Searching For Andromeda 71 Sacrifices To Attain One's Goals Part 3

Hosea felt a bead of sweat dripping across his forehead. The lids in his eyes were heavy, his throat had been going parched as he hurled and heaved. His depleted mana was taking a toll on his body.

Hosea could feel his limbs going limp like a wanton, and his sense of touch going numb. But despite these setbacks, Hosea remained conscious. He had to endure the exhaustion trying to pull him to sleep. If he succ.u.mbed, he knows he might die. Hosea could still feel the trudging and the turns they took from the changes in the breeze around him, which acted as the proof he wasn't hallucinating. His senses were the key to his survival.

However, his sensations were gradually weakening as he feels his mana drop. This made him harder for him to differentiate whether he was imagining the feeling or it was real. Thankfully, he could still distinguish which is which, but he knows that there's no telling when he will lose his senses.

And it was because of his mana.

Mana is something that is regarded as commensurate to one's life force, which is why, as a law, shouldn't be - at any circ.u.mstance - completely depleted. It could drop low, but pus.h.i.+ng one's mana to its limits would equate into shortening a person's life span. When mana drops to one's boundaries, the body would make up for the lost mana by converting the lifespan to energy. This is why mana should be used sparingly.

And Hosea had been fighting nonstop, using magic meant for attacks, which in itself shouldn't have taken much toll in a short amount of time.

The problem is, Hosea's magic wasn't meant to do offense. He was a healer—a Grimoire Protector. He wasn't a Mage like Vashti. He knew only scanty attack spells, with fireb.a.l.l.s being the strongest. Spells that were meant to harm weren't what he had signed for the moment he became a member of the Red Alaris Guild. And a magic user in general. He disliked fighting, which is why he became a Grimoire Protector.

Grimoire Protectors are neither priests (individuals who dedicate their whole lives using divine powers to heal) nor mages (ones who master the four elements: fire, water, air, and earth and use them as weapons). Grimoire Protectors were the users of the Grimoire, a book that utilizes magic to heal. The only difference between Grimoire Protectors and Priests is that the latter uses only sheer Divine Provenance.

Also, priests were rare to see. They often reside in the Holy City, where the Divines mix. Not anyone can apply to the priesthood. The only ones who harbor the Divine Provenance—a proof of divinity engraved to a person at birth—are the ones allowed to possess the t.i.tle. The Priesthood t.i.tle was the highest one could attain, even higher than that of the duchy. Priests and Priestesses were next to the royals, and even the Holy Church could punish the monarchs if they do not abide by the rules.

Grimoire Protectors were on the same page as magicians, except they only use healing as their specialty. Although both utilize the four elements, Grimoire users specialize with restorative magic. A person with a significant amount of mana could be a Mage, but he couldn't be a Grimoire Protector at the same time. This is because of the rule called the 'Intermingling Energy.' It is said that magic devoted to attacking cannot be used to healing.

'A staff that is devoted unto ruin would not be able to fix anything.'

Meaning that if one chooses the path of being a Mage, he cannot be a Grimoire Protector.

But that isn't strictly the case. And like any other rule—there is a loophole. An average Mage can still heal a person, but only to a minimal extent. A Grimoire user could also attack, but with weaker spells. Although the rule says that one cannot do the other, there is still a way to perform either.

But at a price.

A Grimoire Protector using attack spells drains their mana, equivalent to five times of casting regular healing spells—meaning even unleas.h.i.+ng only weak attacks, a Grimoire user can die.

This is why consecutively casting fireball spells led Hosea's mana close to diminution. He had pushed himself too far; now it wasn't regenerating anymore. He had to be helped by the Divine—a priest—to regenerate his mana. Simpler healing spells wouldn't work due to the fact that he had surpa.s.sed his limits, and now his mana was dropping, eating away his lifespan.

