Maya left the library feeling lost.
What just happened? How did she fall for his tricks? Were they even tricks? Was she just slower than normal because of a lack of sleep the previous night? How come she felt defeated?
When she threatened to expose his secrets, she felt like she had all the leverage, the one in control of the ship.
Yet now, it felt like whatever leverage she had, all of it was useless.
She could tell by his reaction, or rather the lack of a reaction, that even if she were to spread the news around the city, he wouldn't care.
'What happened to him over the past month? He… he seems nothing like the Bell Agnus that the academy has seen over the past two years. Was this… was this always his true self? Did committing that crime convince him that there was no longer a need to hide behind his shell?'
She had so many questions she wanted to ask him.
Questions that would have to remain unanswered in the meantime, because it seemed like Bell was adamant on sticking to the rule of trading questions. And for the moment, there wasn't anything he wanted to know from her.
'Why does it feel like he has the leverage now?'
Most of it was just because of her curiosity. But she couldn't help it. She naturally liked knowing things that others didn't. It's why she developed the habit of being invisible and eavesdropping on people at the academy in the first place.
While she was stressing in the midst of leaving, Bell was finishing up with the book in his hands.
'I didn't expect to meet another protagonist this early. Nor did I expect her to be the one to reach out to me.'
Making contact with Sarakit was a conscious decision. This encounter was out of his control to an extent.
'Well, not that it's a bad thing.'
Just knowing that Maya knew about the incident was a piece of information that was either never mentioned in the novel or was something that he had forgotten. The knowledge alone could remove many variables in the future.
'I can now focus all my attention back on these books.'
They wouldn't read themselves.
* * *
"How are you feeling?"
"I… I'm okay, Papa."
A father and daughter were having a conversation inside an underground lab.
The daughter's voice trembled just slightly. Although she was terrified of her father a little bit, she still loved him dearly.
She was lying on a polished surgical table and her father stood over her, adjusting the pressure on a dial connected to one of the machines humming at her side. A soft green light blinked in rhythm with her pulse.
"That's good to hear," he murmured with a large smile. His voice was dry and cracked, like paper left too long in the sun. "That's very good to hear."
Around them, the lab breathed in mechanical sighs.
Tall glass cylinders towered against the walls, each one filled with a thick blue fluid. Their surfaces were fogged slightly from the warmth within. Shapes drifted inside — small, still, the size of children.
None of them moved. Not a single one was able to as they were in a forced deep slumber. Tubes ran in and out of their bodies like veins made of glass.
The girl turned her head to the side slightly. One of the nearest tanks was close enough for her to see the outline of a face. Her own age, give or take a year. Eyes closed. A tube resting gently in her.
All of the figures shared those same features. The age. The size. The gender. They were all just like her.
She didn't ask about the girl in the tank.
She never did.
Leaning closer, her father brushed a gloved hand across her hair with delicate care, careful not to tug at the wires running from her neck and arms.
"No pain today?" he asked softly.
"A little," she admitted, her voice thinner now.
Her father's face shifted slightly.
She didn't want to make him feel this way, but the pain was too unbearable for her to deal with.
"Where?"
She continued, "In my left leg. It feels… a little tight." Like it doesn't belong.
His gaze lingered there on the mentioned leg. It had fresh stitches that wrapped around the entire thigh. It was a few shades darker than his daughter's face.
"Useless rat," he whispered under his breath soft enough so that his daughter wouldn't hear. 'Should I just kill it and replace it with another body?'
"I'll make adjustments," he said gently while rubbing her head. "Tonight."
Giving a small nod, the daughter's eyes were already drifting shut again despite the pain; her breath slowed as the sedatives resumed their work.
Standing there for a long moment, staring down at her with enough love to fill the ocean.
Then he walked away towards the cylinders. One by one, he began inspecting the figures inside.
"This one? No… maybe this one. Yeah," he nodded.
Pressing a button, one of the cylinders let out a faint hiss as the liquid began to drain downwards, the floating body lowering along with it.
Once there was no liquid left and the figure rested on the bottom of the cylinder, the glass opened up.
