《In the Shadow of Mountains - a litRPG adventure》 Prologue - So, how about a monologue? Surprisingly, the day I died was beautiful. If you¡¯re wondering why it was a surprise? Well, because I¡¯d spent most of my relatively short life in Wales. There are two things in abundance in that country ¨C rain and sheep. So, when the clouds parted that morning and sun kissed green meadows as I drove to work, it was a pleasant gift. I should have known it was too good to be true. If I¡¯d known it was to be the last time I¡¯d leave my house, I¡¯d have taken longer to kiss my wife, had a cuddle with my dog, and probably called off work to go out into the Cambrian mountains and run myself ragged. Alas, foresight was not one of my talents. As it stood, I went to work as normal, came home and took the dog out for a walk. Started the washing up after we got back, cleaned the kitchen, then undid all the hard work again by starting to cook. I heard the door open, small footsteps pattering on the wooden floors as Moss got off the sofa and ran to greet my wife as she came home. An easy meal, casual conversation and general life admin before I went out for a short run. Hills, rocks, grassy gnolls and brambles everywhere¡­and then nothing. That¡¯s the worst part of everything ¨C how anti-climactic it was. No drama, no big emotions, just a fatal aneurysm and everything goes black. I didn¡¯t even fall over or anything. Everyone would think I¡¯d tripped and the fall had rattled something loose in my brain, but the reality of it was just sheer bad luck ¨C dead before I hit the ground. Game over. Start again. Better luck next time. Fuck me but what was the point? I¡¯d spent near enough 20 years battling some form of futility. Depression, dissociation, whatever you want to call it. Most of my life had been spent feeling a bit of distance between myself and the world. I doubted it was a problem unique to me, but everyone seemed to just deal with it better than I did. Because sure, everyone gets it to some degree, right? Go to college or get an apprenticeship, work away at a shitty job that you don¡¯t care about, and then take your joy in the small moments between work and life when you can. Weekends, evenings, even lunchbreaks. And it would be good for a while, but then the monotony would start to set in again, and I¡¯d start losing motivation once more. The last decade had been better. I¡¯d put the blame on three things if I had to pinpoint it; my wife, my dog, and running. The dog didn¡¯t really count, as he was a relatively recent development. A nightmare bundle of energy and teeth and fur for a few months, and then once he left the puppy stage behind, just a nightmare bundle of energy and fur. But he was unpredictable and that helped somewhat. Before him came my wife. She quite literally lit up my life. Not in a soppy romantic way, but more in a ¡®rip open the blinds of my messy room and reveal all the stains and dirty clothes that needed sorting out¡¯. Please understand this is metaphorical ¨C I¡¯d had a very clean flat before we met. Cleaning was easy for me, you see ¨C just as boring as everything else. But she came into my life, and instantly identified my issues. Didn¡¯t really solve any of them, but that wasn¡¯t her job anyway. Her understanding though, her presence and companionship, acted as an anchor. I¡¯d secretly worried for the first few years that I¡¯d get bored of her as I did everything else. Again, please don¡¯t misunderstand me. Not in a playboy dickhead kind of way, but I was in my mid-twenties by that point, and until then my experience of everything in life ¨C literally everything ¨C was that almost everything could be interesting, but only for a moment. People came and went, friendships and relationships ran their course, and I was helpless to stop it. Not my wife though ¨C never got bored of her. Which is probably the wrong way to think of it. She wasn¡¯t exceptional in any way really. I obviously thought the world of her ¨C most beautiful woman in Wales! ¨C but in reality, I understood I had rose coloured glasses. She was as human as me, with all the resulting messiness that entails. So, it was likely a personal flaw of mine that she had helped smooth over that saved our relationship from ending as all before it had. I just found the monotony interesting with her. I¡¯d ask her how her day was, knowing what she¡¯d say, but I¡¯d still be interested to wait around and really hear her say it anyway. I was still trying to figure out how that worked when I died, so can¡¯t give you a good answer there I¡¯m afraid. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. But I won¡¯t dwell too long on her. This is about me after all, and you don¡¯t want to learn about someone much more interesting and compelling do you? So, the third and first thing that kept me going was running. My dog kept me entertained, my wife kept me connected, but running was the thing that really got me feeling for the first time. Wales as a country is a land of green pastures and dilapidated houses, with about as much land you could truly call wild as a supermarket. Nevertheless, I still remember every single one of my runs through it. I started for fitness, since that¡¯s what you were supposed to do, and never really enjoyed it too much ¨C just another thing you do because everyone says you should and I guess it kind of helps the time pass. But then I started going further, slowing down and letting my legs carry me forwards, rather than push all the time. And surprise surprise, I didn¡¯t want to stop anymore. A handful of kilometers became a handful of miles, and then a handful became a bunch. A bunch became an armload and before I knew it, I was running a fuckton of miles every week. They might not be standard measurements but once I started regularly running more than 10 miles at a time, I found I stopped caring for distances. I was working my way up from half marathons, to full ones, and then on to ultras in no time. All off-road, all in the low hills and the local mountains. Whether Wales can be said to have ¡®real mountains¡¯ is up for debate, as I understand. And trust me, I get it. 800 meters isn¡¯t much, and running around the Beacons doesn¡¯t really count as mountaineering. I can imagine Americans and those in Europe scoffing and rolling their eyes respectively, when they compare our little hills to the Rockies or the Alps. And I agree. But I loved the Cambrians and Beacons. Eryri and the Cumbrians too. I was under no illusions about the prowess and legend of my local hills, but goddammit I¡¯d take what I could get. I had spent two decades feeling not much of anything, just plodding along with a vague feeling of wrongness in my chest. Then I started plodding along outside through the countryside, and that feeling disappeared. The big empty whole got filled in with a million scents and sounds and feelings and I felt alive for the first time. The cold burn at the back of my throat, the ache in my lungs and legs, the thrash of long grasses slapping their fat heads against my shins as I ran through yet another fucking field waiting to be turned over as pasture for sheep. That was another thing about Wales. It¡¯s a corpse. The hills rise from the earth, bones whose flesh has been stripped away by logging centuries past. The bare grasses and heather that cover the rocks act as a sheet on a cold body, covering up the worst of it but unable to hide the loss of vitality and movement. And the sheep! The sheep are the maggots, wriggling and worming their way over the surface of the dead country, chomping up every hint of wilderness struggling to survive. If I had my way, we¡¯d have no more fucking sheep in this country, and the pastures would be turned into endless forests once more. I didn¡¯t have my way though, so the woolly buggers persisted all the same. Outlived me too as luck would have it. What an irony. I¡¯d been saved by three things; running, my wife, and my dog. They¡¯d stood in my corner and helped me battle my depression to a standstill, and just as I¡¯d started gaining ground, my traitorous brain had flipped the fucking board and walked off. Aneurysm, lights out. Didn¡¯t seem fair really, but with hindsight I couldn¡¯t be too mad. Wasn¡¯t me that had to live with grief, had to learn to process those emotions and move on with life, pick it all back up and keep trudging on. Wasn¡¯t me that had to wake each day and ask why, to feel guilt whenever they felt anything other than sadness, shame when they felt happy. I was dead, and they were alive, and that¡¯s all that there was to it. Now, you¡¯ve made it through my depressing reverie, and have a better idea of who I am. What¡¯s the point? Why did you do it? Ha! There is no point, sucks to be you. Seriously though, good work, I know I can get repetitive in my own head and I¡¯m proud of you for making it through. - - Do I want another go? Well yeah, obviously. It isn¡¯t obvious? Well, I thought it was. I could do so much better this time. Let me back out there, put me in coach! - - Oh. - Fuck, that¡¯s a hell of a catch. I think¡­I think I still want to try though. - No, no¡­that¡¯s a nice offer but that will get way too complicated way too quickly. 100 years or nothing. I can¡¯t face seeing her again with someone else. - Yeah, of course I want her to be happy, but damn, its one thing to feel that in the abstract, and another to see in the flesh. No, 100 years in the future please. - - That¡¯s also a big no from me, I like modern comforts. Did you not listen? I hate sheep, no way I¡¯ll be happy as a 19th century farmer. - I understand this isn¡¯t a negotiation but¡­please? Just send me somewhere with a purpose. Somewhere new. - - Okay, now we¡¯re getting somewhere! I agre-wait what do you mean I won¡¯t remember?! No! fuck you, that was hard won--- Chapter 1 - A New World Chapter 1) A new world The world tree stirs and empires fall ¨C Ashkanian proverb
I rolled to my side, drool hanging from the corner of my mouth and pooling on the cold stone floor below me. My head was ringing and I struggled to gather my thoughts into some semblance of awareness. ¡°By the Gods, Nathlan! You said you knew what you were doing this time.¡± A sharp voice called out, recrimination clear in the woman¡¯s tone. ¡°She¡¯s right son, ¡®triple checked em I did¡¯ I seem to recall you saying.¡± A second person chimed in, the gravelly voice taking on a high pitched mocking tone half way through before cutting back to the masculine brogue it held to begin with. ¡°I did! It worked perfectly, there¡¯s nothing wrong with the ritual. Just let him wake up and have a little faith in me for once.¡± A third voice pleaded, clearly desperate for the approval of the other two. ¡°How can I have faith when you continue to cock up any task given to you?¡± voice number 1 demanded. ¡°That¡¯s a little harsh Vera, he saved your ass back in Storm¡¯s Harbour didn¡¯t he?¡± The gruff voice of number 2 interjected, talking over the whiny reply of Nathlan with practiced ease. ¡°Although I do have to admit, I¡¯m having a hard time seeing this lad before us as a calamity scale threat. You sure Demetrius hasn¡¯t messed up on the location again?¡± The voices continued to swim in and out of focus for me, reverberating through my head before fading to the background as darkness claimed my thoughts once more.
Sensation suddenly intruded onto the empty surface of my mind, jolting me awake like a hot cup of coffee splashed directly into my face. I screamed pathetically and flailed my arms in reflex before I could look about properly. Three figures loomed above me, staring down with varied expressions, a mostly empty bucket of what I fervently hoped was water rolling on the floor near their feet. One was a thickset woman, with forearms reminding me of nothing so much as a slightly smaller gorilla. Or a baker. It was bizarre to put them in the same sentence but I¡¯d never met a baker who hadn¡¯t looked like they could bend a steel pipe in one hand. Had I met many bakers? I shook my head, vision blurring worryingly from the movement. It was safe to say my thoughts were running away from me, and so with a considerable effort of will, I stopped my wondering mind and focused on what was in front of me. The woman ¨C Vera I assumed ¨C was standing with arms crossed and an expression somewhere between icy and frozen. I was not ashamed to say I was thoroughly intimidated by her, especially considering her dress. With a heavy leather jerkin, plated greaves, wrist guards and shoulder pauldrons, not to mention a solid looking helm, I was half convinced she¡¯d win in a headbutting competition with one of those old dinosaurs famous for headbutting each other. Hoping for a more friendly reception, I examined the other two. An older man, well into his 50s if the silver in his formally dark hair and beard were to be believed, flanked a spindly man with deep green robes. The spindly man was waving his arms about in jerky, dramatic gestures and the older man appeared to be arguing with him. The sounds of their voices slowly drifted back into focus again and I could finally make out what was being said, if not understand the context. ¡°Enough Nathlan, we can see plain as day this is a mistake. Leave it with the magic for a minute and just fuckin¡¯ look at him ¨C he¡¯s harmless.¡± The silver haired warrior ¨C if his knives and spear were any indication at least ¨C gestured towards my crumpled form as if to underline his point. By this point I had rolled onto my back in my quest to get a solid look at my surroundings, but my body seemed determined to foil any attempt at movement. I flopped bonelessly over, but once my back hit the floor I lost all response from the neck down. I blinked up at the ceiling, noticing the extravagant stone-work and stained glass windows at the back of the building ¨C likely a chapel based on my narrow view. I flailed about in panic but my limbs wouldn¡¯t respond. The helm of the heavily armoured woman appeared in my vision, as she spoke; ¡°Now now fella, no need to be moving about just yet is there? We¡¯re still worrying that you might just be an eldritch abomination summoned from beyond the realm of nightmares to destroy this mortal plane. Its making us a little twitchy, you understand?¡± I forcefully stilled my limbs, remembering as I did that they weren¡¯t moving anyway, and blinked up at the woman threatening my life. I took a deep breath and tried to speak but it came out in a desperate rush anyway. ¡°ahpleasedon¡¯tkillme,I¡¯mnoteldritchIdon¡¯teatnightmaresoranythingIpromise!¡± She removed her helm, unleashing a nest of dark hair. As she brushed a strand from her sticky forehead, she raised an eyebrow at my outburst, so I tried again. ¡°Sorry sorry, I¡¯m just scared and I cant feel my legs and I don¡¯t mean you any harm and I don¡¯t know where I am. I can¡¯t even move my arms!¡± Being honest it wasn¡¯t all that much more cogent the second time around either. Third time lucky? ¡°Please help me¡± I said simply. The woman¡¯s face softened slightly at that, and I thought I saw the ghost of a smile. Or a frown, it was hard to tell with her appearing upside to my view after all. She disappeared and I heard footsteps recede, before a hushed conversation was held in a different language. A language I understood all the same, which was a weird coincidence because I only spoke the one language as far as I was aware. This was all starting to take on a dream-like logic where everything just kept chugging along despite how little sense it made. After a short conversation where just as much was left unsaid as explicitly stated, but the idea of ¡°just killing me and being done with it¡± was floated at least twice, the three figures walked back towards me. ¡°Stand up, lad¡± a voice said, presumably belonging to the grey-haired warrior. I was about to retort that I couldn¡¯t, I was unresponsive from the neck down, but as soon as the thought entered my mind I realised it was no longer true. I groaned as I folded myself off the floor, getting my unsteady feet beneath me and feeling my knees protest every single minute adjustment until I was standing at more or less my full height. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Who are you?¡± I asked at exactly the same moment that the warrior asked me the same question. He chuckled and looked back at me deliberately. I nodded sheepishly and offered an olive branch. ¡°Please don¡¯t kill me, I¡¯m not a threat.¡± I could hear the smile in his voice when he asked ¡°Is that how you greet everyone you meet?¡± ¡°Only the ones I overhear discussing whether they should kill me.¡± I replied evenly. There was a short silence after that before the man spoke up again. ¡°You could understand us, huh?¡± His two companions reacted in surprise at this pronouncement and I nodded in assent. The woman cut in at that point, demanding to know how I could speak ¡®Ashkanian¡¯. I had no answer so I simply shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve only ever been able to speak one language before now. This is all new to me.¡± That was an understatement but I was more in control of myself than when I first woke up, and I wasn¡¯t planning on any more flailing or screaming if I could help it. ¡°You¡¯ve never heard of the Ashkanian Empire and yet you speak their long dead language?¡± The grizzled man asked with a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice. I shrugged again and sighed. ¡°Cards on the table, I¡¯m scared, completely out of my depth and overwhelmed, I have absolutely no idea what¡¯s going on or where I am and why you have fucking melee weapons, or how you can disable my entire body without saying anything or¡­¡± I trailed off after a few seconds. ¡°I can¡¯t even think of all the things I don¡¯t understand right now so just tell me what you want and I¡¯ll do whatever I can to not be killed. Please.¡± I must¡¯ve looked appropriately pitiful in that moment, because both the warriors relaxed their stances slightly, hands drifting away from the weapons they had started towards before my short plea. The spindly robed one, Nathlan I think it was, raised his hand and started tapping the side of his head rapidly. He started muttering to himself, seamlessly switching between multiple new languages in the same sentence. I didn¡¯t know how I could possibly understand what he was saying, let alone recognise the distinct languages he used, but understand him I did. He asked me a few simple questions, which I answered, and then he asked a final one. When I answered that one as well, his eyes widened. My panic was starting to return at the innocuous questions and the outsized reaction to my answer at the end, before Nathlan turned and started speaking directly to the others. ¡°He¡¯s god-touched.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure? How?¡± the woman asked. ¡°He understands at least 7 distinct languages without issue based on his reactions. Speaks a few of them too with no accent but doesn¡¯t pick up dialectical shifts at all. Scholar¡¯s tongue that is, and if his words are to be believed, he¡¯s never studied it.¡± The imposing woman nodded along with him as he stated his reasoning. ¡°Only way to get such a skill so quickly is a bestowal, and language comprehension¡¯s a big one if its universal. Any way we can test its scale?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve only got the 7 I¡¯ve already used, but they aren¡¯t common. Ashkanian is understandable, but the Mer-tongue? I¡¯m betting he¡¯s got all major languages in that skill, no exceptions.¡± Nathlan seemed confident in his assessment, nodding to himself at the end as he spoke, as if his physical agreement would make him any more convincing to somebody who wasn¡¯t already convinced by his words alone. The woman returned the nod before speaking again. ¡°Well then, I¡¯m thoroughly convinced. Jorge - it''s your call this time, but I vote we take him back to Demetrius and see how this plays out.¡± The grizzled man ¨C Jorge it seemed ¨C shook his head at that. ¡°You know what¡¯ll happen to him if we bring him back with us ¨C there¡¯s only three ways this ends, and my money¡¯s on the first.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question, and from his tone I could tell he didn¡¯t like what he was saying. I doubted it involved inviting me to play with a litter of happy puppies for an hour before a spa day and dinner date. Vera nodded her no doubt impressively thick skull at that as well before replying. ¡°Its worth the risk. He¡¯s weeks away anyway, so we don¡¯t need to decide for certain yet. For now, are fyou happy taking up your crook once more?¡± She smirked as she said this last part, no doubt an inside joke between the two. ¡°Aye, best get to it then.¡± Jorge clapped his hands and looked back at me. ¡°Nathlan says your God-Touched. Seeing as he¡¯s one of the smartest lads this side of the North Wall, I¡¯m inclined to trust him on that, so we¡¯ll be treating you as if you¡¯re God-Touched for now before we can get proper confirmation.¡± It was a fine title ¨C God-Touched ¨C sounded snazzy and important and I couldn¡¯t pretend I didn¡¯t like it a little, but hearing the way Jorge was saying it, with that small twist of his mouth every time he uttered it as if chewing a particularly rancid portion of meat, was making me a bit concerned. ¡°If there¡¯s one thing that all Gfftgerrrrrrrrrtod-Touched I know of have in common, and I won¡¯t deny it¡¯s a small sample, its that they all start out confused as all fuck.¡± He looked at my shocked expression with a grin. ¡°Aye lad, you¡¯re not as unique as you might think, there have been others in the same ill-fitting shoes you now inhabit.¡± I glanced down at that, seeing my bare feet before looking up at him in confusion. He coughed and continued. ¡°It¡¯s a metaphor. You¡­do understand what I¡¯m saying right? This hasn¡¯t all been wasted breath?¡± ¡°Errr yes I get what you mean now. Sorry, as I said, I¡¯m very scared and very confused and its all a bit much right now you know?¡± I was repeating myself again but seriously, how was I supposed to keep my composure and follow a conversation right now? I didn¡¯t know whether he was talking literally or figuratively when he talked about shoes and gods. Glancing at his companions briefly, he squared his shoulders and valiantly continued his explanation. ¡°As I was trying to say, and you have pointed out a few times yourself, you¡¯re a bit lost. I¡¯d like to try and answer all your questions but we¡¯re on a bit of a time-limit right now, so you get the bare-bones and we¡¯ll process it all later, alright?¡± He nodded, as if answering his question on my behalf ¨C so kind of him ¨C and then continued on. ¡°We were sent here to prevent a stupid wizard-¡°. It was at this point that Nathlan jumped in, leaning forward to interrupt before backing away again apologetically after saying his piece upon seeing the glare shot his way. ¡°Mage, he was a mage, not a wizard ¨C there''s big difference.¡± ¡°Right, either way, we were sent to stop a stupid mage from summoning a dangerous creature and dooming an entire domain. We got here in the nick of time, fought our way through the horrible dungeon and stopped the bad guy before he could complete his ritual. You then appeared out of thin air ¨C restarting the ritual I might add ¨C and then we spent a while searching the room for any details that could explain the situation. You started screaming when we tried to wake you up and here we are.¡± Vera had started walking around the perimeter of the inside of the chapel at this point, staring at each door as she passed for a few moments before continuing on. Nathlan was pulling a small ring from the dead body in the centre of the room and holding it up to the light for inspection. Jorge moved his head to the side, catching my eye again and raising an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re obviously not taking much of this in right now but the long and short of it is you¡¯ll be coming with us till we reach Storm¡¯s Harbour and see what Demetrius has to say about you. I¡¯ll try and keep you alive, but I need you to do as I say alright?¡±. He waited for me to acknowledge him, so I nodded dumbly. He didn¡¯t say anything further so after a few seconds I shrugged and spoke up. ¡°Sounds great, count me in. What shall I do, just follow behind you or¡­?¡± ¡°Well to start with, get some clothes on.¡± He said, pressing a bundle of cloth and a pair of boots into my arms with a grin. ¡°Lucky this mage was well-stocked aye?¡± I quickly pulled on the surprisingly well-fitted trousers and cloth shirt, before donning the heavy cloak and supple leather boots. I then found a pair of rough-spun thick socks in an inner pocket of the cloak and had to take the boots of again to pop the socks on first. Feeling instantly a bit more confident and a lot more comfortable, I stumbled over to join the others who were gathered around an iron-banded door recessed behind the alter of the chapel. Jorge turned at my approach and spoke in a friendly manner. ¡°Looking much better, good work. I know it might seem like a good time to check your status but i¡¯m gonna need you to focus and¡­fuck I lost him. How many times am I going to make the same mistake?¡± I completely missed everything he said after ¡®check your status¡¯. The instant I wondered what status he was talking about, a flood of information appeared in my mind. The persistent ringing in my head ceased suddenly, and I realised it had not been a concussion but rather the various alerts I had been unable to view for not realising they existed. System integration beginning. Chapter 1.5 - Dont F***ing Die System integration beginning. Calculating comparative traits¡­error. Historic data missing. Collecting data from short term memory¡­Complete. Integration of average historic physical and mental state complete. Permanence assigned. Status: Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 1 Class: None Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 7 Agility: 5 Endurance: 9 Perception: 9 Cognition: 8 Available attributes: 0 Skills: None I blinked and refocused, looking back to Jorge as he complained bitterly to the other two about ¡°useless kids¡±. ¡°What the hell was all that?¡± I asked Jorge with more heat than he probably deserved. He turned back to me and ushered his two companions through the heavy door they had shunted open, presumably while I stared at nothing with a slack jaw upon discovering my status. ¡°I¡¯ll explain as we go ¨C move!¡± He shoved me forwards in front of him, closing the door behind himself and shoving an old metal candle stick between the handle and the door frame. He shoved me again as he turned and I started stumbling up the rough stone corridor after Nathlan. Vera was already gone from sight, doing god knows what. ¡°The essence of it is that an unknown amount of time ago, the gods ¨C not sure which ones or why ¨C got together and created a system to govern our world. The going theory is that its a way to raise strong warriors to join them in some heavenly battle against each other but we have no confirmation. Every adult has a status, gains skills and attributes and generally grows stronger through levelling. What¡¯s your endurance?¡± The question caught me by surprise as I was trying fit this new knowledge into my existing framework of how the world worked. It wasn¡¯t going well, and many of my foundational beliefs about reality were making it very difficult for this particular kernel of knowledge to fit. ¡°eerrr 9 I think?¡± Jorge whistled in response. ¡°That¡¯s pretty high for level 1. Good, you¡¯ll need it for the next few bells. We¡¯ll be moving without rest for a while.¡± The tunnel was at a slight angle and the floor was rough and unpaved, with occasional depressions which made keeping my footing in the low light difficult as we strode ever upwards. We trudged on in silence for an indeterminable amount of time. I kept opening my mouth to ask various questions burning in my mind but stopped myself each time. I couldn¡¯t process this all, couldn¡¯t think what I wanted answered first. I kept turning over my recent memories, trying to pinpoint the last thing I remembered before waking up in that chapel below. It was¡­hazy. I still knew who I was, had a biographical narrative of my life up to this point, knew my name, my family, my friends and my loves and hates and everything in between that made me, well me¡­but it felt disconnected somehow, and every attempt I made to focus on those memories was like dipping my hand into a pond and trying to hold the water. I could view them, experience the richness of that life for a few seconds but inevitably the sensations and feeling slipped through the gaps in my mind and I returned to the present. I caught my foot on a stray rock for what must have been the fiftieth time during our short hike, shooting my leading leg out to catch my balance and continuing on without breaking stride. My spiralling thoughts were interrupted by a ringing inside my head, demanding my attention. Skill gained ¨C Sure-footed. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. The mere act of questioning what this meant encouraged a torrent of new information to present itself to me. Current skills: Sure-footed: Level 1. Open skill slot Open skill slot Open skill slot Open skill slot Open skill slot Open skill slot Open skill slot I focused on the new skill itself and received further knowledge direct to my mind without the need to read or listen or comprehend actively in any way. Sure-footed ¨C Passive. You have a strong sense of balance when moving, able to keep your centre of gravity stable and keep to your feet over rough terrain without thought. Further levels improve upon this unconscious feel for your body and can guide your foot placement without thought. I instantly felt myself gain confidence as I strode, finding more advantageous footing. It was only a mild increase ¨C I had always been good on my feet from a childhood spent playing in the hills ¨C but now that I was laser focused in on my footwork, I could feel the difference this skill granted. I tried to examine exactly how the skill was influencing me, but I couldn¡¯t distinguish between the instincts granted by the skill or by my own experience. My musings were interrupted by a door up ahead, which Nathlan ducked through quickly. I followed, stooping low to avoid banging my head on the low roof as I emerged into a wooden tunnel, the smell of burning hanging in the air like a thousand matches lit nearby only minutes before. Vera stood by the door, nodding again to Jorge as he entered last. ¡°This tunnel leads to the main hall we entered before, emerging a few meters up the wall I¡¯d guess. Should be a few minutes, maybe double that with Nathlan and the runt.¡± ¡°Good. And the smell?¡± He replied in his gruff, no-nonsense manner. ¡°Cobwebs ¨C seems to be a disused storage tunnel, and nobody has cleaned for a while. Chock full of them but nothing serious. I burnt most of them away but had to leave a few ¡®wise air would get tight.¡± Jorge nodded at that and gestured her forwards, Nathlan peeling off after her. I looked to him before heading out at a jog behind the wizard, hearing the strangely comforting sound of footfalls behind me from solid leather boots. I found it surprisingly difficult to keep to a steady jog while slightly stooped, a problem I noticed Jorge didn¡¯t share when I looked back. His head didn¡¯t reach the ceiling, and for the first time I realised he must be a fair bit shorter than me. Both Nathlan and Vera were taller, and Vera out-massed me by a fair bit too, not even accounting for the difference between her heavily muscled frame and my somewhat softer appearance. A lifetime of exercise in the great outdoors had left me with a relatively broad frame and a decent amount of muscle and power, as my strength and endurance stats could apparently attest to, but my sedentary lifestyle had ensured I couldn¡¯t even be compared to the woman leading us through the twisting corridor ahead. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. After what I assumed to be around 10 minutes, from the lack of burning in my legs but slight ache in my neck from constant ducking, we slowed to a halt as Vera fiddled with a small hatch. After a few more moments and some quiet cursing, she took a step back and kicked forwards. The wooden hatch exploded outwards, slivers of wood raining to the floor several meters below. Vera shimmied through the newly created gap and dropped to the floor without hesitation, while Nathlan slipped down onto his belly before lowering himself down to drop the last meter to the floor. I copied his motion and looked up as I fell to see Jorge step casually over me, landing further into the hall with barely a bend in his knees. I dusted away the stray cobwebs sticking to the back of my cloak and hurried along after the three as they strode through the grand hallway and to a large pair of double doors at the end of the hall. Levering one open, Jorge beckoned us through, and we slipped past, emerging onto the side of a mountain. No great pillars of stone lined the entrance, and no detailed stonework was present to awe visitors, but that was perhaps a wise choice, for nothing wrought by human hands could complete with the grand view before us. A small goat-track cut through the slope of steep rocky scree below us, and zig-zagged down towards a wide valley. This valley jutted straight towards the flat plains in the distance, but my sense of scale was thrown by everything before me. The ridges that lined the valley appeared far more jagged than I would expect from a simple ridgeline, and the snow capping the odd peak suggested they were far higher than I had originally thought. I also couldn¡¯t make out any trees that lined the small river weaving its way towards the plains. The valley basin was covered in a dense forest of green, but I couldn¡¯t discern any detail from this height. I spied a waterfall off a few hundred meters to my right, and traced its path down towards the valley, losing it as it flowed into the tree-line. The scale of the valley before me truly hit me then. The small stream flowing though the valley¡¯s centre was in fact a great river, dozens if not hundreds of meters wide. The valley itself must have been a few miles wide at the base at the least, and I couldn¡¯t begin to guess at how high the ridges on either side must have been, but I felt thousands of meters was being conservative. I glanced at Jorge in wonder and asked with trepidation; ¡°Where are we?¡± He turned to me, taking in the awe on my face before shaking his head ¡°Not sure why the low hills have got your heart in a vice, but there ain¡¯t no accounting for taste I suppose.¡± He chuckled as my face twitched when he described the deep mountain vista before me as ¡®the low hills¡¯, but answered my question all the same. ¡°Near the base of the Unclaimed Peaks. The plains are a few hundred miles that way.¡± He pointed down the titanic valley, gesturing as if I could see anything beyond the haze of ridgelines and valleys below. ¡°About a week¡¯s hard march at our pace ¨C likely to take you a few if you were alone. The terrain can be tricky and there are a few powerful predators in the area. As I said, no problem for us but you¡¯d have to keep a solid watch unless you want a nasty surprise at night.¡± Vera snorted at that, but didn¡¯t expand upon what she found funny about his statement. Jorge took on a lecturing tone as he pointed out a few landmarks to me as we stood before that beautiful vista. ¡°Y¡¯see that peak halfway down the ridgeline on the right? Shaped like a great hoof?¡± I squinted and shook my head uncertainly. ¡°Ah, ain¡¯t got the eyes for it yet have you? No matter. Well anyhow that¡¯s Cloven Rock ¨C marks the point at which the central river spreads into a thousand tributaries, turning the valley floor into Marshes up ahead. It¡¯s a subtle transition, and one you¡¯re unlikely to notice until you get a day or so in, as the trees don¡¯t start changing immediately. Cloven Rock is our sign to get higher onto the valley slopes. There should be a few solid trails for us to follow for the next few days till we ascend to the ridgeline itself.¡± ¡°We¡¯re aiming for The Gap I think its called? It¡¯s a point not far from the flatlands, can¡¯t see that either with your perception I suppose, but its there none the less. A breach in the ridgeline, only a thousand or so meters up from the valley floor. Happens to be the least contested entrance from one valley to the next, and it¡¯s a constant battleground. Not quite sure what the scholar¡¯s explanation is for it ¨C ask Nathlan if you¡¯re interested ¨C but for some reason there¡¯s always conflict there between denizens of the next valley over, and this one here. Might be a territorial thing? Not sure where the buggers come from as there must be a few dozen killings every day but hey, not our problem.¡± I was struggling to keep track of what he was saying, but the directions ¨C if you could call them that ¨C were simple and so I committed to memorising them as best I could. ¡°So we descend from the ridgeline just before The Gap, either clear a path through or just skirt around, then it¡¯s a day¡¯s travel along the riverbank before you hit the closest trading post. We¡¯ll stop there for a night or two and restock before heading on to Storm¡¯s Harbour.¡± He clapped me on the back in what was no doubt meant as a comforting gesture, but he nearly knocked me off the ledge we stood on and straight down to the path below. Only my steady feet, no doubt enhanced by Sure-footed, managed to save me from another painful fall. Almost at the same moment, Nathlan swore. ¡°My outer ward just went dark.¡± Jorge whipped his head towards the wizard and a rapid-fire exchange occurred between the three companions. ¡°What do we know?¡± ¡°Nothing, whoever it was left no trace or feedback at all - they know what they¡¯re doing.¡± ¡°And your secondary?¡± ¡°Still holding for now at least.¡± Nathlan replied, and Jorge hummed in acknowledgement. A moment later, the scholar spoke again, his tone strained; ¡°Wait, its gone too.¡± Jorge cursed then as well. ¡°Fuck! That gives us what, half a bell?¡± ¡°Yes I believe so, assuming that¡¯s their full pace and they¡¯ve not slowed to throw us off. We need to leave.¡± Jorge nodded at that and turned to Vera. ¡°Trap it, you¡¯ve got as long as it takes me to sort out the runt here then we¡¯re leaving. Nathlan, head out now ¨C we¡¯ll catch you up. Head for the left-hand ridge.¡± Nathlan set off at a run, and I realised that while he may be the slowest of the three, that did not mean I was his equal. He took off down the thin winding goat-track faster than I could match at a dead sprint, and his gate and easy breathing seemed to suggest he planned to keep that up for at least the next few miles till he reached the ridge line on our left. Vera meanwhile strode back inside the entrance hall we had just emerged from while pulling a chisel and small hammer from the various pouches strapped about her armour. I was curious about what she was doing but had no time to investigate before I felt Jorge¡¯s hand clap down onto my shoulder again and twirl me round to face him. I nearly backed-up at the grim visage before me. Gone were the crow¡¯s feet at the corner of his eyes and the cheery tilt to his lips that I had never consciously noticed until they were missing, and now I keenly felt their absence. Whereas before I had always got the impression of being in on a joke and completely at ease ¨C which now that I thought about it was a bit worrying considering I knew nothing of the man ¨C now I felt like I was truly seeing him for the stranger he was. This was a dangerous man, and he was completely focused on me. A light tap to my cheek brought my focus back to him. ¡°Listen lad, this is gonna get ugly. Someone is coming for us, and while they might not be looking for you explicitly, your presence will raise some questions which they will be forced to investigate further. Once they do, you¡¯ll be dragged away in irons if you¡¯re lucky, and killed outright if you¡¯re not. Even in the lucky version, you don¡¯t come out smelling like roses if you catch my meaning.¡± A slow breath out and he continued, ¡°Good news is I reckon we can take ¡®em. Tenacious bastards they may be, but I like our chances. I don¡¯t like our chances trying to keep you safe while we lose ¡®em though. Best plan I can think of right now is to leave you here and draw them far enough away that you¡¯re out the picture by the time we sort ¡®em out, right?¡± ¡°Bad news is that leaves you alone. Out here at the foot of the mountains, you¡¯re as good as dead. The creatures that live here are far too powerful for you right now, and so you¡¯re gonna have to run like the fucking wind down towards that trading post ¨C the closer to the plans you get, the less danger you¡¯ll be in. You got a solid memory of those landmarks I mentioned yeah?¡± At my nod, he continued. ¡°Then listen, we¡¯ll take you down the track to that ridgeline on your right, then we¡¯re dropping you and you head straight down to the col, then down to the valley. Get into the trees and stay near the river till you reach the Cloven Rock. I wish I had more time to prepare you for something like this but life ain¡¯t fair is it?¡± Into one hand he pressed a small pebble. It was entirely smooth except for a delicately engraved looping mark scratched into one side, and it fit snugly into the palm of my hand. ¡°Rune of fire-lighting, courtesy of Vera. Not much power to it but should be enough to get a small fire going if you¡¯re smart about it.¡± Into my other hand he pressed the handle of a short, unadorned knife. ¡°This won¡¯t do you much good as a weapon but it¡¯s better than nothing right? I¡¯d use that to cut your meat up but who fucking knows ¨C this is up to you now lad.¡± He looked at me seriously again before calling over his shoulder to Vera. He then turned back to give me a grim nod. ¡°Get yourself to that trading outpost in one piece, we¡¯ll meet you there. It won¡¯t be fun, and I¡¯m sorry to drop you in this, but sink or swim, right?¡± The older man then reached out and hauled me over one shoulder like I weighed no more than a bag of flour. Vera slipped through the door and came up alongside him, and before I could begin to protest that it couldn¡¯t possibly be faster to fireman¡¯s carry me down a god-damned mountain, they were off. The breath left my lungs at his first step, as his shoulder slammed into my diaphragm like a speeding train. The next few minutes were some of the most uncomfortable of my life, and I was sure to have bruises forming all along my side. My ribs felt battered and delicate as I was unceremoniously dumped to the floor. Jorge looked apologetic and I was gearing myself up for tirade of complaints when I looked past him and towards the mountain path we had just flown down. It was distant and I couldn¡¯t even make out the entrance to the cavernous hall, despite its front door being at least 3 meters in height and double that in width. I begrudgingly admitted to myself that they may have been correct to carry me, but I was still feeling too sore and squishy to say anything to that affect. Vera gave me that surprisingly tender look again which told me she knew exactly how I was feeling, but then the steel returned to her gaze, and she turned away. Jorge gave me a hand up and looked me in the eyes one last time. ¡°If you can hit level 15, then you¡¯ve got a better chance. Visualise your progress and create a representation of it ¨C past and future ¨C In your mind. Until then, work on your skills, and don¡¯t fucking die.¡± And with those final, encouraging words, the two warriors sped off back up the track, retracing their steps and heading to the opposite ridge to lead away an unknown enemy. Chapter 2 - Alone The world tree is a titanic oak with a trunk the size of a city. Its canopy blocks out the sun for leagues around. Entire cultures live in its shadow and its leaves bestow power beyond compare. No kingdoms or tribes seek its bounty however, for it guards its power jealously. Its root system spreads throughout an entire continent and any who approach the tree with avarice are killed swifty. There are those throughout history who have spent time walking its colossal branches, climbing its endless trunk and slipping through its roots to uncover its secrets. Most are never heard from again, but some survive. They return changed, burdened with fresh perspective and purpose, with new power and insight, but always are they changed. It is a force of nature in the truest sense, for no mind, human or otherwise, can understand or predict its action. It strikes when it wills, and pity those who¡¯s path it intersects. Innumerable cultures have born witness to this natural wonder, and it is certain uncountable more will follow, for when the world tree stirs, empires fall. Excerpt from ¡®a treatise on the wonders of Tsanderos'' by Nathlan the Ancient
I caught my breath as I stood there on the ridge, watching the rapidly disappearing silhouettes of my erstwhile companions fade into the distance. I sighed and tried to collect myself. Too much was happening far too quickly for me to process, so I searched for a goal. I had been given a rough plan, but the longer I thought about it, the more rough and patchy it started to seem. I had a general direction, a couple of landmarks to orient myself by and a few cryptic and ominous warnings of danger that was starting to feel more and more real as I considered things. A journey of ¡®a few hundred miles or so¡¯ was a big fucking ask of a person who spent more time in an office chair than out on trails. I had never hunted my own food, or slept beneath the stars without anything to shield me from the elements. I was going to be spending weeks alone out here, and I was starting to feel the panic clawing at the edges of my mind. I needed an immediate, short-term goal. Jorge had told me to get to the tree-line as soon as I could, so that¡¯s what I would do. Once there I could think more heavily on this whole situation and come up with a proper plan. Nodding to myself, I trudged down the steep slope, following no path and instead descending directly down towards the col below me. I could see a switch-backing trail leading from the col down towards the valley floor and promising safety of the dense forest, and so I headed towards it as quickly as was practicable, trusting on my experience and sure-footed both to keep me safe on the uneven terrain. Once I reached the col, I stopped to admire the view. It felt almost sacrilegious to rush through such an amazing vista, and while I still felt tight-chested from the worry of my situation, I couldn¡¯t deny the beauty before me. Dramatic ridgelines flowed down before me to the edge of my sight, with forests nestled into the valleys and a few intrepid pines peppering the upper slopes above the tree line. Grassy meadows rose around these like a green tide reaching towards the sharp rocky ridges. Snow-capped peaks towered above, declaring their dominion over all below, and the setting sun blessed the land with a slight orange tinge. I spent a few timeless moments admiring the view, using the serene landscape to settle my inner turmoil. Only once I felt a small measure of that same enduring calmness so embodied by the mountains around me did I turn away and look down at the path before me. Nodding to myself, I stretched out my back, turning from side to side before bending into a forward fold. I had to admit, despite my predictions during my rather embarrassing stint as a flour bag impersonator, I couldn¡¯t find any obvious sign of injury. My mind felt sharp, my body loose and ready for anything. Reality showed me the error of that statement in the following moment when a screech cut through the air above and to my left. I jerked around and twinged something in my neck from the unexpected movement. There was a slight delay as I tried to process what my eyes were seeing but my disbelief quickly fell away to be replaced by sheer panic. Several hundred meters above me a flailing body was streaking through the air. I caught an impression of great wings, of two creatures wheeling about one another aggressively before they disappeared behind the peak. The flailing body crashed into the peak to my left and bounced against large boulders and grassy verges alike. Within seconds it had cartwheeled down the slope to rest where I had been not moments before in a cacophony of slapping meat and crunching bone. I staggered back to my feet from where I had thrown myself to the side and stumbled away from the body. It had moved so quickly I hadn¡¯t gotten a good look at it until now and I realised this was the body of a great stag. Some sort of deer/antelope/goat creature that easily out-massed me three times over. As I stared in shock, the creature let out a snuffling groan, clearly in great pain. I could see the splintered remains of what I could only assume were some of its ribs that had perforated its stomach and I knew the other side of its body had to be in far worse shape based on its landing. Its neck was twisted unnaturally, and red spittle flecked its mouth. The panting, wheezing sound continued as its eyes rolled before settling on myself. I took a step back in surprise at the intensity that its gaze pinned me with. In the brief moment before that gaze locked on my own, I had seen fear and pain, panic and terror. Now that steady, startling gaze conveyed desire and acceptance. I lurched back and saw desperation replace the calmness, and the creature shifted towards me before a letting loose another pained moan and rocking back on to its side. I turned to run, to fly back down the exposed trail behind me, towards the safety of the forested valley and cover from the two great monsters in the sky. I had no notion of what could possibly be that size, what strength could remain airborne while carrying the huge stag in its claws like an eagle with a rabbit, although after witnessing first-hand the speed, stamina and strength of Vera and Jorge, I was beginning to have suspicions. Another desperate squeal forced me back around to face the helpless creature in front of me. It was as good as dead, that was clear. There could be no coming back from injuries like these. And yet it would not die easily here. Despite the brief flash of acceptance I had seen, I knew this animal would not die soon. How the hell I knew what animals were thinking by some brief eye contact I had no idea, but I could not shake the overwhelming feeling that this creature was pleading with me to end its suffering. I scrabbled around for a rock before finding one large enough to do the job, but light enough to actually lift above my head. I gingerly stepped forward, raising the rock above myself and looking down at the injured creature before me. Briefly, rectangular pupils stared up at me and held my gaze for a moment before looking down and away. It shifted its head slightly, moving one of its great horns out of the way to give my rock a clean path towards its skull. With a grunt, I heaved the rock down and darted backwards. You have killed a Mountain Oryx (level 23). Experience gained. You have reached level 2. Attribute points available for allocation. You have reached level 3. Attribute points available for allocation. You have reached level 4. Attribute points available for allocation. I barely noticed the ringing, or the messages that streamed directly into my mind as I looked upon the corpse of the creature before me. My thoughts were racing around my head and I couldn¡¯t seem to pin down a single one long enough to understand it, let alone think in anything approaching a logical sequence. I stared down in numb incomprehension at the gory mess before me, my own handiwork, before a shadow to my left made me jerk my eyes away. I looked up in horror as I saw wings emerging from behind the peak. I cast about for my trusty rock but couldn¡¯t see it. Without thinking I snatched up a broken piece of horn from the ground and ran. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. After a mad dash down the steep track from the col, I was sprinting along the switch backing trail towards the first trees in the valley. Brambles snagged against my legs as I tore down the trail, but I barely felt the pain. Before long, I was heaving for breath as I reached the tree line and dove behind the first large trunk I could find. It had been a good mile or so that I had covered if I had to guess, and that was enough time and distance for my mind to parse the harrowing experience through which I had just lived. Not enough time to come to terms with it sure, but enough to accept it had happened and focus on more immediate concerns. I was being stupid. If the creature that owned that frightening pair of wings was actually interested in me, I would have picked off the side of the mountain minutes ago in the middle my mad dash. No, clearly it had other things to concern itself with, like the second sky leviathan it was fighting perhaps. Which left me here, panting and sweating, small cuts all over my lower legs visible through my shredded trousers and a sharp broken horn clutched in one hand. Now that I wasn¡¯t using most of my concentration to prevent myself twisting an ankle and slipping off the trail I had been sprinting down, the persistent ringing in my head drew my attention. The mere act of considering the noise and the messages it heralded conjured them into my mind, less of a visual or auditory affect and more of a sudden influx of knowledge. I had killed a creature, gained experience for it and now I was level 4. What does that imply? Is killing the only way to gain experience? Will something gain experience for killing me now? Oh I¡¯m so fuc¡­.I briefly indulged myself in some unhelpful spiralling before wrenching my mind back to my status. Status: Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 4 Class: None Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 7 Agility: 5 Endurance: 9 Perception: 9 Cognition: 8 Available attributes: 3 Skills: Sure-footed: Level 1 With no frame of reference, I couldn¡¯t make a judgement on the current distribution of my attributes but I was surprised at them nonetheless. While I was making a big assumption that 10 was a peak human attribute, it seemed to be in line with Jorge¡¯s remark that 9 in endurance was high for level 1, and I did not recall myself being that physically impressive. Sure, I was fit and most of my hobbies involved and relied upon good physical fitness ¨C climbing, mountain biking and trail running are hard to get into if you¡¯re not at least relatively sprightly, and even harder to enjoy ¨C but still. I tried to think back on my last memories before waking up in this new world, and the system messages I had received. I struggled to pierce the veil of haze around those memories, and caught flashes of experience. Wind whips the sweat from my face as I plunge headlong down a ridgeline. The singletrack stretches before me as I skirt around grassy gnolls and leap over rocks. My legs are burning, lactic acid building up, and my lungs are working like a bellows to draw in breath to flush that pain away. I¡¯m smiling, nearly whooping for joy as I crest a false summit and the path dips below the ridgeline once more, wind cutting out and my ragged breath now filling my ears, but I don¡¯t stop. With each step I feel simultaneously like I can¡¯t take another and that I¡¯ll be able to keep going forever. For just a brief moment, the haze retreated and I experienced once again with full clarity the joyous, indescribable feeling of the adrenaline pumping through my veins, sharpening my reactions and blunting the pain as I took part in my favourite activity. I was present in a way I could never quite manage in all other aspects of my life, feeling my mind being totally focused on reading the terrain in front of me and feeding commands down to my body to make minute adjustments in compensation. What had that message said? Historic data missing¡­.Collecting data from short term memory¡­.Integration of average historic and mental state¡­.permanence assigned. Did that mean the totality of my being was broken down into a few attributes, and calculated based on a review of a few short minutes of my life during which I was filled with adrenaline and pushing myself as hard as I ever had before? That could explain the surprisingly high allocation I supposed, and also neatly explained how I wasn¡¯t in as much pain as the raw, bleeding cuts in my shins would suggest. Either way, I still had 3 free attributes to allocate. I needed shelter and safety, and I had one hell of a long journey ahead of me if I wanted to survive. Endurance it is. As soon as the decision had been made, almost before conscious prompting, my status changed. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 4 Class: None Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 7 Agility: 5 Endurance: 12 Perception: 9 Cognition: 8 Available attributes: 0 Skills: Sure-footed: Level 1 I was not prepared for the rush I felt. A million subtle changes occurred within a single moment, each so slight that I would have missed them on their own, but when combined, I experienced a wave of refreshment that had me feeling like a new man. A still very sweaty, bleeding, and frightened man it had to be said, but new none the less. My breathing instantly became easier, as if I was recovering from a simple jog as opposed to the all-out sprint I had just experienced. A snapping twig had me whirling around to face behind myself, broken horn clutched in my hand like a baton. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, and briefly wondered what I had been planning to do with the pathetically light horn if I had seen something dangerous. Batter a wolf to death with a stick? Good luck. Although now that I was looking closely, the horn did seem like it might serve as a weapon in a pinch. Roughly 4 foot long and straight, it twirled around on itself in a staircase pattern before tapering to a jagged, sharp point where the horn had been cracked off the head of that poor stag. I had never seen a horn of its like in my life but then I supposed I had never heard of a massive eagle looking bird thing large enough to lift several hundred kilograms of mammal easily either. Shit, this really is a new world, isn¡¯t it? I wasn¡¯t too sure why I was really dwelling on this point honestly. Either I had actually been plucked from Earth and transported me to a new magical world governed by some crazy system¡­or I had lost my mind. But I couldn¡¯t just stand around examining all of my actions for fear I was swinging a stick at some random hiker out for a stroll in the real world while trapped in convincing delusions. If I had lost my mind, I couldn¡¯t exactly think my way around it. There was no ¡®me¡¯ to outsmart myself with. I was my mind, and if my mind was completely divorced from reality, then anything I thought was just as likely to be wrong too. Here comes Descartes reborn - thinking about thinking and still having no clue what to do. I needed direction, a task to perform, a goal to work towards or I would just continue to twist myself into knots. I did a quick check of my legs again, and saw the shallow lacerations mostly clotted. Not surprising but a welcome sight none the less. I was hardly sheeting blood down my legs to begin with but the more blood staying inside my body, the better. I took off at a light jog down the narrow track towards the bottom of the valley. At least I wasn¡¯t particularly tired, and if my new endurance attribute was to be believed, I should be able to continue at this pace for many miles. I looked towards the sky, seeing that the slight orange tint of the setting sun had intensified, and the lengthening shadows of the trees on the ground told me I had only an hour or two of daylight left. I did not want to be wondering this path alone at night, considering the giant creatures in the sky. If there was one thing that I knew for certain, it was that there would be other monsters out there. This was confirmed when after a few more minutes of jogging I came across a toppled tree, looking to have been ripped right out of the ground by something charging past, or more accurately through. I stumbled to a halt, finally admitting to myself I had no clue what to do. I had been looking for a place to hole up for the night but while I had camped ¡®rough¡¯ in the mountains alone before, I had done so safe in the knowledge that there were no predators that could harm me. Say one thing for humanity, and this wasn¡¯t a particularly flattering fact, but we had easily cemented our position as top of the food chain back on Earth. I had no idea if the same was true of this world, but I was starting to suspect that things may be a little more contentious here. Either way, the simple fact of the matter was that I did not know where to even start in securing myself from the many unknown threats that no doubt lingered just out of site, waiting for me to stop long enough rip me apart in peace. I ran on, no longer at a sedate jog but a more frantic gait that perfectly encapsulated the wild fear coursing through my mind. After an indeterminable amount of time, I finally came to my senses enough to realise I was only putting myself in more danger with my actions. The sun had well and truly set by this point, and I was making a lot of noise in my somewhat reckless run. Another uprooted tree confronted me, and I paused to suck in air past my parched throat and into my equally parched-feeling lungs. Perhaps an hour of running and I could still catch my breath within moments. Sure ¨C I couldn¡¯t keep it up, and I suspected my stopping had less to do with my mind reasserting control over the fear, and more to do with my lungs protesting loudly enough for my mind to finally hear. But I had managed to do it, and felt I still had some more left in the tank despite my heavy breathing. 3 stat points was enough to change things so drastically? I would need to figure out how this whole levelling thing worked. For now, I clambered over the upturned roots, reasoning that whatever had rushed through this area with such power as to uproot the very trees themselves, wouldn¡¯t have stuck around afterwards and might even have scared away anything in the area. A feeble hope for an equally feeble human. The tree had been knocked to the side by whatever great beast had lumbered through, and was now leaning against its brothers and sisters, supported by the forest canopy of which it had previously been a member. At a steep enough angle to prevent most four-legged creatures from attempting the climb, or so I fervently hoped, it would at least give me a place to rest for the night off of the ground. I gingerly clambered my way up the trunk, making liberal use of the various branches to support myself and right my balance when needed. Finding a confluence of three separate large branches just below the canopy, forming a backrest with enough support to prevent me from toppling to the ground if I shifted in my sleep, I stowed my possessions next to me. Luckily there was space, but unluckily, that was because I had no possessions other than a broken horn, a small knife, and an even smaller pebble. My clothes consisted of a pair of thick, rough-spun socks, hardy leather boots, a pair of loose cloth trousers, now with added slices in the shins, and a rough shirt and thick woollen cloak. For the 40th time that hour, I resisted the urge to lament about how I was for sure, definitely, 100% going to die, and instead rested my back against the surprisingly comfortable branches, my gaze on the 10 or so meters of trunk before me leading to the forest floor. As sleep beckoned, I decided to call it a day and wrapped myself in my new cloak to ward off the chill night air. In reality I had been in this new world for no more than a few hours, but I had experienced more than a month¡¯s worth of emotions in that short time. With sleep wrapping its obscuring hands around my mind, I wondered if there was something more significant about that last thought than I realised, but then my consciousness faded, and I awoke to a new dawn. Chapter 3 - A New Dawn Chapter 3) A new dawn The World Tree stirs itself every few centuries. No clear pattern as to what triggers this awakening has yet been established, or at least shared widely for scholarly discussion, but there is an established pattern in its outcome. The great tree stirs, and its leaves darken the sky. They then spread throughout the world, crossing oceans and mountains, plains and grasslands. Nobody has been able to track their journey, but reports of their consequence have been delivered from all known corners of the world. The leaves find people and bestow power. It is unknown how they choose those to whom they bestow this blessing, or even if they choose at all. The blessed are as varied as the cultures from which they emerge - men and women, slaves and kings, children and the aged. They follow no particular creed or value system, and there is no agreement between scholars, past or present, over the mechanism of the leaves. Do they seek people who would be great already, and amplify their power, giving them further opportunity to rise? Or is it only the potential imparted by the World Tree¡¯s blessing that propels otherwise unremarkable people to such lofty heights? On only one thing can all agree though. Those who are blessed by the world tree are the heralds of change, and that is why they are loved and feared in equal measure. Excerpt from ¡®in the shadow of greatness, an investigation on the 3rd cleansing ¨C unknown author¡¯
I awoke to a low growl that seemed to reverberate up my very spine. With all the finely tuned instincts of a privileged human from Earth who had had nothing to fear his whole life, I shifted my head slightly to a more comfortable position and promptly fell back to sleep. That sleep was shattered the next moment by a piercing yowl of pain and I flailed in panic as my eyes shot open. Clearly my monkey brain was reasserting control, because adrenaline began coursing through my system before I had even understood what my eyes were telling me. A snarling, yapping whirlpool of fur was not 10 meters below me and I rubbed the sleep from my eyes with the back of one hand while the other groped blindly for my horn. I felt something brush the tips of my fingers and roll away, and I whipped around frantically to grab the weapon before I could knock it off my perch. Disaster averted, I turned back to the much bigger and more pressing disaster unfolding below me. Two furred creatures were squaring off below me, trying to bait each other into lunging. One looked like some sort of overgrown badger if I had to guess, and the other was clearly a wolf. Although the longer I looked, the more that description didn¡¯t seem to fit. Its legs were too long and spindly, and its lithe body sat atop them like a house on stilts. The badger seemed to agree with my assessment as the next moment it lunged forwards and barrelled into one of the wolf¡¯s legs, knocking it to the ground. That was all I could really make out, as they rolled around trading bites quicker than I could track. Sure, I could still see their general outlines as they fought, but the details were changing too quickly for me to perceive. I caught the flash of teeth from the wolf as it lunged forwards with its sinuous neck extended before a flurry of movement from the badger obscured my view again. They drew apart a moment later and I could now see blood on both. The wolf-thing had speckles of red around its mouth, dripping from its jaws and pattering onto the carpet of pine needles below. This was no doubt from the ragged wound on the badger¡¯s shoulder and neck, where skin was hanging open and the tissue beneath glistened wetly. It wasn¡¯t as unequal an exchange as I had originally thought though, as the wolf whimpered and shivered, trying to put as little weight on its leading leg as possible. I was horrified at the violence on display. This was no different from the scene with the stag the day before, but seeing it unfold in front of me without my involvement, I truly felt for the first time how real the situation I was stuck in was. I could see the consequences of the fight before me in the ruined flesh of both creatures and could only imagine the pain caused by either of the wounds each side exchanged. They fought as if without any regard for their own lives, their sole purpose in ending the enemy in front of them. I started to back up, trying to shimmy silently up the tree behind me to put more distance between myself and the battle below. Silent I was not, as the wolf-thing twitched its too-narrow head in my direction, cruel yellow eyes pinning me in place. It¡¯s neck undulated, and it raised its head to the sky, loosing a howl that chilled my blood. The badger chose that moment to attack, clamping its jaws around the knee joint of the wolf and baring it down to the ground again. I was reaching for a nearby branch from another tree, frantic to get away from the battle below when I heard the echoing howl repeated from the other side of the valley. I stilled, instincts buried deep within my brain telling me what that haunting sound was. A hunting call, an acknowledgement of prey and a promise of death on the wind. I turned back to the fight, knowing my very life was now on a timer. If that wolf lived, it would follow me. There was no way I could outrun it on the ground or through the trees, and soon it wouldn¡¯t be alone. Wherever I fled to, it would follow and call its family down upon me to slake their thirst with my blood. Had I been in a calmer frame of mind I would have made some sarcastic quip about my flair for the dramatic, but the memory of those cruel eyes boring into me silenced any such notion. The fight could hardly be called such any longer. The Badger¡¯s neck had been ripped open and it was feebly kicking its back leg against the chest of the wolf. The wolf that had its nuzzle pushed right into the wound, and was now staring directly at me. My blood tried to freeze again but the persistent thudding of my heart kept me from keeling over right then and there. That gaze skewered me with its intent, promising a far less noble end than that of the badger, but one just as inevitable. And yet, it didn¡¯t rise and stalk toward me. It didn¡¯t leap up onto the trunk of my tree and race at me. It simply stared, waiting for something. I knew it had called to others of its kind, either for backup or more likely to signal a good meal, but I couldn¡¯t believe it would wait for their arrival before killing me ¨C it would risk first dibs on my yummy organs that way. No, this creature could have easily killed me while sleeping without the intervention of the badger. I realised at that moment that I had been anthropomorphising this whole situation, treating the evil wolf as the bad guy, with the heroic badger coming to my rescue and saving my life. In reality, this looked like a squabble over who would be the one to kill and eat me, with the badger simply being the loser of the contest. But it hadn¡¯t looked like a one-sided fight from what I recalled. The badger had nearly buckled the wolf¡¯s leg in the first exchange, and I had heard a few yelps of pain while my back was turned that could have only come from the intact throat of the wolf. It was hurt, and badly. Its not snacking on your stomach right now because it can¡¯t even fucking stand. The thought came to me alongside a rush of relief and I knew it to be true as soon as it occurred to me. It wouldn¡¯t make a lick of difference if I just sat here and waited for the rest of its pack to arrive though. I started to scramble down the trunk, my horn held out before me like a jousting lance. The wolf didn¡¯t take its eyes off me though and continued to stare at me with malevolence. It was disconcerting to say the least, but I had enough room at the base of the tree to circle around the creature without getting close enough to engage. It kept its eyes on me as I circled, swivelling its head on that long, sinuous neck in a frankly sickening parody of what I would expect from a wolf. It was more akin to an owl the way it kept its gaze locked on mine even as I backed away. I was now almost completely behind it and a good few meters away by this point. I was about to turn and run down further into the valley when it moved. Clearly, it couldn¡¯t abide by me leaving its sight and so it rose on three unsteady legs, one cradled neatly under its belly as if in a sling. Even in its sorry state, I didn¡¯t doubt it could keep up with me for a few hours, given everything I knew of wolves from my own world, and had seen from the creatures in this new one. It wouldn¡¯t even need to match my pace, just follow along in my general direction without letting me get too far ahead and then signal to the rest of its kind every now and then. Within an hour or two they would reach it, and then it would be a short few minutes before the healthy ones caught up to me. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. So, I couldn¡¯t run while leaving this thing alive, and I couldn¡¯t afford to wait for its companions to reach us. I had to act now, and a single line from a much loved book floated to the front of my mind ¨C ¡®once you¡¯ve got a task to do, its better to do it than live with the fear of it¡¯. I had been living with plenty of fear for the last day or so, and I doubted that would be changing anytime soon giving how things were going, but hey, gotta be an optimist. With that final thought spurring me on, I charged directly at the wolf-thing. I would like to say that I saw shock in its eyes before I drove my horn straight through its heart¡­I would like to say that because it was a far nicer picture than reality. The creature didn¡¯t falter or look even slightly shocked by my heroic charge, and instead leapt to meet me. I have no doubt that my throat would have shared the same fate as the poor badger¡¯s if the beast before me hadn¡¯t been grievously injured already. As it happens, the wolf¡¯s leading leg buckled as it hit me, and we both sprawled to the ground together. My grip on the horn was weaker than I realised, as it clattered to the ground next to me when my back hit the floor. Only the unexpected snagging of one of my assailants ears kept me alive, as I managed to use the appendage to desperately yank the lunging maw to the side of my head. I bucked my hips, sending the injured animal, already overbalanced from its extension, over my head and onto its side. It yelped in pain when it hit the floor, clearly having landed on something already injured. I rolled to my side, grabbing the horn as I got to my feet and then before I could hesitate again and squander the moment, I leapt at the wolf. I was more like a falling tree than the feline grace I had aimed for, but no matter how slow, a falling tree still caused an impact. My body hit the creature below and all my weight drove the horn through its chest. I had gotten incredibly lucky with the angle and I tucked my chin to protect my neck. That didn¡¯t do much to protect me from the wolf-deer-snake thing below me, as its head twisted up over my shoulder and managed to dig its teeth into my back. That shouldn¡¯t have been possible, but the length and flexibility of its neck was beyond anything I had seen before. The silver lining was that it couldn¡¯t close its jaws properly at least, so I was left with only deep furrows in the flesh of my back, rather than a crushed chest to go along with it. I screamed in pain, twisting the horn in my grip and shoving with all my weight against it. Something within the chest of the beast gave way, and the teeth carving burning lines across my back suddenly halted. A choking sound echoed from its throat and its legs stopped scrabbling against me, before its head flopped to the ground. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 11). Experience gained. You have reached level 5. Attribute points available for allocation. I whimpered, the adrenaline still coursing through my system and dulling the pain. Despite that, I could feel the burning lactic build up in my muscles, the fiery lines of pain in my back quickly settling into a sharp, cold reminder of every inch of flesh that was out of place. I hauled myself to my feet, pulling the twirled horn from the dead beast below me and trying to stand properly. I felt like I¡¯d spent the last 3 days permanently hunched over and trying to straighten my back for the first time almost felt like relief. The pain inflicted by sharp teeth mere moments ago still managed to dampen any positive feelings my body might be trying to give me however, and I choked out a sob. I had to move, I couldn¡¯t stay here to die. That fight had probably lasted less than 30 seconds, but I wouldn¡¯t be moving at a decent pace after that. I needed to get to the river, clean myself off and try to put as much distance between myself and this scene as possible. The thought of the river made thirst rear its ugly head, and I realised I had not drunk since this insanity started yesterday. My saliva tasted thick and sour in my mouth, and I tried to spit to the side, barely managing more than a string of drool. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, tasting the blood that coated it. I was unsure if it was mine or not at this point, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to care. The world felt off, unnaturally far away from my eyes and moving far too fast for me to keep up with. I was going into shock. With a jolt I started stumbling off in the vague direction of ¡®down the fucking hill¡¯, hoping that I would stumble upon the stream that had created this valley when I reached the lowest point. I knew I had only a few more moments of lucidity before the shock took over, so I set my body on a path and fervently hoped it would continue to follow the last instructions I had given it.
