Rebirth-Transcending All Beings-Chapter 24: Recovery

The village revealed itself in the distance as the last beams of sunlight gave out, revealing only a dark night that covered the sky–with only the lanterns in town remaining lit.

The two said nothing as they arrived, each step echoed hollowly against the stone.

Yet Vergil’s step weighed more heavily than the last. He would never ask for a shoulder.

His pride wouldn’t let him.

Eleanor stayed close as her gaze flickered to make sure he could keep walking on his own.

The innkeeper gave a long look, but spoke no words–only sliding a key across the counter, along with a nod as the two made their way up the stairs.

The door scraped the wooden floor softly as it opened, revealing their bed, a small table, and a washroom. However, Vergil couldn’t make it to the bed by himself.

Eleanor’s hands caught him before he stumbled down–she eased him onto the mattress’s warmth carefully.

"Lie still," she said. No room for debate as she pulled the blanket aside.

"I’m fine," he was able to whisper, panting.

"But you’re not."

He couldn’t argue anymore.

The moment he hit the mattress, everything caught up to him. The ache spread like fire as exhaustion finally caught up to his muscles.

He despised the feeling of helplessness against a strong foe.

Eleanor brushed a strand back from her face. "You need bandages. Maybe even a potion."

Vergil reached into his inventory and pulled out his pouch filled with his collected savings.

"Use this. It won’t be enough for a potion, but get some food and bandages."

She tilted her head. "You’re actually letting me shop for once?"

"I actually value my life more than my pride," his came out irritated.

Her hands grabbed the pouch before she gave a smile. "Dont you dare move, I’ll be back."

"Make it five."

"Ten." She shot back, already turning to leave the room.

The door closed with a soft click and silence folded over him. His body begged him to sleep yet he refused. Morvax hadn’t just struck them. He planted the seeds of fear and helplessness. And he.

He would do the same.

---

She didn’t take long. The door to the inn opened once more as Eleanor entered.

She cut through the noise, making her way upstairs. The innkeeper gave a glance that was ignored.

Opening the room door, Vergil lay on his back, his shirt clung to him, stiff with dried bloodstains. His face was paler than normal.

"Food," she said, setting the bowl down and a loaf of bread on the table. "And bandages."

"Thanks." His voice came out low.

She didn’t bother replying, bringing the roll of cloth to the bed as she knelt next to him.

Her cold fingers worked his shirt free, peeling it off from his skin, but his voice remained silent.

"You shouldn’t have done what you did back there," she said.

"There was no other option," he said without looking at her.

"There’s always a choice."

Her words were sharper than what she truly meant, but she didn’t take it back.

Her hands moved with precision. Wrap, pull tight, and knot. Not neat, but lasting.

She could’ve used healing magic, but the injury was too severe.

She knew how to keep him breathing and that was enough.

He was reckless. Ambitious. He struggled and fought against a foe he knew he couldn’t beat.

And yet... he lived.

She pressed the final knot down, firm. "That’ll hold."

Vergil finally exhaled, some of the tension had eased thanks to his now-patched-up back.

She didn’t move away immediately; instead, she stayed beside the bed. Staring down at him.

"You planned to go back," she asked quietly. "Aren’t you?"

He didn’t answer.

And that was enough of an answer.

Eleanor bit her lip. "Then, you better not die," she muttered. "I’m not dragging your corpse back."

It wasn’t out of kindness but rather practicality.

She stood up, turning towards the table before breaking a slice of bread in half and tossing it over to him.

"Recovery comes first," she pulled the chair from underneath the table. "If you’re going to be reckless..." she hesitated before deciding not to continue speaking.

Eleanor sat on the chair, her back relaxing on cold wood, her eyes staring at the wall as if it could offer an answer she didn’t have.

The monster had shaken both of them–it was mysterious and hid many secrets.

And deep down, Eleanor hated not knowing. Not knowing what it was guarding or its purpose.

Eleanor only ate in silence.

Tearing small pieces off with methodical care. Her mind wasn’t on the food.

It was in the forest.

On the thing that didn’t attack.

On the King’s fear.

And on Vergil.

She glanced at him as he chewed slowly. His movements were stiff, and though the wound was wrapped tight, the pain hadn’t lessened.

After finishing her food, she settled the bowl back down with a soft clink.

Then she stood, eyes flicking to the bed.

There was only one. Her gaze lingered on Vergil, lying carefully on his side. Carefully enough no not pressure the wound.

He yawned. "You planning to stand there all night?"

"I’m not an idiot," she responded, slipping off her boots, to lie beside him. Just close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, yet faced away.

A few seconds passed.

Then Vergil spoke, voice dry. "Why are you so close?"

"You’re wounded," she replied. "If you stop breathing, then I’ll notice it."

"Tch... how touching."

"And," she added after a beat, "it’s cold."

Vergil’s eyes widened. Half in amusement, half in resignation. "...Fair enough."

The silence returned. But it had changed.

Less sharp. Less distant.

Then her voice, lower now. Steady.

"You’re not going back until you’re fully recovered. At the very least."

Vergil’s eyes stared at the wooden ceiling, the candlelight beside him flickered softly before flicking back to Eleanor.

There was no judgment in her voice. No concern.

Just certainty.

And that made it harder to understand her.

"...Alright," he murmured. "I won’t."

She didn’t respond.

The quiet settled again. Not cold. Not hostile. Just... real.

Vergil closed his eyes before exhaling. "Thanks."

"I didn’t do it for you," her words lacked their usual coldness.

And she didn’t move away.

They stayed like that.

Close, but not touching.

As sleep settled in, soft and slow, like a blanket drawn over them both.