Bound and Broken: An Isekai Adventure Dark Fantasy (Melas Book 1)

by V. A. Lewis

  "Wait, trouble you? Why would I want to do that?" I asked, incredulous.

  "Because that’s all you’ve done since you’ve come here, no?" He tilted his head to the side as his gaze bore into me. He began listing things out. "From saving your life; to giving you my books and teaching you; to cleaning up after the problems you caused. You’ve been nothing but trouble. Which, I will tolerate of course. You are the Fiend’s daughter, and a child. Those factors, and my kindness, does implore me to accommodate you."

  "W-what does that mean?" I sputtered out.

  "Fickle. Females and children tend to be as such— I would know. Thus, it was to be expected. Only on the rare occasion does it not hold true, like with your mother. I expected you to be the same, but… perhaps when you’re older."

  "That—" I bit my tongue. I did not want to argue with Victor over that comment; this was my chance to reconcile with him after having not spoken to him in over a week. And… maybe he’s right? About me, at least.

  He saved my life, and did all those things for me. I should be more grateful, right? A relationship should be give-and-take, not take-and-take.

  "I’m sorry," I spoke softly. "Please, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

  The young man parroted me. "Make it up to me?" His mouth twitched.

  "Yes. I am truly sorry. And I want to prove it." I took a deep breath, and repeated myself. "Let me prove it."

  "If you want to… make it up... to me." He paused. Victor turned around slowly, facing his back towards me. Then he continued. "Well, there is nothing for you to do. Everything I’ve done for you, I did it out of my own goodwill. However, if you do insist." He did not turn back to me, instead choosing to remain facing forward away from me. "Two days," he said.

  "Two days?"

  "Yes." He nodded. "In two days, we will be taking Fort Conon. There have been some complications. Nothing we can’t deal with. But certainly it would be appreciated if there was something to counter those complications. A blessing, if you will."

  "You want me to fight with you guys?" I asked, taking a step back.

  "Ah, no. Not fight." The Dark Acolyte turned around, face neutral. "Simply aiding us in any way you can. You do want to make it up to me, right?" He cocked a brow.

  I hesitated. I was not sure what to say. At least, not yet. And he must have noticed it.

  "I’ll give you some time to think about it. But give me an answer by tomorrow. If you sincerely do want to make it up to me. Well, it does not matter to me, of course. It is up to you," he said, voice indifferent.

  His mouth twitched. And he walked away.

  I took a deep breath, and slumped my shoulders. Tomorrow, huh?

  That was a lot of time to think; at least, for most things. But this felt like a life changing decision.

  If I fought in Fort Conon, I would pretty much be a Dark Crusader at that point. It was different from fighting for myself, like the last two times I fought with them.

  I did not want to… be a terrorist. It’s wrong! But were they really terrorists? Zealot was the term Victor used. Ihsan likened it to bandits with a cause. A form of rebellion. With Gerrit believing that that cause was justice itself— the very will of the Goddess.

  Yet, I did not care about the Goddess. I met a god once, and he was a jerk! But that was just the one. This goddess might be a good one for all you know. And you don’t even know if he was even a god!

  I exhaled. This is what happens when you’re stressed. You start thinking in second person! And I really was stressed.

  But this was a choice I had to make. I was an adult. Not physically, but mentally. I did not want to fight, because I was scared of… killing.

  I remembered seeing death; from the one person in this world I loved, to many people I hated. I did not like it. Any of it.

  I wanted to exact my revenge on those that have wronged me— and somewhere deep inside, I still felt some of that desire burning inside of me. But when I saw death, I…

  I bit my tongue. I do not know.

  Could I go my entire life, hunted down by the Church and running from that false god, without killing anyone? The answer was obvious: that was not possible.

  Killing had to be necessary, to a certain extent. If my mother never killed those Inquisitors, I never would have survived. If Rin, Shang, and the Beastkin, never killed the slavers, I never would have escaped.

  If Victor, Karna, and Gerritt, did not kill all of those city guards, would I be standing here right now? Were they in the wrong for what they did?

  I knew the answer to all those questions. And yet—

  Yet...

  I still don't know.

  I put off those difficult thoughts by showing Gerritt and Karna the new spell I learned. They were impressed. They told me that I should be a Pyromancer or a Thaumaturge considering my current skill set.

  That made sense for most people, yet I wasn’t sure if specializing was a good idea for me. I did not know the limits that came with being born as the greatest spellcaster in the world, but I remembered seeing my mom cast all kinds of spells. Surely I could at least do that much if I continued training.

  I did not say any of that. That would have been too much to explain. So instead, I politely told them I would consider their suggestions, while knowing that was not going to happen.

  I kept avoiding thinking about what Victor said, and before I knew it, it was already night. Only a few campfires were set up since we were trying to remain discreet. I just finished my dinner (I ate a lot as usual) and was staring into the flames, still faced with an impasse.

  That was when Karna found me.

  "Hey, Karna," I greeted him.

  He gave me a grunt, acknowledging my existence. But sat down next to me without a word.

  I was not affronted by that. Since I got to know him, I learned that that was how he normally was, even when being nice. Karna was pretty awkward and unsociable. A man of few words. He preferred action, rather than talking.