The world slowly came back into focus as I drunkenly wobbled through the mossy trees around me. Not sure how long I had been wondering without thought, I tried to look around but that stretched the newly scabbed over wounds on my back enough to make me gasp. I leaned against the soft, mossy surface of the tree in front of me and methodically tried to breathe through the pain. A few minutes later, once I felt I had mastered myself again, I continued moving. The damp feeling to the forest around me made me think I had moved a fair distance. Every mound or boulder was covered in moss, with long, thick grasses fighting for dominance on the ground. The lower branches were covered with more of the soft, spongy moss while lichen and mushrooms adorned many of the trunks. After a few more minutes of now slightly more controlled movement, I emerged onto the bank of a river. No quaint mountain stream this, the river spanned at least 4 meters across at the narrowest point in view, and looked to be at least chest deep in pools. I could see rocks breaking the surface of the river, disrupting the smooth flow and finally I realised that the steady noise I had been hearing over the past few minutes was that of water flowing fast and free. I dipped a hand in and almost recoiled at the cold. It felt like mid-spring here, but the water was bitterly cold, leeching all warmth from my hand in an instant. I grit my teeth and plunged both hands back in, washing away the blood and grime. Once I was satisfied, I cupped my hands together and drank. I couldn¡¯t say how many handfuls I levered towards my face with varying degrees of success, but when I was finished, my throat was no longer parched and my belly felt full to bursting. I planned to cross this river ¨C it would hopefully help to hide my scent from the wolves if they followed my trail, and I knew I needed to clean the wounds on my back as well. Might as well wash my clothes while I¡¯m at it. In for a penny, in for a pound. I trudged up the riverbank for a hundred more meters or so before finding a shallow-looking pool where the river was fast flowing but clear enough to determine nothing was hiding below the surface. My wits had not entirely failed me, and I made sure to move upstream from the blood I had released into the water earlier, just in case some species of super leech was hiding beneath the riverbank waiting for me. I shuddered at the thought and stripped off quickly. Its not going to get easier by thinking about it, and no matter how many things can go wrong, you still have to do this. Get it done. After that delightful pep talk, I threw my pile of clothes to the opposite riverbank, and stepped into the river. I shivered as the water enveloped my legs, my knees nearly buckling from the change in temperature. Knowing I only had a few minutes before the cold overwhelmed me, I got on with scrubbing. I emerged onto the riverbank red and raw from the cold and my vigorous scraping. Dried blood and viscera had caked my forearms and turned out to be harder to remove than expected. I had resorted to using my nails to scrape away the worst of it, before picking up a handful of rounded stones from the riverbed. I had tried to clean the wounds on my back as well, but they were far too tender to touch directly. Even submerging myself had nearly been too much, the feeling of the chill water seeping into my back reigniting the dull ache into a crawling, prickling burn. I hoped that the clean rushing water would scour away any possible infection, but I honestly had no idea how much danger I was truly in. With that thought, I hastily allocated the single stat point I had earned from my recent level up into endurance again. I wasn¡¯t 100% sure, but I was betting that endurance represented not just physical fitness, but also the rate at which my body healed, and my ability to brush off disease too. It was a gamble, but I wasn¡¯t exactly in the best frame of mind to sit around and play out the various options. Endurance of 13 then, and another intoxicating boost to wake me up in the morning. I didn¡¯t want to overstate things, but I really could see somebody getting addicted to allocating stat points in this world. The rush was indescribable, the knowledge of bodily improvement incomparable. Sure, I had worked out on Earth, and improved my body over months and years of hard work. But it always took so long! Even rapid changes in fitness would only occur over weeks and were mostly noticeable by other measures like tracking distance and time on runs, or miles on a long cycle. There was never such a dramatic, instantaneous, and obvious feeling of power and capability. I knew that I could run for longer than ever before. I felt as if I could burst into a sprint and keep going for dozens of seconds before slowing to ¡®just¡¯ a hard run. Sprinters on Earth could maintain an impressive pace for 15 or so seconds before slowing, and that was professional athletes. I was nowhere near as fast as them, but I could endure that strain for just as long. And I only had to risk death twice to get here. The sardonic thought didn¡¯t hit me particularly hard though. I was fitter than ever before, than I could ever have been back on Earth¡­and I had got there in a single day, give or take. Shit, this could actually be amazing. I just needed to survive long enough to enjoy the endless possibilities this system could grant me. I thought of sprinting down mountain paths quicker than my old bike could carry me, weaving in and out of trees, around bushes and leaping dozens of feet off rocks before landing in a run without breaking stride. I thought bigger, dashing up a mountain and leaping from the top. Could I get enough speed to use a peak like a ramp, and fling myself through the air? I almost giggled, the absurdity of my new reality, of what was now possible and within reach, finally settling in. I just needed to survive. A fire had been lit within me, not from blood and pain and fear and hatred, but from joy. From the promise of fantastical, exhilarating and utterly new experiences just waiting for me to grab them. If I could only endure, I could have everything I had never even dreamed of. Chapter 4 - The Hunt Begins The world tree looms large in the mythology of every culture, even its absence a statement ¨C whether intentional or not. By way of an example, take the founding myths of the Plutash river-runners that lived in the sparsely populated region we know as the Southern Deltas today. By territory they would rival the largest empire in existence, and while it is for somebody else more familiar with the topic to even guess at their population at the height of their civilisation, there is enough archaeological evidence to suggest a thriving scholarly tradition throughout the many political structures they created, however alien it may seem to some of my more traditional colleagues. As far as we know, they raised no actual gods to the firmament, and it appears that they were unaware of any contemporary ones either, if we ignore the hollow deities they worshipped themselves. No scholar that I am aware of has found mention of the World Tree, despite other contemporary peoples confirming its existence and impact. It appears that the Plutash people were not aware of the world tree at all, for no culture, no matter how arrogant, could ignore the impact this wonder would have on their myth making. Therefore, we can safely conclude that while a geographically massive civilisation with a complex social, economic and political structure, the Plutash people were a regional power at the most, and did not engage in global or continent spanning trade. In fact, their hostility to outsiders must have been quite fierce, for word of the world tree to not have reached them in such quantity as to require verification. Thus we can make inferences about a culture¡¯s geopolitical standing based purely on its mythology and its relation to the World Tree. To get back on track, it is my fervent belief that no one people have spent more time on the study of the origins, purpose and mechanics of the World Tree than the scholar-kings of the Ashkanian Empire. So much of what we know of the ancient world is from their writings, and so much of our current historiography is focused on the question of how we seek to interpret not what they have left us, but what they chose not to include in their vast underground libraries. That being said, the people who seem to truly understand the world tree more so than any other would, in my humble estimation, be the Al-Sazine. Excerpt from notes taken during an introductory lecture by Harmdel Ess ¨C ¡®The world tree as a tool of anthropological inference¡¯ given at the white tower consortium circa .265
I had spent weeks here now, heading ever downwards. The valleys blurred together, running at crooked angles to one another but somehow, the path forwards always seemed clear. I would feel the valley start to curl to one side, leading me away from my destination like a labyrinth writ on an impossible to comprehend scale. But just as I would start to question myself and consider if I should find another route, the valley would turn back. I had no real way of confirming my direction this deep in the mountains, but I could see taller peaks and impassable glaciers behind me, so I had continued to move away from those towards the smaller peaks in the distance. A few times I had reached the end of a valley and then had to endure a painful day of hiking to reach a col and pass over one of the ridgelines. However, there was always another valley waiting for me, shepherding me ever onwards. After I had escaped the wolves, and what an anti-climax that was ¨C they never even followed! ¨C I had tried to hole up, to stay up in the trees and just survive. Hunger had quickly driven me from my nest, and so I had set to scavenging along the riverbank, looking for something edible. I had found mountain strawberries ¨C tiny things no larger than a thumbnail, but packing as much flavour as a normal berry three times its size ¨C and raspberries were common too. I was still not brave enough to try the various types of mushrooms I had come across though. Eventually I had found a tuber of some sort and while it was probably a stupid move in hindsight, I had been so hungry that I just devoured it cold and uncooked, right on the riverbank. After that, I had started hunting properly. Turns out stalking prey is hard, who would¡¯ve thought? Eventually I had gotten lucky though. I came across the remains of another of nature¡¯s many battles. This one between a frighteningly large snake and some sort of squirrel thing. My zoology wasn¡¯t up to scratch back on Earth, let alone here, so who knew how far off the mark I really was, but the details were less important than the bigger picture. Here was relatively fresh mammalian meat for me to eat. I wouldn¡¯t be touching the snake, but the squirrel looked good, almost fully drained of blood already too. Lucky me! It was getting increasingly hard to tell if my internal voice was being sarcastic or not anymore. I had been without human contact for only a couple of days by this point, but I thought that less important than the fact that I had been forced to kill two large animals, and had come closer to death than ever before, twice. Except, well¡­the time I had actually died, to be fair. Strange; I¡¯d assume I¡¯d have remembered that fact more easily. Either way, clearly my earlier gamble had paid off, as my enhanced endurance did seem to protect me from the negative consequences of eating poorly cooked meat and drinking water from dubious sources. I had built a respectable fire, and after portioning the squirrel up, had loaded up a spit and tried to roast it over the embers. The sizzling of the meat made my mouth water with a vengeance, and only my fear of disease kept me from consuming it then and there. My fire had brought a curious visitor though in the form of a slim little fox with large ears. Not wanting to risk another fight so soon, despite its small stature, I threw a portion to it and packed up, running off into the forest and further down the valley. I had managed to keep myself somewhat satiated for a couple of days off that one find. In fairness, it was a huge squirrel, more akin to a medium sized dog than anything else but I wasn¡¯t particularly adept at butchering animals yet, and so I suppose it was the best I could hope for. After that, I settled into my niche as a carrion feeder. I would alternate between hiking and running for most of the day, keeping an eye out for fresh kills to grab before scuttling away from the scene of the crime and hiding in a tree a few miles away to cook and devour my catch. It took me three days of this before I gained my second skill. I had been trying to level up my Sure-footed skill, remembering the parting words of Vera from a few days prior. I had tried to stumble on purpose and catch myself before falling but after a few attempts I just felt stupid. No use risking a twisted ankle at this stage, with such a mammoth journey ahead of me and danger all around. So instead I tried to focus on where I placed my feet, what angle I hit the ground and with what part of my foot. The leather boots I wore, while tough and hardy at the top around my lower shins, had a surprisingly thin and supple sole allowing me to feel the ground beneath my feet as I moved. I experimented for an hour at least with different foot-placements, trying to find a rhythm that felt most efficient. Skill gained ¨C Running. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. I was surprised to learn that such a foundational movement could be considered a skill at first, but within a few steps I noticed that a new instinct encouraged me to shift my hips forwards slightly, allowing my foot to land directly below me instead of a few inches in front as it had previously. I didn¡¯t notice any difference in efficiency at first, after all the minute differences would likely stack over time rather than straight away. However, I did feel slightly lighter on my feet when I ran, and I let a grin wash over my face as I moved, banishing some of my more intrusive thoughts about the hopelessness of my situation.
I didn¡¯t eat like a king, but I did eat most days. There were always fresh kills about. I wasn¡¯t sure what exactly was going on but over the week I had spent travelling, the predator/prey dynamic did not match my expectations. Creatures I thought I recognised ¨C like my extra big squirrel friend! ¨C acted in unexpected ways. I had seen a marmot-looking rodent thing leap out at a small bird of prey sunning itself on a rock and wrestle it to the ground before pulling its prize back into its burrow. That seemed like a reversal of roles that I couldn¡¯t account for. Everything seemed far more bloodthirsty than I would have thought possible. How did this ecosystem sustain itself if prey animals were killing the predators as often as each other, and the rate of attrition was so high? Surely they couldn¡¯t be replacing themselves as quickly in any natural way? I found no answers in my wanderings though, simply glad that most animals still had a sense of scale. Sure, a marmot killing a hawk was unprecedented, but it was at least conceivable. No matter how ferocious and blood thirsty the little rodent was though, it would stand no chance against a human that out-weighed it by a factor of 10 at the least. The little critters seemed to know that too, for I was never attacked by rats or squirrels while sleeping in trees or moving through the forest. That¡¯s not to say I was safe, however. I drew the attention of larger creatures without surcease and ended up near death another handful of times in that first week alone. I received no significant injuries though and found myself to be healing inordinately fast from the various scrapes, scratches and bruises that are collected simply by living in the wild. I picked up a few more skills and levelled my existing ones slightly too. Current skills: Sure-footed: Level 2. Running: Level 3. Meat preparation: Level 1 Hill foraging: Level 1 Open skill slot Open skill slot Open skill slot Open skill slot Meat Preparation ¨C Passive. You have experience dressing a carcass and preparing meat for the cookfire. Further levels will guide your hands in selecting the choicest cuts from a corpse, and ensuring the meat is cooked as best it can be with the crude methods available to you. Hill foraging ¨C Active. You have eaten the fruits of nature and the roots within the earth, relying on a discerning eye and your own guesses to judge what is harmful. Use this skill to guide your senses, smelling and tasting danger before you risk your life. Further levels improve the fidelity of your sense and can expand this skill to encompass new environments if used heavily outside the hills you have grown familiar with. It was almost counter-intuitive, but I suspected that the advent of my Running skill had made gaining levels in my Sure-footed skill more difficult. I felt far more steady as I moved now, and therefore I experienced fewer issues that needed correcting in real-time. My pace had also noticeably increased without a similar increase in exhaustion, and the Meat preparation skill had dramatically increased my meagre standard of living. I got more meat from my scavenging, and my cooking massively improved. Combined with my Hill foraging skill, I ate more often and larger meals, finally slowing and eventually even reversing the increasing feeling of apathy I had been trying to outrun. I was worried that a week of near constant running, hiking, stealing food from dangerous animals and generally being scared for my life had started to take a severe toll on my psyche, but it seemed like I just hadn¡¯t been eating enough. What a relief.
As I continued my journey, I became more and more comfortable with my new reality. I took more risks with the foraging, gaining another skill level in the process. The active skill was interesting to me, after having only experienced passive ones so far. I had to actively focus on the skill to activate it, and the second I let that attention slip, the effect vanished. It took a bit of experimentation to figure out what it did, as it only came into effect when I was smelling or tasting something I planned on eating. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. I had no idea how the skill knew whether I planned on eating something, but it did seem to work off intention, conscious or otherwise. If I tasted a rock, I received no feedback from the skill even if I tried to pretend I was planning on eating it. I assumed that if I truly was desperate and stupid enough to start gobbling up pebbles, and focused on activating the skill while doing so, it might have an effect but who knows? Not an experiment I was planning on carrying out in any case. As I sat beside the river I was still following along the valley side, I sighed to myself in weariness. I was in possibly the most beautiful environment I had ever been in my entire life, and yet I was struggling to really take it in. Spending every moment on the lookout for fresh kills was exhausting. I had already long given up on attempting to maintain a constant state of readiness in case I was attacked by other predators. I wouldn¡¯t be reckless, and always made sure to sleep high off the ground and never settle down near a recent fight, but while I would travel the small animal tracks along the riverside, increasingly at a jog rather than a walk now that my endurance and Running skill were involved, I found myself unable to really hold on to the sense of danger. Truthfully; I think I was just tired of being afraid all the time, and I was getting equally tired of scavenging fresh meat from a natural battlefield. If I could hunt my own food, I could do so when I wanted, and then travel with intention, taking in the wonderful surroundings to my heart¡¯s content. I had been heading towards this decision for a while, but the palpable relief I felt at coming to this conclusion told me it was long overdue, and something I had been putting off thinking about. I had my knife, and my trusty horn, and given how keen everything seemed to fight to the death, I didn¡¯t think I would have much difficulty finding food for a night. Thus began one of the most frustrating afternoons of my life, failing over and over again at sneaking up on woodland creatures or enticing small animals out of their burrows to line my stomach. I tried, with everything I had, and still failed repeatedly. I had half hoped to gain myself a skill like stealth or sneaking but instead, my afternoon of hard work left me nothing but hungry and dejected. I curled up high above the ground, nestled between a thick branch and a tree trunk and my belly howled its hunger long into the night, until eventually my need for sleep overruled it.
I awoke with the dawn light seeping through the trees, long shadows creeping up the valley and a cool mist rising gently from the river nearby. My hunger sharpened my mind and stripped away my misgivings. In the fresh light of dawn, I made the decision to hunt bigger prey. If I couldn¡¯t catch something myself, why not let myself be caught? I had fled from enough encounters with larger beasts to know that I was a sought-after prize in some circles, so why not let my potential meals do the work of finding and approaching me themselves? I began to plan as I went through my morning ablutions. As I strode through the uneven, mossy embankment next to the small river, I considered how I could go about bringing down an animal large enough to consider me prey. I¡¯d gotten incredibly lucky with the Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf from just a few days past and knew my likelihood of doing enough damage to a similar creature before it killed me were slim. I also needed to win, not just by a hair¡¯s breadth and with significant damage, but decisively and easily, in a manner I could repeat hundreds of times throughout my journey. Although, if these kills gave me enough experience to level a few times and increase my other attributes, things could change quickly. I looked up through the trees, to the ridgeline and the steep meadows between us, considering. A plan was forming, and I started to hike away from the river, cutting up towards the higher forest and the promise above. I collected a few thick sticks if they looked fresh and supple enough. It was a delicate balance; they had to be dead long enough for me to break them away from their trunks, but not too brittle that they wouldn¡¯t stand up to a significant impact. I whittled the ends as I walked, feeling a not-insignificant amount of satisfaction with each stick I completed. Once I had 6 sharpened stakes prepared I had to stop as I was reaching the limit of my capacity to carry them. When I reached the invisible line delineating the forest from the meadows, over which only a few intrepid pines would dare encroach, I started to hike along the valley horizontally, skirting the tree line and looking for a suitable target. The sun moved through the sky in its endless journey, and I tried not to think too hard about any parallels that could be drawn there with my own situation. I was starting to consider giving up and returning to my scavenging ways, but a find of a large group of raspberries gave me enough satiation to continue. Only a few miles later did I find what I was looking for. This wasn¡¯t the first den of some kind I had found today, but unlike the others, there were signs of recent activity outside as well. I settled in to observe and before long, a snuffling sound heralded the return of the den¡¯s occupant. Safely ensconced in a tree within sight of the den, I had been lucky with my timing - while I was keen to test myself against a true opponent of my calibre, I was not intending to do so without preparation and a few tricks up my sleeves just yet, and running into this boar without warning would have been suicide. I was also lucky to have found a prey animal, or at least a herbivore, although I couldn¡¯t be sure I was using the terms correctly since I recalled something about boars eating the eggs of ground nesting birds when they came across them. In any case, I was lucky to have discovered a creature that didn¡¯t hunt other human sized animals routinely. I would not be keen on trying my current plan out on a large hunting cat to say the least. I spent some more time observing the creature before it squeezed itself into its den and disappeared from sight, hopefully to rest, and not to come charging down at me as soon as I descended from my hideout. The boar had a ruddy red coat and must have weighed in the region of a hundred kilos. I tried very hard to not think about what the short, stubby tusks on either side of its snout would do to my body if they impacted me, and I found refuge in laying the ground work for my upcoming battle. Once that was done, I reviewed my plan. It may have had more holes than a leaky bathtub, but I intended to sail the seas of chance with it anyway. The first step in my master plan involved luring the boar from its den, the quicker the better. I wanted it startled, reactive and as far from cautious as humanly - porcinely? - possible. I started throwing rocks at the chaotic jumble of bracken and bush that served as the front door of its den. With my incredible powers of foresight, I had even laid out a bunch of large rocks with which to bombard the den from a respectable dozen meters away. It took me a few attempts to get the range, but by the fourth rock, I was heaving them through the air like a prized shot-putter, crushing the boar¡¯s carefully managed entrance and causing clods of earth to erupt from mouth of its den. I almost dropped one on my foot in startlement when the boar emerged from its den in a blaze of speed, despite this being the very outcome I was hoping for. It squealed in rage at its rude awakening and charged directly at me without hesitation. I turned and fled, with half an eye on the terrain in front of me, snatching quick glances behind to make sure I hadn¡¯t underestimated its speed. It was hot on my heels, but unable to close the gap, as my two legs pushed me down the slope as fast as its four could propel it. A ringing inside my mind tried to distract me, and I focused on it just long enough to acknowledge the skill level in Sure-footed I had gained before pushing any such considerations from my mind as I passed the marking cairn I had created earlier. A dozen meters past the cairn, I jumped to catch a branch hanging a few meters above the ground. Latching on and swinging myself up as fast as possible, I turned to see the boar charging past, its front legs raised off the ground as it swung its tusked head at the air I¡¯d inhabited not moments before. As it landed from its first attempt at goring me, I snatched up the horn I had placed in a nook on the slim branch above me, and enacted part two of my grand plan ¨C a move I was calling ¡®the drop bear¡¯. I leapt off the tree branch with the horn raised over my shoulder in an overhand grip and sailed down towards the wheeling boar. I brought the horn down as I landed on its back, driving the broken end deep between its shoulder and neck. Another tortured squeal split the air, and from my position on the creature¡¯s back, I felt the noise reverberate through me. I rolled to the side as it spun in place trying to buck me off and managed to dismount without any holes appearing in my flesh, much to my delight and the boar¡¯s misery. It oriented on me rapidly though, allowing me no time to catch my breath after the fall and subsequent impact, before it pawed at the ground and charged again. I turned and fled, weaving through trees before emerging onto the top of a steep hillside covered in rocks. I hurtled down the boulder field, trusting my footing without thought. I laughed as I leapt from rock to rock, barely touching the earth as I ran from the snorting mass of angry flesh behind me. Down the slope we flew, one leading and one following like the mad dancing of a two crane flies on a warm summers eve, no less chaotic for the difference in scale. I reached the bottom of the field and barely slowed as I entered the forest below. Bolting through the sparse trees, juking left and right between the trunks, I leapt over rocks and finally slid to a halt behind a particularly thick dead trunk that had made its grave of the forest floor. A snorting huff rolled down the valley behind me, the sound bouncing around strangely, reflected by the steep of boulders above. I stayed tucked behind the impromptu wooden barricade trying desperately to keep my breathing under control, but my eyes were alight and I could hardly contain my grin. I loved this feeling ¨C the wild chase through the valley, the knowledge that while a single missed step might see me dead, my feet would land as surely as the sun would rise each morning. I shuffled along, taking care to keep to keep my head down and pressed to the decaying trunk. I would rather bump my head against the odd broken branch than on what lay on the other side. As I heard the beast closing in towards me, I jumped up from behind the thick trunk, only my head and shoulders appearing above it. I drew in a breath to loose a bellow of my own to draw its attention, but before I could release it, the boar had seen me and thundered down the last few meters towards the downed tree. As it closed the distance between us, time seemed to slow. I saw the muscles in its back legs bunch, watched as its neck dipped, preparing to wrench its massive head up into the air ¨C no doubt planning to drive its stubby tusks through my chest. I dropped back to the floor at the last second, seeking refuge behind the enormous tree trunk and twisting on the floor to watch as the Boar¡¯s great bulk sailed above me over the tree¡­and directly onto the small forest of sharpened stakes I had braced into the ground. Three of the stakes were knocked askew, scoring shallow cuts along the boar¡¯s flank but unable to penetrate the thick, bristly hide and too weak to withstand the massive weight. They scattered on the ground at odd angles, lying flat and useless. I had dug deep though, bracing sticks the width of my arm at least a foot or two down into the loamy earth, and my work paid off as the other three held. Two of the remaining stakes snapped upon impact, bouncing off plates of bone and unable to take the strain. These did more damage, contributing to the pained squeals the boar released upon landing. By far the most successful though was the stake that had been pushed deep into the beasts belly before shattering, lodging bits of wooden shrapnel deep into its stomach. Blood was already pooling on the floor as I pushed myself to my feet, rounding on the boar and watching it frantically try to reach its belly to dislodge the agonising spike buried within itself. I watched its attempts to paw at its own belly grow more feeble, and it eventually focused on me once again. I could see it accept its death ¨C there was no surviving the damage I had done ¨C but it seemed determined to make me pay for it all the same. Pawing the ground, it charged again, lowering its head for a final time to deliver its brutal punishment. I stood my ground as it charged me, waiting until the last minute to jump aside and rushing back in immediately after avoiding its swipe. It may have had far superior attributes to me - If animals even had attributes, I honestly had no idea at this point and there was nobody around to ask ¨C but it was exhausted from blood loss and must have been in constant, excruciating pain. I lunged for the horn still embedded in its shoulder and yanked it out and sideways, ripping out its throat with a roar of pent up emotion. Blood fountained over me, covering my face and chest, and I staggered away as the boar¡¯s legs gave out under it. I backed up and leaned against the fallen tree, watching the last signs of life leave the beast as its blood soaked the earth below. Breathing hard through my nose, I tried to think through the buzzing in my mind, but it was all too much. The taste of blood, the feel of viscera coating my face and arms, the persistent noise in my head and the choking smell all around overwhelmed me entirely, and I fell to the floor, retching up red bile. I panicked, thinking I must have been hit after all and that the adrenaline would wear off shortly to unveil a deep wound in my stomach, but after a frantic patting down, I found only a deep graze in my shoulder where a broken piece of one of my stakes had stabbed me, likely while still embedded in the boar. The deep colour of the vomit inches from my face was the result of eating industrial quantities of raspberries and nothing else for an entire day. I let the bitter feelings wash over me - fear and pain, self-loathing at both taking another creature¡¯s life in so brutal a fashion, and at being too weak to do so in a less cowardly way. Hatred that this was how I was forced to live, battling for each meal in an endless nightmare of pain, exhaustion and fear. I also felt satisfaction that I had managed to bring down such a creature without help, and joy in the simple act of surviving in the face of life-threatening danger. The contradictory cocktail of emotions swirled through my brain, battling for primacy, to be the one I would feel first and most strongly. I let them fight it out, feeling my mind battered from one extreme to another until eventually acceptance won out, floating alone within my mind, battered and tired, but still present. Acceptance of the choices I had made today, and the choices I would make in future too. I rose to a sitting position, and forced my attention to the messages waiting behind the pounding clamour in my head. You have killed a Bloodmane Hill Boar (level 12). Experience gained. You have reached level 6. Attribute points available for allocation. Skill gained ¨C Simple Traps. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Skill gained ¨C Improvised Weapons. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Improvised Weapons ¨C Passive. You have shown remarkable ability to use whatever is within grasp to bring down your foes. Whether it is a part of the world around you or a part of your former enemies themselves, anything can be a weapon with the right application of knowledge, skill and intent. Further levels increase the efficacy and toughness of weapons you have created yourself from scavenged materials. Simple Traps ¨C Passive. You are able to plan in advance of life-or-death struggles, utilising the terrain to your advantage, and altering the environment in simple ways to suit your needs. Further levels will provide innate knowledge of the best materials and construction methods to create simple traps to suit your purpose. I swallowed thickly and acknowledged the new addition to my skills, crawling to my feet and drawing my knife, before beginning the grisly task of butchering my kill. My kill. The emotional turmoil from moments earlier tried to rear its ugly head again but I found it easier to suppress considering the amazing gains from the experience. As I let the meat preparation skill guide my fingers in the mechanical motions of butchering the carcass, I thought ahead to how I could refine this plan for next time, because while this was without doubt one of the most emotionally confusing moments of my life so far, I knew I would be doing it all over again tomorrow. Chapter 5 - New Heights Almost any decision is better than no decision at all ¨C unknown proverb
Weeks passed in a blur following my first successful hunt. My back was almost fully healed by this point, a couple of jagged scars present but nothing more, and the same was true of my shoulder. I sported a number of other fresh scars too, but only one injury ¨C a clean bite through my waist, thankfully missing any major organs ¨C required me to rest for a few days before it closed and I could continue on. That had been a particularly scary encounter, where a small deer had surprised me with a nasty pair of fangs when I had closed in for the kill, gripping onto my side and refusing to let go even as I stabbed it through the chest with my horn. I had needed to jam my knife into its eye and physically pry its dead jaws apart to release myself from its grasp, and that had led to another emotional spiral at the brutality I was forced to endure and unleash to survive here in this new world. The pain perhaps didn¡¯t help matters, but within only a few days, I was ready to hike again, and only a day later I had moved back to a light jog. What I had received in abundance was experience. I¡¯d levelled 8 more times, the rate slowing dramatically as I reached the double digits in level. Once I was dealing with creatures of a similar level, a single battle wasn¡¯t enough to get me over the finish line, and it had been days since I had last levelled. The miles were disappearing rapidly though, and I was only a few days out from reaching Cloven Rock by my best guess. It had teased me as I woke this morning, its dramatic rocky formation towering into the sky before me, rising prominently above the ridgeline it perched upon. My skills had improved dramatically, and as I levelled, so too did my attributes. I had experimented slightly with the attribute allocation, and tried to see if I could get a sense for exactly what each attribute governed. It was difficult to tell without investing a chunk at once into a single attribute to see immediate results, so I had saved the attributes from two consecutive levels to experiment with. I was again reminded how powerful a change even a single point could bring though as I had poured the bounty of my first level up since the boar into strength. I had expected to immediately feel stronger, and half expected to fill out with muscle in an instant. I was half right, as I had felt an instant rush of power, my muscles flexing slightly, blood rushing to them and filling them with purpose but alas, no obvious physical changes abounded. I¡¯d tried jumping and lifting a few rocks, but I couldn¡¯t really tell much of a difference. I¡¯d felt stronger, sure, but I had never really measured how I high I could jump or how heavy the rocks around me were before I¡¯d allocated the point into strength for the first time. My new strength made itself known however as soon as I¡¯d started running. I could run fast now. Sure, a couple of kilometres an hour doesn¡¯t sound like much of a difference, but when you experience that change instantly, shattering your previous baseline in a few strides and not slowing down? Yeah, that was a kick. Without thinking another point was put into strength and I was off, racing down the goat-track like a bullet from a gun. I¡¯d run faster than I ever had before and it felt like a strenuous run, not even an all-out sprint yet. With each step, my thigh muscles bunched and pushed my foot into the ground with force, rocketing me forwards, each pump of my arms feeling like it carried momentum I¡¯d never before experienced. Around this time was when I¡¯d experienced the first lesson that everyone in this new world was presumably taught as a young child ¨C don¡¯t let your stats get out of balance. With 9 strength and only 5 agility, I was badly unbalanced. I could move with more force than I could control, and while I had always been sure-footed ¨C and now had a skill to prove it -, I had made a mistake and the time to pay my dues had arrived. Misplacing my foot, I¡¯d slammed to the ground and sprawled into a pile of limbs. The problem became clear after some more testing and the next few days before I¡¯d earned enough experience to level up again were some of the more painful ones in my recent history. As soon as I could, I¡¯d allocated my new stat point into agility, and again with the next point a day later after a lucky ambush on a couple of large salamander-looking creatures both at level 14. Another level a week later led to a final point into agility, before I switched back to strength for the next one, craving more of the new speed and power I could output with it. It was then that I was faced with my next lesson; higher physical stats across the board came with problems of their own. I could move much faster, for far longer than before, and had a much better sense for my own body. I found my balance easier, could change direction smoothly even towards the upper limits of my pace, and had excellent control and awareness of my own momentum and sense of balance. All good so far. The issue was that I was struggling to keep track of this wave of proprioceptive information constantly flowing into my mind. My next level¡¯s share went straight to cognition and instantly things cleared. I could finally process at the same speed my body could move at, months of reaction training condensed into a single glorious moment. I slowly began stalking larger prey, and even risked fighting animals on a roughly equal footing. Of course, I¡¯d made sure to have a backup plan or escape route mapped out just in case things went sideways, but the repeated levels and immediate changes produced by raising my attributes in quick succession had built a hunger within me to see what I could do. Was I truly capable of wrestling a wild animal to the ground and killing it? As it turns out, yes and no. I still couldn¡¯t match the raw physicality of most creatures my level, and I wasn¡¯t sure if this was because they had no attributes and were just wild animals like from Earth, or whether they did have attributes and spread them in a more specialised manner. It was certainly true that the fanged deer ¨C a Vampiric-Deer as the system in my brain had dubbed it, which had given me a hell of a fright for a few days until I was certain I wouldn¡¯t turn into a vampire myself from the bite ¨C was much more agile than me, and the Bloodmane Hill Boar far more tough, but those specialisms came with a subsequent weakness in other areas. So while I couldn¡¯t wrestle a boar to the ground, I could certainly knock over and dominate a small deer. Different creatures required different approaches, and the benefit of my more rounded attributes became clear as I used my skills ¨C Simple Traps and Improvised Weapons in particular ¨C to great effect to overcome most challenges I faced. Most challenges, not all, because I was still forced to flee from some especially terrifying creatures that I had no desire to test myself against just yet. When I had first arrived in this new world, my pride had skittered away on its many metaphorical legs at the first threat to my life. I had scavenged like a rat amongst the dead, stealing corpses to devour in hiding, and I had done so without shame. My continued survival, and rapid growth in both power and competence, had my pride slinking slowly back into the light, but it was still skittish enough that any sign of a large hunting cat or many-toothed lizard would send it running for the hills, and me along with it. The attribute from my most recent level went into perception to boost my senses, and hopefully give me some advanced warning of any predator seeking to make me their prey before they struck. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 14 Class: None If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Titles: God-Touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 10 Agility: 8 Endurance: 13 Perception: 10 Cognition: 9 Available stats: 0
As I set to the grisly work of butchering my most recent kill with a smile on my face, I heard a sound that made the it freeze in place. The combined hunting calls of at least a dozen overgrown wolves shattered the peace of my valley. I could see them silhouetted on the ridgeline, small shapes standing out starkly against the setting sun. They howled in a discordant harmony, over and over again, proclaiming their position as predator and all others as prey. I stared mutely for long seconds, the partly dissected corpse in front me of entirely forgotten. My earlier ecstasy and joy dissipating as the harsh noises continued above the valley. I could probably kill one or two before they took me down, perhaps a few more if I used what little time remained before they reached me to prepare some surprises. I couldn¡¯t take out the whole pack though, and I would be cornered quickly. So it was either head down and hope to cross the river, or head up to Cloven Rock and hope for a wall the wolves couldn¡¯t scale or climb around. Given that I was pretty sure wolves could swim just as well as I could, only one decision seemed sensible. The month or so out here alone had certainly taken its toll on my sanity, but there were advantages to my fragile mental state. For one, I no longer spent much time deliberating on a decision. What was the point when I had nobody to bounce ideas off? And so I started to run.
I tried to take this seriously, I really did. I knew that I was in danger, and any delay here could cost me literally an arm and a leg, but I just couldn¡¯t bring myself to care. I was having too much fun. I had never felt so alive, and gratitude poured from my soul that I could experience this, no matter how briefly. Sunlight beat down upon the bare skin of my back, encouraging beads of sweat to form small trickling paths down to pool on the waistband of my trousers. My socks were tucked into my boots, which were themselves trussed up neatly with my shirt inside my cloak. I had tied the makeshift cloth satchel into a tight bundle and strapped it under my left arm with some twisted vines of ivy I had scavenged, my Simple Traps skill nudging me towards the supplest vines I could find. That had been an interesting thing to learn ¨C I could gain innate knowledge from the skill only if I was intending to use it for its stated purpose, but the knowledge stayed with me afterwards. While looking for a vine to use as a trip wire, I had instantly known that the thickest ivy branches would be less optimal than their smaller counterparts, due to their increased brittleness and lack of flex. This fact wasn¡¯t wiped from my mind though, and while the knowledge wasn¡¯t innate and intrusive ¨C guiding my actions and decisions without conscious thought ¨C I still had the memory and could learn from the experience as if the skill was a teacher. I had my knife and fire-lighter tucked into my boots as well, and carried my broken horn in my left hand, with my right free to act as a counterweight to my body as I slipped past boulders and twisted with the animal trail below me. Everything I could claim to own was strapped to my body, and I was still able to glide along mountain trails with ease. My breath was regular and steady, filling my body with energy with each inhale, and pushing myself further up the steadily climbing path with each exhale. I was surrounded by a glorious vista, the natural world on full display, unmarred by even a hint machinery or human presence. For once I thanked the haze hanging over the memories of my previous life, not able to recall and tally up the amount of time and money I must have spent trying to get away from busy city-life and to a view like this. The constant feeling of separation, of distance between myself and the world around me, had slid away quicky during my first few weeks in this world, and now that I fully accepted the position I found myself in, I was able to truly savour the range of experiences on offer. A single keening cry echoed off the slope to my left and a moment later a chorus of howls took up the call. I laughed in exhilaration as the hunting call of a dozen wild creatures chased me along the trail, promising blood if they caught me. That was the thing though, that ¡®if¡¯ was starting to get more and more tenuous as the day wore on. Much like humans, wolves from earth were endurance hunters, running their prey down over leagues and hours. Unlike humans though, they tended to reach their limits within hours of relatively high-speed chase. They were faster than I was, undoubtedly, but I had a significant head start thanks to their hunting call. While they were certainly closing the distance between us, I wasn¡¯t tiring as quickly as most other prey animals would. I was a human, built to exhaust prey not over hours, but days. Even without my enhanced attributes, I could run for hours at a time when faced with the threat of death, and my new body and skills made what would have previously been a fast run into a steady jog. For every mile I travelled, the wolves closed in on me, but the distance between me and Cloven Rock was shrinking just as rapidly. How many people back on Earth would pay to run with wolves? And here I was, feeling the cool mountain breeze chill my skin in delightful contrast to the warm sun shining brightly above as I rushed through a titanic valley with a pack of wolves following along doggedly ¨C excuse the pun ¨C behind me. I¡¯d always loved the flow state I could occasionally reach while running on a trail ¨C where time slipped away, the miles meant nothing and the running felt almost effortless ¨C but where before that feeling was fleeting, here it was constant. All good things must come to an end though, and the end of this exhilarating experience came swiftly in the form of a 15 meter tall cliff face, sporting a wide crack climbing diagonally from about a meter off the ground right to the very top. The goat track I had been following ended at the base of the wall, forming a shallow basin filled with the indentations from hundreds of hoof prints ¨C likely a small mountain lake during the wetter months. This dried lakebed spanned the dozen or so meters across the ridge, before another goat track extended down the other side. My path was clear and so I scurried to the base of the wall and after stuffing my horn into my improvised cloak-pack, I started climbing. It wasn¡¯t until I had gotten several meters off the floor and saw the first members of the pack on my tail emerge onto the ridgeline that I realised how close I was cutting it. I frantically searched for secure handholds, taking risks I probably shouldn¡¯t have to pull myself up the cliff face and into the crack. I turned my body into the rock, wedging my feet and hands against opposite sides of the crack and forcing my back into the cliff face. This gave me a great view of the wolves stalking forwards towards the cliff and the remaining joy from earlier fully fell away. There were at least 20 of the creatures, and they looked very similar to the Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf I had killed long weeks ago. Long, slender legs supported slim bodies, their large paws padding silently through the dried lakebed. Elongated snouts swayed at the end of their sinuous necks, occasionally sniffing the air and yipping to one another. I couldn¡¯t tell if there was very little sexual dimorphism in this species, or whether they were all just males or females, but either way; they varied little from wolf to wolf. Two stood out though, standing taller and broader than the rest. By the way they moved through the pack, lazily brushing past other members to emerge at the front in a casual display of dominance, I assumed them to be the leading pair. The comforting coolness of the rock behind my back was all that prevented me from trying to back away further from the unnerving gazes. I started to shimmy my way up the crack, spending extra care to keep my limbs braced in opposition to one another. Small pushes from my feet to lift me up a few inches, followed by bracing my shoulders to keep my upper body in place while I moved my feet up, before repeating. I had spent a fair amount of time rock-climbing and while this cliff face was well within my abilities even before my increased attributes were factored in, I also knew that the majority of climbers fell to their deaths on climbs that they could easily handle. A momentary loss of focus was all it would take to see my overbalance and swing out of the chute, and that would be that. I tried to put the wolves below me out of mind and focus on the climb, but a flurry of movement drew my attention. One of the larger wolves seemed to communicate with the rest of the pack, snarling and moving its head around in lithe, swaying patterns. The pack responded by splitting, half running around the cliff face on my side of the valley and skirting the bottom of the rocky section. The other half did the same on the opposite side. I fervently hoped they wouldn¡¯t find a break in the jagged knife-edge ridge soon but I knew it was a longshot to hope that the ridge would stay unbroken for miles. They had already spent at least an hour on my tail at this point so I doubted they would give up soon. Perhaps I could hole up overnight at the top of the cliff or further along the ridge. It might not be comfortable, but at least I would be safe from predators. As the gap between us widened with my continuous slow movement up the rock, the largest two wolves continued to stare at me. As I passed the 10 metre point, they both sat on their haunches, presumably to avoid tilting their heads at such an angle to keep track of me, but they still didn¡¯t move. It was uncanny, being watched so intently as I slowly climbed away from them. I was half-convinced they were waiting for me to reach the top before springing up themselves and showing me the futility of my escape, but that was apparently too far-fetched. As I reached the lip and pulled myself over to slump down the other side, I caught a last glance at the pair of unmoving wolves below before I disappeared from sight. Skill gained ¨C Scrambling. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Chapter 6 - Everyones a Critic Al-Sazine, in the Ashkanian tongue known as the ¡®many-roots¡¯ or ¡®the rooted¡¯, are less of a culture and more of an organisation. Other than the Ashkanian Empire and the Bone Tower, they are the only known group to endure repeated cleansings, with the exception of the gods of course. Perhaps this is due to their close relationship to the World Tree itself, but none could accuse the Al-Sazine of having its favour. They are fanatical in their belief that ¡®a better world is possible¡¯ and that the World Tree will be the one to usher it forth. They emulate its example and search all corners of Tsanderos for individuals to raise up. Many attempts have been made to pin down a consistent ideology underpinning the actions of its members, but the Al-Sazine appears to work against its own interests, unknown as they may be, as often as it furthers them. Indeed, organisation is possibly the wrong way to classify this group. It acts as more of a loose conglomeration of cells with very little formal hierarchy and frequently conflicting goals. The only constant is the desire and ability to train those who need it. Much like the World Tree itself, it is unknown how the Al-Sazine choose who is worthy of their training and attention, although it has been suggested that this is more a case of there not being a consistent standard in the organisation, as opposed to the unknowable will of the ancient tree. In either case, they are secretive, and unlikely to share their purpose and identity with outsiders given their persecution throughout many parts of the continent. Excerpt from ¡®the cleansings ¨C what came before and what endures¡¯ ¨C by Jasmine Carnehal, third speaker of Ortesia
Skill gained ¨C Scrambling. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Scrambling ¨C Passive. You are familiar with, and comfortable in, rough terrain. Whether it is trees or boulders, cliff-faces or ridges, you have scrambled up them all. This skill will aid you in assessing varied terrain for hand and foot placements, what can hold your weight, and how to move your centre of gravity to conserve your balance. Further levels improve upon your technique and awareness, and can lead to advanced skills such as General Climbing. I gratefully accepted the information fed to me, and wondered what would happen once I filled all 8 of my open skill slots. I still didn¡¯t understand how they levelled, but it was clear that danger had something to do with it, as did intention. Simply going through the motions didn¡¯t seem to have much of an effect, otherwise my Running skill would be high in the double digits by now with the amount of time I had spent speeding through the valley. I wasn¡¯t sure if my skills only levelled when I used them while my life was under threat, or whether I simply focused on them more intently when I was in danger compared to otherwise, but in the end the result was the same ¨C during moments of extreme acute stress, my skills levelled fast. Current skills: Sure-footed: Level 4. Running: Level 5. Meat preparation: Level 3 Hill foraging: Level 4 Simple Traps: Level 3 Improvised Weapons: Level 3 Scrambling: Level 1 Open skill slot I pushed the thoughts from my mind the next moment when I heard a few yips from below. I leaned back over the outcropping of rock I was pressed against and looked down at the two wolves in the lakebed below me. They were conversing with one of the smaller wolves and I would swear that I heard what sounded distinctly like a laugh from one of the larger animals. It was likely I was falling into the trap of anthropomorphising these wild creatures again, but I couldn¡¯t shake the distinct feeling of recognition when they moved in certain ways or made specific sounds. They exuded a palpable feeling of malevolence though, just the way they held themselves screaming arrogance and certainty that nothing in this valley could challenge them. I turned away and shrugged on my clothes and boots, rearranging everything to sit snugly and tying the thin vines into a belt to shove my horn through. Improvised Weapons came in handy, guiding my fingers through the complicated knots required to turn a simple belt into a solid holster for the thin, ridged horn so it wouldn¡¯t simply slip out the first time I took a step ¨C clearly the storage of a weapon was part of the skill¡¯s remit, as well as its creation and use. I began hiking along the ridgeline, aiming to find an elevated peak to give myself a good view of the terrain in front of me. I tried to recall what Jorge had told me about Cloven Rock ¨C that it was a sign to move up the valley to avoid getting trapped in marshes and wasting days retracing my steps. I realised then that I had never even made it to the central river in the first place as he had suggested. I had stayed following the first river I had seen, too preoccupied with fear and hunger and then wrapped up in the beauty of the world and the satisfaction of hunting and running. I had spent almost double the time expected of me to reach this point and I needed to speed up if I wanted to make it to the trade outpost in time. As great as this valley was, the close brush with death from a few moments earlier was a good reminder that I wasn¡¯t supposed to be here. I wasn¡¯t the predator, the top dog, top of the food chain and unchallengeable in my superiority. I was simply another part of the world out here. A memory of wings blotting out the sun flew into my mind so vividly I half ducked before catching myself. I¡¯m not supposed to be here. I hurried on.
*Nathlan* Nathlan gasped, attempting to recover his breath as he lay pressed tightly to the ground. Another of his wards disintegrated, and he barely got an arm up to his left in time to prevent the strike from killing him. The shield construct he¡¯d hastily raised was enough to prevent the hammer from splitting his skull into pieces, but the momentum of that first strike still bawled him over and he rolled like a ragdoll across the side of the hill. No second strike came, as a figure exploded from the floor like an armoured buffalo the same moment he was hit. The momentum of that charge was monstrous and the new figure, along with the red-cloaked mercenary that had been attacking him, disappeared to Nathlan¡¯s senses. An echoing thud split the air almost immediately and he whipped his head around to see the figure ¨C Jorge ¨C extracting himself from a toppled tree. A crumpled corpse was just barely visible impaled on one of the tree¡¯s thick branches, driven so deep by the impact it lay flattened against the trunk. A corner of the red cloak fluttered in the wind whipped up by the furious movement, and Nathlan once again marvelled at the speed and power of his companions. He tried not to let the bitterness of his poor life choices intrude upon him at this time. He needed to be completely focused for now, as the red-cloaked mercenary was unlikely to be alone. The Crimson Lions ¨C and what a stupid name that was! ¨C rarely travelled alone, and he was starting to consider himself an expert in their tactics by now. A few weeks of guerrilla warfare waged against the mercenary outfit, and he could guess what was coming. Vera appeared from further down the valley, giving a grim nod to Jorge as she arrived in a blaze of dust. ¡°Another 3 fangs at least, coming from further north. I¡¯ve left some obvious tracks, and hopefully they¡¯ll walk into some of the local wildlife I stirred up on my way back.¡± She said as she clawed at some stray hair sticking to her forehead. Things were looking dire indeed if even Vera was sweating. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. She was kitted out with enough enchanted pebbles to make a beach blush, and she had so far managed to stay comfortable in every environment he had seen her in. So no, the slight sheen of sweat on her tanned face was not a good omen. Jorge nodded in that slow way as he always did, considering before speaking up. ¡°Doesn¡¯t much matter at this point anyhow, we¡¯ve been gone too long already. Led them on a wild hunt alright, but they¡¯ve been on our scent like a fucking Sarhail smelling blood! How many bodies have we put in the mud by this point? A dozen?¡± Nathlan spoke up then. ¡°11 ¨C that little one slipped away a couple of days ago, remember?¡± ¡°Oh aye, good point. Doubt she got far though ¨C nifty skill of hers I¡¯ll grant, but she¡¯d lost an arm and none of her Fang were left. How¡¯d she end up with a Fang anyway?¡± Vera¡¯s steady voice answered Jorge¡¯s question; ¡°Nepotism. No other way a 1st tier would be part of one in normal circumstances otherwise. Guessing her parents are well connected and she was on an experience run with a Fang as a favour to them. Surprised to see them out here though ¨C must mean they were in the area and pulled in on whatever emergency this constituted. Seems foolish though.¡± Nathlan agreed, although it was easy for him to say having seen the outcome with his own eyes. ¡°Most we¡¯ve fought have been mages with a few scouts too. Are you sure you saw full fangs Vera?¡± he asked. The Fangs of the Crimson Lions were their elite scout units, usually in groups of 3-5 members, and all capable individuals at least above level 50. That didn¡¯t mean much out here when Vera and Jorge were by his side but given that each member was trained for fighting rather than utility, it meant he was outclassed as far as battles went. A familiar feeling at this point. ¡°Definitely. I¡¯d recognise that uniform anywhere.¡± Nathlan winced and ducked his head at her dark look and chill tone. It wasn¡¯t directed at him, he knew, but it was unnerving nevertheless. A palpable sense of anger and disgust billowed in the air around her for a few more moments before she wrestled down her emotions. Jorge watched the scene and gave her a proud smile. ¡°You¡¯re getting better at that lass. I¡¯d almost believe you if I hadn¡¯t felt the real thing.¡± For a second, Nathlan was confused at the words before he saw Vera smile back. He still wasn¡¯t used to their dynamic, and Vera in particular was hard to read for him. She was doing that ¡®fake anger¡¯ thing again, and Jorge had spoken to him about it being a part of her training. ¡®Emotional regulation¡¯ he¡¯d said. Growing up surrounded by deceit and lies made it hard for him to accept the genuine friendship shared by the two, and that was only further complicated by whatever ¡®training¡¯ Vera was doing. He understood it on an abstract level, but his mind constantly held something in reserve, waiting for one of them to go too far and the act to drop. It hadn¡¯t happened yet in the year he¡¯d been with them but that just meant it would hurt more when it did. A big hand clapped him on the back, dragging him out of his dark thoughts and pushing him forwards once again. ¡°I want to be at the trading post by nightfall tomorrow, that runt is only going to wait for so long.¡± ¡°If he even lives.¡± Nathlan muttered in response. At the hard look he received from Jorge he quickly went on. ¡°I hope he does, of course I do! But I wouldn¡¯t have made it to Cloven Rock on my own even with my first class, and he¡¯s got nothing! Barely seemed to understand what was going on to be honest, far too relaxed and docile. And you can¡¯t convince me he knows how to handle himself. He might have the frame of a bigger man, but he looked more like a bureaucrat from back home than a fighter. I don¡¯t like it Jorge, but I just don¡¯t understand how you expect him to make it.¡± He got quieter towards the end, his nasally voice taking on a whiny tone as if he expected to be cut off at any moment. The shorter man just nodded at him. ¡°I know lad, but he¡¯s not lived your life, and I might know a few things you don¡¯t. I reckon we¡¯ll find out in a couple of days anyhow. As long as he hasn¡¯t been sitting around for a week twiddling his thumbs and decided to run off with somebody else before we get there!¡± He laughed to himself at that, but Nathlan didn¡¯t share his optimism. No way would somebody survive for a few weeks out here without a class. He¡¯d heard of Titan Rooks in the area, and they were notoriously territorial. Looking back at the gently spoken man, keeping pace easily at his side as if Nathlan¡¯s run was nothing but a stroll, he asked a final question. ¡°You did at least warn him to stay off the ridgeline, right?¡± He received a smile in response ¡°Of course! I told him to stick to the central river and only head up the valley when he reaches Cloven Rock¡±. ¡°Yes, but you did specify that he shouldn¡¯t actually go all the way to Cloven Rock? That it would be dangerous to stride the ridgeline, and he should just stay on the upper slopes?¡± ¡°Well¡­not in as many words, but I think the implication was clear.¡± Jorge scratched the back of his head and shrugged. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine, the Titan Rooks should be hibernating for another few years so there¡¯s not much to worry about.¡± Nathlan blinked at that. ¡°Wind sprites, the half dozen variants of mountain cats they have here, Unguent Toads in the marshes¡­even a Tarkenzi could finish him!¡± ¡°Too high, wrong season and the hunting is too poor that low in the hills, he¡¯ll be avoiding the marshes, and a single Tarkenzi is no worry for a capable warrior.¡± Jorge countered, ticking the points off on his fingers as he did so. ¡°Yes, but he¡¯s not a capable warrior yet, is he? Besides if he kills one then that¡¯s a whole pack after him, you know how they hold a grudge.¡± ¡°True, but he can always hide in the higher reaches of the ridgeline. Maned-Wolves aren¡¯t known for their climbing.¡± ¡°Right¡­So he leads a pack of Tarkenzi¡¯s to the ridgeline, then what happens? He waits them out? With what provisions? How will he slip past them?¡± Jorge looked concerned for a moment before brightening, ¡°What are the chances of that happening? Its at least a week or two¡¯s march from his starting point to Cloven Rock, and he can¡¯t outrun a pack for more than an hour or two ¨C how likely is it that he leads them right there?¡± Nathlan stared in horror at his teacher. ¡°Am I really hearing this from you? Do I need to repeat the mantra? Is this a test?¡± He laughed at that. ¡°No, you¡¯re right, ¡®reality is the worst case scenario¡¯, I know. But that¡¯s for when we¡¯re making plans, not predictions of things out of our control. I still don¡¯t think it¡¯s likely, and while I don¡¯t wanna jinx it, I reckon the only way he¡¯s not making it out is if he rouses a cave bear.¡± Nathlan opened his mouth but Jorge beat him to it. ¡°And no, he¡¯s not gonna wake one of those giants without spilling a lot of blood right on their doorstep.¡± The stocky man finished his thought, slowing down as he reached his conclusion. Nathlan raised an eyebrow at him in question, and Jorge just shook his head in response. ¡°I get your point lad, but there¡¯s nothing we can do about it from here. If the gods truly hate him that much, there¡¯s no point worrying. And hey ¨C one of them cared enough to bring him here, I¡¯m sure they planned for something like this. If they can do anything well, it''s scheme.¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t that the truth.¡± Nathlan agreed, trying to imitate the older man¡¯s gruff tone without making it too obvious. He thought he¡¯d done a good job as he continued running, failing to see the smirk on Vera¡¯s face as she looked back at Jorge teasingly.
I trudged along the ridgeline, occasionally having to backtrack and loop around particularly difficult sections to climb. I gained a level in Sure-footed and two in Scrambling within only a few hours, which told me I was being far too cavalier with my life. I slowed my pace and tried to take more care with my movements, unwilling to end my new existence as a smudge on the rocks below. I occasionally caught glimpses of wolves running back and forth along the animal tracks and open scree slopes below the ridge on either side, searching for a section they could ascend safely. I had been working on the problem since I made it to the relative safety of the ridge, turning it over and over in mind. I couldn¡¯t just keep going and hope they¡¯d get bored of the chase and leave for easier prey. They had followed me for weeks if this was the same pack I¡¯d heard on my second day here. And if it was a different group, perhaps they claimed this whole area as their territory? Either way, I was being far too passive, hiding meekly and hoping to be left alone. It wasn¡¯t that I thought myself an enterprising hunter able to challenge the pack. It was that if I allowed them to dictate my actions, they would herd me to my death. I needed to seize the initiative, act before I stumbled upon whatever route up to the ridge they were looking for. They could have members of the pack hunt for food and keep watch while they slept ¨C I didn¡¯t have that luxury. While I could drink from the occasional pools of rain water up here, hunger would drive me into their jaws within a matter of days. What could I do against a pack of dangerous animals that had every advantage on me? The memory of Jorge¡¯s last words again lingered in my mind ¡®work on your skills, and don¡¯t fucking die.¡¯. I ignored the second part, since that was perhaps the most useless advice I had ever been given, if it could even be classified as such, but the focusing on my skills part was solid. I didn¡¯t fancy fighting more than one at a time, and even one on one each confrontation would be a gamble, but it would net me some experience and more importantly, some food. Catching one alone would be difficult though, and my usual tactic of baiting a larger, dumber animal into chasing me straight into a pre-set trap wouldn¡¯t likely work here. I could try an ambush from higher up, take a couple down if I got lucky and hope that netted enough experience to hit level 15, and hope that there was a dramatic enough turning point to see me through the battle with the rest of the pack¡­Hope was acting as the main ingredient in that recipe though, and it wasn¡¯t a great base for a cake. I tried to catalogue what I had at my disposal, and what my Simple Traps skill could help me to create with it. No wood, but plenty of heavy boulders and sharp rocks. The horn could act as a lever in a pinch, as I had yet to find something that could break the damn thing. I would have been more surprised by how hardy the Mountain Oryx¡¯s horn was if I hadn¡¯t seen the creature itself survive a fall from such a great height, however temporarily. So I¡¯ve got rocks, boulders, stones and more rocks. Great. Why not just chuck the bloody ridge down at them while I¡¯m at it since I can do whatever-. I cut myself off with that thought, instantly silencing the internal monologue before it could really gain steam. I latched onto the only useful thing my internal critic had said so far this week - Why didn¡¯t I just hit them with the ridge itself? Chapter 7 - The Drop Bear V2.0 Don¡¯t speak to me of fear, boy. You can exhort my men until the swallows lie still and yet not a one will follow you. My people have long memories, and we still sing of when the giants last marched to war. This very river we now sit beside froze, stopped in time until their rumbling steps passed us by. The Panyera hasn¡¯t stopped flowing since before the Hasta walked this earth, and yet it did that day. The cliffs shook with their throat-song, and the mammoths stilled in their migrations. You may think the world hangs in the balance, but I tell you this clearly and without malice: it does not. If Tsanderos can survive the giants marching to war, unified under a single banner, then it can survive the politicking of your tiny kingdoms. Your world may hinge on the outcome of this or that campaign, but ours does not. I will not send my men and women to their deaths for your world when you continue to encroach upon ours. Your armies are indeed mighty and so I will not contest your presence, but I do not give you my blessing to walk these lands. The giants will measure you as they see fit and they abide no untruths. If you hear thunder from the east but see no clouds, then speak no more lies until you have left these lands. Excerpt from the oral history of the Loquintha tribe ¨C ¡®the Matriarch speaks¡¯ as recorded by Scribe Juven Al¡®Samise
I crouched in the hollow I had found at the base of the cliff. The ridge rose above me, its warm embrace sheltering me from the savage wind swirling above and the dark stone absorbing the sun to warm my back. I was biding my time, patient as a hawk awaiting my prey. The horn was lodged into a deep crack running down a large section of the rock below me. I was careful to keep my feet and centre of mass on my side of the crack, not willing to put any weight further out on the outcropping. I was only a couple of meters off the floor the steep scree slope below, and it had taken a lot of careful inching to get myself down the cliff face above me without slipping. I¡¯d had to hug my chest to the rock unable to look behind without unbalancing myself. It wasn¡¯t until I was only a few meters above my current perch that I found a suitably stable combination of foot and hand hold that I dared crane my neck around. I had fully expected to be met by the unnatural gazes of a dozen hungry wolves, but thankfully my terror was unfounded ¨C I¡¯d apparently made it down the cliff without being spotted. This was by no means the first large overhang I had inspected, but after hours of searching intently, looking for fault lines and focusing hard on my Simple Traps skill, I had identified this ledge as incredibly weak ¨C ready to fall at a moment¡¯s notice. It was a wonder it had held on as long as it had, but then I supposed that rocks fell near constantly in the mountains and you¡¯d have to be there in the right place at some point. Scrambling had even helped confirm my other skill¡¯s information, giving me a brief warning not to stand on the ledge before me. I had debated trying to draw the attention of the wolves directly, but that seemed likely to backfire, making them weary in their approach. No, I just needed to be patient, to wait for one or two to skirt this section of ridgeline. I had seen them running back and forwards as I hiked ever onwards, and a small goat-track ran directly below this ledge, so I knew it was only a matter of time. It wasn¡¯t until I was set up and waiting that I realised how tedious this was going to be. I only had a short view down the track before it curved out of site, so I would need to be ready. Success would be determined by timing, and I couldn¡¯t afford to waste this opportunity, as it would likely not present itself again. Keeping my mind on the task at hand and preventing my eyes from wandering around the beautiful view in front of me was difficult, almost more than I could take. I had spent so much time in such a highly strung state of fight or flight in the last day that my body hadn¡¯t had the chance to properly regulate itself, to return to a state of tranquillity and balance. Preventing myself from giving into the urge to relax and let my mind drift where it pleased was more of a strain than the entire hours long run from the wolves the day before. Somehow, I managed it, and so when the two long-necked wolves trotted around the corner on the track below, I didn¡¯t flinch or hesitate or miss them entirely. I had them in sight and waited with a patience I had never before possessed. A ringing in my head was pushed aside, and all my focus was on my Simple Traps skill to feed me the perfect moment to act. When it came, I threw as much weight against the horn I¡¯d propped into the crack earlier as I could without completely overbalancing. I felt a brief eternity of resistance, before suddenly it vanished. I windmilled my arm, barely managing to keep my left hand gripping the handhold while trying in vain to snatch the horn from the air with my right before it tumbled after the ledge. Said ledge that now had fallen away so completely that the tips of my boots protruded over the edge of the now much thinner ledge I stood on. It had happened too fast for me to take in, but the outcome was obvious to anything with eyes and ears. A crescendo of grinding, crashing stone and a plume of dust rising into the air was all that could be seen of the path below. I stayed still, watching for a few moments as the massive boulder ¨C for that is what the former ledge now was, completely disconnected from the cliff it had previously been a part of for untold millennia ¨C rolled down the scree slope before resting at the bottom as it mellowed out. More ringing in my head had accompanied the initial crash of the ledge and I focused on the notifications long enough to confirm the death of the two wolves. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I descended the last few meters to the now mangled path on shaky legs. The several hours standing in one position waiting patiently had left my legs unusually unresponsive, and the adrenaline and hunger weren¡¯t helping me keep steady. Once I made it to the ground, I moved over the churned grass and dirt as quickly as was safe, skirting larger sections of rock dislodged from the cliff by the ledge¡¯s rapid descent. I came to the crushed corpses of the two wolves, and it wasn¡¯t a pretty sight. Blood stained the grass below them, and I could see slivers of bone and organs throughout their hindquarters. It appeared the ledge had landed flat on their backs as they ran, hopefully killing them instantly. I drew my knife and set to collecting what I could from the corpses, harvesting only cuts of meat that weren¡¯t pulverised by falling rock ¨C I had no desire to go through all this to die choking on a bone shard after all. I knew I was on a timer, and so focused on separating the large portions for ease of carrying. I wrapped them up in my cloak, deciding the blood and smell of raw meat was better than going hungry, and bound it together with my vine-belt. I scarpered back up the slope and threw my spoils onto the now much thinner ledge I had waited on for so long. I spent a few desperate moments casting about on the ground for any sign of my much-loved horn before finally catching a glimpse of it hiding in the freshly turned scree. A few unsuccessful attempts at throwing that onto the ledge passed before I just clamped my teeth around it and carried it in my mouth as I climbed. If it worked for pirates, it''s good enough for me. I climbed back up the cliff, carefully it should be noted, and managed to make it in one piece with only a badly bruised lip from slamming the horn against the rock by accident while trying to turn my head too quickly. Once I reached the clifftop and found myself a nice, sheltered spot underneath a prominent lip, I unwrapped my spoils and set about seriously butchering a generous portion of meat. The first few days of eating unseasoned badly cooked meat had been difficult, but I was a better campfire cook now, and I no longer craved salt to the same degree. It pained me to admit that I had tried to collect salt from my own face after a long run in the sun one afternoon and use that to flavour the meat, but my wounded pride had managed to assert enough control over me as I scraped at my sweat-slick face that I had abandoned the idea before going through with it. The problem I currently had was that I had nothing to create a fire with ¨C no kindling or wood of any kind up here. A few wisps of grass but there wasn¡¯t enough for anything approaching a sustainable burn. Knuckling down, I cut a small, very thin strip from the portion of meat before wrapping it around the fire-lighting rune stone. I focused on it, willing it to activate and feeling the same trickle of something leave my body as when I focused on my Hill Foraging skill. It was almost unnoticeable, but I had spent long evenings playing around with the rune stone after eating while my mind refused to rest, and I was starting to build up a burgeoning sense for how this new magic ¨C for clearly this was a magical world with everything I had seen ¨C worked. After my Meat Preparation skill informed me that enough time had passed ¨C and I was getting better at judging it for myself based on the colour, texture and even smell ¨C I removed the sizzling slice of wolf meat and popped it into my mouth. Savouring the taste, I looked out over the valley below me and sighed. Damn this is good, I love winning. There was something so ineffably satisfying about giving all you had towards a goal and achieving it almost exactly as you hoped for. I gave my attention to the notifications I had received during the short ambush now that my immediate needs of safety and food were met. Skill gained ¨C Stalking. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Skill ¡®Simple Traps¡¯ has increased in level. Simple Traps ¨C level 4. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 12). Experience gained. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 11). Experience gained. You have reached level 15. Attributes available for allocation. Stalking ¨C Active. You have experience stalking prey from a distance, and you have shown the ability to lie still for hours on end, letting the eyes of your prey flit over your body without notice. Activation of this skill will suppress the natural movements and noises your body produces, enabling you to hide your presence from unsuspecting prey. Further levels will also guide your positioning and foot placement on approach until you are as silent as a true predator. Current skills: Sure-footed: Level 5. Passive. Running: Level 5. Passive. Meat preparation: Level 3. Active. Hill foraging: Level 4. Active. Simple Traps: Level 4. Passive. Improvised Weapons: Level 3. Passive. Scrambling: Level 3. Passive. Stalking: Level 1. Active. All 8 of my skill slots were now filled and I had finally reached level 15, but I received no further prompts. That rankled, as I had expected something more significant from this achievement given Jorge¡¯s suggestion that it was a significant milestone, but perhaps I¡¯d missed something. Maybe I had to progress past level 15 rather than just reach it? The problem was that I wasn¡¯t convinced my ambush today could be repeated, especially once the pack learned of it. The wolves seemed uncannily smart, and I shivered remembering the feeling of almost-understanding I had experienced when watching from atop my cliff as they conversed with one another. What had he said? Something about hitting level 15, and visualising my progress or skills or something? I put it to the back of my mind while I continued with the lonely task of cooking and eating. One after the other, I ate thin strips of meat, chewing mechanically but trying my best to enjoy the feeling of satiation as I filled my stomach. I kept hiking as the light waned, searching forlornly for a good place to huddle up for the night. Despite the shelter provided by regular overhangs, it was noticeably colder up on the ridge than it was down in the valley, and while altitude must have played a role, I was fairly sure the trees must have had a huge heat-trapping effect that I now sorely missed. Eventually, as I was considering turning back to a fairly bleak spot I had passed and discarded, I found a shallow cave that would serve as a camp for the night. I wrapped myself in my stained cloak, laying the meat down in the back of the cave behind me. I wondered if I should place the meat at the front of the cave to make sure an enterprising scavenger would get to it before it got to me, giving me enough warning to potentially save myself. On the other hand, I didn¡¯t want to have my food stolen by anything that wouldn¡¯t 100% kill me. Hunger and greed warred with fear and anxiety within me, my mind a battleground for their furious and unwitnessed struggle. It was a pyrrhic victory for fear and anxiety, for while they had vanquished their enemy, they had taken too long to do so, and by the time their victory became clear the titanic forces of sleep had arranged themselves on the field. It was a slaughter. Chapter 8 - Class Gained *Shiani* Shiani flinched in sudden pain, jerking to her feet. She fought down a scream as the raw stump of her arm pushed off the earth in the process, but there was no time for tears. Some pulsating, writhing mass of muscle was stuck to her leg, sharp needles digging into the meat of her thigh and trying to drag her further into the river she had passed out beside. She stared dumbly in horror for a few heartbeats, trying desperately to understand what she was seeing before her training kicked back in. Stumbling toward the river, she summoned a blade of chi and slashed straight through the appendage before falling to her knees weakly. Adrenaline was already starting to fade, having been pumping through her body for what felt like days. The stump of her left arm ached and blood was already welling from bite marks in her thigh as she cast around for the origin of the attack. A form, grotesque and slimy and large as an ox slipped away on the other side of the river, and she gladly watched the Unguent Toad flee. She had no energy left to fight it if it chose to stay. Her core was empty and refilling slower than ever. The environmental chi was thin in these hills to begin with, and the ongoing exertion and exhaustion only further diminished the rate at which she could draw it in. She gathered herself for one last push, and stumbled away from the river, heading along its bank until she stumbled across a clearing to her left. A single stone slab stood, stabbed into the earth with clear intent. She collapsed against it, legs unable to support her, and simply hoped somebody would come by soon to help. She had been so hopeful after that first day. Convinced they would catch her in the night, she¡¯d watched the light fade and return whilst huddled in the stump of an overturned tree, contemplating her death. Seeing the sun again had allowed hope to bloom in her heart though. She¡¯d been drastically under-levelled for her position within the Lions, but no creature in these hills should pose much danger to her, barring the great predators that loom large over every wild place. She¡¯d set off out of the valley in the opposite direction to the ambush where her team had been brutalised by their assailants. That was days ago, and since then it had been nothing but an unending barrage of ambushes and failures, chipping away at her optimism piece by piece. Severely injured, alone, and with little survival training to speak of, she¡¯d run and stumbled her way down towards the grasslands, hoping to get away from the unforgiving hills and their dreadful creatures. She looked at the signet ring on her hand, remembering her promise to her father. ¡®come back a daughter I can be proud of, or don¡¯t come back at all¡¯ She sniffed to herself, leaning back against the stone menhir and trying to fight down the lump in her throat. A howl echoed around the valley, joined a moment later by a chorus of voices. Looked like it was going to be the latter.
