A/N: Still alive! My schedule is finally getting better. There was an additional delay because the Doc Manager is being really weird - I've noticed some formatting issues and disappearing line-breaks, but I have no idea how to fix them. This chapter is more mechanics and set-up over character interaction, mostly as a result of the terrible roll from last chapter.

Thanks as always for the regular feedback, everyone – it's greatly appreciated!

And since I forgot to write it in the last chapter,

Achievement Unlocked: Welcome to Dark Awakening.

Can't move.

My chest hurts. It's a detached, clinical observation. I remember being slashed there with an axe, so the pain makes sense.

Can't see anything.

I'm sure my eyes are open. In fact, I'm not able to close them. I know it instinctively.

It's hard to breathe. My lungs want to inflate but my body isn't cooperating. My torso won't rise, and I can't open my mouth. There's a pressure that's resisting my attempts at movement.

If I can't breathe, I'm going to die! My detachment gives way to panic and I struggle against the pressure keeping me bound. Why can't I move? Why can't I open my mouth to breathe?

Logic tries to assess the situation. Okay, confusion and blindness is par for the course. We just died. I think.

We died, an unhelpful part of my brain wails. We died, we died, we actually friggin' died. We died! We died! WE DIED! WE'RE DEAD!

And we're still thinking, Logic notes. Panic isn't helping.

But we died! How could we –

Okay, stop that, Logic says firmly. All panicked and fearful sensations are now going to be labelled as Hysteria. Attention to all components of the brain: we are going to ignore Hysteria until further notice.

There are no objections in my head.

Good. Now, we've been immobile since we first gained conscious thought and nothing has changed, so I suspect we don't need to breathe. Can we verify this?

Everything becomes easier when you compartmentalize. I follow Logic's suggestions dutifully and stop struggling, beginning a count. Ten seconds pass easily as my torso stays flat, and then another ten, and then a minute before I'm finally sure.

I don't need to breathe.

The Darksign was always our final gamble, Logic starts hesitantly. It must have pulled through. We've probably become an Undead. But then why can't we move or see? Why is it so dark?

Even Logic is instinctively shying away from the obvious alternative – that this is the afterlife, consciousness without form or physical perception. What if I've gotten a Game Over that leads to an empty world for me to go mad in, while an alternate version of me picks up from an earlier save point?

I'm not ignoring the possibility. Logic says. It's just that dealing with an afterlife is an unproductive train of thought. We can't do anything with it.

And as for our lack of senses, Logic continues, maybe we just don't understand how Risen movements and senses work. It's clearly not based off of normal biology, because zombies don't have bodies that can realistically sustain life. Maybe it's magic, and we don't understand how to tap into it?

How to tap into my senses… that's a train of thought I can work with. I hold my metaphorical breath in place of my actual breath as I clear my mind.

Revive. Restart. Reload. Load Game. Start Game. New Game. Continue. Move. Awaken. Awakening. Arise.

Nothing happens, but I'm still hopeful. Mental commands have gotten me through some tough situations before. There has to be something I can work with.

Vision. Visuals. Perception. Senses. Audio settings. Options. Game options. Visual settings. Graphics.

If I could find something that could let me see or hear again, that would be a great first step. I'm not claustrophobic or anything, but the dark is disquieting. I'm not used to it.

Teleport. Chapter select. Reset! Come on, this is freaking me out. Let me get the hell out of here, someone, please!

Okay, so maybe I'm not as relaxed as I'm trying to deceive myself into thinking. Sue me. I maintain my shot-gun approach, hoping to get lucky. Nothing happens, though.

Nothing happens for a long, long time.

Attack? I try half-heartedly. Heal? Support? Main menu?

Being able to mentally visualize any of my regular menus would be nice. At least it'd provide me with some color, or an image of myself. Anything other than this endless dark…

I don't know how much time passes. Hours? Days? I'm sure tons of events have occurred in the world I left behind. Maybe the butterflies I sent out with Libra and Olivia will find their way to the Ylissean royal family. Maybe I've already made a difference.

I hope so, because I don't think I'm leaving the dark.

There's no utility in that kind of thinking, Logic says. Bless it, but it's been diligent in trying to think of a way out. Even its voice is quiet now.

I try emptying my mind, and accepting the fact that I'm probably dead. I try to make myself at peace with the idea.

I need a clear, empty mind. I reach it, and while my fear of the dark recedes a little, it doesn't do anything special for me in the end.

It was a long shot, anyway, Logic says wearily. Sort of like believing in the Power of Love. Oh, there's something we haven't tried yet.

I try thinking of my family and friends, and the strength of the bonds I share with them.

That doesn't restore me to the world of the living, either. Is this what Robin felt like, consigned to the void against Grima in their final battle?

Eventually, I stop thinking of logical solutions and find myself focusing on stupid things. Like, my chest is still aching. My left foot also feels kind of funny. There's a slippery, tickling sensation there.

I don't like the feeling. It goes away in a few hours, though.

It re-appears in my shoulder. That really pisses me off. Can't I at least have a monotonous rest? I try to thrash around to assuage that strange feeling, but to no avail. I can't move.

Days pass with nothing to mark the time except the appearance and disappearance of the tickly feelings. I think I'm going to go crazy here.

… Close game. End game, Alt F4.

Still nothing. Still just me, one with the dark.

One with the dark, dark, dark. Hey, look, another tingly feeling!

It's actually the tingling feelings that break me. I can't take them lying down anymore. I can't take trying to think of a way out when I've built up all of this energy from my restlessness. If I can't reason a way through this, I'll bust my way out instead!

