The Dreamer's Fall

Chapter 21 - An Imaginary Land

Arthur scanned the area around him, but most of the prisoners following him had fled at some point. Considering he hadn't seen them run past him toward The Cat's Cradle, they likely entered the other tunnels, but nothing could be done about it now.

Arthur hoped that in their fear, they didn't alert the Agelian guards above to the chamber's happenings, but that was what had likely happened. Whether the Agelians fled or came down to investigate was no longer a matter of Arthur's concern.

Fenric and his lieutenants would just have to deal with them, as Arthur no longer had the ability to fight unless it was to ensure his life. Even then, given his body's condition, he doubted he could do much against a competent opponent.

A few of the braver prisoners remained nearby, terrified out of their wits, but Arthur had no words of comfort for them. Instead, he scrutinized Foster as he approached to see if he was hurt, but his guard appeared in better shape than he was.

"Are you hurt?" Arthur asked nevertheless.

Foster went wide-eyed. "Are YOU hurt? I practically thought you'd died when I saw that abyssal send you flying—Young master, your arm!"

Arthur looked at his limp arm, which was growing more painful with each passing second, and noticed blood trickling between his fingers.

Thankfully, he didn't see any bone sticking out, but it looked like the abyssals claws still managed to carve some flesh that wasn't protected by the hidden blade.

However, the wound didn't appear deep enough for stitches, and he couldn't really feel it, thanks to the pins and needles shooting up his arm. So he wasn't concerned with it for the moment.

Instead, his concern lay on the limp appendage from where the blood sprouted. He gritted his teeth in anticipation before lightly touching his left shoulder. The feeling of electric fire shot through his arm the moment he made contact with the bulging flesh beneath his clothes.

Arthur groaned through his teeth. "...Definitely dislocated."

He had never dislocated his shoulder before, so he wasn't entirely sure how to reset it. Of course, he had seen it done dozens of times in movies, but movie logic rarely translated to the real world.

"You ever fixed a dislocated shoulder?" Arthur asked as he looked to Foster.

"Me?" Foster recoiled. "Young master, my surname is Welt, not Ikorryn."

"I know what your surname is..." Arthur said, trailing his words to think.

The Ikorryn family was a noble family that was one of the nine pillars of the empire. They had a tight monopoly on medicine and healing magic, so if someone was injured or sick, they'd inevitably end up in one of their numerous shops.

However, visiting one of their shops was a non-option for Arthur. They'd undoubtedly scan his body before fixing his arm, and when they did, they'd discover his mana core.

Much like on Earth, doctors in Nithe offered discretion; however, no laws kept their lips sealed like they did on Earth. It was simply a promise from the doctor to the patient, and Arthur couldn't take the risk for an injury as basic as a dislocated shoulder.

He began to feel nauseous as the last few drops of adrenaline seemed to be broken down and reabsorbed into his body. He had wanted to take advantage of the adrenaline's pain-killing effect to reset his shoulder, but it appeared he wouldn't have that luxury.

Arthur glanced back to Fenric and hoped he had experience with dislocated shoulders. The trio was now finishing up with the final abyssal, so it appeared they had also won their battle.