Entering the cylinder, he picked up the girl and began walking towards where his daughter was. There was a second surgical table next to hers.
"Let's get you a new leg. A better one."
* * *
A week later.
"Here," said Godfrey, handing Bell a black box that was about the length of a forearm and the width of a hand.
"Thank you," said Bell as he grabbed the box from his grandfather.
"I would ask what you're planning on doing with it, but… I have an inkling that I'll still be left in the dark even if I do."
Bell nodded and made a facial expression to show that he was sorry about his lack of transparency.
"It took a lot of asking around and cashing in on some old favors to acquire the permission for you to wield this weapon. So, whatever it is that you're going to do, make sure you succeed."
"I will."
"Good. Don't forget you're an Agnus," Godfrey said as he gestured for Bell to leave his office.
Once he was alone in the office, he began to think about the conversation he had with Solmire a week ago. It was strange being able to have a conversation with his Familial God so casually considering that the only times he was ever acknowledged personally were the few times he had accomplished feats that left his name in the literal history books.
But just by informing Solmire that he wanted to talk about Bell, he was treated to a full-blown conversation.
Recalling the last words Solmire told him, telling him to take care of the kid as best as he could, which wasn't something he needed to be asked to in the first place, Godfrey couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before his grandson's legacy would overtake his.
Outside.
Jerman: "...?"
'What's going on with my Young Master now?'
He wanted to grab Bell by the shoulders and ask him to explain himself, but then he remembered his motto.
Fine, he doesn't care. He'll just comply with his orders.
Reading a book in the back of the car, Bell asked, "Are you curious about why I'm making you take me there?"
'Yes! Wait… no! No worries! No stress!'
"No, Young Master."
"...Jerman."
"Yes?"
"You're a good retainer."
"Thank you." Jerman was confused about the sudden compliment, but it was a compliment from his Young Master, so he was happy nevertheless, regardless of how much more confusing his life had become over the past two weeks.
Bell meant it. Over the past two weeks, although he had only technically met Jerman for the first time, he did his job to perfection. Complied with his orders and even when he was asked to do things that could've led to his master's endangerment, Bell's words took precedence over his own thoughts and instincts.
'If you're going to be serving me in this life, then the least I can do is give a compliment every now and then. No one wants to work for a boss who never acknowledges their efforts.'
Bell glanced at the black box next to him.
Tracing his finger along the edges, he closed his eyes and began to recall memories of himself back on Earth using a similar item to what was inside the box.
'If I weren't an Agnus, I doubt I would've ever gotten to use this weapon… legally, at least.'
Again, he was reminded of the benefits… and then the cons that came with being Bell Agnus.
He was the son of a duke, had access to enough money to buy whatever he wanted, a loving family, etc. — but, he was also a monster. Someone who committed a crime that he should never be forgiven for.
As a reader, he had already been disgusted by Bell's actions, even though it was only mentioned in the dialogue between Diana and the main protagonist.
The same actions that led him to become the novel's most hated, mainly because a bunch of the readers were virgins who think that being with a girl who isn't a virgin is the worst thing possible so they were devastated to hear that one of the female protagonist had experience prior to meeting the protagonist who they were living vicariously through.
Bell also hated the character when he read the novel. Not for the reasons that the other readers had, but because of his crime specifically, the incident that made Bell irredeemable — it reminded him of things that haunted his childhood.
If it wasn't for Bell's belief that he was here in this world for a reason, he would've already taken this body and tossed it down a cliff.
"By the way, Young Master," something had just popped up in Jerman's head, "do you remember asking me to inform you about strange things that occur in the city a few days ago?"
"Yeah."
"Yesterday night, I was talking to a family member and he told me that the rate of children going missing in the city has been increasing exponentially since a couple of months ago. And strangely enough, a lot of the children are all young girls in the same age range. I don't know if this was the sort of information you were looking for, but I felt like I needed to inform you."
"Thank you, Jerman. No need to overthink it in the future. If you feel like it might fit the criteria, even just a little bit, then don't hesitate to inform me."
"Alright."
Although Bell wasn't sure this was related to what he was seeking, he made sure to place this bit of information at the front of his mind.
