I Can Multiply My Daily Gacha by 100x

Marcus and Elena stared at him.

Neither of them moved. The grey light in Marcus’s eyes shook.

”The vessel was dying,” the male entity said. ”That form... how?”

”Kill him,” Elena’s voice hissed. ”Now, brother.”

They were too late.

Dante didn’t run at them. He didn’t even take a step. He lifted Esabella’s sword with one hand and swung it once, from where he stood.

[Spatial Cleave.]

The air split. A black line opened across the arena, thin as a hair and perfectly silent. For one breath, nothing happened. Then the sound came, like a huge sheet of cloth being torn from the sky. The sand on both sides of the line slid away. The stone benches in the stands were cut clean in half. Marcus and Elena were thrown backward as if a wall of air had hit them, and they smashed into the arena wall so hard that the stone cracked around their bodies.

The line stayed in the air behind them, a black crack with glowing edges. Wind howled into it.

Dante’s right arm shook.

The skin of his hand had split from the fingertips to the wrist. Blood ran down the hilt and dripped off the pommel. Every bone in his arm felt like it had been hit with a hammer. His breath came out in short, wet pulls.

[Body integrity: 68%.]

He tighten his hand and ignore all the pain.

He lowered the sword and turned his back on them.

Esabella lay where he had left her, with her scales half formed and her eyes closed now . A line of blood came from the corner of her mouth. Her chest barely moved.

Dante knelt and slid his left arm under her shoulders , he lifted her in his arm , Her head fell against his chest, and he felt her breath, weak and uneven, on his collarbone.

’ Please don’t–.’

Then he crossed the sand to the pillar where Yenna lay on her face. He picked her up with his other arm. Her legs hung limp. Blood had dried under her nose and ears. She didn’t stir.

Two women, one in each arm. He stood there with their weight pulling on his bad shoulder.

’I can’t heal them. I need to find someone who can heal them’

He looked up.

Far above the sand, at the top of the stands, a few people were crouched behind the stone rail. They wore crimson capes. Officers and clerks who had come early for the execution, to get good seats. They had watched the whole fight from up there, and none of them had run.

Dante started walking.

He crossed the arena in six long strides. The red veins on his neck pulsed with each one. When he reached the foot of the stands, he looked up at them and spoke in a voice that cracked the air.

”Healer.”

Nobody moved.

”Which one of you is a healer?”

A man in a crimson cape stood up with a sword in his hand. His face was white, but he lifted the blade. ”You’re the traitor. You can’t...”

Dante’s sword flicked once.

The man’s head hit the stairs and rolled.

Screams broke out along the top row. A woman tried to run, and Dante was already behind her. His blade went through her back. Three clerks dived under a bench, and he reached down and pulled them out one by one. A captain scrambled up the stairs, and Dante threw the sword. It went through the man’s spine and pinned him to the wall.

He pulled it free and kept going.

There was no sound but steps and breath and the wet crack of steel. When he stopped, seven bodies lay on the stone steps, and blood ran down the stairs in a thin red stream.

One man was still alive. He sat pressed against the rail in a white robe with a gold stitched hem, holding both hands over his head. He was thin and young, with a shaking jaw.

Dante looked at him.

”Are you a healer?”

”Y-yes.” The man’s teeth chattered. ”I... I’m a Level 3 priest. Please...”

”Come here.”

The healer crawled down the steps, tripping on his robe. Dante laid Esabella down on a bench, then Yenna beside her, as carefully as he could.

”Heal them,” he said.

”I-I’ll try.”

”Don’t try. I said heal”

The healer swallowed. He knelt between the two women and laid his palms on up to there chests. White light flowed out of his hands. It sank into Esabella’s wounds, and her breathing eased a little. Then it moved to Yenna.

Sweat ran down his face. His hands began to shake, and He stopped.

”I can’t,” he said hoarsely. ”Not both.”

Dante’s red eyes narrowed.

”She has broken ribs and a crushed lung. The core inside her is cracked, I can feel it. And the girl...” He swallowed. ”Something tore her from the inside. Her blood vessels, her nerves. Her legs have old damage that’s still open. If I put everything into both of them, my heart will stop. I’ll die before I finish.”

He looked up with wet eyes.

”I’m sorry. I’m not strong enough.”

Dante stared at him for a long time.

The wind blew across the stands. Blood dripped off the stairs. Far below, a low howl came from the black crack in the air.

”You see them?” Dante said.

”Y-yes.”

”Seven men up here. I killed every one.” His voice was quiet. ”Do you know why you’re alive?”

The healer shook his head.

”Because you have the one thing I need. I’m giving you a chance.” Dante leaned down until their faces were a hand apart. ”If you heal them and die, then you die. I don’t care. But if you don’t heal them...”

His fingers closed around the healer’s collar.

”...I’ll do something worse than death to you. I’ll make sure you live for a very long time.”

The healer’s face went with full of fear.

His hands, shaking, went back to the women’s chests. White light poured out again, brighter than before. His lips moved in a quick, frightened prayer.

Dante straightened up and turned to face the arena.

Down on the sand, the black crack was in the air. It had shrunk to the width of a finger.

Marcus and Elena were crawling out of the stone wall with blood running down their faces. Marcus’s fingers dug into the broken benches. Elena had one arm hooked around a pillar. The crack was pulling at them like a drain, a thin, steady drag that tugged at their hair and clothes.

”Hold,” the male entity rasped. ”Hold the stone.”

”I am!”

Their nails scraped across the rock, leaving long white lines. The crack shrank again. Now it was only a thread.

Dante lifted the sword, and blood dripped from his torn hand into the dust.