Lifestealer: Cursed Healer [A LITRPG Isekai Survival]

One moment, the razor-thin manifestation of his bond with Stitch stretched out through the canopy into the skies over Brackstead. The next, it didn't.

There was no pain, no uncomfortable feeling, or indeed any sensation at all. It had simply vanished as if it never existed. It was so seamless that it took him a few moments to even realise it was gone.

"Ah shit, that's not good." He scrambled upright from where he'd been leaning against the tree.

Entisse turned to face him, a question on her face.

"The link just cut out. I think something bad happened to Stitch," he sighed. He started moving back to the treeline in an attempt to figure out what had happened, though he could only think of one explanation for the bond to snap suddenly.

The view of the ship was the same as it had been a few minutes ago, and the patterns of tiny figures swarming on and around it like ants seemed undisturbed. By picturing where his bond had been pointing to at the time it had cut out, and making an estimation from the angle, Stitch would have been several hundred metres above and slightly to the side of the ship. Focusing his attention there… he saw nothing.

Chances were, the little blue bird was dead. Well, dead dead. That hurt, and not just because of the loss of their scout. He'd been fond of the little creature. Though he'd never had a pet before, he had begun to understand the appeal. However, he'd ultimately only reanimated him a day ago, and his thoughts were largely consumed by a more important problem: the loss of his human companions.

He pointed to where his best guess for a location was. "You see anything down there?"

Entisse shook her head immediately. "I cannot sense blood at such a range."

"How about with your eyes?" They were quite big, and her raw Attributes meant she'd have better vision.

"Too bright," she hissed, repeating the same motion.

He opened his mouth to reply, but it shut with a soft clop as a hatch opened up on the side of the ship. It was small — relative to the rest of the gargantuan ship, at least — which meant it still must have been a half dozen metres tall and then again as wide.

It opened outwards, like a gangplank or drawbridge being lowered, only it came from one of the lower decks in a way that reminded him of a modern cruise ship. The size certainly matched. Instead of connecting to anything, it stopped in thin air over the water. Due to the size disparity between the docks and the ship, only a tiny section at the back actually butted up against the docks. They couldn't have safely moored it, so magic had to be involved to keep it still.

That was the least obvious display of magic, for the next froze him in place. The ship disgorged four mounted knights, coming out one by one and dropping the several stories to the ocean, where they then landed.

It was far enough away that he couldn't make out much detail, though he strained his eyes as hard as he could. There were definitely four of them, and they were definitely standing on the surface of the water. Their armour caught the suns' rays, making them look like glittering jewels rising up out of the sea.

<Oh fuck, that's not good. Don't let them spot you,> Keelgrave ordered, though Symon was already ducking back behind a tree.

"Get down!" he whispered as he pulled Entisse down with him.

She allowed herself to be yanked behind cover, though she gave him an offended look. "Do you recognise these creatures?" she asked.

<Praetorians, Symon. Third Step. Do not let them find you.>

"Uh, they're Praetorians," he repeated aloud. "Third steps."

Her face scrunched up in worry. It was the first time he'd seen her display anything other than extreme confidence. It made her look younger, more human. Sometimes, he found it difficult to remember she was only a couple of years older than him.

"We must flee. Your allies are lost."

<She's right. They're probably just in a cell somewhere, and you'll be joining them if they catch you.>

"Are they really that dangerous? Can't we—"

<No, you can't. Whatever you were about to say, you can't. I've killed Praetorians before, and guess what? It was when I was at the peak of my power, with my crew and ship with me. You don't stand a single chance, and you're going to get yourself and your little elf friend captured if you do anything other than run away.>

Symon swore under his breath. "We can't just leave them, Keelgrave. They were good to me, treated me like one of their own. I'd probably be dead or still wandering the desert if they didn't take me in."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

<I get it, kid. Really, I do. They're like your crew, in a way. Battle forges a bond like no other, but it's not enough. There's no reason for them to have been killed yet, and they'll be fine as long as you keep it that way. But if you get caught, and give up the elf? Well, there won't be much point in keeping a few First Step Warriors around.>

"I thought you said they were just going to, I don't know, force them to labour away?"

<I did, but that was before I knew they sent an entire godsdamned capital ship and a squad of Praetorians. Whatever they want the elf for, it's something big. The fact they want her so badly means we can't let them have her. And if they manage it? I doubt they're leaving any witnesses behind. Certainly not for a couple extra labourers. I'd bet they wipe Brackstead out too. It's happened before.>

Symon clenched his fists, doing his best to calm the hammering in his heart. Every fibre of his body was screaming at him to run in there and rescue his friends, his mind conjuring up images of them experiencing horrible tortures. But he'd had a hard enough time against the soldiers who were on the same step as him, and that was when they hadn't been taking him seriously. If they'd recognised him as a threat from the beginning, before he could weaken them with his magic… he probably would have put up as much resistance as a pig before the butcher.