I need to be out in the world, doing something and levelling up. Not lamenting my fate in silence and darkness.

I thrash and nothing happens, but I don't stop. I shake and fidget and move for what feels like an hour. Expending energy against the unrelenting darkness tires me, but it's a paradoxically motivating feeling. I haven't felt tired in a while. It's a welcome change, and maybe it's a sign that I have a body that I just can't properly perceive yet.

I struggle some more, and finally there's a shift. It's the smallest thing, but I felt like I was able to move my leg. I redouble my efforts. With each burst of motivation, I can feel the pressure around me ease by the tiniest amount.

I work in cycles, alternating between resting and trying to thrash like a madman. After five cycles of completely pushing myself to exhaustion, I'm sure of it. I can move my arms and legs a little. More importantly, I can feel something tough and gritty resist any attempts at motion, something that I must have gotten acclimated to when I was stationary.

If it's what I suspect it is… then I don't think I'm in another world at all. Slowly, ever so slowly, I begin my journey upwards. Progress is painfully slow.

But if I'm truly Undead, I have all the time in the world.

I endlessly struggle to inch my body upwards. Hours pass, possibly days. I struggle, fall into a trance-like sleep, then rouse myself and struggle again.

I think I can see some shapes in the darkness, spots that are darker than other spots.

It's getting easier and easier to move. I run into an obstacle that feels a little more solid, but I find that I can worm myself around it, pushing it aside piece by piece. I leave it behind and keep moving.

When the pressure finally drops, it's almost all at once. My hand is the first part to break through into a place of no resistance where my fingers can flex freely. My shoulder is next, and even before my head follows I can perceive light.

Light. Glorious, glorious light!

With a final surge of triumphant energy, I tear myself from the constricting darkness, shaking myself wildly. The darkness sheds itself, and I can see again. The light above burns, so I keep my eyes downcast as I collapse to all fours, panting now that my ribs are free to move again.

Below me, caking me and surrounding me is dirt. So I was right, after all. I wasn't in some dimensional void. I'd been buried alive.

Or buried Undead, I suppose.

I can't bring myself to care about whether there might be spectators nearby. I crawl away from my burial site, as far away as I can get from that pit of darkness until I finally collapse, utterly spent.

"Hah… hah…" I pant. My voice is harsher than normal, the deep baritone of a Risen. I don't care at all about something so minor. It's such a relief to feel the air again, and to hear the movements of the wind. Is that how prisoners in solitary confinement felt back on Earth? They would be trapped for years at a time… how could it not drive them insane?

I still can't see very well. I rub at my eyes, and I'm surprised to find that it's gritty – oh, my eye sockets are filled with dirt. I tilt my head downwards and gently scrape it out with a finger. With each stroke, it becomes easier to see.

Eventually, I'm able to close my eyelids again, and with a surge of relief I see my internal menu finally appear again.

Ess'ai – A special little snowflake, far from home.
Outrealmer

LV: 6. EX: 21.
HP: 21/21.

I let out a booming, shaky laugh. I'm alive. I made it. My laughter degenerates into hysteric chuckles when I realize I'm out of the dark and I don't have to go back.

I'm getting another tingly feeling in my side. With my restored eyesight, I glance down.

Oh, I have clothes. It's just my old jeans and a thoroughly wrecked white shirt, but it covers me well. I peel up my shirt to identify the tingling feeling and immediately wish I hadn't. There's a worm going through my decomposing body. Disgusting. It's peeking out through a hole in my ribs, so I grab it and pull it out before flinging it away.

Well, I'm sure decomposers have been at my body for days and I'm still perfectly functional, so it shouldn't matter. Between that and my ability to see without proper eyes, at least I can confirm that Risen biology makes no sense.

My skin is darker and patchy. Now that fresh wind is blowing, I can tell I'm absolutely rank. If anyone saw me like this, it'd be bad, but I can't bring myself to hide now that I've got my freedom.

I glance back briefly at my upturned grave, and I'm surprised at how shallow it seems. It felt like I'd travelled up an insurmountable distance, but looking at it now it seems to only be a few feet deep. Who could have buried me? The caravan troupe?

Why couldn't they just leave me alone? Why couldn't they have just buried me a couple of inches instead of feet? I know it's illogical, but I can't help the fury that courses through me. Because of them, I went through that hell, that despair of being trapped. Because of them –

No. Calm down. If anyone should take the blame, it's the bandits that killed me. I know that's still not the full answer, but it'll do for now. I'm not thinking clearly after what I've been through.

I can't stand to look at my grave for more than a second at a time, so I wander around for a little while. Despite how bright the sun first appeared to me, it's actually sunset. There's a river not too far off from my burial site. There's a spot near a tree that looks familiar…

It's where Olivia was practicing with Adam and myself, before we heard our caravan fall under attack. That means this is the battleground where I died. I sit down underneath the fading shade of a tree, feeling the wind blow past me. It's indescribably beautiful after the stifling darkness of my grave, but I can't help but notice that the touch of the wind feels a little muted on my skin. Perhaps my Risen body can't perceive physical sensations as well as my human one.

This is all so surreal. I bark out a laugh at the sheer impossibility of everything before calling up my inventory.

Kara: A steel bracelet. No effect, but offers memories of a past life. Your starting gift.

Estus Flask 5/5: A Risen favourite. Recovers HP. Restored upon a full night's rest.

Humanity (1): A mysterious black sprite. Effects depend on context of use.

That's unfortunate. My weapons are gone, and I'm left with only my intangible items.

Inventory. Kara. Use item.

