"
The laughter returned, a little lower this time. Even they didn't fully believe the garbage they were spewing. But to an outsider, it wouldn't sound like a bad joke—just venomous words. There's nothing more dangerous than cruel, sharp-edged taunts. Anyone would be terrified by that cruel tone, especially a "rat" who kept their head down.
I poked half my face out of my hiding spot and peered towards the other end. Five dark silhouettes were heading my way. One strode in front, stoutly built and sure-footed—must be the leader. The one with the scarred mug lugged a massive hammer on his shoulder. The other two were barely noticeable—one with a staff, the other with a sword at his side.
And then there was this round lump trailing behind. Not a giant ball, not a fatty. Looking closer, I saw two skinny legs under a massive sack. Way too big. In fact, bigger than its owner. To the naked eye, the bag looked ready to burst, like it could've stocked ten days' worth of plunder.
"Hehe, you like our idea, rat?"
A "rat." They'd used that term before. I already knew what it meant. Seen enough of Orario's streets to get the gist. "Rat" was nothing more than a derogatory euphemism for those who had no choice but to survive as best they could. Down in the dungeon, it was even worse—it meant treating someone, probably a porter, as expendable. Someone to toss to the wolves, or in this case, the Killer Ants, and not look back.
"Let her do something useful for once. Otherwise, why do we carry her around?"
Her. There it was. I heard it clearly now. They were talking about a specific someone. And not just anyone—a girl. A few images came to my mind, but one quickly settled in. That small, frail figure, always bent under the weight of those overstuffed backpacks. Those brown bangs peeking out from under the hood, and those brown eyes that smoldered with hatred whenever no one was looking. Liliruca Arde.
My jaw tightened.
I clenched my teeth as the image of Liliruca's tiny figure appeared before my eyes. Clinging to that massive backpack, trying not to draw attention to herself, doing her best to disappear.
I'd seen her in the anime. I'd seen folks treat her like garbage, like some disposable tool. But this was Orario. This was the dungeon. For a lot of people, there were only two types: those who dished out the pain, and those who took it. Liliruca was stuck in the second group. And now these idiots wanted to use her as bait, as if she was nothing more than a tool for their convenience.
Even though I knew her story, it was just from the anime. We'd never actually met, and she had no clue who I was.
I let out a heavy sigh, struggling inside―should I intervene?
My mind was spinning. I flashed back to all the times I'd seen this kind of crap and looked the other way. Nobody survived in this dungeon by taking care of others. There were no heroes down here. It's just you and the choices you make.
So, should I intervene?
My first reaction to this was to shrug it off. I hate to admit it, but there it was: indifference. Human nature, right? No matter how much I despise it, I'm cut from the same cloth. We're all selfish, only worried about our own survival. I'd seen it a thousand times, and I was no different. So what difference did it make, who was I to intervene? This stuff happened 24/7. The big fish ate the little fish. That's just the natural cycle, isn't it?
I mean, what would I get out of helping some girl they called a "rat"? Nothing. I'd probably just be picking a pointless fight with a group that didn't owe me the slightest bit of courtesy. Plus, how many times in her life had Liliruca been in situations like this? Bet this wasn't her first, and it wouldn't be her last. Why should I stick my neck out.
So, after thinking it all over, why the hell was I so worked up?
It wasn't about her, I kept telling myself that. Not my problem. Maybe she was a thief, maybe she was a liar, who knows? In a place like this, everyone did what they could to survive. I was no different.
Leaning my body forward, I moved my feet slowly, one behind the other, noiselessly.
×××
Dear Isis and Sister,
Sometimes I wonder... If you ever knew that I had let someone down, what would you think of me, how would you react?
Isis, you were always the gentle girl, the one who helped and tried to save even those who didn't deserve it. But I'm not like you. Not even close.
Sister, you of all people know what I've had to do. I have no excuses. But I have goals to achieve. And sometimes, to reach them, I've had to close my eyes and move on. Leave behind. Leave people behind, even myself. I've had to sacrifice myself and others. Maybe you wouldn't understand. After all, it's selfish of me to want you back.
But if you ever thought about the choices I made... I don't know if you would see me as the same person. Still, there's something I want you to understand: I couldn't afford to die before I did what I had to do.
I don't expect forgiveness. But I wanted you to know, in case you ever think of me differently.
×××
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