The Bridge of Heroes
Evening settled over Orario, and the air on the Bridge of Heroes began to cool.
The bridge was quiet. Not empty—never empty in Orario—but quiet in the way places became when your thoughts started speaking louder than the world around you.
I leaned against the stone railing, eyes fixed on the water below as lanternlight shimmered across the surface, stretching and breaking with every ripple. To my left, the towering statue of a legendary knight stood sentinel, its silent gaze fixed on Babel Tower in the distance, as if it had been watching the city long before I ever existed.
I felt small. Smaller than usual.
This bridge had seen a lot of legends. Mine didn't even feel like it deserved to be here.
The encounter in the Dungeon returned to me in pieces—steel, shadows, the sudden weight of pressure. Behind it all were those green eyes, piercing and calm behind a white mask. They hadn't looked at me like a monster looks at prey, nor like a veteran looks at a newbie. There was something heavier in that gaze. Something that lingered.
"Interesting."
The voice echoed in my memory, smooth and almost playful, carrying the faint impression of someone savoring expensive wine.
What happened to me yesterday?
Frustration tightened my grip on the stone railing. That figure hadn't hesitated when it tore through the others. It hadn't slowed or spoken at all—until it reached me.
"Let's see what you've become."
The doubt that followed felt like something long buried finally erupting.
What if it was Revis… or Olivas?
The thought sent a chill through me. Gods watching you was bad enough, but becoming a test subject was worse. "Interesting" wasn't curiosity. It was intent. Purpose.
I dragged a hand down my face and let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
And Elara… Raska…
They'd been off since we returned. Not angry. Not hostile. Just tense, like they were walking around something sharp they didn't want to touch.
Had they looked at my back? Was that the reason for it?
My armor had been torn, yes—but my inner shirt was intact. Nothing exposed. Nothing they could have seen. And yet Raska kept glancing at me, again and again, like she was measuring something she couldn't name.
Why?
On top of that, I remembered the pain. Ribs breaking. Pressure collapsing inward. I was certain I'd stopped breathing. And yet I'd survived.
They said it was a healing potion.
I swallowed.
That wasn't how it worked.
Potions closed cuts and knitted muscle, but they didn't reset bones. They didn't undo that kind of damage like rewinding time. So how had I recovered? Why did they lie to me—or was it possible I simply didn't understand how healing worked here?
The more I thought about it, the tighter the spiral became. Too many questions. Not enough answers.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to slow my breathing.
Then—
GROWLLLLL.
I froze.
"…Really?"
"Dude, I'm in serious thinking right now."
My stomach answered again, louder than before.
I exhaled, shoulders slumping as the tension finally leaked out of me.
"Okay. Fine. Food first. Existential dread later."
I pushed myself off the railing and started walking.
Apparently hunger transcended worlds. Isekai or not, an empty stomach was still an empty stomach.
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