A steel bracelet flares into existence around my decaying right arm. I toy with it idly, flicking it with a finger in a circle around my wrist. The simple motions help me banish some of my lingering hysteria. I remain seated beneath the tree to enjoy the remainder of the dwindling twilight, not rising until the sun sets at last. My bracelet fades away as I stop paying attention to it.

My death might have shaken me, but I'm still mostly sane. It's time to plan.

What are my immediate resources, what's my short-term goal, and what's my long-term plan?

I close my eyes and check my stats.

Str: 5
Mag: 0
Skill: 3
Spd: 8
Lck: 6
Def: 11
Res: 9

I levelled up during that last, disastrous fight, but my stats have barely changed. I think I only got a point in defense and HP. Bah, guess you can't win them all.

My weapon rank in bows is D. My rank for staves is almost at C.

I have a humanity, which I got from B-supporting Libra. Presumably, using it will turn me into a human again. Unfortunately, I don't know how to get more humanity so I can't use it frivolously.

Dying as a human costs you your humanity, but dying while Undead doesn't have any major consequences in Dark Souls. I hope the same will hold true for my Risen form. I'll stay in this state for as long as I can get away with it.

I walk over to the river and peer at my reflection. Yeah, I've become a bona-fide Risen, complete with red eyes. But I don't have an urge to consume human flesh or anything.

A chill goes through me as I think of a more dangerous possibility. Has becoming a Risen affected my thoughts? I mean, I've been feeling antsy and a little crazy, but I think that's more because of my confinement than anything else.

Still, it's not something I can risk ignoring. I should compare what I want to do with what I expect my past-self would do in any situation when I come up with my plans.

My stupid, pathetic past-self. What the hell would he know about anything? He didn't know the pain of being trapped, he didn't know the stakes, he didn't see Adam die –

Fuck, stop getting angry. Resenting your own innocence is stupid and unproductive.

But with that train of thought the memories come flooding back anyway.

Adam laughing away his last breaths. His sister screaming his name in denial. Olivia… what happened to her, I wonder?

I jog back to the site of our final battle, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be camping nearby. The sun has completely set and its night-time, but I can see as clearly as if it were day.

A perk of having a magical body, I guess.

As expected, the caravan is long gone. There would be almost no trace of battle, if it weren't for the corpses of the bandits. It looks like while the troupe was willing to bury me, they didn't waste their efforts on our enemies. I walk to each corpse, trying to gauge how long I've been dead by their levels of decomposition. There's no hair loss or nail loss, so it can't have been months or anything.

If I recall correctly, the stages of decomposition are: fresh, bloated, decay, advanced decay, and dry. The corpses seem to barely have begun the decay process, so that'd make it around two weeks since they died. Wait, no, temperature and access to open air accelerate the decomposition process. I'd say one week at a minimum, and more realistically ten days.

I was in the darkness for a long time, but I don't think it was ten days. That is, the corpses have been decomposing for longer than I was trying to break out of my grave. I suspect that my awakening as a Risen wasn't instant. It took time for me to respawn, a couple of days at least.

It also means that Olivia and the others must have reached Ferox by now, if they didn't detour. Even if I get lucky and figure out directions, by the time I catch up Chrom will be gone.

And I still don't know what timeline I'm in. It's only just hitting me how badly dying has screwed me over. I lost my easy ticket to the Shepherds and I'm completely on my own. Shit.

Still, I'm not done gathering information. I analyze the corpses more carefully, trying to identify the bandits. There are only three bodies, but we fought four opponents. That means someone escaped or surrendered. The bulkiest corpse was probably the level eighteen that Rock fought. I identify the level three by the arrow sticking out of its shoulder – he was my first target during the fight, and the weakest of the bandits. I guess he died.

I try to withdraw my arrow from his body, but I misjudge the angle and the shaft breaks off, leaving the arrowhead stuck inside. That's a lost cause. I leave him be and examine the third corpse. Its build matches Rayne's, and I see one of my arrows lodged in its gut. "Good riddance," I say, or try to say. It comes out as more of a "Guh raah." I stop and try again.

"Good…" I manage to grind out. "Raahs…"

Fuck it, close enough. I kick Rayne's corpse. I know it's frowned upon to disrespect the dead, but this guy killed Adam.

Adam…

I make my way back to my grave. Reasoning out timelines and planning has stabilized me a bit, but I still can't stand to look at the spot I emerged from for too long. The darkness is too fresh in my mind.

Adjacent to my burial site is another patch of dirt that I suspect contains Adam's corpse. I stroll to the riverside and pull up a few plain flowers. They're probably closer to weeds, honestly, but I bring them back with me and lay them atop Adam's grave, kneeling on the dirt.

"We… avah… ooo," I say, before growling loudly. This is important to me, I'm not screwing it up! Slowly, over the course of minutes, I force out my words.

"We… avenge… you…" I say. "Elice… safe… Ferox."

I pat down the flowers into the dirt firmly. What else can I say?

"… I… Sorry…"

Sorry that you died, sorry that I wasn't proactive enough to become stronger and save us both. Adam, if you can hear me, pal, I hope that you're dancing in a place nicer than here.

I know that in terms of pure numbers, we actually came out ahead of the bandits. But right now, sitting on a friend's grave, I can't possibly think of our fight as anything resembling a victory. Not if it cost Adam his life.

I freeze as I consider a chilling thought. What if Adam is like me, an Undead? What if he's scrambling down there right now, and he hasn't figured out that he's been buried alive?

No, that's just stupid. No one else has had a Darksign penalty as far as I could see. It's incredibly unlikely.

But.

