Apocalypse Healer - Path of Death-Chapter 36B1 - Loan

They split up. Melach said he had something to do and left, but David noticed something odd. The elf had been acting strangely since their return to Arc. His face turned as he muttered something in the elven tongue, and David couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. Maybe it was just one of Melach’s weird antics.

But upon closer scrutiny, he noticed Melach’s hand lingering near the pouch with the Fragments as he walked away.

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David’s gaze drifted to the dwarf, who shook his head. He must have noticed, too, “That guy is as crazy as you are.”

“I don’t understand,” David said, tilting his head.

“You don’t have to. Just know that he’s better at hiding his weirdness than you,” Torb snorted and retrieved the crimson Fragment of Blood. It twinkled beautifully in the early afternoon sun before settling into David’s hands.

“I have a few merchants to deal with,” Torb said, his expression shifting slightly as the corners of his lips curled upward.

Torb really loves money. Then again...who wouldn’t?

David chuckled. “Go ahead. But don’t forget to use the Skill Slate.”

Torb waved and disappeared into the stream of fellow Warriors and Protectors.

It was blissful to be alone again. He liked Torb and Melach, but they were different. David couldn’t help wondering what might happen if the Pantheon ever decided to move against the Earthen Union’s natives. He had no reason to think that would happen, but then again, he never thought the Earthen Union would change as it had. It seemed like a valid point to keep in mind.

Organizing his thoughts, David began searching for a food stall. Following the mouthwatering scent of juicy meat wafting through the air, he found a suitable option within a few minutes. A dwarven woman managed the stall, selling gray bread—large loaves that resembled hard and crunchy stones—and skewers of meat from an unknown source. Both the skewers and the bread looked as unusual as they sounded, but David trusted his Skill Runes to guide him in trying unfamiliar foods. He had [Cleanse] and [Cure Wounds] to tend to food poisoning and worse if needed.

The dwarven woman bustling behind the stall wasn’t very talkative, but David caught her sneaking glances at his well-trained physique. His chest, still bare, wouldn’t be covered anytime soon. Clothes that would only be ripped to shreds in a few hours seemed pointless, though he felt a bit weird walking around half-naked.

Devouring the first meat skewer, David was pleased to find no food poisoning notification. Encouraged, he continued eating. The meat was as juicy as expected, tender enough to melt on his tongue. The bread surprised him even more; instead of biting into the hard texture its appearance suggested, he found it fluffy and light, almost like a cloud.

That’s worth the money. Three Iron is nothing for such a feast!

Satisfied, David could have left the stall, but he stayed, eavesdropping on the men and women around him. Their gossip was interesting.

“Is everyone too afraid to kill the Mini-Boss of the Demon Rift?” a young human man cursed. “We should have killed it. Why leave it alive until the Horde comes for us?”

Is he drunk?

David glanced toward the group seated near the stall. Only one was human—the speaker—while the others were dwarves.

“We’ve told you this often enough, Sven,” one dwarf said, his expression tense. “There was no way to defeat the Mini-Boss without getting contaminated by the Rift. What do you think would’ve happened if we fought the Demon near a Rift spewing demonic Aether? You’d have been the first to drop dead. Don’t look at me like that, Sven! You’re a human and a Mage. Your natural resistance is worthless.”

From the looks of it, Sven didn’t like that answer. He jumped to his feet, slammed his hands on the wooden table, and stormed off.

What a drama queen.

“What are we doing about him?” another dwarf asked.

“What is there to do?” the first dwarf responded with a shrug. “Sven is a lost cause. The Horde is forming, and he’s whining like a child. Defeating the Mini-Boss would’ve been great, but it’s not worth the risk.”

“If the others hadn’t retreated, we would’ve killed it,” a third dwarf muttered, but the first silenced him.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re alive, and we can kill demons by the hundreds later.”

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David felt a sudden shift in the tension at that. The atmosphere appeared soured following the dwarf’s words, sinking into something beyond normal gloominess. It was as if death’s grip had already tightened around their necks. David, on the other hand, smiled through the bleakness. Encountering demons and fighting them head-on sounded exhilarating. A Horde? That was even better.

The combination transformed the thought into something irresistible—a bloody feast of endless slaughter against demonic creatures. There was no way he could feel gloomy about that. He was thrilled, the memory of his earlier near-death experiences already fading.

