Free Web NovelChapter 37: _Maybe I’ll Find Peace Under the Bottle
"Pardon," Valentine rubbed his hands casually. "You two were too noisy. I got... agitated."
Neither Devon nor Viktor could say anything. How could they after feeling that aura?
’SS Rank,’ Viktor thought to himself. ’That’s his rank.’ Then his head moved slowly to Ambrose who seemed more shaken, as expected. ’How is he having a conversation with such a man?’
As for Devon, he would’ve liked to address a lot of things. Starting with how Ambrose knew this man.
But his phone kept ringing with Leo’s contact. And he’ll be damned before he ignores his nephew.
"Leo?" Devon turned away from the others, pressing his phone against his ear. "Leo, are you there? What’s the situation like?"
All he heard from the other end was heavy breathing. Followed by the rising background echo of terrified screams, sirens and rolling waves.
"Are you at the harbour?" Devon’s teeth gritted. "Say something, boy."
Finally, a whisper slipped. "S–She’s dead."
Devon let out a relieved breath. He’s alive! "Who’s dead?"
It was only after a few seconds of silence that he realised. By then a broken sob left his nephew.
"S–Sarah," the lad’s voice cracked. "M–My fiancée."
Devon’s heart dropped.
Leo only proposed to Sarah last week. He remembered how the rascal kept pestering him, telling him he’d have children before Devon would ever decide to settle down with someone.
He even lent them his private yacht. And now—
"Leo?" Devon inhaled once. "Listen to me. What part of the city did the Rift open at?"
A loud sniffle resounded. "R–Right above the ocean. Pretty close to the harbour too."
"Please, Hunters," the Vice President’s voice echoed across the hall just then. "Let’s remain calm. As we speak the local Guilds and Federation officials are containing the Rift. Until we can understand it."
More murmurs rippled through the gala.
Meanwhile, Ambrose was still shaken by Valentine’s aether energy release. The Esper had made sure not to let it spread toward the crowd. And it only lasted a couple of seconds at best.
Even in the face of all that, it had still been terrifying.
Valentine didn’t seem to care.
"Leo, you need to evacuate as far away from that ocean as you can," Devon’s voice rose. "Don’t try to be a hero. Just keep yourself safe as much as possible until—hello?"
The line had gone silent all of a sudden. He glanced at the screen once. "Leo?"
Soon the other end hung up.
Devon panicked, trying to dial the number yet again—while the Vice President gave his parting words: "The gala has been cancelled. Please head home and await further words from your respective Guild masters and organisations."
Grumbling followed his words but he didn’t wait, descending down the stage. His head swung to Devon’s grandfather, both of them exchanging a knowing nod.
The two men have been through some of the most dreadful dungeon-related events in history. Depending on how this Echo Rift goes, it could mean the difference between understanding the dungeons further.
Or the beginning of humanity’s true loss since the Emergence.
★★★★★
Ten minutes later, the hall was almost completely empty. Only a few people lingered around, some following the latest news from Norfolk or speaking to potential new allies.
Viktor had left as well. And so did Valentine, but not before telling Ambrose that their paths would cross again.
Ambrose sat silently on a stool, mentally assessing everything that had happened. A new type of Rift appeared for the first time since the ’Emergence’. Only a few days since he transmigrated too.
That didn’t feel like a coincidence at all.
Many things that he would’ve brushed off as a coincidence in his previous life were happening with way too much evidence that they weren’t.
But of course, he couldn’t say anything to anyone.
’Aura,’ he called the system. ’You mentioned when I got here that my presence was altering the timeline or something, right?’
[Yes. When the past Ambrose died, there was an immediate shift in the timeline.]
Yeah. That.
’But why?’ Ambrose frowned. ’Also, did you extract my soul to replace him? To fix whatever was happening in the timeline?’
[It’s more complicated than that. I picked your soul because in the vast seas of realities, yours was the most compatible with this system’s mission directive. At the time, at least.]
Ambrose clicked his tongue, finally downing the shot he had ordered a while ago. He didn’t understand a thing from what Aura explained.
As the burn of the tequila settled in his throat, he sighed out loud. "Life has never been this confusing."
A familiar grunt sounded beside him just then. "You’re telling me."
He blinked, head snapping to his left. Devon dragged out a stool, sitting lazily and snapping his fingers at the bartender. "Bring me your strongest vodka bottle."
The bartender hesitated with surprise, glancing briefly at Ambrose. Then he nodded with a professional smile, turning to a mini bar etched to the wall behind him.
"You’re going to get drunk if you take a whole bottle." The words managed to sputter out of Ambrose’s mouth. Devon merely flashed a wry smile.
’Fuck, is he mad about Viktor?’ Ambrose cursed internally. ’This whole situation is messed up. How does someone get circled by three powerful Espers?’
"Who knows?" Devon answered him after that long pause. "Maybe I’ll find some peace under the bottle."
Right on cue, the bartender brought a sparkling bottle of vodka, placing it in front of Devon. The latter opened it himself, shocking Ambrose by drinking it directly.
"Devon," Ambrose leaned closer, his voice dropping. "A–Are you mad about the whole Victor thing? Or that other guy?"
A dry chuckle left Esper’s lips. "Other guy?" He repeated, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "So you just let a random SS Rank Esper speak to you? You never knew him before now?"
Ambrose’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly. "Where is this coming from? Yes, he’s random, but he’s the one who approached me saying..." he stopped himself before he could blurt his Death Sense.
Or the guy mentioning he had ’death around him’... Whatever the fuck that meant.
"... He said he was impressed by my survival in the dungeon raid," he ended up going with a half-truth. "And his name is Valentine. Why should any of that even matter—?"
"It doesn’t," Devon interrupted, taking another gulp from his bottle. It was almost halfway down already. "Those men are the least of my worries right now."
His tone and the slight clench in his jaw told Ambrose a different story. But he didn’t push further, swerving the topic to something different instead.
"Is it about your nephew then?" he asked carefully. "Have you heard from him since that last call?"
Devon shook his head. "Nothing."
A tense silence stretched between them.
The link thrummed, pulsing with Devon’s emotions. His rage. His fear. The drowning despair.
"His mother—my sister—died during childbirth," he lifted his head to the ceiling. "Just a few months after our parents died in a car crash. I–I was only six."
His lips curled with a bitter smile. "I promised to protect him. Even at that little age. We grew up like brothers under my grandfather’s care. But I’ve always seen him as the closest thing to a child of my own."
[WARNING: Devon’s emotions are becoming unstable. Physical touch from the host is required.]
In real time, Devon’s eyes were glossy. Tears. They didn’t spill but lingered there, waiting to burst.
"Devon," Ambrose got up, rushing to him and wrapping his arms around him. "It’s okay. It’s not your fault."
The second Ambrose’s warmth covered the Esper, the latter couldn’t hold it back anymore. He broke into a sob, burying his face in the Guide’s neck.
"B–But I... but I should’ve been there. I should’ve insisted he and his fiancée attend the gala and—"
"You couldn’t have ever known, Devon," Ambrose’s hand brushed through his fiery red hair. Grounding. "He won’t want you to blame yourself. Neither would your sister."
More tears fell down Devon’s cheeks. He shut his eyes trying to stop them, clinging to Ambrose like life support. Anyone who saw them would be stunned to see such a powerful man weeping in the arms of a C-Rank.
’It’s time we head back home...’ Ambrose thought to himself.
