Lysander knew he was fortunate to have survived the first few hours after his transmigration, and he aimed to make the most of it. His body hadn't yet shown signs of hunger, so he decided to gather information before he became too hungry to do so.
Unlike others, whose situations he knew little about, Lysander was from Earth and was a gamer, which meant he had very limited experience dealing with prolonged hunger and exhaustion.
All the more reason to seize this time, Lysander thought. He decided he could rest later when he felt tired and hungry.
He noted down the information he had inferred from the situation. They were inside a cave deep underground, and there were likely more chambers beyond the one they occupied, as there had to be a place where Crazy resided. Crazy referred to the people here as "acolytes," suggesting they were part of some organization. The presence of the black-robed individuals who cleaned up the bodies after Crazy left further supported this idea.
Maybe it's a cult? Lys thought. The higher-ups, whom he assumed Crazy was part of — perhaps even the leader of the entire operation — did not seem to care about the lives of their acolytes.
Lysander could only guess blindly in the dark. Aside from their apparent penchant for killing, he assumed they also aimed to create warriors in their own twisted way, as indicated by their description of the combat they experienced that day as a 'lesson'.
Lys walked around the area, surveying his surroundings. Now that his eyesight had been somewhat adjusted to the darkness, he could distinguish the basic shapes of the items he looked at.
He could navigate the terrain without stumbling over random stalagmites now. The acolytes around him shot him strange looks, but often it was nothing more than that. Most of them were sleeping or crying from the ordeal.
They are probably brought from sheltered environments as well, thought Lysander. I would not be surprised if people go insane from this.
Lys seemed to be one of the few actively searching for information, as most of them were too tired, hungry, or shocked – or all of these things – to care. He tried asking around a few others, but they mostly ignored him.
Some even answered in different languages, suggesting the influence of this organization that held them here extended over multiple regions. The answers he received were mostly disappointing.
"Know as much as ye do, lad," said a man with a strange accent, although Lys couldn't place how he could tell since he was speaking a completely different language than English. He seemed to be in his early twenties, but his ragged beard and hair made it hard to tell.
"Wasn' nothin' more than a fisherman when they got me. Black robes, all o' 'em, came up ter me a day and sacked me. Next thing I knew, I was here, forced ter fight madmen."
Before Lys could follow up, the man walked away. "Ye seem like a decent lad. Save yer strength for the fightin'."
Sighing, Lys could only accept that nobody was really going to provide him with useful information. If they did, it was likely they wouldn't tell him outright. One more person knowing is one more person competing for food, after all.
Lys might go and ask the golden-haired boy. He seemed to be around Lysander's body's age — around seventeen or sixteen. The boy didn't seem very open or willing to strangers; however, he pointed his sword at anyone who tried to get close. He didn't appear to be speaking in his native language either.
Nevertheless, the boy seemed to have a purpose here beyond just survival. He didn't sulk around like the other acolytes, and his behaviour was strange even among those who received food. He was often seen training in a far corner, either practising swordplay or building up his muscles.
It was logical, in a way, to utilise the fact that he had access to food to train. But most other acolytes appeared to prefer saving their energy to survive Crazy's challenge rather than improving themselves.
◈ — — — ◈
Julian did not fail to notice the presence of a young man, probably only a few years his senior, wandering around while he was training. The person was quite peculiar, being calmer than the rest of the panicked acolytes. He wandered around gathering information, which Julian thought was a foolish thing to do.
Even if the strange young man had a food portion, it was still best for him to find a place to rest and conserve his energy. Walking around and asking for information in such a manner would be extremely reckless, as most of the acolytes here had been kidnapped by the cult — called the Voice of Strife — and thus knowing any little more than the fact they had been kidnapped for some reason was already valuable data. Furthermore, it would attract the attention of the overseers and the other acolytes, as he seemed to have energy to spare.
Of course, none of this was Julian's problem. He was deliberately showing off his prowess, since he needed the source of food to train. After all, he had entered the Voice of Strife intentionally — seeking them out and asking to join. He had a purpose, and he wouldn't linger here any longer once it was fulfilled.
Well, that idiot does what he does, Julian thought. With that in mind, he decided the rest was long enough and returned to training, swinging his sword repeatedly.
However, after a long while, when his body had fallen into automatic mode, swinging his sword and repeating the motion hundreds of times, he noticed the idiot moving toward him from the corner of his vision.
Ugh, what now? he thought.
Annoyed, Julian raised his sword, ready to deal with whatever nonsense the older male was about to dish out. He also hoped a fight wouldn't break out, because as confident as Julian was, his body was sore from training, and the idiot represented an unknown enemy.
An unknown enemy was the most dangerous.
At closer range, Julian realised that the idiot carried no noticeable weapon. If he were to attack, it would have to be with hidden weapons, perhaps concealed in his sleeves or at his waist.
This meant that such weapons, like daggers or slingshots, would have less reach than his sword in close combat.
So, I just need to force him into close proximity and prevent him from drawing his weapons. Julian thought. The corner I am in is enclosed by cliffs on two sides, so a surprise attack is unlikely. Still, one can never be too cautious.
Julian decided a fight would be more harmful to him. The acolytes here might only aim to survive, but Julian had a goal to accomplish. He decided that intimidation was the best tactic.
His footsteps clanked against the echoic stone floor.
Because his corner was far from the usual gathering spots of most acolytes, approaching figures would make echoing noises that would alert Julian. From the footsteps, he could tell the older male was alone.
