Lifestealer: Cursed Healer [A LITRPG Isekai Survival]

Time was of the essence. If the soldiers had recognised Symon, he would bet that they'd have recognised the Dumosans too. And if they had wanted to question him, the same could be said for his friends. He only hoped they'd been innocent questions, though their willingness to immediately resort to violence didn't reassure him. If his friends were in trouble, he needed to help them.

"Let's get going," he said as he started toward Brackstead, leaving the bodies behind him. Entisse fell in step with him, the blood around her face suspiciously absent. Even the red on her clothes had vanished. "Where were you anyway? I thought you were supposed to be my backup." He couldn't help but let a hint of accusation creep into his tone.

If she noticed it, she didn't give any indication. "Killing. Another squad was in earshot, even with their strange little ears."

"How many were there, anyway?"

"Four," she answered.

<They work in multiples of four. I'd wager they've got another two squads somewhere in the forest, making a full section. Then, there'll be however many sections back Brackstead,> Keelgrave provided. Given how long he'd spent fighting them, the old spirit probably knew the Empire's military better than they did.

It wasn't long before the trees began to thin, and Brackstead came into view, letting him get a better idea of just how many soldiers there were.

The simple, squat buildings and surrounding crop fields were familiar, but there was a new addition to the docks. They were small, meant more for tiny one or two-person fishing dinghies, so the massive ship towered over the pier.

It was a hulking thing, even from this distance. At least a hundred metres from end to end, and tall, too. It must have had room belowdecks for at least three levels, plus however much was below the waterline.

The four separate masts were white and flagless. The tallest mast — the second from the back — had a long streamer alternating red and gold like a barber's pole, which was lazily flapping in the wind.

"Holy shit," Symon breathed. "That thing is massive. It's gotta fit hundreds of people on it."

Entisse stared at it silently, her eyes squinting against the glare from the ocean.

<More like a thousand. She… she's impressive,> Keelgrave said begrudgingly.

"What's with the sudden change of heart?" he asked, glancing at Entisse. He always tried to use a little levity to take his mind off dark thoughts.

<What? No! Not the elf, you idiot, the ship! It's one of three Colossus-class capital ships. Never thought I'd see it from so close and live to tell the tale.> The spirit paused for a while, considering something. <Well, I guess I am dead. And I'm not really seeing it, you are. So I was right all along.>

"Hah," Symon deadpanned. "Any plans?" he said aloud, directing his question to his two companions. Stitch shot out of the canopy and landed on his shoulder. Better make that three.

"We hunt them, and use their blood as fuel to hunt the rest."

"Maybe not," Symon offered. "You made short work of those soldiers earlier, but there are just so many of them. And I'm pretty sure they gave the weakest ones the shit job of combing through the forest."

<Probably. You just want to find where they keep your pals and bust 'em out, right?>

Symon nodded slightly. "We're just here to save my friends, not kill more people," he said for Entisse's sake.

"Perhaps it would be wise to recover more of my strength first," she granted imperiously.

"Mhm," he said. He'd just had a dark thought. "Do you think… they could be dead?"

Keelgrave took a few moments to answer. <I doubt it. Whenever possible, the Empire prefers to brand into slavery before executions. A waste of resources. I wouldn't have thought they'd have any reason to give more than a cursory inspection, but if they sent a capital ship here, they probably have a Truthseeker too. Then, all it would take is a little question if they've seen an elf recently, and the whole game is up.>

That was poor news, but at least they were probably still alive. "Truthseeker… is that a magical lie detector, or a fancy word for a torturer?"

<The former. Mostly. It's a Class.>

He crossed his arms as he leaned against a tree, keeping most of his body hidden. From this distance, the tiny figures moving around the ship looked like ants. They had the same chaotic organisation. Presumably, the Empire knew as much as the Dumosans did. He wouldn't hold it against them if they'd talked to save themselves the torture or otherwise let something slip to the magic: they barely knew Entisse, and she hadn't seemed particularly interested in them.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

<My question is why, in the infinite hells, are they going to so much effort for one elf? I admit she's very strong for not being Second Step, but that can't be it. Maybe a few sections could come out and try to capture her for study, but even the Empire has limits. It's expensive to field such a massive ship, for one, and it also means they don't have it close to home. What makes it worth it?>

"The dungeon?" he guessed.

<Maybe, but that still doesn't explain why they care so much about an elf. It can't be for information on the dungeon, because they would have searched around her home and known it wasn't there.>

Symon was out of ideas. It was time to check if Entisse had any, then decide on a plan. "You don't know why they're after you, right? And they were targeting you specifically?"