I just said that I'd start being proactive. If there's even a tiny chance of Adam becoming a Risen, I don't want him to suffer through what I just went through.

If I'm wrong, I'm guilty of doing something heinously disrespectful. But at the end of the day, what did being a model citizen do for me? I died and Adam died and now I'm off-course, no longer able to meet with the Shepherds.

My hands start rifling through the dirt, clawing it away methodically to get at my friend. Adam is buried even deeper than I was.

Bloating has set in, but his corpse is much better preserved than those of the bandits. He's not awake. He's not Undead. So I was wrong and I violated his grave unnecessarily.

Strangely, I still feel like I made the right decision to check. I incline my head.

"Sorry…" I apologize again. I pile the dirt back up on top of him and lay the flowers over his grave once more.

Then, very reluctantly, I decide to confront my fears and examine my own grave, thoroughly this time. It's a place of significance, after all. I dig through it, expanding it in all directions.

And I find myself. Literally. There, laying in the dirt is my decaying human body. Ripped jeans and tattered shirt and all. Did I push past it while trying to break out of my grave?

I glance at my own zombified hands to make sure I'm not seeing things, before leaning in to get a closer look.

Interesting… my human body didn't become my Risen body. I duplicated. And right now I have my own set of clothing. That's an exploitable way to get infinite clothes, although I'd have to deal with dying multiple times and probably hollowing.

Hahaha. Thinking of stupid stuff is a really good way to keep your emotions controlled.

More important is what's buried next to my corpse. I find a tightly wrapped cloth and a worn-looking stave. Unwrapping the cloth reveals a familiar bow and a set of arrows.

They buried me with my weapons. My lingering resentment towards my burial disappears completely.

Hush 37/50 (E): Inexpensive, but low in power.
Rank: E, Mt: 4, Hit: 100, Crit: 0, Rng: 2, Eff: Pegasi.

Mend 10/20: Greatly restores an adjacent ally's HP.
Rank: D, Rng: 1

Thanks, guys. I guess I can't complain about anything. I still have all the tools I need to move forward, so long as I'm smart about things.

What are my resources, what are my short-term goals, and what are my long-term plans?

I have knowledge, weapons, and humanity.

My long-term plan is to stop Grima and prevent an apocalypse-type scenario. Making banditry and hardcore crime less common is a distant, secondary goal.

My short-term goal… well, that's obvious. First with Rena, and now with Adam, it's clear what my deficiency is. I need to become a better fighter.

Glancing at my staff and bow, I come up with a few plans.

The first problem is how to hide my obvious Risenfication. My face and hands are visibly zombified. I'll need a cloak to cover them up.

I search the corpses of the bandits to no avail. Their clothes are patchy and no better than mine. I don't think Adam had a cloak, and I refuse to desecrate his grave again just to double-check something I'm 99% sure of.

My first lucky break is noticing that the level eighteen bandit had a pair of gloves. They're frankly in a disgusting state, being taken straight from a corpse, and I'd never consider wearing them if I were still human. I've got a magic body, though, so I'm just going to ignore the fact that the gloves are probably riddled with disease.

I've got nothing for my face. I contemplate stealing clothing from nearby villagers, but that would rely completely on luck and could easily go wrong.

I'm proud of the solution that eventually hits me. Making my way to my grave, I find my old body and liberate it of its shirt. It's not stealing if it's from myself, right?

My old shirt is torn down the middle from where Rayne sliced me across the chest, so I widen the tear with an arrow until it's properly severed. Then I tear off the sleeves completely. I end up with two sleeves and a flat cloth.

The flat cloth I use as a large hood, stuffing the bloody parts into the neck of my current shirt to hide the stains. It probably looks incredibly stupid, but who cares? Better to be identified as poor or crazy than as a zombie. The sleeves I partially stuff into my gloves, to conceal the space near my wrists that my shirt isn't long enough to cover. I eye the jeans on my previous body, but I'm not sure what to do with it. I painstakingly cut out large strips of denim with an arrowhead to take with me, just in case.

Most importantly, I loot my old body of its belt. I'm pleased to find it's still durable, if worn. I don't have anywhere to store it, so I wrap it around my thigh before closing it. Maybe I can pass it off as foreign fashion. It technically is if you count anime. Mikasa Ackermann and Mizore Shirayuki both pull off thigh-belts… though come to think of it, they're both female. I've always poked fun at the more nonsensical outfits Japan comes up with, so I can appreciate the irony now.

I chuckle when I realize that I'm starting to follow the Souls protagonist method of dress – that is, having a mish-mash of unusual clothing for the head, legs, arms and torso. Function over form, all the way.

By the time the sun is beginning to rise, I'm feeling content with my progress. The only remaining issue is that I smell of death.

I probably shouldn't try to take a bath in the river nearby. With my decomposing body I'd be poisoning the water for any living creature who tries to drink from here.

It'd also probably end up making me smell worse in the long term. Instead, I wash my clothes, soaking and scrubbing them thoroughly to remove the dirt that's been caked onto them before letting them dry.

A Risen doing laundry. This would probably be a hell of a sight for anyone passing by right now.

When I'm done and my clothes are mostly dry, I seal up my grave and look around the battlefield to make sure I didn't miss anything important. There's no spare weapons lying around or any other hints of where the troupe could have gone.

I recognize the direction we were coming from as a troupe, though. That means I can figure out where we were originally headed. I guesstimate my cardinal directions, then strike out for what should be East. It coincides with where the sun just rose, so that's a bonus.

I'm ravenously hungry now, but I'm wary of using Estus. If I had even one more flask use during my last fight, I would have lived.

