Shea’s body jerked violently, blood unfurling around the water like dark ink, staining the sea. He staggered back, his hand instinctively reaching for the spear that jutted out of him, his eyes moving to the tail end of it. There, tied to the pole, was a flapping piece of fabric. The rebels had targeted Shea, and they had planted the weapon in him as if he were soil, and this was their flag of war.

“Oh,” He mumbled, and I watched his eyes flutter, lips parting in silent shock. His hand fumbled toward the spear, his fingers gingerly gripping its cold edge.

“Sir!” I darted forward, catching Shea before his body sank into the deep, unforgiving abyss below. My arms wrapped around his chest, cradling his body close, feeling the wet warmth of his blood coat my skin—I could taste it with each breath, the thick liquid mixing with the surrounding, salty water. He coughed, a weak, gurgling sound, as blood and bubbles oozed from the corner of his mouth, staining his lips a deep crimson.

This wound… it was fatal. I knew that, and, from the looks of it, Shea knew that too. What could I do? Where could I take him? Would the rebels stop if I asked them for a ceasefire? If I showed them the destruction they caused?

Would they feel pity? Remorse? Mercy? 

Would they mourn the life they took and attempt to bring him back?

[New Mission: Survive the Ambush, New Side Quest: Save Shea Sonas.] 

[Objective: Come out alive and able to continue serving in Neptune’s glorious army.]

[Objective: Heal Shea Sonas’ wound.]

[Reward: +10 Emergency Rations, Surviving Lieutenant.]

[STATUS: CRITICAL! IMMEDIATE ACTION NEEDED!]

Shut up! Shut up! I know it’s critical! I know!

Quickly, I slammed Accept, and, this time, both the mission and the Side Quest went through. My panic debuff was gone, then? Didn’t feel like it.

I wracked my brain for a way to save Shea, wishing I had spent my life trying harder. Perhaps if I had actually honed my herbalism skill for the eight years I’d been eligible for the damn system, I’d be able to whip up some sort of healing elixir.

Wait…

That’s right! A healing elixir! I had one in my inventory, the one we crafted together the other night! There was a small bit left, and it seemed to be powerful, judging by how seamlessly it regrew the scales on my cheek.

Maybe it could regrow a ruptured heart?

“Shea, can you hear me?! Are you still with me? Are you alright?!” I choked out, my voice wavering, my grip tightening. Shea’s hand twitched weakly, a slight flutter of life still pulsing through his veins. I watched his mana continue to swirl and summon, still holding a firm, albeit dwindling, shield around his soldiers.

“I’ve… had better days.” Shea rasped, agony etched into his face, but he still mustered a small smile. I watched as his gaze fixated on the still-present protective barrier that encased my skin, and a flicker of something crossed his eyes. Pride—or maybe relief? I couldn’t tell. It was far too dark, save for the jellies and the magic. “You’re… going to have to stop being so lazy, Firth. Your next platoon leader won’t like it if you wake up late.”

Next platoon leader? Was he giving up?! No!

I glanced around at the chaos surrounding us, the battle raging on in the near distance. The shipwreck groaned under the weight of the explosions, debris floating in the water like broken bones. But what truly frightened me, what truly made my chest tight and my stomach churn were the cries of my platoon mates. They were loud. Painful. And they mixed with the snarls of the rebel mermen as they continued to swarm, forcing their feeble attempt to hold the line into failure.

I should help.

But I… couldn’t drop him. I wouldn’t.

“Shea, just… hold on.” I swam further into the hull, hardly fitting into the claustrophobic space, and opened my inventory, grabbing the Healing Salve, holding it up to Shea’s sleepy face. “I have something that will help.” 

He opened his eyes slightly, a twinkle of momentary excitement visible. But, as he saw what I held, saw the Healing Salve, his excitement dwindled into disappoinment. He shook his head, the motion causing a painful contortion of his face. “Using that won’t work, Ridire. Save it… for the other recruits.”

[STATUS UPDATE: HEALING SALVE INEFFECTIVE! ALTERNATIVE SOLUTION REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY!]

I gripped the Healing Salve tightly for a few more moments before begrudgingly placing it back in my inventory, not wanting to—no, unable to accept the fact that this may very well be it.

He’s right here. Right in my arms. And… and the fact that a Side Quest about saving Shea exists with a reward means he can survive. He can pull through.

But I… was the wrong one for this mission. I couldn’t do it. I had nothing in my arsenal to help.

Dammit! Why am I so useless?!

I’m sorry, Shea. I’m sorry you got stuck with me!

I readjusted my grip on him, cradling Shea close to my torso once more, not daring to let him go, even if it slowed me down. Even if it made me defenseless. I could feel his breathing getting shallower, each inhale rattling painfully in his chest, pushing the lodged spear slightly up, then slightly down.

“Calm down, Firth.” Shea’s hand found mine, which was trembling as hard as his. He squeezed it—just barely. “You don’t… need me. You’ll be fine. You’re stronger than you think. I’m just upset I won’t be able to teach you… everything.”

His words sent a sharp stab of guilt through me. Strong? I’m not strong. I’m stupid and lazy and a coward. I… I practically caused this. If I had just mentioned my earlier nerves, my sense of impending doom, maybe things could’ve been different.