As it turns out, sleep winning the war for supremacy in my mind yesterday was a good thing. Nothing came for me or my food in the night and I slept like a toddler ¨C meaning I woke every few hours and complained bitterly about it. The pre-dawn light filtered into my cave to illuminate my meagre belongings as I moved through some simple stretches and stances. I didn¡¯t really know what I was doing, but some yoga in my old life and my Improvised Weapons skill did make it feel somewhat useful. While I doubted I¡¯d be winning any contests for the world¡¯s most convincing monk, I did feel a hair more calm and centred as I packed up and began to trudge onwards. I breathed in the crisp mountain air and sighed to myself. I had no plan currently for dealing with the rest of the pack, but I had food enough for a few days at least, and water was plentiful up here. I could endure, and that was as far as I needed to think right now. Perhaps it was the noticeably thinner air up here on the ridgeline, or it might be a result of spending most of the morning in a meditative state of slow movement, but I didn¡¯t feel the need to plan. Life would throw whatever it had in store at me, and I would either endure as I had so far, or I would break. I could hardly be blamed for lacking confidence in my decision-making at this point. I¡¯d stumbled my way into more deadly situations than I could count, and the only thing I could reliably call a win was my current state of ¡®still alive¡¯. Spending so much time by myself was a strange experience. I¡¯d been alone in wilderness before for a few days at a time, even over a week for one memorable trip in my early twenties, but this was a whole new level of isolation. In some ways I was thankful for the wolves ¨C they had at least granted me a purpose I¡¯d began to lack over the last few days. Before my frantic run to the ridgeline, my moods had begun to shift on a whim from moment to moment. I would wake one morning bursting with purpose, running through a hundred different options and planning out the next six days of my journey in detail. Sleep would claim me as I calculated how long it would take me to reach the trade outpost, only to wake the next day with no motivation whatsoever. I would walk where my feet carried me, enjoying whatever food left over until hunger drove me to hunt and forage again. The landscape of my motivation rose and fell with the land I moved across, peaks of purpose leading inexorably into valleys of emptiness before I would once again climb out of the depressive state. It was at these peaks that I would run laughing through the valley trails, dodging obstacles with wild abandon and running only as a child can ¨C with pure joy and nothing held back in reserve. I¡¯d collapse satisfied, having purged the negative emotions from my body along with the sweat on my brow. This morning¡¯s gentle exercise left me feeling similarly empty as on my worst days, when I would sit for an entire morning and wait for the world to give me a reason to just do something. But unlike those days of nothingness, I didn¡¯t feel wrung out. I felt empty, but ready to be filled back up again. There was a space in my soul, one so often stretched to capacity, that now felt empty and hungry for something. I needed to follow Jorge¡¯s frustratingly brief instructions and get something more out of my levels than simply another attribute to allocate. I needed to think about my skills, focus on both my past and future progress, and visualise a path that I could grow into. Instead, I walked. I would have preferred to run, but even with my Sure-Footed and Running skills, the ridgeline was treacherous. There was no path per se, but animal tracks appeared and disappeared randomly, and when combined with the rocky spine that mounted the ridge like a dorsal fin on a shark, I could scramble my way along in the right direction. I let the technical terrain lull me into a rhythmic sort of meditation. The world beyond my next few steps ceased to matter as I kept my head down and legs moving, letting my mind fully tackle the problem in peace, without the interruption of bodily sensation. I thought of the journey I had been on so far; the things I had accomplished, the obstacles overcome. The change to both mind and body, and the unbelievable things that could be possible in time. How my skills ¨C relatively down to earth though they may seem right now ¨C could grow into incredible wonders with which I could breakthrough all of my previous limitations. Even the way I saw the world would change. My sense of self had already begun changing with what was now possible, let alone what could be in the future. How would my worldview change then? To answer that I needed to know how I saw the world now, and that was a whole other kettle of fish. I retreated from that line of thinking reluctantly after a few moments. Jorge hadn¡¯t said it was a philosophical endeavour, more of a metaphysical one. Although I couldn¡¯t be sure what his exact words were by this point and whether I was misremembering or attributing to him words that I had entirely made up myself. Focus. ¡®Representation¡¯ and ¡®visualisation¡¯ were definitely things he¡¯d said, along with ¡®progress¡¯ ¨C both past and future. What tied them all together? I could trace my path from here all the way back to the mountain I¡¯d emerged from so many days ago. Could I do the same for my growth? I visualised it in my mind, a path that wound from one place to another, littered with landmarks of the events that had granted me the experience I¡¯d used to level. It did nothing, so far as I could tell. I tried again, imagining a map filled with details about my progress, but that had the same issue. I tried focusing on my skills instead, and their growth. Seeds that grew into trees, spreading their branches wide and drinking in the sunlight of my soul. That sounded appropriate in my head, but nothing happened with that one either, no matter how hard I held the visualisation. I was clearly missing something, but I was all out of ideas. Trees, mountains ¨C things that resonated with me; it didn¡¯t seme to matter. I couldn¡¯t seem to hold the image in my head for long. I could picture each skill alone but drawing them all together at once was too much. And what bound them together? If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. I tried to think of my soul, of the well of energy that I drew from to activate my skills. When using the fire-lighter pebble, I had to force something open, to allow a trickle of something leave me and connect with the magical runed device. What was that thing? A core. It held energy, and I could spend it on skills perhaps? I tried thinking of it like a bank. Complex modern economies with their tangled strings of debts? No luck either it seemed. The whole mental exercise collapsed in on itself again. I was lost, and flailing by this point, letting single word-associations dictate my visualisation. Perhaps it needed to be something more significant to me personally. If I was particularly religious, could I use an existing metaphysical framework to map my path onto? Probably, but that wasn¡¯t very helpful to me considering my lack of faith. What did I find significant? The natural world obviously, but that hadn¡¯t worked earlier when I tried. Maybe I was being too narrow. I needed an image that could represent every aspect of my growth, from when I arrived to when I died. So why didn¡¯t I just visualise everything? How many times had I stared out past the canopy and up at the stars? Twinkling patterns of light that represented entire solar systems ¨C unmatched potential hiding behind a single dot against the darkness. Seemed almost like a cop out, but who said I had to visualise each detail? Lights in the darkness, patterns made from both structure and movement. Their orbits could describe the arc of my life, and each skills could be its own constellation. The energy of the universe acting to light up each skill, to speed its movement and trace its patterns in vibrant coronae. My thoughts raced as I became more excited with the visual. The image stayed firm in my mind, not static like the others but ever-moving, dimming and brightening with focus on each skill. And all at once, something clicked into place. Minimum requirements for class gain reached, initialising¡­ Begin class allocation? I hesitated for a moment before mentally giving my assent. Class allocation beginning¡­. As soon as the words entered my mind, I lost control of it entirely. Everything that was me dissipated and it was as if my brain was being given instructions by another entity. I had no control over the direction of my thoughts, and I flailed in absolute nothingness for a brief eternity. Everything snapped back into place, and I found myself, without conscious desire, considering what I truly wanted. Why was I striving so hard to get to that outpost? I could stay here for ever if I wished. I knew I could continue to hunt for years without exhausting the quite frankly absurdly fecund valley I lived in. I could work on my skills, leverage Simple Traps into some sort of Simple Construction skill perhaps, and build myself a home worthy of any secluded enlightened monk on earth. There was no time limit, I could stay and experience the wilds like I never could before. A second chance at life, to connect with the world in a way my hippiest tendencies could hardly dream of. It was romantic in a way, and I indulged the dream for long miles as I clambered over rocks and twisted past outcroppings of jagged stone. This valley, and those surrounding it, could truly be a home in time. A harsh life, living off the land and blurring the lines between myself and the world around me. I smiled as the dream crystallised in my mind and I began to map out the steps I would need to take to get there ¨C barely any if I seriously thought about it. I was already living off the land, a hermit of the valley with all the skills needed to survive here. A faint ringing intruded on my dream, but I was too wrapped up in my own musings to do more than acknowledge it before forcing it to the back of mind. Prerequisites met, support class available ¨C Hillbound Hermit. Hillbound Hermit ¨C uncommon. You have spent your entire life in the wild, and in the wild you shall stay. The endless valley has left its mark upon you, and you shall stay to leave your marks upon it in return. Foraging, hunting, building, survival ¨C these are the skills of a Hillbound Hermit, and they will allow you to make your home far from civilisation. The only company you require is the world around you, so become a part of it yourself. Ultimately though, the romantic vision I was weaving was far from reality. I had nearly died more times than even I really knew, and I had spent far too much effort focused solely on killing. I remembered the hunger robbing me of my strength some evenings as I tried to ignore the clawing feeling in my belly. I remembered scrabbling in the dirt looking frantically for the raspberry I¡¯d dropped, knowing it was likely all I would eat that day. Even the fear for my life during a hunt gone wrong returned in surprising clarity and I relived that pain and fear for a few moments. The ringing in my head intensified as I did so but I fled back into myself from the ugly emotions and memories linked to it. Prerequisites met, combat class available ¨C Wilderness Hunter. Wilderness Hunter ¨C uncommon. Far from civilisation, the valleys team with life. Boars rut and deer bound, and so too do the hunters lurk. You may now count yourself among their number. You have stalked prey throughout the wilds, using your body and mind to bring them low. All have their niche in this world, and you have used your advantages to level the field, casting down prey stronger and larger than yourself. Even the predators of this world acknowledge you as a peer, falling to you and hunting you in equal measure. Patience and movement, deception and savagery ¨C these are your tools, and with them you will bring the hunt to the mightiest of prey. Instead, I focused on the moments I cherished the most; the wind in my face, the land opening before me as I pounded down tracks and rushed through beautiful terrain. I recalled the flow state I would achieve, where time would pass in blinks and the ground beneath my feet would ebb and flow with my movements. Every muscle in my body was in alignment, my entire being condensed into a single purpose ¨C to move. I recalled the solace I could find in the simple act of running, that first expression of humanity at its core, and I tried to hold it in my mind. Prerequisites met, support class available ¨C Wind Runner Wind Runner ¨C common. Running is core to your being, and a core skill you have raised. As the sun rushes across the sky, so too do you rush across the ground ever onwards. Spread your joy through movement and let the whole world open up before you. The bells in my head were pounding now, refusing to be ignored. A staccato rhythm of tinkling windchimes and falling pottery swirling around and around, but no matter the size of the symphony, a discordant note would draw the ear. I felt something missing, some indefinable sense of wrongness and longing, pushing me to again ignore the overwhelming mental noise. Why was I running though ¨C simply for the thrill? As an expression of love and happiness and beauty? It seemed such a fitting dream for my soul and yet it was hollow, as if a landscape viewed through a glass window. A picture in a display, fenced off by a delicate rope barrier. An animal in a zoo. A sense of distance that could never be closed, to run through nature but never to be a part of it. To express joy through every movement but never be still long enough to examine it, understand it or even truly feel it. The ringing in my head grew to a crescendo, spinning around the inside of my skull in a rapid dance of disorientating, totalising noise demanding my attention. I pushed back, everything that was me, and everything that wasn¡¯t, fighting against the feeling of wrongness emanating from the noise, from the text that sought to define my life and set forth my future. It was wrong, it was incomplete. I needed the joy to balance the pain, the exhilaration of the hunt to balance the lonely monotony of the wilderness. But I also needed the hardship. Without challenge I would fall into myself and never come out. I had seen the consequences of a lack of direction, and it was nothing but stagnation. I was clinging to my only true goal to reach the outpost and for what? My erstwhile companions would be gone by the time I reached it, and I had known them collectively for about half a morning and exchanged fewer words with all three than I did with myself in an hour. No, I was hanging on so desperately to that thin spectre of a goal because without it I was lost. Truly and hopelessly lost, with no purpose but survival. And I knew that instinct would not last in the face of the drudgery and pain and boredom and endlessness of life without a reason to live it. I needed a challenge, and I needed the ability to measure up to it. And then I needed that again and again and again. The noise in my head was deafening and agonising, but it paled before the existential dread of a future filled without purpose. I wanted highs and lows that I couldn¡¯t even begin to comprehend. I craved something new, something different and unpredictable. I needed the chaos of people. I could pass through the mountains and hills, the wilds of the world and explore every wonder it held, but I needed something to return to, someone to share my experience with, some sense of community and comradery that I would never find without my own people. The noise abruptly stopped and I could open my eyes again, no needles of stabbing pain remaining behind them. Prerequisites met, combat class available ¨C Blood of the Hills Blood of the Hills ¨C rare. You have drunk deep of the hill¡¯s blood, and thus have you been changed. Food, water and shelter ¨C all have been provided by the hills, and all you have taken. The endless valley is a land of contradictions, and none embody them more so than you. You will live through highs and lows, but as the hills have withstood the elements for millennia, so too will you endure. Find succour in the depths and purpose at the peak, for your soul has been marked by their presence. Class selected ¨C Blood of the Hills. Reconfiguration beginning¡­ Abruptly my body stopped moving and my mind returned to me. The forced introspection I had endured left me reeling, thoughts heavy and slow to coalesce. I managed to notice the lack of sunlight, and the darkness creeping up the valley-side heralding the rapid onset of night. My hands still clenched my belongings tightly ¨C even the dead mole that had pushed me over to level 15 still clutched protectively by my right hand. My feet must have been following their own design as I did not recognise the surroundings. I had been trapped within my own mind for most of a day by the looks of things, and as I examined myself and the surroundings more closely, panic began to rise in my chest. I must have covered dozens of miles, and now my body refused to respond to my commands. My vision began to darken at the edges, and I had time for one last view of the world as it tilted sideways. As my head rested on the hard ground, leaking a small trickle of blood from where it had impacted hard rock, I saw grass surrounding me, and no sign of the ridgeline in front. I had wondered without direction, following only the path beneath my feet. As the path had flowed down off the ridgeline without concern, so had I followed. My eyes remained open, staring sightlessly forward but my vision was dark and empty. Only a single sound broke through into the silence left behind by the terrible ringing from moments before. A single howl on the wind, quickly echoed by others. The wolves were out, and they had just found their prey. Chapter 9 - A Rock and a Hard Place ¡®Do few things, but do them well.¡¯ ¨C Solomense, barbarian king and leader of the mountain clans
A cold wetness tickled my neck. I flinched instinctively, my body responding before my mind had processed the sensations. A few crunches of something heavy on stony ground heralded a brief reprieve from the uncomfortable feeling before it returned, moving up to my cheek. Something wet and slimy caressed my face, poking me harshly in the eyes as I tried to open them. I caught the hazy outline of something grey and huge before a pink blur slapped me full in the face and knocked my head back down. I groaned, and before I could rise a paw the size of my head pressed down upon my torso, locking me in place. Pinning me. A great maw opened above, teeth the size of my fingers and twice as thick greeted me, and a gust of foul-smelling air rushed over me. The jaws moved to engulf my head before snapping closed, but instead of death, I felt once more the cold ticking sensation as a snout sniffed delicately at me. My brain had finally caught up to the dangerous state of reality and shouted at my body to wriggle backwards. The paw pinning me to the earth was a vice though, solid and immovable, and all I managed was to do was strain my neck as I jerked my head back. The snout withdrew and the huge mass before me let out a snorting bellow as it reared up to its full height. I looked on slack jawed. I had never seen a bear in the flesh before, but I knew instinctively that this was no normal bear. The creature before me couldn¡¯t have been much smaller than a rhino. It towered over me, 3 meters tall at a minimum, and its paws shook the earth as it slammed them down. I was utterly transfixed, and the bellow it loosed as it fell reverberated through my chest. I thought I caught something there in the sound as it shook my blood with its power, some sense of intent it was communicating. A primal instinct screaming ¡®back off¡¯ with all the power a 2-ton killing machine could bring to bear. Which was quite a lot as it turned out. As far as displays of dominance went, that was the most overwhelming one I¡¯d ever seen, by a longshot. The bear seemed to agree with me, as it swung itself around to plod off down the slope. I quickly shot a look behind me to see if the path was clear. I knew there were certain rules for dealing with bears ¨C run, stand your ground, or play dead etc. but I didn¡¯t know what types of bears those rules corresponded to. Not to mention that all bets were off in this new world anyway. Wolves would chase you for a hundred miles just for killing one of their own, badgers would fight to the death over an easy meal, and frogs would hide in your hair overnight just to attack you in the morning when you moved. As far as I was concerned, bears could do whatever the fuck they wanted. Better to make a run for it while its back is turned before it changes its mind, right? Wrong, apparently. As I craned my neck around, hoping for a view of the comfortingly steep and treacherous canyons of rock making up the ridgeline, I was instead confronted with the no less treacherous but much less comforting view of around a dozen wolves. Two huge creatures paced at the head of the pack, snouts pulled back above their front teeth and snapping at the air. The low snarling was punctuated periodically by the sharp snap of their powerful jaws closing and their teeth clacking together. I flinched again hearing that noise and backed away without thinking. I glanced in front of me again and saw the massive form of the bear moving off, and as I whipped my head around to the wolves, I saw them start to slink forward, heads lowering and jagged snarls giving way to a lower, more continuous growling as they closed on me. Sometimes a bad choice is better than no choice at all. One last glance at piercing yellow eyes weaving on top of a sinuous neck was enough to make my choice clear. I scrabbled to my feet and backed away towards the plodding form of the great bear. Once I confirmed that the wolves were being careful to stay a certain distance back, I turned around and slipped up behind the beast of grey fur. I tried to walk softly, keeping my footfalls light and my form stable. No sudden movements, no loud noises. I activated Stalking to try and keep my presence hidden and immediately the huge head swung around to pin me with its glare. I froze again, and raised my hands placatingly. ¡°Easy! Easy man, I mean no harm.¡± I was startled at how calm and low my voice came out, more a growl than individual words, and I was equally startled to realise I was trying to talk to a goddamn massive bear! but I guessed it couldn¡¯t really hurt things so I carried on; ¡°I¡¯m just trying to not get eaten by those wolves. They¡¯ve been following me for a while now, so I¡¯m just gonna follow along nice and calm, and I¡¯ll pop off as soon as I can survive the attempt, alright?¡± The bear genuinely seemed to consider it. I couldn¡¯t tell if it was evaluating my body language, actually understanding my words somehow, just pausing for no reason at all, or had a great sense of comic timing, but either way it did seem to actually consider me for a moment before chuffing and continuing on. So began the most surreal walk of my life ¨C sticking close to the side of a massive bear, with a pack of weird, spindly wolves trotting along after us. It would almost be comical if it wasn¡¯t for the very real danger to my life hanging over me. I was wracking my brain for a plan, some method of escape from the situation, but I truly was in a stalemate. The wolves wouldn¡¯t attack the bear, and the bear wouldn¡¯t attack me without reason it seemed. But I wouldn¡¯t be able to just follow along forever surely? I could hope that it would lead me to its den and let me snuggle up inside next to the massive ball of fur, but I didn¡¯t think it was a realistic hope. Besides, sleeping in an enclosed space next to the multi-tonne beast was likely just as dangerous as trying to fight the whole pack naked and without a weapon. As we passed into the treeline, I started to really struggle with decision paralysis. Every few minutes we¡¯d skirt around the side of a massive stone boulder, and I¡¯d frantically examine it, trying to figure out if it was scalable by the wolves behind me. Before I could be sure though, we¡¯d be passing by and I¡¯d have to choose whether to risk it now, or just keep going. When I had a bad choice against another bad choice, I found it pretty easy to decide. But when there was the option of avoiding making a choice at all, just following along and letting the universe roll the dice for me, it was almost impossible to convince myself to risk it. So I followed along behind the bear, hoping for a good option, and delaying the inevitable. I decided to trust my legs to carry me forwards without conscious control ¨C when had that ever ended badly? ¨C and focused internally on my status, to see if my new class could give me an edge. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 15 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 10 Agility: 8 Endurance: 13 Perception: 10 Cognition: 9 Available attributes: 5 Skill merges available: Simple Traps, Stalking and Improvised Weapons can merge into Guerrilla Warfare. Accept merge? Guerrilla Warfare ¨C Passive. The low hills and the mountains they protect are known as the graveyard of empires for a reason. You know this land like no other, so lead your enemies into the twisting valleys and bleed them until they break. Strike from every angle, brutal and swift, before melting into the surroundings and denying your enemy the fight they crave. Hill Foraging, Running and Meat Preparation can merge into Wilderness Endurance Hunter. Accept merge? Wilderness Endurance Hunter ¨C Passive. To the animals that call the hills their home, you are inexorable death. While they overheat and exhaust themselves fleeing your presence, you follow steadily. At the end of their flight, as their body is failing them, they find only you. Supplement your diet with the foraging skills you have learned and dress your skills with the knowledge gained from experience. Scrambling and Sure-footed can merge into Cloven-Hooved. Accept merge? Cloven-Hooved ¨C Passive. The hardy mountain goat comes in many variants; Ibex, Oryx, or Flame-Horn ¨C they all share one defining trait. No animal can navigate such varied terrain with such speed and agility. While you may not be the fastest sprinter or the strongest climber, you will become the jack of all trades on the mountains. Further levels in this skill will allow you to reach beyond what is naturally possible, combining the endurance and power of two legs with the stability of four. New class skills available: Heart of the Hills ¨C Active. Through peaks and valleys, canyons and ridges, you have travelled, but the totality of your journey is flat. Calm. This skill grants a measure of certainty and tranquillity even in the most extreme circumstances, for while the hills ever rise and fall, their centre is stationary. You are the heart of the hills, and you will not be moved. Check-step ¨C Active. Alter your direction in a flash. Control your movement and harness your momentum to spring like the Jackrabbit at a moment¡¯s notice. Further levels grant greater control and faster reflexes when active. Hill-folk ¨C Passive. You are sturdy, built from sterner stuff than most. The blood of the hills runs through your veins, and your body has been remade by the harsh environment you live in. Further levels improve the increased endurance and toughness provided by this skill. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. I¡¯d reviewed my options, and frantically accepted the merges, and then accepted the new skills offered by my class. I assigned two attributes to strength, two in agility and one in cognition, and clenched my teeth against the rush of euphoria to prevent myself from crying out in relief and ecstasy. Experiencing the changes wrought by so many attributes allocated at once was indescribable and further confirmed my suspicion that the more I spent at once, the more overwhelming it would be. I¡¯m definitely getting addicted to this. My status now looked more impressive, with all of my attributes finally in the double figures; Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 15 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 12 Agility: 10 Endurance: 13 Perception: 10 Cognition: 10 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 3. Passive. Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 4. Passive. Cloven-Hooved: Level 4. Passive. Heart of the Hills: Level 1. Active. Check Step: Level 1. Active. Hill-Folk: Level 1. Active. Open Skill Slot Open Skill Slot I nearly whooped in delight before holding myself back at the last moment. I was too giddy from the attribute allocation and skill merging, not to mention the recent class up. Add to that ingredient list the dangerous and bizarre situation I was currently in, and the urgent need to make a decision, and I¡¯d made a delightful cocktail of craziness that was impairing my judgement and slurring my thoughts. I activated Heart of the Hills for the first time in a last-ditch attempt to rein myself in and the results were immediate. It felt as if my whole head had been dumped into icy water and then scrubbed for 10 minutes with warm smooth rocks until dry and raw, except solely focused on my mind. The world snapped into focus, and I began to instantly take stock of the situation. I couldn¡¯t keep following the bear forever, and waiting until circumstance forced me to respond would not allow me to use my best weapon ¨C the ability to choose the battlefield. I had a new class focused on keeping me alive and dangerous in the environment I was currently moving through, and skills specifically tailored to baiting out and dealing with larger groups of enemies while alone. I currently had no weapons to hand, but my small eating knife was still in the inner pocket of my cloak, although it was chipped and brittle from my repeated attempts to sharpen it with rounded river stones. I needed somewhere to hole up and create weapons and traps, and protect myself from immediate death by slavering wolf-jaws. The next boulder I came across that was close enough to trees for me to climb to the top, and large enough to keep the wolves off of me, I would make a run for. I stopped Heart of the Hills, feeling the strain on my soul vanish abruptly. I hadn¡¯t noticed how hard I was working just to keep it active for a few moments, but my forehead ached like I¡¯d been frowning for an hour nonstop. The heightened state of calm dropped away, and all my doubts and fears came rushing back on a roaring tide of confusion. I held firm to the plan I had formed, and after a few seconds I had somewhat stabilised the panic. I plodded along beside the enormous bear, watching in awe as it casually brushed past huge trees, setting their branches rattling in the canopy above. After a long, nerve-racking stretch of walking, I noticed another large mound emerging through the trees as we moved towards it. 6 meters high and shear at the sides, the moss covering the huge rock glistened in the sun. A gap in the canopy a few meters wide allowed a beam of delicate sunlight to illuminate the boulder, as it pushed away trees with its immense bulk. I took the sign from heaven for what it clearly was and waited until we were alongside the rock before drawing in a breath and bolting towards it. When I reached the base, I leapt at the nearest tree and scrabbled up the low hanging branches. Snapping twigs behind me alerted me to my impending doom and I swung myself around the trunk by the branch above me, flailing my legs to provide more rotation. A shape flew past me, inches from where I had been before, and the sharp snap of teeth echoed in the still forest. I felt the tree shake as the bear roared in annoyance at the bedlam my quick exit and the wolves following me had caused, and delighted in the high-pitched yelp I heard cut off abruptly. A final parting gift from my massive companion. My scream soon joined the cacophony though, as I felt jaws clamp on my leg, sliding down my calf and tearing great furrows out of my leg. I jerked my leg back instinctively trying to get away from the pain, and the wolf fell to the floor, my blood dripping from its teeth. I pulled myself up to the branch above and set to climbing, desperate to put as much space between me and the pack as possible. We panted together, me half-way up the tree and spattering blood from my wounded calf, and the pack below circling and staring in anticipation of a meal long overdue. I whimpered in pain, but grit my teeth against the feeling in reflex, tamping down the growing panic and looking to the injury on my leg. It wasn¡¯t good, but it wouldn¡¯t kill me. Probably wouldn¡¯t even slow me down after a few days of rest, given my enhanced endurance. It was a flesh wound as far as I could tell, bleeding profusely but putting me in no danger of bleeding out, and seeming to avoid any important tendons or ligaments. I would have trouble flexing my right foot until it healed, so walking and running were both out for a while as well, but I just needed to clean, bind and rest it. Hard to do when you¡¯re stuck in a tree though. I looked to the mound, gauging the distance before shuffling up a couple more branches. I then leapt over, crumpling as soon as my feet hit the stone in an attempt to cushion and shield my injured leg from the impact. I rolled onto my back and laughed weakly at the open sky above, trying to find the satisfaction in the successful escape rather than stew on the pain. I wasn¡¯t particularly successful in that endeavour but at least I was trying. Another brief activation of Heart of the Hills got me through the painful process of binding my right calf with a few strips ripped from my shirt. I had planned to use my knife on the shirt to cut the strips away, but my improved strength was more than a match for the task which was a welcome surprise. Dreams of picking up tree trunks and hauling around boulders were all well and good, but I¡¯d underestimated the difference a bit of extra grip strength made. Leg bound and items wrapped in my cloak on top of the several meter round summit of the boulder, I spent some time lazing in the golden sun, waiting for my heart to slow its racing. Time passed and I watched the sun crawl across the sky, burning pain turning into a dull throbbing, then a gentle ache. Eventually, my mind turned to my next steps. Time to see if Guerrilla Warfare would live up to the name. First, I took stock of what I had to work with. The aforementioned knife, a fire-starting runed pebble that I could only power from a few meters away and only got hot enough to spark kindling after a dozen seconds of gradual warming, a partly cannibalised shirt, and a warm cloak. But then I started to catalogue the scenery, guided by instincts not my own. Small rocks littered the roof of this boulder, ranging from pebbles to a few the size of my head. They appeared to be of the same tough granite that protruded from most of the valley. In their current form the smaller stones were mostly useless, although they might make a good distraction. With a bit of luck and a lot of effort however, I could create something transformative - tools. Innate knowledge bubbled to the surface of my mind. I had no clue that the mineral composition of granite, mostly feldspar and quartz, allowed for micro traces of water to enter the stone and cause minute fissures that would crack open when direct pressure was applied. Nothing so precise. But I did have a sense that I could create small, sharp slivers from granite stones with a little will. So I set to smacking rocks against one another, continuing an age old tradition dating back millions of years. Unlike early hominids, I was a bit of an idiot and lacked a lifetime of experience with different materials, and so I wasn¡¯t particularly successful at first. But after a few nasty blisters had formed and the sun had further raced across the sky, I finally had a few acceptable tools. I slapped the rounded stone against my palm and cupped it, examining the flaked head of my impromptu axe. It wouldn¡¯t do much against a moving target, but luckily my targets weren¡¯t moving. I examined the nearby trees, searching for a branch slightly thinner than my wrist. Climbing onto the tree in full view of most of the pack below me, I began to chip away at the branch I¡¯d selected, where it met the larger branch I sat on. It was fairly disconcerting to straddle a branch 5 meters above the floor while hammering away at the very branch straddled, knowing a fall would mean certain death. That¡¯s the great thing about death though ¨C its one hell of a motivator. Long moments passed with only the heavy thud of stone on wood and my breathing filling my ears as I slowly worked my way through the thick branch. Once finished, I was tempted to throw it onto the boulder and search for more, but a blast of Heart of the Hills empowered consideration led me to the conclusion that it was foolish. Test the concept before spending most of your energy on a plan that might not work. Sensible. Boring. I shook my head free of the thoughts and made it back to my trusty boulder. A few more minutes hammering away with my granite tool had stripped the branch of its own smaller offshoots, and I began to hack at the end, sharpening the stick into a thick javelin. I then propped the fire-starter pebble between a few rocks and activated it, running the sharpened head of my javelin against the pebble to harden it up. More time passed in a blink as I worked, and soon I hefted the finished product with satisfaction. It was slightly crooked, with a vaguely pointed end and abysmal weight distribution, but it did resemble a primitive throwing spear. It¡¯s a pointy stick, my internal critic tried to snark at me, but I blasted the voice to nothing with another quick application of Heart of the Hills. It was quickly becoming a new favourite skill of mine, although if Guerrilla Warfare could get me out of this mess then it might be in contention too. I leaned over the side of my rock and looked down at the massed wolves below. Most had slunk off into the forest, likely in search of other prey to sustain them, but a small cadre of five smaller Tarkenzi¡¯s stuck around, all looking up towards me as I reached the edge. No doubt they were hoping for me to fall off and make their job easier, but alas, I would endeavour to bitterly disappoint them. I sat on the edge, waiting for them to settle, but every minor adjustment I made to my position created a swift response. They were alert and obviously focused on me, as much as they might have been looking elsewhere. So I fell back onto the arguably most important and least interesting skill that made up the Guerrilla Warfare skill ¨C stalking. I waited, patiently and without expectation. I moved through some light stretches and then tried to rehearse the best technique for throwing my heavy javelin. I tried to visualise what a perfect throw would look like, leaning on the instincts granted by the old Improvised Weapons skill that now sat neatly within the larger mesh of Guerrilla Warfare. I wouldn¡¯t have time to pull my arm way back for the perfect extension if I wanted to remain undetected until I threw, especially if I was throwing from a small, covered location. It needed to be a fast, simple falling motion, with my hand high above my shoulder, and my elbow only extending towards the bottom of the arc. Repetition was the mother of learning after all, and I spent enough time rehearsing the movement for the sun to dip below the ridgeline and withdraw its warmth from my world. I settled down to rest, leaning my back against a tree that itself leaned against the top of the boulder, keeping a view down at the group of wolves below. They had broken apart by now, two resting by the foot of my rock, and three others roaming and playing through the trees nearby. I eased back to the jumble of rocks by the small pile of all my worldly possessions, and picked up one of the larger ones roughly the size of my head. It would have been difficult to carry for me a month or two ago, too unwieldy and misshapen for me to grip easily when combined with its weight. But now, my fingers wrapped themselves snugly around the edges, digging into grooves and slight ridges in the granite to find purchase. I shuffled over to my former seat and pressed myself into the wooden backrest. I allowed myself to doze for a while, shifting every now and then for comfort. Weeks of sleeping in trees had ensured my body would wake before I lost my balance, so I wasn¡¯t concerned about falling. The danger was sleeping through the night and waking up to a new day, hungry and dehydrated, with the clock ticking ever closer to my death. That awareness kept me from sleeping too deeply though, and upon shifting awake the third time, I noticed neither of the wolves resting below me bothered to look up or adjust themselves. Perfect. Slowly, deliberately, with great care and agonizing precision, I coiled my legs under myself and stood. Reaching down I gripped the large rock and hefted it above my head, controlling my breathing and motions to not alert the creatures below. A brief second of doubt - Let sleeping dogs lie ¨C was purged from my mind with a quick blast of Heart of the Hills. A few more seconds to centre myself and control my anticipation, and I stepped forwards to the edge and released the heavy payload. It dropped like¡­well, like a stone. The first sound I heard was a sickening crunch and a plaintive yelp, followed by whining. Startled barking followed an instant later and a frenzy of noise and motion rent the cool night air. I sat back into my make-shift seat, learning against the tree and watching the reaction of the wolves below. They had gathered together now and were alternately sniffing at the body sprawled on the floor and staring up at me in recrimination. Plaintive whining from the injured wolf was hard to ignore, but I paid no mind whatsoever to the snarling and barking from the others directed at me. I didn¡¯t enjoy inflicting pain on any sentient creature, but they were trying to kill me for defending myself. I would have no pity for the aggressors. Fuck ¡®em, who¡¯s next? Chapter 10 - Guerrilla Warfare ¡°Rise! Rise now, men and women of the North Wall! The enemy is at our gates, and the time has come for violence! I have many titles to my name but by days end, my name will be but one amongst a thousand! Glory is not given freely; it is snatched from the jaws of your enemy! All who stand here today, holding the line against our most-hated foe, will be remembered for all eternity as Unbroken! Let the kings and queens cower behind their castle walls while we stand on the field of battle alone. What need have we for scholars and chroniclers to document our final stand? Our defiance will be painted for all to see in the blood of our enemies! Our strength will shake the heavens and the gods themselves shall witness! Hear me now Hasta, we of the first people to walk this earth, our lineage unbroken from the first men. We have planted our feet, and we will not be moved!¡± Excerpt from ¡®The great Khan¡¯s ballad ¨C last stand of the Hasta¡¯ ¨C unknown author from before the 2nd cleansing
I endured their glares, the hatred palpable and seething from the faces of the wolves below me. Their snarls promised vengeance and a slow death, and their hackles were raised prominently, flaring above the shoulders in a long line down their spines. It was an impressive sight, but we were in the heart of the hills, and I controlled the terrain. They could spit and slaver and growl all they liked, but they couldn¡¯t climb trees. I returned to the rock pile and selected another heavy weapon, but the wolves backed away now and were fixated on me, ever moving and unwilling to sit still. It was a shame the same trick wouldn¡¯t work twice but I wasn¡¯t particularly surprised. I put the rock down again and reached for my javelin. Popping it over one shoulder, I walked to the other side of my boulder and sat with my legs dangling over the edge, waiting. Within moments, a couple of the wolves slunk into sight, having circled the boulder to keep me within view. After I had confirmed I was still dangerous despite being stranded here, they couldn¡¯t afford to let me out of view. No doubt they thought I might slip off into the night while they were distracted. Perhaps they were hoping for it, as they would have no trouble running me down in the gloom, tracking my footfalls through the trees before I could gain enough distance to outlast them. But now I was in control, and they were dancing to my rhythm. I heard the howling and knew the rest of the pack would be heading back, or at least the larger, more prominent two would. It sounded like a call for help to my ears, and I paused long enough to once again wonder where my confidence in my interpretation was coming from. I marked it as a thought to explore in more detail later, but for now I wanted to pick off another one before the rest arrived. Let them see my work fully before making their decision. I cannibalised my old cloak pack and wrapped the lengths of vine around my torso to make a holder for the javelin, before climbing onto a nearby tree. It was an old growth forest, so the trees weren¡¯t crowded together too tightly. I had to pick a line from tree to tree, often needing to circle back on myself after finding no suitable nearby branches to leap to. I had marked my position after climbing through the canopy and was confident I could navigate my way back with time under the strong moonlight. I took my time, being conservative with my jumps and avoiding anything that I was unsure about. Strangely, despite such huge changes in my physical abilities occurring so rapidly, my confidence and awareness of my body and its capabilities was higher than ever. I felt in tune with myself, knowing what I could and couldn¡¯t do. I made one or two risky moves and managed to stabilise myself before I fell, but it couldn¡¯t stop the smile spreading across my face. I felt like Tarzan, running through the trees and swinging from vine to vine. I didn¡¯t do any actual swinging myself, but the environment felt similar enough, and the occasional view of a wolf padding silently nearby only heightened the thrill. This was the most comprehensive, high stakes obstacle course I could run, and I was faster than I ever dreamed. I could hang by my fingers for as long as I could hold my breath before I would tire, and my grip was like iron on the branches and trunks I clung to. I felt the now familiar joy surge in my heart as I lost myself to the wilderness, only brought back to reality by a faint ringing in my mind. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 13). Experience gained. I was surprised it had taken this long in all honesty. I didn¡¯t get a good look, but I was sure I¡¯d crushed half its chest with the rock and wasn¡¯t expecting it to hold out as long as it did. Perhaps the animals in this world had attributes of their own ¨C they had levels after all. Either way, I had travelled far enough and couldn¡¯t see my ever-present watcher anywhere. It would no doubt slink into sight soon, and I was keen to add to the dead. I nestled into the crook of a tree, unslinging my javelin and positioning it above my head. I settled in to wait, hoping I hadn¡¯t already been spotted and the wolf tracking me was waiting just out of eyesight. Luckily, it was only a few moments later that the wolf trotted past my tree. Its head was in the air, waving about on its long creepy neck and snout furiously sniffing for a trace of me. I waited for a few more moments, lining up the shot before I loosed, chopping my arm down and extending my elbow at the last moment to give it extra power. Luckily it only had to travel a short distance, and the thick shaft wasn¡¯t fighting gravity at all. Shoddy workmanship came into play, with the crooked javelin veering slightly off target and burying itself into the shoulder of the wolf rather than the neck I¡¯d been aiming for. The sharpened wood didn¡¯t get far, bouncing off bone and dislodging itself from the wolf as it pranced back with a startled yelp. Hardly a deadly blow, but it had done damage all the same. The wolf was padding gingerly on its front leg where the javelin had hit and didn¡¯t seem to want to put much weight on it. I wished belatedly for my trusty horn, remembering the vicious battle from my first full day on this world. I had 10 levels and an entire class on my old self now, and I¡¯d still taken out a similarly levelled Tarkenzi without dying back then. I glanced around, checking for any other pursuers. It was a risk, but if I could kill this one now, not only would I take out another one of the pack permanently, but I could make it to the nearby river I had spied only a few hundred meters from the boulder. I doubted they could afford to outlast me on food, I could go for weeks after all without food at this point, and I¡¯m sure I could find something worth eating in the canopy if push came to shove. Wilderness Endurance Hunter would surely allow me to find some sort of bug or insect to tide me over. No, water was the main concern. So, risk a swift death now by ambush if there is another watcher hiding out of sight, or a slower death by dehydration? I didn¡¯t want to die ¨C that was clear from my continued efforts. But I really didn¡¯t want to die slowly and ignominiously on a rock because I was too scared to fight. Decision made, easy as that. I dropped down a few branches, getting closer to the ground and watching the wolf all the while. It started to growl and limp forwards as I approached the forest floor. Still no sign of any other wolves despite my repeated checks, I decided to gamble it all on my ability to kill this thing before it killed me. Easing my good leg down to the floor to take my weight, before settling my injured leg behind it, I settled into a crouch, staring intently into yellow eyes that tracked my every move. We faced off against each other for what felt like hours, measuring each other with desperate intensity. I felt remarkable kinship with this animal in those final moments ¨C both of us knew this could only end with one of our deaths, and both of us were willing to risk it all on the gamble that we would be the victor. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. I placed a hand in the dirt to steady my body and dug my feet into the ground for purchase. I watched as the supple muscle bunched on the hind legs of the Tarkenzi, and its shoulder hunched forwards, pressing off against the ground to propel it straight at me. I rose to meet it, charging forwards with all the explosive strength my body could muster. I activated check-step for the first time and focused on the hind legs of the wolf as I ran, waiting for the tell-tale bunching that would declare it was going for its lunge. My brain was afire with adrenaline, working overtime to log and compute every possible variable and piece of information being picked out by my straining senses. The wolf leapt forwards and up towards my chest, and I dropped beneath it like my strings were cut, any upwards momentum being cancelled out in an instant. I slid beneath its snapping jaws, catching a leg to the face as it leapt over me, trying to reposition even as it flew through the air. I skidded along the loamy earth, snatched up the discarded javelin and turned to face the creature that was even now barrelling back towards me. My calf was screaming at me in protest as I braced my legs against the earth and pushed my body up, aiming the improvised spear at the hurtling wolf bearing down on me. A heavy jolt, a violent growl tapering to a yelp, and then the spear was ripped from my grasp as the wolf slid over me. It rolled on the ground and slumped, the thick wooden branch thoroughly lodged in its now sunken chest. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 14). Experience gained. Skill ¡®Guerrilla Warfare¡¯ has increased in level. Guerrilla Warfare - level 5 I spent a moment just gasping in surprise that I¡¯d survived a fight with a fully grown wolf again, before checking myself for injuries. I had a small dribble of blood running down my neck from a gash on my temple, but it was nothing to be overly concerned with. I quickly reached the corpse and dragged it back to the tree I¡¯d been hiding in before it arrived. With a few heaves and shoves, I managed to get it a few meters off the ground and out of reach. I then scampered off towards the direction of the river. I returned to the corpse via trees, with only one brief section running on the ground between a few sparsely covered sections of the forest. I didn¡¯t want to risk being found on the ground by more wolves if they were out, and after drinking as much as I possibly could, I was feeling far less reckless than before. I re-lashed the javelin to my back and set to butchering the corpse as much as practicable while in a tree. I then punched a hole through the centre of the largest cuts of meat, looping the remaining vine through until I had less a holster for my weapon and more a bizarre wobbly kebab. It was enough to let me use both hands and travel back to the safety of my rock though and that was the important part. I ignored the wolves milling about below as I set to roasting thin strips of meat over my pebble, in a frustratingly slow way of cooking that I would just have to get used to until I dealt with the pack. 2 down, a dozen left. I wasn¡¯t sure I could rely on getting them on their own from now on, but I had brought myself a couple of days with dehydration now pushed back, and the meat would keep my energy up as well. All in all, a successful 2nd attempt. My experimentation with Check-Step had also gone well, allowing me to outmanoeuvre a likely much more agile animal and I suspected the skill would only become more powerful as my attributes increased. Sleep then, and come the dawn, I would begin my campaign in earnest.
The next morning, the thwack of my stone axe chipping away at wood was ringing through the clearing. I¡¯d made a dozen small javelins before midday, and begun to move about, exploring the treetops and scouting for promising options. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure exactly what I was looking for, instead trusting that my skills would alert me to anything of great potential. I moved around, observing the pack and how they followed in my wake. I¡¯d awoken to the full group sharing a meal together in full view of my rock, but far enough back that I couldn¡¯t repeat the rock throwing trick. I was tempted to launch a few javelins, but I¡¯d only had the one at the time, and I wasn¡¯t yet sure if I wanted them to know my range. I¡¯d half hoped they would be gone when I awoke, deciding that the price for my blood was too high. Alas, dawn had broken to the sounds of their grisly feast, and I¡¯d had to accept we would be doing things the hard way. So be it. I was now followed by an escort of at least two wolves constantly, and they approached more cautiously when they lost track of me, for however brief those moments were. Their eyesight was obviously good enough to pick me out from the trees, and with at least two of them on me at all times, I had no opportunity to repeat yesterday¡¯s trick. I thought of trying to burn them out but no matter how I tried to game it out, I always ended up burning along with them. Not to mention the damp moss covering much of the forest this close to the river would make it almost impossible to start a fire in time. I hunted through the forest, searching from the treetops for another boar or bear den, something large enough to distract or possibly kill a few of the wolves. Nothing stood out, and I didn¡¯t have the freedom to explore miles of woodland or open field at a time, confined as I currently was to a slow pace with my exploring constrained by where the old trees met. The sun was high in the sky when I finally spotted an opportunity and without thinking, I took a leap of faith. I had unwittingly startled a small deer that was rooting around the undergrowth, and as it shot away in its bounding stride, one of the wolves darted after it. Without time to consider the danger, I fell from the tree with my javelin out and clutched in a two-handed reverse grip, all my weight baring down on the slight wolf below me. It crumpled as I slammed into its back, the javelin puncturing straight through and emerging from between its ribs. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 16). Experience gained. I rolled to my feet and looked about frantically for the remaining one. Finding no sign of it, I returned to the corpse, pulled the javelin out and climbed onto a tree opposite the corpse-turned-bait. I clambered up a few meters and shimmied out along a branch above and waited. A few minutes later a wolf came trotting into view, the deer dangling limply from its mouth. It caught sight of the corpse and moved to investigate before prancing back in weariness at the last second. That slight hesitation meant it caught only a glancing blow from my javelin, but the weight of my falling body still knocked it to the ground. A short, brutal fight ensued before the ringing in my head and arterial blood covering my face confirmed the grisly work was over. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 17). Experience gained.
The sun sunk below the horizon, and while light fled from the forest, my work continued. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 17). Experience gained. Skill ¡®Guerrilla Warfare¡¯ has increased in level. Guerrilla Warfare - level 6 You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 15). Experience gained. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 18). Experience gained. You have reached level 16. Attribute points available for allocation. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 17). Experience gained. You have reached level 17. Attribute points available for allocation. I settled onto the hard surface of my boulder, hardly feeling the ridges and grooves in the stone below me. My skin felt painted on, every movement shifting the coating of drying blood and pulling at the litany of small wounds covering my body. Despite that, my breathing was even. My eyes drifted closed and a swift application of Heart of the Hills allowed me to drown out the feeling of triumph at my survival for a brief moment, long enough for me to make a decision about how to spend my remaining attributes. I¡¯d already pushed two more into endurance upon my first level, to offset the blood loss from my myriad scratches, grazes and a single grazing bite wound. I decided to allocate two to each attribute to keep a balance, and the rush lit my veins on fire, every nerve ending rejoicing in ecstasy at the power coursing through me. A single day, and I¡¯d culled the pack beyond recovery. I couldn¡¯t deny the fierce pride at my ability to fight back, to make them pay for trying to make me prey. Only four remained of the former pack, and I knew in my bones that tomorrow would see the end of this feud.
Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 17 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 14 Agility: 12 Endurance: 15 Perception: 12 Cognition: 12 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 6. Passive. Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 4. Passive. Cloven-Hooved: Level 4. Passive. Heart of the Hills: Level 2. Active. Check Step: Level 1. Active. Hill-Folk: Level 1. Active. Open Skill Slot Open Skill Slot Interlude - The Dukes Son *Estan* His stiff leather boots clipped against the stone slabs that passed for a floor in Ryonic Castle. Flickering torchlight cast shadows across equally bare stone walls, with the only break from the grey monotony being the occasional tapestry depicting some equally dreary scene from his father¡¯s conquest of the Western Marchlands. A few men-at-arms stood rigidly at regular intervals within the audience chamber he walked through, their gazes focused and professional. Focused on what exactly he wasn¡¯t sure, since there was literally nothing of interest in the entire fortress, let alone the large hall, but focused they were. Rain lashed at the windows, running in rivulets against the thin glass and pattering to the floor in places where they weren¡¯t sealed properly. With nothing remotely pleasing to attract his gaze, he settled on examining his father as he crossed the empty greeting chamber. Stiff backed, white-haired and uncompromisingly austere, the head of the Ryonic line was a match for his castle. Finally, he reached the foot of the steps leading to his father¡¯s throne and took a knee. He held his head low for the customary 3 breaths, and 2 more breaths passed before he heard his father¡¯s voice cut through the silent room. ¡°Rise.¡± The gravelly voice demanded, and he rose from the floor, lifting his gaze to meet a pair of icy grey eyes sunken into a lined and startlingly pale face. ¡°Report¡± came the equally brisk follow up. Estan bowed his head one more time ¨C it never hurt to show obeisance before the Lord Castellan after all ¨C and then settled into an attentive posture as he began his report. ¡°Thank you, father. I believe I made significant inroads with the Marquis¡¯ heir, and there is potential for a stronger trading alliance with the Sultanate as well. Escribar are sending their silver exclusively via the western road through the Marchlands, and while the Sultanate are keen to block any expansion economically from their neighbours, the unions are making it difficult for them to explicitly interfere. I would not be surprised if there is another tranche of assassinations in the coming months.¡± The news elicited nothing more than a grunt and a wave of the hand, so he continued. ¡°Nothing of note from within our borders. The peasants are kicking up a bit of a fuss about the new tax burden, but I don¡¯t see anything major coming from it. We should look to-¡± His father¡¯s voice again cut through the chamber, silencing him in an instant. ¡°The things you know about the ¡®peasants¡¯ as you call them ¨C our subjects, I remind you ¨C could fit on the edge of my blade.¡± He shifted uncomfortably under the heavy disapproval while his father continued to berate him. ¡°What gives you such confidence in your predictions? Did you pick up a seer class while gallivanting off with the scions of the court?¡± ¡°No father. I only meant that I do think it likely that the¡­subjects¡­will tire themselves out well before you need to take action.¡± He grit his teeth as he stumbled through the explanation, seething internally. One of his father¡¯s favourite games over the last few years was to demand his presence and attempt to humiliate him in front of their men, whether or not he was right. The Lord Castellan of the Ryonic Fortress, Duke of the Western Marchlands and a High Lord of the Sunset Court was beyond rebuke in his sanctum, and so Estan had to play out this ridiculous pantomime and listen to the old fool prattle on. ¡°Have you talked to the union leaders then? Visited the swamps where they work to assess environmental degradation? Reviewed production quotas and looked at the state of the roads leading to our major trade partners?¡± A small crack in the composure of the older man appeared, just for a moment, and Estan nearly recoiled at the rage he saw, before the mask slipped back on. ¡°No? Perhaps you should have less confidence in your assertions then, my son.¡± He bowed his head in chastisement, willing the flush of his cheeks to calm, and keeping his anger in check. He heard a slight shuffle from one of the guards near to him, and wondered briefly if they were smiling at his humiliation behind their obscuring helms. Bastards. ¡°Do you think it likely that the peas-¡­subjects¡­will revolt?¡± His father let out a humourless chuckle at that. ¡°Revolt? No, nothing so dramatic. We snuffed out any revolutionary sentiment over a decade ago, while you were still but a boy. No, there are other consequences that we need to worry about. Coordinated slowdowns and the like.¡± ¡°Forgive me for my ignorance father, but how can they get away with that? You are the Lord Castellan, why not send out your men if they begin one of these strikes. I will volunteer myself. I¡¯d match a dozen of them if they tried violence.¡± The older man sighed, still maintaining that air of disappointment. ¡°Because, you fool, things are in a delicate balance. We own this land because we can hold it by right of arms. But they work the land, and we need them. They need us too, for without our protection they would fall prey to bandits. Without our trade links with neighbouring powers, they would have no way into other markets to sell their produce. But push them too far, and they will leave. They will down tools one day, walk straight out of the swamps and leave the Marchlands entirely.¡± Estan nodded along, performing the role of an attentive and eager student while his father droned on with the same drivel as always. Finally, he seemed to be winding down. ¡°You can¡¯t force a man to work for long, boy. Eventually he will decide it would be better to live in the wilds. At that point, you''d best be prepared to pull the plough yourself.¡± He ducked his head again, hoping to be excused when his father spoke up again. "I spoke with Varise today. She is investigating reports that the Sultanate are thinking of expanding into the swamps to the north of our territory. Buying up large quantities of half-silver from outside of the Sunset Kingdoms. That would put them in direct competition with us..." Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Estan forcibly stilled his hands from twitching. He kept his posture controlled and looked up to meet the assessing gaze of the Duke of the Marchlands. Hard grey eyes met softer blue ones, and Estan found himself looking away first. "I''m sorry father, I didn''t have access to that information while I was at court. How would you suggest we proceed?" "Hold off on your arrangements for now, no further promises. I will discuss with Varise when she returns." They paused a beat, before his father nodded once and uttered a single word, concluding their business; "dismissed."
Estan sprawled on the plush divan with a satisfied expression on his face as he crushed a nut in his hand before throwing it up and snapping it from the air. He crunched indulgently a few times before speaking to the equally relaxed young men and women around him. The hall was grand, with elegant stonework prominently displayed, and lush carpets and drapes decorating the walls and floor. Colour was everywhere, and benches heaved with food and drinks. No waiters unfortunately, but some compromises had to be made for security after all. "He suspects nothing, the pompous old fool." Jeers met his statement and a dark-skinned man in a colourful robe responded. "Your father is no fool, Estan. He is the most dangerous of all the high lords to our plan. You are sure he has no doubts?" Estan snapped another nut from the air, falling back into the divan and partly to the floor as he did so. A chorus of hoots and hollers followed, and he waved a hand at the callers as he levered himself up. The colourfully dressed man was staring at him, hard-eyed and serious despite the levity surrounding him. "No Yander, he suspects nothing, as I said." He brushed his fine trousers down, scraping crumbs from the rich cloth in derision. "He lives in the past, unwilling to consider the benefits of cooperation with fellow lords." Yander nodded at that, and raised his voice, ¡°Then it appears we are almost ready! Our time has nearly come my friends, to unite the Sunset Kingdoms under a single banner. We have clawed our way into the military and intelligence networks thanks to the cunning of our friends.¡± He gestured grandly to several men and women throughout the room, and cheers greeted them as they raised glasses or hands in acknowledgement. ¡°We are on the cusp of seizing control of the economies of our various kingdoms too, thanks in no small part to the adventurous work of the Sultanate¡¯s favoured daughter.¡± Yander winked to a well-dressed woman who curtseyed to the room, drawing a swell of admiration from those present. Yander continued, ¡°but despite our many successes and years of long work, there is one domain in which we have made little headway. Estan, if you would be so kind¡­¡± Estan leapt to his feet, swaying slightly from the abrupt movement and waving off the heckles in response. He smiled indulgently as he spoke, captivating the room as would a practiced showman. ¡°The peasants! The commoners, the rabble. You know them! Penny-pinchers and workshy busybodies with their unions and councils and village assemblies. Of course we have struggled to take control of their organisations, for who amongst us would stoop to their level? Francis ¨C how about it? Fancy donning a cap and dredging the swamps for treasure, nothing but half-silver for protection from the delirium mists?¡± The man he had singled out was jostled by his fellows, throwing up his arms in mock-horror. Estan sighed wearily in commiseration. ¡°I know my friend, I know. Won¡¯t somebody think of your poor robes? Silk from the City of Spires itself!¡± He allowed the laughter to fade. ¡°The truth is, my friends, we will never gain influence from within the peasant population. We must excise our power from above, as is right.¡± He snapped his fingers, pointing to Yander as he spoke ¡°and I know, I know! I know what you will say in response.¡± Yander jumped in, responding with the same graceful timing he always seemed to have, the handsome bastard. ¡°What about the threat of a rising? We have barely recovered from the last one.¡± ¡°Precisely! We have barely recovered, but we have recovered. Our position is stronger than before, the only thing we must fear is competition between ourselves. The unions are weaker than ever, with many of their key leaders dead. The militancy is gone, and all remember the outcome of the battle of Sternsbridge.¡± A few people nodded their head at that, though most stayed quiet. Even uttering the name of that battle brought to mind painful memories for many of the noble scions present today. Estan even saw Francis flinch, though he tried to cover up the move. ¡°We need not repeat such heavy-handed tactics. After all, who among us would seek to spend precious coin on supressing an uprising when there are new markets opening up before us? We are on the precipice of ascension as a nation! The Sunset Kingdoms will take their rightful place alongside the true powers of Tsanderos, and our reach will extend to the-¡° Yander coughed politely and Estan reigned himself in. ¡°Yes well, you all know our goal. No, what I mean to say is that we should not waste our efforts on supressing the peasants. We need merely remind them of what happened the last time that they rose above their station.¡± He paused then, having recaptured the room almost immediately and keeping them on the edges of their seats. ¡°and who better to remind them than one of their heroes?¡± Another hush fell over the hall, deeper this time and holding an undercurrent of unease. ¡°How better to show our dominion over them than to capture and own the only surviving member of that unprecedented battle?¡± ¡°I have risked much in obtaining this information, for my father guards his secrets jealously. Varise is a cunning spider, but I skipped across her web and discovered a most terrible plan. Duke Ryonic moves in shadow, forming a secret pact with the most esteemed mercenary company within our borders. Even now, 13 fangs of the Crimson Lions are traversing the Unclaimed Peaks far to the east in search of the Butcher of Sternsbridge! In capturing her, he seeks to place himself above the rest of the court, above your kin!¡± Cries of outrage met his words, and all before him looked concerned, save the few he trusted and conspired with. Yander stayed silent, not begrudging his taking of the credit for the information. Good, the bastard owes me anyway. He raised his hands to quiet the heckles and shouts of the crowd. He loved the feeling of control when he spoke. He played them like a lute, each word a plucked string and each sentence a beautiful refrain. Time to reel them in. ¡°But fear not my friends. This will not be allowed to stand. When the Lions bring that bitch to justice, it will be an alliance of all houses that meets them, not my father¡¯s petty schemes! We will parade her through our lands, and the commoners will finally understand that there is only one consequence for disloyalty in the Sunset Kingdoms!¡± The room filled with cheers, and Estan beamed at the men and women around him, highborn one and all. Nowhere in sight were the spymasters and old bureaucrats that ran the various principalities, causing division and strife between noble brothers. The decaying generals and silver-tongued advisors that had pitted them against one another for decades. He, and his fellows, would take the reins of their nation from the undeserving, and forge a kingdom to stand tall against the world. Chapter 11 - Indomitable Prey Listen or die. When your body is screaming at you and your nerves are afire, remember these words. The gift of fear was given by the gods to us humans alone. We are not the fastest, nor the strongest. We have no natural weapons and no armoured shells to defend us. What we have is fear. That feeling in your guts, that certainty that something is wrong and the Dread Wolves of Scrimshal are at your heels ¨C that is what will save you. Do not doubt it. Listen. Give yourself over to that fear. Hear its siren call and respond in kind. To do otherwise is death. Speech attributed to Lanista Gallatius during the Rising Tide rebellion ¨C transcribed from graffiti in the ruins of the Mystine Empire¡¯s capital, 1st cleansing.