But… I don't have any other food I can eat right now. I don't even know if I can eat human food anymore. And all of this work has made me feel a little crazy again. Maybe just one sip?

Inventory.

Estus Flask 5/5: Use item.

Liquid ambrosia trickles down into my body. It quenches my thirst and hunger instantly, suffusing me with an inner warmth. My eyes widen.

Holy shit, this is good!

My mind sharpens and my restlessness fades. A dull ache in my chest that I wasn't even aware of lessens, making me feel better than ever before. The Estus flask disappears back into my hammer-space inventory, but I continue to stare at the hand that was holding it. What's that drink made out of, Naga's tears?

I remember it tasting like nothing more than lightly flavoured water before. It must taste better to Risen.

I want another sip. I want another sip really badly. I clench my fist and move on. It won't do anyone any favours if I become addicted to Estus.

My path takes me over inconsistent terrain, through trees and dry land. Sometimes I can follow beaten dirt paths, but just as often I need to find my own way. For two days I walk these lands with no one but myself for company, and nothing but the movements of the sun to guide my path. It's just as tiring as I suspect it'd be if I were human. My legs get sore, which I know can't be because of lactic acid buildup. My body doesn't even rely on oxygen, for God's sake.

My chest aches sometimes, too, right where Rayne sliced me across the chest. I accidentally discover that Estus helps with that. I'm forced to rely on it to keep my hunger at bay. It works even better than it did when I was human – three sips keeps me satisfied for a day. I crave more, of course, but I refuse to deplete my remaining sips in case of attack.

I rest at night. I don't fall asleep, but I come close, falling into a trance-like state for hours at a time. It takes about six hours of pseudo-sleeping before my Estus refills, but I rest for eight hours out of habit.

The consistent pace is harder than anything I ever set for myself on Earth, but there's nothing left for me in the West now that Olivia and Libra are gone. And this is what a good self-insert is supposed to do, right? It's a recurrent concept in fantasy settings that your success is dependent on your ability to stay determined. The next key events canonically take place in Ylisse, so I doggedly maintain my pace eastwards.

As the sun sets on my third day of travelling, I find a blond man and a raven-haired woman holding hands.

By the time I spot them, I'm actually pretty close to them. It's a little too late to run away and hope they don't notice me. Amusingly, they seems to be just as surprised to see me as I am to see them. I see the woman fidgeting and sending panicked looks my way, whispering quickly at the man. Fortunately, the man seems to be perfectly collected.

The woman can't have notice that I'm an Undead, right? No part of my skin should be visible to her, not at this distance and especially not with such poor lighting.

That doesn't stop the adrenaline from building. I try not to let my tension show in my body language.

I stray off the path immediately, walking at an angle to make it clear that I don't want to talk to them. It'll make me look suspicious, but it's better than them smelling me. I examine them with my mind as I walk by, trying to evaluate the threat they present to me.

Samson – An apprentice smith with a high opinion of his skills.
Villager

LV: 20. EX: -.
HP: 40/40.

Aira – An extremely talented smith who's rather hopeless when it comes to her love life.
Villager

LV: 20. EX: -.
HP: 38/38.

A female smith, with the male as the apprentice? Seems progressive for medieval times.

The male doesn't seem to grasp my obvious intent of ignoring them.

"Ho, traveler!" Samson hails me from a distance. I'm glad that neither of the pair approach me. "Fine evening, isn't it?"

Best to keep walking. I shake my head, keeping my face down and makeshift hood up. I can see their bodies as I stroll by, but not their faces.

"H-hey there!" the woman calls nervously, and something familiar in her tone gets me to stop. Hm, I can't tell them verbally that I don't want to talk. I shake my head again, point my thumb at where my mouth is, and then shake my finger in a classic "no-no" motion.

I hope they decide I'm a weirdo and leave me alone. I mean, they won't be wrong.

Fortunately, Samson is able to divine a meaning through my game of charades. "Ah," the man says. "You… can't speak?"

I nod.

Aira sighs in what can only be relief. "Then he won't say nothin'," she murmurs, before covering her own mouth. "Ah, beg pardon! It's just that, if you can pretend you didn't see us here, we'd appreciate it-"

… She's not subtle at all. I'm guessing they're in a relationship, and they don't want people to know. Still, that's not my business.

Samson clears his throat loudly. "So, traveler!" he says, cutting Aira off and making discreet shushing motions. Despite being the apprentice of the pair, it looks like he has more common sense. "Those are some strange clothes you're wearing. I guess you're not from around here. You headed to Ylisse?"

I nod again.

"Figured," Samson says knowingly. "If you're going East, it's either Ylisse or one of those bandit… hide-outs…"

He trails off and I can feel the man appraise me again, cautiously this time. Aira murmurs something about "staff" to Samson, and he eventually relaxes when he realizes that I'm not going to suddenly jump them or anything.

"Right," he says awkwardly. "If you're going to Ylisse, you should probably go a league or two south first – don't want to run into those bandits."

I shake my head and reach behind my back. The man tenses when I pull out my bow, but I just gesture to it before putting it back.

"Oh," he says. "Guess you're not helpless, eh? Well, be careful, and safe travels."

I nod gratefully and make to continue on my journey.

"Wait," Aira says suddenly. "Would you like to come with us?"

Samson groans loudly and a risky glance shows me that he's running his fingers through his blond hair. "What're you planning now? For Naga's sake, Aira, he can't say nothin' about us, so you don't need to convince him-"

"It's not that," she answers hotly. "It's not safe travelling alone anymore. Our village isn't too far South from here. Come with us, and then follow the Squire's Road to Ylisse. It'll be slower, but much safer."

