Chapter 11: Disease Of Cowardice

Chapter 11: Chapter 11: Disease Of Cowardice

For a moment, only the low mourning hums of the song echoed through the arena. A farewell song to the dead.

Those that had been fast and smart enough to hide in the mouth of the Basalt Dragonic Lizard, were a total of eight.

Three were women and five were men. This was all that was left of a once upon a time proud tribe. Massacred like harvesting wheat.

As the last syllable of the song died, Kiki walked up to Popo. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

This was not to comfort him, but to remind him of his position.

He turned towards her, nodded gently. Then he wiped his tears with his uninjured arm.

By the time he stood to his feet and turned to the others, that leadership vibe had returned.

"Search for survivals. If they can’t be saved, send them to the ancestors."

The Babarians nodded, Victor too, and did as instructed.

All except one. A man. He was on his knees, staring at nothing. Blood, not all of it his own, had dried into the cracks of his squeezed knuckles.

Popo frowned.

"Zaga." Popo’s voice carried an edge of command, not unkindness. "I told you. Go out and look for survivors."

No movement.

Popo crossed the distance, his bare feet sinking into soft squishy things that were once his people.

He crouched, gripping Zaga’s shoulder. "Zaga."

Popo turned him.

And found a face that didn’t belong to the man he had fought beside a few hours ago.

Zaga’s eyes were wide, wet, rimmed red. It was not just grief but also something closer to a held breath that had never been let go.

His whole body trembled in short, useless bursts, like his muscles had forgotten how to agree with each other.

"Zaga," Popo’s frown deepened. "Tell me what happened."

But there was no clear answer. Just the shaking, and a sound low in his throat that couldn’t be called words.

Popo studied him. Really studied him.

Popo’s expression suddenly shifted into recognition. After all, he had seen this before.

"You’ve fallen into Cowardice, haven’t you?"

Those words seemed to hit Zaga harder than the previous order. His breath caught. And then, without a sound, he scrambled backward, got his feet under him, and ran.

Popo didn’t call after him. There was no need to. His fate had been sealed.

Instead, Popo looked to the axe resting against a nearby corpse.

Dago’s axe, still slick with sticky dripping blood.

He picked it up without a word, weighed it once in his hand, and threw.

Chuuuk.

It landed in between Zaga’s shoulder blades and put him to the ground.

But Zaga didn’t stay down. His arms dug the dirt, dragging himself forward in a scramble that was more instinct than hope, fingers clawing for distance he was never going to get.

By now, the barbarians nearby had stopped what they were doing to watch. They were silent. Not one person stopped Popo.

Even though it was clear that their population needed every hand right now, no one stopped him.

Victor also watched. And like the others, he knew why Popo did this.

Popo walked to him without hurry. Raised the axe a second time.

It came down once.

SLASH...

Zaga’s head tumbled.

Popo turned to the others. Zaga’s blood still warm on the blade.

"Zaga was infected with cowardice," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "I removed it from him. Before it could spread to the rest of us."

No one argued. A few even nodded, slow and grim, as if he’d done them a mercy.

"Continue searching for survivors."

They did.

But Victor. He just stood there. If he was not sure about it before, the dripping blood from that axe confirmed it.

In babarian culture, Cowardice was not just seen as a failure of the human mind, but a literal disease akin to the black plague.

A plague that could only be purged with one method and one method only.

Death.

It made him remember the time Kiki had pointed her broad sword at him. Victor subconsciously turned to her.

She caught his eyes—he looked away—sharply.

Damn! I was so close to death just a few minutes after coming into this world.

She would have definitely hacked his head off his shoulders.

Kiki looked like she wanted to say something, but Victor quickly left to do as Popo instructed.

He did not mind admiring such a wild untamable beauty, but he was not so stupid that he could not read the room.

Picking a blood stained spear, he walked through the corpses.

His mind was no longer in shock, but all this was still a lot for him to process.

Instinctively, he willed for status to appear again.

It did.

The log out function was still unavailable. This much he expected. In the game, all this was still a part of the first trial. Until he did that thing, he would not be able to escape this place.

And right now, there was nothing Victor wanted more. Such a world was a place he would not wish on even his enemies.

Soon enough, he heard a whimper at a corner. Someone was alive.

He hurried over. It was a young boy. He did not look older than ten.

But he was in a terrible state. No arms, no legs, and half his face bleeding a mix of mucus and brain matter.

It was as much a disgusting sight, as it was pitiful.

Even worse, the young lad’s remaining eye brightened at the sight of him.

Like he was seeing a savior.

His breath quicked and then his lips quivered. The relief of a familiar face let all the pent up emotions out.

Tears flowed as the boy cried.

Victor’s fingers tightened around the spear. He knew what he had to do. But doing it was the problem.

Was this not a person like him? A young boy at that? Was there no way to save him?

"To save him, you must send him to the ancestors."

Victor turned sharply. It was Kiki.

She gave him that same look, wondering if he had become a coward again.

"I am sorry kid." He muttered lowly.

The spear fell...

(Author’s Note: please add this amazing book to your Library. I know you loving it.)