Dawn broke and found me alone in the woods in a way I hadn¡¯t experienced for almost two months. No birds chirped nearby, greeting the day with their characteristic fervour. No small rodents snuffling through the undergrowth, no stags bellowing in the distance. An eery silence had descended over the area, and my body had reacted. I woke to every tiny hair on my limbs standing upright, the back of my neck itching and my spit tasting sour and thick in my mouth. My pupils drank in the light as soon as my eyes flew open, already dilated. Sweat coated the inside of my palms, and my legs and hands trembled with the need to move. The cloying hands of sleep¡¯s warm embrace were blasted off my mind in an instant by the deluge of adrenaline coursing through my system. I rolled to my feet, muscles loose and eager to obey my commands. My hands rose to my shoulders even as my legs bent to sink me into a fighting crouch. I turned, surveying all around me before looking up to the canopy. I rotated in place, small movements of my feet, little shuffles so as to always keep both feet close to the ground, ready to propel me away from whatever was stalking me. Nothing was within sight though. No beast or calamity came for me, only the strange stillness of the forest. A few more moments of stillness passed before I decided to move. I gathered my cloak, loading the two internal pockets with my knife and fire-starter pebble, grabbed two javelins and started towards the nearest tree. I then reconsidered, chucking the 10 remaining wooden stakes down to the forest floor, before turning back to the tree and shimmying down to the ground. No wolves greeted me as I landed, as expected, and I set off. I had no idea what could quiet the forest like this, but I was willing to bet that whatever had caused this strange stillness had also drawn the wolves to investigate. Now was a great chance to put some distance between us, to get as far away from this area as possible. With my new strength and endurance, not to mention skills, I should have been able to make it out of the forest and onto the safety of the ridge before the sun fully rose. Perhaps the wolves would run me down before then, but it was less of a risk than the alternative I was currently considering. I knew I could outpace them if they didn¡¯t catch up to me within the first half of the flight through the forest, as I had outlasted them before that way. They were incredibly quick over short distances, but their sustainable loping was actually slower than my consistent run, and they couldn¡¯t keep up their faster pace for long. It was clearly the best option, and one my body was already automatically taking me on, as I started to rush through the trees and over fallen logs. Within only a few minutes the noise returned to the forest, insects buzzing around and birds calling to each other again. But my mind wouldn¡¯t leave the rock I had lived on for the last day and a half, no matter the widening distance between us physically. I was replaying the fear and pain that those wolves had put me through. I knew I was being an idiot; they were just animals doing what animals do. But I still felt those emotions, and my logical mind couldn¡¯t overrule the hatred and blame I felt for the Tarkenzi pack that had pursued me across a forest a hunt a hundred miles long. Why should they get to live, to slink away after other prey now that they didn¡¯t have the confidence in taking me on without overwhelming numbers? My feet slowed and I turned back, looking through the trees towards where my boulder still lay. What if they were successful in their new hunt? Would they follow my tracks, and ambush me later? And if they weren¡¯t successful ¨C If they died instead and I never saw them again ¨C would I ever stop looking over my shoulder? Probably, when I left the endless valley¡­which meant I had another week or two of constant low-level fear to look forward to at the least. Fuck that. I teetered on the edge of a decision for a few moments before finally committing and then started running back through the woods. I knew I was being impulsive and stupid, but I¡¯d spent so long reacting to the world around me, I needed to follow through on something of my own. They¡¯d picked a fight with me, and I had survived. I¡¯d bled and killed for this fight and at the moment of my victory, they had run away. I couldn¡¯t accept it, and I would not be denied my win by some spindly fucking wobbly-necked assholes! As I retraced my steps, I noticed the bizarre silence had moved, only being present at the very moment that I reached the rock. Thankfully, this gave me a direction to search in, and my traitorous mind used that as an excuse to remind me how poorly thought out this decision was. I ignored it, as was becoming habit at this point, and pushed onwards. I no longer ran, instead trotting at a slow jog that allowed me to keep one javelin propped on my shoulder and ready to throw, with my head on a swivel, searching for any signs of the wolves¡¯ passage. I saw none of course, they were canny hunters and left very few tracks to an inexperienced eye like mine, but I did reach the edge of the silence again. It was strange, as I¡¯d considered it to simply be the absence of normal forest noises but now that I was more cognizant of the differences as I left the domain, I realised it was far more thorough. Sound didn¡¯t seem to travel more than a meter in any direction. I heard my footfalls and the sharp crack as I snapped a nearby tree branch, but on throwing a random sick against a tree a few meters away, I heard no sound whatsoever despite seeing the impact. It was disconcerting to say the least, and I would have been more afraid that something was sneaking up on me without my awareness if that hadn¡¯t been a pretty much constant worry already. I traced along the edge of the field, a few minutes of walking enough to confirm that it was roughly circular. At least it would be if it kept a consistent shape ¨C for all I knew it could be constantly in flux around me. On the assumption that it was a circle, I cut inwards towards the centre of it, hefting a javelin in either hand and beginning the process of psyching myself up for the fight ahead. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Within minutes I came across the first corpse. One of the two remaining smaller wolves, burnt so thoroughly not much remained but darkened bones. It wasn¡¯t until I reached the charred body that the smell hit me, and I mentally added smell to the list of senses obscured by this weird domain. I tried to gain as much information from the corpse as I could, but after some poking around all I could tell was that the creature had been burnt to death, and swiftly. I saw no other marks that could be a killing blow on the bones, and there was no skin, fur or other flesh on the skeleton for me to analyse. Just before I stood to carry on, my Guerrilla Warfare skill gave me a nudge, and I focused on the lower jaw of the wolf¡¯s skull. A few quick stomps and the entire jawbone came apart from the rest of the skull, and I hefted it in one hand. The grip around the incisors at the front was uncomfortable, but after wrapping the remains of my shirt around it in a temporary grip, it was much easier to hold. The two mandibles ¨C the hinge joints that attached the lower jawbone to the rest of the skull ¨C had been delicate joints and had a rounded edge, but my leather clad heel had broken them apart and left jagged edges on either side, leading the whole jawbone to look like some sort of primal gauntlet-weapon. I was sceptical of its efficacy since the jagged edges weren¡¯t well tapered at all, but then with my enhanced strength, what qualified as a weapon was possibly a different calculation than it would have been otherwise. I moved forwards again at a slight crouch, trying to minimise the sound my footsteps made on the twig strewn forest floor. I then remembered that sound wasn¡¯t spreading in this zone and stood up sheepishly. Luckily nobody was around to witness my stupidity, so I continued on without further embarrassment. I passed signs of further fighting, with small sections of the undergrowth being burned away, leaving nothing but ash. No blood was visible ¨C to my eyes at least ¨C so it seemed a fairly one-sided fight. I didn¡¯t run, instead moving slowly and carefully, determined to notice my enemy before they saw me. And so it was with great reluctance that I soon found myself directly in the middle of a fight to the death. It happened so suddenly. One moment I was brushing past a tree, scanning the immediate surroundings for any hint of movement, and the next I nearly stumbled upon a whirlwind of violence. Before me, rolling around on the floor were two wolves, one of the larger ones and one of the normal ones that I had killed before. They were spitting and biting and snarling with ferocity, tearing each other to pieces before my eyes in a display of soundless ferocity. With a final step forwards that I had been unable to stop by the time I noticed the two creatures, I entered the range where sound could travel and was hit with the smell of blood and the sound of violent combat. I tried to back away before being noticed, as I was clearly missing something here, but before I could make it back behind the tree and out of direct sight, the larger wolf sunk his teeth into the smaller one and tore out its throat with a vicious yank. I stared in horror at the large animal looking up at me. Yellow eyes boring into me on top of a long neck, but unlike my other previous kills, this wolf was built less like a slender deer and more like a large wolf from Earth. It slowly rose to its feet, padding to the side away from the corpse of its pack mate. Its gaze was level with mine, and while that sickly sinuous neck added some height, its shoulders were at least level with my chest. The improvised javelins suddenly seemed a little flimsy and inadequate, and the flowers of vengeance I¡¯d been nurturing in my soul since I woke began to wilt. This wasn¡¯t just an animal with sharp teeth and pack tactics; this was a creature larger and stronger than me, and with hunting instincts that I couldn¡¯t hope to match. But then was that true anymore? I was far stronger than my frame would suggest, could run for half a day without stopping and lift rocks with ease that my previous self wouldn¡¯t have got off the ground. And while I didn¡¯t have a particularly strong bite, I still had teeth of my own. I raised the improvised gauntlet weapon I had created only minutes ago and felt confidence start to seep back into my bones. I might die here, sure, but I was about to battle a goddamn wolf with an improvised knife made from the skull of another wolf. If this wasn¡¯t the coolest thing I¡¯d ever done, I was way more interesting than I¡¯d given myself credit for. ¡°Recognize this? I¡¯ll make another one with your corpse¡± I said. So much for being cool, you dickhead I thought derisively to myself, and as much as I hated agreeing with him, I had to admit that my inner critic was on the mark this time. I wasn¡¯t sure what good trash talk would do against a wolf that couldn¡¯t speak my language anyway, but I had never been particularly good at banter at the best of times, and it showed. Perhaps it was more effective than I thought though, because the wolf chose that moment to charge at me with a few long bounds. I fell back, shocked by the speed of the attack, but still managed to raise the javelin at approximately the right angle to intercept the falling wolf. It smashed through it with ease, barely impaled and not at all slowed down, and only a frantic roll to the side prevented me from having my skull crushed by a bite. I recovered from my roll in time to see the wolf spinning in place from its missed bite attempt, and lurching forwards again with incredible speed. I activated Check-Step and immediately rolled back the way I¡¯d just come, stabbing my fist up at the wolf¡¯s stomach as it lunged over me. The improvised weapon scraped along its belly doing little damage with the right-hand prong, but the left-hand one slipped in easily, punching through the layer of tough muscle and creating a large gash as I ripped it out. I planted a hand and pushed to my feet as I came to the end of the movement and stared into the piercing gaze of the large wolf. I was panting and blood ran down my chest from where it gushed from the wolf¡¯s belly wound. It snarled, and I caught a promise of retribution in its tone. It seemed far too complex an emotion for such a creature to form, but I did recall my dog once stealing my wife¡¯s slippers in retaliation for taking away his toy, so I supposed anything was possible. The unexpected pang of emotion hit me out of nowhere, and I suddenly realised this was the first time since I had arrived in this world that I had thought of either of them. It didn¡¯t make sense, I shou- My racing thoughts were interrupted by nearly a hundred kilos of snarling wolf charging towards me. I juked to the side, and managed to avoid the rush, but I was now in a worse position, backed against the tree. I realised that the wolf was herding me, driving me back against something solid to reduce my possible movements. Maybe it was just hunting instincts, but why would it herd me, play around with positioning and tactics if it could just rip out my throat? Unless it wasn¡¯t confident in its superiority in a straight up fight? I rushed forwards, directly at the animal. It leapt to meet me, but I activated Check-Step and jumped vertically, allowing the wolf to pass beneath me by inches. I had envisioned myself twirling in the air to land behind the wolf with a dancer¡¯s grace and an acrobat¡¯s precision. Reality had me flailing in the air only to bounce off the ground and inexplicably land on my feet. I took a stumbling step back to regain my balance before charging forwards again in a drunken tackle. The wolf used the tree in front of it to slow down, turning a headlong rush into a shoulder check. The tree, unsurprisingly, was completely unfazed and the wolf bounced off, using its reversal of momentum to wheel around to meet me. But I was faster. My arms wrapped around the shoulder of the wolf as my chest crashed into its own, a twist of my hips enough to unbalance it, and I drove it to the ground. The landing was surprisingly soft for me, ensconced as I was in its a great fluffy chest. For the Tarkenzi it was noticeably harder, and I felt the ribs beneath me give way as they were slammed into the gnarled tree roots below. I raised my fist and drove the bone weapon into its stomach and chest one after the other. I drew back and punched forwards again at its neck, desperately trying to keep its powerful jaws away from my face and managed to hit something hard and inflexible. I rolled backwards, finally seeing the bloody maw of the wolf inches from where I had been. Its lips were ruined, and I realised the thing I had just smashed my weapon into must have been its mouth as it came in for a bite. I stumbled back a few steps, searching around till I found one of the discarded javelins. The wolf didn¡¯t rise, just staring balefully at me from its position on the floor, great chest heaving with ragged breaths. It seemed almost cruel to just watch it breathe its last, and so I hefted the javelin, prepared to put an end to its no doubt very painful existence. Just as I moved into position to deliver judgement, sound returned to me. The domain had been dropped, and a howl cut through the air. The Tarkenzi before me raised its long neck and returned the gesture, its howl guttering to a halt as I slammed the javelin through its windpipe. A few choking coughs slipped out before it slumped. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 31). Experience gained. You have reached level 18. Attribute points available for allocation. Guerrilla Warfare has gained in level. Guerrilla Warfare - level 7. Check-Step has gained in level. Check-step ¨C level 2. Chapter 12 - Indomitable Prey 2 And what would you know of humanity? You fuck silently in the dark, speak in hushed tones out of sight of others, build entire houses for your dead so none may watch you mourn, and I have not once seen you or your kind laugh in the open. You wear masks to hide your visage and show disdain for us when we scrabble in the mud for our coin. You brand us barbarians when we act like humans in the open, but why should we hide what we all claim to share? My people mistake your aloofness for restraint, but I wonder if there is any instinct for you to even strain against anymore. Tell me civilised one; when you take off that mask at night, is there anything beneath it? Excerpt from ¡®the folly of questions¡¯ by unknown playwrite - recovered from the Grand Library of Salakresh by Altinian explorers, circa .155
I pulled the javelin out of the corpse before me and inspected my weapon. It had struck straight through the beast¡¯s neck and hit the tree behind it, ruining the point. I let it drop to the floor, grabbed my other discarded and still intact javelin, changed the grip on my jawbone dagger gauntlet and sucked down deep lungfuls of air greedily. I may have the endurance of a world class decathlete at a minimum, but there was something uniquely tiring about the desperate struggle to survive that left me panting after less than a minute of intense effort. Reviewing the bounty of my recent level, I allocated two points into both agility and strength to hopefully make my next fight go as smoothly, and another a final point into cognition to balance out the sensory overload. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 18 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 16 Agility: 14 Endurance: 15 Perception: 12 Cognition: 13 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 6. Passive. Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 4. Passive. Cloven-Hooved: Level 4. Passive. Heart of the Hills: Level 2. Active. Check Step: Level 1. Active. Hill-Folk: Level 1. Active. Open Skill Slot Open Skill Slot I wanted to wait around, recover my breath, and face the wolf ¨C wolves? ¨C when they reached me, for I had no doubt they were coming. But then I didn¡¯t want to be fighting more than one at a time, especially considering one of them was of the larger variety. Whoever had been responsible for burning that corpse and leaving fire-tracks throughout the forest, was also likely responsible for the sound and smell dampening aura. Considering it had now been cut-off, I assumed they were likely dead. And if they¡¯re not? A small voice whispered in my mind. What if they¡¯re another human, clinging to life, desperately waiting for somebody to help them? I knew I couldn¡¯t just walk away from that. How often had I wished that somebody would step in and help me over the last month? It¡¯s not like I wasn¡¯t already planning on killing the rest of the pack anyway ¨C may as well see if I can get the drop on them in the process. So I took another quick look at the corpse of the wolf I had killed, trying to gain confidence from it. No injuries to speak of, and that was without the 5 attributes I now boasted. I began to pick my way around trees, keeping my eyes peeled for any hint of movement. A quick blast of Heart of the Hills kept the rising excitement and fear at a reasonable level, for this situation at least, and I started to pick up the pace. Leaves flashed by in a blur, thick trunks registering only as brown smudges as my feet picked their way through the uncertain terrain without conscious thought. My left arm pumped at my side, the bone weapon swinging in and out of view with each stride, while my right arm stayed steady, the javelin held in a loose underslung grip. I felt my blood sing as I rushed through the woods. I may have been out of my depth when I first arrived, but over a month in the wilderness had left its mark on me. I had killed near enough the entire pack of wolves within two days, and now I was going to finish the job. I darted over a fallen trunk and then all at once was at the edge of a clearing. Younger, slimmer trees lined the glade, with vibrant green grass covering the ground in the centre and wildflowers sprinkled throughout. A single tall stone around head height stood proudly in the centre, and its placement looked significant, rather than natural. Propped beneath this stone lay a body, clothed in red robes, limp and unmoving. Above the corpse stood a large wolf, supine neck in the midst of rising in response to my entrance. A second, smaller wolf stood nearby, head bowed in supplication and no doubt waiting to partake of the grisly feast. I took all of this in within a fraction of a second, and rather than hesitating, I leaned in and turned my run into a sprint. Bursting from between the small trunks and high vegetation, I rocketed out into the glade and slammed into the smaller wolf. My right arm was shooting forwards, javelin levelled at the wolf¡¯s side, even as my body was twisting and my feet pushing off the floor, further aided with the timing by an activation of Check-Step. I rolled over the wolf¡¯s back, my right hand letting go of the thick wooden spear as I left it impaled in the flank of the creature. My feet hit the floor as the first wolf started to fall and I rushed on. The larger wolf had turned to face me by this point, muzzle red and stained with flecks of viscera from where it had been shoved into the belly of the corpse. The sight was utterly terrifying, and I felt my resolve begin to crumble, a trickle of fear rapidly widening into a rushing river against the walls of my courage. I activated Heart of the Hills almost by reflex, and felt those mental walls become reinforced. The sight was still horrifying, but I felt like I was observing from afar, able to look on dispassionately rather than drown in my emotions. Its grisly appearance had succeeded in making me hesitate momentarily, but I needn¡¯t have worried, as the wolf leapt forwards an instant later giving me no time for further consideration. I dropped to the floor and slid as it lunged over my head, but I had no time to take advantage of the positioning before we both spun to face one another again. I caught a flash of the smaller wolf feebly attempting to regain its footing from its position on its side and then my view was obscured by black fur and snapping teeth. I fell back against the stone and managed to interpose my bone gauntlet between the jaws coming for my face. There was a crunching sound followed by a heavy vibration running up my arm. As the wolf withdrew again, I saw a few flakes of bone fall to the floor beside me, exposing the entire left mandible of the jawbone dangling at an angle from a new crack in the bone. The large animal watched me, eyes gleaming as if revelling in the triumph of ruining my weapon. I reached down, gripping onto either side of the jawbone and wrenching my hands apart with all my strength. The bone snapped in two neatly along the new crack, separating into two roughly equal parts. Readjusting, my left hand still gripped the shirt-wrapped handle with a jagged-edged bone almost a foot long emerging past my clenched fist, parallel to my arm and with a vaguely circular head. My right hand now clutched a smaller sliver of bone, thin and wickedly pointed, with only a few dulled incisors and half a jawbone as grip. I raised both arms and grinned a bloody-toothed smile. Never in my entire life had I felt the rush of emotions pounding through my system as I did at this moment. I had never been more alive, more present. My skin tingled, every hair on my body standing on end and my muscles thrumming with power. I thought to activate Heart of the Hills again, to ensure I wouldn¡¯t make any rash decisions, but I could feel that indescribable space within myself emptying rapidly during the fight, and wanted to conserve enough of whatever substance that filled it ¨C mystical or metaphysical or otherwise ¨C so that I could activate Check-Step again if needed. I wasn¡¯t confident in facing this creature without that skill available to boost not just my movement but my reaction time as well. I needed to bait it and expose something vital for me to stab, but I had no way to do so without either dying or sacrificing an entire arm. Sure, I could shove an arm between its jaws and stab it in the mouth while hoping to cut its throat out with my other hand but even if everything went flawlessly ¨C big if ¨C I¡¯d still have a horribly mauled hand and forearm, or more likely no hand at all. That was not a sacrifice I was willing to make at this stage, given the several-week journey that still stood between me and the first sign of civilisation. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. My brief reprieve was over as the wolf lunged in again and I ducked to the side frantically. It didn¡¯t manage to make contact this time, but it had closed the distance between us. I couldn¡¯t avoid another charge like that, and I wasn¡¯t willing to risk letting the battle head to the ground yet. The wolf seemed to come to the same conclusions as me, as it lunged again, seeking to drive me back away from the stone in the clearing¡¯s centre. I activated Check-Step again and juked aside, stabbing out with the thin bone blade into its head as it moved past. I felt the blade skitter off something solid, snapping just above my fist. The resistance from the bone splintering caused the teeth I was gripping to dig into my palm, and I let go of the now useless weapon. Not pausing to turn and instead trusting that the wolf was right on my tail, I dove towards the central stone and the body that lay propped against it. I hit the floor and rolled, grabbing the savaged body off the ground and wrenching it in between me and the descending fangs of the wolf that had followed. It crashed into me, jaws closing around the chest and shoulder of the corpse, and I felt the breath leave my lungs from the impact alone. I jammed my still-functional bone dagger into its neck as my head hit the stone behind me. The impact rocked my mind, lights twinkling in my vision and darkness flooding the edges. All that kept me conscious was the violent noises emerging from the jaws only inches from my face. I punched my left hand out repeatedly, short sharp jabs with the bone knife thudding into the exposed flesh of the wolf¡¯s lithe neck. My blows lacked strength, woozy and disorientated as I was, but I used every inch of control I still had over my body to hold on to the bone in my hand and keep stabbing until I felt hot blood gush down my arm to coat my wrist. Another impact rocked my head as the wolf above collapsed entirely onto me, its neck covering my face and my view of the world vanishing.
I regained consciousness to the feeling of fresh air bathing my sticky face and neck. I tried to open my eyes, but they were glued shut with congealing blood. I brought my hand up to rub my eyes clear and felt my elbow crack into something solid, hearing a yelp which tapered into a deep growl. My panic at the noise was enough to force my eyes open, and I was met with the visage of a mouth rearing above me. My arms shot out and I caught the jaws of the wolf descending towards my face, and I strained with all my might against the crushing force pushing inexorably towards my face. The cacophony of noise was overwhelming, the ringing in my head and snarling of the wolf mixing into a discordant melody as bloody foam dripped onto my face from the slavering creature above me. This was it; I was dead. What a shitty last thought to have my inner critic spoke up, above the repeated dinging reverberating through my head. I tried to activate Check-Step in a last-ditch attempt to save myself from the crushing inevitability of the descending jaws but whatever power I used to activate my skills was now dry. My hands were punctured in multiple places by pointed teeth, tendons standing out stark against the tanned skin of my forearms as I tried futilely to prevent those same teeth from piercing my neck. The ringing in my ears continued mercilessly as I fought the wolf to a standstill, myself unable to push the jaws away from my bared neck, and the wolf unable to push through my body¡¯s final, desperate last stand. It was a cruel irony that I¡¯d managed to kill almost the entire pack and even killed the two largest wolves I¡¯d ever seen in single combat, only to finally be killed off by a small, wounded afterthought that I¡¯d not been able to properly finish off. Although was that strictly true? Had I killed both considering I¡¯d only got the one leve- The ringing! You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 30). Experience gained. You have reached level 19. Attribute points available for allocation. Check-Step has gained in level. Check-Step ¨C level 4. Hill-Folk has gained in Level. Hill-Folk ¨C level 2. I instantly allocated all five attribute points into strength and saw the shaking in my arms steady in an instant. A sublime feeling of power flooded into my muscles, energy coursing through my veins. The heaviness in my limbs abruptly dropped away, and my gritted teeth widened into a rictus grin as I sat up, forcing away the jaws almost effortlessly. The wolf growled in anger as it was forced to back away a step as I moved my torso up. I grunted and with a shout of defiance, ripped my hands apart to either side of my body. The wolf¡¯s jaw shattered, and it howled in pain as it fell back. I stood to my full height, head no longer ringing and revelling in the feeling of new strength coursing through every inch of my body. A single stride took me to the pitiful creature on the ground, still pierced with my javelin from earlier. I ripped it out and stabbed it back down through its chest in a single fluid motion, sparing it further pain. You have killed a Tarkenzi Maned-Wolf (level 14). Experience gained. As I stood above the carnage in the glade, I felt a gentle rain settling against my bare skin. My chest moved rhythmically, not heaving for each breath but inhaling smoothly and steadily. The skin on my face, neck and forearms was coated with drying blood. It had cooled and semi-congealed in the dry morning sun, so it must have taken the injured wolf a while to crawl towards the central stone and pull the two corpses off my chest before I¡¯d awoken. I looked to the sky and allowed the cool rain to wash away the sticky blood from my face, revelling in the feeling of victory. A primal desire took hold in my heart, and I let loose a bellow to the sky, roaring like an animal and proclaiming to all the world that I had lived and my enemies died. Another faint ringing interrupted me, and I flicked my attention to the notification in my mind. Skill gained ¨C Indomitable Prey. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Indomitable prey ¨C Active. You have been the target of many predators, but their bones lie in the dust while you continue ever onwards. You have lived in the shadow of titans and survived. You are the last prey the pack will ever see, the final challenge for any hunter. Use this skill to remind all who would seek to make you prey, that you are not to be taken lightly. Error. Skill Indomitable Prey is incompatible with current level. Holding. I laughed at the sky as the information flashed through my mind, validation from the system backing up my own feelings of vindication. I had won. Without trickery or subterfuge or much of anything at all, I had faced down the leaders of their pack and survived. A few sticks and bones against their claws and teeth. I stopped laughing and sagged, a puppet with its strings cut. Laying back on the ground, I cradled my injured hand to my chest and just lay there on the thick, lush grass, stray flowers tickling my skin. I let the rain wash over me, misting on my skin and just breathed with the world for long moments. After the rain had gone and the sun returned to warm my soaked skin, I lifted my head from the ground and checked myself over again. I tore more strips from my tattered shirt ¨C barely an effort to do so now ¨C and wrapped the puncture wounds in my hand. I stripped out of my ruined trousers, noticing a long cut along my thigh that I¡¯d missed until now. A few inches to the left and I¡¯d have bled out in a heartbeat. Lucky, I thought, then swiftly moved on, pushing down the range of emotions that thought threatened to unleash. I then set about the grisly task of searching the body of the red-robed figure who had fallen to the wolves. The robe itself was in surprisingly good condition, and when I shrugged it over my shoulders I found only a small tear in the stomach, surrounded by a faint discoloration from all the blood and viscera. I tried not to think too heavily about what exactly was on the robe as it rested against my bare skin, and simply thanked whatever god had brought me here that the robe was already red to begin with. Rifling through the inner pockets, I found a small pouch of coins of a denomination I didn¡¯t recognise and a small pair of tweezers. So much for the spoils of war. Two delicate silver bangles were wrapped around one wrist and I grabbed those too, shaping them over my own forearms. It was better than nothing. Shrugging, I returned to the corpse, and stripped first its boots and then trousers. The boots were too small for me to use, and I placed them in a discard pile to the side. The trousers were also too small, but perhaps they could serve come other purpose. I removed its simple shirt, intending to cannibalise it for more strips of cloth to keep as bandages, but faltered as I realised the body belonged to a woman. Its ¨C Her ¨C face had been mauled beyond recognition by the jaws of the large wolf, likely the blow that killed her, and so I hadn¡¯t recognised the gender of the body until I removed her shirt and noticed the binder across her chest. I suddenly sat back on my haunches, staring at the body without seeing. I wasn¡¯t sure why this small detail stood out to me, but I suddenly stopped thinking of the corpse as a thing. This was the body of a person. A thinking, breathing person who had possessed hopes and dreams and fears and doubts, just as I did. I hadn¡¯t worried about the gender of the wolves that I was fighting ¨C they were animals, their gender was irrelevant. The same was nominally true for humans ¨C I didn¡¯t consider myself a sexist, although surely we all harboured biases that we weren¡¯t fully cognizant of ¨C and so I would have fought just as hard to preserve the life of an innocent man as I would this woman. But I instinctively felt guilty for disrobing her, feeling for a moment as if I was prying into something I shouldn¡¯t. The feeling was brushed away quickly ¨C this was a corpse with belongings that I needed, and the woman who had owned them clearly had no further need of them. But the brief hesitation suddenly made me realise that I was dealing with a person again for the first time in a month and a half. It was a reminder of how radically things had shifted. I¡¯d gone from never before seeing a dead body, to seeing a woman with a skull crushed beyond recognition and a gaping hole in her guts and my first thought was what she might be carrying that I could use. My first instinct was to cannibalise her gear, instead of checking to see who she was. It was a dramatic decent from civility to barbarity and its speed was shocking. Two months ago, I¡¯d been doing¡­what exactly? It was hazy and indistinct, and I struggled to push my turbid thoughts in any particular direction. What was I doing again? My eyes wandered back to the body before me, and I hurriedly went about searching it once more. Rather than checking her pockets for items of use to me, I returned to my search hoping for something that could indicate who she was. Did she have family in the area? Was there a memento I could bring to her loved ones? Perhaps a partner and even children? I hoped not, for I was not equipped for a conversation like that. But then Jorge had clearly said that the outpost was the closest thing to civilisation this side of the mountains. There wouldn¡¯t be people out here in an untouched valley. I had seen no sign of logging or mining or anything wrought with human hands yet, and the geography of this place, while titanic in scale, was not difficult to navigate. This valley sat at the foot of the mountains, rolling down from that great peak we had emerged from within. My mind stilled, a possibility slipping itself into my awareness that slowed my movements and forced me to consider it without distraction. What if this woman was one of the ones hunting Jorge, Vera and Nathlan? The ones that would take me, interrogate me and most likely kill me once they had their answers? I wanted to rip through her belongings and find answers right now, but I activated Heart of the Hills to give myself some space to process the varying emotions I was feeling. After a moment to compose myself, I searched the nearby forest for a depression or trench of some kind. I found a downed tree, upturned recently enough that the earth dislodged by its roots being heaved out of the ground had not yet been fully filled with forest detritus. A short trip back to the glade, and I stripped the body before carrying it over my shoulder like a fireman. I placed the corpse gently into the depression in the earth and covered it as much as possible with leaves, loose earth and finally a few rocks and logs. The grave was not a particularly good one, but it was the best I could do quickly at this point, considering my injuries. I returned to the clearing and set about laying out all her possessions. The robe I would keep to wear; it was of fine quality, thicker than my cloak and with more coverage. It reminded me of a cross between a judo Gi and a dressing gown and would keep me far warmer at night than I was currently, although my endurance had been helping in that regard, along with the season. The shirt I tore into strips, and the chest binding would work similarly well to help secure my belongings. The boots were useless in their current form, and I didn¡¯t want to blunt my eating knife on the tough leather, so I set them aside again. I kept the coins, as well as a signet ring I had taken from her hand, depositing it in the same waxy pouch as the coins. I found no letters, maps or paper of any kind in any of the pockets available, and no hint of a bag or knapsack either. Ultimately, I was little better off than before, but I had gained a powerful-looking skill, and my drive to reach the outpost had risen dramatically. I craved human contact ¨C conversation, acknowledgement of my own humanity, someone to listen to my stories and give me answers in turn. As I set to gathering dry word for a fire and butchering the carcasses of the wolves, I allowed my thoughts to wonder towards my erstwhile companions, wondering fruitlessly whether they would be waiting for me after all this time. Chapter 13 - Deepest Fear ¡®The gods are fickle¡¯, or so goes the expression. Folklore, scripture, ancient scroll or academic thesis ¨C there are many ways to understand the world around us, but we will never understand it perfectly. Many people may try to convince you they have it all figured out, dear student, but I promise you they do not. Keep asking why and before long you will hear this ridiculous phrase. ¡®The gods are fickle¡¯. It is nothing but an admission of ignorance! The gods are invoked because you don¡¯t understand the true causes of what you speak of, and they are fickle because you don¡¯t understand what rules they operate by! The gods are not fickle; they are unknowable, and it is likely not to them you should look for answers even if you could know their minds, for I doubt they would deign to enlighten you anyway. So, with all that being the case my faithful student, when you ask me how a soul-bound skill is born and I tell you that ¡®the gods are fickle¡¯, you should just as well stop asking me. - Recorded verbatim by the Sultan Achidna, reportedly receiving tutelage from Nathlan the Ancient on skill pathways and their alteration.
¡®Pain and pleasure¡¯ was an old mantra for me. I had lived by it in my long mountain days back on Earth, and so too did I live with it now. You took pleasure from the pain and knew the pain would get you back when you were focused only on pleasure. It wasn¡¯t a masochistic desire that led me to accept the pain but rather a recognition of worthy trade. Hours of gruelling hiking, running, or cycling to push yourself up the valleys to the peaks, legs groaning in perpetual protest and lungs burning. And yet you learned to savour the feelings, to take solace in the fact that while your body was uncomfortable in so many way, your soul was souring amongst the clouds. There was something undeniably satisfying about being somewhere incredible that you could not reach except with sacrifice. For me, it was the mountains and woodlands on Earth that I had explored. For others it was the sea or the sky. But either way, putting in the physical bone-weary effort to get to the place you wanted was not just worth the pain, but the very act of being worth it transformed the pain into a positive experience. Each feeling of strain and pressure in tired muscles was transmitted to the brain and became satisfaction. A reminder that you were earning it. And it built, over and over. More pain, more effort, led inexorably to a greater reward. The dopamine kept flowing, the promise of reward just beyond sight, and it would balance the against the discomfort, hold it just below a threshold of ¡®too much¡¯. It was a delicate balance of course, and if the threshold was crossed and the reward not forthcoming, the mesolimbic system would withdraw its support. The pain would be abruptly shunted to the front of the mind, and you would suddenly question why you were working so damn hard for nothing. But if you walked that tightrope without falling and made it to your goal without crossing that threshold? So worth it. In my old life the pleasure would come in many forms; reaching a summit to look out upon a beautiful vista, seeing a trail winding off down to a picturesque village, perhaps a hair-raisingly steep and narrow path to bomb down on two wheels, or even just the soft play of dappled sunlight on the loamy earth beneath steadily pounding feet. Whatever the pleasure though, the pain would return. Niggling aches, dangerous falls, blisters or sun-burn or bug-bites or thirst. There would always be minor pains to distract from the pleasure, and the trick was to not shut it out but rather let it flow over you. Recognise the pain, experience it, and then focus back on the pleasure. If you were lucky, you¡¯d hit the right balance between the two. Too much pain and you wouldn¡¯t enjoy the pleasure, but not enough pain would be just as bad. You¡¯d end up somewhere not very special. Sure, you could drive to a summit, but the view would never be as impressive, there would be crowds of people, and you¡¯d never be able to find that feeling of satisfaction of having earned it. Your body might thank you, but your soul would be empty. The last three days and nights in the endless valley had thrown this delicate balance into disarray though. Other than the corpse whose belongings I had appropriated, I¡¯d not seen a single person. I had not just walked through, but actively lived in one of the most beautiful environments I¡¯d ever seen. Untouched by human hands, the forest stretched for untold miles, blanketing the valley floor in a glorious dappled green. The emerald valley snaked ever onward but each moment felt unique, the mad chaos of the forest ever shifting with new patterns and details. And my enhanced attributes made the pain a minor thing. I could travel twice the speed I could before with half the effort. Food was plentiful now that I had the skill and confidence to catch it. I still couldn¡¯t make the most of my Wilderness Endurance Hunter skill, as I was fairly sure the point was to run down and exhaust prey without having to ambush or use a weapon. The trouble with that tactic is that while I could probably keep any prey insight on an open plain, I would lose them quickly in the forest. So either I needed to change the environment, or more likely, pick up and incorporate a tracking skill into the merged skill of my Wilderness Endurance Hunter. This was something of a secondary goal for me, but at the moment I was more interested in making it to civilisation. I could always pick up new skills later. I ate well each night, preparing spits of food to roast over large open fires, and kept choice cuts to break my fast with each morning. I would eat throughout the day whenever I came across berries or other forage to keep my energy up as well, and I found the diet of fresh meat and sharp berries to be very agreeable. I bathed regularly in small streams and rivers, and with new confidence I strode and ran the trails and paths that criss-crossed the endless valley towards its mouth and the plains below. I had faced an entire pack of wolves and lived, and while there were definitely stronger creatures littered throughout the land, I so far had not had a single negative interaction with one since I arrived. I saw evidence of their existence but since I passed through their domains quickly, they seemed to have no issues with my presence. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. It as an easy three days filled with pleasure and lacking in pain. There was hard work, but it was varied. Hunting as I did with my weapons and ambush tactics kept my mind engaged and thrilled me more than I cared to admit. It was one thing to revel in the hunt, but to experience such satisfaction at success was a little distasteful when that success was intimately wrapped up with another creature¡¯s death. Not distasteful enough to stop me though. But as it always did, the universe eventually sent pain to balance my days of pleasure. On the third day I walked into an ambush, and that signalled the end of the much needed holiday. I was ambushed by some sort of tree-dwelling snake. It had two dextrous tails that rattled together as it launched itself down at me, and alongside two massive fangs protruding from its mouth, it also whipped a scything talon at the end of a fleshy string at my face. It felt very much like overkill, as without my skills I would have been killed outright, enhanced attributes or not. However, the valley had made its mark on me, and I reacted with lightning reflexes. Activating Check-Step, I halted and leapt backwards, my momentum changing in less than a heartbeat and causing the jury-rigged backpack lashed to me to slam into my back from the change in direction. As I initiated the movement, my reflexes were heightened, and I used that state to take in the details I had previously missed. Rather than leaping at me in an all-or-nothing gamble, the snake¡¯s lower body was actually wrapped tightly around the tree branch above, and after failing to catch me in its first attempt, it was already in the act of winding its body back upwards to perch on the branch again. I was not about to let my prey go, so I reached out to snag its neck. It tried to dance away, but I had the advantage in speed over this creature when it wasn¡¯t coiled taut like a spring in preparation for a leap. I easily grabbed it, and a quick wrench snapped its neck. A few moments later heralded a faint ringing in my mind; You have killed a Lesser Horned Leaping Snake (level 6). Experience gained. That was a surprisingly low-levelled creature to be attacking me considering my size. Weak too. Perhaps it should serve as a poignant reminder that strength is not everything. I, a level 19 creature weighing in at least 80 kilos, was almost killed by a level 6 animal 80 times lighter. An unwritten rule I had discovered in my first few days was that while the world was far more bloodthirsty than expected, and creatures seemed to have less respect for a predator/prey dynamic ¨C or put more plainly, it was a bit of a free for all with creatures of every type killing each other left and right ¨C most wouldn¡¯t pick a fight with something much larger than them. Ambush predators were more likely to than others but it was still fairly uncommon, at least in my experience, to be attacked by such a small animal. No use crying over spilt snakes though. I almost activated Heart of the Hills to crush the scathing thoughts my inner critic provided in response to that ¡®joke¡¯ but then I worried that without the inhibition provided by that part of myself, I would probably become pretty insufferable. Rather than chalk this up to a weird coincidence, I decided to treat it as an omen of things to come and moved with more caution as I travelled onwards. It turned out to be a good decision, as I was the victim of more ambushes, and drew the ire of more creatures than ever before as I moved. None were of particular concern now that I was looking out for them, and I used my remaining javelin and the wolf-jaw gauntlet ¨C I had created a new one from one of the larger wolf corpses before leaving the glade ¨C to great effect. I kept trudging, fighting the occasional low-levelled creature until I was nearly killed by a mountain lion of some sort. That was one of the toughest fights of my life, and I emerged victorious but injured. One arm was left hanging limp due to a dislocated shoulder, and various deep slashes marred my chest. I earned another level pushing me to 20, and I invested 3 points into endurance and 2 into perception. After my recent near-death experience, I badly wanted to expand the range and acuity of my senses, although my injuries demanded I use most of my level¡¯s bounty to aid in my recovery. As a flood of new information flooded into me, my brain struggled to process the sensory data. What I slowly began to comprehend left me more terrified than ever before. I was surrounded. Not by a couple of low levelled creatures, or even a few predators far above my current power, like the bear or eagles, but by a swarm of lesser creatures. I heard a thousand legs scuttle along the forest floor towards me and saw the rustling of foliage heralding the approach of the swarm of insects with every frantic twist of my neck. Ants were flowing up towards me in a carpet of chitinous, carapace-covered horror. They flowed over the corpse of the mountain lion that had nearly killed me, and a frenzy of movement erupted as massive hand-sized ants set to work devouring the carcass. I trembled with terror, my mind completely overcome with fear. I could ¨C and had ¨C faced my death at the hands of another animal, but I was uniquely scared of insects for some reason. Not even insects specifically, but anything small, skittering and moving in swarms. There was something fundamentally wrong with multitudes of small creatures with many legs that set me off. I was aware it wasn¡¯t a rational fear. You could argue ¨C and I did ¨C that fear of insect swarms was probably rational, but I knew my terror was not connected to personal risk or some abstract concept of preservation. I did not feel the same bone-shaking panic at the thought of a swarm of gorillas or wolves or dogs, despite the danger being much higher. A swarm of rats or hamsters was a scary thought, but cockroaches? No. Please god, no. So when I realised my position was in the centre of an ant swarm, I did what any rational primate would do when confronted with its worst fear. I shut down, completely and without hesitation. Survival instincts or general common sense would have told me that if I simply sprinted through the swarm I would probably get through the dozen or so meters of forest floor carpeted by ants with only a few managing to cling to my boots. But survival instincts and general common sense weren¡¯t in charge of my brain at the moment. Instead, I simply stood still, mouth agape and pleading in silence for a quick death. I prayed to gods I didn¡¯t believe in, and even tried screaming for help to the divine being that had apparently brought me to this world. I felt tears spilling over my cheeks, and my back hunched with the force of the sobs wracking my body. As I watched the swarm approach, moment by moment as if through the enhanced timing of Check-Step, something broke inside me. A dam, some final barrier placed in my soul to safeguard me from strain, collapsed in on itself and everything behind that barrier was released. I felt that space that was so often full of something, that pool of potential deep within myself that allowed me to activate my skills, abruptly vanish. Drained in an instant. There was no steady trickle, no careful flow of energy through the metaphysical construct of my soul and into the waiting repository of a skill. One moment there was a space within myself, half-empty and re-filling slowly, and the next there was nothing. No energy, no pool, no potential, and most terrifying of all, no space. But I was not interested in the details of the soul-rending agony that I was in the throes of. I was interested in only one thing ¨C the creeping terror of the swarm carried towards me on a thousand thousand legs. I could think of nothing else, could focus on nothing at all except the pure fear of the swarm and the animalistic desire to get away, to have them leave me alone. The agony vanished as quickly as it had arrived, and I was left drained entirely. My body was an empty husk and like a puppet with its strings cut, I hit the floor. The final image my eye saw was of a large feline skeleton, completely stripped of all tissue, and a procession of massive ants scurrying directly away from me back into the foliage from whence they came. . . . Indomitable Prey has gained in Level. Indomitable Prey ¨C level 2. Chapter 14 - The Breach ¡°And what about them? You must know what our response will be if they rise against us. You are willing to throw away their lives for an idea?¡± ¡°That is their decision, not mine. If you kill them, their blood is on your hands.¡± ¡°But they will bleed regardless, and you will have achieved nothing.¡± ¡°You would not understand our desperation. Our answer remains unchanged.¡± ¡°How many of you will die in vain for this dream?¡± ¡°None of us. All of us.¡± Discussion between unnamed slave and 1st Centurion Saccarius during the Breeze-Born Rebellion circa. 197, as described in the book ¡®All I Have Witnessed¡¯ by Scribe Julius of the Desolate Empire
I did not wake from sleep gently, nor rise from unconsciousness in a flash. I simply saw again. My eyes had been open, staring and occasionally blinking, but there was no ¡®me¡¯ to process and understand the image until now. The brown covering of pine needles and dirt was familiar, and the occasional patches of green moss stood proudly like islands amidst a sea of loam. I lay on my side, my head rising from the ground as I twitched. Pain in my neck and shoulder told me I had been lying in one position for too long, and I gingerly sat up. My left arm was still dislocated but the swelling was no more dramatic than it had been immediately after my fight with the mountain lion, which told me I had not been insensate for too long. There was no sign of the ants, and I shivered at even the thought of them, reaching towards my soul to activate Heart of the Hills. A calmness washed over me as the skill took hold, banishing my fears and smoothing out the peaks and troughs of my recent experiences until they lay flat before me like a map to be read, rather than a roller coaster to be experienced. I noted absently that I had no trouble activating the skill, and the space within my soul that housed whatever substance powered my skills had returned. It was deeper than before, had more volume and the edges seemed more defined. It was filling slower though, and a few moments of careful attention showed that it was not just relative to the size of my soul-space but rather an absolute decrease in the speed that it filled. Screw it, I was going to come up with actual names for these concepts. No point struggling to quantify things in my own head. I had a core, filling with mana, which I used to activate skills. There. Done. So my mana was refilling slower, but my core was larger. A few more moments of attention made me reconsider. It wasn¡¯t that the speed of my mana recovery had slowed, but my core was filling slower all the same. So, some of my mana was being used, consistently at a steady rate, for something. Further examination of my core ¨C and what a weird sensation that was, visualising something that didn¡¯t exist and trying to rotate it without disrupting the mental image ¨C showed me two faint siphons, sucking mana from my core and leading it towards¡­. My view expanded, and suddenly my core became a distant spec within my ¡®vision¡¯. A small pinprick of light within the galaxy that was my soul. Mana was dragged in a whirling pattern from that spec towards two distant constellations of twinkling lights. I was shocked at the scale of them in comparison to my tiny core, and nearly cut the flow of mana in that moment. I hesitated though, as while the difference in size between the representation of my core and these skills was astronomical ¨C literally ¨C the skills were both still alight. Each tiny string of mana from my core was enough to light up each constellation, to illuminate the many twinkling lights that coalesced into recognisable patterns. They were not of any language I could understand, but I knew them all the same. One was a swirling nebula that rotated constantly in every dimension. A kaleidoscope of whirling light and colour that resembled nothing so much as a giant ball. Each individual light would dance in dizzying patterns throughout the vast web of nothingness it was suspended within, but the constellation somehow stayed stationary and discrete. This was Heart of the Hills, and it swallowed mana greedily. Dwarfing it in scale entirely by orders of magnitude was the constellation for Indomitable Prey. To take in its staggering complexity required several forced perspective shifts, as if zooming out of a screen. Despite my core being a pinprick to begin with before the change in scale, I could still see it in the centre of my view. Mana flowed steadily from my core to the titanic constellation that represented the active skill. It covered the background, dominating my core and the other skill constellations within my soul-space. Heart of the Hills stayed alight, burning merrily away, while wrapped in a twinkling embrace by the dancing stars of Indomitable Prey. I couldn¡¯t see the other skills I had, but I felt their presence nonetheless. They lurked in the void, awaiting an influx of mana to activate them and set their pathways alight with the fire of my will. Varied in shape and pattern, they nonetheless were dwarfed by the overwhelming dominion of Indomitable Prey. It¡¯s complexity and scale were orders of magnitude above my other skills, but its mana-drain was incommensurate with its size. It was counter-intuitive in the extreme and I returned my vision to my core to puzzle it out. I saw the well of mana reducing fast, and realised I would quickly lose all I regained while insensate if I kept both skills active. I cut off the flow to Heart of the Hills and instantly my core began to refill faster. It would still take many long moments to fill ¨C completely unworkable during a fight ¨C but the change of pace was noticeable all the same. Without the careful regulation from my calming skill, my mind whirled with possibilities in response to what I was seeing, and I lost the mental focus necessary to stay within this inner world of my soul. I had learned so much in such little time! My nomenclature was probably completely off, and my visualisation was likely just as flawed, to say nothing at all of the theoretical underpinnings of my musings. I was like an ant poking at a leaf and trying to comprehend the shape of the forest above. And yet I was excited. Despite all the impossible things I had witnessed so far, this felt the most like magic to me. I had been plagued by the fear that while these attribute gains were incredible, they could simply be taken away at a moment¡¯s notice. The permanent changes seemed too good to be true, and I was half convinced they must be ephemeral in nature because of it. But the vision of my soul ¨C and who cared if it wasn¡¯t actually a soul? ¨C seemed to hint at these changes being truly mine. If I could understand how things worked through simple introspection¡­ A crashing in the woods behind me interrupted my excitement and made me spin in place, and I saw the tusks of a large boar come barrelling from between the trees. It locked beady eyes with me and stuttered to a halt. I dropped to a crouch, ready to dive to the side, but my shoulder protested the movement and pain shot through me, making me flinch. Instead of capitalising on the momentary distraction, the boar turned tail and fled from site with a snorting bellow. I paused, wondering at the bizarre behaviour before recalling the description of my newest skill. ¡°¡­use this skill to remind all who would seek to make you prey, that you are not to be taken lightly.¡± It was still active, had likely been so continuously since I had faced the swarm and activated it the first time, and it seemed to be acting as some sort of aura skill to scare off any would-be assailants. I took notice of the sun¡¯s location, marking its position to my eye against the canopy above, and waited patiently for my core to fill. I focused on my breathing and let the sun wash over me as I waited, satisfied to note that the sun hadn¡¯t moved in the sky by the time I was topped off once more. I drew a final steadying breath before activating Heart of the Hills once more. I welcomed the sense of distance from the world outside and stepped calmly towards a nearby tree. Gripping my limp arm, I positioned it carefully before slamming my shoulder into the tree. A loud pop sounded, and pain flared to life in my shoulder, but it washed over me in moments ¨C a spring welling over grasses. A new fire lit in my belly as I considered the final leg of my journey. I was closing in on The Breach, and I knew that that must be to blame for the increased density of the creatures and their aggressiveness. Jorge had mentioned that there was a constant stream of fighting monsters in this place, and that it would take a few extra days to detour around. They would have simply cut their way through the creatures, and with my new skill scaring away all before me, I was planning to do the same. I would waste no more time in this valley. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Days passed in a blur of fighting, running, and hunting. I gained another three levels and invested the earned points into cognition, perception, and agility. I also gained a few skill levels and lost most of my gear in the process. My jury-rigged backpack ¨C meaning my bundled cloak lashed together by vines ¨C finally gave up as I was forced to run from a group of badgers. I felt the sting of losing the firelighter pebble and eating knife the most, but once I recognised the small mammals as badgers I decided to cut my losses. I would happily fight wolves and cougars, snakes and boar. But badgers? Fuck no. I couldn¡¯t remember the details clearly ¨C like much of my previous life it was faded and indistinct, a sense of distance pervading all my memories of before and making them slip from my mind ¨C but I knew there was something about badgers and honey, and my instincts warned of danger. I had passed The Breach and the battlefield that flowed out around it in a whirl of activity, and I was now within sight of the plains below. I could actually see the ridgeline on either side of the valley flowing towards the open plains. A few dozen miles and I would be in settled lands. I glanced at my status in appreciation, realising I should be able to make the journey in a single day. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 22 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 21 Agility: 20 Endurance: 18 Perception: 18 Cognition: 18 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 7. Passive. Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 4. Passive. Cloven-Hooved: Level 5. Passive. Heart of the Hills: Level 3. Active. Check Step: Level 4. Active. Hill-Folk: Level 5. Passive. Indomitable Prey: Level 5. Active. Open skill slot My appearance was ragged, and I was in dire need of a wash, but my excitement buoyed me onwards regardless. Tattered red robes clung to my body, strips of cloth wrapped my forearms and shins, and my leather boots were patchy and beaten. The jagged opening in the robes had been ripped further, exposing the hard muscle of my abdomen to the elements, and one arm was missing an entire sleave from an overzealous lunge from a Juvenile Vampiric Deer. My hair was hanging in unkempt knots and a beard had colonised my lower face entirely, but even it couldn¡¯t hide my grin as I ran whooping towards the end of the valley. Hours passed in a blur as I flowed through trees and followed goat-tracks, disturbing nesting birds with the occasional hoot of exhilaration. The ridges on either side of the forest were fading, their stark majesty settling into a more stately dignity as they descended in a gentle decline before merging with the rolling plains of grassland beyond. The forest erupted from the confines of the valley like a flash-flood, surging into the plains and expanding rapidly to either side before losing steam as the rolling hills gave way to steady flatlands. The grasses that had been kept in check by the forest canopy then began to dominate, rising into the air and flowing with the winds till the flatlands looked like nothing so much as a sea of green rippling waves. And there, standing proud and alone within the green sea was a small clutter of buildings. Not downed trees, not rock formations or caves. Buildings, wrought by hands guided by intelligence. An outpost, humans, and the promise of civilisation. My laughter bubbled up and spilled out of my mouth as I ran and skipped and dashed down towards the grasslands in a mile-eating stride. The closer I drew, the more excited I became until with a start I realised I could make out details on the buildings. They were no longer below me in the distance, but in front of me at the same level and only a mile away. I slowed and began to walk through the long grass rather than rush. I used my calming skill to keep the excitement at bay and started to really think things through. I would be unlikely to find my previous companions, since I¡¯d taken at least 6-8 weeks by my estimate to cross the endless valleys ¨C it was hard to keep track of time effectively with nothing to mark its passage with, especially at first. Jorge¡¯s original estimate had put it at a month-long trip for me and I didn¡¯t expect them to wait around for an entire month extra at what was apparently a small outpost in the middle of nowhere, for a man they¡¯d met for less than two hours in total. On the flip-side, Jorge had said they¡¯d meet me here. They were far more competent than me and Nathlan apparently had some sort of warding/tracking magic so perhaps they knew exactly where I was and had done since they¡¯d left. Maybe they¡¯d be waiting for me now at the inn with a bath drawn and a steaming plate of gravy-covered vegetables. The thought brought a grin to my face, but that expression quickly soured as my inner cynic reared its unwelcome head and told me in no uncertain terms that they were likely gone, or possibly even dead. I couldn¡¯t have nice things happen to me after all: No no no, that would be a travesty! I pushed away the cruel thoughts and tried to consider things in good faith. I was right that it would be unlikely to see them here and now, but perhaps they had left instructions for me ¨C or a message at least ¨C with one of the people who worked or lived here, before they had left? Asking around would do no harm anyway. If that was the case, I could follow on after them and meet them somewhere further afield. Or I could just leave by myself, go somewhere else after restocking with some basic necessities. I had demonstrated my survival skills in the wilderness already for an entire two months or so. A few weeks travelling on actual roads couldn¡¯t be any harder surely? First things first, find out if they had been here and left any details, I could decide what I truly wanted afterwards. I was God-Touched and that seemed to confer some ability to communicate with people regardless of the language they used. Vera had mentioned something about scholar¡¯s tongue now that I thought about it ¨C was that a skill? No matter; I could communicate with the locals and had coins of some variety so I should probably be fine. Worst case scenario I would work for board and information for a few weeks. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn¡¯t notice the figure in front of me until her voice rang out into my ears with a sharp command.
*Nathlan* Nathlan nursed his mead and stretched out his legs under the thick oak table. To be back in civilisation was always a nice experience, but to return after over a month of constant travel and bloodshed? It was glorious. This was his second week back at the trading outpost known to the locals as Gunthur¡¯s Rest and to everyone else as ¡®Trading Post 17¡¯. He¡¯d spent much of the first week in a delightful haze of food and sleep, and it had felt almost like a holiday. The happy atmosphere of a successful escape invigorated the group as they met for long lunches in the tavern and had a few friendly games. He had managed to convince Vera to let him spectate a few of her races with Jorge, who promised to limit himself to her attribute allocation as well as practicable. That was a fun experience in a lot of ways, and he congratulated himself on only feeling the barest hint of jealously and bitterness as they blasted through the trees near the outpost at speeds he could only dream of, in a laughing conflagration of loops, twists and jumps. They completed the course he had set out in moments, despite it taking him half the morning to mark out ¨C the benefit of higher levels and not wasting half your life investing in the wrong skills and class. Still, he enjoyed seeing them compete and the friendly ribbing from Vera when she won was a balm for his bitter soul. He continued to train diligently throughout the second week. While it was important to give yourself rest after hardship ¨C what would be the point of pushing on if success only ever led to more work after all ¨C he couldn¡¯t allow himself more than a week without working on himself. He had been fanatical when he first found The Shepard, and it took Jorge a fair few months and some very pointed lectures before he let go of the belief that pain led to progress and rest was for those who lacked drive. So, now he worked and he rested. He forced his body to new heights and then spent long bells relaxing afterwards. He read the few texts he had with him that he¡¯d not yet devoured, and spent long evenings working on his skills, pushing closer to the merge he knew would herald his readiness to take the next step. He swirled the dregs around his tankard before taking another small sip as the door opened. He looked up and noted the grimy hunter in the doorway before dismissing him just as quickly, returning his focus to the treatise on the table before him. Another attempt at exposing Nathlan the Ancient ¨C his namesake ¨C but just like the hundreds of other such attempts, it seemed to ring hollow. The greatest scholar in the world drew criticism like a flame drew moths in the southern evenings, and yet most seemed to be written more out of personal enmity and spite than any substantial academic disagreement. He was the father of modern scholastic practice, and quite literally wrote the books that most of his critics were raised on- His train of thought was interrupted as he felt a presence approach the outpost from the direction of the valley, brushing past one of his wards. He immediately broke the warding link he kept on Vera and Jorge, and started to gather up his scroll, carefully wrapping the papyrus back in its waxy covering before returning it to the solid bamboo case. He then walked to the bar and handed over the case to the man cleaning behind it, exchanging a nod and single coin before striding out of the tavern. His hand rested on the handle of his sword, and he strode swiftly off, ducking behind the tavern and cutting along a small track at the back of the large four-story building. He linked up with Vera halfway down the small path and debriefed her as they walked together. ¡°My outer ward broke, about a mile outside the outpost and heading this way from the valley.¡± ¡°Not broken through any of your others though yet?¡± Vera asked. ¡°No, they¡¯re moving slowly. Most likely to be that young girl with the silence domain who slipped us a couple weeks back. How do you want to handle this? And where¡¯s Jorge?¡± Nathlan explained. He was flexing his hand on the handle of his blade repeatedly, and the taller woman noticed the unconscious action. She placed a hand on his shoulder as she replied. ¡°Good, that makes this easier. I¡¯ll take the front, you stay back and cover yourself and Jorge from sight. He¡¯ll be hiding to my right in the grasses with his spear ready, and I¡¯ll do the talking. Easy lad.¡± She clapped him on the shoulder with her last words, and Nathlan just shook his head. ¡°Sure you don¡¯t want to try the accent too? Might be more authentic.¡± Vera scowled at that and bumped him with her shoulder before giving a brief chuckle and speaking in a strong brogue; ¡°Aye lad, is that better?¡± She laughed and shook her head before continuing in her normal voice ¡°Ah it¡¯s hard to strike the balance. I want to learn from him, but my mind seems determined to just copy you know?¡± ¡°I understand Vera, trust me. Second ward just broke, they¡¯re a few hundred meters out so I¡¯ll wait here and get started. Shout if you need something.¡± He stopped and knelt to the floor as he spoke. Vera continued for a few dozen meters before planting herself firmly on the worn grass and staring grimly towards the forest and valley above. Chapter 15 - Reunion ¡°Food is the language of every culture.¡± ¡°Oh is that right, Franz? And I suppose you are the only one who knows how to speak that language, right?¡± ¡°Not the only one, but I do consider myself familiar with it.¡± ¡°Familiar? You¡¯re fucking fluent if that belly¡¯s anything to go by!¡± ¡°Shut it, you old git. I mean it, food tells a story about every culture.¡± ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll bite. What does their food say about the Desolate Empire?¡± ¡°Well; it¡¯s varied and includes vegetables grown across at least three distinct climates ¨C shows they hold lots of territory and have for a while. Seafood also holds a place of prominence ¨C as demonstrated by this delightful pie we¡¯re sharing, Greg ¨C which suggests that they were a coastal power to begin with.¡± ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll give you that one. But it¡¯s just post-hoc generalising. You already knew all that and looked for some food-based justification. What about the Sarhail? You don¡¯t know shit about them. What do their culinary habits say about them then, wise man?¡± ¡°¡­.says they eat food, right?¡± ¡°You fuckin-¡± - Discussion between two vessel-guards in Salazar, recorded in the travel guide ¡®Wonders of the Wandering States¡¯ by Brother Ferdinand Genitivi
¡°Hold there. Not one more step, Lion.¡± The voice that shook me from my thoughts was deep, unmistakable in its steadiness and fit its owner like a glove. I almost jumped for joy before the words trickled their way through the wrung-out sponge that was my brain, and I registered their content. As it was, I looked up sharply and executed a kind of shuffle-hop in response to the challenge she¡¯d just issued, which no doubt did little to convince the woman across from me of my sanity. I saw her frown and draw her sword as I was mid shuffle-hop, and by the time I had steadied myself she had the weapon out and pointing towards my neck. She must have been a good dozen meters away, and yet I could still tell that it was pointing precisely at my Adam¡¯s apple. I could feel the blade hovering just inches from me somehow, despite every sense my body possessed telling me otherwise. The sudden fear for my life sharpened my mind enough for me to reply without moving further. ¡°Vera, it''s me!¡± I tried to smile but it came out more as a grimace with the still-present sense danger hanging over me. While it wasn¡¯t much of an explanation, I honestly was a little baffled at the hostile reception and was rapidly trying to figure out what was causing all this. Unfortunately, that was the wrong thing to say. The blade leapt from only a few inches away to directly against my neck, and I felt a trickle of blood wend its way down the fuller of the broad blade from where it had sliced neatly through the first few layers of skin. I was forced backwards so fast that I crumpled to the floor in a bid to escape decapitation, and I was dimly aware that it was likely the intention given the speed the blade had moved. I could not have dodged the first extension of that blade and so I could only assume it was a threat more than a genuine attempt at killing me. Although judging by the expression on the face above me, perhaps it was more an expression of rage. ¡°Oh, you know of me, do you? Have they already forgotten in the Sunsets what I do to any that come after me?¡± She had moved the instant I had finished speaking, stalking towards me with murderous intent, her blade held level in front of her but somehow still cutting my neck and forcing me to the floor despite the nominal distance between us. ¡°Did you think you were somehow more capable than those sent before? Or did you just expect them not to send you to your death? Which is it, boy - arrogant or na?ve?¡±. She looked down at me and spat out the last question with anger I had never before seen, and at that moment, I did not recognise her at all. Panic at the speed at which my long dreamt-of reunion was derailing before me took all the cogent responses from my head, and I dumbly focused on the words rather than the larger context. ¡°What? Who¡­nobody sent-what?¡± It was as I was still trying to untangle the many questions her words had raised that I felt the blade pressing into my neck abruptly withdraw. I saw fury give way to confusion, before realisation and then relief flit their way across the big woman¡¯s face. ¡°Oh gods! By the Roots kid, is that really you?¡± She said, honestly looking as shocked to see me as I was by the recent turn of events. My head flopped back to the floor as I rose a hand to my neck to feel the slight cut she had created. I lay in the dirt and stared up at the blue sky above, fluffy white clouds gathered in groups as if to gossip about the winds. I heard a sword returning to its sheath, and footsteps as somebody else drew near. The footsteps stopped and a quiet voice asked in a strong brogue; ¡°Everyone aright? Seems like it got a little out o¡¯ hand there for a moment¡±. ¡°What the fuck!?¡± Was all I managed, still holding a hand to my neck and looking dopily up at the sky. ¡°No, we¡¯re not alright! She nearly fucking killed me!¡± The close brush with death, thoroughly unexpected and unwelcome, lit a surge of anger within me, the fear from a moment ago only further fanning the flames. I now felt how Vera had looked only moment before. ¡°Easy lad, no need to lose your head about it, just a misunderstanding.¡± Jorge spoke. He put a strange emphasis in the middle of his sentence, and I puzzled over it briefly before I heard Vera snicker above me. ¡°wha-oh fuck yourself Jorge.¡± I said as I flopped back to the floor. Vera¡¯s snicker redoubled at that, and I pouted, trying to maintain my righteous anger. I looked up then to see Jorge¡¯s face, eyes wide and mouth parted with glee, eagerly waiting for a reaction. I couldn¡¯t help it, and felt a smile tug the corner of my lips. Vera seemed to take that as a signal and her barely suppressed snicker devolved into full laughter. I simply lay still, smile on my face and relief at finding them flooding through me, only enhanced by my earlier fears of abandonment. ¡°Alright, now the tension¡¯s been broken, I reckon it¡¯s time for a meal and a chat, aye?¡± Jorge said, reaching a hand down to help me up. I clasped his forearm and was heaved to my feet as if I weighed no more than a feather.