"Aira," Samson lowers his voice. I can't make out what he says next, but Aira's expression darkens for a moment.

"Hush, you," she answers. "My father wouldn't want me to be scared forever. And this way, my sister can't blackmail us about those times she caught us together! We'll say we were sneaking out to meet our friend here." She turns to face me. "We'll just need you to play along for a bit - we help you, and you help us! What do you think?"

Samson shakes his head again, but he's wearing an exasperated smile. "I think everyone already knows about us, darling," he says, before facing me again. "But I guess she's made up her mind. How about it, stranger? You wanna come with?"

I find myself relaxing almost involuntarily, smiling underneath my hood. I'm not sure what their deal is, but it sounds like these two are living a rom-com. If I were human, I'd definitely go along with them. They seem like good people, if a little too trusting.

But right now, this is pushing the limit of how much I should interact with them. I point at myself, then at the path East.

"Fixed on goin' East?" Samson asks, sounding half-relieved and half-disappointed. "Be careful then, and watch for those bandits!"

I nod, and then make a choice.

"… Thank… you…" I say gruffly.

They both start at my voice, and Samson actually curses while taking a step back.

I don't react, and everyone's quiet for a bit. The silence becomes uncomfortable.

Then Aira giggles.

"So that's why you don't speak," she says. "It sounds pretty scary. Is that why you won't look at us, too? Because you look scary?"

"Aira!" Samson admonishes, looking at me warily.

Still giggling, the raven-haired woman takes Samson's hand. "You can't be as ugly as Samson here, stranger. But if you don't want us to peek, that's okay, too. Be safe!" she says.

We part ways without any further trouble, Samson muttering his goodbyes.

They seemed like pretty interesting people. I regret that I wasn't able to speak to them as a human, but I don't think it was worth risking a humanity over. Not when there are still bandits between me and Ylisse.

At least I was capable of interacting with regular people as a Risen, even if it was a one-way conversation. Now I know that humans don't have a built-in Risen detector or anything.

Though it turned out okay, upon reflection I really shouldn't have stopped to talk to them. I frown. Why did the woman sound so familiar? Oh well.

I continue travelling to Ylisse, resting soon after the sun falls and resuming before dawn. It's a rather uneventful day. Strolling along open ground with the sun high in the sky, I only stop when I notice a fort in the distance, complete with stone walls and a rusted wooden door.

Bandit hideout, or abandoned fort in the middle of nowhere? I don't get any closer, instead choosing to strafe around it.

I don't know anything about medieval defenses, but the placement of this fort seems a little unusual to me. I guess it has an open view of everything around it, but that's all. It doesn't take advantage of any hilly terrain or rivers or anything.

Well, I guess not all forts have to be super-strategically placed. This place seems out of the way now, but it might have been tactically relevant once upon a time.

… There's a genuine guillotine outside the fort, though fortunately it looks so rusted as to be useless. That's a little ominous, though I guess it increases the chances that this fort was used for military purposes.

Still, there don't appear to be any sentries atop the stone walls now. The only entrance seems to be that wooden door. There's a much larger opening elsewhere, presumably for horses and carts, but it looks comfortably blocked with rubble.

I stake out the place for a half-hour and don't spot a single sentry.

If there's no one here, it's fine because I want to explore the fort anyway. If it's a bandit hideout, the lack of sentries means there's either only a few bandits or they're very lax. Either way, I'm going in.

Mind made up, I make a straight dash to the fort, eyes scanning in all directions to watch for observers. I hug the walls as I close in, so that any late-coming sentries can't see me unless they poke their heads out over the stone walls.

It's not paranoia if every new location is a Fire Emblem chapter waiting to screw you over, after all.

I circle the fort, keeping close to the walls until I find the wooden door that acts as the only visible entrance to the fort. There's a rusted, circular iron handle. I glance back at the deserted plains around me one last time, then take a deep breath. I lift the handle slowly, wincing and slowing down even further when it creaks. Then I try to gently open the door.

It stops moving after about a foot. I can feel something blocking me on the other side. I could easily force it, but I choose to peek my head through, glancing inside.

My heart nearly stops and I barely catch myself from shoving the door closed when I catch sight of a familiar-looking bandit napping at a table near the entrance.

Gascon
Barbarian

LV: 10. EX: -.
HP: 22/40

Str: 17
Mag: 0
Skill: 8
Spd: 13
Lck: 7
Def: 5
Res: 2

That's the last remaining bandit from the group that killed me! He's got some cloth wrapped around his chest and one of his arms – judging by his HP, he's injured. And he's asleep, with his silver axe on the ground beside him. There's some bread and drink at his table. I sincerely hope he's inebriated.

I came up with a few strategies to get stronger, but I didn't expect to have an opportunity to use them this quickly. It's like the world is testing my resolve. The world, or perhaps…

No, now's not the time to get distracted. Am I committing to this or not?

I glance around again. No one's approaching the fort, and I can hear Gascon snoring lightly. Can it really be this easy?

His three friends are dead, and there's been news of bandit groups breaking up so he's probably alone, Logic points out. Chances of a trap are minimal – Gascon thinks you're dead, so it's not like he thinks anyone is after him for revenge. We're not getting a better opportunity than this! Go!

Slowly, ever so slowly, I poke my head through the door completely and look at what's blocking it from opening. It's a bunch of junk piled haphazardly, and it looks unstable enough to collapse at any second. In fact, if I'd pushed the door a little more without checking, it would've done exactly that.

