Surviving in a Fantasy Reverse World-Chapter 26: Cafe 80’s

The forest whispers ancient secrets as we move between massive oak trees, their gnarled branches casting dancing shadows across the moss-covered ground. Every twig snap under my boots sounds like a gunshot in the eerie silence.
"Keep your eyes peeled," Mirelle whispers, her electric blue hair practically crackling with anticipation. "Owlbears have incredible hearing."
I adjust my staff across my back, wincing as my muscles protest after a week of non-stop questing. We've been taking job after job at the Lannos Guild. The money's been decent, but the constant grind is wearing me down.
"What exactly does an owlbear look like?" I ask, keeping my voice low as I scan the undergrowth for movement.
Mirelle shoots me an amused glance over her shoulder. "Exactly what it sounds like. Body of a bear, head of an owl. Twice as mean as either."
"Great," I mutter. "Sounds like a real cuddly creature."
The forest floor is soft beneath my feet, still damp from last night's rain. Sunlight filters through the canopy in golden shafts, illuminating patches of wildflowers and mushrooms that would look picturesque if we weren't hunting a monster.
At least Mirelle has kept her hands to herself this past week, mostly. No repeat of that morning with the "healing practice" that turned into something else entirely. Still, every night she insists on holding me while she sleeps, her naked body pressed against mine as she commands me to relax, to sleep deeply. And every night, without fail, she kisses me softly while her hand works between her legs, her breath catching in my ear as she finds her release.
It's a strange, uncomfortable routine we've fallen into. Not quite rape, but nowhere near consensual either.
"Sam," Mirelle hisses, suddenly dropping into a crouch. "Look there."
I follow her gaze to a massive oak tree about fifty yards ahead. The trunk is scarred with deep gouges, strips of bark hanging loose like flayed skin.
"Claw marks?" I whisper, crouching beside her.
She nods, her blue eyes narrowed in concentration. "Fresh ones. And look at the height, it has to be our owlbear."
I study the marks, noticing how they stretch nearly eight feet up the trunk. "Jesus, how big is this thing?"
"Big enough to tear your head off without much effort," she replies matter-of-factly. "That's why we're going to be extremely careful."
We continue deeper into the forest, following the fresh claw marks that lead us through increasingly dense undergrowth. My face covering grows damp with sweat as we push through a thicket of brambles, the thorns catching on my cloak.
Suddenly, a thunderous roar echoes through the trees, followed by an ear-splitting screech that sounds like an owl's call amplified to impossible volume.
"What the hell was that?" I freeze, my hand instinctively reaching for my staff.
Mirelle motions for me to stay low as we creep forward, ducking behind a fallen log. The sounds of combat grow louder, wood splintering, heavy bodies crashing through undergrowth, and guttural roars mixing with those unnatural screeches.
When we peer over our cover, my jaw drops at the scene before us.
In a small clearing stands the most massive creature I've ever seen, a hulking beast with the muscular body of a bear covered in feathers and fur, topped with the head of an enormous owl. Its curved beak drips with blood as it lunges at its opponent.
And what an opponent it is.
"Holy shit," I whisper. "Is that a minotaur?"
Standing nearly eight feet tall on powerful hooved legs, the bull-headed humanoid swings a massive greataxe in a deadly arc. Muscles ripple beneath its fur-covered torso as it parries the owlbear's attack. Despite its impressive physique, dark blood streams from several deep gashes across its flank.
"Fuck," Mirelle hisses, pulling me lower behind the log. "A minotaur is way too strong for us."
"Oh?" I glance at her, surprised by the genuine concern in her voice. This is the woman who took down an ogre.
"They're smart and strong," she explains. "Not like that ogre, who was just big and strong. Minotaurs can think, strategize."
The minotaur roars in pain as the owlbear's talons rake across its chest, adding to the collection of wounds already marring its body.
Mirelle's eyes narrow as she studies the creature. "Wait a minute... It's already injured. Those wounds on its back, they're not from the owlbear."
I squint at the minotaur, noticing what Mirelle is talking about. There's a massive slice across its torso that looks nothing like the jagged tears from the owlbear's claws, this is a clean, surgical cut that could only come from a blade.
"Someone got to it first," I whisper.
"Fuck it," Mirelle mutters, suddenly grabbing her thunder staff. "This is our chance. Both creatures are weakened." Her hair begins to crackle with energy as she rises slightly. "Stay close to me."
I barely have time to reach for my own staff when she springs into action. Blue electricity builds at the tip of her weapon as she takes aim at the battling monsters.
Just as before, she unleashes a blinding bolt of lightning, there's a blur of movement from the trees, so fast I can barely track it. A massive blade arcs through the air, gleaming silver in the dappled forest light.
The lightning blast connects with something metal with a deafening CRACK, and I'm momentarily blinded by the flash. When my vision clears, I see both the owlbear and minotaur collapse to the forest floor, nearly sliced in half by a single devastating strike.
Standing over their bodies is a towering figure in gleaming silver armor, a helmet obscuring their face. In their hands is a sword so massive it shouldn't be possible for anyone to wield it. The knight's armor crackles with residual electricity from Mirelle's attack, but they seem completely unfazed.