*Nathlan* Nathlan watched as Vera pulled free her sword and knew something was wrong. She wasn¡¯t one for open displays of emotion ¨C recent training excluded ¨C and he knew that she didn¡¯t draw her weapon if she didn¡¯t intend to use it. He focused on pushing his spirit into the wards he had layered into the air around them, imbuing the magical structures with his intent to swallow sound and smell. The smell was a new trick he had picked up from observing a member of one of the Fangs that had pursued them. Vera had snorted when he mentioned that he¡¯d never thought of blocking smell too, and Jorge simply remarked ¡°that¡¯s why we¡¯re out here¡±. He''d initially been dismissive of the scent blocking feature of her domain, as it required a surprising amount of adjustment to the original warding template he used and did not seem particularly useful. But when they had ambushed her Fang and slaughtered the other scout and mages in the group, he had looked to Jorge expecting a direction to follow to find the last member of the group. He was surprised to find Jorge shaking his head. His skill containing the tracking feature apparently relied heavily on scent, and since Vera was more of a pure combat build and he was virtually useless out here anyway, he was forced to admit that perhaps the lone survivor of the Crimson Lions Fang was onto something with her domain skill. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. He saw the slight ripple in the air as the large ward responded to his infusion of will and spirit, and the sound abruptly cut out from Vera and the red-robed man. He looked on curiously as Vera sheathed her sword and Jorge came striding into view, before stopping in front of the prone form of the man and looking for all the world like a small Rylar pup awaiting good belly scratch. He grinned and helped the man to his feet, and then all three turned to trudge towards him, walking together like old friends. He disabled the ward as they approached and threw a questioning glance at Vera before looking at the man between them. He was wolf-lean with visible muscle rippling underneath his ruined clothes. A tattered red robe, looking largely decorative at this point considering the many rips and tears, was worn over grimy loose trousers and a few dirty bandages that appeared to be made from strips of some sort of shirt. His chest was bare, except for the aforementioned bandages binding his ribs, and his boots were more pockmarked than the refugees that had begun to trickle into his homeland shortly before he left. What Nathlan had originally taken for long gloves covering his forearms, appeared to be the pitiful remains of threadbare socks cut haphazardly to act as arm warmers. This untamed appearance extended to his own body too, with ragged hair hanging thick and matted down to his broad shoulders, a scraggly beard peppering his lower jaw as if fighting for its life against the rigors of the wild. Nathlan only got more nervous as the man drew closer. He was almost a match with Vera for size, although where she was built like a tiger ¨C all coiled strength and graceful movement ¨C this man was more of a wolf. Tall and sleek, savage and lethal, his every movement looking jerky and erratic as if he might burst into motion at the slightest provocation. The stranger closed the final few strides between them, and he flinched as the man spoke a question; ¡°Nathlan?¡± The man¡¯s voice sounded rough from disuse, stone grinding in the depths of a chasm. The man towered over him, the shrubs and flowers littering the ground falling away into the background, small trees and even the blocky form of the tavern behind him entirely forgotten as his focus was drawn inexorably to the dark eyes hidden behind darker locks of dank hair. He was faintly aware of the stranger saying something else, and the contours of his face changing as he spoke, but all Nathlan could see was those dark eyes and the clashing forces deep within. He snapped out of it when a comforting presence blanketed him, causing him to heave in a breath he didn¡¯t realise he¡¯d been holding. He blinked a few times and looked up to find Vera and Jorge both standing between them. Vera looked on in surprise, and Jorge was shaking his head and laughing, clapping the stranger on the shoulder before pulling him into a hug. ¡°You bloody idiot Runt, it¡¯s good to see you again! ¡®forgot to turn it off¡¯ he says! How by all the gods do you forget to deactivate a skill like that!? The spirit drain must be immense.¡± Vera had moved forwards to squeeze Nathlan¡¯s arm in a reassuring gesture, but was otherwise silent, also awaiting an answer. ¡°I¡¯ve had it active for most of the last few days to be honest ¨C started at The Breach as it kept most of the smaller creatures off me. Then I kinda just got used to it I guess.¡± The Runt shrugged. ¡°what¡¯s spirit drain?¡± Vera raised a questioning eyebrow at that, while Jorge took it in stride like always and started trying to explain spirit drain to an adult, ridiculous as the situation was. Nathlan was shocked though. To have an aura skill that powerful running for days? The man¡¯s reserves must be endless. It simply wasn¡¯t possible below level 50, and there¡¯s no way he was pushing that far already after a few weeks surely? ¡°Spirit, internal energy, chi, mana, faith, ichor¡­there are as many formulations as there are cultures. The stuff that sits inside you, that you draw upon to activate your skills. Active skills drain this well of energy and the more powerful they are, the more they drain. You still with me boy?¡± Jorge had slipped into teaching mode as Nathlan watched, but seemed surprised when the man interrupted him. ¡°Yeah I¡¯m with you, and I¡¯ve got some questions of my own for you later about all that, but why are you expecting the drain to be so large? The skill doesn¡¯t seem to affect you or Vera.¡± ¡°Aye, walk and talk. I¡¯ll answer anything you want to know over some o¡¯ Jacklin¡¯s flatbread. That woman can work wonders, I tell you. Anyway, to your question; your aura sure as all hells does affect us, but we are much stronger than you, and so can simply ignore the affects or even overpower your aura with our own, as I¡¯ve just done for Nathlan¡¯s benefit.¡± As he said this, he looked over at Nathlan and gave him a friendly nod. The Runt, as he¡¯d been called, nodded himself, but then asked the question Nathlan knew he would. It was inevitably going to come out at some point, but hearing it said out loud still managed to sting regardless. ¡°Why does it affect him then? He¡¯s surely stronger than me too, right?¡±. Jorge just shook his head. ¡°No lad, I¡¯ll explain later but for now just know that a lot of your assumptions about this world are likely pretty wrong, so you¡¯re better going in with fresh eyes aright?¡± He gave Nathlan a gentle clap on the back as the two walked past him, Vera turning to follow and bringing him along with them. Jorge continued ¡°back to the point, your aura skill is more powerful than I would expect from one with your attributes, and I¡¯m amazed to hear you say you can keep it active for so long. I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s a bound skill, but I¡¯ll need to know more about it, and see what you can do myself before I can say for sure. How did you get it anyhow?¡±. ¡°Well, my Ma used to say ¡®you are what you eat¡¯.¡± The Runt grinned as he said it and Jorge looked perplexed for a brief moment before cackling with glee like an old man sharing an inappropriate joke at dinner. ¡°Aye we¡¯ll need to get some stories out of you tonight runt, you can count on that.¡± ¡°Honestly I would love nothing more, but I think I need some new clothes first, and possibly a razor if you¡¯ve got one spare.¡± The Runt replied. Nathlan could hardly recognise the man, and a handful of weeks didn¡¯t seem to be long enough for the dramatic transformation he was now witness to. Now that whatever aura he had felt from the man had vanished, he could make out the outline of the man he¡¯d met before. The lines of his face were similar, if sharper now, and while his hair had grown somewhat, it was mostly an effect of all the dirt, grime and weeks spent without a comb or mirror if he had to guess. The shock was wearing off and he felt embarrassment bubbling up in his guts, that bitter feeling filling him to bursting so quickly. He breathed deeply for a few moments, willing down the emotion and mastering himself before moving on.
¡°So anyway, I dropped the ledge on two of them and managed to collect most of their torsos before getting back onto the ridgeline ¨C kept me going for a few days. Vera, your pebble was a life-saver again! I couldn¡¯t build a fire, but I just activated it super hard and managed to sizzle very thin strips of meat on it. Took ages but it was better than raw.¡± I smiled as I talked, shovelling salted nuts into my mouth whenever one of them asked a question, which was near constantly at this point. Vera and Jorge bickered like children over what question I should answer next, and Nathlan would jump in every now and then seeking clarification as well, although his questions had more of an interview vibe than a fun catch up with friends. I¡¯d tried to summarise my whole journey in broad strokes before diving into the details but we kept getting side tracked by various inane questions and were on our second round of drinks by now with me barely having made it past Cloven Rock. I would have been feeling the buzz already if not for my enhanced endurance, and I was grateful that the average level here must have been low enough to keep the brew fairly weak. Jorge placed both of his elbows on the table as he leaned forwards, a hungry gleam in his eye. ¡°So jokes aside, I know you didn¡¯t get that monstrous aura skill from just eating a bunch of Tarkenzi¡¯s. How did you earn it?¡± ¡°Earn it? You mean like what did the flavour text say?¡± I asked, uncertain. ¡°Aye. What grand feats did you accomplish that the gods deemed you worthy of such a majestic skill?¡± I would have thought Jorge had already had a few drinks before I arrived by the way he was talking and the wild gestures he was making, if it wasn¡¯t just after midday. ¡°Ah well you know, just the regular stuff I¡¯m sure everyone gets¡­¡¯last prey the pack will ever see¡¯, ¡®final challenge of any hunter¡¯, ¡®in the shadow of titans¡¯.¡± I reeled off a few of the dramatic-sounding bits from my skill, eager to see the shock on the faces of the three veterans before me. I stared into three blank and thoroughly nonplussed faces, and my smug expression crumpled in on itself. ¡°Does everyone actually get stuff like that said about them?¡± I asked plaintively. ¡°Honestly lad¡­yeah. But bear in mind most people get their first class when they come of age after a long childhood filled with skill training and over a decade to build up accomplishments, not after only a month or so. They might get some titan equivalent ¨C most do, there are a lot of crazy things roaming around out there ¨C but it¡¯s often alongside their whole village or city, watching a battle from afar. The prey thing sounds promising though!¡± Jorge tried to let me down gently which I appreciated, but no matter what he said, it still hurt to find out I wasn¡¯t as special as the system had made me feel. ¡°Anyway, what sort of level are you sitting at now?¡± ¡°22.¡± At my reply, Nathlan swore. Jorge¡¯s gaze sharpened and a gleam entered his eye. Vera had looked up at me when I said that and then quickly across to Jorge, before trying to hide the gesture. ¡°Now that is interesting Runt. I think we might need you to start from the beginning and retell your journey properly. No interrupting till we get to the end.¡± Jorge said, his gaze piercing into me. Vera moved to redraw the privacy magic she had woven in place, and pulled away Nathlan when he looked like he was going to start throwing questions out like a gameshow host at Christmas. As I settled in to tell my tale in earnest, the food arrived. Flatbreads covered in a salty spread, similar in consistency to olives but slightly earthier, garnished with leaves and some delicately chopped tomatoes, covered in spiced meat. I was aching to use the active part of Wilderness Survival to see if I¡¯d come across any of these as yet unfamiliar plants, but the smell hit me like a charging rhino, and I dug in greedily. My pallet had been altered by weeks of plain, unsalted food and so the sudden burst of flavours nearly overwhelmed me. The intensity was staggering and from the amused look I received from Vera, I had likely zoned out in my food-induced bliss for far longer than was normal. ¡°Right then. Here¡¯s my tale¡­¡± Chapter 16- Interrogations ¡®Most betrayals never see the light of day. They begin and end inside our own mind, as expectations unfulfilled¡¯ ¨C Parcius Parelius
¡°Right, questions.¡± I had finished my story, recounting my journey from the moment I was dropped off to the moment I had arrived outside the outpost. I¡¯d gotten through another two drinks and was beginning to feel the effects of the mead, my words not yet slurred but my tongue definitely loosened considerably. Jorge had clearly noticed, as he spoke again quickly before the others could reply. ¡°And let¡¯s get some more pastries to wash some of that mead down before we start, aye?¡± I nodded along happily, pulling out the coin pouch I¡¯d looted and emptying its contents onto the thick oak table we were seated around. ¡°That¡¯s it, all my material wealth and possessions. Other than the razor I guess, I¡¯m keeping that one.¡± I gave a cheery wink to Jorge as I said it, and he just chuckled and shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to it Runt, keep that pitiful excuse for a beard out of my sight and I¡¯ll call it a fair trade. But no, keep your money, tonight¡¯s on me. I got you tangled in a mess, and I¡¯ll be getting you back out before we¡¯re square. Besides, I¡¯ve a proposition for you tomorrow and I want to make a good impression first.¡± He wandered over to the bar to speak to Jacklin about the food and some more drinks, and the others looked expectantly at me. I opened my mouth, but Vera held a hand up to forestall me. ¡°No point repeating everything a second time when he gets back, just wait a moment.¡± Her smile took any sting out of the words, and so I just sat back happily, the hearty food and warm drink filling me with a contentment I hadn¡¯t felt in months. No need to watch my back, no cold weather or driving wind to ruin my mood. Just soft lighting, lovely smells, and people to talk to. I ran a hand over my short hair and sighed again. I liked the longer look but the blood and grime that had coated my hair had matted it into a disgusting mess and I ended up cutting most of it off. I was no barber, and likely looked a little silly, but since there was a distinct lack of mirrors at this outpost, I hadn¡¯t really noticed yet. ¡°Right, me first!¡± Jorge plopped himself back in the rickety wooden chair and jumped into the conversation ¨C or lack thereof ¨C before either Vera or Nathlan could interject. ¡°Your aura skill. What¡¯s it called, what level, how can you keep it active for so long, and how does it compare to your other skills?¡± I thought for a moment about keeping some of the information to myself but if they meant me harm, there was little I could do about it now. In for a penny, in for a pound. ¡°Indomitable Prey, level 5, it seems to have a small¡­¡®spirit¡¯ drain? And what do you mean? Like thematically or in my visualisation of it?¡± My voice started rising with my uncertainty around the new term I¡¯d heard earlier, and it made me realise that after only a few days of referring to my core and mana system, the nomenclature had stuck and become almost second nature. Using new terms just felt wrong somehow at this point. ¡°That¡¯s an impressive sounding skill name, I¡¯ll give you that. ¡®Course the system has always had a slight flair for the dramatic, but you do have to earn it so who am I to argue?¡± Nathlan shook his head at Jorge¡¯s statement and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ¡°bloody farmers¡± or something, and judging by Vera¡¯s soft chuckle, I¡¯d definitely understood the gist of the words, if not their exact form. Jorge pretended not to notice and carried on, ¡°Good level too for how recent it is, but given you said you¡¯ve had it on constantly to ward off creatures around The Breach, it¡¯s not too surprising. What is surprising though is you saying it has a low drain ¨C I can see you¡¯re uncomfortable with spirit as a term by the way, what do you prefer?¡± I was thrown off by his tangent and blinked for a moment before catching up. ¡°I¡­uh...I¡¯ve been using ¡®mana¡¯. Why? I¡¯ll go with whatever term you guys use, don¡¯t let me set the tone here ¨C I¡¯ve got no idea what I¡¯m doing.¡± My frank admittance made Jorge smile. ¡°Because lad, the language we use to describe our soul is important. We¡¯ll get back to my question in a moment, but this is an important point so bear with me. I said yesterday it doesn¡¯t matter what word you use, its all the same. What I didn¡¯t mention was that there¡¯s a reason why every culture has their own way of talking about this stuff. ¡°It¡¯s because the way we interact with our inner selves, our mana system to borrow your phrase, fits with the way we visualise it. You¡¯ve clearly built a visual representation of your inner soul ¨C you wouldn¡¯t be able to compare the drain effects efficiently otherwise ¨C and this representation will stay with you. Its enduring, and very difficult to change. The representation you choose will be reflected in the language you use to talk about it, hence why you don¡¯t like using the word ¡®spirit¡¯.¡± ¡°But that makes no sense! Why can you talk about it so easily? Why do words matter? I¡¯m not even speaking my own language so I¡¯m clearly not responsible for picking out the right words anyway!¡± I tried to poke as many holes in the theory as I could. While I could get on board with the idea of my core, mana system, skills, levels, soul and whatever else would have been crazy to me only a few months ago, deterministic language was apparently a step too far. Well done brain, +1 for arbitrary stances. Jorge held up both hands placatingly. ¡°Easy easy, we¡¯ll get to that. I can talk about this for days without issue because my soul is steady as a rock. I have been playing this game for a while Runt, and my foundations are stable. You¡¯ve only just started building the representation of your soul a few days ago ¨C its unsteady, flimsy, and not very resistant to outside interference yet. The more time you spend reinforcing that representation by experiencing it, using it to guide your mana and grow your skills, the stronger your soul becomes. But right now, using a new heap of words is introducing new concepts to your soul and it¡¯s trying to alter itself to fit them. ¡°Normally its simple for people. They grow up speaking a single language, experiencing the beliefs of a single culture, and their souls are shaped by that experience. By the time they hit level 15 and earn a class, their soul is already stable, and their foundations are built. They expect to see their skills represented as their culture teaches. ¡°For example, for the river-runners of the southern deltas, skills appear as roots entwining one another and creating a great mangrove, with mana being the great rivers and streams that feed the mangrove forests. They use different words to describe the representation as well, but I won¡¯t use them because I don¡¯t want to put more strain on you than needed.¡± I nodded slowly at that, considering how my prior beliefs may have shaped my understanding of the soul, and followed it to the next issue. ¡°I don¡¯t believe in souls.¡± I was met with three blank stares again before Nathlan turned to the others and said, ¡°Well pack it in team, he¡¯s an idiot.¡± Vera nodded, adding ¡°He hid it better than most, I¡¯ll give him that.¡± Jorge didn¡¯t seem to disagree, just raising a questioning eyebrow at me. I hastened to explain in the face of the ridicule levelled at me. ¡°I mean, on my old world, we didn¡¯t believe in souls, most of us. Well, I suppose that¡¯s not true, but lots of people didn¡¯t believe in souls. I¡¯m not disputing that something is going on here and given the levels and all the other nonsense happening, not to mention the whole ¡®god-touched¡¯ thing, I¡¯m inclined to just go along with it. But if I didn¡¯t believe in souls, how were those cultural beliefs expressing themselves in my soul now? Isn¡¯t that a bit paradoxical?¡± I felt quite proud of myself, seeing their expressions turn from baffled at my stupidity to curious by the end. Nathlan cleared his throat and spoke. ¡°I can answer that ¨C it¡¯s a fairly simple question but one with a lot of background. The theories relating to the particulars of cultural expression of the soul are tied inextricably with the prevailing work on cultural transmission by Nathlan the Ancient. I gather you aren¡¯t familiar with any of that work so I¡¯ll give a brief runthrough-¡° Jorge chose that moment to jump in, leaning over the table to give Nathlan a friendly pat on the shoulder and speaking over him, ¡°I think we¡¯re getting a little off-track. Anyhow, to answer-¡° I chose to act as the deliverance of justice on behalf of Nathlan, and interrupted Jorge right back. ¡°Did he just cite himself?¡± ¡°What?¡± Jorge and Nathlan asked at the same time, sharing bemused looks with one another across the table. Vera caught on quicker and stifled a laugh, and that seemed to clue Jorge in. ¡°Ah! No, Nathlan the Ancient is one of the foremost scholars on Tsanderos. Nathlan here is simply the victim of parents putting a mite too much pressure on a young lad.¡± Nathlan shook his head at that description but didn¡¯t protest it either. Jorge clapped his hands together to get us back on track. ¡°Right! So, we can¡¯t answer your question without giving you a few years of grounded education in the history of modern Tsanderosian philosophy. Why don¡¯t you just tell us about your soul representation, and that might give us a few hints?¡± It was a sensible request and while Jorge clearly intended the first part to be a joke, the thought of learning about what philosophy an entirely new world could come up with was actually quite interesting to me. A layman¡¯s perspective at least ¨C I had no desire to trawl through dry and dusty treatises all referencing each other in a circular cascade of academic repetition. I activated Heart of the Hills and spent a few moments centring myself, falling back into the abyss of my soul before I answered his question. ¡°I see my core as a void, an empty space with no discernible edges. But I can still feel how large it is. It fills with a blue/silver liquid but I can¡¯t see where that comes from, only that it is ceaselessly bubbling up from the bottom of the void. If I try, I can zoom out the view. My core becomes a small pinprick of light, with constellations of light above representing my skills. They are linked by dim lines outlining their shape, and the shape corresponds with the skill. But it¡¯s in ways I can¡¯t describe. I can recognise Heart of the Hills as a whirling pattern of lights, but when I focus on it, I realise that none of the lights are moving. ¡°Anyway, they are all similar except my aura skill. That is enormous, orders of magnitude bigger, and I have to zoom out again to see it. It dominates the galaxy of my soul and shrouds all below it.¡± I was running out of breath by the end, talking too fast and not pausing to breath, too excited to get to the end of the description. I could tell I wasn¡¯t at the end even ¨C there was so much more to say! ¨C but a slight twinge in my chest was enough to wrench my mind back to the present from wherever it had been trying to escape to. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Jorge clapped me on the shoulder while I shivered. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. In these early days, the very act of talking about your soul is enough to shake the foundations. You¡¯ll find it strengthens things, shakes out the cracks and lets you see the fault-lines. You can then work on shoring up those weaknesses.¡± Vera nodded at that and leaned forward to interject. ¡°Also don¡¯t worry about getting pretentious. The system is at play with your soul and there tends to be a bit of leakage into the words you use. See what we mean about the way you talk being linked?¡± I did, and as I absently rubbed a palm over my breastbone in an unconscious desire to ease the ache in my chest, I allowed the ideas I¡¯d just heard flow through my mind. Jorge interrupted the reflection by pointing out the second part of the answer to the question I had already forgotten. ¡°I reckon it¡¯s a bound skill.¡± ¡°What?¡± I asked in confusion. ¡°Your aura skill, it¡¯s a bound skill.¡± At my still blank look he ploughed on, ¡°The reason it has such a low mana cost despite being inordinately powerful ¨C it¡¯s bound to your soul in a way your other skills aren¡¯t, and so is less costly to activate and keep running.¡± I sighed in response and said in a tone of defeat; ¡°Whatever man, I don¡¯t care anymore. I¡¯ve got a soul and my words are magic, skills are yesterday¡¯s news.¡± Jorge looked stunned at my apparent lack of interest, and the others seemed to find his surprise amusing.
The sunlight slowly faded from the world outside the window near us, and the tavern sunk into a brooding half-light, with the flicker of candles dancing across tables and the harsher glare of the deep crimson light emanating from above the bar completing the mood. I was kind of curious as to what was making that red light but there were too many revelations coming at me for it to even register past a mild curiosity. Food was consumed and drinks were poured and finished in quick succession as I fielded questions from all three of them. Eventually they lost their enthusiasm along with the receding sunlight, and their postures gradually relaxed more and more. Previously straight-backed Vera had slumped her shoulders forwards, planting her elbows on the table and nursing a mug of Ale. Nathlan had finished the carafe of wine and was running his finger around the edge of his glass absentmindedly, creating a delicate ringing note with each rotation. Jorge seemed to be holding up the best, but he signalled the end of the discussion by leaning back and yawning. ¡°Oh no no no, my friends! Its my turn now.¡± I grinned evilly at them all as I received a round of groans in return. They were all tired from too much food, mead, wine and spirits ¨C the drinks had gotten progressively stronger as the interrogation flowed on ¨C but none more so than me. My right eye was doing its droopy thing, trying to wink constantly in a fit of pique at being kept working long past its designated bedtime. But I was a grown man, with questions of my own, and I intended to get some answers! Jorge slumped back into his seat across from me and gave a weary nod, with a comment something along the lines of ¡°fair¡¯s fair¡±, although it was said in such a defeated tone that I wasn¡¯t 100% sure. Didn¡¯t matter anyway, I finally had my turn in the interrogator¡¯s boots so no time to waste. ¡°Right, first question: Where are we? Like in the world; what country, what continent? Do you have countries here? What political bodies exist to manage and run things? How is your society organised? Is this even your society? Or are you guys from somewhere else? And are you like high-level people, or just average? How strong is the average person?¡± my first question turned into almost a dozen as they bubbled out of my mouth in a rush. Jorge raised his hands for mercy and Vera laughed. Even Nathlan smiled and started to reply, listing off the questions as he answered them. ¡°Trading outpost 17 of the Wandering States territory. On the continent of Tsanderos, with the Unclaimed Peaks at our back, the Salazar Pirate lords at our front on the coast, the copper canyons to the east and bordered on the west by the Panyera river. ¡°Yes, we have countries on Tsanderos, although the Wandering States are defined by geographical rather than political strictures. However, the lands from the other side of the Unclaimed Peaks all the way towards the Sunset Kingdoms are filled with various countries, empires and kingdoms, although borders are more fluid this side of the mountains for some reason. ¡°There are myriad political formations on Tsanderos, and it depends on many factors. No this is not our society ¨C none of us are locals. Jorge and Vera are strong fighters but not unique and I myself am on the lower end of the spectrum in terms of levels. The strength of the average person varies tremendously and just as your previous question, there are many factors that influence it.¡± I was staring at him as he rattled off point after point and when he finished, I was no more enlightened than when I started. ¡°Okay let me try again. I have arrived in the wilderness of this world, and I¡¯m completely lost. Please explain to me what I need to know about where we are and how things work so I don¡¯t make some massive mistakes.¡± Jorge grinned and Nathlan nodded before remarking ¡°That¡¯s a far more sensible request than I was expecting from you.¡± Jorge took over before the backhanded compliment could sink in and answered me himself. ¡°So, it¡¯s a whole new world to you, and I don¡¯t know where you¡¯ve come from or how it compares but here are the bare bones: This world is shaped by periodic conflicts. The presence of the World Tree and the-¡° He cut himself off and let out his breath in a burst. ¡°You know? This is way harder than I was expecting.¡± Vera chuckled and tried herself. ¡°What Jorge means is that there¡¯s a lot of background information that you need to be aware of. Its probably best to pick it up slowly over time rather than trying to cram your head full of knowledge right now. Unless you¡¯re like Nathlan, burying your head in a scroll or book will probably just lead to more questions.¡± She tilted her head in consideration. ¡°Especially if you¡¯re like Nathlan.¡± ¡°Okay how about this, rapid fire round; I¡¯ll ask a question and you say ¡®yes¡¯, ¡®no¡¯ or ¡®it¡¯s complicated¡¯.¡± All three nodded so I began. ¡°Does everybody get a class here?¡± Nods all round. ¡°Yes¡± ¡°Wait - even kids?¡± ¡°No¡± and ¡°it¡¯s complicated¡± were said simultaneously by Nathlan and Jorge respectively. Nathlan rounded on the shorter man and seemed about to argue but I held a hand up to get their attention again. ¡°Is killing the only way to gain levels?¡± ¡°No¡± and ¡°it¡¯s complicated¡± were said at the same time again. Nathlan turned again but Jorge was quicker to speak up; ¡°Depends on the class.¡± I gestured for him to continue, so he did. ¡°Broadly, there are two types of classes offered by the system, categorised by how the class gains experience to level. The most numerous and diverse are the support classes. They can be levelled by using the skills that are granted by that specific class ¨C somebody with a fishing class will gain experience by fishing and using the class skills related to that profession. Soldiers, farmers, builders, artisans, cleaners, bureaucrats, and even some of the darker professions are usually filled by support classers.¡± ¡°The other type of class, and the one I believe you possess given your question, are the combat classes. While varied in application and effects, combat classes only gain experience by killing. Be it other people, monsters, animals and even in some cases plants, experience is only given for killing. Many cultures heavily regulate who can and can¡¯t take a combat class and they are much rarer.¡± I digested that before asking ¡°so what are the advantages of each class type?¡± Nathlan cleared his throat and began speaking, subtly nudging Jorge with his elbow to create space for his arms. I saw why as soon as he began talking and his arms started flying around with broad sweeping articulations to accompany his rather grandiose speech. ¡°Combat classes are by far the more powerful class type. They provide more attributes per level and their skills are often commensurately more powerful than those of a support class. They are also much quicker to level in most cases, as while the skills need training to be used effectively, there is no competence threshold required to increase their level, and the experience gained from killing stacks up much quicker than the long years and decades of practice required to level a support class. It is suggested by many scholars, and I happen to agree with this suggestion myself, that the skills provided by a combat class are so often more powerful because the system is utilising left over spirit or ¡®mana¡¯ from the souls of those killed and using that to create the potential for the changes seen upon levelling up or attribute allocation. Whereas support classers must make those changes directly to themselves through hard work and dedication, the system can step in for the combat classers and-¡°. A polite cough from Jorge went entirely ignored by Nathlan as he really got into the swing of it, and only a subtle elbow from Vera managed to bring him to a somewhat stilted halt. Jorge raised an eyebrow at Nathlan before taking over again. ¡°What he means to say, is that the support classes are weaker but much more common.¡± I nodded along. ¡°So most people don¡¯t take combat classes because they require constant killing and danger? I noticed that I barely received any experience from killing weaker creatures and the biggest jumps by far were seen by fighting those above my own level.¡± Jorge agreed. ¡°Yes and add to that the fact that a support class provides life-long benefits related to the profession, it¡¯s an easy choice for most.¡± ¡°But surely there are many desperate people that look for a quick way to lash out. What happens when they get combat classes and start causing trouble?¡± I rejoined. ¡°Well, that depends on where you are. But generally, most communities have competent administrators and guards that are on the look out for that kind of thing. Plus, there are plenty of opportunities for most people with support classes rather than combat ones. Add to that the fact that you need to earn a distinct class in the first place after childhood and most people end up with choices between multiple support classes only, and if a combat class presents itself, its usually the result of a single moment vs a lifetime of support skills being levelled.¡± He could see that I was a little confused by his last statement, so he amended. ¡°Classes are offered based upon what you do, Runt. Spend your early years fixing shoes and you¡¯ll be offered a cobbler class. Clean up after younger siblings and cook for the family and you¡¯ll be offered a cleaner or cook variant class. On the flipside, if you spend your entire formative years fighting and killing to survive, you¡¯ll be offered a powerful combat class. The system uses what you do as a basis for future specialisation.¡± That made sense to me, and I thought back to how I had received starting attributes based on only the tiny amount of data the system had gained of my life through my short-term memory. I supposed that compared to most people¡¯s 10-15 years of living, the month between me arriving and gaining my class would have looked like an absolute bloodbath. ¡°You said soldiers are support classers. Why not combat classers?¡± I asked. ¡°Its not a hard and fast rule, but most are support classers. Think long-term. Soldiers are not fighting most of the time. They are marching, training, digging, cooking, standing guard and helping with disaster relief and so on. There are wars every now and again between neighbouring principalities, and even a few large-scale invasions every few decades, but most political and economic disagreements don¡¯t get that far. ¡°If you have a standing army entirely comprised of combat classers with no wars to fight¡­.well, you have a low levelled army. Not to mention the incentives that gives states to start more wars to level their army. No, the standard model in Tsanderos is to have highly trained, high level support classers forming the core of the force, and then a small elite group of combat classers to act as champions, settling disagreements through small skirmishes and arenas battles. Sometimes support classers also take on this role but it varies from place to place.¡± Vera then shared her wisdom around a mouthful of honey-soaked pastry. ¡°Plus consider that combat classers die young, while a good support classer can live for decades, perhaps centuries if they get strong enough. They might have ¡®commensurately¡¯ weaker skills, but the weight of experience and wisdom is a heavy one to balance the scales.¡± She looked at Nathlan pointedly when using his word, and I couldn¡¯t be sure if she was disputing his claim or just mocking his word choice. The grin he sent her way made me suspect it was the latter and done with good nature rather than mean-spirit. Much like the topic of conversation, I soldiered on, saying ¡°Okay, that¡¯s interesting and great news and all, but that¡¯s brought up more questions than it answered.¡± Jorge looked at me before replying ¡°Nature of the world lad, each answer always brings further questions.¡± We spoke long into the night, with Jorge, Vera and Nathlan giving me a crash course on the history, geography, general knowledge and context of my new world ¨C or at least the continent on which I was currently based. Apparently, little was known about other continents. Scholars knew there were others, but Tsanderos was surrounded on all sides by large oceans, and sea-travel was not particularly reliable by any measure. There were stories brought back by high-levelled and eccentric explorers, but they were often contradictory, and by the time they trickled down from the seats of power into the awareness of the common man, they were as much myth as factual accounts. We retired separately to our rooms, mine paid for by Jorge without any chance for me to object, and he told me he would wake me in the morning. He had a proposition for me, I was reminded, and apparently I needed new clothes too. As I stripped out of my ragged apparel before hopping into the luxuriously clean bed ¨C feathered mattress and thin cotton sheets ¨C I had to admit he was right. The pile of clothes on the floor was literally unrecognisable as distinct items of clothing, and looked more like a mop made of rag-tag cloth strips. My eyes were dropping as soon as my head hit the pillow, and I drifted off with the thought that it was odd I knew so little about the three people I shared the night with, and probably far more odd for them to know so little about me in turn. In fact, it was pretty weird that none of them had even asked any basic details about me at all. Chapter 17 - Revelations Everyone has their own muse. I have read of those who love the forests, the mountains, the sky. Some stare into the stars at night and dream of what may lurk out there in the darkness. I draw inspiration from a different well. It is the depths that call to me. They beckon me in with twisted whispers and jagged voices. Songs of the deep. I have explored the empty fields of the Bone Tower¡¯s domain after the cycle is complete. I have journeyed through the many twisted passages of the Iona Chasm and traversed the deep roads beneath the Copper Canyons. I have even spent time in the root-tunnels of the World-Tree. Each experience has marked me, but none more so than the depths of the Dragon-Spine Mountains. Ancient halls lie below those colossal peaks, and I hear them calling to me in my sleep. The Great Bears slumber there, undisturbed for centuries uncounted, and for the first time in a thousand years, a human will walk those halls of power once more. - Excerpt from ¡®What comes from the deep - by Bravesh T¡¯Kala¡¯
The warm light of an early dawn woke me from my slumber, and I stretched and rolled around in the bed for a while just enjoying the feeling of comfort before my bladder protested. As I returned from the out-house I saw Nathlan standing still as a statue, eyes closed and holding out a hand, palm open to the sky beneath an apple tree. I watched for a few moments in silence before feeling as if I were intruding on some strange ritual and decided to head back inside. Vera and Jorge were seated in the tavern with a map stretched out on the table between them, conducting a conversation in hushed tones over a massive platter of food. As rugged as they had looked when they first met me, they seemed to enjoy the presence of civilisation as much as I did. I smiled as I walked over, and they returned my greeting with friendly words of their own, and a proffered seat. ¡°Morning lad. Tuck in.¡± Jorge gestured at the pile of still-steaming sausages and crusty-looking bread rolls on the table. I filled a plate casually while I replied. ¡°You said you had a proposition for me.¡± He hesitated, and then looked over at Vera meaningfully. She drew a set of 3 pebbles out of a pouch strapped to her chest, and placed them together in the centre of the table. A moment later I felt the hair on my forearms prickle slightly in response to the skill she had used. ¡°Privacy ward¡± he explained for my sake. ¡°Listen Runt, you¡¯re in a more delicate position than I think we let on last night. You¡¯re an unregistered combat classer in the Wandering States, and there ain¡¯t a populated town nearby that will abide by that. Smaller villages and outposts won¡¯t be a problem, as they won¡¯t have anyone with the required class, skills and training to reliably identify you, but the bigger towns sure as hells will sniff you out soon as you enter. It¡¯s worse for any of the nomadic groups that control the region, as you would be nothing but trouble to them. Best case scenario, they avoid you. The Tusk-born Reavers might be interested in you, but I promise you lad; you won¡¯t be interested in them.¡± Jorge left no room for doubt that he was being deadly serious. A hard line creased his forehead, and he gripped my arm hard while looking directly into my eyes. ¡°I need you to understand that you¡¯re in trouble here. It¡¯s not your fault, it ain¡¯t right, but it is what it is.¡± He relaxed the grip on my arm and leaned back, gesturing to Vera with one hand and pointing in the direction of Nathlan outside with the other. ¡°Now to my proposition; come with us. I¡¯ve spoken to Vera, and we agree this is the best chance you have. Sure, you could strike out on your own, but as I just said, there are more threats out there than you realise, and there¡¯s precious little you can do about any of them from where you are right now.¡± ¡°Why?¡± I asked simply. ¡°We can help you. I train people for a living lad, it¡¯s what I do. Vera here is also incredibly experienced, and Nathlan ¨C as much as we love to give him grief ¨C is incredibly knowledgeable. A few months with us will make up for your lacking educa-¡°. I cut him off mid-sentence. ¡°Not why should I join you. Why would you let me?¡± I was focused on Jorge now with the same intensity that he had pinned me with before, and I saw out of the corner of my eye Vera¡¯s face soften from the expressionless stone mask she seemed to wear, outside of certain moments. She reached out and laid a hand on Jorge¡¯s arm, stopping him from replying, then leaned forward herself to speak to me directly. ¡°Because we don¡¯t want you to die. Because despite what Jorge said yesterday about this world being built on cyclical conflict, it¡¯s still relatively peaceful. There¡¯s death and violence sure, but for the most part the world works as it should, and we don¡¯t want to see you get churned up and spat out by the few bad bits of this world when we can help.¡± ¡°But you don¡¯t know anything about me.¡± As soon as the thought came to me, I spoke it into being. And as soon as I¡¯d spoken the words aloud, I realised how true they were, and how ridiculous that was. ¡°We¡¯ve spent half the night talking yesterday, and none of you asked me a single question about my life. You don¡¯t know a damned thing about me!¡± Jorge gave Vera a recriminating look as I started talking, and she showed her hands and winced apologetically. ¡°You¡¯ve not asked about my life before I got here, about who I am, you haven¡¯t even asked my name! You¡¯ve just been calling me ¡®runt¡¯ and ¡®lad¡¯ and I¡¯ve been lapping it all up cus I¡¯m just so sick of being alone out there, but that¡¯s really fucking weird!¡± I hadn¡¯t realised how much my voice had risen in volume or how stressed I was becoming as I talked but suddenly, I was out of my seat and pacing side to side behind my chair, staring at both of them with wide eyes. Vera was a little taken aback by my rant judging by her body language, but Jorge was not. He sat there, still as a rock and completely calm, his eyes boring into mine. There was no apology there in that face, no surprise either, as if he had expected the cavalcade of emotions I was now expressing to come out at some point. Instead, I saw a slight creasing of his eyes that suggested compassion, or perhaps pity. That hint stole the thunder from my sails, and I deflated. Pressing my forehead to the back of my hands from where they gripped the chair before me, I asked in a quiet voice, ¡°Why haven¡¯t you asked?¡± ¡°I think you know.¡± He said softly, and I shook at the understanding within those few words. I lifted my head and gazed into the eyes of the bald man before me. ¡°Who am I?¡± My voice was barely more than a whisper, and I cringed internally at how feeble it sounded. Like a wounded animal, hoping for solace in the arms of a hunter. Jorge sighed again and closed his eyes for a few moments before speaking, clearly choosing his words carefully. ¡°You¡¯re God-Touched. Nobody knows what that means really. Just that sometimes, people show up places. Just like you, usually ill-equipped to handle whatever situation they appear in, and never with an explanation of what happened to them. Some get lucky and land in the middle of a town, some don¡¯t and die in the wilderness. You straddled that line pretty evenly, and it¡¯s to your credit that you managed to survive this far. But the point is there are a few things that all reports agree on when it comes to the God-Touched; they all at some point early on lose their memories. Sometimes its straight away upon being questioned by people, other times its only after a few bells of conversation.¡± I thought back to the haze, the distance I had felt for the last few months when thinking about my previous life. It had been easy to ignore, more pressing issues and all that, but it was still shocking I hadn¡¯t spent more time wondering what was going on. I hadn¡¯t thought about my parents since¡­my parents¡­I¡¯d had parents, I knew that. I had a biographical narrative of my life. I grew up¡­somewhere¡­and went to school. I watched TV, played sports, had friends and studied¡­things. I dated, maybe, and hadn¡¯t I been married? Probably even ended up with a dog. I¡¯d always liked dogs. I could recall my last moments, running freely down a mountain path and whooping at the top of my lungs, feeling my soul soar down the valley alongside my body. But everything else was so indistinct and murky. I knew, intimately and deep within myself that I had lived a life, but I couldn¡¯t seem to recall any of the details. The broad strokes were there but nothing to flesh out the vague feelings. My memories were like a calm pond filled with little fish swimming around. I could see the fish from above, see the evidence of the life I had lived moving about below, but if I tried to reach in and grab one, it would slip through my fingers before I could even understand its shape. Stolen story; please report. ¡°You knew. That¡¯s why you never asked my name before you left.¡± He only nodded, not taking his eyes from me. ¡°I knew. That¡¯s also why we didn¡¯t ask you anything yesterday that might make you aware of your fading memory.¡± ¡°But why? If I¡¯d known, I could¡¯ve fought it! I could have written down everything, could have preserved something of my life before!¡± Again his tone was gentle, calming. I felt his aura brush against my awareness, damping down the panic raging at the edges of my consciousness. ¡°Because it wouldn¡¯t have helped, lad. In every case, its irreversible and permanent. Let¡¯s pretend you had; you could have written down the names of your friends and family, maybe some core details or even a sketch of their face if you¡¯re quick and talented...it won¡¯t mean anything to you. Words on a page. There would be no context to them, and you¡¯d torture yourself trying to remember, running ¡®what if¡¯s over and over but getting nothing new.¡± ¡°Why didn¡¯t I realise?¡± I asked again, feeble and weak. I was trembling now, and I hung onto the back of the chair as if it was all that was holding me up. ¡°You¡¯re God-Touched, lad. Whatever god brought you here, for whatever purpose, stopped you from dwelling on it. I don¡¯t know how ¨C the magic the gods wield doesn¡¯t obey the same rules as ours. They are not governed by the system ¨C In fact if you believe some people, they created it themselves ¨C and if their power is bound by any rules at all, they are rules we don¡¯t understand. Personal accounts by God-Touched are pretty sparse and I¡¯ve never had the personal interest to track ¡®em down, but I did speak to a scholar on the subject once. He said it¡¯s likely that divine magic is at play at all times, nudging the God-Touched away from dwelling on their previous lives. Once that thin veneer of attention-warding is not enough, something is triggered which rapidly wipes the memory, and that¡¯s that.¡± I shakily took my seat again, sitting down and resting my head against the table as I considered the loss of everything I had ever known and loved. I felt guilt for spending months barely thinking of my old life, self-loathing that I was feeling sad at all about losing something I currently didn¡¯t care about. A bizarre mix of conflicting emotions that fought for primacy within me, none making me feel anything good. I knew who I was, what I liked and hated, what I would abide by and could overlook ¨C I just couldn¡¯t remember why I held any of those opinions. A palpable feeling of loss was ripping through me, and I was almost convinced that I could feel my memories being dragged away. I tried to pay attention to them, to experience each memory one last time ¨C to relive my life before it was stolen again, but it was no use. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sat there, and Jorge and Vera sat in silence with me. I couldn¡¯t say how long I sat there, but by the time I pulled myself together enough to raise my head, the sun was higher in the sky and the man I had been before was gone. ¡°What do I do?¡± I asked hopelessly, looking at the two of them for guidance, for help, for some way out of the dark maze my thoughts had become. Jorge pushed a plate of cold sausages and bread towards me. What had once been a sizzling pile of delectable meat with a heady aroma piled atop golden fluffy bread lathered in butter, was now cold and still. The desire from this morning to gorge myself with food was gone, replaced by a mechanical need for sustenance and a cold plate of disappointment. I let out a choked laugh at the poetic imagery of it but didn¡¯t have the will to explain myself at Vera¡¯s questioning glance. I ate, and Jorge talked. ¡°We want to take you with us. We¡¯re heading out West to Storm¡¯s Harbour, and the journey should give us ample opportunity to train you up, teach what you need to know. If you want to leave once you get there, that¡¯s your choice. Man called Demetrios owes us money for a job well done, and also owes us some answers for why the Crimson Lions were poking around in such force here too. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d be keen to meet you anyway, and who knows? He might give you a better offer than we could.¡± ¡°As for why we want you with us?¡± He sped up at that, as if anticipating me interrupting before he could finish, but I just sat there listlessly, munching on cold sausage. ¡°I will tell you if you want, but I¡¯d prefer not to until we¡¯ve established a level of trust. I have a good reason, and it¡¯s in your best interest too, but telling you now will probably change some things that I don¡¯t want to risk yet.¡± He seemed inclined to say more but cut himself off, simply waiting for my answer. I looked at them both for a few long breaths before responding. ¡°Yeah, sounds good. Thanks.¡± I wanted to explain myself, or rage at them about the unfairness of it all, or leave them alone and try to figure things out myself, but there was just so much I didn¡¯t know. I was in a new world, and my old one was now just as mysterious and alien too. ¡°As sad as it is to say, you three are the only people I know.¡± The weight of that truth settled on me, and I felt my shoulders shaking again, so I quickly excused myself and stumbled away towards my room.
*Vera* Vera watched the boy climb the stairs and winced as he moved out of sight. She was probably no more than a decade or two older than him, but it was hard to think of him as anything other than a boy in this moment. The imposing frame of a wild-bitten warrior had been entirely overcome by the desperate look in his eyes. ¡°That was worse than I thought¡± she said. Jorge looked at her and nodded. ¡°Aye, coulda¡¯ been a fair bit worse mind. We¡¯re lucky he had a good few weeks to come to terms with this place before he lost everything else. Most of ¡®em are killed on sight.¡± Vera looked shocked at that revelation. ¡°But why? Didn¡¯t you say most of the survivors appear in cities and towns?¡± ¡°Aye, but what do you think happens when a stranger turns up somewhere they shouldn¡¯t be, and when asked who they are and what they¡¯re doing, start having a breakdown? Lotta itchy fingers in those environments. Not to mention the fact that they have a habit of appearing in places with high mana concentrations¡­¡± Vera finished the thought for him ¡°¡­which are often owned by wealthy or powerful people who don¡¯t take kindly to strangers and are more suspicious of anyone who looks to have snuck past whatever security arrangements they¡¯ve put in place. Yeah, I can see that being a problem.¡± She considered for a few moments before asking, ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll accept?¡± ¡°Aye, he¡¯s got no other choice V. He needs help, and we¡¯re the only ones who will give it.¡± ¡°Makes us sound quite bad when you say that, Jorge.¡± ¡°Aye it does, but picking up desperate people and offering them a way out is something of a specialty for me, ain¡¯t it?¡± He smirked over at her as he said it. Rather than returning the smile though, she frowned and looked away. ¡°You know as well as I do that not everyone takes the way out when it¡¯s offered though.¡± She didn¡¯t hear his reply, lost in memories as she was. It wasn¡¯t until he gripped her shoulder with enough strength to break a table ¨C still trivial for her to resist if she wanted ¨C that she returned back to the room. ¡°You made it in the end lass, and that¡¯s all there is to it." He said, clapping her shoulder before withdrawing his hand. ¡°Now, as much as I want to pretend to the Runt that we¡¯ve got money to burn ¨C this food ain¡¯t cheap and I¡¯m not up wasting it. Help me, or get out of my way.¡± He said with a smile, before gripping a fork like a weapon. In his hands, she supposed, anything could be.
By the time I returned to the tavern below, I was calmer. I had spent longer dwelling on my past today than I had for two months, but no amount of introspection or brooding seemed to help. I almost had to give whatever god stole my memories from me credit, because you could make a pretty convincing argument that they weren¡¯t very useful in this new world. Case in point, early morning had given way to midday by the time I remembered that I had a skill that could help me work through some of the emotional turmoil. Heart of the Hills washed over me, and as it did so, my mind cleared. I analysed my options, found that they were extremely lacking, and settled on the ¡®too good to be true¡¯ option that had been dangled in front of me. After long uncounted breaths spent trying to get myself in order, and another few momentsafter deactivating the skill to ensure I wouldn¡¯t break down again immediately, I headed downstairs. My stomach lurched as I looked around and didn¡¯t see anyone, but I calmed myself and headed to the bar. Jacklin looked up at my arrival and nodded to me, gesturing to the door while she said ¡°Small fella said you¡¯d be down. They¡¯re apparently out back ¨C head half a mile directly that way and you¡¯ll bump into them.¡± I thanked her for the information and headed out the door. It felt good to break into the easy loping run again, feeling the cool breeze on my skin, and I gloried at the almost endless expanse of grassland before me. There was more of a haze in the air than when I¡¯d arrived the day before, and I couldn¡¯t make out the shapes of the hills in the distance, but I knew they were there all the same. It didn''t take long before I was cresting the mound of a rise so slight that I hadn¡¯t even seen it - only noticed the incline as I ran. In the depression below I found the three figures I was looking for. Jorge was watching the other two spar, and I was surprised to see how natural Nathlan looked with his sword out. The thin, bookish and acerbic man seemed to have fallen away ¨C at least the bookish aspect. He was still thin, but seemed to move with a litheness that I knew had to come with a core of strength behind it ¨C you didn¡¯t find weak dancers, after all ¨C and he certainly still seemed to maintain an air of sharpness behind all his movements. The tall man was advancing on Vera and sending out careful, precise strikes with his blade while she shuffled about at the edge of his range, slapping off-target any strikes that she couldn¡¯t weave away from. Jorge called out a phrase, that I missed from my position a few dozen meters out, and Nathlan instantly sped up, his probing strikes giving way to an onslaught of lunges and cuts, chained together to drive Vera back without giving her time to move sideways. When her foot passed a seemingly arbitrary point, a purple light flared and a trumpeting noise blared out, causing both fighters to stop. Vera let out a laugh and Nathlan had an easy grin of his face ¨C perhaps the most relaxed and content expression I¡¯d seen on him since I¡¯d met him. Jorge turned to look at me and waved me over, before turning back to Nathlan and presumably giving him feedback. As I wandered over, I caught the tail end of the conversation, ¡°¡­Not far off now, lad. Keep that fire banked a little longer and we¡¯ll see you burning true soon enough.¡± He turned to me with an inscrutable look on his face and asked ¡°You got an answer for me Runt? Or perhaps a few more questions first?¡± ¡°I¡¯m in.¡± I said simply, eliciting a smile, and before I could question my choice the shorter man strode over and clasped me by the wrist in a welcoming gesture. ¡°Welcome to our merry band of adventurers then, lad.¡± Chapter 18 - The Journey Begins ¡®Chase the horizon, and pray it ever changes¡¯ ¨C Traveler
¡°We¡¯ll be heading west, towards the Panyera. It¡¯s a journey I expect to take upwards of a month at least, and most of it will be spent trekking through wilderness. There are a few permanent towns on the way, and we should hit the first one in about two weeks.¡± We were gathered around a small table in Jorge¡¯s room, where he had unfurled a blank piece of waxy canvas. A few moments later, ink scrawled its way along the surface, filling in details until a map of the Wandering States was visible. I was appropriately amazed by the minor miracle I was witnessing, but I supposed the others must have been used to magic by this point as they didn¡¯t remark on it at all. ¡°No rush on this, as we can¡¯t act till the end of Sabayen anyway, so we¡¯ll take it easy.¡± Nathlan spoke, ¡°training march then?¡±, and Jorge nodded in response. He then looked over at me and smiled apologetically. ¡°I know this probably doesn¡¯t make much sense right now, Runt. We¡¯ll catch you up as we go though. For now, you and I need to grab some kit for you, aye?¡± He looked meaningfully at my tattered excuse for clothes and chuckled, ¡°That is, unless it¡¯s an intentional look? If you want to moon every old lady between here and the Panyera I won¡¯t stand in your way, lad.¡± Vera laughed at my aghast look as I whipped around to check my trousers, finding a large rip down the back from waist to mid-thigh on one side. Even Nathlan let out a chuckle, so I tried to put some of my embarrassment aside. I nodded at Jorge and agreed, saying ¡°Sounds good, let¡¯s go.¡± Then I turned on my heel, sticking my nose in the air and flapping my trousers as I went in the most dignified walk I could muster. I heard laughter follow me out the door and considered it a worthy recovery.