  I assume that was why he disliked me initially: because I did nothing he deemed productive. Studying barely qualified as such to him; and although I disagreed with that sentiment, I could see where he was coming from.

  We sat there in silence for a while, before finally, the Goblin spoke up.

  "We’ll be taking Fort Conon in two days. At midnight."

  "Mhm."

  I already knew that; Victor told me that earlier. But I could tell Karna was going somewhere with this.

  "It’s a big mission. Important," he stated the obvious.

  "I heard."

  "And I was put in a leadership position. In charge of a quarter of our forces. Two dozen men."

  I blinked. "What? I— that’s…" I looked at him in surprise. Then I gathered myself. "Congratulations. That’s a big role!"

  "Yes," he said, voice revealing not a hint of my excitement.

  I examined his face, then I realized. "Is this your first time… doing something like this?"

  "Yes," Karna sighed. "I’ve been a leader before. But only in small missions, like stealing, scouting, and other simple tasks. This is the first time I’ll be leading an important mission. And more than that, this is my first time even being in something this important."

  That was right. Karna was still young for a Goblin. He was barely an adult. Only 13 years old. If he was a Human, he would be… 21 years old?

  The comparison was not exact, but it gave a good idea of how young he actually was. The reason why Karna even showed some respect for Ihsan— despite his carefree personality— was because the Ihsan was older than him by nearly three years.

  He stiffly continued.

  "I… should be honored. That they entrusted me— that I received recognition for my talents. But I’m not. I… don’t know."

  His face shadowed over, his hands were trembling slightly. And at that moment, I knew he knew what he was feeling. He was too proud to admit it— no, to accept it. I wanted to tell him what it was. But how could you
say something like that gently?

  The answer was that you could not. Not with someone like Karna. You could not skirt around the issue. You had to be direct. So I was.

  "You’re afraid," I said.

  His gaze snapped towards me. "I’m not—"

  "Why?" I spoke over him.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it slowly. He raised a hand, and saw the shaking. He placed it over his chest, as if he were feeling his heartbeat.

  "What if I... fail?" Karna asked no one in particular. "I failed Sena. Because of my weakness, Sena is dead."

  "You didn’t kill him—"

  "But because of me, he’s dead. Because I was not strong enough. I nearly died too, and that cost you your prized potion. What if… because of me, the mission fails completely?"

  His gaze bore into my soul. The weight of his problems, so unfamiliar. It was completely alien to me. I could not help him; there was no wisdom I could impart to him. But I understood one thing: what it was like to be afraid.

  Our fear stemmed from different roots. From distant trees. So dissimilar, you could not compare them. Yet it all fell under the same canopy, existing in the same forest.

  A state of fear.

  Uncertainty.

  Terror.

  It was one where you questioned yourself, but got no answers. It was when you looked to the future, and saw nothing. I remembered dying— having all the bones in my body smashed, watching as my blood pooled up in the middle of the road, and thinking to myself ‘Is this it?’, before I lost everything for the first time.

  Then I remembered fearing for my mother’s life. I did everything I could to prevent it; to save the person I cared about the most. And watched helplessly as I failed, and lost everything for the second time.

  Finally, I remembered being a slave. Where every day of my life was filled with terror. That I could be sold at any moment. That I could be beaten, raped, killed, and lose everything for the third time.

  But that never happened.

  Was it a silver lining that I could walk freely now? Or at least, freer than I was before? That even though I died once, I was given a second chance at life— did that make it better?

  It was not a consolation. It did not make me feel any better. I was still a slave by the brand on my face. I could never go back to my old world nor could return to the happy days in Villamcreek with my mother.

  But these facts alone did not make me fear.

  It made me feel angry. Sad. Unhappy. A dozen other negative emotions— none of it was fear.

  Because fear came from something else. From questions with no answers.

  Or maybe it was an instinct. A survival mechanism built into all living beings, designed to perpetuate life. And yet, it stayed true: I was not afraid of things that had happened, but of things that could be.

  And so was Karna.

  Not everyone could confront their fears and overcome it. The heroes you heard about in stories could. But I was not a hero; most people weren’t.

  Fear could not so easily be dispelled. But there was a way to slightly allay it. If I could not challenge my uncertainty, I could at least find comfort in what I knew. At least, for a little bit.

  So I pulled the Goblin’s hand off his chest. I clasped it tightly in between my palms. My eyes locked into his.

  "Why did you become a Dark Crusader?"

  It was a question. One only he knew the answer to.

  "To change the world," Karna said slowly. "Goblins are… hated. Disliked for something our ancestors did wrong hundreds of years ago. But, was what they did even wrong?"

  He looked heavenward as he pondered out loud. "What was their sin? Was it going against the Goddess by practicing magic? Defending their closest allies when they were invaded? Or was it… losing? Being defeated, and chased out of our home."

  He stared dreamily at something in the sky. A wistful gaze, longing for something.

  "Do you see that?"

  He pointed at the horizon, southwards, hanging barely at the edge of the sable dome that stretched overhead.

  "Inferna."