But he was probably alone in his excitement. Everyone else seemed to be struggling to accept that their lives would constantly hang by a thread once the Horde emerged, with no guarantee of survival—not even for Arc itself. That was only logical. David knew he should also feel like that: but he didn’t. The looming uncertainty spreading through the bustling streets never reached him.

As the gossip died down, David left the stall. He passed the Panthea, which now overflowed with people. A few hours ago, it had been much quieter, but it seemed that a few Rifts, a Horde of demons, and imminent death were great motivators for people to start praying.

Relying on someone else for your survival seems like a foolish way to live.

David trusted the Pantheon as far as he could throw them. As long as Arc benefitted them, perhaps they might intervene. But if that were the case, why hadn’t they acted already? He wasn’t sure if the gods had any plan—or if they even cared—but one thing was certain: he wouldn’t rely on them for anything.

He reached the Familia in no time, seeing it was crowded. That suited him just fine. Everyone in the Familia had picked a Class and could inflict some damage on the Horde. They were allies, but many of them—perhaps most—would probably die before his eyes.

“How may I help you?” a young elven woman asked as he approached the reception desk. “Do you need serums or potions, or do you want to take out a loan?”

A loan? David blinked, caught off guard.

The young woman chuckled lightly at his expression. It was the first time he’d seen someone in such a light mood despite the dire times. He liked her.

“You can take out a loan and repay it by slaying demons and other creatures from the Rifts,” she explained. “The other Rifts may also stir trouble when the Horde descends, which is why they’re included in that calculation. However, if you die without killing enough Rift creatures, the Lords of the Familia will take back what they loaned—by force. With interest, of course.”

No matter how David looked at it, the whole arrangement felt underhanded. He wanted to ask about the interest but could already imagine what it might be. What else was there to take from a penniless, dead man but his soul?

“Is it possible to include kills from previous fights?” David inquired.

“Your ID slate counts every creature you’ve killed since you acquired it. However, only the monsters of the four Rifts will be added to the repayment plan,” the receptionist clarified.

Before David could say more, a stout, middle-aged human interrupted, his voice loud and bitter. “Does that mean the bastard who took down the Common Rift can claim a loan and doesn’t even have to pay it back?”

David glanced at the man, keeping silent. He wondered if this person realized one of the people who’d cleared the Common Rift was standing right beside him.

“That bastard took down everything!” the man continued, voice rising. “He killed the Mini-Bosses like they were made of paper and didn’t leave us a single ordinary monster to kill. We couldn’t even finish off the Rift Boss, and it was lying there before us! That lanky-ass bastard crippled it and just left us behind…”

David’s eyebrows rose. The man wasn’t talking about him—he was talking about someone else.

“We fought alongside him. That means we contributed to the fight! It should be enough to apply for one of the better loans, right?” There was desperation in the man’s voice, but David didn’t dwell on it.

The receptionist, however, seemed unimpressed. “Where is that guy?” she asked dryly.

It was a good question. If someone capable of clearing a Common Rift alone stood by their side against the Horde, the Protectors’ morale would skyrocket.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” the man snapped. “He took care of the Bosses and said something about someone or something missing. I don’t remember.” He waved dismissively. “So, can I get a loan now or not?”

Useless idiot.

The unknown powerhouse sounded like a formidable ally, someone worth fighting alongside—and against, someday. David wondered what it felt like to fight other humans. Was it as exhilarating as fighting monsters?

“How may I help you?” the elven woman asked again, pulling him from his thoughts.

With a smile, David retrieved his ID slate. “I’d like to take out a loan without that repayment nonsense. I ain’t selling my soul or anything like that.”

The receptionist accepted the slate with a professional smile and started working. From her expression, it seemed she either hadn’t registered his words or didn’t take him seriously. Maybe it was a bit of both. David didn’t mind. He studied her as her complexion slowly changed.

“T-This…” She glanced at him, her cheeks turning red, “Congratulations on clearing the Common Rift, Fang Den”

She pointed a small bow at him and added, “I’ll proceed with the loan right away.”

“No repayment,” David reminded her sternly.

“Of course, sir. Your act of service is more than enough!” she assured him.

David felt the elven woman was exaggerating, but he wasn’t about to complain about extra money. Every Bronze slate would help him prepare for the inevitable battle against the Horde of demons.