The weather was balmy, gentle sunlight mixing with a cool breeze to keep the sweat from accumulating as we ran through empty grasslands, occasional patches of shrubbery and stumpy trees marking the odd watering hole here and there. It was an easy jog, tuned to the slowest in our group of four, which happened to be Nathlan. I didn¡¯t begrudge the slower pace, and instead enjoyed the steady feel of movement and the presence of company and conversation as we travelled. We¡¯d been moving for three days at a steady pace, running as the sun rose in the sky before pausing for lunch. After a good meal and some light weapons-work, we would continue on our mile-eating jog into the afternoon before finding a place to set up camp. The group already had a set routine, with a rotation of roles each day, but I was integrated seamlessly into the camp work. The presence of magic made many of the unenviable tasks of camping in the wild easy. Vera¡¯s many pebbles made lighting fires trivial, even without firewood ¨C between the 4 of us we could keep dozens of the runed stones activated at a time, and Vera could make them with ease. Water was never too far from reach, with another of Vera¡¯s runed stones able to draw water from the depths of the soil. She insisted that we spread out the collections far from camp, to avoid leaving a single patch of grassland without water, but it was still far better than having to carry it with us or only camp near the irregular ponds, groves and natural springs that dotted the landscape. My companions had opened up immediately as we left the outpost. No longer worried about triggering my sudden memory loss, they were able to answer my questions without diverting my attention away with tangents. That¡¯s not to say Nathlan didn¡¯t run off on more tangents than a tree has roots, however. Still, it was nice to learn the basics of who these people I travelled with were. An eclectic group to say the least, and I couldn¡¯t decide if I had been lucky to meet them on being transported to this world, or if everyone here was just insanely interesting. Vera seemed to be some sort of failed revolutionary, who had fled her homeland and now wandered alongside Jorge, taking contracts and learning to better control her class. Nathlan seemed to be just a privileged noble who was rebelling against his parent¡¯s wishes for his future, though I suspected there was more to it based on the respect he seemed to have earned from both Vera and Jorge. Jorge himself had apparently earned a title ¨C system approved and everything ¨C and was known as ¡®The Shepard¡¯. He was vaguely famous, mostly on the other side of the mountains and amongst a certain class of people only, but to be even remotely well-known in a world without instant communication was impressive enough. They didn¡¯t have methods of instant communication over vast distances here, right? I filed the thought in the ¡®to ask¡¯ box of my memory, where I¡¯d carved out a little space just for such queries. I had precious little to share about myself of course, but they managed to tease out a few details about me in the end. They each had different techniques for doing so though. Nathlan just straight up asked me anything he wanted to know, but seemed satisfied if I didn¡¯t have an answer. Some of his questions were quite personal for somebody he barely knew, but it was a refreshing kind of bluntness, and I wasn¡¯t sure if it came from a lack of awareness of normal social etiquette or just a refusal to play by societies¡¯ rules, but either way I happily answered what I could and used the same questions to find out more about him in turn. I wasn¡¯t even sure if Vera was actually trying to pry information out of me, or whether she was just using me as a sounding board for her own history, but she would tell me stories of her former friends and comrades as we ran. The good, the bad and the downright heart-rending. I offered a sympathetic ear, and wondered idly if perhaps she was trying to radicalise me, not that she would have to try particularly hard ¨C from what little I knew about the Sunset Kingdoms, I was fully on her side. No Kings, no Gods, no Masters! Jorge seemed to have two ways to evaluate me. He used his natural charisma and friendly attitude to pull info out of everyone over meals and during downtime in the evening. I was pretty sure he had an angle, as some of his questions seemed to be leading to something, almost like a subtle interview. I wasn¡¯t smart enough to connect the seemingly random questions into a picture that fully meshed together just yet though, so I simply enjoyed the conversations he prompted. No, it was his other method of learning about me that was becoming my favourite, however surprising a discovery it was. The first evening on the road, after setting up our bedrolls, Vera was on cooking duty that day and so set about preparing the dinner with the travel pans ¨C a thin flat sheet of metal with runes engraved along its bottom, and a normal-looking sauce-pan both resting on a bed of a dozen or so small pebbles. Nathlan set about drawing out his perimeter wards, as well as a specifically designed ¡®camping configuration¡¯ as he named it ¨C ostensibly a ward surrounding the camp that kept out rain and biting insects. It would actually be a detriment in weather too harsh apparently, as snow could build up on its surface until it became too heavy and broke the ward, leading to a rude awakening in the middle of the night. I had asked how I could help, and Jorge had just grinned at me, leading me just out of the camp before turning to face me again. The expression on his face had me a little nervous as he spoke. ¡°Now Runt, you and I are gonna get to know each other, aright?¡± I stared back with apprehension before asking hesitantly ¡°what do you want to know?¡± He laughed and shook his head. ¡°Too easy lad, I need to know what you¡¯re made of before I can start your training.¡± I nodded at that, realisation dawning. ¡°Oooohh no, I get it. This is the part where you beat me up for a few bells and carefully push my buttons, seeing what gets to me and how I respond to certain things. You¡¯ll originally be disappointed by my weakness but then my determination, grit and resolve will win you over and your disdain will turn to grudging respect before you embrace me as a brother.¡± He looked surprised at my guess, then shook his head and laughed. ¡°What the fuck are you on about, Runt? No, we¡¯re gonna fight and I¡¯m gonna take your measure. If I want to know what pisses you off, I¡¯ll ask. I¡¯m not expecting anything from you, so you¡¯ll struggle to disappoint me.¡± He shrugged and then continued, ¡°the fact that you¡¯re talking to me about resolve and determination tells me you¡¯ve not got a history of fighting, despite your last few months, and you¡¯re just relying on stories.¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Well, you¡¯re not wrong there. I don¡¯t think I¡¯m much of a fighter¡­although you never know right? Perhaps I was worldclass.¡± I looked down at him with a hopeful grin and he shared a smile with me. ¡°Aye perhaps.¡± He then feinted a jab at my face and kicked my leg out from me as I jerked backwards. As I sprawled on the floor he gave me a cheeky wink, ¡°Probably not though¡±. I stared at him in disbelief before laughing and accepting his hand up. ¡°So that¡¯s how it is, hey?¡± He grinned again before pushing me gently back into place. ¡°Right, come at me when you¡¯re ready. Hands, feet, knees, elbows whatever works for you. grappling, striking, however you fancy. I just wanna see how you fare without a weapon in your hands.¡± I did as he asked, and we spent close to a bell fighting. It was incredibly off and on, with no more than a 30 breaths of actual combat at a time, but nevertheless I was exhausted, enhanced attributes be damned. He didn¡¯t seem interested in actually teaching me anything at this stage, instead stating he was just trying to establish a baseline and any hints of a future style. We moved on to weapons next and he presented me with a spear, then sword, then axe, then staff. I wasn¡¯t clear where he was getting all these weapons from in the first place but when I asked, he just said ¡°along with everything else we¡¯re carrying.¡± I slowly rolled my hand in a motion to continue but he just looked blankly at me. ¡°¡­which is?¡± I asked slowly, perhaps sounding a little patronising but I was just as confused as he was at this point. ¡°Runt ¨C what are you saying? Did you not know we have storage devices?¡± I blew out a breath in a huff. ¡°Of course I didn¡¯t know you have storage devices! How the hell does a storage device work? You just pull whatever you want out of thin air!? What even is the device?¡± Jorge just continued to stare at me in disbelief. ¡°Lad¡­where did you think we kept all the camping equipment? All the bedrolls, pans, bottles, stakes, canvas, food, seasoning, cutlery¡­did you not notice that only Vera has a small pack?¡± I blinked back at him, abruptly realising I hadn¡¯t thought about where all the stuff was being stored until this moment. ¡°Nathlan has a bag¡± I protested weakly, unsure why I was even arguing the point. Perhaps I was trying to salvage my pride, but the defeated tone in my voice seemed to cast doubts as to the effectiveness of my gambit. ¡°It¡¯s actually a satchel.¡± Nathlan cheerily called from across the camp where he was busy doing¡­magic stuff I guessed. ¡°Told you he was an idiot¡± he said to Vera, who just snorted in response. ¡°I remember how bad you were when we first met, Nathlan. Don¡¯t make me explain to Runt why we called you Escoye for the first 6 months.¡± Nathlan ducked his head in embarrassment at that, and Vera sent me a wink. Nodding my thanks to her, I turned back to Jorge. ¡°Okay, I can see how this looks bad for me. But in my defence, there¡¯s a lot of new stuff happening, and I¡¯ve not really stopped to have a moment of calm since we left Jacklin¡¯s place.¡± I held up my hands pleadingly at him, attempting to add some puppy eyes into the mix. I thought a pout would be a step too far, so I aimed for just a subtle hint of a quiver of my bottom lip to complete the image of a sad, pitiful human in need of reassurance. Alas, the cutest puppy in the world couldn¡¯t melt the ice in The Shepard¡¯s soul, as he just snorted and gestured to a necklace he wore. ¡°You¡¯re an idiot Runt, and you¡¯re far from cute enough to pull off that expression.¡± The words were said with a hint of mirth though, and I cracked a conspiratorial grin as I looked down at him while he continued his explanation. ¡°This here is a storage item ¨C mine¡¯s in the form of a sentimental item I had a high-level enchanter alter, but Vera¡¯s is just a small spatial box she brought from a trader. Has less space but was significantly cheaper too. You can place whatever you want in them, and they store it in an extra-planar space. Complete weight reduction, instant summoning, some even preserve the temperature of items you put in. Most have preservation functions built in, but they vary in power and precision so be careful storing particularly powerful items in one crafted by somebody lower levelled ¨C relatively at least, it takes significant expertise and time to craft even the worst spatial storage device.¡± ¡°Anyway, to get back on topic, we were talking about weapon choices. We¡¯ll keep running through options another time in case anything jumps out, but for now let¡¯s put the spear and shield together ¨C the combination of all the greatest warriors.¡± At this comment he swelled with fake pride, puffing his chest up and straining for every inch of height. I raised an eyebrow in response, and he shrugged. ¡°Thought that¡¯d get a laugh to be honest.¡± He muttered. We sparred with weapons ¨C spear to spear and shield to shield. Or more accurately, my spear and shield to mostly air, and his spear and shield to almost always my flesh. He was a surpassing expert with his armaments, to the point that after the first few exchanges where he had managed to keep his spear point an inch from my throat throughout the entire movement of me tripping to the floor, I trusted that he wouldn¡¯t harm me even accidentally. I gave an even poorer showing with weapons than I did without, as there was at least something instinctual about grappling and swinging fists. Not instinctual enough to make me in anyway able to stand up to somebody skilled in the area, but enough that a casual observer wouldn¡¯t see me hit myself in the face with my own fist, which is something I managed to do with the rim of my shield a few times throughout our sparring, to Jorge¡¯s great delight. By the time he called an end to the session, my limbs were heavy with fatigue, sweat was running off me in small rivers down my back and forehead, and I seemed unable to catch my breath, regardless of the rest time. I was surprised at how hard I¡¯d worked to be perfectly honest. I might not know any details about my previous life anymore, but I still had a relatively stable core identity, and that did not include being a particularly driven person. The thing is though, this was fun! Like really fun. I knew I didn¡¯t have any sort of fear of hard exercise, the way I found enjoyment in the rhythm of the day¡¯s running told me enough to know that, but discovering a love of fighting was a pleasant surprise. Jorge seemed to agree, saying ¡°Well consider me appropriately impressed with your perseverance, grit and resolve.¡± I chuffed a laugh at the call back and made my own comment in return; ¡°So, oh great and wise Shepard, what is your analysis of this little lamb?¡± While I was under no illusions of my martial prowess, I couldn¡¯t help but hope for some positive feedback. An even smaller part of me was also holding out hope that he would somehow be able to find out some secrets to my character and help me rediscover who I had been¡­from a few bells of sparring. Hhhmmm. Perhaps I was reading too much into this new magical world and needed to reset my expectations. ¡°Ha! I like that: little lamb. Better than Runt, isn¡¯t it? As to what I¡¯ve learned?¡± He cocked his head to the side, considering, before taking on a serious look as he leaned forwards. ¡°From what I¡¯ve seen I think the spear is a good weapon for you. Don¡¯t get me wrong, you¡¯re atrocious with it, and the shield too, but it¡¯s clear you favour a defensive and reactive style. Same with the unarmed fighting, you seem to hold back, testing range and hoping for your opponent to make a mistake. It¡¯s not necessarily a bad strategy, but there¡¯s some big flaws you¡¯ll need to cover up for it to work properly for you.¡± ¡°I am under no illusions about my skill with or without weapons Jorge, I know I need a hell of a lot of training.¡± ¡°Nah, you¡¯re missing my point, Lamb. Of course you need lots of training, and experience ¨C which a lot of the high-born forget ¨C but I¡¯m talking about your entire approach to fighting, and probably beyond too. Being reactive is good. It speaks to a patient mind, and letting your enemies make their own mistakes prevents you from making a bunch of unforced errors yourself. It also means you¡¯ll be less likely to start fights you can¡¯t win, and people with this approach are generally well-regarded because of that. But it does have some serious downsides that need to be addressed, mitigated or at least understood if they can¡¯t be changed.¡± He looked at me seriously when he spoke, and I got the sense this was a lesson he¡¯d be repeating to me consistently over the next several months of travelling. ¡°For one, if you¡¯re always waiting for opportunities to exploit, you¡¯re ceding the initiative to your enemies. They get to decide where, when, and how you fight. They get to strike first, to dictate the rules of engagement and you are left reacting to them. It narrows your options, makes you predictable. Being defensive can be good in certain situations, but only if you retain the ability and willingness for a pre-emptive strike. I can see already that it¡¯s something we¡¯ll have to work on but I¡¯ve dealt with people like you before, and I¡¯m confident we¡¯ll get you there.¡± He clapped me on the back towards the end, but I shrugged it off, stepping back. ¡°I¡¯m not the type¡­I don¡¯t want to be the type of person who strikes first. I don¡¯t want to go around committing pre-emptive attacks on people and creatures if I¡¯m not sure that they are my enemies, Jorge. I¡¯m not a ruthless killer.¡± Jorge just gazed back at me, a hard look in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna lecture you kid, I know from experience that it won¡¯t help. You¡¯ve got your opinions, and I¡¯ve got mine. I will say two things though. One ¨C you might not think about yourself that way, but the world will see you as a ruthless killer if you get strong enough regardless. How many creatures have you left in the mud just to reach your level? I¡¯ve no doubt they attacked first, but nobody out there will believe that, especially as you start climbing the ladder higher and higher.¡± That thought stopped me, the way it echoed with the description of my skill Indomitable Prey confirming the truth of it. He continued though, and his next point hit home like a hammer. ¡°And to my second point ¨C Its fine risking your life for the moral high ground when you¡¯ve got nothing to live for. But at some point, you¡¯re gonna be fighting for somebody else¡¯s future, and that¡¯s a different calculation. Ask Vera for her story if you want a real example of that process, and the scars it can leave.¡± He grabbed my shoulder again after he delivered that final thought and squeezed it gently. His face softened and he spoke slowly, as if willing the words to penetrate my thick skull. ¡°I¡¯m impressed with what I¡¯ve seen so far, I really am lad. I¡¯m not trying to scare you off or break you down. It¡¯s a good life if you make it one, and we¡¯ll make sure you can make the choices you want. I just want you to know that the decisions you make now about how you approach this world will have consequences.¡± I digested the words, turned them about in my mind and tried to analyse them without emotion. It didn¡¯t work of course; I was feeling far too defensive and self-conscious after the last few bells to be able to calmly discuss my naivety or idealism. Before I managed to put my foot in my mouth and say something I¡¯d regret later, Vera hollered over the camp that food was ready. Jorge pranced over to her and started pulling wooden platters from his storage necklace, and I had the suspicion he had somehow managed to time our entire conversation just right to deliver those final words before dinner. Eyes narrowed, I took my place in the circle and the evening meal was joined. Chapter 19 - Wonders of the Wandering States Be careful where you walk traveller, for danger walks beside you. There are monsters far beyond our ken that stalk the night. Leave them to those blessed by the gods, or the system, or just the mad fools that wear the skin of the enlightened races but care for nothing but battle. Let those psychopaths deal with what haunts the night, instead stay safe behind these walls with the rest of us. Let the fire warm your bones, or risk them being picked clean come the morning. Erlina¡¯s tavern has good ale and no ghosts. - Sign outside the village of Belksham, bordering the Wandering States
I woke to something tickling my face. I rolled over but the sensation didn¡¯t leave, simply transferring from one cheek to the other. New sensations whispered over the skin of my neck and forehead, around my eyes and over the bridge of my nose. My thoughts sluggishly coalesced over the next few moments into the terrifying thought that something was on my face. Many somethings. A memory of the ant swarm flared to life in my mind, and I jerked upright with a cry. Nothing fell from my face though as the sensations abruptly vanished. I raised my hands to pat myself down and found no evidence of anything amiss. I blearily spotted my bedroll a few feet to my right, and realised I must have rolled off in the night to sleep in the grasses beside it. The damp on my clothes from the morning dew was enough to confirm the theory, and I groaned as I stretched. My inadvertent cry should have woken the others, but as I looked around the camp, I saw it was empty. Everything was still in its place, but my three companions were nowhere in sight. Before I could start to think through the implications and work myself up, Vera appeared. I had no idea where she had come from, but when I looked over to a spot that I knew for sure had been empty just before, she was striding towards me. ¡°Good to see you up Lamb, follow and stay quiet.¡± I sighed at the nickname, knowing better than to fight it. It wasn¡¯t the worst, and was definitely better than being called ¡®runt¡¯ all the time, which was especially annoying when someone significantly shorter than me was the one calling me that. I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, but Vera seemed to predict the question and turned back towards me, continuing to walk backwards as she did. ¡°Jorge caught site of a migration herd, and we¡¯re going to watch it pass. It¡¯s a sight you won¡¯t soon forget but stay quiet. We¡¯ll explain when we get there but Nathlan and Jorge have a bet on what your first question will be, so I¡¯m not allowed to explain yet.¡± She smiled before turning back and picking up the pace. Only a quarter bell of running later, we crested a faint rise, coming to rest alongside the silhouettes of Nathlan and Jorge. Early morning sun bled across the horizon, staining the sky in shades of red, orange, and yellow. Streaks of white cloud interrupted the blending of colours sporadically, and gave the grasslands a mottled pattern, where the daylight amplified the green of the long grasses, and the shadow of the clouds leeched them of colour. The resulting vista was like an oil painting, with the harsh contrasts only enhancing the vibrancy of the colours on display. I barely noticed these details though despite it being one of the most beautiful views I¡¯d ever seen. What took my focus instead was the river of purple and orange feathers flowing along the plains before me, in a riotous procession of colour. Musical, lilting bird calls flowed into the sky from thousands of throats and mixed with the colours below into a synaesthetic collage. Neither of the men turned as we took our places beside them, instead staying intently focused on the winding columns of creatures in front. I heard Jorge speak softly though, and listened in fascination as I took in the sight of a lifetime. ¡°Thanks for getting him, Vera. Lamb, you¡¯re a lucky son of a bitch, I gotta say. Took months before I saw my first migration, and you¡¯re getting a premium view on day three.¡± He chuckled softly and muttered ¡°luck of the gods¡± under his breath. ¡°These plains are home to many nomadic peoples, and most of them follow the migration of the great beasts of the plains. Down there is a smaller cacophony of Jackal-Beaks. That¡¯s the collective term for them by the way, I¡¯m not just being poetic.¡± ¡°Why are they called that?¡± I asked, and he frowned over at me, pressing a finger to his lips again. ¡°Hush Lamb, quieter. If they hear you, you¡¯ll soon find out. They have one of the loudest screeches I¡¯ve ever heard, and something about their physiology allows them to amplify each other when in large enough groups. You set them off and Nathlan will be hard pressed to ward our ears before they knock us all out with their screeching.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it. But I think it sounds pretty nice from up here¡± I replied. ¡°I¡¯ll explain in a moment, just let me get to it you little runt.¡± A quick glance at his face showed none of the frustration of his words, and Vera¡¯s slight smirk told me I wasn¡¯t actually pissing anyone off. ¡°Anyway, you see those feathers? Aye, they belong to the beak part of the name. Dozens of small songbirds nest on the backs of every jackal down there. From what I hear, they only leave to lay their eggs. Each jackal has their own roost of the birds, and there¡¯s apparently no sharing ¨C once a bird chooses its jackal, it¡¯s a lifetime bond. The jackals themselves are the hunters. Omnivores apparently, but I¡¯d not trust a potato to keep one of ¡®em well fed. Not sure if your perception¡¯s high enough to see at this point but they¡¯re bloody massive! Thick as mountain aurochs, but faster and agile as a cat too.¡± It reminded me of my battles with the tall, spindly wolves of the endless valley and I shuddered to think of what facing one of those Jackals would be like. Jorge continued his explanation, no doubt knowing my thoughts. ¡°That¡¯s not all though. You might be wondering how there is enough prey to sustain the group below, and that¡¯s where the birds come in. They find the prey and direct the Jackals, who kill it and share the spoils. I¡¯m not sure how the birds find the prey given that they so rarely leave their moving nests but clearly they¡¯ve figured something out.¡± Nathlan shook his head there and spoke softly over him. ¡°The birds don¡¯t share the food, instead they eat insects and flies that swarm around the jackals and their kills. They spend the vast majority of their time grooming the jackals, and they don¡¯t actually find the prey for the Jackals themselves. Instead, they use a startlingly wide range of songs and calls to mimic other species of migratory or travelling birds, and find out where any moving animals could be from them. They act more as knowledge relays than direct sources, but as far as I know, no scholar has yet figured out whether they communicate directly with other species of flying creatures, trade information in some way, or just ¡®listen in¡¯ as it were.¡± Jorge butted back in at that. ¡°Scholars might not be writing treatises on it, but the Jancen people who follow the Jackal-Beaks are happy to share their mythology with any who spend enough time with them, and they are clear that the Beaks are thieves and not to be trusted. They even teach their young to mimic the calls of the Beaks, so that they can differentiate between a legitimate plea for help from their own people, and a fake call from one of the Beaks meant to lure them into the waiting teeth of a Jackal.¡± At my confused look he explained more. ¡°The plains can get all kinds of eery when its dark. The winds whisper things and swirl in strange ways, and it can be easy to lose your sense of direction with no waypoints to mark your location against, just the endless sea of grass. Not to mention the dips and rises, which are surprisingly difficult to spot, as you¡¯ve no doubt noticed.¡± I shook my head again. ¡°No, its not that. I just don¡¯t see why the Jackals would need to wait in ambush? Wouldn¡¯t they just kill anything outright?¡± Vera snorted and replied, ¡°No. Most people might be generally no stronger than you are now, but they¡¯ll have usually decades of experience with their skills to draw on, and every group will have at least someone somewhat capable. It¡¯s not worth the risk attacking from the front. To a jackal, a level 25 Farmer and a level 45 Spear Master look much the same, but one will be a meal and the other a death sentence.¡± ¡°Right, got it. So what is happening down there? How long does it go on for?¡± I asked, pointing at the thousands of creatures streaming past below, blanketing the plains. ¡°Well this is a seasonal migration of the Jackal-Beaks. A relatively small herd, so they¡¯ll pass within a bell or so I¡¯d guess. They¡¯re heading west to the Panyera, where they gorge themselves on the salmon-run for a month or so, and rear their litters, before heading back into the grasslands again.¡± We watched in awed silence as the great herd passed by below us, less than a mile away. My enhanced perception allowed me to catch details I would have otherwise missed, and I marvelled at the sheer size of the herd. Jackal-Beaks walked a dozen abreast in small lines, with their fellow creatures behind them. These streams wound back and forth, intermingling and breaking apart, giving the impression of a great river splitting into a hundred tributaries, before joining as one to flood across the plains once more. I couldn¡¯t make out much of the Jackals themselves, but I caught flashes of long muzzles, and overly-large ears pointed to the sky. Their torsos were covered in a chaotic main of bright feathers, purple and orange most prominent but other colours darted in and out of sight too, as the Beaks nesting on their backs shuffled about, squabbling over prime real-estate, no doubt. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. I realised I hadn¡¯t paid any mind to the ground shaking, so distracted was I by the sights and sounds. It had seemed natural to have a hundred thousand hooves shake the very earth beneath me, but now that I was aware of it, I quickly queried Nathlan, likely to be the most knowledgeable on the subject. ¡°Hey Nathlan ¨C do they have hooves?¡± He looked at me quizzically before answering. ¡°No, padded feet, with three toes and unextending claws on each toe. They have a fourth dew claw higher up on their legs and its long been speculated by ¨C I believe Marcus Signofore? ¨C that this is an evolutionary¡­¡± I tuned out the rest of his lecture as I wondered how such a soft-foot could shake the earth. Alone I wouldn¡¯t even hear a single Jackal approach through the soft grassland. Perhaps a dozen of them could approach at a trot and they¡¯d be upon me before I could react. To send such reverberation through my feet from a mile away, how many of them must be down there? How heavy were they? And how much strength did it take to carry them forwards over hundreds of miles during a migration? My awe only grew as I considered the sheer power on display from a supposedly ¡®small¡¯ group of creatures. I caught Jorge looking at me for a moment out of the corner of my eye, and I thought I could see a satisfied look on his face. Was there a lesson here he wanted to teach me? Eventually the herd passed into the distance, and I looked over to the others to see if we would be packing up soon, but they just remained silent. I opened my mouth, but Vera laid a hand on my shoulder, shook her head lightly and spoke out of the corner of her mouth. ¡°The show hasn¡¯t ended yet Lamb. Eyes front, don¡¯t move and keep your mouth shut now. See if you can learn something.¡± She didn¡¯t let go, and as we returned to staring out at the distance, I strained to see anything on the plain below us. Seeing nothing, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of vibration in the earth below. It had been fading as the herd moved away, but before I could wonder at what we were waiting for, I heard a faint noise behind me. I nearly whipped around to look, but Vera¡¯s hand tightened on my shoulder, and I remembered her words. I saw the point of a thin wooden javelin appear next to my head. It continued moving forwards slowly until an arm appeared and then a shoulder. After an agonizingly slow second of watching and waiting, I could make out a person come striding into view past me. She was tall, tanned and whip-cord thin, with dazzling feathers tied into her hair. She wore a leather skirt, sandals, and had cords of leather wrapped around her biceps. More feathers were tied to the arm bands, and a few hung off the edge of a short, thin buckler made of some sort of bone. It covered her entire forearm in a rectangular shape, albeit with a rounded edge on one side. With the javelin in her other hand, and the few extras strapped to her back, she looked like a hunter out of myth to my uncultured eye. Other figures slipped between us, not glancing our way for a moment. It was an electric feeling, having armed men and women pass so close to me without acknowledgement, and I would have flinched if not for Vera¡¯s heavy hand on my shoulder and the presence of my companions like a steady weight to either side of me. As the hunters grouped up together in front of us, facing away towards the herd that had retreated into the distance, I saw first one, and then several lift their heads. They broke into a lilting, ululating cry that echoed around the plains strangely, and before long all assembled before us were singing to the sky, a dozen throats lifted in a single call. They bounded off then, quick and nimble as they hurried down the gentle slope towards the plain below, no doubt intent on following the herd in its migration. The first to pass by us stayed in place a moment longer, tilting her head to the side so that I caught an outline of her face. She gave a quick jerk of her chin to the sky and then she was off too, bounding down the grassy hill towards the rest of her fellows. Their call seemed to have been some sort of signal, or simply good timing, as from the same place that the herd had emerged from came a new procession. Far less epic in scale but no less fascinating for it. A few hundred people, dressed similarly to the hunting party that had passed us by came running. An effortless movement for all involved. I saw a few men and women with babies strapped to their chests, bound in thin wraps, and their heads secured against the repetitive movement. I saw an older woman with grey in what little of her hair remained, hunched forwards with age ¨C and yet she too was running, seeming for all the world to be as comfortable with the movement as the younger members of the tribe. Bringing up the rear were a few powerfully built men and women with no weapons visible but long sleds trailing behind them. I couldn¡¯t see any bindings linking them to the wooden sleds, but by their movements, I could see that they were connected. These sleds were packed down tightly with canvas, straining against their contents as if an entire village had been deconstructed, disassembled and piled carefully onto wooden logs. It was an impressive sight, to see the raw physicality and self-sufficiency of an entire group of people hundreds strong. I watched in amazement as they raced of in pursuit of the herd, aiming to stay out of earshot but within sight, if I had to guess. We watched for a long time afterwards, none of us uttering a single word until the sun had finished its majestic rise and yellow light had seeped entirely across the sky. Despite all the excitement, the wonder and the new things I¡¯d seen, one moment kept springing back to the forefront of my mind. Every face I¡¯d seen of that group young or old, carrying children, weapons or sleds ¨C every single face held a smile as they ran.
We took our time packing up the camp, eating a slow breakfast and deciding to walk for a few bells rather than run. We didn¡¯t want to catch up to the herd or the people following it, after all. This gave us all more time for the general banter of travelling, with inane chit-chat to ward off the boredom and silence. I found myself next to Jorge and decided to ask further about his training philosophy. ¡°So I know you said you were still searching for a style for me. But why are you teaching me with normal weapons? You know my skills aren¡¯t designed for fighting with pre-made weapons.¡± He looked over at me, handing me a piece of chewy cured meat as he replied. ¡°I¡¯m not searching for a style for you to take on, I¡¯m searching for your style. There¡¯s a difference lad; an emergent property to it. You can train to follow the path of someone else all you like, but you¡¯ll never be as proficient as them with it. And say you do one day get to the point of parity¡­you¡¯ll have to design your own way forwards anyway, so what¡¯s the point, right? You are predisposed to fight in a certain way, and I am trying to figure out how to limit your weaknesses and make the most out of your strengths. In time, you will adapt it as it adapts to you.¡± He spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but I had no frame of reference to know if it was nonsense or not. He continued on before I could decide anyhow. ¡°But anyway, the skills thing ¨C it¡¯s an interesting point of discussion and people have their own opinions on it. My take is that you should lean into it. You¡¯ve got your skills and while they might not be optimal, they are what they are. Focus on learning all they can teach you, build them up into a coherent toolset.¡± Again, that seemed sensible on the surface, but suggested I should be using improvised weapons to train with for my skill synergy. ¡°That being said, there¡¯s no reason you shouldn¡¯t add to that toolset as you grow. Just because your Guerrilla Warfare skill contains an Improvised Weapons precursor that feeds you innate knowledge on how to use those improvised weapons doesn¡¯t mean you only have to use improvised weapons. It doesn¡¯t mean you shouldn¡¯t learn how to use normal weapons first.¡± ¡°In fact, I¡¯d argue that the skill requires you to learn the basics first. The spear is clearly a good fit for you, and I don¡¯t expect you to go into battle, when you eventually get there, with a manufactured spear. You¡¯ll be wielding something you harvested and forged yourself. But if you know how to fight with a spear, you can ignore all the general hints and tips dropped by your skill about spear-fighting and focus only on the most important bits. The bits relating not just to the type of weapon you use, but the actual specific weapon you have. When your skill teaches you how to thrust a spear-¡± He gestured wildly as we walked, miming the movements as he discussed them, ¡°it will nudge you in certain ways. If your form is terrible, the skill will be telling you how to correct that form. How to create momentum with your hips, how to spring from your back foot properly and all that good stuff. If you already know how to do all that, it will be nudging you in more specific ways. Dropping your shoulder a hair to account for the crooked haft, so that the tip will pierce where you are aiming. Using a different part of the haft to deflect a strike as the imperfections in the material make a certain section weaker than another.¡± I nodded with him at that, conceding his point. ¡°So how best do I train then?¡± ¡°Train with a spear and shield ¨C it¡¯s a solid combination and one well-suited to your defensive leaning ¨C until you¡¯ve got the basics. Weapons technique is only one part of fighting anyway, and we¡¯ll be focusing on other aspects while we travel. I¡¯ll let you know once you¡¯re ready for more but spend your time now learning from us rather than your skills. Given your combat class, they will level best while you¡¯re in danger, so use this time to shore up the weaknesses that rapid growth inherently brings with it.¡± ¡°Oh, and we need to focus on your physical situation too. Your stats have grown quickly, and you¡¯re not used to them yet. Don¡¯t worry, this is the fun bit. And I¡¯m not saying that like some sort of sadistic elder who will make you run till you throw up blood. This will genuinely be fun.¡± I looked at him with just a hint of suspicion at that. ¡°Why would you say that specifically? Now I¡¯m expecting exactly that.¡± He recoiled in shock as if I¡¯d slapped him, making wide innocent eyes as he replied. ¡°What!? I¡¯d never do anything like that! The safety of my charges is my top priority.¡± Now I was sure he was having me on, so I squinted at him and activated Indomitable Prey. He laughed and held his hands up in mock surrender. ¡°Aright you got me, enough fucking around.¡± His laugh petered out into a faint smile, and he got a wistful look in his eye as he continued, ¡°in all seriousness though, this will actually be fun. I still remember this phase of my growth and it was joyful as well ¨C you¡¯ve got a lot to look forward to. Not everyone gets the chance to enjoy their path Lamb, remember that.¡± I felt a bit thrown by the sobering tone at the end of his reply but brushed it off quickly and asked what we¡¯d actually be doing that was so fun. He winked at me then and whistled, catching Vera and Nathlan¡¯s attention from where they were a dozen paces ahead of us. As they turned round questioningly, he shouted over ¡°I¡¯m gonna take the little lamb here and get him used to his physical stats ¨C you alright taking the lead, Vera?¡± The solid woman just rolled her eyes before nodding at him and turning back to Nathlan and whatever conversation the two had been having before the interruption. Jorge then turned to me and stopped. I stopped as well out of reflex, bewildered and staring back at him expectantly. ¡°Well? What¡¯s the plan?¡± He stared back at me for a few more seconds, dragging out the silence, and just as I was shifting from my weight from one foot to the other and about to speak again, he darted forward and slapped me lightly across the face. I gaped back at him ¨C not in pain, it had been an incredibly gentle strike ¨C but more at the sheer audacity. That was fighting talk if I¡¯d ever seen it. Fighting action?...I guess it¡¯s just fighting at that point. Before I could retaliate, he leaned in and whispered ¡°tag¡± before sprinting off. I continued my impression of a fish for a few more moments until my inner child re-surfaced and I booked it after him. I was dimly aware of passing a bemused Nathlan and thoroughly unsurprised Vera, but I blasted past them in an instant and was after the retreating figure of Jorge. Before he could get too far out of sight, he turned and taunted me. I couldn¡¯t actually make out exactly what he said ¨C it was something about a sheep and my mother, but the exact details were lost to the wind. The point was obvious however, and I pushed everything out of my mind except the singular goal of catching the smug prick. Chapter 20 - The Iona Chasm Even dead gods can dream. Something ancient lies in the depths of the Iona Chasm, and its dreams leak into the world. Creeping fingers of madness slip their way out of this rent in the earth, and seep soundlessly into the surrounding desert. They infect the earth, holding back the endless tides of the grassy steppes, and surround the chasm in a halo of unreality that warps the very nature of the world in its invisible shadow. Bones rise from the dust on a whim, and horrors walk the bowels of the chasm, searching with the crooked purpose that only a sleeping mind can conjure. Do not venture deep into this place dear reader, for only madness can survive in the land of a dreaming god. - Extract of ¡®the lost mysteries of Tsanderos¡¯ ¨C transcribed by Seneschal Skeratim from the ¡®Book of the Bone Tower¡¯, an artefact from the 1st Cleansing
Jorge had explained his philosophy behind attribute training to me later over a meal, the others already being aware. Nathlan had yet to experience it since his attributes had hardly changed since travelling with the team, but Vera had, and he had watched with amusement. The problem with gaining attributes was that it expanded a person¡¯s potential, their maximum threshold. They wouldn¡¯t accidentally break a table when leaning against it despite their enhanced strength, because they weren¡¯t trying to. It was based on intention and effort, and so if a person wanted to truly understand what their enhanced attributes were capable of, they needed to push themselves. Traditional training - focused on progressively pushing harder and harder ¨C was all well and good for straight line sprints, endurance runs and calisthenics. A person could even start hefting boulders around, even particularly well-made temporary buildings if they were strong enough, but that didn¡¯t much help with the gradient of their new strength. Sure, they could gain a feel for how strong they were at their limits, but would they understand how that strength could be leveraged while moving? Did they gain a feel for how much strain it took to control a small moving weight vs a heavy static one? And how the movement vs the weight affected the intensity of the exercise? Ultimately, the answer to all the above questions was probably ¡®yes, if they trained carefully and thought it through¡¯ but those were only the most visible effects of strength and possibly endurance. There were a million ways that attributes influenced the body, and it was nearly impossible to design a training program that would isolate each attribute in all the ways that it needed training. Jorge¡¯s philosophy was to focus less on isolation and more on synergy. Don¡¯t train specific attributes ¨C instead train specific movements. The exercise wasn¡¯t supposed to move too far from the goal it was being trained for. If a person wanted to train to fight, they should practice fighting. It seemed like an alien concept to me in many ways, but in a world where levelling up increased attributes so dramatically, I supposed it didn¡¯t make sense to grind away with physical training to increase them. That thought had surprised me and gave perhaps the first decent insight into my life before I came to this world. It implied I had lived without levels or attributes, and that strength or agility must have been trained. I¡¯d queried Jorge about this, and he¡¯d confirmed that while training could help somebody make the most of their attributes, they could only do so within the limits that their attributes proscribed. My hypothetical question of ¡®who would be stronger out of two farmers with identical attributes but one worked out like a madman and one sat round at home all day¡¯ was met with confusion. Apparently, absolute strength, even in something as simple as lifting objects, still relied on skill. The lazy farmer may have an identical limit to their strength as the other farmer, but they would lack the connection to their body, the awareness of how to move and maximise their potential that the other farmer could bring. It was ¡®ultimately a useless made-up situation¡¯ as Jorge said, since the more driven farmer would be much more likely to level up anyway, enhancing their attributes and so surpassing the lazy one. The point being that attributes were important, and proscribed an absolute limit above which a person could not reach. However, it was essential to train in a way so that your body would be used to the movements you required of it, and you would understand the new limits of your body in turn. So, how to push yourself consistently as hard as possible, without falling into the trap of training only isolated movements? Either put yourself in danger or do something fun. Since putting yourself in danger to train kind of defeated the whole point of training as a preparation for danger itself, fun was the way forward. Jorge had beamed with pride when he revealed his philosophy of ¡®fun training¡¯. Children, he explained, spent their time sprinting around, constantly pushing their limits in every dimension of movement. They didn¡¯t just run, or jump, or climb in set patterns, repeating over and over until they gained experience. No, they galivanted around as fast and free as possible, pushing their bodies to their limit without conscious direction. Their goal was not self-improvement, even though that was undoubtedly the outcome. Their goal was always something more tangible. Catch the ball, chase the person, climb the tree. Which was why I spent most of the afternoon chasing the short little bugger all around the grassy plains of the Wandering States, flitting past Vera and Nathlan with whoops and cheers, skidding around shrubs and leaping over small streams in the mad pursuit of catching just a hair of the man who never ceased his taunting. By the time he called it, I had sprinted harder than ever before. I had swerved and ducked, leapt and skidded to a halt. I¡¯d made mad dives after my prey, and pushed my agility, strength, cognition, and perception to their absolute limits, without even mentioning the endurance. Whenever I was starting to lose enthusiasm, he would slow his place, dodge a hair slower and give me just a bit of hope. He even allowed me to catch him on occasion, and our roles would be reversed for a time. I was mildly surprised to find myself pushing my limits for a game, but Jorge was just insufferably smug when I gasped the thought out between heaving breaths as we finished. ¡°Joy is just as potent a force as hatred Lamb, and one that is rarely harnessed.¡± I had to admit, I couldn¡¯t argue with the results of his childish training; A skill has increased in level. Cloven-Hooved ¨C Level 6 A skill has increased in level. Hillfolk ¨C level 6
The days passed in a blur of travelling, childish games, banter, food, beautiful sights and weapons-work. I felt like a sponge, soaking up knowledge and information until it was dripping out of my ears. Come the morning though, I would find sleep to have wrung me out and I¡¯d be once again eager for more. My skills stayed relatively stable, without much movement other than that first day of joyful training with Jorge, and the lack of any experience other than the occasional small animal I hunted kept my level static too. But my competence was growing by the day. The guidance I was receiving, either actively from Jorge, or passively in the form of Vera¡¯s stories or Nathlan¡¯s lectures, was having a profound effect. I started to feel more grounded in this new world, as I learned a million minor things that I¡¯d never have thought to ask about but was infinitely glad I had been shown nonetheless. The idyllic peace of our journey received its first chip mid-way through our second week of travel. Jorge raised his head and sniffed the air as we moved, prompting a childish joke from Nathlan that still managed to raise a snort from both myself and Vera. Jorge didn¡¯t respond with his usual levity though, and his lack of reaction was enough to tell us that something was wrong. His next words only confirmed it. ¡°Death ahead. People. Burnt.¡± We picked up our pace, weapons appearing in hands from storage devices. Jorge handed me a spear and shield wordlessly and I hefted them as we ran. Vera raised a questioning eyebrow at Jorge and pointed her sword out wide, but he just shook his head. ¡°No, we¡¯ll stay together this time. I smell¡­something. Reminds me of Gardemne.¡± Something significant passed between them at that, and I felt just a hint of an aura leaking from Vera before it was withdrawn so fast I thought I might have imagined it. Within a tenth of a bell, we came across the remains. Smoke was still curling from the thick central planks of a large rickshaw, which was only recognisable as such by the two wheels, broken apart in several pieces and blasted away from the rest of the wooden contraption. Three corpses were sprawled on the floor, burnt beyond recognition. I felt my stomach churning, my spit thick and sour in my mouth. I swallowed thickly and moved to step closer, but Jorge held his spear out, blocking my way with the haft. I watched as he crept forwards, eyes skimming the ground as he moved his head from side to side like a curious bird. Nathlan nudged me, pointing behind myself and gesturing to the empty plains around us. He pointed at his eyes, and then back at the plains again and I nodded, rotating to face behind us and scanning the grasslands. I knew the trick of being on watch now, and let my gaze wander over the view, not stopping to get caught. I moved my head, seeking movement or disruption in the natural balance of colours and shadows that danced through the high grasses. I could feel Nathlan doing the same behind me, and together we covered most of our surroundings. It wasn¡¯t a perfect net, but it wasn¡¯t meant to be. There would be holes in every sentry setup, and the goal was to reduce the likelihood of a successful ambush, not eliminate it entirely Jorge was still investigating, and Vera seemed to be standing still as a rock, keeping herself tightly controlled, all natural movement suppressed. ¡°We know what this is Jorge.¡± It was said through gritted teeth, as if to open her mouth even slightly would lead to her screaming at the heavens. There was no reply for nearly a tenth of a bell as Jorge continued to pace around the scene, eyes never leaving the floor. He spent a few moments examining each of the bodies, and then called over Nathlan for his opinion on the final corpse. They spoke in hushed tones, and then the shorter man clapped his hands and spoke for the first time. ¡°Aright, gather round. This was recent, no more than a day. Vera you were right, it¡¯s definitely the same as Gardemne. I don¡¯t understand why they¡¯re still looking but its irrelevant now. They¡¯re here and we¡¯ll deal with them.¡± She just nodded through gritted teeth, and while I didn¡¯t want to interrupt, I was still lost as to what was happening. ¡°What¡¯s going on? Who did this? Was it bandits or something?¡± I asked, hoping for a simple answer but knowing it was likely in vain. ¡°No lad, this was not the work of bandits. To make a very long story short, Vera here is very much not a fan of the ruling family of the Western Marchlands in the Sunset Kingdoms, and they like her even less. There¡¯s a specific mercenary company they¡¯ve used before dedicated to dealing with high-level threats to their rule, and for some reason they are still keeping her in that category despite her being as far from the entire Sunset Kingdoms as physically possible for a good few years now. There¡¯s a chance that¡¯s partly my fault to be fair, but either way it doesn¡¯t matter. They are here now.¡± ¡°Are they the same group of red-cloaks that attacked you back in the mountains?¡± I asked. He nodded, ¡°The very same. And before you ask, no, we don¡¯t know why they¡¯re coming after us right now.¡± He pulled out his canvas map again and poured over it, him and Vera both bouncing ideas off of each other as to where our new enemy could be. After a few more moments of discussion, the map was rolled back up and deposited in his necklace, and we were moving on again, weapons still in hand. ¡°We¡¯re heading to the Iona Chasm ¨C small crack in the earth from some calamity in a previous era. Running water, protection from the elements and the most likely place for them to be camping out. This is gonna be above either of you two for the time being, so we¡¯ll be ditching you on the plains above the gorge, while me and Vera descend in and sort this out.¡± I didn¡¯t bother to ask them how they were so certain whoever they were looking for were at this particular chasm. I could see Jorge sniff the air every few miles, and I simply had to trust that they knew what they were doing. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
We drew to a halt as a shape started to appear on the horizon. Vera instantly dumped her armour out of her storage device and began buckling it on, while Jorge turned to Nathlan and I. ¡°Right lads, we¡¯ll be gone for most likely a day or two ¨C possibly up to a week if they¡¯re slippery and run before we get to ¡®em. As long as you¡¯re within half a day¡¯s travel of that crack¡± He pointed at the shape that had yet to fully resolve itself to my view on the horizon, ¡°then we¡¯ll find you. If one of us hasn¡¯t picked you up within 10 days ¨C get to the Panyera.¡± Nathlan nodded, clearly having some confidence in crossing an entire country on foot that I didn¡¯t exactly share. ¡°Keep each other alive, and feel free to explore, but DO NOT go down into the chasm itself. The area around the Iona Chasm is apparently relatively safe, and you shouldn¡¯t run into anything above 1st tier by my best guess. That being said; Nathlan ¨C I want you to put up one of your wards around the edge of the chasm, as large as you can make it, and if anything, And I mean ANYTHING, breaks it, I want you both to book it as far away as possible. If its me or Vera, we¡¯ll catch you before you¡¯ve gone a mile or two, and if it¡¯s not, you don¡¯t want to be waiting around to find out what exactly it is, aright?¡± I was starting to get nervous now with the orders flying around and the threat of death rearing its ugly head again after a week or two of stress-free living. Nathlan seemed resolute though, and Jorge only continued talking, leaving no time for my nerves to grow. ¡°That¡¯s worst case. More likely, we¡¯ll be gone for a day or two. In the meantime, I want you both training. There¡¯s a tingle in the air that feels a little off, so keep your wits about you. Nathlan - keep that sword out, I want you to use as little of your magic as possible. If either of you are in danger of death then go wild, but a little light maiming never hurt anyone right?¡± He laughed at his own joke, and Nathlan cracked a smile in turn. ¡°So use it sparingly. And Lamb ¨C keep the spear and shield out, with any luck fighting in danger again will give you a new weapon skill related to them to round out your repertoire. Whatever you do though, do not accept a merger, keep it separate for now okay.¡± I was bewildered by the words, and spoke quickly, worried he¡¯d cut me off if I wasn¡¯t able to puncture his barrage of instructions. ¡°What are we going to be fighting!?¡± Nathlan smiled grimly as he answered, ¡°There¡¯s always something.¡± The cryptic answer didn¡¯t really help but Jorge had paused only long enough to nod in agreement with the tall, lanky scholar before speaking again. Vera had nearly finished buckling on the plated portions of her upper armour, and was working on the plates protecting her hips, shins and upper legs. ¡°Nathlan has plenty in his storage item, so you¡¯ll be fine for living. Remember; work on your skills, and do NOT go down into that gorge.¡± With that said, he clapped us both on the shoulder, gave us a measuring look and then pulled out his own armour. Within 30 breaths he was checking over Vera¡¯s gear while she was doing the same to him. They looked now like they had when I first met them ¨C dressed for war, and imposing in a way I hadn¡¯t even slightly appreciated at the time. A final nod at each other, then us, and the two left towards the shape on the horizon. It did not take long for them to join the haze and be lost from view.
I turned to Nathlan with what was likely a nonplussed expression on my face. He just shrugged in response and started trudging towards the smudge on the horizon. I followed and we walked in silence for a few moments before I opened my mouth to break the ice. He beat me to it. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I blinked and responded, ¡°But I¡¯ve not asked you anything yet.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the answer to any bloody question you could ask right now!¡± I could hear the anger in his tone, bubbling away under the surface. I also knew it wasn¡¯t directed at me though and was instead caused by the simmering uncertainty were both feeling after Jorge and Vera had run off. ¡°I thought you were the one who knew everything?¡± I asked innocently. He whipped around to face me, staring for a few moments with an inscrutable expression on his face. The tension broke as he huffed a laugh, although it sounded far too strained to be natural. ¡°Alright, sorry. I genuinely don¡¯t know though. They¡¯ve given me challenges before, but this is the first time they¡¯ve both run off like that since I met them. And don¡¯t ask about the Crimson Lions, I don¡¯t know anything about that, and I¡¯m not interested in speculating. They might just be the remnants of one of the Talons we sent scattering back at the foot of the Unclaimed Peaks after bumping into you.¡± That sounded a lot like speculation to my ear, but I thought better than commenting on it. ¡°After abandoning me, you mean?¡± I asked instead, deciding to antagonise the man from an entirely different angle. Rather than rise to my bait though, he just looked back at me calmly, replying ¡°Yes exactly.¡± I blinked, surprised at the answer before he crooked his lips in a grin. I sighed, conceding the point. ¡°So¡­what do we do? Just walk over?¡± I asked. As much as I had learned in the last week and a half, 10 days was still only 10 days. I didn¡¯t want to return to the reactive, unthinking animal the endless valley had made me into, but I could feel the instincts creeping back in all the same. ¡°Yes. We¡¯ll approach slowly, get a lay of the land and set up a safe spot to camp. We can scout out the area from there and decide more once we know what we¡¯re dealing with.¡± I agreed, glad to have some direction, and focused on the warm sensation of the mid-morning sun bathing my face as we walked on. It was an awkward few miles of walking punctuated by brief respites of stilted conversation. Nathlan was not keen on idle chat at the best of times, but at least often seemed willing to talk about something, and would ask questions of me regularly in our travels. This situation was clearly wearing at him, and he seemed more closed-off than usual. As time passed though, the brief moments of conversation disappeared entirely, and we were left with a strange silence. No, not silence exactly. An absence of spoken words surely, but something was there above the sounds of our boots on the cracked ground, increasingly free of grass, as we approached the sight before us. A strange whispering, like the wind given voice at the edge of our hearing. Before us the ground rose unevenly towards the sky. The grasslands ended, an invisible line demarcating where the territory of the great green sea ended and the barren dirt began. It was a subtle shift when we looked around us, with endless grass slowly giving way to the odd clump and tuft before falling away entirely within several dozen meters. And yet as we stood at the end of the grass and looked away to either side, the nuance was lost, and we saw only a single line where grass met dirt. Miles of grassland stretched as far as the eye could see behind us, gradual rolling slopes and wind-whipped long grasses, and before us was a desert of red-brown dirt. Only a few hundred meters into this desert rose towers of stone. Great spires, some as tall as twenty meters, jutted out of the ground. Some were slim as a tree at the base, leaning precariously with strange bulges and protrusions giving them a wonky and unsightly appearance. Others were so thick that not even ten men could link their arms around their bases, and they rose towards the sky with pride. They formed a forest of stone around the base of the rise, and behind them was a small ridgeline. It was uneven and rather than the jagged edges and straight lines to be expected from stone formations, the ridge appeared soft and curved. We looked at each other again before heading into the forest of stone pillars, heading up towards the ridge. As we walked, the whispering wind became a murmur, and then a faint humming. By the time we reached the ridge, that sound was clearly audible, and felt as if the wind itself was howling at us with fury. A low, keening cry that undulated and withdrew at a whim, but never quite stopped. The stone pillars around us began to show signs of damage. Not the wear of long aeons of wind and sand erosion, or the constant fury of water, but rapid damage that only people could manage. Chips of stone, taller than me and twice as wide, were cluttered around the base of one particularly large pillar. A dozen meters over there was a hole blasted in the centre of another. Evidence of felled pillars littered the ground along the bottom of the earthen rise, with large boulders broken off after hitting the dirt. It looked as if two stone giants had fought a frantic battle, using the environment as weapon and armour both. The wind weaving in and around the forest of stone must be what was producing the eery sound, but I was amazed it could have such a profound effect even so. As we ascended the earthen ridge however, I saw the true cause. We stood on the crest of a bank of dirt, rocks, and roots over a dozen meters above the grasslands behind us, with some of the larger pillars of stone standing tall at our backs, peeking over the earth embankment to catch the wind. I had erroneously compared the stone forest behind to a battlefield, but I saw now how wrong that was. It was less a battlefield than a light skirmish in comparison to the massacre that lay before us. Stone pillars dotted the plateaux below by the thousands, trees crowding their bases and some adventurous ones crawling around their torsos, seeking to bring the giants down. Rather than thick vegetation covering the ground between the sandstone columns, there was just arid red dirt, packed hard and cracked in honeycomb patterns. Some of the columns were toppled, some stood firm, but most bore signs of destruction. The wind howled around us, and we descended in unison to the forest in front of us, seeking to hide from the wind and its terrible moaning. The moment we hit the floor and left the ridgeline, that horrible noise cut out. There was a gentle background whisper again, but nothing like the harsh sound we had endured above. I let out a sigh of relief, and I could see Nathlan relax similarly. ¡°So where do we setup?¡± I asked, eyeing the tall rocky pillars ascending to the sky. Some of them seemed near tall enough to be considered buttes, but most were far too thin, and rose abruptly from the flat ground without any significant mound surrounding them. Nathlan replied, his tone weary, as if resigned to a half bell of exhausting labour. ¡°We¡¯ll head to the edge. I need to set a perimeter ward up along the crack, and we can pace out our domain from there. Once I¡¯ve set the ward, we¡¯ll search for a good spot. Can you climb?¡± I grinned and said ¡°Aye, better than you I¡¯d wager.¡± He snorted, but his reply was half-hearted. ¡°It¡¯s cheating with your attributes. 5 per level for a first class ¨C fucking ridiculous.¡± ¡°You know, that might be the first time I¡¯ve heard you swear.¡± I remarked and was met with a head shake. ¡°Let¡¯s go¡± he said simply as we headed towards the edge of the plateaux.
We moved right to the edge of the plateau ¨C it must have been half a mile between the edge and the ridge of packed earth and screaming wind we had crossed earlier, and the ¡®crack¡¯ as Jorge had called it was no less epic in scale. It was a chasm, yawning nearly a hundred meters wide, and it plunged into darkness. I couldn¡¯t make out the bottom, and Nathlan said it was likely hundreds or even thousands of meters deep. I couldn¡¯t see any evidence of Jorge and Vera¡¯s descent, but with their attributes they probably could have survived a fall of a few hundred meters without worry anyway, let alone their skills. That was a complete guess, I just didn¡¯t have the data, but it felt true to what I¡¯d experienced of this world so far. We skirted the chasm for a couple of miles, and then looped back round to the ridgeline before returning to where we had stepped onto the plateau to begin with. Nathlan had laid his ward down, although the exact mechanics of it were far beyond me. He would pause every hundred or so meters and shift the dirt below himself, muttering and gesturing strangely, but I never saw him actually carve anything into permanence. I trusted him on this though ¨C even Jorge seemed to defer to the scholar when it came to wards. We eventually settled on camping atop one of the smaller and thicker columns. The top was higher on one side, providing a bluff of thick rock to protect us form the ever present wind, and while on the smaller side of its brothers, the pillar was still at least 10 meters tall. Nathlan carved some more permanent wards into the soft stone (relatively ¨C it was still stone after all) using a chisel and hammer, and I set about making our temporary camp from the supplies in his spatial ring. Namely, a couple of bedrolls, some dried wood for a fire, and a couple of pans. I made sure to keep anything light well secured so it wouldn¡¯t blow off, and didn¡¯t retrieve any of our food yet, since I didn¡¯t want to encourage scavengers. ¡°I think we should head out soon.¡± I said into the silence as Nathlan worked. He looked up at me with an annoyed scowl on his face. ¡°I¡¯m a little busy at the moment¡± he bit out, tone acerbic. ¡°Sorry, I know. I just don¡¯t like the waiting, its freaking me out a bit. Feel like I should be moving you know?¡± I said, forcefully stilling the hand that was drumming against my thigh. He looked up at me again, meeting my gaze for the first time and I saw him relax his shoulders and let out a sigh. ¡°I understand. Its easy to forget you lived in the wilderness for months. I suppose its hard to kick those instincts, yes?¡± He hesitated. ¡°What¡¯s your- what should I call you by the way?¡± The question caught me off guard, and the phrasing made it clear he was choosing his words carefully. He had returned to carving the rock, but I could see his focus was on me and my reaction. I chuffed a laugh, however forced it was. ¡°I guess Lamb? That¡¯s what Jorge and Vera use anyway. Unless you wanna go with ¡®lad¡¯ instead?¡± I let out a long breath and continued, ¡°Honestly Nathlan, Lamb is a bit of a shit name really. But one is as good as any other ¨C I don¡¯t know my own name, and choosing one feels too¡­significant maybe? Like I¡¯ll be deciding more about who I am or want to be rather than just the name. I don¡¯t know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud but¡­¡± I trailed off. Nathlan didn¡¯t say anything, giving me time to let my thoughts out without interruption. For somebody who seemed to care little for social mores, he was surprisingly sensitive to them when he wanted to be. ¡°It still seems mental to me, and I try not to think about it too much ¡®cus I just end up going down this rabbit whole of questioning everything I know. I don¡¯t know who I am sometimes, and I just feel so lost¡­but then other times I have the absolute conviction that it¡¯s not this.¡± I gestured around vaguely at the battlefield of columnar rocks and the yawning chasm that cut through it. ¡°I wasn¡¯t a soldier. I don¡¯t know what soldiers looked like on my world, but I know I wasn¡¯t one of them. I have no memory at all of what life was like, but I¡¯m just struck with this feeling sometimes that everything is so surreal. Like the magic and the levels and the fucking spears! It¡¯s not who I was!¡± My voice echoed off the irregularly shaped stone spires before being snatched away by the low droning of the wind. I felt Nathlan grab my shoulder and roughly shake me round to look at him as he spoke. ¡°Did you like who you were?¡± I hesitated at that, his words halting my pacing as much as his hand. ¡°I¡­Yeah I did¡­I do. I just¡­¡± I trailed off. ¡°Were you fulfilled? Were you satisfied with everything you had, or were you searching for something more?¡± No hesitation. That was something I could answer with confidence. ¡°No. I wanted more.¡± Nathlan nodded at that, hearing the stone-certain conviction in my tone. ¡°Jorge doesn¡¯t make soldiers Lamb, that¡¯s not why I¡¯m here, and that¡¯s not why Vera¡¯s here either. I won¡¯t give you my life¡¯s story yet but suffice it to say I stood to inherit a position of acclaim and I left it behind because I wanted the freedom that personal power can bring. The Shepard doesn¡¯t train soldiers, despite what you might think, and this world works in ways you don¡¯t yet understand. Just because you weren¡¯t a soldier, and just because you¡¯d never held a weapon ¨C it doesn¡¯t mean that¡¯s not who you will be. Who you can be now.¡± He moved to stand next to me and we both looked out at the view, accompanied by the mournful call of the wind. ¡°Each of us has experienced our lives being constrained by forces beyond our control. Each of us is searching for the power to make our own choices. Who cares who you were? There isn¡¯t a person on this whole continent who knows who that was. Take the good, leave the bad. You said you were missing something? So go out and find it. I can guarantee that whatever it is you¡¯re looking for, it¡¯ll be easier to find if you have control over your own destiny ¨C and on Tsanderos, that means you need power.¡± Chapter 21 - The Iona Chasm 2 We looked out over the forest of rock spires for what felt like hours. In a testament to how awkward silence can be with somebody you don¡¯t know well, it had in actuality been less than a quarter of a bell before we both agreed to head out. Our temporary camp was secured and warded, we left a rope hanging from the top in case we needed to quickly scale it, and then we were down on the red dirt surface once again. ¡°Right. Before we go exploring together, we need to know what each other is capable of. I¡¯ve seen bits of your training, but all I can gather from that is that you¡¯re not a match for Jorge ¨C not surprising. I want to know what you can do in comparison to me, so I know if I need to step in if we get in trouble.¡± Nathlan¡¯s tone was even, if a little clipped, and while I knew his explanation was for my benefit, it was a little tiring to hear him go on about his reasoning as if I was a naive baby who would take offence at everything. I may have had no narrative memories, but I still had half a brain in my head and could understand the need for a friendly spar before we went looking for danger. On second thought though, our much more experienced and powerful teacher had just warned us about the life-threatening danger of the chasm, and we were still both determined to go poking around the top of it rather than safely train together from a distance. Perhaps I could forgive the caution this once. ¡°Yeah no problem, I get it. How do you want to handle this? Presumably full stats and stuff? I¡¯m not yet able to lower my attributes with any degree of accuracy¡± I said. He gave me a measuring look. ¡°No need to hold back. But we¡¯ll start slow and use training weapons. Here.¡± He withdrew a training spear and shield from his storage device, throwing the wooden weapons over to me. I placed my new weapons against the pillar and started some pre-fight stretching. Nathlan did likewise, before drawing his own wooden practice blade. I hefted the shield and spear, trying to get used to their altered weight and reach and coverage. Nathlan gave his wooden sword some practice swings and paced around a few times as he did so. We faced each other from a few feet away, and I felt a subtle shift in the way we related to each other. I was aware that I had supplanted him as the newest member of the group, although he was still the youngest by my guess. I had quickly overtaken him in terms of physical attributes however, and while I knew he had far more skill and experience with his weapon than I did, I was keen to see how that could measure up against raw physicality. I was trying to keep my excitement from showing though, as I didn¡¯t want this to turn into some peacocking contest to see who was better. I knew my place, bottom of the rung, and I was happy to stay there for a while, soaking up experience and knowledge from those who had both to spare. I was a little concerned that he would take this personally, given his prickly nature and possible background. I hadn¡¯t seen much evidence of entitlement yet, and given he¡¯d apparently opted to forfeit whatever inheritance was his to claim in order to slum it with Jorge and Vera, I would assume he had a solid head on his shoulders, but you never knew, especially with young guys. If this became a competition where he felt he had to prove himself and put me in my place, it¡¯d sour our relationship from the start. That seemed harsh as I barely knew the guy, but I knew what I had been like in my early years, and I knew I wouldn¡¯t take a blow to my pride as easily as I would now. I quickly shook the thoughts from my head as I strayed far too close to my recently lost memories, and refocused on the man in front of me. A man I would not think to describe as lanky anymore. His long limbs now seemed to promise a reach I couldn¡¯t match, and his usual closed-in, almost surly posture had filled out. He stood straight, shoulders squared and chin high and I realised that while I¡¯d always thought of him as tall, I only now felt smaller than him. I rolled my neck, clanging my spear haft against my shield in a signal that I¡¯d unconsciously adopted to show my readiness, and settled into position. ¡°Stay away from the eyes, and pull your strikes before you make contact, please. I don¡¯t want a broken leg from an over-eager sweep.¡± The tone was commanding, imperious even, and I caught myself nodding my head in acknowledgement before I¡¯d really registered his words. Despite the ¡®please¡¯ at end, it was clearly a demand not a request. It hit me then that the overbearing parents Jorge had mentioned, and the ¡®position of acclaim¡¯ Nathlan himself had spoken of moments before, was probably a tactful way of saying that this man was likely heir to a large principality or even throne. Given the feudal-seeming nature of this world so far ¨C judging by the names at least ¨C it was entirely possible that he¡¯d been groomed since birth to lead armies and command cities. Who I¡¯d originally thought to have been a gangly scholar was more likely to be an ex-prince of some far off kingdom. He seemed a little too competent for that to be honest, but that was my own biases speaking and told me more about monarchies from my old world than this one. Before I could continue my thoughts, he stepped forward to meet me. He moved with small, fast steps. I tried to keep in mind Jorge¡¯s lessons ¨C to watch the hips, shoulders and legs of a swordsman primarily, with your shield raised ¨C but a rapid shuffle from Nathlan obscured my reading of his movements, and a wooden point was glancing off the side of my leading calf before I could adjust. I hopped back and nodded to concede the strike before closing in with my own offense. I knew he was far more skilled and experienced than me, so I tried to use my physicality to shut down his options. I had a longer reach thanks to my spear and could afford to bear some of his strikes with my shield while pining him in, or so I thought. I jabbed out with a few probing strikes at his guard, alternating the angle of each strike and hoping to keep his focus on my spear point as I hemmed him in. He deflected the first few before stepping forwards into a parry, driving my spear out of alignment and lunging inside my reach. I tried to use my shield to bash him backwards but was forced to raise it instead to intercept a high slash towards my head. As soon my shield rose into position I felt a point dig into my ribs, and huffed out a laugh at the move. Jorge had warned me about obscuring my vision with the shield a dozen times already, but the reflex to protect my head still had me overcompensating. We reset again, and I stayed defensive this time, spear set against the rim of my shield and my centre of balance lowered, ready to move. Nathlan paced back and forth a few times, seemingly open and unbothered. I noticed that he was just outside of my range though, and while his sword was pointed at the floor, its tip stayed between us, no matter which direction his body faced. I moved with him, keeping my shield between us and the spear level at shoulder height. A few more pacing steps and then his sword flicked out at me. My enhanced perception and cognition allowed me to just about track the point as it clacked against the centre of my shield, and I tried to settle back into my stance. More probing strikes followed, all centred on the middle of my shield, clearly trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Each flick of his wrist caused me to flinch, spend effort to hyperfocus on the trajectory of his sword and brace my shield in preparation. I knew that this was an effort to exhaust my reactions, and as soon as I started to ignore some of the jabs a few would fly out aimed not at my shield, but my head or feet or hands. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. It was a common tactic for dealing with defensive shield-bearers according to Jorge, and unfortunately it was common because it was so effective. Or it would have been against another opponent. Despite our similar levels, I had a rare combat class to Nathlan¡¯s support class, and I received 5 times the attributes per level that he did. I only slightly edged him out in agility and cognition ¨C more so the former ¨C but I had a much larger endurance attribute and so while he could load up my central nervous system with anticipation of each strike, I would tire slower than he would. He came to the same conclusion after a few more teasing strikes, and suddenly he lunged. Unfortunately for him, it wasn¡¯t just my endurance attribute that outranked his. My enhanced perception allowed me to notice the moment he placed more weight onto his back leg, and by the time he was launching off of it, I was aware of the danger and already reacting. His form was perfect as his leading leg floated only a whisper off the floor before planting down hard to take the weight of his thrust. As his arm extended and his sword sped towards my neck, just above the protective domain of my shield. I had no doubt that I would be done for if I only had the perception and cognition to give me early warning. A heartbeat of time might help a prepared swordsman, but I was inexperienced and the weapons I held still felt like clunky bits of wood to me rather than extensions of my limbs. However, I had an advantage in every single attribute, including strength. I didn¡¯t need to brace perfectly to absorb the blow, as I could shrug it off with ease. I didn¡¯t need to have the optimum angle of deflection, or solid footing to disperse the force of the blow through my legs and into the ground. I took the thrust on the top of my shield as I leaned back at the waist but rather than being knocked off my feet, I managed to keep them under me as I back-peddled, absorbing the force of the thrust through my upper body instead. Nathlan straightened and shrugged, unable to take advantage of the move, but satisfied to be safe from retaliation too. I did feel a little bad, that his years of dedicated training (I assumed) could be nearly cancelled out by a few weeks and superior attributes, but we all had our advantages. He¡¯d worked for his skill, no doubt about that, but I had bled and faced death a dozen times over already for my levels, and I wasn¡¯t going to feel too guilty for using whatever advantages I did have. I rolled my shoulders before setting my stance again, and Nathlan actually grinned as he raised his sword. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you can keep up with me. I¡¯ll make you a wager! Land a clean hit on me, and I¡¯ll cook tonight.¡± I smiled behind my shield as I replied. ¡°And if I don¡¯t land one?¡± The grin turned predatory as his eyes met mine over the tip of the blade. ¡°Why do you think you cooking is the default option?¡±
The howling of the wind, once a low whisper at the edges of our hearing, had grown gradually over the course of our spar. By the time we¡¯d taken sufficient measure of each other, it was a mournful moaning that required us to raise our voices to be heard if we stood more than a few feet away from one another. I returned the now-drained waterskin to Nathlan for depositing in his storage device, and asked a question as I did so. ¡°So what¡¯s up with the noise here? I get that its tied to the wind but it seems too¡­.I dunno, weird to be a natural phenomenon.¡± He shook his head as he belted on his scabbard and re-tied his long hair into a tail from where it had shaken loose in our spar. ¡°That¡¯s because it¡¯s not natural, in a sense. These stone pillars might be naturally formed but do you see the damage to them?¡± He pointed at a chunk missing from a nearby pillar, a jagged hole missing from its side as if a giant had scooped a handful of rock out and hurled it around indiscriminately. ¡°From what little I know ¨C and it is little, I know almost nothing about the Wandering States in anything but a macro scale ¨C there was a battle between very high level individuals here; 3rd tiers, possibly even 4th. The wind likely would echo strangely regardless due to the stone forest, but with the gaps, and particularly the spires with holes through the middle, it almost sounds like whispering and moaning. There are a number of local suspicions around the chasm itself and ¡®the voice on the wind¡¯ or ¡®the call of the void¡¯ as it¡¯s often known, but given Jorge¡¯s caution regarding the chasm I would be inclined to give some of those stories at least some merit.¡± I mulled it over, finding it all too easy to imagine what sorts of beliefs could spring up over the generations about a place like this. ¡°Do people come here often? Is it a sacred place or anything?¡± Nathlan cocked his head to the side in thought before replying. ¡°Not that I¡¯m aware of. Again though, that doesn¡¯t mean it isn¡¯t. Jorge doesn¡¯t tend to exaggerate threat levels though, so I imagine there are fewer who leave than arrive. We need to stay on guard, although he did seem to think we could handle anything that stays up here on the surface. Let¡¯s start spiralling out from our camp, see if we find anything interesting.¡± ¡°Is there anything specific we¡¯re actually looking for? Bones, ruins, creatures, etc.?¡± I spoke idly as we began to walk, looking around at the contrasting landscape ¨C reddish dirt mixing with granite spires in a strong juxtaposition ¨C and so it took me a few heartbeats to realise Nathlan had stopped moving. I turned back to look at him, but he spoke as soon as our eyes met. ¡°I¡¯ve not seen any bones at all yet. Have you?¡± I thought about it and shook my head in a negative. I wasn¡¯t sure why that was unusual though, and so after a few moments I rolled my hand in a gesture asking him to go on. ¡°We¡¯ve walked a few miles already, and there¡¯s no grass or other vegetation covering the floor ¨C I would have expected to see a tiny sliver of bone every now and then, but there¡¯s been nothing. We¡¯ve seen rodents and rabbits and other little creatures flitting about between the pillars, but no bones?¡± I shrugged again, playing devil¡¯s advocate. ¡°Maybe whatever predators here drag the kills back to their nests before they eat? Maybe the bones get routinely washed away over the edge by flash-floods ¨C the ground is dry enough that I doubt it can absorb much in one go. Maybe there are just fewer animals here than normal? Would make sense with the lack of vegetation ¨C no easily available food source for small herbivores would ripple up the food chain and prevent a stable predator population from taking root. Maybe it¡¯s not such a surprise.¡± He shook his head, vehemently disagreeing with me. ¡°No, no none of that fits. There should be small corpses around everywhere, built up over generations. The whole plateau isn¡¯t sloped so it wouldn¡¯t drain like that, and there should be plenty of prey ¨C I¡¯ve seen 5 vultures already in only a few miles. They have huge territories and require large amounts of carrion to sustain, and often leave the corpses where they find them.¡± I shrugged and starting walking again, Nathlan reluctantly trailing after me. ¡°So what do you think the likely explanation is, oh great scholar?¡± He shot me a look at that, and I winked, trying to bring some levity back into the atmosphere. It seemed to slide right off him though, as he just muttered under his breath before telling me to keep my eyes peeled. And I did. Despite my jovial attitude, he had me slightly rattled. Bones missing from a plateau overlooking a creepy chasm? Yeah, there was probably something horrible going on. A cult of cannibals hiding in tunnels beneath the earth, waiting to sneak out at night and snatch us up? Large predators that swallowed entire animals whole? Insect swarms that left no trace of their victims, even the bones? Maybe the dead rose from their places at night, reanimated by the eery wind and driven to hunt for new hosts. ¡°Hey Nathlan ¨C is necromancy a thing here?¡± I asked tentatively. He looked over at me with a measuring gaze, almost suspicious. ¡°Not formally. Its long been considered impossible to raise something back to true life. There are various ways to reanimate dead tissue though if that¡¯s what you mean? But nothing that can recreate a semblance of life.¡± ¡°Right¡­.so if I was to see a skeleton walking around¡­what would be the cause of that?¡± My voice had dropped to a half-whisper and my footsteps had slowed to a crawl. Nathlan nearly bumped into me, only stopping an inch behind me, busy as he¡¯d been looking around for signs of bone anywhere to confirm his worry. ¡°Well at first I¡¯d doubt your eyes, but I suppose it¡¯s possible. There¡¯s an entire family of fungi throughout the southern half of the continent that can take possession of certain animals ¨C it¡¯s not inconceivable that they¡¯d mutate in the presence of heavy magic or alchemical treatment to control bone tissue. But its unlikely out here, and there¡¯d doubtless be a complete loss of fine motor control ¨C they usually work by hijacking a hosts nervous system, but skeletons obviously don¡¯t have a nervous system. So no, actually that wouldn¡¯t work. If you saw a walking skeleton, I¡¯d tell you to look again.¡± He moved out from behind me, stepped to the side and looked over at me. ¡°What prompted that question?¡± I just raised my arm and pointed towards the shambling figure a few hundred meters away, partially obscured by one of the stone pillars, but making its way out from behind it and into our view. ¡°It was the moving skeleton, holding an axe and staring right at me that made me ask Nathlan. Would you like to look again for me, mate?¡± I said, readying my weapon. ¡°Oh¡± was all he said, as he took a step back and drew his sword. Chapter 22 - The Iona Chasm 3 A rambling patchwork of bone leered at us from a few hundred meters away. It appeared to walk drunkenly at first glance, but as it drew closer, I realised that it was in fact moving smoothly, each foot placed precisely with a steady gate. What gave it the appearance of clumsiness was its mismatched structure. What I had taken for a human skeleton was in reality a mad conglomeration of different bones stitched together into a vaguely humanoid form. It shouldn¡¯t have been able to move, let alone stand in one place, so mismatched was its structure. A cloven hoof was at the bottom of one leg, with a human foot on the other, both legs made up of multiple different bones of various sizes, leading to its shambling gate. Its head was far too small for its body, but I wasn¡¯t familiar enough with skulls to recognise from which animal it was drawn. It had two arms and two legs, roughly of similar length, although one arm hung to below its knee ¨C luckily not the one with the axe ¨C and it began to pick up speed as it came towards us. Any gaps in its frame were filled with an unearthly blue glow, reminding me of ice below a lake; deep and unfathomably cold. Its eyes blazed with the same light, and I saw faint lines of the same colour running up its limbs and across its torso. ¡°Stay light on your feet, Lamb, and try to keep its attention. I¡¯ll wait for an opening.¡± I nodded at his words and set my feet, bracing for what was looking increasingly like a charge from the skeleton. It was picking up speed rapidly, and its strange wobble had turned into a loping run that covered the ground between us far quicker than it had any right to. Nathlan started to drift out the side behind me, and I saw the creature of bone begin to veer off-course and towards him. I clanged the haft of my spear onto the heavy bronze of my shield to divert its attention, but it didn¡¯t rise to my bait, and seemed fixated on Nathlan. With only a few more heartbeats to act, I took a breath and activated Indomitable Prey, aiming to make it at least flounder, giving Nathlan enough time to reposition behind me. I needn¡¯t have worried, for the moment my skill activated, the creature whipped around at me and stilled. Its head cocked from side to side a few times, considering me like a bird. Just as Nathlan was easing around to its side for a flanking manoeuvre, it lunged towards me. I took its overhand blow onto my raised shield, careful to step back and to the side, letting the axe slide off the shield at an angle so I didn¡¯t have to absorb the full force of the blow. Even so, I felt it reverberate up my arm and shoulder. I set my feet and pushed back, forcing the skeleton to stumble in an ungainly way. It turned as it did so and lurched towards Nathlan, its longer arm enough to reach him. Luckily, the swordsman was ready and deflected the grasping bones with an easy parry, although the power in the blow was enough to push him off balance. He didn¡¯t manage to sever the arm despite the visible age of the bones. I assumed that whatever magic was animating this abomination was also protecting its structural integrity, and so I didn¡¯t try anything particularly tactical with my own retaliation. I¡¯d began to wind up as soon as the creature turned away from me, and as it was rebuffed by Nathlan, I used the opportunity to attack. I twisted from the hips and shoulders, rotating my entire body behind the blow, and when my shield smashed into the skeleton it was with all of my enhanced strength. Its ribcage shattered, and it fell to the ground in a heap, the icy blue light within its skull flickering briefly before vanishing altogether. You have killed an Unkown (Level 27). Experience gained. I heaved in a breath before looking up at Nathlan, who gestured weakly at me before speaking. ¡°Can you turn that skill off please?¡± Gone was the commanding tone from earlier, in fact he looked slightly ill ¨C shivering and pale. As soon as I deactivated the skill, he seemed to inflate again, colour returning to his cheeks and his breathing evening out almost instantly. He nodded gratefully at me, putting his hands on his knees and spitting to the side. ¡°I¡¯ve not heard of anything like that outside the territory of the Bone Tower, and even then, its nothing so direct as this.¡± I was at a loss. To be honest, it was not much more far-fetched to me than some of the other things I¡¯d seen so far ¨C titanic eagles, endless valleys, skills and levels to name but a few. But I could see how having your previous idea of the world dramatically changed in a short amount of time could impact someone ¨C I was a living testament to that. We both stayed in place, breathing through the shock of the fight and processing our position in newly hostile territory. ¡°Lamb?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± I asked as I looked up at him. ¡°I can¡¯t hear the wind anymore.¡± Now that he had pointed it out, I felt its absence keenly. I¡¯d been able to hear him easily, and the absence of the howling was now almost as eery as the noise itself. Just as I was about to ask a follow up question, I heard a keening howl on the wind, but rather than echoing all around us in a sustained bombardment of sound, this was focused, as if arising from somewhere to our left. It was swiftly repeated but from our right, and then in front of us as well, until a discordant chorus of wails split the air all around. ¡°Hey Nathlan?¡± I asked while scanning the pillars nearest to us. ¡°Yes Lamb?¡± ¡°I know you said this place isn¡¯t supposedly sacred to anyone, but did any of those superstitions include anything like ¡®the howling souls of the damned¡¯ or something even remotely similar?¡± Nathlan looked back at the floor for a moment before swearing for the second time in my presence ¨C ¡°Fuck¡±.
