Chapter 228: Gregor’s Confession [ 2 ]

The silence that followed Gregor’s words lingered, heavy and unyielding. It didn’t soften or ease; instead, it deepened, settling in the room like a storm that refused to break.

It pressed against their lungs, making each breath feel deliberate and labored, as if even inhaling required effort in the wake of everything that had been said.

Gregor stood beside Calista’s bed, his head bowed, shoulders trembling. His fingers were clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles pale beneath strained skin, veins standing out sharply along his wrists.

He continued to speak, unraveling as he went. The weight of guilt didn’t dissipate after confession; it multiplied, branching into every memory and consequence, touching every face that had suffered.

“I still shouldn’t have pushed for it,” he repeated, his voice rough and worn, scraping against the quiet like something breaking apart.

“No matter what any of you say, it all comes back to me. Every part of it, the mission, the battle, the Guild burning. The dead. Mina lying unconscious. The Guildmaster preparing to sacrifice his future… all of it started because I insisted. Because I convinced everyone. Because I wanted that mission.”

His breathing grew uneven; his chest rose and fell sharply as if the air itself had turned dense.

“I keep replaying it in my head,” he continued, voice trembling now as tears streamed down his face unchecked.

“Every moment. Every word I said. Every argument I made to push us forward. I thought I was leading, I thought I was doing what a senior adventurer should do: protecting our future, chasing opportunity, strengthening the Guild… but instead of protecting anyone, I fed my own greed. And because of that greed, people died not just strangers but our own people who trusted us, who believed in the Guild and followed us into hell.”

His words rushed out now, no longer measured or restrained.

“Because of me, Calista lost her arm. Because of me, all eleven of us nearly died. Because of me, the Guild was attacked; hundreds were injured or killed because we took risks together.”

He paused for breath before continuing with a choked voice: “Because of me… Mina almost died trying to protect the Guildmaster; now he’s preparing to split his own soul just to save her. That blood doesn’t wash off, I can feel it every second, every time I close my eyes.”

His knees buckled slightly as he caught himself against the bed frame; breath shuddered through him.

“I don’t deserve to stand here,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t deserve to be called your comrade or friend or teammate, I became the reason everything collapsed.”

The room remained silent but this silence felt different; strained and fragile, as though something inside everyone present was beginning to crack.

Leona’s hands trembled in her lap, her eyes glistening as she fought to steady her breathing. Caelis lowered his gaze, his jaw tight, while Brutus shifted heavily in place, his shoulders tense and fists clenched.

Calista watched Gregor quietly, her expression steady and focused, someone who understood pain but refused to let it consume the room.

Brutus stepped forward, the sound of his boots scraping against the floor making his presence feel suddenly heavy and grounding. When he spoke, there was a sharpness beneath his usual roughness.

“Then what?” he demanded, slicing through the silence like a blade. “Are you just going to stand there and drown in guilt forever? Is that your plan?”

Gregor flinched at the force of his tone.

“You think you’re the only one hurting?” Brutus continued, raising his voice not out of anger for its own sake but from raw frustration born of his own wounds.

“You think we all walked out of that place untouched? You think we sleep peacefully? That we don’t hear the screams every time we close our eyes?”

Gregor opened his mouth but no words came.

Brutus took another step closer. “You say you caused everything. Fine. Maybe you did push for the mission. Maybe you convinced us. But don’t act like we were dragged there like corpses. We chose to go. We chose to fight. We chose to risk our lives. You didn’t chain us or force us; you weren’t holding a blade to our throats.”

Leona spoke next, her voice trembling yet firm, emotion spilling through every word. “And stop acting like your guilt is some kind of penance,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“It doesn’t bring anyone back or heal Mina or rebuild the Guild. It just leaves you broken while we watch you destroy yourself.”

Caelis exhaled slowly and lifted his gaze, speaking quietly but with weight behind each word: “If guilt alone could fix things, we’d all be saved by now.”

Gregor shook his head as tears continued to fall. “You don’t understand…”

“No,” Calista interrupted suddenly, her voice cutting through the air with surprising strength, fragile yet sharp enough to halt him mid-sentence. “We understand perfectly.”

Everyone turned toward her; though her body was weak beneath bandages and her breathing shallow, her eyes remained steady and unyielding.

“You think your guilt is unique?” she continued softly but firmly. “You think you’re the only one replaying that day in your head? The only one wondering what could have been done differently? The only one who feels responsible?”

Her gaze drifted briefly to where her arm had once been before returning to him with fierce determination. “I lost something too, not just an arm but a part of my life, how I fight, who I was. And do you know what I thought when I woke up?”

Gregor stared at her, speechless.

“It wasn’t anger,” she said softly. “It wasn’t blame. It was relief. Relief that we survived. Relief that we’re still breathing. Relief that the people I care about didn’t vanish completely.”

Her voice had a gentleness to it, but the weight of her words only grew heavier. “You’re not wrong to feel guilty. You shouldn’t feel nothing, that would mean you didn’t care at all. But guilt isn’t the same as truth, and it doesn’t equate to responsibility. You didn’t make every decision that led us here. The world doesn’t revolve around your choices alone.”

Gregor’s shoulders trembled as he spoke, “But it all started with me.”

“It began with a choice,” Calista replied calmly. “And choices are never made by one person alone. We all made them together. We all stepped into that mission, fought side by side, and accepted the risks involved. That’s what being an adventurer means.”

She held his gaze firmly. “If you keep trying to shoulder everything by yourself, you’re not honoring those who stood beside you; you’re erasing their contributions, their choices and their courage.”

Her words struck him hard.

Gregor staggered slightly, breath hitching in his throat, eyes wide open, his guilt still present but now battling against something else: resistance, confusion, anger at himself, anger at the world for how irreparable everything felt.

“I still can’t forgive myself,” he whispered hoarsely.

“No one said you had to,” Calista replied quietly.

Silence enveloped them again, but this time it felt charged, like something was shifting beneath the surface, unresolved and raw.

Wiping his face in vain against the tears that kept flowing, Gregor said, “I don’t know how to stand here like nothing happened. I don’t know how to walk alongside all of you when every step feels like I’m stepping over the bodies of those who died.”

He swallowed hard; his breathing was uneven as he slowly straightened up, even though his posture remained hunched under an invisible weight.

His gaze drifted from Calista to Brutus, then Leona and Caelis, lingering on each face as if trying to memorize them before they slipped away.

“I need time,” he finally admitted in a quiet voice that sounded hollow and worn thin. “I can’t… stay here like this….not yet.”

Turning toward the door, each step felt slow and heavy, as if his legs were resisting movement altogether. He paused at the threshold for a moment, resting his hand against the frame with his head lowered and shoulders trembling.

For an instant, it seemed like he might say something more but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped outside, the door closed softly behind him with a sound that echoed louder than expected in the stillness of the room.

Inside, the room was still. No one moved or spoke. Nothing had been resolved. Guilt, like Gregor’s, doesn’t just disappear overnight, and wounds like theirs can’t heal with a single conversation.

Meanwhile, in the dim corridor beyond, Gregor walked alone. His back was hunched, shoulders slumped under a weight that hadn’t lifted and might never fully lift.

Each step felt slow and heavy as he faded into the silence not healed, not forgiven, not whole but somehow still moving forward.

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