A Second Step was out of the question, and these Praetorians were beyond even that. He'd seen what a Third Step could do in Keelgrave's memories.

He pressed himself down against the tree, anger and nervousness twisting his insides. The Praetorians stood in formation on the water's surface, though they had turned to face the ship. He'd always had good eyes, and the Ledger had to have been improving his vision, but it was still difficult to make out the details at this distance. Even still, he recognised the figure that walked out onto the gangplank and began gesturing to the mounted Praetorians.

A soft figure, garish red and gold clothes, with a cape of the same colour billowing behind him. The dark blur on his face would have been the oversized moustache, though he would have recognised the Baron regardless.

"I knew it!" Symon hissed. Admittedly, he'd thought the Baron had shown up in Brackstead for the dungeon and not for Entisse, but he'd been sure the nobleman was up to something. The timing had just been too coincidental.

Entisse tried to get a glimpse of what Symon was looking at, but her eyes screwed shut from the glare. "What do you see?"

"The Baron, this nobleman from the Empire who showed up here a couple weeks ago. It must have been a bit before your people were attacked." He hummed in thought. "Maybe he was here to scout things out first?"

"We will remove the head from the beast?" she half-asked, half-suggested. That undercurrent of fear was still there.

Symon wasn't sure if that was a metaphor for removing the leaders of the army, or if she was just calling the Baron a beast. Either way, his answer was the same. "No, no way. We wouldn't stand a chance against those Praetorians, and I doubt the Empire would let us go without searching for us." He didn't think he was capable of a cold-blooded assassination anyway — there was a big difference between that and defending yourself.

He had no idea what to do next. He couldn't just leave his friends behind, but he couldn't help them either. They would probably be fine for a while without him, but he didn't think he could do much to help prepare with some extra time. It wasn't like he had any proper allies of his own to gather: he was friendly enough with a few people in the town, namely the innkeeper and the old mayor and his family, but that wouldn't help much. Besides, he wouldn't be able to get to them safely, let alone make contact with them.

Hmm, maybe I could find another bird? A Stitch 2.0?

He felt a little bad that he was considering replacing the little bird so soon, but this wasn't the time for sentimentality.

Right as he finished that thought, another figure emerged from the dark recess of the ship, standing on the gangplank next to the Baron.

It looked human, but only in a vague sense. The distance made it hard to make out the details, which was something he was grateful for.

They were hunched over so far as to be almost quadruped, and he was pretty sure they were completely naked. Long, dark hair spilled onto the floor, and their frame was well-muscled.

Everyone must have been used to the odd being, as the only reaction they had was when the Baron pulled a small bag from his side and dropped it onto the gangplank. He pointed demandingly at the sack, before gesturing broadly to Brackstead and the surrounding forest.

The new arrival loped forward, its arms touching the ground for support every couple of steps as it approached whatever the Baron had dropped. They stooped downwards, pressing their face right up to the bag and seemingly inspecting it. This went on for several long seconds, the Baron and the Praetorians content to wait.

Symon watched on, confused. "Uh, any input?" he asked.

<Nope. Looks fucked up, though.> While Keelgrave knew about fighting the Empire, probably moreso than anyone else, there were limitations. Namely, that he'd been dead for half a century, and a lot of things could have changed since then, even if the 'Eternal' part of the country's name implied a certain degree of stagnation. <'Bout time we got out of here, kid. Better to get somewhere safer and prepare; it's only a matter of time before you get spotted.>

Symon sighed deeply, causing Entisse to look over at him. "We should fall back, maybe get some more bird scouts and see if they can pass a message to Aslan."

She shrugged in response. "I desire the slaughter, but it would not be feasible as we are now."

"Right," he nodded back. He wouldn't begrudge her being mad at them; he felt that was perfectly understandable, after all, but he wasn't about to encourage any slaughtering. Part of him was curious about the strange, almost beastlike man that was seemingly under the Baron's employ, but not enough to want to risk getting caught. "Let's check around the manor's barrier for some dead critters, and we can write messages on paper from Renske's study. We'll just have to make sure they don't give any-"

A flash of movement caught his attention: the hunched-over man had just jumped off the ship. They splashed down into the water instead of gently alighting atop it like the Praetorians' steeds, but it didn't seem to slow them down as they began flinging themselves through the water with wild strokes of their long arms.

They were fast. Really fast, even in the water. As the Praetorians spurred their horses to follow after the figure, they could only barely keep up.

The moment the figure got to the shoreline — which didn't take long at all — they stood up straight, or at least straighter than they had before. Even from this distance, Anatomy pointed out how their powerful lungs inflated and deflated like bellows. They rotated on the spot before pausing.

On Symon.

"Shit," he muttered before he began running into the forest.