Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst
Chapter 94: Magic? In This Economy?

Chapter 94: Magic? In This Economy?

"We really should have brought someone with a bow," Vance muttered, as he eyeballed what looked like a flock? A herd? Some grouping of creatures that closely resembled ostriches. "Could’ve hunted for food." However, he wasn’t certain how edible they were.

"We have Ronan," I offered, grinning despite the exhaustion gnawing at me. "Remember the deer?"

Nythera winced at the memory of not too long ago, when they last contemplated hunting for food. "You mean–" she trailed off, the haunting gaze of that poor creature’s last moments burnt into her mind.

Vance groaned like the memory physically hurt him. "The one Ronan hit with a fucking fireball."

Nythera’s brow furrowed, and even Ronan turned his head slightly, as if vaguely recalling the event. "It was effective," Ronan said flatly.

"Oh, it worked," I snorted. "Thing hit the ground so hard it probably cracked the earth. Problem was the meat tasted like a boot left too close to the hearth on an especially chilly night."

Nythera’s lips twitched, "There had to have been a better way to go about it, and why didn’t anyone take care of the meat afterward?"

"Sure," Vance said dryly. "That was the initial plan, except none of us knows how to butcher a deer. Because, let’s review—" He gestured between us. "We’ve got me, whose culinary expertise ends at boiling water. Lucian, whose survival instincts are limited to ’stab it until it stops moving.’ Ronan, whose idea of cooking is ’apply fire until ashes.’ And you, our city-raised healer, who probably never even saw a live deer until we dragged you out here."

"I’ve seen a deer," Nythera protested, though her voice lacked conviction. "At a festival."

"Exactly," Vance said. "Which is why we’ve been eating ration packs and regretting our life choices for three days."

"Unfortunately, the only time I was involved with field-dressing game, the hard work had already been done and I just had to cook it until it looked safe to eat," Lucian added in,

I had grown used to my limited talks with Ronan on our many misadventures together, but there was something about this casual banter that was freeing. We needed these brief moments where nothing was trying to kill us, no depressing sights or troubled communities–just friendly chatting and heading toward our goal.

Unfortunately, no amount of banter could drown out the shift in the air as we crested the next ridge.

The Mana Scar stretched out before us, it was a gash in the land, nothing grew on its wastes and it seemed as though all color was drained with it, like the world itself had been flayed open and left to rot. The ground was gray—not the natural gray of stone, but the sickly shade of something utterly devoid of life or magic, all drained from it until only husk remained. Even the sky above it was overcast and gray, a monotone, desolate, and entirely unnatural swath of wasteland that we needed to pass into. Goodie.

I wasn’t sure how wide the scar stretched, but it was enough that going around and avoiding it wasn’t going to be a plausible strategy. It was longer than it was wide, so the best chance of running into the dungeon was by going straight through the middle of it, and hoping that even the monsters were too wary to live within.

Vance took a slow breath beside me, his expression darkening. "There it is."

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to shake the sense of vertigo that hit just looking at it. "Ugh, it looks like the air alone is going to stick to our skin and drag us down," I commented, uneasy at the thought of going anywhere near the blighted territory.

Nythera shifted uneasily. "It feels... wrong."

"That’s because it is wrong," Vance muttered. "The land here’s been leeched so dry, not even ambient mana can survive."

Ronan, of course, looked completely unaffected. If anything, he seemed more comfortable the closer we got. It was a strange sight, as I’m sure we all thought he would be the most impacted by this change in environment.

"This is fine," Ronan said. "Magic is a crutch."

We all stood aghast by his words. Slack jawed, eyes wide, even the healer knew that Ronan was a powerful sorcerer, so why the hell would he say magic was a crutch? If anything, it held him up better than his own two legs.

Vance was the one to speak up first, "You are the sole magical damage dealing party member in our group, and you’re saying that despite everything we have ever seen you do, you’re hiding more than manage in your sleeves?"

"No, magic is my most powerful tool."

I chimed in when Vance got hit with that ridiculous response, while Ronan continued walking toward the scar. "Yeah, you make that quite clear every time you throw fireballs."