We began retracing our steps, rushing back around great stone spires and straining our ears for any hint of the location of the skeletons we¡¯d heard moments before. A frantic yell from Nathlan gave me enough warning to duck beneath the rusted spear flying towards me from behind a spire to my left. It whistled past my head, and I grunted in surprise at the close call. It may have come out sounding more like a squeal, but I was adamant that it had been intended as a gruff and manly grunt of surprise ¨C nothing else. Luckily for my pride, we both had other things to concern ourselves with, and I raised my shield to deflect an errant arrow winging its way toward Nathlan¡¯s back. I briefly considered the injustice of a world where a bowstring could somehow be fresh enough to take the strain of a full draw without snapping, despite being presumably left in the dust for years. I almost fell at the power of its impact, and managed to turn the fall into a stagger, bouncing my shoulder off the pillar we were passing and righting myself to continue on without losing much speed. I withdrew my outrage at the bowman when I glanced back and saw that it was in fact a skeleton wielding an atlatl rather than a bow, and no string was required. It still seemed a little unfair that a goddamn skeleton could wield a weapon like that but if I started to question a small detail like that it would all unravel, and so I decided to stop drawing arbitrary lines and instead focus on getting the hell away from the horde of angry skeletons at my back. We reached the base of our camp, and Nathlan was halfway up the rope by the time I reached the rock wall. I threw my spear up over his head and onto the stone outcropping ¨C a stupid action that I only realised the risk of once I had already taken it ¨C and slung the shield onto my back, before leaping up onto the bare rock itself and climbing like the hordes of hell were at my back¡­which they were, quite literally. I reached the top at the same time as Nathlan, and we hauled ourselves onto the surface, yanked up the rope behind us and slumped to the floor, careful to keep all limbs out of from view from below. We looked at each other for a moment, and I didn¡¯t find the panic and fear I expected in his eyes. Nathlan looked almost gleeful, face flushed and a grin stretching his features, his eyes wide and bright. I almost laughed at the sight of it, and then actually did laugh when he punched me on the shoulder. ¡°Why are you so calm about this!?¡± He demanded, although I could still see the light in his eyes. ¡°I look calm to you? I¡¯m freaking out about the goddamn skeletons, same as you! We nearly died!¡± I retorted in a whisper. ¡°You sure as all hells look calm Lamb, you¡¯re not even sweating! And why are you whispering?¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t want to draw attention to us¡­yeah okay you¡¯re right.¡± My whisper faltered into a normal speaking voice, though still not as loud as Nathlan¡¯s excited cadence. ¡°Anyway, why are you looking so excited? If it wasn¡¯t for my shield, you¡¯d be a fucking spear-holster right now!¡± ¡°My personal wards would have deflected any projectiles sent my way, don¡¯t worry about that. I¡¯m pretty sturdy from range, it¡¯s the melee that I have to be careful in. Just don¡¯t use that aura skill again and we¡¯ll be fine ¨C really throws me off.¡± He slipped around to lie on his front and strained his neck to peek over the lip of the pillar, rapidly drawing back as he did so with an arrow pinging off the rock near where he¡¯d been. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°Okay, there¡¯s only 6 of them ¨C the one with the atlatl might be a problem if we can¡¯t close the distance, but the spear one seems to be missing his weapon. Can you throw that spear accurately yet?¡± I blinked at that. 6 skeletons? One of them was enough to stagger him with a simple swing, and clearly had strength surpassing both of us. ¡°Why not just wait them out? Collect some data ¨C you¡¯re the scholar after all. Let¡¯s do some studying before we go all fighty on them!¡± I made sure to keep my arms from gesturing too wildly, not keen to get an arrow through the wrist just to make a point. ¡°Firstly Lamb, if you use the word ¡®fighty¡¯ again, I will push you off this ledge myself.¡± He gave me a steady, significant look to make sure I understood his commitment to that statement, and I just snorted and waved him off. ¡°and secondly, because two of them have started to climb up the pillar, and imagine the others won¡¯t be far behind. There¡¯s no waiting them out.¡± ¡°Fuck!¡± I swore, casting around for my weapons before seeing them on the other side of the ledge, sprawled against my bedroll ¨C what a throw! ¡°Right, you got any spare weapons? I think blunt force seems to be the best way to go based on the one we fought ¨C agreed?¡± ¡°Yes. My parry wasn¡¯t meant to dismember, but I would have expected to at least crack or scar the bone but instead I felt no bite at all ¨C whatever magic is animating these skeletons, it¡¯s clearly reinforcing their structure too.¡± I nodded, saying ¡°Okay, blunt force trauma then. You got anything useful in that storage device of yours?¡± Nathlan shook his head though. ¡°Don¡¯t try and pick up a new weapon in a fight Lamb, you¡¯re as likely to hurt yourself as the enemy. Plus, you¡¯re meant to be training with the spear ¨C Jorge will be outraged if he comes back and you¡¯re using a mace or something.¡± He looked over at me and chuckled. ¡°Come on Lamb, I get that this is scary, but you¡¯ve faced death before! We received system notifications for the kill earlier, that means it¡¯s still under the purview of the system. The ¡®unknown¡¯ tag is a little worrying, but we know we can kill them. Let¡¯s get to it. I¡¯ve been training for a year and a half now, this is the first bit of real danger I¡¯ve faced so far and I want to take advantage of it!¡± He slapped me on the shoulder again, and I once again marvelled at the change in him. The meek, gangly scholar had become a brash, eager young warrior and it seemed so natural on him now. I just rolled my eyes and then rolled my body over to my spear and shield, muttering tomyself as I did so ¨C ¡°Now who¡¯s calm?¡±. Nathlan didn¡¯t reply, so I focused on slipping my arm through the straps on the shield and pushed up into a crouch. Gripping the haft of my spear, I nodded at the infuriatingly unpredictable scholar, who had just risked another look down. ¡°The two climbers are nearly up here, the other four are waiting down there. We wait for the climbers, take them out, and then hit the atlatl one before descending to clean up the rest. They¡¯re coming up here and here, I¡¯ll take the left.¡± I nodded and steadied myself, focused on the point he had indicated. I was expecting a skeleton to leap over the edge and appear before me, but instead I saw only a hand grasp the edge. I almost froze in surprise, but a blast of Heart of the Hills managed to stabilise my spinning thoughts, and I quickly dropped my spear to the ground, leaned forward and grabbed the wrist. With a heave, I yanked the entire skeleton over the lip. While its strength was unnatural, it¡¯s weight was still constrained by the laws of whatever physics governed this world, and bone was surprisingly light. It soared through the air in an arc before slamming down onto the ground behind me, its bony wrist still wrapped in my fleshy hand. I stood from my crouch with the heave, and in a smooth motion continued the spin to slam the rim of my shield into its chest. Its ribcage cracked and the shield rim severed its spine. The long knife it had gripped between its teeth bounced to the ground, and the light left its eyes an instant later. You have killed an Unkown (Level 22). Experience gained. I looked over to Nathlan and saw him kicking his skeleton off the edge of the pillar, before diving to the ground to avoid another arrow. We grinned at each other, and I had to admit that the rush was indescribable. I could feel myself not too far from another level, and I was already getting tingles from the anticipation of enhancing my attributes again. ¡°How are we gonna get down without turning into pincushions?¡± I asked, and he looked at me in mild surprise. ¡°You know what a pincushion is?¡± ¡°What sort of fucking question is that!? Of course I do, how dumb do you think I am, mate?¡± He just shrugged at me with a ¡®can you blame me¡¯ look on his face, but to be honest, I could very much blame him. He seemed to understand the trajectory of my thoughts and waved it off. ¡°Alright sorry, that was uncalled for. As for getting down; I¡¯ll chuck the rope over the back while you distract them at the front with your shield, and then you can hustle down yourself once I¡¯ve slipped to the ground ¨C it only takes a few heartbeats to shuffle down anyway.¡± I had some misgivings on that point, but supposed I had no better plan currently. I nodded, grabbed my spear again and leaned to look over the edge. My shield was held ready as I viewed the four remaining skeletons. The one wielding the atlatl rapidly locked onto me, and a long arrow was sailing towards me within moments. I made sure my footing was good as I braced to deflect the projectile, and as it pinged off my shield, I saw the skeleton reaching for another one. I reversed the grip on my spear with a flick of my wrist and hefted it ready to throw. As soon as the second arrow hit my shield, I leaned back and sighted, launching the spear towards the creature below. The moment it left my hand, I knew it was a good throw, and I watched in amazement as it slipped through the air at a frankly worrying pace. If a spear came at me that fast, I doubted I¡¯d have time to react to it. It struck the skeleton through the chest, digging into the dirt beneath it, and I was delighted to see the skeleton struggle to move, as it was pinned to the floor by its ribcage. I turned and ran to the other edge of the pillar, leaning over again to check Nathlan was down and free. Seeing him drop the last few meters and wave up at me, I grabbed the rope, gave it a tug to confirm it held, and abseiled off the pillar in a backwards run. I heard Nathlan shout something unintelligible and heard the clash of steel on steel when I was no more than a few meters off the floor and turned to see what was going on. I caught a flash of Nathlan engaged in melee with a sword-wielding skeleton, with another circling around to flank him. Without taking more than a moment to consider, I pressed myself into the rock, bunching my legs, and then leapt backwards. My enhanced strength rocketed me off the pillar and I twisted in the air as I descended towards the melee. I let loose a bellow, partly to let Nathlan know I was incoming, and partly because it just felt appropriate given the circumstances. I caught the flanking skeleton in a glancing blow as I ploughed into it shield first, and it was flung bodily away. Nathlan yelled in victory a moment later and I saw a skull roll past me along the packed dirt. I stalked towards the skeleton I¡¯d flung aside, and it wheeled to face me as it picked itself up. I slipped an axe swinging for my head and snapped out a jab at its head in retaliation. My knuckles protested as they bounced off solid bone and I winced, pulling my hand back. I pranced back away from another sweeping strike, and kept steadily reversing from the barrage of strikes before I caught an opening and lunged in. Pushing with my shield, I threw the axe arm out wide and stepped in, gripping the skeleton¡¯s ribcage in one fist ¨C the lack of flesh and muscle offered an amazing grip ¨C before twisting my hips and sweeping its legs out from under it as I hoisted it up and then down into the ground. Before I could fall upon it with my shield, I was forced back by another swing of the axe at my ankles. They may be light, but they had incredible strength ¨C I couldn¡¯t risk taking a blow on anything but my shield, especially considering my lack of armour. As I was trying to figure out how to finish this, Nathlan¡¯s sword hilt descended, cracking into the skull and fracturing it down the centre. Another swift blow followed suit, and its skull was split in twain, at which point it ceased its desperate swinging and the axe fell from its skeletal grip. I nodded in thanks, panting less with exertion and more with the sheer intensity of the battle. There was something about fighting enemies with actual weapons that was thrilling in a way I hadn''t expected. I could see the same heady mix of joy and fear burning in my companions wide eyes, and we simply nodded at each other before running off towards the other side of the pillar. I overtook Nathlan and held out a hand behind me as I approached the side, urging him to slow down and stay behind the cover my shield could provide. I peeked around the edge, saw the atlatl-wielder still struggling with my spear while the only other skeleton hefted its great sword in preparation to cut through the spear pinning its companion to the ground. I couldn¡¯t have that, and so charged forwards with a yell. It did little to distract the two creatures though, and so as I came barrelling towards them, I had a full view of a giant sword descending to crush my only functional spear. With Nathlan behind me, we crashed into the pair of animated bone puppets like bison fording a river ¨C that is to say we flung our enemies before us but were dramatically slowed down in the process. I staggered past, and Nathlan descended on one with the hilt of his sword again. I turned to the other and sprawled across it, preventing it from gaining its feet. I managed to twist away from the large arrow it attempted to plunge into my shoulder, and locked a hand underneath its shoulder, pressing my weight against its chest and arms to prevent any similar moves. As I stared into the face of the skeleton, I abruptly realised just how bad an idea that was. The skeleton that had previously been slinging the large projectiles generously called arrows at us didn¡¯t have a humanoid skull at all, instead it seemed to be some sort of bird skull sitting atop its bent spine ¨C likely the same species as the vultures we had seen earlier. What was particularly relevant however, was the curved but still very sharp beak. The coloration had completely gone, as well as the outer layers of keratin that gave it the glossy dark gleam of its still-living cousins. What remained was a yellow-white point, jutting straight at my eye and driving towards me with speed. Panic filled me. Rather than dive backwards, I turtled up, and tucked my chin and drove my head into its shoulder. As such, the point that should have taken my eye out instead only carved a line of fire along the back of my head. Bizarrely, the most painful part of it was feeling some of my hair be ripped out at the roots by the jabbing beak, and I growled in distress. The pain gave me strength and I rolled, heaving the skeleton with me as I did and releasing it at the top of my arc so that it flew through the air a few meters before skidding along the dusty ground. I leapt to my feet and wrenched the spear from where it was on the floor nearby, half-hacked through about three quarters up its length. I straightened, gripped it in both hands like a bat and advanced on the skeleton as it charged back towards me. A half skip later and I swung with my entire body, smacking the abomination with the broken spear, the force of the blow finally severing the weapon in a jagged break along the fault line created by the other ¨C now actually dead ¨C skeleton. A final, firm stomp to the neck ended the fight, and I heaved in a breath before looking over to Nathlan. He was kneeling on the floor over the crumpled skeleton he¡¯d destroyed moments earlier, and I took a quick scan of the environment to ensure we weren¡¯t about to be ambushed again. I sighed as the familiar ringing reverberated around my mind before Nathlan¡¯s ragged laughter reached me. I looked over to see his shoulders shaking as he half turned to me. I could only see the profile of his face, and in the midday-sun it was hard to make out his shadowed features as he asked, ¡°Did you really try to punch a skeleton in the face?¡± Despite the difficult lighting, I could still make out the curl of his lips as I just sighed again in defeat. ¡°Yes¡­Yes I did.¡± I saw his silhouette shake as he toppled over onto his back, laughing at the sky in a cathartic release. I smirked along with him. It was a pretty stupid move in hindsight ¨C kind of my thing at this point. Chapter 23 - The Iona Chasm 4
*Vera* Vera whispered along the edge of a plateau, her feet barely touching the ground as she flitted from shadow to shadow. She couldn¡¯t see him, but knew that Jorge would be at her back, his ability to move unseen surpassing hers even without class skills to aid him. That didn¡¯t mean he wasn¡¯t using a skill, but she suspected he had a few stealth aspects folded into each of his general skills ¨C when you had been around as long as she suspected he had, it was almost guaranteed that any non-class skills would be as broad as a barn. Her pride wasn¡¯t wounded by this though ¨C for all her apparent ability as a generalist, she still considered herself a specialist at heart. Sure, she could survive in the wilderness, bluster her way through a negotiation in a city and sneak past the odd guard outpost, but her true calling was still in the chaos of battle. She had worked desperately for years to overcome the battle-lust brought on by her original berserking class, and to broaden her skillset so that she could avoid falling into the trap that so many with classes did; she wasn¡¯t just a hammer, and didn¡¯t want to see the world simply as a nail. It was a difficult line to walk though. Lean in too hard and one¡¯s class became deterministic but fail to lean in enough and one would never progress. Just as she couldn¡¯t solve every problem with violence, she also couldn¡¯t shy away from it when it came knocking. And so, she found herself both unable and unwilling to suppress the grin stretching her face as she moved through the chasm, leaping from ledge to ledge and catapulting herself through the semi-darkness with barely a sound. They had a trail, Jorge¡¯s nose picking out the scent of unwashed bodies ¨C humans ¨C staying nearby. To stay this deep in the Iona Chasm, they must be powerful, at least a dozen levels into their 2nd tier ¨C maybe even as high as level 70? It didn¡¯t matter though; she¡¯d been fighting far above her level ever since she got her first class. As for Jorge? Well, you didn¡¯t earn a title from the system for nothing, regardless of the name¡¯s implications. Her active skill Slip through the Shadows kept her hidden as they rapidly closed in on the area that Jorge had indicated, and she dropped a few hundred meters lower with some skilful leaps. She came to rest on another ledge, cloaked in darkness and looking out at the firelight flickering on the walls above them on the other side of the chasm. Rather than the near mile across that the chasm was on the surface, the other side was no more than 20 meters away from them at this point, narrowing as it did the deeper one descended into the earth. Light danced against jagged ledges and plateaus, cracks splitting sheer rock faces and casting the firelight into a million shades of dissipating light. She felt Jorge emerge from the darkness to crouch at her side. A couple of experimental sniffs later and he spoke, his voice quiet and soft. ¡°4, possibly 5 of them. I think two of them are sleeping together, messing with my sense.¡± Vera shrugged as she spoke. ¡°Doesn¡¯t change anything either way.¡± ¡°Aye, guess not. We¡¯re deeper than I expected them to be, don¡¯t activate any of your berserking skills, yeah?¡± Vera only nodded in response. She took a breath and activated another of her non-class skills ¨C arcane view ¨C and the chasm was plunged into full darkness. Motes of light began to drift from below, rising into the air like ash on the wind. She focused, pushing the ever-present motes into the background and searched the darkness across and above from her. No firelight danced against the chasm wall in this new vision, but her focus was rewarded a few moments later as a pink runic circle began to resolve itself to her view. She observed it for a while, studying the pattern, the size, the colour, how the various isolated parts were bound together and interlocked. Jorge stayed silent and still, giving her time. Once she was satisfied, she deactivated the mana-intensive skill and blinked a few times to return her vision to its normal ¨C albeit highly enhanced ¨C state. Only then did Jorge speak, simply asking ¡°Thoughts?¡± ¡°It¡¯s mostly the usual fare you¡¯d expect from a competent rune-master ¨C sound dampening, protection from the elements, alarms etc. The attention-diverting aspect is much more reinforced than I would expect though and seems to be linked into some sort of feedback loop with the mental protections that are standard, presumably to counter the influence of The Dreamer.¡± Jorge snorted in derision at that, but when she looked over, he just gestured for her to continue. ¡°There¡¯s also an entire section that I¡¯ve never seen before ¨C something to do with dispelling animation magic, but I can¡¯t figure out how it works or what specifically they¡¯ve calibrated it to.¡± ¡°Good work. You¡¯re not specialised for this, just to figure out what you have is impressive enough. Explains why they are confident enough to be this deep in The Chasm too, however little good it will do them. Let¡¯s end this quickly, on your mark.¡± Jorge rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment following his statement, before fading back into the darkness. Vera steadied herself, then took 3 swift steps and launched herself across the cavern. She thumped into the wall on the other side, managing to jam her fist into a crack to arrest her fall. She swiftly scuttled up the rock face towards the light being thrown out by the campfire and rested on a thin ledge below the outcropping upon which her quarry lay. She reached into one of her many pouches, withdrawing a pinecone and a small hatchet. The weapon was far too large to fit in the pouch in question, but she liked to keep it ambiguous if she possessed a storage item and had found it a good ploy in the past. She slid her fingers around the reassuring leather-wrapped haft of the hatchet, watching smoke begin to curl from the savagely pointed head. She breathed onto the pinecone in her other hand, pouring mana into the activation runes carved into each scale, and the structure began to vibrate softly, a red glow suffusing each bract and giving the cone the appearance of a smouldering ember in the deep shadows she hid within. Once the mana drain stopped, she counted 7 heartbeats before bunching her legs under her and leaping upwards. Her own strength propelled her easily over the lip of the outcropping, and as she came into view of the 3 bedrolls and single tent, she twisted in the air, whipping the smouldering pinecone towards the canvas construct. Completing her twist as her momentum reached its zenith, she tucked her feet under her and slammed into the outcropping, riding the only sentry down to the stone floor and burying her hatched in his skull. Without waiting to see Jorge¡¯s initial strike, she rolled off the corpse and activated one of her class skills, Sympathy of the Damned. She leapt to her feet and ducked under a wild swing from a great axe wielded by one of the Lions. Confirming that Jorge had indeed taken one out of the fight already, and was striding confidently over to the tent which was now merrily burning away thanks to her earlier throw, she refocused on the large man in front of her. He was a bear of a man, outweighing her easily, and clearly heavily invested into strength judging by the way he moved. She wouldn¡¯t fare well if she took a solid hit from him, but that wasn¡¯t likely to be a concern. She stared him dead in the eye as she brought her hatched up before her, before stabbing the spiked pommel down into her own thigh. She grit her teeth against the pain and soaked in the confused and disturbed look from the big man. With a growl, she beckoned him forwards and spat at his feet. The provocation was clear, and his confusion was quickly replaced with rage as he finally recognised her, the crackling fire behind her finally enough to light up her features. He bellowed a wordless challenge and launched forwards, the stone beneath his feet cracking with the force of his movement. Vera simply grinned as he approached, waiting for his axe to come whistling through the air in a great arc that was no doubt aimed to bisect her at the waist. She then dropped to her knees, bending at the waist to watch the axeblade pass by above her, slicing a thin cut on the tip of her nose as it passed. She slid gracefully to the ground before twisting back to her feet in an acrobatic move to face the still roaring warrior. He spun to face her and smiled as he saw the bead of blood drip down from her nose to paint her chin. His cruel smirk dropped instantly though as she channelled mana into activating Sympathy of the Damned a second time, and the last wound she had given was instantly transferred to the one who had given her a wound in turn. The ursine warrior stumbled as his leg suddenly buckled, blood sheeting down from the fresh puncture wound on his thigh. Vera sprinted the remaining three steps between them on hale, uninjured legs and leapt over his desperate final swing, carving a red smile out of his neck with her hatchet. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. She landed easily, acknowledging the system notifications confirming the deaths of both of her opponents, and looked up to see Jorge withdrawing his spear from a body tangled in the collapsed remains to the smoking tent. He nodded to her, and she relaxed her posture a hair, allowing the jitters that came with every activation of any of her old class skills to rock her hands slightly. Her standard post-fight breathing exercise was interrupted by Jorge¡¯s voice. ¡°Vera, the corpses are rising!¡± Her eyes flew open, and she gasped in a breath, turning to see the huge warrior stagger to its feet. Blue light suffused it, as its skin and muscle flaked away in moments. A few heartbeats later and a skeletal figure now stood, oversized cloth draped over fresh white bone and an enormous double-bladed battle axe held with ease in one hand. Vera wasted no time in charging towards the skeleton, closing the distance before it could swing. Once inside the reach of its weapon, she swept its leg out from under it, following it down to the ground and grabbing its skull with both hands before smashing it into the rock below. A few more swift, brutal strikes like that and the skull cracked, the icy blue light fading. She rolled to the side, regaining her feet and snatching the large axe from the floor. Ignoring the skeletal fingers still wound tight around its haft, she used it to knock aside the arm of the first sentry she had killed that had been reaching for her throat. A single great sweeping cleave later, and another skeleton was falling to the floor alongside the first. She almost flinched as the entire flaming tent, both corpses still wrapped up within, rocketed past and dropped out of sight into the chasm below. Jorge slapped his hands against each other and looked inordinately pleased with himself. ¡°What did your system notification say for these?¡± He asked her as he kicked one of the dismembered skeletons on the ground. ¡°¡¯Unknown¡¯, level 90¡¯s both. You?¡± ¡°Same. Can¡¯t say I¡¯ve seen that before. At least they seem to stay dead once we kill them though.¡± He remarked. ¡°Is this the Dreamer¡¯s influence?¡± Vera asked, dropping the battle-axe and retrieving her hatchet as she did so. Jorge just nodded in response. ¡°Not much else it could be. Nothing within the system should be able to reanimate a skeleton like that, and I¡¯ve not heard of any wizard this era powerful enough to weave together something of this magnitude. Given where we are¡­well if it quacks like a duck...¡± He trailed off then, clearly thinking of something worrying. ¡°You don¡¯t think this would be spilling out of the Chasm, do you?¡± He asked her, frowning as he did so. Vera shook her head. ¡°Unlikely ¨C even a dead god has limits, and the mana demand would increase the further from the Chasm the effect was taking place. They could potentially be faced with weaker versions of the same magic though.¡± Jorge looked at her frankly, ¡°They wouldn¡¯t be stupid enough to engage with something like this though, surely?¡± Vera snorted before she answered. ¡°Nathlan has been going stir crazy working on his intent for almost a month now. He¡¯d be liable to sneak off if you don¡¯t give him some outlet soon. No chance he backs down from a few skeletons.¡± Jorge groaned, appearing to agree with her assessment. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have been more clear ¨C don¡¯t engage with anything that comes out of the Chasm.¡± He shook his head again in exasperation. ¡°Lamb will at least stay out of the way though. He doesn¡¯t know Nathlan well enough to follow him into danger yet, and he¡¯s not an idiot, despite how he presents himself. Given everything we¡¯ve guessed about the world he came from, he¡¯ll take one look at a walking skeleton and run the other way. At least one of them will be safe.¡± Vera just raised an eyebrow at him. ¡°That kid you picked up has more of a death wish than I ever did Jorge. I don¡¯t know if he¡¯s secretly suicidal or just intensely moronic, but there is not a single chance in all the hells that he isn¡¯t knee deep in ribcage by the time we return.¡± Jorge just threw his hands up at that, prompting a burst of laughter from Vera. ¡°Come on then, we¡¯re done here, and it¡¯ll take the best art of a day to return as well. As long as they stay together, they should be able to last that long.¡±
Splitting up had been a bad idea. Idea was probably the wrong word, since it implied a level of initiative and planning whereas our decision to split up was prompted by circumstance and desperation more than anything else, but still ¨C splitting up had been an intensely bad idea. I ducked behind my raised shield, feeling the impact of the stone projectile clatter off the side, nearly missing the shield entirely and close to sinking into my stomach. I wasn¡¯t keen to find out what a slingshot could do when wielded by something with dramatically enhanced strength, but my skill with the shield couldn¡¯t keep pace with my desire for its protection. We¡¯d gone hunting together, aiming to take out more of the skeletons and gain some much-needed experience. It had started well, but I¡¯d slipped on an unlucky root and nearly paid for it with my life. Nathlan had managed to buy me time by throwing his sword into my opponent, but then was left with little protection from the couple he was engaged with. He¡¯d managed to hold out with nothing but skill and superior footwork until he tripped on the same damn root that had nearly taken me out moments earlier. I¡¯d managed to save his life in return, but it had taken a judicious activation of Indomitable Prey, and while that was enough to push the skill up a level for me, it also had the side effect of drawing far more attention to us. While I wouldn¡¯t describe the skeletons as having a hive mind ¨C they acted independently and any adaptation they demonstrated during fights wasn¡¯t shared with other individuals after their defeat ¨C they did seem to share a guiding intent. I had no idea what it was, but clearly it didn¡¯t like my aura skill, as we were swiftly swarmed by more skeletons than we could deal with. Most seemed to be of a similar strength, and sat around the mid-twenties in level, but quantity had a quality all of its own, and we were swiftly overwhelmed. I made the decision to cut and run, flaring my aura skill as I did to draw attention, and relying on my higher stats to help me escape pursuit. It had seemed like a great plan at the time, and it did achieve my immediate goal of not having myself or Nathlan completely overrun, but now that I was frantically running for my life through a forest of bleak stone spires, my opinion was beginning to shift. Two skeletons were pursuing with slingshots, and they were faster than the others by a significant degree. Not as fast as I was with my combination of strength, agility and a movement-focused skill, but still fast enough to make getting away difficult, especially considering their superior range. I had maybe a score of the creatures shambling after me, but only those two were in danger of injuring me as I moved. Unless I ran into more unexpectedly in my headlong run that is. Not a happy thought that. The rest would definitely catch up if I stopped to deal with the slingshot wielders though, and they were unlikely to engage with me in melee range even if I stopped and waited for them. What were my options then? Keep running and hope something comes up before I tire ¨C not a strong contender as far as ideas go, but let¡¯s keep it in just for the sake of having one to start with. I could try and climb another spire? Doubtful I¡¯d get up there quick enough to avoid slingshot fire, and if I hit a difficult to climb section I¡¯d be screwed. It was a gamble, with seemingly no upsides, since I¡¯d be suppressed at the top of the spire and left to fight a score of skeletons in melee when they inevitably climbed up to reach me. Okay, so idea number 1 ¨C AKA run without a plan until death by exhaustion or saved by miraculous intervention ¨C is somehow the best plan I¡¯ve thought of so far¡­what a glowing endorsement of my planning capabilities. What skills did I have then? Guerrilla Warfare was of limited use so far away from the ridgelines and valleys I had created it in. But was that strictly true? I quickly reviewed the text for the skill. Guerrilla Warfare ¨C Passive. The low hills and the mountains they protect are known as the graveyard of empires for a reason. You know this land like no other, so lead your enemies into the twisting valleys and bleed them until they break. Strike from every angle, brutal and swift, before melting into the surroundings and denying your enemy the fight they crave. That certainly seemed to confirm my first instincts, but Jorge had mentioned that the system tended to describe more powerful skills in more vague and extravagant language for some reason, and taking things too literally could lead to skills being underutilised. Annnnd here I am not utilising my skills properly again. Damn. Forcefully reigning in my self-criticism, I continued the thought. He had gone on to explain that a complex skill was unlikely to bring any new knowledge or skill ¨C for lack of a better word ¨C to the table but would rather build on the foundations laid by previous skills that merged to create it. It was a transformation of magnitude and flavour, rather than form or function. Looking at the skills that created Guerrilla Warfare would give a better idea of how it could be applied, so that¡¯s what I did. Ignoring Stalking for now, since it was unlikely to help at all, I examined the text for the other two skills in the merger; Simple Traps ¨C Passive. You are able to plan in advance of life-or-death struggles, utilising the terrain to your advantage, and altering the environment in simple ways to suit your needs. Further levels will provide innate knowledge of the best materials and construction methods to create simple traps to suit your purpose. Improvised Weapons ¨C Passive. You have shown remarkable ability to use whatever is within grasp to bring down your foes. Whether it is a part of the world around you or a part of your former enemies themselves, anything can be a weapon with the right application of knowledge, skill and intent. Further levels increase the efficacy and toughness of weapons you have created yourself from scavenged materials. ¡®Anything can be a weapon¡¯ and ¡®utilising the terrain to your advantage¡¯ stuck out to me, but it was likely because they seemed to justify my current approach of running like all the hells and waiting for something useful to pop up. I¡¯d always been of the mind to make a quick decision and stick with it, even past the point at which it was beneficial or sometimes even sensible. I flinched as a stone cracked against the pillar next to my head, showering splinters of rock into the air around me and shocking me out of my reverie. I needed a way to take out those two slingshot wielders, fast. I could run around wildly until the sun dipped below the horizon, but I wasn¡¯t guaranteed to find anything that would give me an edge ¨C that was the downside of relying on the environment when in unfamiliar territory after all. Ideally, I needed some way to force them to engage me in close range. Twisting passages and tight corners that could block line of sight. A maze of corridors would do it¡­. or a maze of tunnels. My gaze was drawn to my right, and I glimpsed it between errant pillars of stone ¨C the Chasm itself. Interlude - Cloaks *Estan* Estan turned at the knock on his door. He placed the goblet of wine on a nearby table, covering some open letters with a tablecloth. He took a breath, then opened the door to usher in his friend. His co-conspirator. Yander, the dark-skinned son of Sultan Tallow and heir to the Sultanate, walked in swiftly before shutting the door behind himself with a quick glance out into the hallway. As usual, he was dressed impeccably with colourful silks on display. They were light blues and deep greens today, and Estan grimaced internally. Bad news then. Yander, despite his belief in the cause, was still deeply invested in the cultural practices of his homeland and chose to display his displeasure openly through his dress. Something Estan¡¯s venerable father would no doubt miss entirely. ¡°Yander. A pleasure. What is the issue?¡± He asked, cutting straight to the point. The dark-skinned man cast a brief glance around the room, lingering on the bulge beneath the tablecloth and lips twitching in response. ¡°Estan, as always. The Sultan has interfered. Francis D¡¯Sware has been assigned to Colchet, alongside a few other minor movements within the Lions and the Sultanate¡¯s Al¡¯Asakir.¡± Estan hummed to himself, ¡°Colchet, Colchet¡­.remind me?¡± ¡°A small city state within the Copper Canyons, the Lions have a presence there. It is their regional base for lack of a better term. If their quarry escapes the Unclaimed Peaks on the side of the Wandering States, it is from Colchet that the Lions would re-group and strike out.¡± Yander¡¯s reply was swift and clipped, as always. ¡°Frustrating, but not catastrophic by any means. Besides, Francis is loyal to our cause anyway. What makes you concerned enough to come to me now? Breaking protocol I might add.¡± Estan allowed a little of the frustration he felt to enter his tone, but if Yander noticed, he paid it no mind. It was unlikely that this meeting would be reported to his father, but Varice was a resourceful spymaster, and he would have to decide if he¡¯d share the information voluntarily or hope it was ignored. More headaches for him later then. ¡°The problem, Estan¡±, the heir to the Sultanate explained blandly, ¡°is that we still don¡¯t know how your father is getting his information on The Butcher¡¯s whereabouts. It conjures to my mind the possibility that the Sultan may know something of his plan and is taking steps to counter it. Steps that may stand in contrast to our own desires.¡± Estan pondered for a few moments. He was smart, he knew that, but Yander had a way of making him feel a fool. He was keen not to embarrass himself in front of the taller man, and desperately sought a way to rebalance the scales in their exchange. Before he could speak, Yander spoke again; ¡°I would also not trust Francis to hold true to any commitments he has made you when the Sultan dangles land and titles before him.¡± Estan turned a surprised look on his conspirator. ¡°Francis? Really? You suspect him of treachery.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Nothing so dramatic. But I would not trust our plan entirely to his ideological purity, my friend.¡± ¡°I disagree. Francis has been a staunch ally to our cause, and the D¡¯Sware house have lost much under the current rulers of the Sunsets. Their commitment to seeing a new dawn is unassailable in my view.¡± Estan spoke, more confident the more he said. ¡°Very well, Estan. You are the expert in such matters, and I shall defer to you.¡± Yander said. ¡°Now, concerning the other matter?¡± ¡°Leave it with me. I will sort it out.¡± He said shortly, giving a confident nod and standing, eager to show Yander to the door. The man simply stood, gaze boring deep into his eyes, as if he could peel back the layers of Estan¡¯s thoughts with nothing but a hard glance. The silence stretched, and Estan was uncomfortably reminded of how his tutor would look upon him as a child when he answered a question wrong. Disappointed, and expecting more. Ugly rage built in his chest, starting from his belly and curling upwards, winding its way through his lungs and making his chest tight. He wanted to shout, to scream in the man¡¯s face and prove that that he did not need his approval. But he wrestled back a semblance of control with a monumental effort of will. ¡°I need not explain every action to you, Yander. I have said that I will sort it, and so I shall. That is all the assurance you should require.¡± His voice was tight with fury, and he was simply pleased he could get through the sentence without warbling. Yander held his gaze a moment longer before bowing his head gracefully. ¡°Of course, my friend. I do not doubt your commitment nor ability, I simply wish to know if I can support you in this. You are the most pivotal part of this great undertaking of ours, and if anything were to happen to you, our bright future would grow dim.¡± The words mollified Estan somewhat, and he stood straighter. It was good that Yander remembered the way of things. He may have been the first to broach the subject to his peers, but Estan was the one upon whom the plan rested. A small voice, buried deep in the back of his mind, questioned if that was simply due to his position as Duke Ryonic¡¯s son, but he crushed that small voice before it could grow. As Yander said, he was the pivotal point in the plan, and it was due to his cunning, his foresight, that they would succeed. Only he saw the truth his father was so blind to. He was the one who made the grand speeches at their meetings. He was the one who enjoyed the support of the various heirs and shakers of the court¡¯s lower chamber. Estan would use his natural gifts to drive their great nation forwards, and take a position of prominence at its head, alongside a very select group of others. ¡°Thank you, Yander. Your support is appreciated¡± he said graciously. ¡°But I must do this myself. I will discuss with my father and convince him to bring me in on his plans. I¡¯ll find out where he is getting his information from, and if it is likely that your father is interfering, we will plan around it.¡± Yander nodded slowly, ¡°The Sultan is unlikely to be entirely ignorant of your father¡¯s moves, but I shall endeavour to restrain his interest in them. Until next time then, my friend.¡± He strode calmly to the door and departed the room in an elegant swish of fine silk. Estan waited until the footsteps receded, then closed the door and sighed. It was always unnerving dealing with his conspirators. They were united in purpose, but it was hard to pretend that he didn¡¯t have ulterior motives. Sometimes he suspected that Yander knew he was usurping his power, was bitter and resentful of the outsized role that Estan now played in the coming coup. But he was a good judge of character. If Yander was planning something, Estan would know. Now though, he had to confront his father. Persuade the hardest man in the Marchlands to bring him in on his plans to catch that jumped-up peasant bitch. Despite the confidence he had projected only moments ago, that would be easier said than done. He sighed deeply once more, and then went to fetch a servant. His father always responded better when he thought Estan had been training, so he¡¯d need his fencing steels to hand. The work never stops. Interlude - The Bone Tower ¡°You can¡¯t just sit in your tower and watch any longer, Althus! People are dying!¡± ¡°People are always dying, my friend. What makes today so different from any other?¡± Two men sit across from one another in a tower of bleached bone. One is tall and gaunt, his back hunched under the weight of age and responsibility. He is agitated, frequently leaping from his chair to pace around the room, gesturing wildly as he attempts to persuade the youthful man before him. A careful observer would notice that the gaunt man is careful to never press too hard, changing tack and slowing the frantic swinging of his arms in response to unknown cues. Appearances can be deceiving after all, and the seated man is not one to be pushed. ¡°I understand your reticence to interfere in politics, I really do. But this is our home! These are our people!¡±. A slight trembling in the air accompanies the end of that sentence, and the gaunt man sighs and slumps back into his chair. ¡°What am I missing Althus?¡± He asks, ¡°What unspoken rule did I break this time?¡± The young-looking man leans forward to pour a herbal drink from a delicate decanter into two equally delicate cups, passing one over to his companion before speaking. ¡°I am not a member of your court, nor one of your military advisors. I have no need for one of your rousing speeches and you will not blind me with sophistry and jingoism. Speak plainly, and tell me why I should care.¡± A look of disbelief passes across the face of the old man, and his fingers shake on the grip of the tea set. The trembling in the air returns, increasing in intensity as emotions are processed. Fighting for calm, the old man responds. ¡°You should care because the entire continent is at war. Every major polity on Tsanderos is at war, either with itself or one another, in the open or in the shadows. We stand at the precipice of destruction and if we do not rise to this challenge, the Tetrarchy could crumble.¡± His piece said, the gaunt man leans back, enjoying the herbal tea while he waits for a response. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°You have not answered my question, my friend.¡± The man behind the table replies. ¡°I do not see how the Tetrarchy¡¯s concerns are my own, and I do not share your fear of the future. Give me a reason to intervene, show me that you understand the consequences and are aware of the sacrifice you are asking me to make on your behalf.¡± A delicate teacup clatters to the floor, breaking into three delicate pieces. The gaunt old man throws himself to his feet with surprising vigour as he re-joins; ¡°My father always told me you were a fearsome man, but I have seen no evidence of it yet! Do not talk to me of sacrifice! I have watched more men die in the past year than you can imagine. I could build a tower of their bones to dwarf your own, and that still would not account for half the bodies I have buried in defence of the land you now sit within!¡± The tower they inhabit shakes to its foundations as power billows from the older man, the earth outside heaving and undulating as it rises from the ground, rearing up in massive waves. ¡°Without my sacrifice, the North Wall falls. Without the continued sacrifice of your own people, this tower won¡¯t last a day. Even now is shakes, unsteady in the face of a fraction of the power required to keep it safe-¡± The tower stills abruptly, the rattling of furniture ceasing in an instant. The young-looking man rises from behind his desk and cuts the gaunt man off without a word. His presence is enough to end the tirade, and as the words die on his lips, the gaunt man backs away a half step, eyes wide. Nothing moves outside the tower, the roiling earth locked in place in great waves. No breeze stirs the long grasses, and the very clouds in the sky appear frozen in place. ¡°I had believed your father to have explained to you the state of things adequately, but I see now that I was wrong. Allow me to once again outline my position.¡± While he speaks slowly and deliberately, there is no attempt to hide the anger driving the man¡¯s words. ¡°Your precious Tetrarchy is no concern of mine. I have seen more civilisations rise and fall than you could dream, and I have outlasted every single one. We may look similar, but I assure you, you are no kin of mine. My people died long before you and yours settled here. Their bones litter the land upon which you build, and their ghosts do not care a whit for your pleas.¡± The young man stands fully, looking his companion in the eyes. ¡°The enemy at your gates poses no more threat to my tower than an arrogant mage does to the World Tree itself. You will have no help from me and mine. Get out of my tower.¡± With that, he returns to sitting at his desk, reaching down to pick up the delicate teacup that has somehow stayed full during the cataclysm only moments before. The world outside seems to twist and buckle upon itself before reverting to its previous serene state. Flat grasslands spread in every direction, and a cold, biting wind chases the back of a single figure, fleeing on horseback into the distance. Chapter 24 - The Iona Chasm 5 As soon as the thought occurred to me, I swerved to the right, keeping the pillars between myself and the pursuing skeletons as well as I could. Each brief moment where the space between me and them was empty and open was another opportunity for them to hit me. I had been gambling my speed and unpredictable movement against their aim and foresight so far, but as time went on, I was liking my odds less and less. In the dozen heartbeats between making my decision and bursting out past the last of the wailing spires and onto the edge of the plateau overlooking the Chasm, three more projectiles had dented stone behind my head. I still managed the time to wonder idly if I was going to receive a ducking skill from the system, but no such luck. I pushed my head down and sprinted to cover the hundred or so meters from the edge of the stone forest to the Chasm, and I felt the wind whistling past my head, the constant drone of the wailing wind momentarily overshadowed by my own movement. I skidded to a stop and dropped my shield to focus solely on the spear in my hand. I hefted it over one shoulder, front leg pulled up ready. As soon as the first sling-wielder shambled past the cover of the stone spires, I threw the spear, stamping my front foot down and hurling with my entire body behind the throw. It cut smoothly through the air, but I spent no time to watch its trajectory. I fell and rolled with the momentum of my throw, coming up from my roll to grasp the shield in front of me. My arms shook with the impact of two projectiles hitting its centre, and the bronze dome rang with a mournful note. I scampered back, trying to keep the shield between myself and the approaching skeletons, and only when a quick glance back showed the plateau coming to an abrupt end behind me, did I lower the shield. I shoved my left arm through the straps and left most of my forearm exposed above the rim ¨C I needed the range of motion in both wrists if I was to climb down the mess of jagged edges and small cave entrances that riddled the Chasm¡¯s sides. My eyes widened as I caught sight of one of the skeletons releasing its sling towards me. I activated Check-Step and time slowed for a fraction of a heartbeat ¨C enough for me to trace the contours of the small pebble hurtling directly towards my exposed head. I had planned to grip the edge and descend only towards the first cave entrance I found. That was obviously still a risk, but Nathlan had confirmed earlier that tunnels riddled the Chasm walls, and I could reasonably expect to find at least a single entrance within a few dozen meters. That would require a chance to view the wall immediately below me, and climb relatively carefully down towards it, and that would take long moments I no longer possessed. As I saw my death come flying towards my head, I only had time for two thoughts. The first was an idle one purely in the realm of my conscious mind ¨C I should ask Jorge for a helmet once he returned, plumed ideally but I would accept anything right now as long as it was metal and fitted. The second thought was a product of my older, deeper mind and could hardly be classified as such ¨C the one buried deep in normal conversation that nevertheless came screaming to the fore in dangerous situations. It was a command from my brain to my body, and as the command screamed through my nervous system, my body moved to obey. The brief moment granted by Check-Step wasn¡¯t wasted, as I rolled neatly off the edge of the Chasm before the stone projectile could make mincemeat of my brain. Another brief moment of triumph flitted through my mind before panic took over. I had time to flail in the air, attempting to get my legs underneath me, before I hit a ledge. My legs buckled under the impact and my shoulder slammed into the wall. If that was all I¡¯d consider it a blessing and take my bruises with gratitude, but fate had other plans for me it seemed. The momentum of my fall wasn¡¯t stopped so easily, and I rebounded from the wall out into the empty space, falling again. I managed to reach an arm out to snag at the ledge as I fell past but all I achieved was a nasty gash on my forearm and bloody fingers. Another few meters whizzed past in a blur before I slammed down onto a plateau large enough to take my whole body. Skill ¡®Check-Step¡¯ has increased in level. Check-Step ¨C level 5 I lay there for a few moments, dazed. In the back of my mind, alarm bells were ringing ¨C there was something approaching, some reason for me to run, something urgent I had been doing ¨C but I couldn¡¯t understand the situation. My mind was working like sludge, my thoughts moving at a glacial pace while my heart hammered away so fast it felt close to bursting. Another dozen heartbeats passed by in the blink of an eye, and I was slowly returning to myself. A crack sounded next to me, and I flinched as stone chips sprayed into my face. I groaned and rolled to the side and wobbled as my arm and leg disappeared into open air. I flailed again, managing to roll back the other way and hug the rock wall. The near-fall sharpened something within me, and all at once my awareness returned. I looked up, saw one of the skeletons I¡¯d been fleeing above me, and dove towards the small hole in the rock wall. Without pausing to consider, I fled within the tunnel that had opened up, glancing back only briefly to see the other side of the Chasm ¨C It was a vast distance between both walls, but my enhanced perception could still make out the honeycomb structure of the far wall with tunnels and caves dotting its surface like a pockmarked face. I could only hope I was in the former rather than the latter, as I needed an exit.
*Nathlan* Nathlan heaved for breath. His arms hung leaden at his sides, sweat slicking his brow and back, but his gaze was firm and his smile bright. Splitting up had been a great idea. He was initially worried when Lamb had sprinted off without a moment¡¯s hesitation, but was quickly relieved to watch most of the pursuing skeletal horde follow him and give Nathlan himself some breathing room. The worry was starting to ramp up again now that it had been a while and the man hadn¡¯t returned, but he couldn¡¯t be too worried given the amazing results he¡¯d seen. He stood surrounded by bones, his sword chipped and his breathing ragged, but not a single wound marred his body. He was close though; he could feel it. A few more battles, a handful more corpses, and he would be there. Resetting a class was a painful and mind-numbing process. He needed to rid his soul of the links that had formed with his current class and skills. He then had to gather enough experience to hit level 15 all over again, but without any of the advantages he was so used to enjoying from his current class and attributes. Being reborn as basically a baby ¨C a base human with no spirituality or system-bestowed power to speak of ¨C facing down creatures 20 or so levels above him, was not an easy feat. It was made easier though by his ability to still use wards to some degree. With his class skills gone, he should have had no ability to manipulate the mana in the air, but his vast and uncanny comprehension of ward-craft and intense study of system-less magic ¨C real wizardry ¨C had allowed him to cling on to enough magic to see him through. Not enough to make the experience something he would recommend to others, but enough to make the undertaking theoretically possible. That was enough for Nathlan though. His first year with Jorge had focused on building skill and intent with his blade, visualising and trialling the type of warrior he would want to be, the truth of his future class. The second year, of which he was almost through with now, was focused entirely around weakening the bonds of his current class and getting his soul ready for the reset. He was supposed to wait for an ideal time, but opportunity didn¡¯t wait for your readiness after all. He had decided when only a single skeleton remained from the original group to go ahead. A controlled effort of will broke his soul, cracking the spiritual bonds between his class skills and his core. Strength and vitality instantly left his limbs, and his thoughts moved as if through mud. He still managed to kill that last corpse though. The next few bells had been difficult. Hellish truthfully, but Nathlan wasn¡¯t one to complain when he was making progress. He was now on the verge of level 15, and his dream of a new class was at his fingertips. He needed it, craved it. The power to reshape his world, to stand unbowed before his family¡¯s petty tyranny. He¡¯d wanted vengeance for the longest time, but the last two years had taught him more of the world. He now wanted only justice. Justice couldn¡¯t be achieved without power though. He wouldn¡¯t walk through the gates of his city and lay waste to his family¡¯s ancient estate ¨C he no longer dreamt of wielding the power directly. But he needed it all the same, to ensure that peace was seen as a credible option. Power was never transferred from the powerful to the powerless ¨C it always ran up hill. It had been a long struggle to get to this point, but that didn¡¯t matter. His parents were the ones who so often said that the winnings meant more after a struggle. No, what was important was that he was on the cusp of his first class once more, and this time he would choose for himself how his future would be shaped. Onwards then, to further battles and the rest of his life.
I moved through twisting passages, taking any intersections that felt like they would lead me upwards. After a while I began to second-guess my approach and tried to retrace my steps, but it was useless ¨C I was already hopelessly lost and had no good sense of direction down in the tunnels without light to guide me. I could feel the panic beginning to set in, so I tried to breathe deeply and activated Heart of the Hills. The skill steadied my thoughts, allowed me to think clearly and forced some much-needed separation between me and the world. The sense of distance, of dissociation, helped me plan, but I knew the panic would come roaring back in as soon as the influence of the skill vanished. I needed light ¨C the darkness was too oppressive and drowned out any rational thought. I leaned against the wall and slumped down to a sitting position. Taking a deep breath, I sought the meditative state of introspection I had managed weeks ago, and dove into the world of my soul. I visualised my core, and after what felt like entire bells of focused effort, I managed to stabilise the visualisation until it became real. I watched a stream of mana leave my core, winding its way up to the constellation that represented Heart of the Hills. The swirling globe of stars danced in its dizzying pattern, lit from within by the blue-white fire of my mana. I could see my core slowly draining, and knew I only had a 10th of a bell left at this rate, at the most. I focused on slowing the spin of the stars, and at first I made no progress. It was like trying to grasp a wheel covered in grease, and I felt the fingers of my intent slip off the edges of the skill. But why was I trying to grasp this like something physical? This was my soul. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I focused on slowing the constellation again, but this time purely with my will, not through some visualisation of hands grasping the skill but through direct effort. I simply wanted the skill to slow its constant motion, and I felt my breath hitch slightly as the spinning reduced in speed. The stream of mana leaving my core slowed in turn, becoming a small babbling brook, and the light from the whirling stars diminished ever so slightly. It took constant effort to hold this reduced rate of spin, and I lost control several times. Each time the skill reverted to its base rate, and I felt my mind steady with the reassuring emptiness granted by Heart of the Hills. The steady reassurance would in turn allow me to try again, and uncounted heartbeats passed as I manipulated the skill inside my soul, numb to the outside world and focused entirely inwards. I stayed in that inner world for what felt like an eternity, learning the intricacies of manipulating my mana and skill, until I could slow and speed up the skill with only a flex of effort and a moment to prepare. Increasing the spin of the constellation took far more effort, and my mana drained at an alarming rate ¨C not a linear relationship between speed and spin, but more exponential, although I was not enough of a mathematician to know if the relationship truly fit that pattern. Either way, it was a case of diminishing returns, where the mana required to increase the power of the skill was not worth the relatively small increase in power, to say nothing of the intense focus it required either. What I did manage to confirm was that by decreasing the speed of the rotating constellation of stars that represented the skill inside my soul, I could reduce the mana cost of the skill to a point that I could keep it active for nearly half a bell at a time. I would need to stop and let my core refill from the ambient mana every now and then, but the increased mana density in the Chasm seemed to aid in my mana recovery significantly, so it wouldn¡¯t be a long delay. The effectiveness of Heart of the Hills would be lessened its in weaker state, but it was a worthy trade-off. I didn¡¯t need serenity and absolute calm, just enough control over my mental state to prevent myself becoming overwhelmed by the darkness and possibility of becoming lost in the labyrinthine structure of the tunnels. My shield stayed firmly in front of me as I traversed tunnels of complete darkness, no longer flinching at every unexpected scuffle of my boots on rock, but still hunched behind it¡¯s protective embrace nonetheless. At every junction I chose the tunnel with either the fresher-smelling air, or the one that angled upwards slightly. They were often one and the same, and I hadn¡¯t yet had to make a choice between one or the other. I kept a sharp rock clutched in my right hand and prayed that it counted as enough of a weapon for my Guerrilla Warfare skill to help with its wielding, in case my other prayers of finding nothing hostile down here were ignored. On I trudged, as time became a meaningless concept that I measured in periods of rest between my constant activation of Heart of the Hills.
*Nathlan* The howling wind whistled past below him, dancing in eddies and currents around the stone pillar he sat upon. An upturned ribcage sat a few feet to his right and a skull rested casually against his boot, but Nathlan paid the grisly trophies no mind. The animating light was gone from the bodies that littered his pillar, and their weapons had fallen to the ground around him, unable to stand up to the intensity of his purpose. His head was hung low, dark hair spilling past his face in an untidy tail, with the occasional strand slipping out to quest forth on its own. No longer did his breathing match his sweat stained appearance, for he sat calmly with an even rise and fall to his chest. His eyes remained closed, shut tight against the sun as if to block out the world and allow the focus to wander inwards. The system had dinged its acknowledgement of his progress only moments before, and he sunk deep into the meditative trance following his level-up. Normally, it would be the height of foolishness to try and advance a class in hostile territory without a safe place to consider, but Nathlan knew his heart ¨C what he wanted, what he had achieved. He knew the course his life was to follow, with a fire and intensity that still surprised him sometimes when he thought back on his carefree ways before leaving the Serpent Isles. Before Marcus, before the truth. His eyes snapped open, and the newly advanced Warden of Truth viewed the world again in a new light.
