Chapter 29
Oswin's strikes kept missing. The Vessel dodged everything, moving with unnatural precision. His extra arms threw off his balance, making him sluggish, but he kept swinging. A fist, a clawed swipe, an elbow—nothing landed.
Then, the Vessel stepped in.
A heavy blow slammed into Oswin's gut. He felt the force, the sheer power behind it, but no pain. His body folded slightly from the impact, but he didn't stagger.
Another strike—this time to his ribs. His torso jerked to the side, but his mind remained clear.
The Vessel's lips expanded into a wide grin "Tell me—what are you?!" it shouted, voice rising with a mix of mockery and curiosity.
Oswin didn't answer. Instead, he lunged, driving all four arms forward in a chaotic assault. The Vessel swayed, barely avoiding the barrage, but one of Oswin's extra hands scraped across its shoulder. A shallow wound opened.
But it was only a small victory, as the Vessel retaliated instantly, stepping in again—too close for Oswin to react. A palm strike to his sternum. His body absorbed the shock, but his momentum broke. The Vessel twisted, delivering a brutal kick to his side. He felt the force shove him sideways.
Oswin's attacks weren't landing. The Vessel weaved through them like water, slipping past every strike with fluid precision.
He needed to change the flow.
The Vessel stepped in again, launching a quick jab toward Oswin's chest. He twisted just enough to let the hit glance off, absorbing the impact. Then, instead of stepping back—he surged forward.
His arms, all four of them, shot out.
The Vessel reacted, trying to twist away—but Oswin was faster this time. His main arms locked around its torso, pulling it into a crushing embrace. His skinless extra limbs coiled around its throat, squeezing like tightening steel cables.
The Vessel thrashed, its hands pounding against his sides, elbows ramming into his ribs, knees driving into his gut. He felt every hit, every impact rippling through his body. But pain never came. His grip didn't loosen.
The thrashing slowed. Its arms twitched, fingers clawing at his own, then went limp.
Oswin held on for a moment longer, ensuring the Vessel was truly unconscious before he finally released it.
The fight was over.
As Oswin released the Vessel's limp body, he stood still for a moment, breathing heavy but steady. His skinless arms hung at his sides, twitching slightly from exertion.
Then, a slow clap echoed in the quiet night.
Oswin turned his head.
A young girl—no more than twelve—walked into view. She was dressed like the Vessel, in a plain cloth draped from shoulder to thigh. Her hair was cut short, her eyes too calm for a child, too focused. Her hands came together with soft claps as she stepped closer, barefoot, unbothered.
"You passed the test," she said in a sing-song, childlike voice."
Oswin didn't respond right away. He just stared. The girl didn't look like a threat. But that meant nothing here.
"Do I need to kill this Vessel?" he asked, glancing at the unconscious figure at his feet.
The girl tilted her head, almost amused. "Is that your question?"
Oswin paused. He was about to answer, but stopped himself.
"No... wait."
He fell silent. His mind drifted—not lost, but deep. Thinking. Turning over possibilities.
The girl didn't interrupt. She just stood there, waiting patiently as he thought, a strange little smile resting on her lips.
"How many questions can I even ask?"
The girl shrugged, her voice still light and childlike. "Depends on the degree of the question."
She raised a finger like she was explaining a game.
"Some answers are expensive. Some are cheap. Depends what you want to know."
Oswin's eyes narrowed. He looked down at the Vessel again, then back to her.
"And who decides the cost?"
She grinned. "I do, of course."
Oswin had many questions—about his fate here, about the Hymns, about Caro, and everything in between. But he forced himself to pause. Others could answer some of those. He needed to use this opportunity wisely.
Ignis might help with Hymns, Oswin reasoned. There could be other bards in the settlement too.
So instead, he focused on the one thing only someone like her could answer.
"Where are we?" he asked. "I mean this entire plane."
"That question is quite expensive," the girl warned, her tone suddenly more measured and cold. "If you proceed with it, I won't answer any other."
Oswin met her gaze, his eyes unblinking. "Yes, go forward with it."
A brief silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken stakes, as she prepared to speak the costly answer.
"The place you're in is the fifth floor of the Tower of Bound Realms—a divine artifact, and also a penitentiary," the girl said coolly.
Oswin's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait, you mean all of this is indoors? How big must a tower be to hold all this? And you're saying this is the fifth floor? That means there are at least five floors like this!"
Her expression darkened. "I won't answer any more questions," she replied abruptly.
Before he could press further, her eyes fluttered and she slumped, losing consciousness.
"My control over the extra arms has improved. I can use them to fight now," Oswin muttered, watching the twitch and flex of the unnatural limbs at his sides.
He paused.
"That's nice."
His gaze drifted down to the arms. The fight had taken a toll—what had been dry and sealed had begun to leak again. Viscous bodily fluids trickled from the raw muscle, faintly steaming in the night air.
It stung now that he was not fighting. Not pain exactly—just a dull, persistent discomfort. But it was fine.
Oswin glanced at the two unconscious girls.
"Depri should've brought them from the settlement," Oswin muttered. "It should be close."
There was a flicker of some enthusiasm in his tone—faint, but real.
He turned, leaving the two where they lay, and began walking alongside the river in the darkness of the night.
The darkness of the night meant nothing, not when he could see through it.