“But you’ll figure it out. Everyone always does.” I watched him ramble, watched him give a fleeting grin, listened to his voice grow fainter with each word.

The light in his eyes began to fade, the hand that gripped mine slackening its hold, his fingers slipping as his body went limp in my clutches. Was he… dead? Was he dead?! The sob I’d been holding back finally broke free, tearing through me with a force I couldn’t control. I didn’t understand why this happened. I didn’t understand how, just an hour ago, he was swimming alongside me, making demands and hosting a training session. Now he was cold. Now he was tremoring, now he was oozing gallons of blood. His heart had burst. His body was heavy.

Merfolk are supposed to live for hundreds of years. He was only twenty-five. He…

Sniff.

Sniff sniff.

I pressed my forehead to his, feeling the coolness of his skin, the slick sweat and the still reverberating mana flow.

All around me, the brutal battle continued. I could sense them gaining on my position in the hull, cutting down my platoon one by one, as if they were blades of unruly kelp. Their cruel laughter echoed, their shrill cries of triumph making me clench my jaw in frustration and humiliation. I should move, I should fight, I should help, but… but I can’t leave him! I can’t put his body down, can’t let it become a part of the wreckage. Can’t let it be trampled.

He’s still a person!

The sound of splashing grew closer, and I knew—I knew—they were here. A shadow fell over us, and I looked up, my vision blurred by tears and the fog of Shea’s ever-seeping blood. There was a rebel merman standing above me, his trident poised, raised high, the point glinting wickedly in the dim light, catching the specks of Shea’s magic.

For a moment, I wondered if this rebel would take pity. Would spare me. The sight was certainly an upsetting one—a new soldier, clutching the body of his platoon leader, crying and weeping as they hid out in a corner.

But I was sorely mistaken.

“Pathetic,” he said through his nose, sneering at the two of us, preparing to strike. The disgust in his eyes was cold. Colder than I had ever seen before.

This was it, then. This is how it ends.

I raised one of my arms in a protective gesture, covering my forehead, as if to stifle the blow. But, as I moved it upward, something happened. A surge of energy shot through me, hot and electric, radiating from my arm painfully. I gasped, letting out a strangled and startled sound, my entire body convulsing as the force traveled down to my fingers and out into the water. The rebel’s sneer faltered, his disdain replaced by confusion as a wave of mana blasted from my palm, slamming into him with a deafening crack. He flew back, crashing into the remains of the ship with enough force to shatter the wooden beams.

I stared at my hand, my breath ragged as I came down from the invasive protrusion of magic.

What… what just happened?!

[Shea Sonas has activated Arcane Surge.]

How?

And then, I noticed it—Shea’s hand. It was still resting weakly on my arm, his thumb twitching on my elbow. There was a faint glow emitting from the tip of his nail, a flicker of magic dribbling from his skin to mine. He had used the last of his mana, his last ounce of strength to save me.

“Thank you.” I whispered, my grip on him tightening once more.

I shifted to hold him against my side instead, using only one hand to secure his body against mine, locking his arms around my neck. I couldn’t let his sacrifice go in vain. I needed to help. Needed to be useful. The numbness that had paralyzed me before began to melt away, replaced by something else.

Determination. Rage. Upset.

Another cry bubbled up inside my lungs, but I held it back. I needed to move. My tail thrashed, propelling myself and my passenger forward as I grabbed the nearest weapon—a broken spear—and lunged at the nearest rebel with intent to kill.

The jagged, coral blade connected.

Oh, god. It actually connected.

I watched in momentary horror as my spear slid through flesh and bone with ease, the impact surprising myself more than it did my victim. The rebel gasped, turning toward me, his eyes wide with shock as blood bubbled from his mouth. Instinctively, I ripped the spear out, and stared. No… wait. What am I doing? I don’t want to kill! I still have that Healing Salve! Maybe I can heal him! Maybe, maybe…

His body thumped on the seafloor, and I staggered back, my heart thudding in my chest. “S-Sorry—”

I wanted to help, but there were more. So many more. I fought with everything I had, desperation fueling my every move as I slashed and stabbed, my vision blurred by tears and blood. My comrades were falling all around me, their screams filling the water, their bodies sinking into the abyss. The rebels were relentless. I couldn’t keep up.

[Level Up!]

[FIRTH RIDIRE is now Level 3! Skill Tree path can be selected.]

Skill tree path? I unlocked it already? Never thought the day would come, especially not here. But if I could just open up my screen, select my path, select Draíocht, maybe I could save the day with my own magic.

Maybe.

[PANIC: Temporary debuff. Leveling, skill tree and skill progression disabled.]

NO! What?! Why? What changed between now and two seconds ago?!

As I shifted my focus from the screen and Shea’s lifeless body back to the battleground, I was met with a very… unfortunate sight. A rebel. Lunging at me, trident raised high, aiming to slaughter.

They were too close for me to dodge, too close for me to defend against.

The metal neared my face, the sharp point pushing at my forehead, pricking the skin between my brows. I closed my eyes, bracing for the end—

But it didn’t come.

There was a blur of a moment—a flash of glittery gold and shell-encrusted steel. My attacker spasmed, a strangled cry escaping his lips as a longsword pierced through his chest. I whimpered, my breath catching in my throat as the rebel slid off the weapon and crumpled into my lap, revealing a figure standing behind him, wiping the bloodied sword off on their tunic.