"Correction," Ronan replied, tone deadpan as he took a step over the border between anti-magical oblivion, and everything else.... "Threw fireballs." As if to emphasize his point, he turned to face Vance, outstretched an arm, and–

"HOLY SHIT RONAN, NO!" Vance screamed in a less than masculine way as sparks ignited at Ronan’s fingertips before dissipating into the air around him, vanishing before our eyes and nearly causing Vance to wet himself.

"It appears the rumors were true," Ronan stated matter-of-factly, seemingly surprised that he was unable to use magic.

Vance was visibly shaking and unable to articulate anything beyond indiscernible murmuring.

"Now Ronan, please answer a question for me." I snapped my fingers to get his attention, speaking slowly and clearly. "What would you have done if the scar did NOT absorb your mana before you cast that spell?"

To his credit, he pondered the question carefully before responding, "I would have mourned him."

My eyes were wide as saucers and the rest of the party forgot how to breathe, at least until–

"Heh," was all he said before returning to face the manaless expanse before us.

"Did he just fucking laugh?!" Vance shouted with more anger than I had expected, but I couldn’t say it was unwarranted.

"Oh my god, you made a joke?!" I followed up.

"He was in no danger, but you all thought he was going to die–it was amusing." I could nearly hear the smile at the edge of his lips and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I broke into raucous laughter. Even as Nythera looked at me as though I had lost my mind, and Vance stared daggers at me, ready to end my life on the spot–I, of course, continued to laugh.

When I had finally gotten everything out of my system, I realized I was lying on the floor, clutching my sides. Tears were streaming down my cheeks and as I opened my eyes, everything was blurred. I tried to blink them away but was met with a swift kick in the stomach–Vance, I assumed.

My core exploded with pain, which only intensified as I laughed further. For my efforts, I received another kick that stole my breath away, and honestly expected a third and fourth, but I could hear muffled arguing of Nythera and Vance as she tried to pull him away and put herself between us. Eventually I managed to rise to my feet, body worse for the wear, but spirit entirely uplifted.

Nythera ushered me off to the side before sighing and placing her hands on my core, her fingers illuminated in a brilliant green light as she restored me to my former glory.

"That’s all I can do for now, and likely the last time any of us will get healing until we make it through this place. So please refrain from any additional infighting." She wasn’t terrible at diplomacy, and it helped that Vance seemed to have worked through a lot of his own issues with those strikes.

"Thank you," I replied hoarsely, "–and sorry Vance," I wasn’t really sorry, and it took everything I had to keep from cracking up while saying it, but he didn’t notice thankfully.

Nythera was already digging through her pack, fingers twitching with nervous energy. "If healing spells won’t work right in there, I need to prepare physical treatments—salves, bandages, poultices. I have herbs for fever and infection, but if anything serious happens, or if you all start bickering again..."

"I’ll be on my best behavior," I said, voice flat. "We should be fine from now on."

It wasn’t a great plan. Hell, it wasn’t even a good plan, but if I had to be an adult to help keep us alive, I guess I would be an adult.

We stood there for a minute longer, none of us eager to follow Ronan into that lifeless wound in the earth. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rustling of the wind through brittle grass.

Finally, I sighed. "Alright, not like there’s going to be a welcoming party, and besides, Ronan is getting pretty far ahead." I took the first steps between the remaining three of us, boots crunching against dead soil, and instantly regretted it.

The nausea spiked so hard I nearly doubled over. My vision blurred at the edges, my stomach lurching like I’d been punched in the gut by reality itself. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to straighten. "How the hell are you dealing with this Ronan?!" but he couldn’t hear me and kept on marching.

Vance followed, feeling similarly to me but not appearing to be suffering quite as much. Nythera hesitated, hands trembling at her sides, before she took a breath and stepped forward too. Out of all of us, I think Nythera suffered the least, which was something I would have to inquire about at some point.

For a moment I thought maybe it had to do with the fact that 3 of us were parasites, but Ronan kind of broke that theory. I would just have to keep an eye on things and see whether or not things would improve as we got used to the lack of mana in the air.

The air inside the Scar was... thin. Not just physically, but magically. Like every spell, every breath of mana I might have drawn on, had been sucked out and replaced with cold, empty silence. Even my shadow felt too small, too pale, like the void itself was uncomfortable here.

This was going to be brutal, but it was the final stretch to the gargantuan dungeon, and there was nowhere to go but forward.