She nodded, but her eyes were still locked on the ship. He thought they were, at least. It was a little difficult to tell where she was looking when her eyes were a single solid colour. "They did not attempt to capture anyone else. I believed they were in the depths for its natural resources, but this seems unlikely now."

"Agreed. Your home is pretty far from here, too, so it's not like they had a general area for where the dungeon could be and were just guessing. They would have started at Brackstead first, seeing as that's where the mana iron comes from. The dungeon could just be a coincidence."

"Perhaps. I will not claim to understand the minds of prey creatures."

"Right… anyway, we need more information, but there's no way either of us could just waltz into town. Stitch, you're up," he said.

The bird hopped from his shoulder to his hand, which he then held out in front of him. "Go look for our friends, come back as soon as you see them. Try and act like a normal bird, alright? No circling over the same spot."

Stitch chirped once — without spitting out any pollen — before flying off. There were plenty of gull-like birds along the coast, as well as other birds in the forest surrounding Brackstead, so Stitch would blend in well. He wasn't obviously undead, either. The only sign of that was the missing wing, but he doubted anyone would care about or even notice an extra bird in the sky.

They watched as their scout slowly shrank into a tiny speck before vanishing completely. Symon could still feel his bond linking him with the bird far up in the sky, but he wasn't able to communicate with Stitch beyond being able to issue an order to return. They'd tested it while waiting for the Dumosans to show up that morning, finding the range to be quite high — a kilometre or so, by his best estimation. He wasn't able to transfer the vitality needed to maintain Stitch's unlife at such a distance, and his little form couldn't hold much in the first place, which put a strict cap on the maximum range.

This limitation wouldn't be tested. If Stitch couldn't locate the Dumosans in the next couple of minutes, Symon would pull him back to avoid arousing suspicion. Their only advantage was that the soldiers didn't know where Entisse and Symon were.

Now that he considered it, he realised that the entire army would have marched straight for the manor if his friends had revealed any information about their location. As far as the Empire knew, the elf could be anywhere on the continent.

That was good news for the continued survival of his friends. There was no way they'd be killed when they still had information about Entisse.

Seeing no need to risk getting spotted by remaining on the outskirts of the treeline, the two retreated deeper into the forest.

They went in further than Symon thought necessary, past the point of being completely obscured by plantlife, but Keelgrave assured him of its importance. <A big part of their power is the ability to specialise. Even a First-Step Scout would be able to identify you at this range, and there's no way they didn't bring a couple on a ship this size. There will be tonnes of people with non-combat or only indirectly combat-oriented classes.>

Symon nodded. "Makes sense, I guess. Is that type of thing common?"

<Oh yeah, very. A Shipwright Class makes a better ship, a Blacksmith smiths better swords, a Cook creates more nourishing food, a Builder constructs the fortifications, the Logistician makes sure it all flows smoothly, and so on and so on. Individually, it might not be a big difference. But do it over an empire of millions of people? It stacks up fast.>

Symon was familiar with the concept, though naturally, the Earth version was more mundane. The rise of agriculture led to civilisation, allowing people to push the boundaries of technology and the arts instead of constantly focusing on survival. Free time brought specialisation. He wasn't sure how the engineers kept the power grid running, but he trusted them to do so. In return, they'd trusted him to save them if they were injured, applying knowledge and experience they didn't have.

They'd been able to do wondrous things, like putting people on the moon without magic, so what was possible when you added mana to the mix? Oddly, things seemed to have stagnated in Cathar. Keelgrave was familiar with lightning, but didn't really understand the concept of electricity. They didn't even have steam power, though magic was more than capable of making things move under their own power.

Even the massive ship towering over Brackstead had been the same for hundreds of years. Keelgrave had studied it intensely, trying to find a weakness to exploit as well as applying its strengths to the Grymjaw, but it had remained the same ship for longer than some Earth countries had even existed.

These thoughts served to distract Symon from the anxiety of waiting, though they were only partially successful. There were so many unknowns that he wasn't sure what he was supposed to worry about. His friends were missing, maybe dead, maybe prisoners, or maybe escaped. Maybe they betrayed him, or were secretly spies the whole time. Keelgrave had brought those last two up as a possibility, but Symon was doubtful.

He had no way of even knowing the progress, beyond knowing how close they got to his arbitrarily picked time limit before recalling Stitch. Occasionally, their bond would thrum almost imperceptibly, but he didn't know what it was supposed to signify.

After five painstaking minutes of standing silently while he waited for Stitch to finish his task, Symon was getting ready to recall the bird. He might not have found the Dumosans, but maybe he had learned something else that could be helpful. Stitch couldn't really communicate beyond chirping for a yes or a no, but they could just play twenty questions until they got it right.

They would never be able to do that, though.

The gossamer-thin thread representing their bond from Undead Servant had just snapped out of existence.