"Holy shit," I breathe, my blood turning to ice as recognition dawns.
"Fuck," Mirelle whispers, genuine terror in her voice. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
The armored figure turns toward us, that impossibly huge sword still dripping with monster blood. With deliberate slowness, gauntleted hands reach up to remove the helmet.
Long blonde hair tumbles out as the helmet comes off, and my heart nearly stops. It's Skara Vayne, the woman who cleaved another human in half at the guild for spilling her drink. Her cold blue eyes lock onto us, but there's something different about them now, they're wide, almost feverish, with a wild gleam that makes my skin crawl.
"You," she says, her voice eerily calm despite the crazed look in her eyes. She points her massive blade at Mirelle, the tip steady despite its impossible weight. "You struck me with lightning."
Mirelle steps forward, placing herself between me and Skara. I've never seen her like this, her usual confidence replaced by genuine fear.
"I'm incredibly sorry, Skara," Mirelle says, her voice trembling slightly. "We took out the mission for the owlbear. I didn't realize anyone was here."
Skara tilts her head, studying Mirelle with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey. A slow smile spreads across her face, revealing perfect teeth. "An apology? How... quaint."
I try to swallow, but my throat's gone dry. The woman who murdered someone over a spilled drink is standing twenty feet away from us, and Mirelle just hit her with a lightning bolt.
"It was an accident," I find myself saying, immediately regretting drawing her attention.
Skara's gaze shifts to me, her cold blue eyes studying my face, or what she can see of it above my face covering.
"Well, aren't you just the cutest little Forcray healer I've seen in ages," she purrs, her voice honeyed with something that makes my skin crawl. "I remember you from the guild. The one who tried to save that woman."
My fingers nervously fidget with the edge of my face covering, tugging it higher as if the thin fabric could somehow shield me from her attention.
Skara's smile widens as she turns back to Mirelle, casually resting that impossible sword across her armored shoulders. Blood still drips from the blade, spattering the forest floor with dark droplets.
"I'll tell you what," she says, her voice casual as if discussing the weather rather than the aftermath of her nearly killing us. "Let me have a night with your pretty Forcray girl, and we'll call it even. No hard feelings about the lightning."
Mirelle's entire body goes rigid beside me. Her electric blue hair practically stands on end, crackling with static electricity that betrays her panic.
"She's not available," Mirelle says, her voice tight with barely controlled rage. "And she's my lover, not some bargaining chip."
Skara laughs, the sound echoing through the trees like breaking glass. "Oh, possessive, are we? That's adorable." She takes a step closer, and I can smell blood and metal radiating from her armor. "But I wasn't asking permission from you."
Her gaze slides back to me, expectant and hungry. "What do you say, pretty healer? One night with me, and your girlfriend doesn't have to worry about waking up with my blade through her chest."
Without thinking, I thrust my finger past Skara, pointing into the dense forest behind her.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" I scream, my voice cracking with genuine terror.
Skara's head whips around, her blonde hair fanning out as she instinctively shifts into a combat stance. It's only a split-second distraction, but it's all I need. My legs are moving before my brain fully registers the plan, propelling me away from her as fast as I can manage. The forest blurs around me as I sprint, branches slapping against my face covering.
I don't make it three strides.
Something solid catches my wrist, yanking me backward with such force that my feet leave the ground. I slam against metal armor, knocking the wind from my lungs. The curse is already activated. Skara's grip is like iron, her gauntleted fingers digging into my skin.
"That wasn't very smart, was…" she begins, her voice laced with amusement.
My body goes rigid, muscles locking in place. I can feel the telltale glow in my eyes as I stare helplessly up at her.
Skara's words die in her throat. Her blue eyes widen, the wild gleam in them shifting to something else entirely, shock, then confusion, then horrified fascination.
"You're... cursed?" she whispers, her grip tightening painfully around my wrist.
Realization dawns on her face like a sunrise, slow, then all at once.
"You're a man," she breathes, the words hanging between us like a death sentence.
Behind me, I hear Mirelle's sharp intake of breath. I can almost feel her panic radiating in waves.
Skara's grip tightens around my wrist, her eyes fixed on mine with terrifying intensity. My body remains frozen by the curse, completely at her mercy.
"But I saw your hands at the guild that day," she says, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "The golden light. You're a healer."
I manage to find my voice despite the paralysis. "I guess I'm... special."
The word hangs in the air between us, pathetically inadequate for the gravity of the situation. Skara's eyes narrow, studying me with renewed interest, like I'm a rare specimen she's discovered and is considering how best to dissect.
"Please let him go," Mirelle's voice cuts through the tension, a desperate edge I've never heard from her before. "Please, Skara."
Skara ignores her completely, her gaze never leaving my face. She reaches up with her free hand and slowly, deliberately pulls down my face covering. The forest air feels cool against my exposed skin as she studies every inch of my features with unsettling thoroughness.
For what feels like an eternity, she simply stares at me, her blue eyes boring into mine as if searching for something hidden beneath my skin. I can't move, can't speak, can't even blink as she holds me captive both physically and with her gaze.
She finally speaks.
"You're the Saint.”