When the idiot reached within four steps, Julian pointed his sword at his neck, signaling him to halt. He adopted his most menacing glare and tried to appear intimidating, despite being almost a head shorter.
"Woah, relax, I'm not here to fight," the older male responded with a central accent that Julian couldn't place — perhaps Lethanese — and raised his hands in peace.
There was a hint of surprise in his voice, but no fear, Julian noted. Brave. Or foolish, he mused. Probably both.
Pointing sharply with his chin and gesturing with his blade towards the stone wall, Julian prompted the older male to move there. The cold stone pressed against the man's back.
Julian's sword hovered an inch from his throat, steadily and unshaking. He held it firmly, standing squarely in front, feet apart for stability, shoulders tense like a drawn bow. His gold hair was damp with sweat, falling into his eyes, and he clenched the hilt so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
The older male still had a faint smile, albeit weaker now, as if unafraid. Perhaps he truly did not fear Julian, or maybe he believed Julian wouldn't kill him. Julian thought.
The idiot slowly raised his hands and took a step back until his shoulder blades touched the cavern wall. The rough stone pressed through his thin clothes.
"Alright," he said evenly. He spoke in the second most popular dialect on the continent, which didn't narrow down his identity. "I'm not moving."
Julian did not lower his sword, and the male remained silent. Five minutes stretched by in that manner.
Julian measured the man's breathing. He spent a bit of his spiritual powers to enhance his senses and carefully surveyed the man.
The situation, the longer the man took to make a move, was beneficial for him, since he can gain more information about the man. He is becoming less and less an unknown enemy, and with that, his advantage is fading away.
With his spirit-enhanced sense of hearing and sight, Julian noted the way the man's stance adjusted every few seconds — micro-corrections, careful, as if trained. He wasn't panicking, and that obnoxious smile still clung to his face.
"…You don't talk much," the man said finally, as if testing the air.
Julian gave no response. It wasn't a question, but an opinion. He didn't need to answer it.
The man's eyes flicked over Julian's face, down to his hands, then back to his eyes. Calculating.
Julian frowned inwardly. What was this man attempting? Is he planning a stupid attack now? How would he pull it off with his advantages blown—
"You mute?" The man tried.
The sword twitched — just barely — but the tip stayed level with his throat.
"Alright, not mute, then." The man said, exhaling, as if wondering what to do next. Then, he pointed at himself.
"I don't know where I am."
Julian gave no reaction, but motioned for him to continue.
"I don't know who anyone is. I don't remember how I got here," he continued carefully. "Amnesia."
Julian's brows drew together. Amnesia? What was that word? It seemed to be a different language. But even though having somewhat deep knowledge about the Southern Continent's linguistics, he did not recognize the word as from any language from the South.
A Northern man, speaking Lethanese. Julian pondered. That meant the Voice of Strife have influence in the North as well? If that was the case, then I might have severely underestimated the cult's power. He suddenly felt his goal, that already felt difficult, a dozen times more challenging.
The man in front of him hesitated, then added, slowly, deliberately, "Got no memories."
Huh, Julian thought, how believable. But at least we can see his goal is to collect information. Perhaps he can be indebted to me.
The man's eyes sharpened. Julian's sword didn't lower, but the angle shifted — no longer aimed to kill instantly, now positioned to control.
"A believable story indeed," Julian spoke at last in Lethanese, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What do you want?"
His voice came out rougher than he expected, because it hadn't been used much lately. Young, but hopefully not childish.
The man kept his expression neutral, still smiling on his face. "I want information about this place, and why we are here."
Julian snorted softly. "That's the dumbest thing I've heard all week."
"Do you have information or not?" the man said.
An intense silence enveloped the cavern once more, creating a palpable tension in the air. The only sound breaking the stillness was the soft, rhythmic dripping of water, echoing faintly from the shadows, each drop cascading like a distant whisper that reverberated through the rocky chambers.
Instead of answering the question, Julian asked, "What's your name."
"Lysander."
A pause. "That your real one?" The name didn't sound like one from the South at all. Perhaps he is a Northern man.
"It's the only one I've got."
Julian clicked his tongue, irritated. "Figures." He didn't offer his own.
"Look," Lysander said, keeping his voice low. "If I wanted to jump you, I'd have done it already. Or tried. I didn't."
"You look weak," Julian shot back. "I doubt you've ever held a sword before, or any weapon, for that matter,"
"Doesn't mean I'm harmless." The man said, although smiling again now. "I can give you half of my food portion, if I were to land a hit next time. In exchange for information. Deal?"
That earned him a longer look.
"Yeah, unlikely," Julian said immediately.
The sword lowered an inch.
Not much. But it was something.
"If you really got no memories," Julian said, eyes narrowing, "then you picked a real shitty place to wake up."
"Yeah," Lysander agreed quietly. "I'm getting that impression."
Another pause.
Julian glanced toward the darker end of the cavern, where bodies had been dragged away earlier. His jaw tightened.
"…Don't follow me," he said abruptly.
"I wasn't planning to," Lysander replied. "I just wanted answers."
He scoffed. "Come back when you actually got something to bargain with."
Julian turned to leave, then stopped.
"…But," he added, without looking back, "if you're trying to scam me, I'll know."
Lysander watched him disappear into the shadows, sword still in hand, posture never relaxing.
Only then did he let himself breathe out fully.
Interesting, Julian thought. Very interesting.