An alarm system, I realize belatedly. A very rough one, but it'd probably suffice for most cases. I slide my bow, arrows, and staff through the door into the fort, wanting to make myself as thin as possible. Then, sucking in my gut, I try to inch through.

Creak.

I freeze as the door protests at some of my minute movements, eyes flashing to Gascon. He doesn't wake up.

Thank Naga.

Almost… almost… I'm in! Straight ahead of me is an open courtyard, and on each side of me stairs lead up to the tops of the stone walls. I pick up my weapons again and sneak up the stairs.

I have him at a complete disadvantage, but it's not like I can do much to Gascon once he wakes up. He'll kill me in one blow with his axe. I ascend the stairs and peek around. No one's manning the walls. I use the high ground to peer down into the courtyard inside the fort. No one there, either. Looks like Gascon's actually commandeered this fort for himself. Now all I need to decide is whether I do this the Rambo way or the Solid Snake way.

I can't risk Rambo-ing and losing my weapons if I die. Solid Snake it is, with a side helping of moral dubiousness.

It's unusual, I reflect as I take off my belt. Fold one side and feed it through the belt buckle, just so. Despite all of my intelligence, my plan relies on a trick that I picked up by complete chance on Earth. That's the value of life experience – you never know when the most obscure things will come in handy.

I guess that's one of the hidden advantages of being an SI.

I take my second belt, the one wrapped around my thigh, and set it up as another set of emergency handcuffs before stuffing it in my pocket. I take a few valuable minutes to re-attach Roll's arrow pouch to the belt loops on my jeans, using a few strips of denim.

Then I descend the stairs, finding myself crouching instinctively out of a desire to be quiet. Gascon's still asleep at his table, blissfully ignorant of my intentions. I leave my weapons and primary belt behind, needing my hands free to make sure that I can silently steal his axe from his side.

All-or-nothing. I hold my breath as I approach him, and then continue holding it when I remember that I don't need to breathe. His axe is just sitting there by his feet. My eyes flicker between it and his face.

His breathing becomes a little less even and I just go for it, grabbing his axe with a burst of adrenaline as silently as I can. If I stay near him, he'll smell me and wake up for sure.

"Ma, toes…" he mumbles.

Relief fills me when he doesn't react further. I slip away into the courtyard. It's largely dirt and rubble. I hide Gascon's axe under a pile of rocks and then go back to retrieve my weapons.

Phase one, complete. Initiate phase two.

I'd originally planned to bind his legs together with my belt, but they're too far apart and I don't think I can do it without waking him. I switch my target to his left leg. It's close to the leg of the table he's sleeping at, and the table itself looks very sturdy. I have to undo my belt and set it up again around Gascon's leg and the table, since I can't lift either to fit them into my trap. I don't tighten it yet. Binding a leg is a bonus, but it's not my primary goal.

If I'm going to risk waking him, I'll do so aiming for his arms. I know for a fact that breaking out of a proper belt-cuff around the wrists is really hard, regardless of strength. The worst he'll be able to do is run or body-check me. If I bind just one leg, though, he'll eventually figure out how to undo it with his hands. Even if he's unarmed, I don't want him fully mobile at any point.

It's almost pathetic how much preparation I need to take on an unarmed, probably drunk, sleeping bandit who's already half-dead.

But I've died once before to carelessness, when I stupidly attacked Rayne without trying to calculate damage rates. I've got to try to learn from my mistakes.

I can hardly imagine what this scene would look like to an outsider – an Undead abomination nervously crouching near an injured, sleeping bandit with a looped belt in its hands. I adjust its size, and then nearly curse as Gascon sniffs.

I place the belt around one wrist, then gently try to guide it to his other hand.

His eyes open and settle on me. I can see the confusion on his face

"Eh, whazzat? Ma?" he says blearily.

I'm prepared for this, so I don't suddenly speed up, calmly slipping his second wrist through the belt. That extra second makes all the difference. I can pinpoint the second his confusion turns to horror when he sees my face, and then I hurry up, pulling on one end of the belt harshly and securing his hands.

"What the – demon!" Gascon cries out, stumbling out of his chair and trying to shove me away from him. "Demon! Gods, help!"

I try to secure his foot to the table, but he flails and I'm rewarded for my trouble with a kick to the face. I let out an instinctive growl at the pain but abandon my efforts, running back a few steps to pick up my bow.

The bandit grasps on the ground blindly for his axe, glassy eyes still transfixed on me, but it's nowhere to be found. He wouldn't be able to do anything with his hands bound anyway.

He's panicking, I realize.

Obviously, Logic answers. You're much scarier as a Risen than a human.

I'm not the best at making clutch decisions, but I've planned this out in advance so I don't hesitate.

Attack. Gascon.

Dying hasn't compromised my ability to automatically attack designated targets. My decaying fingers pull out an arrow from my pouch, put it to string and smoothly loose. I'm relieved when it takes Gascon in the chest. He cries out in pain, and I see him hit his head on the wall as he flinches.

Gascon
Barbarian

LV: 10. EX: -.
HP: 17/40

This is the point I was worried about – I'm not sure what he'll do while I try to whittle down his HP. I've gotten rid of most of his options, but still. As soon as I regain control of my body, I close my eyes again.

Attack. Gascon.

I tense as awareness returns and roll immediately, expecting an incoming body-check or some kind of desperate retaliation. But no attack comes. I open my eyes and see that Gascon's still on the ground, having taken two arrows, struggling to free his wrists. He's saying something but I can barely understand him.

Gascon
Barbarian

LV: 10. EX: -.
HP: 12/40

He's stunned and he's wasting his turns, keep going! Logic urges. Don't hesitate!

