Sylvester Archipelago

- I simply prefer genuine memories to false ones. - Sarael replied, still lying on the cold ground. - It's not very comfortable to talk in this position, you know. - He complained jokingly, while a real whirlwind of thoughts swirled in his head. Laughter at the absurdity of the situation he found himself in. Indignation at how easily he had yielded in a one-on-one battle; had he become so weak over the years? His opponent was undoubtedly a very skilled warrior, but that didn't console the elf. Also, at the moment he received the dagger blow, he was overcome by the fear of death, a very rare occurrence for him: Sarael, although not entirely reckless, had never been afraid to die and therefore lived freely, like the wind, and made decisions according to his mood. Perhaps he was afraid of never seeing his daughter again, with whom he didn't get along, but whom he loved. And besides all this, the stranger's offer really interested him: such operations had always been to his liking. He didn't fully believe him, and even suspected that he might use him for some other purposes, but despite this, Sarael agreed. - Alright, I'll help you. - After all, this archer already had the opportunity and the reason to take his life, and it would only be fair if Sarael now helped him in his endeavor.