A few hours later.
Jerman felt tired. Even though he had been through intense training in his youth that was difficult enough to cripple a hundred men, driving nonstop for this long was tiring to the mind.
He wanted to rest, so when Bell ordered that he remain in the car until he came back, a part of him secretly bounced in joy.
'Did he think I wouldn't notice that sparkle in his eyes?' Bell wondered as he began walking into the forest before him.
The two of them were no longer in St. Vernon. They had driven out of the city and were now at the outskirts of Vernon Forest.
"To find something that I can barely remember from the novel… I'll need quite a bit of luck," he muttered.
Bell didn't have his hopes up. His expectations were that he wouldn't be able to find it so easily due to his lack of clues that would lead him to the location he was searching for. So he could only rely on luck and sheer brute force of just scanning the general area of where he knew it had to be, section by section.
As he expected, when he returned to the car, the night was already around the corner, and he was unsuccessful.
"Let's head home," he told Jerman.
This process was repeated over the next few days.
Only on the eighth day did he stumble upon what he was searching for. Standing in front of the tree, most people wouldn't notice anything that differentiated it from the rest of the forest if they weren't actively searching for the oddity.
Putting down the black box that he had been carrying around the entire time, he finally opened it, revealing the weapon inside.
It was a black revolver, its design similar to the ones you would see in Western movies used by cowboys and sheriffs. There were only a few differences here and there, but for the most part, it looked like a revolver.
Except in this world, the gun Bell was holding in his hands went by the name of a widowmaker.
It received its name from its habit of doing what its name suggested — making widows.
In the box, there were a total of twelve bullets. Enough to load the chambers twice.
One by one, he placed a bullet inside. Once all six chambers were filled, he flicked the gun, pushing the cylinder in place.
As he felt the weight of the fully loaded widowmaker in his hand, Bell couldn't help but feel a little at ease. This familiarity felt reassuring. It was something that anchored him to his old world as opposed to the magic and gods that dominated this new one.
He had never shot the widowmaker before, but he knew how to wield it without a doubt.
Approaching the tree, he placed his hand on the grey patch of bark that formed the insignia, which represented one of the Ancient Gods, deities who were rumored to have either passed away in a great war or had vanished from their universe to move on to greener pastures.
Even as a reader, Bell wasn't sure what happened to them because if the novel was going to eventually explore it, the author hadn't written that part yet before the ground had swallowed him.
Taking a deep breath, Bell uttered a short phrase, "I challenge thee."
As soon as he finished the phrase, everything around him became dark. The trees disappeared. The ground became flat. The skies vanished.
He was now in a void, similar to the one where skill trees resided.
The only things that remained were the grey bark with the insignia floating mid-air, Bell, the widowmaker in his hand, and the six extra bullets in his pocket.
Then the bark began to expand. New bark began to grow from the original; it twisted, peeled open, roots burst forth, bark cracked, limbs snapped, and something emerged — a tall, monstrous, humanoid in shape but wrong in every way.
A tree monster.
'What a hideous creature.'
Standing with its trunk split down the center, the monster revealed a hollow chest lined with a jagged core of pulsing sap. Its head was a crown of thorns, its limbs bent like bows, its back with worse posture than retired grandparents, and its arms ended in long branches sharpened like spears.
The Withered Warden had awoken.
It moved.
And so did everything else.
The first volley came from above — arrows made of compressed bark appeared out of thin air and shot in his direction with unnatural grace.
It was extremely hard to see with complete blackness around him.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Bell dodged and then dropped into a slide. The third arrow missed his ribs by inches.
While keeping his eyes on the Withered Warden that was approaching him with slow but powerful steps, he continued to dodge each new wave of arrows that shot at him.
After a while, he muttered, "There's a pattern to them."
Left. Right. Pause for a brief moment. Then a final arrow comes, aimed at his center mass. Dodge.
He noticed that whenever the beat to pause was there, the Warden's chest opened slightly and its core would pulse in this silvery glow for a brief moment before disappearing as soon as the third arrow was shot.
Bell raised his widowmaker but lowered it a second later.
"Not yet."