Tybalt stared at Baldwin.

  The older man was certainly dying.

  Although Baldwin might live if I feed him both our health elixirs… The soldiers each carried a small container of the alchemic concoction for emergencies, though Baldwin’s vial would probably not be sufficient by itself, since the wound was deep. No, no point. We would still be fighting over the same twice-damned thing, and I could still get executed by the Commander for this. He could call it attempted murder, and he would definitely take Baldwin’s side over mine any day of the week. So… Baldwin’s dying, and nothing is going to stop that now. Damn. He gritted his teeth. Damn it!

  “You have killed me,” Baldwin murmured, as if in agreement with Tybalt’s unspoken words.

  As Tybalt watched, Baldwin turned on his side and curled his body protectively around the wound, his left hand coming around to grasp the spear haft so that Tybalt could not reach down and remove it without overpowering Baldwin. Pulling out the spear was the last thing on Tybalt’s mind, of course. That would probably only hasten Baldwin’s death.

  Tybalt looked back and forth between Baldwin and the Tower of Death, almost paralyzed as he considered what to do next. His instinct was to simply leave Baldwin behind here and go embrace his destiny. But he had not meant to become a murderer today.

  It was not guilt that troubled him now. Baldwin had never been a true friend. Tybalt knew that. No, what roiled his stomach was fear of consequences.

  What would happen if Baldwin died here? Even if Tybalt acquired an amazing class, he might return home as a prisoner—or simply be summarily executed for murder. A phenomenal enough power on his side might excuse the crime, but that assumed that Tybalt made it to a town with an Identification Stone rather than simply being killed.

  “You’ll be all right,” Tybalt said at last, growing more nervous about the consequences of possibly killing his fellow soldier.

  He crouched beside Baldwin.

  “Just stay still and let me examine your—”

  Tybalt bit down hard on his tongue as the stone slammed into the side of his head. There was a deafening clang as the rock struck the metal of his helmet. The world spun around him, and the ground rose up to meet him. He found himself lying in a pool of hot, sticky liquid, head spinning.

  Still in survival mode, Tybalt raised his arms to prevent further blows to his head. His mind had already pieced together what had happened, despite the stunning strike to his temple. Baldwin had struck him a heavy blow with a rock he held in his right hand as soon as Tybalt leaned in to look at the wound in his side.

  This is not my blood, Tybalt reminded himself. At least not much of it. I did not lose. I just suffered a cheap shot. The fool should have stayed still. He jerked the spear in deeper with those moves, and the wound was apparently worse than I had realized even before that. This will be the death of him.

  “You just stay still, bastard,” Baldwin said, rising slowly and unsteadily. “I spent the best twelve years of my life with this fucking army! You are not stealing my opportunity today.” His words were labored and slightly slurred.

  Tybalt tried to rise, but his head was still ringing from the blow, and his feet refused to place themselves under his body properly.

  He saw Baldwin stumble forward, toward the tower.

  One shuffling step.

  Another.

  A third step took him within almost reach.

  “I win,” Baldwin rasped, his whole body shaking as he made the effort.

  A sudden surge of anger rippled through Tybalt’s whole body.

  How dare you? A dark inner voice in Tybalt’s mind roared in indignation.

  Then he was up on his feet, charging at Baldwin, uncoordinated but fierce.

  Tybalt’s movements were almost as unsteady as the bleeding man’s, but his wobbling field of vision took in enough information for him to act: Baldwin’s off-balanced body, the spear tip poking out through his lower back, his fingertips barely wrapping around the iron handle of the tower door.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Then Tybalt was upon the other man, wrathful and determined. His fingers grabbed hold of the spear tip that had only barely penetrated through the other man’s back. Ignoring the pain from grabbing the sharp metal, Tybalt yanked hard until the spear penetrated all the way through and began to exit the wound through the freshly enlarged hole.

  Baldwin crumpled to the ground again, losing blood even more quickly this time. There was a gurgling sound from his lips as he tried to utter some last words but failed.

  The air was filled with the sound of a primal scream. Tybalt stood on guard, clutching the spear haft, ready to stick Baldwin with the pointed end once more if he started to rise.

  It took Tybalt a moment to realize that the one screaming was him. It took him another second to recognize that Baldwin would truly never rise again.

  The bastard shook himself and blinked twice, lips twitching, on the verge of mad laughter.

  Then Tybalt collapsed to the ground beside the other man, back against the Tower’s door, panting heavily, heart pounding. He did not bother trying to look at Baldwin’s wound this time. He knew it was fatal.

  Baldwin had landed with his upper body slightly downhill of his lower body. As a consequence, Tybalt began to hear the other man sputtering and gasping in a pool of his own blood.

  There was blood all over Tybalt’s hands from where he had lightly cut himself on his speartip, and for a few seconds, he moved on autopilot, uncorking the vial of health elixir he had and smearing a small quantity of the substance on his palms. The cuts healed with that little bit of stimulus. Then Tybalt sat there, numbly considering what to do next.

  Part of him wanted to get up and grasp the iron door handle that would open the way into the Tower of Death.

  The other part forced Tybalt to remain where he was and listen to Baldwin breathe his last. He did not want to do anything further to hasten the other man’s end, but he needed to be certain that this time, it was finally over. No one else could get past him and steal the Tower from him while his back rested against the door anyway.

  After a long struggle to breathe through the blood, Baldwin’s body spasmed and lay still. Tybalt replaced the health elixir at his waist. Then he reached over to check Baldwin’s pulse, but before his hand could touch him, another announcement appeared.

  Gods… Because I killed him in front of this place, Baldwin became a sacrifice? I had no great love for him, but I never intended that… What happens to his soul, then? What is this tower?

  Tybalt breathed in and out slowly, forcing himself to think calmly about these latest developments. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and then opened them again. He clenched his fists and stilled the hands he hadn’t realized were trembling.

  All right, then. Baldwin is a sacrifice. I killed him. I am invited to challenge the Tower of Death. And I have unlocked a higher level of challenge… That must be good. Yes. Good. All right. I accept this challenge. Do I just go in?

  He looked down at the handle, a little apprehensive. Then he quickly spun to look behind him, suddenly animated by the need to make certain no one had witnessed his murder of Baldwin.

  But the only sight that greeted him was the seemingly impenetrable wall of fog.

  Thank the gods for that, I suppose.

  Tybalt opened his Status to check his health. He still had a nearly full vial of health elixir on his belt, and he was hoping not to use any more of it. His head still felt a little shaky after that blow with the rock, but he was wary about what challenges the tower might present.

  I seem to be all right despite how powerful that blow was, he thought. Save the medicine for later, then. He looked down at Baldwin with mixed feelings. It really could just as easily have been me down there.

  Aloud, he said, “Thank you for your sacrifice, Baldwin. I know you wanted it to be you taking advantage of this tower. I never liked or trusted you much. But there was much in you that was worthy of respect. I can relate to your struggle to become more than a simple soldier, in these last moments of your life. In that, we both wanted the same thing. I hope your spirit will find rest.”

  Despite me apparently making you a sacrifice…

  Tybalt had never been a superstitious sort, but speaking the words over the body gave him a sort of inner peace.

  Then he reached down and stole the health elixir that Baldwin carried on his belt. Now Tybalt would have two. The dead didn’t need healing, after all, and these things were precious. Alchemist classes were uncommon.

  Enough stalling, then.

  Tybalt turned back to the tower door with no hesitation now, placed his hand on the knob, and pulled. The door swung outward, and without realizing it, he smiled. He had crossed a great milestone. He knew that a new phase of his life lay ahead.