I've said it many times already—if you'd handed the girl over earlier, we could've gotten her out by now. We wouldn't be stuck in this damn deadlock.
Still tied up, Kingslayer's words were as sharp as ever:"It's your stubbornness that's put her through this much suffering. Don't you get that yet?"
It had been two days since Revy last made contact with the Contract Network.
The supply cache they found at the destroyed camp—ruined by Kingslayer herself—was sufficient. They'd even swapped the original Ursus military vehicle for a disguised transport. Everything seemed to be progressing in the right direction.
And then Misha came down with a fever.
A brutal combination of exposure and her latent Oripathy had ravaged her already frail body. Her condition even became life-threatening. Though some found medication had helped suppress the symptoms, it was useless against the Oripathy itself.
Maybe if they were already at Rhodes Island, there'd be hope. But here, now—
To move her in this state would be suicide. The camp, at least, offered concealment and minimal shelter—a temporary respite at best.
"If you'd just say the word, my people could be here in a day. We'd get her somewhere safe. Sitting around here helps no one. You—"
Revy's icy stare cut Kingslayer off mid-sentence.
"Don't think I don't know your game. Your medical resources aren't any better than what we have here. If I hand her to you—what guarantee do I have she won't just become a decoy when things go south?"
Revy's patience had worn thin over the past two days. Maybe it was the rare sense of helplessness he was feeling. Or maybe—
Maybe he was no longer seeing this as just a mission.
"Tch. Suit yourself, idiot."
Revy couldn't trust Kingslayer—Lyudmila—not with how she treated Misha. Not as a person, but a package, a mission target.
He couldn't gamble on whether they cared about Misha's life—or just her body.
"Nngh..."
A soft sound interrupted their argument. Both heads turned toward the source—Misha was stirring.
"Hmph."
Giving Kingslayer a warning glare, Revy quickly moved to the girl's side. She was barely conscious, her face flushed with fever and confusion.
"Water... I need water..."
Her fever had left her dehydrated. Thankfully, the camp had a clean water source. Revy poured boiled water from the kettle, cooled it with a splash of cold, tested the temperature, then gently brought the cup to her lips.
Misha drank quietly as Revy rested his hand on her forehead.
He sighed almost imperceptibly.
(The fever... it hasn't gone down at all...)
"Revy-nii... am I going to die?"
The question came out of nowhere, startling him with its calmness.
"...To be honest, it's not looking good."
After a pause—perhaps out of honesty, or perhaps because he couldn't bring himself to lie—Revy spoke quietly:
"If the fever continues, your body won't hold up. Once your immune system collapses, Oripathy will spread even faster than the fever... and Oripathy can't be cured—only contained."
"...Not even going to lie to make me feel better, huh."
Misha gave a small, bitter smile."Maybe it's fate after all. Looks like I won't be making it out of Siberia..."
Revy frowned.
"Don't give up so easily. Your symptoms have stabilized somewhat. If we can get the fever down—"
"—And then what? I'll be fine again?"
"—My infection will magically go away?"
"—Or maybe Mom will come back to life?"
The rapid-fire questions hit Revy like a punch. He had no answer.
"Even if we make it out... I'll be alone. All alone."Her voice was filled with quiet despair."Revy-nii, just leave me here. With your skills, you can escape easily. Why drag a burden like me along?"
"Because my mission is to get you out. And I made a promise. I won't abandon you—"
"—Mission! It's always the mission with you!"
Misha suddenly flared up, the first burst of energy she'd shown in days, eyes burning with pain and fury.
"I told you, leave me behind! Why won't you listen?!"
"If you people had come just a little earlier, maybe my mom wouldn't have died! Now it's just me—what's the point of surviving alone?!"
She was sobbing and coughing now. The fever, the pain, the stress—all of it crashing down.
"I was ready to die there, with her. And then you showed up, dragging me away to Lungmen!"
"They failed already! I was ready! But then you came!"
"And just when I think I might escape that hellhole, I end up like this!"
"If I'm going to die anyway, why make me suffer through all this?! Just let me go!"
Her cries dissolved into coughing fits, her frail body shaking violently. Her spirit—far more fragile than her body—had finally begun to collapse.
Revy knelt beside her, voice soft but firm:
"...I won't let you die here."
Misha's glassy eyes flickered toward him.
"You wanted to escape the gulag, didn't you? Well, you did it. You're nearly out of Siberia. You're still young—you deserve a future. You shouldn't die here."
Revy gently placed a hand on her head, a motion he remembered using long ago, for someone else:
"Once you reach Lungmen, you'll be free from Ursus. Truly free."
"You said you feared being alone, didn't you? Well... since you called me 'big brother'..."
"Would you like to become my sister?""I can take you in. Be your family."
"So please—don't give up on yourself."
Misha forced her eyes open, searching his for some sign—some hesitation, some lie.
But there was none. Only honesty. And resolve.
As the pain and fever dragged her back into unconsciousness, she felt something else too—his hand. Warm. Real.
"...Please... don't leave me..."