Game Master in Another World

The next day people were relaxed, albeit sad.  We had the usual breakfast of wolf meat and foraged vegetables and herbs, followed by lunch being the same.  Eating the same food did get tiring, so I decided to set Drisnil free again to see what she would do.

I walked out of the compound and released Drisnil from her chains, immediately Drisnil made her way to the last location we had seen the two lost guards.  A feeling of dread pooled in my stomach, but the pact was struck; I couldn’t pull back now.

The forest had returned to a deceptive calm. Above, a light rain pattered against the canopy, the sound muffled and distant, barely filtering through to the floor below. The scent of damp earth and rotting mulch sharpened the world, grounding me in the grim reality of the hunt.

It wasn’t long before Drisnil found the first sign: the shallow, heavy-heeled impression of a boot. She fell into a rhythm, trailing the erratic path marked by the occasional snapped branch or a scuff in the mud. Soon, a second set of prints joined the first. The two guards had found each other.

We pushed deeper, eventually stumbling upon an abandoned campsite. They had made a clumsy attempt to scatter the ashes of their fire, and the gnawed remains of small animals lay strewn about—evidence of a desperate, hurried meal. One thing struck me as we tracked them: they weren't just fleeing; they were lost. Their trail didn't aim for the border or the nearest village; it wound aimlessly away from civilization, deeper into the green throat of the woods.

Drisnil scoured the perimeter until the freshest prints surfaced. We locked onto them immediately, trailing their winding path through a labyrinth of identical, towering trunks.

As night began to fall, the shadows stretched and bled together, but the darkness didn’t slow us. If anything, the world became clearer to Drisnil’s eyes. We came across yet another campsite, though this one showed no signs of concealment. A cold fire sat in the center of the clearing, surrounded by logs dragged into place as makeshift seats. Discarded roasting sticks lay where they had been dropped—the debris of men too exhausted or too terrified to care about being followed.

The newest tracks were careless, marked by scuffed earth and freshly snapped branches that painted a picture of heavy, stumbling steps. The sheer exhaustion of wandering aimlessly was clearly taking its toll.

Hours bled away before a faint, orange glow broke the darkness ahead—the dying embers of a campfire. Anticipation spiked in the back of my mind as Drisnil locked onto that light, shedding the last remnants of restraint like a starved predator catching the scent of blood.

She slipped through the undergrowth with flawless precision. Not a single leaf rustled; not a single plant gave way beneath her boots. When the clearing finally came into view, both guards were slumped asleep beside the fading coals. A slow, razor-sharp smile stretched across my face as Drisnil savored the dark possibilities to come.

Drisnil moved through their camp like a phantom. She gathered their discarded swords and daggers, tossing them casually into the impenetrable darkness of the undergrowth. Next, she found their water flasks. From a hidden pocket, she produced a small, glass vial containing a viscous, dark liquid. With agonizing care, she let a single drop fall into one of the flasks, smiling as it dissolved invisibly into the water.

She took a seat on a log across the dying fire, placed the two flasks on the dirt between them, and kicked a loose stone hard into the nearest guard’s ribs.

They woke with a violent start, scrambling backward and grasping frantically for weapons that were no longer there. Panic set in as their eyes locked onto Drisnil, bathed in the faint, orange glow of the embers.

"Sit," she commanded. The absolute authority in her voice froze them in place.

"The man who shares this body is a terrible prude," she began, her tone conversational, almost a purr. "He forbids me the pleasures of the bed. He denies me the warmth of a lover. It leaves a girl so dreadfully tense. I need a release, and since I cannot find it in passion, I will have to find it in your terror."

She gestured lazily to the two leather flasks resting in the dirt.

"You abandoned your post. You left good men to die. That makes you deserters, which makes you bandits. My warden doesn't let me murder innocents, but he is quite forgiving when it comes to defending myself against outlaws. So, we are going to play a game to see if I need to defend myself."

The guards stared at the flasks, trembling.

"One of those contains pure, fresh spring water," Drisnil explained, her eyes glittering with dark amusement. "The other contains three drops of Nhalyri night-shade. It is not a gentle poison. It boils the blood and melts the lungs. You have ten seconds to choose. You each drink one. The man who drinks the water gets to walk away into the trees."

"And if we refuse?" the taller guard choked out.

Drisnil drew her rapier, the steel hissing in the quiet night. "Then I will sever your tendons and skin you both alive while you watch. Ten. Nine."

The panic broke them. They lunged for the flasks, tearing the stoppers away and upending the water into their mouths, desperate to beat the countdown. For three agonizing seconds, nothing happened. They looked at each other, chests heaving.

Then, the shorter guard dropped his flask. He clawed at his throat, a wet, gurgling sound escaping his lips. His veins bulged, turning a sickly, bruised purple against his neck. He collapsed into the dirt, his back arching violently as he coughed up a thick spray of black blood.

Drisnil watched the gruesome display with rapt, euphoric attention. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she drank in the man's suffering, her pent-up frustration visibly melting away as he thrashed his last.

The surviving guard fell to his knees, weeping in relief. "I... I drank the water," he stammered, looking up at her with wild, hopeful eyes. "I get to live. You said I get to live!"

Drisnil stood, stepping smoothly over the corpse. "I did say that," she agreed, her voice dropping to a cold whisper. "The water spared your life. But you're still a bandit. And a bandit breathing near me is a threat."

Before the man could even process the words, Drisnil lunged. The blade flashed in the firelight, piercing his throat with surgical precision.

"Self-defense," she whispered to the empty clearing as he fell.

I was horrified by Drisnil’s efficiency. Her complete lack of empathy and the sheer, intoxicating enjoyment she took in their suffering made my stomach turn. But a pact was a pact. It was true these men could have posed a problem in the future, and the only salvation I could take from the night was that they died a relatively quick death—at least compared to the torture she had meted out to that bandit several months ago.

My mind sensed exactly where I needed to walk and how far I had to travel. I didn’t question this innate compass; it felt as natural as seeing.

I walked through the dark forest alone with my thoughts. Percy had finally met justice, but the cost was staggering. Theo... that kind-hearted man who had lost his wife, and now his life, in a battle that was never his own. And then there was Illara. The burden she carried, watching her father die, unable to do anything to stop it. Yet her faith remained steady, and despite all my lies—despite the fact that my mere presence had caused her mother’s death—she had somehow forgiven me. She still loved me. I didn't feel deserving of it.

Death seemed to touch everything around me. As the dark hours passed, my thoughts drifted to the future, to what might be possible once Barnabus finally faced his own justice and we were free to live as we pleased. Would we continue adventuring? Would we adopt a child to raise as our own?

But beneath those hopes lurked a darker, inevitable question. I was in a body that did not age like hers. When Illara eventually died of old age, what then? Would I be left alone again? Could I ever find another to love?

The heavy questions carried me through the night, keeping the silence at bay. We arrived back at the compound just as the sun began to bleed over the horizon.

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