Some part of me wants to stop and evaluate the situation a bit more, but I've been through too much shit recently to pay it any mind. If he's not going to dodge, then it makes it that much easier for me.

Attack. Gascon.

Gascon
Barbarian

LV: 10. EX: -.
HP: 7/40

The bandit says something again but I'm a little busy thinking.

One more! Logic is saying. Once he's at 2 HP he'll be too weak to even think about fighting back!

It's true enough, I suppose. Though Rayne killed me when he had 1 HP, so I should keep being careful.

Attack. Gascon.

The fourth arrow takes him in the shoulder and now I'm suspicious, because he still hasn't made any attempt to dodge. I think there's something wrong with that. Shouldn't he be fighting desperately to stay alive? Where's the adrenaline rush that I was expecting?

So long as he's not attacking us or escaping, it doesn't really matter what he's doing, Logic says. Now's a great time to finish binding him. Go!

I approach the fallen bandit carefully and grab the second belt that was placed around a table leg. It looks like my pre-emptive attacks have taken the fight out of him, and he only puts up a token resistance as I secure his leg to the table. To be safe, I use up my remaining denim to secure him further.

That went a lot smoother than I'd expected. I re-secure his wrists and then examine him again, now that it's safe.

The cloths covering Gascon's wounds have fallen off, and there's a foul odour coming from him. Not that I'm one to point fingers, since I literally smell like death.

"Ma, help me," Gascon says weakly, looking straight at me. "The pony wants to eat my toes, ma. Please help…"

What the hell…? Despite myself, I lay a hand on his head, ignoring his flinching. He's burning hot. I can't tell whether or not he's fevered, though; my perception of temperature seems to be way off.

Oh, right. Risen. Of course a human will feel hot to an Undead.

"Don't let 'em eat my toes, ma," he pleads again.

He's delirious. I take a closer look at his wounds and wince.

Infection, Logic deduces. Open wounds led to bacteremia which led to delirium. He's screwed.

I'm feeling vaguely uneasy, and I can't place the feeling better than that. Wasn't there an inner voice I labelled to help me with this kind of stuff? Something other than Logic? What was it again?

Relax. It's just pre-programmed discomfort from cultural evolution, Logic says dismissively. Altruism for the sake of the tribe when someone's hurt helps everyone's survival, long-term, but it's not relevant to us now. Moving on, this is a good time to see how staves interact with infection.

Right. I dismiss my unease reluctantly.

Staves can handle physical wounds in seconds, when it should take days or weeks. I'll admit I'm curious to see how they handle infections. Can staves recognize that bacteria shouldn't be in the blood? Will it kill them off, or help them multiply? Can it differentiate between human cells and bacteria? What about benign gut flora vs. pathogenic bacteria?

Staff – Mend.

I realized something back on the Raven. I was able to heal the crew even though, at that time, I considered them enemies. The implications got me thinking.

Gascon
Barbarian

LV: 10. EX: -.
HP: 17/40

Ess'ai
Outrealmer

LV: 6. EX: 85.
HP: 21/21.

I got 21 EXP from mend just now, and I was at 21 EXP before… so the remainder is 43 EXP from four attacks with my bow. That doesn't add up.

Oh, unless the lunatic anti-grind feature is in effect. I got 11 EXP from the first three attacks, and then 10 EXP from the fourth. Damn shame.

I crouch over Gascon and watch as some of his wounds close before my eyes. More importantly, it only takes a few minutes before some lucidity returns to his eyes. Staves can work miracles, then. It would've taken at least a day of IV antibiotics to get the same effect on Earth.

The bandit coughs harshly, trying to clutch his chest with his bound hands. The wounds from my arrows aren't closing properly, and that must hurt a lot. He looks up at me, and I can see fear mixed with resignation.

"What are ya?" he asks. "Are… are ya here to take me to hell?"

I don't answer. He glances at my staff.

"Ya healed me, though," he says uncertainly. "Is… o-oh Naga, it can't be. Is this a second chance you're giving me?"

The hopeful look in Gascon's eyes dies out as I grip my bow tighter.

"… I… sorry…"

Attack. Gascon.

Attack. Gascon.

Level Up!

Attack. Gascon.

Staff – Mend.

Attack. Gascon…

Ess'ai
Outrealmer

LV: 8. EX: 16.
HP: 22/22.

Str: 6
Mag: 0
Skill: 3
Spd: 9
Lck: 8
Def: 12
Res: 11

Bow Rank: D (15/20)
Staff Rank: C (1/25)

I've got twenty-five bow uses and six Mend uses in the tank. Not bad, I think as I try pulling some of my arrows from Gascon's cooling body. But I've got a ways to go, yet.

The opponents that the Shepherds are going to face are going to be way tougher than these run-of-the-mill bandits. If I want to help, if I want to be more than dead-weight…

I need to become even stronger.

A/N: And here we see the logical extreme of what happens when you're able to heal everyone, including enemies, in an EXP-based system.

I'm not really satisfied with this chapter, but I decided to just get it out and move forward instead of re-working it. I think I've set up enough groundwork that I'm comfortable with time-skipping a bit. Unless you guys like these level-by-level encounters of how Ess'ai gets stronger? Let me know your preferences on time-skipping vs. maintaining the same pace, and if there's a consensus I'll roll with it.

Fun-fact #1: Gascon rolled decently, but he only had a 25% chance of surviving the chapter and obviously didn't make it. RIP, NPC bandit.

Fun-fact #2: The protagonist's total SKL growth is 60% after class bonuses. This is therefore not the stat I expected him to get RNG-screwed on.