  Karna said its name. I saw the glowing red dot past the tip of his fingers. It was the South Star. The star that hung over Hell itself.

  "I was born in the Sharan Enclave within Anibes like most other Goblins. And there was this story that everybody knew, about a Goblin boy. It was a folktale. I’m not even sure if it is true. But I loved it. And I would have my parents tell me about it constantly."

  "What was it about?" I asked softly.

  "A long time ago, when Goblins still lived in tribes far from one other. There was a boy. He was a bold young boy who loved leaving his village in search of adventure. But his parents told him never to go too far. Never to stray past the valley. For, they said, beyond that valley, was a great desert where many souls were lost.

  "The boy however, didn’t listen. He thought that the tall mountains would guide him home. So he went past the valley, exploring the landscape beyond it. But what he found there was a vast desolate landscape. He tried to turn back, but everywhere he looked, he saw the same thing: tall hills jutting out in the distance. He was lost, just as his parents said he would be. He was… alone. Or at least, that was what he thought."

  He spoke clinging to every word. Telling the story as much to me, as to himself.

  "What happened next?"

  "He wandered for days. Day turning into night. Night turning back into day. But time no longer mattered to him. The sky spun around him, the scenery everchanging. He was abandoned by the world. But there was one constant. The only thing that stayed with him. A red star. The star that never moved. The star that waited for him.

  "He followed the star, certain it would guide him home. He thought, Why else would it stay, while everything else left? It has to be a sign from the Goddess! So he ran after it. For weeks on end. As he grew hungrier. As it grew colder and colder. He followed it, until he could no longer walk. Until he could only crawl. And when he finally reached it. When it hung directly overhead. He still never found his home. Darkness came over him, and he realized one thing: there was nothing waiting for him but despair."

  I listened as Karna spoke from his heart. As he remembered something that was so dear to him— something that made him who he was today.

  "Did he die?"

  "Yes."

  My eyes widened for a moment, but Karna continued.

  "Or he would have. If the traveller didn’t find him."

  "Traveller?" I inclined my head to the side. "Someone saved him? In the middle of nowhere?"

  He grunted in affirmation. "It was luck. Or a blessing. But regardless, a traveller found the boy collapsed in the snow. He brought the boy to his home. Nursed him back to life. The boy was shocked. He thought he had died. He told the traveller his story, and how he ended up lost in the great desert. And when the traveller asked why he ignored his parents warnings, the boy could only cry in response.

  "At first, the traveller felt that the boy deserved his fate. His own foolishness brought him here. There was no reason to help him. Yet, when the traveller saw the boy’s tears, he could only bring himself to pity the boy. So he told the boy that he would bring him home. He asked the boy to describe his home, but all the boy remembered was that there was less snow. The traveller grew frustrated. ‘Is there nothing else you can tell me?’ he asked. But the boy had no answer for him."

  I could almost feel the traveller’s frustration. "Did the boy manage to remember anything to help the traveller?"

  "No." Karna smirked. "The boy was a fool. He never recalled anything else."

  "What?" My jaw dropped. "So the boy never went home?"

  "He did," Karna said, much to my surprise. "Because the traveller never gave up."

  He took a deep breath, then resumed telling the story.

  "The traveller swore to the boy that he would return him to his home. He spent days, months, and years searching for a village in a place with less snow. And while that happened,
he raised the boy himself. Feeding him, teaching him, and caring for him. Finally, after a decade passed. When the boy became a man, the traveller brought him to a familiar valley. A place with less snow. A village hidden between the mountains."

  "He’s finally home? After all those years… he made it." I smiled slightly. Then I felt my jaw drop as the realization dawned on me.

  "So you realized it too," Karna chuckled. "Yes, the boy-turned-man returned to his village. He searched excitedly for his parents. But they weren’t there. They were dead, having passed away due to old age."

  "That’s… so sad."

  "Yes. That was the folly of the boy. The mistake the man regretted for the rest of his life. A tragedy."

  "But you said you loved this story!" I sputtered "What… what’s the point of it if his parents died in the end?"

  "The point is to listen to your parents. For they are older and wiser than you. Because if you don’t, you’ll come to regret it once you become an adult."

  I just sat there, completely appalled by the harsh reality of a kid’s story. But Karna’s lips quirked upwards.

  "I’m sure you think it’s a terrible story for a child. And I do agree somewhat. But there’s something else to the story. Something else that is no longer mentioned. Two differences between the version my parents told me, and the one our forefathers told their children."

  "And what was that?" I asked, blinking.

  "The first is what came next," he said with a smile. "The boy was overcome with regret. So he worked the rest of his life to atone for his folly. And he succeeded. That’s the first difference."

  "Why would they leave that part out?"

  "They left it out because of the second difference: the identity of the boy and the traveller. Never once in this version, do they mention who they are."

  "Who were they?" I waited with trepidation for the answer.

  The entire time Karna told me the story, he stared up at the sky. Never once did he look at me. But finally, the Goblin turned to face me. And I saw his mouth move. The words slowly registered in my head and my eyes widened.

  "The first Goblin King and the Demon Lord." He licked his lips as he answered my question. "That is who they were supposed to be.