But it would take a miracle to even survive these seemingly immortal monsters. He was growing weaker every second. Every breath was a sting to his lungs. The lids of his eyes were like doors shut tight. Hosea felt his body burning as beads of ice-cold sweat dripped across his chin. He knew they had company now—Samuel's fabled 'Ephraim.'

The one he had said to be similar to him.

Right. They were being aided by this Ephraim now. Hosea didn't have the time and the energy to feel pathetic. They had to rely on someone else to be saved, someone who they barely even know. This Ephraim had the key to the last floor, which he obviously got from surviving the traps given his half-burnt clothes.

Hosea still was uncomfortable with the idea that this Ephraim didn't run with the vessel and claim it as his own. And he was still confused with why Samuel and Ephraim were in the dungeon when they clearly didn't want to be there. Going to the dungeon meant to be going after Wahid's Vessel. And these guys said they didn't want it. It disturbed Hosea, but he did not have the energy to even utter a word about it.

Really. It was a n.o.ble plan set by Yael, but they had failed because of the monsters growing stronger and stronger. This wasn't meant to happen. But then this was a dungeon. Everything was unpredictable. Even if they had the Book that helped them prepare, the place had its own quirks.

The plan was meant to help them in the long run, but now it had gone futile given the fact that Samuel was here with them, running for his life, with a subpar plan created by his company.

How can you protect someone when you couldn't even protect yourself?

"Why didn't you wait for me?"

Hosea's heart thumped loudly—almost painfully over his chest as he dropped Vashti's staff on the floor. He fought the heavy lids of his eyes and tried to see who had spoken. That familiar voice. That tone, that similar gentle sound. He shouldn't be hearing it now. But why? How was he able to?

"Vash . . . ti?"

Hosea's eyes slowly darted to the cherry-colored blood dripping towards the floor. The blood was from Vashti's belly, struck by the gigantic necromorph behind them. It had formed a puddle, mixing with the dusty cement.

Hosea's eyes turned blank, remembering what had happened just a moment ago—recalling the face of Vashti as she tried to escape. Her scream was still ringing in his ears, and her bleeding body was still freshly engraved to his mind.

Her death was still haunting him, even now.

"How . . . ?" Hosea mumbled in disbelief. How can Vashti be here? How is she able to talk? Just how—

"Don't let yourselves be tricked,��� Yael exclaimed. "That is not Vashti."

Of course, Hosea knows. It wasn't Vashti, given the gigantic necromorph behind her. Vashti should be dead.

She should have been.

But . . . but what if . . . she WAS Vashti?

The necromorph behind her had its giant claw pierced to her bleeding stomach. It was waiting for them to react, with its breaths steady; it had many eyes with repulsive red nerves in the whites. The necromorph's bloodshot-red orbs were peering at each of them as if it was waiting for them to do something.

Waiting for them to move.

"Do. Not. Move." Yael mumbled, and then without taking his eyes off the necromorph, he whispered to Ephraim, ". . . open the door . . . slowly."

Hosea couldn't take his eyes off of Vashti. She was there. She was alive. They could rush towards her side and pull her away from that hideous monster. They could still save her!

But here they were . . . doing nothing. Immobilized. Just . . . waiting. Just . . . looking at Vashti suffer.

"Please . . . help me."

That was the trigger for Hosea.

"Vashti!"

But it wasn't him who had run towards the bloodied Vashti, it was—

"Arletha! No!" Pelmon yelled, propelling an arm forward to stop Arletha.

Everything just happened so fast—so quick that Hosea did not have the time to even think. The gigantic necromorph's arms flew into the running Arletha, throwing her athwart the whole vicinity; and with a loud thud, Arletha's whole body had hit a wall of the ruin. The impact sent her body cracking the wall—but not enough to destroy it.

Hosea stopped breathing as he sees a crimson smear on the cracked wall as Arletha's body fell limp to the floors.

"Hehe. Arletha . . ." Vashti mumbled, "she flew."

"Vashti . . ." Pelmon screamed, drawing his sword as he ran towards Vashti. "YOU MONSTER!"