I crouched there in the dark, rocking back and forwards with indecision for a few moments. I could hear the creature in the room just around the corner. It shambled back and forth, hissing and rambling incoherently. When I had first heard it moments before I had almost believed it to be speaking in an unfamiliar language, but by now I knew it was simply the ravings of a mad creature. There was apparently no language from an intelligent being that I couldn¡¯t comprehend at this point, according to Jorge and Nathlan at least. My experiences seemed to confirm it so far, and I¡¯d even got hints and flashes of insight from the communication of the wolves and bear I¡¯d encountered in the Endless Valley, so this God-Touched title apparently did do something useful. But even without that clue from the system, the random shuffling pattern and frequently repeating hisses and snarls were enough to confirm to me that whatever I was hearing was long past communication. The click of bone against rock was familiar to me by this point, and I knew that what lay beyond the tunnel entrance was another skeleton. Its gait was strange though, the click-clack of its footsteps seeming to be faster than I would expect considering how long it took to cross in and out of my hearing. There was also an unusual clank of rock against another material that I couldn¡¯t quite place, and combined with the heavy footfalls, I was trapped in indecision. I felt the fresh air through the tunnel in front of me, and I knew that route would take me closer to my goal of escaping the labyrinth of tunnels riddling the side of the Chasm. But a known fear was sometimes hard to leave in the face of an unknown enemy. Ultimately the darkness made up my mind. Thoughts of scarab beetles swarming up towards me from below pushed me forwards, and I hurriedly shook the terrifying thoughts from my mind before I could question where they had come from. The dim light ahead drew me forwards, and I gripped my shield and my trusty rock in hand before stepping through the tunnel and round the corner. The tunnel opened out into a carved stone room, roughly circular and with thin stalagmites rising from the floor to ceiling, forming pillars of rippling, smooth stone throughout the room. The last rays of the fading sun trickled down through the chasm and wended their way into the room, bathing it in a grey dusky light. I saw spiralling carvings on the rounded walls, matching those curling scripts that crept forwards across the ceiling and the floor to a central pillar absolutely covered in flowing drawings. I could make out no detail from them though, for my gaze was drawn to the creature across the room. It was no longer moving, and resembled the animated skeletons I had seen thus far, but the glacial blue light behind its eyes also pulsed at every joint and shone from cracks in the dented and rusted armour it wore. It stood well over two meters tall, towering in the low-ceilinged cavern and seeming to absorb the light around it, drawing my gaze inexorably towards it. I felt myself falling across the room, gravity losing its hold on me altogether. But that wasn¡¯t quite right, it was more like gravity was warped, and the skeleton before me became the focal point of that most basic of forces. The stalagmites began to warp and twist towards it as it locked its unnatural gaze on my own, and I felt the feeble light in the room being sucked away from me. I blasted Heart of the Hills in reaction to the confusion, and as soon as the skill activated, I realised my legs hadn¡¯t moved. The room was still spinning and writhing in bizarre patterns but while I felt as if I was falling towards the figure, I could clearly see my feet staying rooted to the ground. It took me a few moments ¨C moments where the skeletal figure strode towards me and seemed to further tower over the surroundings ¨C to recognise what was happening based on Jorge¡¯s lessons and Nathlan¡¯s description of my own aura. As soon as I realised, I retaliated. My posture straightened as I glared back at the creature, and as soon as Indomitable Prey activated, I saw the room settle itself back to normality. As normal as an underground cavern covered in dense waving carvings could be anyway. The massive creature rocked backwards in response to my aura skill, and then released a shriek like a teakettle before lunging forwards. It skittered forwards on three thin legs, far more mobile than I had originally predicted. It explained the strange gait I¡¯d heard but seeing it in action was far more unpleasant than simply hearing it could ever be. I dashed to my right, keeping one of the thin pillars between us so that it couldn¡¯t lash out with its massive arms. It bore no weapons that I could see, but its arms were as thick as the pillars themselves, covered in rusting plated armour, and l had no doubt that a blow from one of them would hit me like a charging rhino. We spent a few moments dancing around between the pillars, trying to outmanoeuvre each other, although I wasn¡¯t too sure how much damage I could realistically do with my sharp rock. Nevertheless, when I spotted an opening, I dived in anyway and slammed the rock into a joint on one of its legs. For a brief moment I felt the leg buckle under my blow, and I stepped in towards the monstrosity, shoulder checking it and intending to drive it to the floor. Reality was bitterly disappointing though, and I bounced off the creature¡¯s side as it spun aside. The creature pivoted rather than stumbling back, using the momentum from my blow to whip around and slam a heavy backhand towards my head. I activated Check-Step as soon as I felt my shoulder rebound and that instinct was all that saved my life. The world slowed around me briefly and I managed to turn my stumble into a fall, letting the arm whistle past above my head. I landed on my back and rolled to my feet to see the creature already advancing towards me, my rock discarded on the floor behind it. The leg I had hit seemed none the worse for wear, and I had to desperately dive to the side behind another pillar to prevent my chest begin caved in by another heavy blow from one of its massive arms. Heart of the Hills was activated again to keep the panic from consuming me, but it was a close thing, and I could feel my mana already at less than half capacity. I swayed away from a few more strikes, interposing pillars between us whenever I could, and making liberal use of Check-Step to avoid injury when I couldn¡¯t. It took no more than a hundred breaths for me to realise how outmatched I was in this fight, and so I acted as all great men do when confronted with something beyond them. I ran. I avoided a blow that left the creature slightly overextended, and sprinted out through the room, opposite to where I had entered. Following the dull light, I careened around another corner and up a steep sloping tunnel. The light grew progressively brighter as I climbed, and heartbeats later I emerged out into the mouth of a cave. The hammering of my heart was only just drowned out by the pounding of skeletal feet on rock as the behemoth surged up the sloping tunnel behind me like a wave of chittering bone. I shoved my shield further up my forearm once again and leapt at the rock wall above me as a starving man leaps at a buffet. I gorged myself on the freedom of open air and daylight long denied me, and jammed my fingers into thin cracks with wild abandon. Heaving with my entire body, I surged up the wall in a frenzy, making dangerous leaps out of sheer desperation to put more space between my fragile, squishy body and the skeleton¡¯s robust, heavy fists. My mana was running dangerously low, but I couldn¡¯t risk losing what little sanity I had from abandoning me ¨C I needed to keep Heart of the Hills active. It was a risk, but I cut the mana flow to Indomitable Prey to slow the rapid drain and prayed the bizarre gravity domain wouldn¡¯t have the same affect outside of the script-covered cavern. My prayers were answered as I continued to climb without issue, and I chanced a quick glance below me. It was just in time to watch the skeleton wind back an enormous fist before driving it into the rockface barely a meter below my trailing leg. Another few breaths of reckless climbing before I looked again, and the skeleton was now glued to the wall, both hands drilled into the cliff-face by its sheer power. I could mark its progress by the heavy thuds I both heard and felt through the rock as I ascended, and while I was widening my lead, I knew I couldn¡¯t keep this frantic pace up for long before I faced consequences. A misplaced foot here, a broken hand hold there ¨C something would get me soon enough if I continued in this manner, and even if luck itself was on my side and I reached the top of the chasm, I would still only have a moment or two to escape before the abomination below caught up to me. I slowed my pace, taking more care with my hand and foot placements, testing holds wherever I was unsure of the rock. I made it another dozen meters up the chasm wall before my caution paid off. As I gave the slab above me a tentative pull before putting my full weight on it, I felt a slight give. On instinct I shied back, searching out another route upwards that didn¡¯t rely on the jutting slab before glancing back down at the skeleton doggedly following me up the rock. It was below me and only a meter or so off to one side, drilling its way methodically up the wall one pulverising punch at a time. An idea bloomed in my mind, and I cursed myself for not thinking of it earlier. Chapter 25 - The Iona Chasm 6 Make no mistake; the Lords of Salazar have earned their name. We don¡¯t call them privateers or sailors, but pirates. There is a reason that our charter allows a captain to surrender peacefully to rival merchant houses, but demands they fight to the death when a Salazan vessel comes calling. I grew up here, just as you boys and girls did, so I know the stories as well as any other. Red-Beard and his Handsome Hundred, sailing the 8 oceans looking for plunder and adventure. The Harlot-Queen and her Chain-Breakers, who bring damnation and liberation to the masters and slaves up and down the Ionic Coast. Even Grimmer the North has been given a romantic twist by some of the more enterprising bards in our dockside taverns. I¡¯m here to take those dreams and crush them under the weight of truth. There are no good men in Salazar. Not all will rape and pillage, but to rise up through the ranks of that shit-bitten country requires a cunning and ruthlessness that leaves no place for compassion. Each and every one of the sons-of-whores has killed more men and women than you can count, and the ones that haven¡¯t just ain¡¯t yet had the chance. Weakness is no excuse ¨C any one of them could flee through the Wandering States, take up with one of the settlements or rambling clans. If you surround yourself with killers, it don¡¯t matter if you pick up a blade yourself. You¡¯re one of them. - Johannes Bitter, Retired Captain of the Rendition Fleet, giving a speech to graduating class of .165 of the Merchant Navy of House Inheritor
As my gaze moved from the hulking skeleton below my feet back up to the rock face above, Guerrilla Warfare prompted me, subtly drawing my eye to certain sections of the rock and allowing me to notice weaknesses and fault lines within it. Again, I wondered at the complexity of the system in this world, supposedly setup by the gods in eras long passed. It baffled me. I knew, and had been told many enough times by Jorge, that the system relied on intent. I now wanted to use the rock itself as a weapon, and the system recognised that and decided that it fell within the purview of one of the simple skills that made up my merged Guerrilla Warfare skill. Therefore, the skill would exert its influence and aid me. I could only assume that the system had complete and total access to my thoughts, possibly my unconscious ones too, and likely knew more about me than I did. It certainly seemed to act on my thoughts exactly as I noticed them. It also seemed to not only know my intent, but my ability too. Afterall, I seemed to only be noticing flaws that I could reasonably exploit. If I had invested an extra 50 attribute points into strength, I would be able to drive a fist into the solid rock and rip entire sections out with ease, just as the massive skeleton chasing me was. The fact that I discarded the solid sections, larger cracks and other features far beyond my strength confirmed that I was at least partially correct. I discarded the errant thoughts as I rested my eyes upon a small ledge, jutting precariously from the rock face above me and slightly to my right. I said a silent apology to the slim, twisting tree that had taken root in the crack that the ledge jutted out from, and fervently hoped that its roots were not any thicker than the finger-thin trunk. With a last glance at the skeletal colossus crashing its way up the cliff face towards me, I gripped the ledge and heaved with¡­some of my strength. There was no use dislodging the skeleton if I was to fall with it after all ¨C no suicidal moves for me today thank you very much. The ledge slipped from its perch and my heart soared with triumph, only to gutter a moment later. There was a brief moment of hesitation, as the small tree clung on to the ledge for dear life, grasping roots digging in like fingers to the stone. It was only a moment however, and gravity would not be overturned by the puny efforts of a tiny tree. The ledge looked suspiciously like a paving slab as it fell from the wall, and I had only a moment to angle its fall. A skilful nudge set it on a collision course with the skeleton below, and as gravity exerted its power over reality, the stone dropped like¡­well, like a stone. The skeleton didn¡¯t even look up as its doom descended on it, and I revelled in the glorious sight of the large rock slamming into armoured bone. It hit an extended arm around the elbow joint, and its momentum sheared straight through. The skeleton flailed its other arm, attempting to shoot out towards the cliff face without success before plummeting down into the darkness of the ravine below. All that remained was a singe forearm dug into the rock up to its wrist joint. I watched in fascination as the arm continued to twitch and strain, no noise present except for the frantic sawing of my breath in and out. I counted 30 of them before the animating light faded alongside the system notification in my mind. You have killed an Unknown (Level 42). Experience gained. Skill ¡®Guerrilla Warfare¡¯ has increased in level. Guerrilla Warfare ¨C level 8 You have reached level 23. Attribute points available for allocation. I turned back to the cliff with satisfaction, assuming the fall had destroyed the skeleton before a terrifying thought hit me. My skill of mathmatics left much to be desired, but I ran some quick calculations nonetheless. For something to fall for that long implied, what, 3000 meters? That was a deep deep chasm indeed. The climb before me suddenly looked a lot more intimidating. It made no sense, since a fall of two dozen meters would be more than enough to kill me ¨C anything beyond that was quite literally overkill and made no difference to the end result, but for some reason, the thought of 3000 meters of a dark abyss beneath me unsettled me to the core. Although I also couldn¡¯t deny a bizarre feeling of excitement at the thought of the unexplored depths, just a hint, not enough to overpower the fear certainly, but it was there nonetheless. I invested my recent gains into Perception, Stamina and Cognition as equally as possible before I chanced a final look down at the now inert forearm sticking out from the chasm wall. I took a deep breath and considered again the climb before me. Well, when you¡¯ve got a task¡­
I exploded over the lip of the chasm, shield held protectively in front before my feet had even hit the ground, arm cocked back and ready to strike or intercept a blow. Neither was necessary though and I relaxed as I examined the open ground before me. The familiar red dust eddying across the hard-packed ground in the breeze, the howling call of the wind sharing its now familiar song once again. Without an enemy in sight, I oriented myself towards the area we had set up our camp and started to jog back. Half a bell of running and fighting was more tiring than it sounded. Bones littered the land in my wake, and I received another two levels over that time, investing my gains equally across my attributes, bringing them all up to an even 22. No particular reason, I just liked the symmetry. Check-Step received another level up, but none of my other skills increased. As I drove a heavy rock into the skull of a final skeleton, ending its un-life and signalling the end of the skirmish, I finally heard a noise that had been obscured by my own struggle. The clashing of steel ringing out intermittently snapped my head round and I dashed off towards the noise. I hadn¡¯t been too worried about Nathlan before, distracted as I was with my own survival, but now I was beginning to catastrophise ¨C running through all the worst options and how I would deal with them. I saw three of the shambling bone monsters to the side of a squat stone pillar, two with atlatls and one with a few short javelins. I couldn¡¯t see what they were sighting at, but they were clearly loosing projectiles intermittently, and I¡¯d seen no evidence to suggest the skeletons fought each other. I increased my pace to a flat-out sprint, barrelling towards them from behind. The noise should have given them plenty of time to turn and face me, but these skeletons on the surface seemed to hover around the low twenties in level and were heavily strength based with other attributes mostly ignored as a consequence. My running skill helped me prevent the thumping heavy strides that would make so much noise, and so I flew over the ground between us lightly. Combined with their obviously lower perception scores, and the speed granted to me by training, at least one movement focused skill, and over 20 attributes in strength, the spear wielder had hardly managed to jerk around before I hit them like a charging rhino. The spear in its hands went spinning out to the side, and with my momentum and weight behind my shield, it¡¯s ribcage practically disintegrated when we hit the floor. I rolled to my feet smoothly and turned to face the two remaining skeletons. I threw the rock in my right hand at one that was drawing back their arm to loose an arrow, and closed the distance to the second one. Turtling behind my shield as I ran, I managed to avoid their attempt at turning me into a pincushion, feeling the impact of the arrow reverberate through my arm and shoulder as it bounced off my shield. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. And then I was face to face with a leering skull and eyes of blue-white fire. An arrow came at my face, and I latched onto the wrist that held it, pushing it down and past my side. Stepping in, I crouched and twisted my hips, planting a leg in front of the skeleton¡¯s leading foot. With a wrench, I threw the skeleton over my shoulder as I straightened at the waist. Again, I had forgotten how light the animated creatures were, and rather than being thrown to the ground the creature sailed through the air and crashed into the stone pillar. I had no time to follow up though, and dove to my right, coming up from my dive into a crouch in time to see the other creature drawing back their arm once again. I had nothing to throw this time to distract it, so I grit my teeth and ran straight towards the creature, hoping the pressure might throw its aim off a little. In hindsight, assuming a reanimated skeleton would hesitate due to fear was a silly mistake, and my eyes widened as the arrow leapt towards me like a snarling dog slipping a harness. I activated Check-Step, the process now so smooth it took barely half a heartbeat before the world slowed, and I juked to the side, ducking under the arrow by mere inches. It was a foregone conclusion by that point, and after I finished off the one I¡¯d thrown, I rounded the corner of the pillar to see what had originally led me here. Nathlan was positioned between three pillars, his presence such that they seemed to have been placed there to hold him in. He flowed from one movement to another, in constant motion as he gracefully countered and parried blows from a score of skeletons clustered around him. While surrounded, he was not locked down, and was able to slip between the creatures seemingly without a care in the world. While his sword seemed to move in a blur to even my enhanced perception, he seemed to only be countering attacks sent his way rather than going on the offensive himself. Every few breaths though, a bright light would envelope his blade and he¡¯d cut out, severing a creature¡¯s head from its bony body. I hadn¡¯t realised I¡¯d been so entranced until a voice shocked me from my staring. ¡°Switch.¡± Jorge¡¯s voice cut across the impromptu training ground, and after a few moments delay, Nathlan¡¯s blade took on a darker hew, whispers emanating from its blackened edge. While the golden blade had parted bone like butter, where the ebony blade moved, skeletons dropped without visible damage. Each cut severed the strands of icy blue light wreathing the creatures, and they immediately ceased functioning. It was devastatingly effective, but after only a half dozen attacks, the colour faded from the blade and steel once more shone in the grey afternoon light. Nathlan was panting and seemed to slump slightly. Before I could even begin to worry about the remaining skeletons taking advantage of his winded state, Vera was before him, turning aside blades and blunt weapons with her own sword, and often enough her gauntleted hands and greaves. She didn¡¯t strike back either, simply giving Nathlan protection as he gathered himself for another effort. Seeing all was in hand, I searched for Jorge, following the direction of the voice I¡¯d heard moments before. ¡°What happened to your spear, Lamb?¡± Jorge asked as I ducked behind the pillar he was leaning against, looking so relaxed and cool I half expected to see a cigarette in his hand. A moment of dissonance followed the thought, and it was wiped from my mind so completely that I was just left with a vague feeling of d¨¦j¨¤ vu. ¡°Ah¡­I chucked it at a skeleton. I¡¯ve just been using this rock in the meantime!¡± I replied, hefting my rock proudly. It was actually Smashy Rock Number 3, since I¡¯d thrown Number 2 at a skeleton just moments before, but he didn¡¯t need to know that. Jorge just looked at me in exasperation for a moment before speaking again. ¡°And why in all the hells would you throw away your bloody weapon for a rock!?¡± I widened my eyes at his outburst and then puffed up indignantly. ¡°It wasn¡¯t intentional! I needed a distraction so I could have time to climb down without getting a stone to the skull. Besides, a spear isn¡¯t very useful against skeletons, is it? Running one through doesn¡¯t seem to do much!¡± I almost managed to persuade myself with the words, but as Jorge stared silently at me again with that vaguely disappointed look, I started to lose the indignation rapidly. He then summoned a plain infantry spear, much like the one I had recently lost, from his storage device. He stepped out from the stone pillar and into the charge of an approaching skeleton and shoved the bladed tip straight through its ribcage. ¡°See!? Useless!¡± I shouted, as he made my point for me expertly. He slipped his head out of the way of a swing from the skeleton currently impaled on his spear without even looking, eyes still locked on mine. He then lifted the spear in one hand and slammed the end, skeleton still lodged on it, directly into the stone pillar. He repeated the motion a few times, alternating between the pillar and the ground, and never took his gaze off mine as bones crunched before he, almost delicately, shook the spear. The remains of the skeleton tumbled off the weapon, light fading from its eyes to leave a pile of bones on the floor. He made no move to speak, but I could see the rebuke clear in his gaze. Disappointment and exasperation shone in the set of his brows and curve of his mouth, and only after a solid few heartbeats did he sigh and let out a tired laugh. ¡°I can¡¯t figure you out Lamb.¡± I cocked an eyebrow at him, and he continued ¡°You¡¯re either a flaming idiot who¡¯s so incredibly lucky it boggles the mind¡­or a smart, resourceful, and capable man who is so far out of his depth that it comes across as stupidity.¡± Jorge had an amused lilt in his voice, but there was an air of a genuine question within his gentle mocking that I felt I had to respond to honestly. ¡°Couldn¡¯t it be both?¡± I asked with a crooked smile. The compassion this statement elicited in his face was unexpected, and I turned away at the surprising swell of emotion I felt within my chest at that. I couldn¡¯t remember any of my previous life, but here, in this new reality I found myself emersed in, I needed not only friends, but people I could trust and learn from. I didn¡¯t know how old The Shepard was but considering the magic I¡¯d seen so far alongside his title, I suspected there may be a significant difference between us. He looked no older 50, though powerful and full of vitality for that age, and yet he exuded such a calm and comforting aura that I¡¯d began to look up to him and think of him as a mentor figure almost since the moment I met him. Given the state of things here, it was probably another bloody aura skill. I shook my head and opted to deflect rather than confront that problem. ¡°In my defence, I didn¡¯t know you could use a spear like that. You never showed off that move in one of our spars.¡± ¡°Fair enough, lad¡­Did you want me to demonstrate now or later?¡± He asked in response. I thought of the bladed tip of that spear lodging itself in my ribcage and winced, hurriedly adding ¡°No no that¡¯s fine, I get it. Excellent demonstration! All good.¡± He chuffed a laugh and threw the spear my way. ¡°Don¡¯t lose this one so quickly.¡± I nodded as I caught it, and we both tuned to once again watch Nathlan reap a harvest of the skeletons. ¡°Did you find the ones who torched that caravan?¡± I asked. Jorge sighed and cocked his head to the side. ¡°Yeah we found ¡®em. They won¡¯t be a problem again. The real problem is that they also won¡¯t be the last. No clue why they were here to begin with, though they definitely recognised Vera, which makes me think the Duke might be trying again. Can¡¯t for the life of me figure out the timing though.¡± I quirked a questioning eyebrow again and he sighed dramatically. ¡°If I filled you in on everything you didn¡¯t know, the Chasm would wake before we were finished.¡± He then held up a hand to forestall my next question, ¡°But I will summarise as best I can. You know Vera, and I¡¯ve told you all of her past that I am willing to share without her express approval. However, I did say she was from the Sunset Kingdoms originally. There is one hell of a bounty on her head, and her death or capture is something of a political statement over there. If one of the many competing factions could bring her back in chains, they would be able to leverage that into greater political power within the Kingdoms themselves. Duke Ryonic was once a member of the Crimson Lions and had even been involved personally in a few of the attempts on Vera before I met her. He is a big player over there, and while I had thought his ambitions have mellowed with age, it seems he may be trying again. He has already commissioned one ill-fated attempt at capturing her, and we suspect that the few Talons and Fangs of the Lions we encountered near the endless valley while finding you were hired by him, as were these.¡± ¡°But why is her capture or death so important? If it¡¯s been tried and failed a bunch of times already, how can throwing money and fighters at a problem and repeatedly failing be good for your political position?¡± I asked, confused about the mechanics of all this. ¡°You obviously haven¡¯t spent much time around nobles have you, Lad? I won¡¯t pretend to understand all of it myself either, but the Kingdoms as a whole are surprisingly unified about certain things, despite their constant low-level conflict and politicking. To ¡®waste¡¯ money in pursuit of the Kingdoms¡¯ goals is seen as a perfectly good trait, whether the attempt is successful or not. There is also the consideration that by even making the attempt, the Duke shows that he still considers Vera, and more importantly what she represents, to be a serious threat and is willing to spend his own coin to see it ended. It goes without saying that if he was able to succeed where everyone before him had failed, he would be heralded as a hero.¡± ¡°Gods, they really must hate her over there. She¡¯s not like a super evil war-criminal is she?¡± I asked half in jest. I was still watching Nathlan decimate his opponents with seemingly little effort, until he activated his skills of course, which seemed to be fairly draining. He recovered quickly though, and Vera had less than no problem handling the low-levelled skeletons for him while he did so. Jorge looked at me strangely for a moment. ¡°That¡¯s a strange turn of phrase. But aye, I imagine they do see her that way.¡± I looked over at him sharply. I was once again reminded that while I instinctively wanted to trust this man, it could simply be an aura skill influencing how I thought. Perhaps I was travelling with serial killers and murderers? Some of my uneasiness must have shown on my face as Jorge sighed and turned towards me, eyes boring into me with his implacable gaze. ¡°Lamb, I know you don¡¯t understand much of this world, but know this; change comes at the edge of a blade. Vera was part of an attempt to change things and is perhaps the only true surviving part of that attempt. Look at her now ¨C she¡¯s dressed for war, not poetry. She doesn¡¯t wield a sword for fun, or as an expression of the artistry of combat or anything fancy like that. Compare her movements and those of Nathlan ¨C both incredible fighters but there¡¯s a difference in style there, in approach. I¡¯ve known her for near on 15 years now, and we¡¯ve travelled together for many of them. Talk to her yourself, find out what she did and why, and then make your judgement.¡± He turned back to watch the fight before shouting some feedback for Nathlan ¨C something about his feet moving like an arthritic grandma ¨C but I was wrapped up in my own thoughts so much that it hardly registered. Who were my companions really? I still didn¡¯t even know who I was, being honest, but that wasn¡¯t something I could really uncover right now. I¡¯d heard the expression somewhere that you are who you surround yourself with, and I needed to know who that was before I could decide who I wanted to be. Chapter 26 - Campfire Conversations Mistakes stack silently. Its only when they begin to fall that one takes notice. ¨C Saying of the Plutash River-Runners, transliterated by unknown member of the White Tower Consortium circa .122
The Iona Chasm was comfortingly out of sight and almost-but-not-quite out of mind by the time we stopped to make camp that evening. Nathlan was just gushing pride at his new class, and Jorge and Vera seemed appropriately impressed. I was no different, and we all spent plenty of time congratulating him ¨C we even managed to convince Jorge to break out ¡®the good stuff¡¯ from his storage device later. I assumed it would be some sort of alcohol by the way that Nathlan and Vera cheered at the pronouncement, but when I asked, they just told me to wait and see with smug grins on their faces. We slipped back into the usual divisions of labour, with Vera hunting, Nathlan laying out the camp and Jorge training me in weapons-craft for a bell or so until Vera returned. He was much more focused on teaching me specific stances this time, and was trying to get me to resonate with the intent of the spear as a weapon. Apparently, traditional sparring was leaning too much into my tendency to ¡®turn simple fights into messy scraps¡¯ as he put it ¨C I preferred to think of it as improvising while under pressure. Either way, no more picking up the generals of combat while learning a few specific moves each night. No, now I was being drilled in katas and patterns, which felt very unusual to me. Fights were messy, hard to predict and didn¡¯t fit with the polished stances I was moving through. I wasn¡¯t going to argue with the experts though and spent as much focus as I could muster towards visualising my enemy, considering how my weight was distributed with each step and thrust, and how much coverage my shield provided at each point in the movements. Once Vera returned with a brace of rabbits, I went to fetch water from a nearby spring ¨C the reason for our chosen campsite ¨C to aid with the cooking. I then washed myself and after returning set about preparing some of the fresh chives and shallots that Jorge had procured from who knew where. He¡¯d promised that we¡¯d be doing more foraging as well, after finding out that my lowest skill was Wilderness Survival Hunter. Apparently, to level a skill you needed to work on each of its constituent parts, hence the danger of creating too broad a skill and being unable to level it at a solid pace. Breadth vs depth seemed to be a theme with the system, and I had been neglecting the Hill Foraging and Meat Preparation parts of my merged skill. I had asked why you couldn¡¯t simply unmerge a skill from the larger merged skill without harming either of them and Jorge had rambled on about balance, the system and some other rubbish. It¡¯s not that I didn¡¯t believe him, it¡¯s just that none of it made any sense to me ¨C the rules seemed sensible on the surface but if you dug too deep, it was all built on a shaky foundation in my opinion. So I decided to just take his word for it that unmerging a skill was almost impossible and to just make sure to only add skills to a merged one if you were confident you would use them for ever, or were happy to abandon the larger merged skill at a later date. Apparently, I shouldn¡¯t be worried about my Wilderness Survival Hunter though because it was fairly easy to add cooking and food preparation skills to a merged skill that already contained something tangentially related to them ¨C example being my Meat Preparation skill ¨C and ¡®everyone needs a good cooking skill¡¯ anyway. I was suspicious that this was just a ploy to get me to take on the cooking for the party, but it did need doing, and I was happy to help regardless of the task. Jorge approached just as I had placed the four skinned rabbits on a chopping board to skewer. It seemed like suspicious timing, and that was only confirmed when he reached into his storage device and pulled out a large, thick cloth sack. He dumped a handful of the citrus-smelling ground herb onto the chopping board and placed down a yellow glass vial next to it. I hadn¡¯t seen where he¡¯d pulled that one from but was more interested in the specific items and their purpose than their origin at this moment. ¡°What are these?¡± He looked down at me with a knowing grin. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry about that lad, put some hair on your chest this will!¡± He chuckled to himself and explained further, ¡°Just mix a spoon or so of the yellow jar with those herbs to form a paste and baste the rabbits with them before you put ¡®em over the fire. Trust me, it¡¯s a favourite for a reason.¡± He slapped me on the shoulder and walked off before I could ask anything else, so I got to mixing.
The firelight crackled as I lay on my back, staring at the stars above as they writhed and danced through the heavens. I could hear Vera to my right giggling with a carefree abandon I had never heard from her before, as she wrestled Nathlan into submission again and again. I¡¯d watched the first few times as he¡¯d demanded a rematch, but the bouts had always ended within a dozen heartbeats, and always with Nathlan being tickled mercilessly on the ground. He would let out a wheezing laugh before descending into coughing, at which point Vera would back off, he¡¯d inevitably try to stand to his feet again and the whole cycle would repeat. We were now on cycle 37, and neither had shown any sign of tiring so far. Jorge had slipped away early on to dance around the fire in a whirling, whooping pattern of stomping, flaring his arms and crying out into the night. It may have been intimidating in any other context but with the sounds of sibling squabbling beside me and the frankly ridiculous combination of a lack of trousers and massive elephant trunk and silver tusks protruding from his face, he just looked unbalanced and ungainly. I returned my gaze to the heavens and tried to find the patterns in the night sky above me. There was something there, just out of reach. Stars flew across the firmament, and I could feel my mind stretching at the edges as I traced their trajectories. My soul was humming, the constellations of my skills vibrating in rhythm with the heavenly dance above. ¡®The good stuff¡¯ was clearly some sort of experience-altering drug, able to loosen Nathlan and Vera up until they were rolling on the ground like children again, despite their usually reserved and stoic personalities. I had no idea what it was doing to Jorge though, and where he could have got the trunk and tusks from was not worth even guessing over¡­some people just had fragile minds though and would go to crazy lengths when under the influence. After a few moments of squinting over at the raging lunatic, I did think the appendages were far too well-sealed to his face, and I was starting to suspect the drugs may be having more of an effect on me than I realised. At that moment, his eye slipped down his face, and was slurped back up the trunk before returning to its rightful place. Yep, definitely the drugs. But then why was my mind so clear? I was on the verge of an epiphany; I could feel it. Some intangible, mystical awareness that the truths of the universe were within grasp, if only I could focus enough to- Thoughts exploded from my head, trickling down in a rain of visible words over my face and tinkling to the ground. The bright letters melted into the grass after falling from my head, and I clutched at them desperately, gathering them between my fingers and cradling them into my shirt as I cried in anguish at losing such profound understanding. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. I looked up with recrimination at the elephantine figure that had knocked me over. ¡°How could you!? I was so close! I nearly had it, you fucking trunk-fucking elephant-looking¡­gaaagh!!¡± Pure rage stole the sense from my words and I ended with an unintelligible shout of fury, tears running from my eyes and floating words dissolving to purple sludge in the crook of my shirt.
*Jorge* Jorge looked on in confusion at the frankly psychotic-looking meltdown Lamb was having at his feet. He looked over at where Vera and Nathlan were chatting casually, occasionally uttering a low chuckle or quiet snort at a particularly funny part of each other¡¯s stories. He¡¯d just returned from stoking the fire for a bit to find Lamb lying flat on his back, staring at the stars, completely insensate and muttering to himself. He was about to pull out the bottle of Duganese rot-gut he had picked up a few months ago and had been saving for a special occasion ¨C it wasn¡¯t as bad as the name implied, as long as you didn¡¯t think too carefully about the production process ¨C but had noticed that the boy seemed to be struggling with something. When he had tapped Lamb on the shoulder though, the lad leaped nearly to his feet, fell to his knees screaming and frantically cast about on the floor, pulling up fistfuls of grass and shoving them into his shirt like a crazy person. The others noticed at that point, looking over in confusion, until Lamb called him some frankly bizarre names ¨C at which point Vera actually cackled, and Nathlan failed to supress a grin. He was well and truly stumped by the behaviour, and after a discreet skill activation to confirm no foreign influence on the boy, turned to address the others. ¡°Any ideas what this is all about?¡± he said, waving in the general direction of Lamb¡¯s prone, sobbing form. Vera and Nathlan spoke at the same time, the former asking ¡°What are you talking about? Could you be more specific, Sir Elephant-fucker?¡± while the later started on in on a long trail of speculation. Jorge shot the large woman a look to convey his disappointment, which had less than no effect on her at all since her smug smile stayed well and truly in place, and tuned into what Nathlan was saying. ¡°¡­and so I¡¯d suggest one of two primary causes; either he has somehow been poisoned by the venom of an Mnukaa Tree-Frog, or it¡¯s a strange reaction to the Shingen spice you gave him for the rabbits. Did you see him eat more than normal? Ingest any of the spice raw perhaps?¡± Jorge shook his head, but Vera¡¯s smile slipped as she interrupted. ¡°He was cooking though! What if he was too close to the fire while turning the spits? Does Shingen spice still have hallucinogenic effects when inhaled?¡± ¡°It still doesn¡¯t seem like the dose would be high enough for this though.¡± Jorge commented, gesturing again at the slumped and incoherently muttering form of Lamb nearby. It was Nathlan¡¯s turn to shake his head though, ¡°No the dose is far too low for an effect to be seen from ingesting as far as I know. But I¡¯ve read somewhere that the monks of Amin-Ra sometimes use incense sticks flavoured with Shingen spice to alter their perspectives and achieve enlightenment.¡± Vera looked very smug as Jorge asked, ¡°What in the hells were you reading about to discover that?¡± Nathlan just shrugged. ¡°I can¡¯t remember, but it¡¯s possible that the smoke has a powerful hallucinogenic effect if the monks use it in that fashion.¡± A quick glance at Lamb¡¯s pathetically slumped form, ¡°plausible even.¡± He pulled himself up, letting out a weary sigh before asking for help from Vera to shift Lamb to his bedroll. The sobbing had turned to quiet sniffles now, and the poor lad looked utterly wrung out from the no-doubt terrifying trip he was clearly experiencing. He was sure to wake tomorrow with a splitting hangover, no matter what form it took. At least the bastard wouldn¡¯t be so sprightly in the morning anymore, even if just this once.
I woke suddenly, sweat cooling on my forehead from a gentle breeze, my hair ruffling against my face where it had earlier been stuck to it. I rose and stretched, letting out a satisfied groan as every vertebrae in my back popped in sequence. It felt like it anyway, whether or not it was anatomically possible. I yawned and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, looking around at the early dawn light bathing our camp with its gentle yellow hue. I heard a chuckle behind me and turned to see Jorge seated near the remains of the fire, stirring life back into the embers and putting a full kettle into the fire-bed. ¡°Rough night? How¡¯s the head, lad?¡± He said with a smile, looking inordinately pleased with himself for some reason. A yawn interrupted my reply, but I persevered. ¡°I feel¡­.great, man. My joints are all fluid and smooth, and everything is so ridiculously colourful today! How about you?¡± His smile dropped and when I plopped down next to him by the fire, he huffed and mumbled something to himself that sounded suspiciously like ¡°damn kids¡±. ¡°What was that?¡± I asked innocently. ¡°Forget it. You remember anything?¡± I wriggled into the grass, enjoying the sensation of the cool strands against my skin while I stretched further. ¡°Nah not really. I remember some pretty strong emotions, but not sure what caused them. Did we start drinking heavily or something?¡± Something niggled at the back of my mind, and I tried to catch the memory as it flitted away. Something to do with the sky, the stars. I tuned out Jorge¡¯s rambling explanation of the last night and pursued the thought, struggling to pin it down. Finally, after at last recalling a hollow memory of whirling stars, I dove into my soul, visualising my core. The pin-prick of light had grown slightly. I only recognised the change because I had spent so long over the last few weeks inspecting it intensely during meditation sessions, attempting to manipulate it. It was larger, more full and somehow more solid in the empty space within my soul. A welcome change but nothing too surprising ¨C I had been thinking of my soul like a muscle recently. I could exercise it, pressure it and force it to grow, but most of the progress would only come as a result of rest after intense stimulus. I turned my focus instead to my skills, and there I found the true difference. The whirling constellations hanging above my core were still distinct entities, and they hadn¡¯t grown in size or complexity. But there was a solidity to them now. Just like my core, they seemed more real in the space they inhabited, more connected to one another despite the lack of obvious physical ¨C metaphysical I suppose really ¨C links between one another. I observed the seven spinning, twirling constellations surrounding my core. Each had a distinct pattern, although I was still far from understanding it. It seemed familiar, and I instantly recognised them for what they were, but only while inhabiting my soul-space. I knew from previous experience that leaving my introspection would also mean letting go of the temporary understanding I had for these representations of my skills. I could no more draw out the tangled mesh of starlight on a page than I could describe their twisting shapes to another. I had tried enough times before, but Jorge had assured me it was a matter of time and familiarity. The more I understood my skills, made them a part of myself, the easier I would find it to communicate about them to others. I was still weary of using other language to describe my soul, even to myself, and so I put the thoughts away as I stared longingly at the beautiful sight before me. Seven constellations orbiting my core, and a single space left. One hung higher than the others, dominating the vista above the others ¨C my bound skill, Indomitable Prey ¨C but even it couldn¡¯t make up for the unsightly gap left by my last unassigned skill. I sighed and left the meditative state, toggling back into what Jorge was saying even as I simultaneously lamented my continued lack of weapons skill and congratulated myself on the increasing solidity of my other skills. ¡°Kids these days have no bloody respect, that¡¯s the problem. Lad spends a single night contemplating the cosmos and thinks that gives him an excuse to ignore a system-titled expert? Arrogance! I turned Vera from a rage-drunk berserker into a tactical powerhouse in a decade, and some overgrown turnip thinks he doesn¡¯t need to listen just cus he¡¯s got a fancy bound-skill and a nice class? I should-¡° ¡°Oh! Hey Lamb, glad you¡¯re back with me. Sprinkle some of this into the pot there would ya?¡± I looked at him suspiciously for a few moments. ¡°It¡¯s not gonna get me high as a kite again, is it?¡± He laughed and slapped my hand, urging me to do as he said. ¡°No don¡¯t be silly, It¡¯s tea. Nathlan will need a wake up as his¡­soul¡­is still settling into the new configuration of his class, and so he¡¯ll be more tired than usual.¡± He took a few moments to recall the terms I preferred to use, which was considerate of him. ¡°And Vera?¡± ¡°Oh, she¡¯s just a battleaxe in the morning. You¡¯ll want to give her a hot cup first thing for your own protection if nothing else¡± he said with a smirk, as I crushed the leaves he passed to me and twisted them into the figure-eight pattern I¡¯d been shown weeks ago, before submersing them into the kettle and placing it back in the fire. The metal was hot to the touch, but my enhanced endurance gave me a fair bit of resistance to temperature extremes, and with a small cloth I had no issues. We bantered for a little longer before Vera roused herself and I moved to wake Nathlan. Once they were settled around the remains of the fire, I eased back and let the gentle conversation flow over me, relaxing in the warm morning with a hot cup of fragrant tea. Chapter 27 - Misunderstandings Wha¡¯s the best fightin¡¯ advice I ever got? I dunno¡­ ¡®fast hands or faster legs¡¯ probably ¨C Master Sergeant Gnarly Grunt of the Salazan Depth-Walkers
The smile on my face cracked a few moments later when Vera slapped me on the knee. ¡°Up you get Lamb, we¡¯ve got a conversation to have.¡± I looked up at her in confusion as she stood, stretched, and walked off to the side. She beckoned me over impatiently, drawing her sword as she did so while I stumbled to my feet and wandered over. ¡°Nathlan, if you would?¡± She called over, and the man nodded and waved his hand above his head. A circle about a dozen meters in diameter sprung up around both of us, long grass flattened to the ground as if crushed beneath immense weight. I felt a similar weight settle onto my soul, and while I didn¡¯t know what it was, I could feel a restriction worming its way through me. I looked at Nathlan in confusion as I asked, ¡°What is this?¡± He grinned back and answered in a cheerful tone. ¡°One of my new skills ¨C Ward of Revealing. It¡¯s a domain skill that alerts me to lies uttered within it. The mechanics are a bit too complicated to explain, but it¡¯s a combination of semantic truth and lie detector. It¡¯s not infallible, but you will struggle to get away with lies of omission, or other tactics to obscure the truth while within it, assuming you don¡¯t have significantly more power than me that is. It¡¯s still low-levelled since it¡¯s so new, so by all means, try and get creative ¨C it will help me level it.¡± Vera chimed in as well, twirling her sword in a casual manner that still managed to be intimidating. ¡°It also handily marks out a boundary for our spar.¡± ¡°We¡¯re going to spar? I thought you wanted a conversation? About what anyway?¡± I paused and looked between Vera, stalking gracefully around the edge of the circle and looking at me like a cat eyeing a mouse, and Nathlan and Jorge still seated by the fire. They were relaxed, but very much paying attention. ¡°What is this? I get the feeling I¡¯m-¡° Vera hushed me. ¡°I¡¯ve heard you have some¡­concerns¡­about my history, my character. About who I am. You wanted to talk to me and hear my side of the story before making up your mind. You are having doubts about me because my enemies consider me a heinous criminal. Perhaps I am too violent for your tastes?¡± Her tone was gentle, but I detected an undeniable note of steel hidden within it. Like she was deliberately softening the words but couldn¡¯t dilute the message. I looked over at Jorge warily but he just gave me a reassuring nod and so I turned back to Vera. ¡°Uh¡­Yes. I wanted to hear your side of the story, to find out why you were hunted and what you did. Whether I can¡­¡± I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence without saying something rude. ¡®hey, just want to make sure you¡¯re not evil¡¯ isn¡¯t exactly the most tactful thing to say after all. Vera¡¯s expression hardened and she raised an eyebrow. It seemed like an invitation to keep talking and a promise that if she didn¡¯t like what she heard, I would have an issue. It only made me hesitate further. Jorge cleared his throat after a few more moments, speaking; ¡°Vera has suggested the game ¡®right to reply¡¯. To speak, you must score a hit on your opponent. If you do, you may question them, and they must answer. You can forgo a question if you want, and simply speak your mind, but your opponent is not obliged to answer.¡± Vera raised a hand to cut me off before I could protest. ¡°I¡¯ll limit myself to 20 in every attribute ¨C that fair?¡± I tried to protest again that I didn¡¯t have a weapon, but just as the words were leaving my mouth, I felt a thump as a wooden training spear smacked me in the back and rolled to the floor at my feet. I shot a chagrined look at Jorge who just gave me a cheery thumbs up. Some gestures were universal it seemed. ¡°I guess so. Go easy on me though, yeah?¡± I asked, trying to put some friendliness back into this whole event. Vera¡¯s just grinned in a predatory manner, saying ¡°Depends on your answers, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Before I could puzzle out her meaning, she stamped once to initiate the fight and darted forwards towards me. I yelped and leapt back, then thought better of it and bent down to pick up the spear. I then thought better of that, and tried to slip to the side of the charging ball of muscle and rage coming straight at me, and ended up bouncing to the ground from a simple shoulder check while I was off-balance. Vera straightened, grinning as I rolled to my feet. ¡°That¡¯s one for me. Why don¡¯t you finish your previous thought, Lamb? You want to know my past so you can¡­?¡± I coughed and stood, trying to get myself in the zone for a fight. Heaving in a breath, I tried to reply but she gave me no time to do so, closing the distance quickly. Aiming to stay at a distance, I danced back until I could circle round for my weapon, but Vera¡¯s footwork was far beyond my own. She didn¡¯t seem to be moving any faster than me, but she read my intentions expertly and was stepping into my path almost before I decided to move. A few frantic moments passed before she pinned me to the edge of the circle and lazily poked me in the side with the blunted tip of her training blade. ¡°Another one for me.¡± She leaned forward as she continued her previous question. ¡°¡­so you can judge me perhaps? Decide for yourself if my actions were just?¡± I caught the warning in her tone with that question and hurried to shake my head in the negative. She simply stared into my eyes for a few moments. ¡°I asked you a question Lamb.¡± She said. I shivered from the intensity of her gaze and tried for a conciliatory tone. ¡°No! No, of course I wouldn¡¯t think to judge you.¡± Even as the words left my mouth, I knew they were wrong. I could feel the presence of Nathlan¡¯s skill at the edges of my mind, and when I spoke, that pressure intensified for a moment. Vera looked over to where Nathlan sat, and he shook his head sadly at her. She snorted and turned back to regard me, the intensity from moments before only increasing. I could see a spark in her gaze. Deep beneath to gold-flecked brown of her irises, something began to burn. She took a short step back, and then without warning, lashed a kick at my leading leg. Her foot struck my thigh, and I buckled to one knee. She stalked to one side as she asked her next question, keeping me pinned with her gaze like a rabbit before a snake. ¡°What do you know of my history Lamb?¡± I pressed against the ground to get my feet underneath me, straightening out and beginning to circle back towards where the spear lay on the floor as I answered. ¡°Very little, only what Jorge has shared. That you are a wanted criminal from the Sunset Kingdoms. That you¡¯ve killed many in pursuit of some sort of change. I don¡¯t know the details though.¡± Another nod from Nathlan, at which point Vera leapt forwards like a viper uncoiling. I stumbled back as she feinted another leg kick, eager to avoid the stinging pain I could still feel in my thigh. Her foot barely touched the ground before she was spinning and lashing out with her other leg, heel coming round to drive into my unprotected flank. I was knocked aside, tumbling across the grassy ring and pulling to myself to my feet just before my spear. I spun to face her, panting heavily already, feeling the spear on the ground behind hanging in my attention like a bright lantern on a dark night. She walked towards me again, speaking quietly. ¡°And how long have you been in this new world of ours?¡± ¡°About 2 and half months by my count. I think.¡± I said quickly, dropping to the floor and scooping up the spear before waiting for Nathlan¡¯s confirmation of my words. I held it in two hands before me to guard against an errant strike. She stepped forwards, and her blade rose level with my chest before she started to flick probing strikes at me. I managed to knock aside a couple while keeping my weapon along my centre line, but I was too stiff. Within only a few attacks, she had scraped along the knuckles of my leading hand, causing me to flinch back and nearly drop the weapon. Luckily, no blood was drawn due to her blunted weapon, but it was still a hit. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡°So¡­given that you¡¯ve only been here for a handful of weeks, and you don¡¯t seem to know much about the world around us or myself, I¡¯ll ask one more question of you Lamb;¡± She glared at me over the edge of her blade, and the gold flecks in her eyes began to dance like sparks from a campfire. ¡°What makes you think for a fucking moment you have the right to judge me!?¡± I took a step back, surprised by the emotion I saw in her eyes, despite her stony visage. I stuttered back ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t think. I mean I know I have no right to judge you. I¡¯m not judging you!¡± She glared over at Nathlan, and he shook his head sadly. Blazing eyes locked on my own as Vera stalked towards me. ¡°Lies!¡± Her sword shot out, no longer with slow probing strikes but now in wide sweeps, carrying momentum that while not fatal, would definitely hurt. I retreated hurriedly, trying to keep my footing stable as I gave ground and thanking Cloven-Hooved as I did so. I parried a few blows, diverting them to either side and trying to re-instate the distance between us where my spear could overcome her shorter blade, but she was relentless, coming at me with a fury that I¡¯d never seen in her fighting before. ¡°No! I only meant that-¡° She cut me off, blade slashing towards my throat and forcing me to sprawl backwards to avoid the attack. I tried to speak again from my back, but the fall had winded me, and by the time I had the breath to speak, she was upon me again, landing a kick to my side that shot me a few meters along the ground before I managed to turn the momentum into a roll to my feet. I had kept hold of the spear somehow in my tumble and brought it up again in time to deflect a few more strikes before another got through, leaving a stinging welt along my ribs. She delivered her words with the same fury she fought with, but unlike her training blade, they were not blunted. ¡°You think you can sit back in your peaceful grasslands and judge me? You¡¯ve not known a day¡¯s hard labour in your life, and you think you have the right to decide if the thugs I put in the ground deserve your pity? Do you think for a fucking heartbeat that they would have given me a chance if I let them live!?¡± Each question was accompanied with a lashing pain along my forearm or calf or hand. Somehow I was able to twist my limbs out of the way to reduce the impact, obeying the training I¡¯d received and frantically trying to fall into the katas and movement patterns I¡¯d learned so recently. It was enough to prevent major bruising, but not enough to avoid the hits to begin with. ¡°You think you know the pain I¡¯ve endured? You think my people matter less than the Lions with their little red cloaks? Because they have power and uniforms and fancy-fucking-swords, that they are more important!?¡± The impacts were getting heavier, and I was struggling to not stumble with each strike. I could see the fire in her eyes blazing hotter with each word she uttered, and I could feel her losing control as we fought on. I tried to speak, to let her know I didn¡¯t believe any of that, and just wanted to hear her side, but she wouldn¡¯t let me. As I tried to open my mouth to protest, her blade would dart forward quicker and force me to concentrate back on the fight. It was as Jorge had said, I had no right to speak. Without the power to force her to listen, I had no voice here in this impromptu ring. My words would be useless if I couldn¡¯t deliver them. Perhaps that was the lesson here? Without the power to force people to listen, words were useless and empty. I decided to throw caution to the winds and accept a blow openly for the chance to stop whatever this was from escalating. I stood my ground and accepted the next swing directly into my side, just below my ribs. I folded over the blade and let it force me to the side, seeking to rob as much momentum from the strike as possible. Meanwhile, I slung my spear in an underhand throw to bounce weakly off her thigh. She grunted and looked moments from ignoring the pitiful blow, which would have had no real affect in a true battle, but then stepped back. ¡°Speak¡± she practically spat at me, the heat in her eyes no less diminished for the brief reprieve I¡¯d gained. ¡°I don¡¯t know where this is coming from but I¡¯m not trying to judge you. I know I¡¯m working with incomplete information, that¡¯s why I wanted to ask! Everything is new here, and for all I know I¡¯m travelling with a bunch of psychos!¡± I panted as I tried to force the words out quickly. Vera didn¡¯t seem mollified by the statement though, simply replying; ¡°Is that it?¡± I took a breath. ¡°What were you fighting for? What was your cause? I don¡¯t want to judge, I want to understand.¡± I had hoped I would have time to listen to her answer before she started fighting again, but clearly she wasn¡¯t short on breath, able to fight and talk as if she was barely exercising. ¡°Many reasons. Mostly more rights. Rights to negotiate with neighbouring kingdoms directly for our goods. Rights to own the tools we used, and rights to land we tilled and lived on. There were more abstract demands, like legal acknowledgement of village and union councils. The guilds wanted cross-border legitimacy and we needed rights of movement for that too. Demands for our own justice to be legitimised. Many reasons as I said, at least to begin with.¡± She delivered savage blows as she spoke, keeping me on the back foot and unable to regain the momentum. ¡°Why? Is that good enough for you? Does it matter to you why I keep killing people who want my death? Do I need to further justification than that they tried to kill me first?¡± I backpedalled and focused on moving according to the katas Jorge had shown me recently, attempting to keep my weight evenly distributed as I moved, and keep the spear point fixed on Vera as she followed me. ¡°Yeah, those sound like great reasons to fight! If you tried some other methods first and they didn¡¯t work, I-¡± I narrowly ducked a sweep at my head and dove to the side as it turned into an overhand chop part-way through the movement. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you for turning to violence. I¡¯m not gonna tell you not to-¡± Again, I was interrupted by Vera¡¯s furious attacks, and forced to take a nasty blow to the leg which tripped me. I lay on the floor panting. Vera shook her head with frustration, stalking to the edge of the ring to stare at Jorge. He seemed to consider for a moment before giving a curt nod and bending down to toss something into the ring. I instantly felt his aura recede. Between the fighting, the argument, and the ever-present weight of Nathlan¡¯s skill, I¡¯d not noticed his influence, subtle as it was. But now that it was gone, I could feel the lack of it¡¯s presence acutely. The air around Vera suddenly burned, twisting in on itself in a haze. She loomed over me, the fires in her eyes dancing wildly, contempt written across her face. ¡°Are you that arrogant Lamb? To think I need your absolution? Do you think I care whether you blame me?¡± I could see her teeth, strangely sharp in the dawn sun as her lip pulled back in a sneer. I could feel the blood rushing in my veins, my breath once so loud in my ears now receding before the pounding of my heart. Like drums in the deep, I felt each beat within my chest, and the longer I held that burning gaze, the louder the drum beat. She kicked my foot. ¡°Get up.¡± Her words fell into the space between us, and I could feel the challenge settle upon me. The hair on my arms rose in response, and I shivered, feeling a new heat burning within me. I stood, pulling the straps of a circular shield tight to my left forearm as I did so, uncaring as to where it had come from or how I had found it. All that mattered was the woman before me, sneer on her face and sword in hand. She felt significant to my senses, and I found myself unable to consider anything else but her presence. I raised my shield and settled into a half-crouch, spear held easily at my side. My spine tingled and I could feel my legs trembling with something. She opened her mouth to speak but my spear darted out just as she did so. I heard the clack of her teeth as she slammed her mouth shut and slipped her head to the side of my thrust. My shield dropped a few inches to intercept a swing of her sword, and a keening filled the air before cutting off with a clang of metal on metal. I staggered to the side, but my spear lashed out again nevertheless, as if it had a mind of its own. She once again slipped the thrust, but it was closer this time. Her next strike was caught at an angle on my shield and slid past without staggering me. I felt an urge to lunge forwards, to close the distance and sink my teeth into her flesh, to rend and tear and rip her apart with my bare hands. I took a blow to the arm below my shield, and the pain was enough to startle me. I activated Heart of the Hills in response, and it gave me just enough clarity to understand I was under the effect of some sort of aura skill. It didn¡¯t allow me to ignore the urges though, only notice their strangeness. I backed off, and spat blood to the side from a wound I hadn¡¯t even realised I had taken. My heart continued to beat a staccato rhythm within me, and I felt drawn to the tall, broad figure striding towards me. The very air shuddered around her, and I caught a smell of burning trees. She pulled back her arm and swung a lazy sweep of her blade at my chest, and I almost found myself stepping into the strike purely to close the distance between us. I blasted Heart of the Hills again, trying to push the urges from my mind, but it did little to help. My spear intercepted the strike but left me wide open on my right hand side, and a powerful kick sent me reeling. I was too close to use my spear easily, and my shield arm was heavy and slow from repeated blows to the muscle. I couldn¡¯t find the breath to even speak with the way my heart was hammering and chest heaving. I was snared, desperate to get away but unable to think past my instincts and base urges to form a coherent plan to do so. Like an animal in a trap. Like prey. The thought touched something deep within my soul and I felt mana rush from my core into the constellation of Indomitable Prey. Suddenly, I felt my senses shift. The air was no longer crackling with heat; I could smell soft grass and the remains of mint tea, but no burning. Vera was striding towards me but rather than a boiling, hazy silhouette, she was simply the large, indomitable woman I had previously known. Her sneer was still in place, but looked forced somehow, teeth even and no sharper than my own. She stepped forwards again, her blade rising, and I met it head on with my shield. Roaring, I slammed the blade to the side and stepped back, whipping my spearpoint up to slam into her leading leg. She stumbled and I advanced, obeying the basic movements I had been taught, but guided by a savage melody entirely my own. Each strike aimed at shutting down her movements, pinning her in, taking blows on my shield that would stagger me if the angle wasn¡¯t just right, and surging forwards like a landslide when I could. I paired the technical aspects of the moves Jorge had shown me with the defiant, savage will to fight and survive that my bound skill entombed within me, and felt something fall into place. Skill gained ¨C Skirmisher of Antiquity. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Chapter 28 - Skirmisher of Antiquity Ya cannie simply let go a history son, jus¡¯ like that. It clings to ya. Grips on with wee lil claws, digs into ya flesh and gnaws at ya. Deciding ta let go don¡¯t leave ya unencumbered and free to move on, it jus¡¯ means that ya have the full weight of the past hanging off ya tits instead a bundled in yer arms. And nobody wants that, laddie. - Excerpt from ¡®Wisdom from my Travels¡¯ by brother Ferdinand Genitivi
I surged across the ring, spear leading the way as I drove my enemy back, delighting in the fierce joy of my entire body obeying a single purpose. My spearpoint darted low and then high, an unceasing barrage of peppering strikes causing Vera to commit herself entirely to defending her torso and legs. Her blade wove an impressive defence, but she had no time to counter with strikes of her own, leaving me in control of the fight. I committed to a straight lunge, bunching my legs and propelling myself towards her, twisting at the last moment to slam my shield into her with the full force of my momentum behind it. She was sent sprawling, and the tip of my spear followed her, staying only inches from her neck until the moment she left the ring. I managed to pull myself back in at that point and slow myself enough to keep both feet firmly within the boundary. A savage joy still burned in my heart and a grin stretched across my face as I stared down at my defeated foe. For her part, Vera just chuckled and sat up, hand darting out to grab the haft of my spear near the tip and yanking herself to her feet. She¡¯d obviously stopped limiting her attributes through, as I was pulled off my feet and fell to the ground, while she managed a graceful landing. Our positions reversed, she grinned down at me and offered her hand while I heard Jorge clapping from behind. Seeing the warm, genuine smile on her face, I deactivated my aura skill, noticing that everyone else had done so too ¨C Vera¡¯s strange burning skill, Nathlan¡¯s truth detection domain and Jorge¡¯s mysterious ¡®everyone be chill¡¯ aura, as I had begun thinking of it as. She pulled me to my feet and led me over to the campfire, offering an apologetic look as she spoke. ¡°Sorry for the scare Lamb, no hard feelings ¨C Jorge thought you might be struggling to get yourself a weapons skill because you lacked the intent to do so. We thought if we riled you up enough then it might help, and it seems to have worked if that last exchange was anything to go by.¡± I looked up at her in surprise, trying to read anything in her face that might indicate lingering anger or contempt. ¡°So that was all just a show? The whole ¡®what right have you by which to judge me, puny man?¡¯ ¡­that was all fake?¡± I tried for a joke, but I was still uncertain and she could clearly sense my anxiety. ¡°Yep! Don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯ll be pissed if try to lecture me about the morality of my actions while you know so little about¡­well, everything¡­but it would be uncharitable to assume the worst without giving you a chance to talk it out. I understand that you might have reservations about killing, especially if it¡¯s people and organisations that you don¡¯t know about. We still need to have a chat, but as long as we both keep an open mind, I doubt we¡¯ll have issues.¡± She smiled at me, and her left arm twitched slightly. I had the distinct impression she was about to ruffle my hair, and I was eternally glad that she had decided against it. While the affection would be nice, I was still feeling very much like a scolded child, despite her assurances her anger was feigned. Hair ruffling would be a step too far, even for my irreverent self. ¡°Right, tea.¡± She said, as she beckoned Jorge and Nathlan over and set about putting the kettle to boil again. Nathlan actually clapped me on the shoulder in a surprisingly brotherly manner ¨C clearly the new class was doing wonders for his mood. ¡°Congratulations on the new skill! What is it like?¡± He asked. My reply was drowned out by the loud groan as Jorge settled down next to me on the grass. Seeing both of our exasperated looks, he asked, ¡°What?¡± ¡°There is no way you¡¯re not putting that on.¡± I said, at the same time that Nathlan also commented, ¡°Way too much that time.¡± He looked so genuinely crestfallen I decided to take pity on him. ¡°Look mate; it¡¯s not been raining, it¡¯s not a cold winter¡¯s morning or anything, you¡¯ve not been working hard yesterday, and there¡¯s no big changes in temperature or humidity. There is no logical reason for your knees to hurt enough for that sound to escape your mouth, and you really should do better next time. Maybe pick up an acting skill or something?¡± Nathlan backed me up with another nod, adding in ¡°No way you¡¯ve been around this long without an acting skill.¡± Jorge tried to look hurt, clearly failing though as he replied. ¡°Just how old do you think I am?¡± The indignation was so insincere I almost laughed. ¡°You claimed to be ¡®as old as the mountains¡¯ literally yesterday.¡± Nathlan said with a deadpan expression, and that did get a laugh out of me. Jorge looked away with his nose in the air, flipping his long braid over his shoulder and putting all his inconsiderable acting skills to work to embody the attitude of a disgruntled noble. He subsided after a few breaths and turned back to me. ¡°Aright, in all seriousness, tell me about the skill.¡± Nathlan leaned forward in anticipation, and I even saw Vera stop her pouring to listen in. I examined the system notification in my mind. Skirmisher of Antiquity ¨C Passive. From the Abbasyth rangers to the outriders of the Sylruks, the ancient world is littered with the footsteps of skirmishers. Warriors who launch into battle without warning, whirling in and out view and engaging only on their own terms. You wield one of humanities first weapons ¨C the spear ¨C and combine its versatility and aggression with the steadfast protection of a shield. Draw on the knowledge of the ancients with a path well-trodden throughout history, and leave your own mark on the tapestry of time with your weapons in hand. Nathlan whistled as I finished reading the description out to them, and Jorge grinned. ¡°Not bad that, lad. Worth the wait I reckon,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll be honest, I¡¯m not sure I really understand the full ramifications of it. It¡¯s pretty light on actual usable information compared to some of my other skills.¡± I said, looking up and hoping for some guidance. ¡°Aye lad, and that¡¯s a good thing. Generally, the simpler the skill, the more straight forward the description. The system tends to get a bit more¡­flowery?...with its language when the skill is more powerful or broad. Not sure why that¡¯s the case but just accept that it is. Your skill sounds promising.¡± ¡°Well, I guess I shouldn¡¯t look a gift horse in the mouth. How come I didn¡¯t get a simple spear and shield combination? I didn¡¯t think we were aiming for something like this.¡± I asked, wondering if Jorge really had been playing me when he discussed our plans for my weapons skill all those weeks ago. ¡°No, I genuinely was trying to get you something simple to begin with ¨C you could always level it and upgrade once you reached level 10 if you had the option. No, this was unexpected, although not unwelcome. If I had to guess, it¡¯s something to do with the different styles I¡¯ve been trying to teach you. At least the ¡®antiquity¡¯ bit ¨C I¡¯ve stayed away from more modern spear arts. It¡¯s an interesting point actually¡­¡± He leaned forward, becoming a little more animated. If I didn¡¯t know better, I would be tempted to mistake him for Nathlan with the suddenly lecturing tone of his voice and explicatory gestures. ¡°So, the system isn¡¯t exactly new, but we do have records of life before it ¨C only been around for a couple millennia or so. Before that there was no system and as far as I know, while magic was powerful ¨C enough people managed to reach apotheosis to create the pantheon we have today for example ¨C it seemed to be much rarer and less widespread. It seems armies were much larger and less specialised back then, but many empires and cultures had strong warrior traditions that led to formalised weapons arts. I have drawn on some of these to teach you what you currently know, hence all the ¡®ancient¡¯ stuff in your skill description.¡± He looked up at me quickly and barrelled on before I could intervene, not that I would have done so. ¡°The reason for this is that the modern weapon arts are completely unsuitable for you. Most solid warriors create their own path anyway, so the only formal weapon arts that currently exist are for training relatively large and homogenous forces ¨C nothing on the scale of ancient pre-system armies, mind you. The Crimson Lions are a good example actually ¨C for a variety of reasons, they need to churn out a large number of high-levelled warriors quickly, and so they lean on existing attribute and skill distributions that are known to work well together and have relatively well-defined paths to obtaining them. They can therefore rely on a single weapon art to train many warriors, as they all have similar attribute allocations and skills, and so all move in similar ways. Do you see?¡± I nodded as I tried to piece together the information. ¡°You¡¯re saying that I needed a specific martial art tailored to my attributes and skills, and that modern ones would clash with the foundations I have already built. Why would ancient arts be any better though?¡± ¡°Because they were designed for classless, un-levelled people. ¡®Un-enhanced¡¯ as it were. Most of the weapon arts I¡¯ve shown you bits of ¨C the ones created by and for humans at least ¨C don¡¯t require exceptional strength, flexibility or grace that you might not possess. They are foundational in the truest sense. Obviously, I will work with you to create your own path that draws on your existing strengths and pushes you forwards, but this way we¡¯ve managed to retain the link between you and your path.¡± ¡°You keep mentioning path ¨C what do you mean by that? Are we not talking about just a combination of skills and attributes and fighting styles?¡± ¡°Ah lad, that¡¯s a question for later, I think. I promise to go through it when its relevant, but for now it will just complicate things. Focus on levelling that skill, and your others, and we¡¯ll talk again when you¡¯re ready.¡± I turned to Nathlan, asking ¡°Was he needlessly cryptic with you as well when you first met?¡± He chuckled and replied, ¡°Oh by the roots, yes! It was infuriating! But I¡¯ve realised that he just likes to cultivate the wise old master persona because without it, he¡¯d just be old.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I can¡¯t blame him really.¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Jorge raised a fist in mock anger and sighed in defeat. Vera then came over with tea for everyone, and we settled into a few moments of small-talk, letting the heavier topics drop and just enjoying each other¡¯s company. I still felt a little on edge around Vera, unable to fully let go of the idea that at least some of what she had shown me was genuine. Eventually, as if reading my mind, Jorge brought the conversation back to the Crimson Lions. ¡°So, just to reiterate that that little dust up was planned by everyone except Lamb, so let¡¯s all just reassure him that we¡¯re all on good terms before we move on.¡± He paused, and there was a chorus of ¡®poor baby¡¯s and ¡®aaawww¡¯s in a very patronising manner. I grinned and threw a few pebbles, and we all settled down again when Jorge began to speak again. ¡°But it did bring up a good point ¨C the Crimson Lions. Now we¡± he gestured to himself and Vera, ¡°were hoping that their involvement in the foothills of the Unclaimed Peaks earlier was a one-off fluke and it would blow over once we moved away, but it¡¯s clear it wasn¡¯t and won¡¯t. We¡¯re still being tracked somehow, and we expect to run into more within the month. Given that, it requires a more thought-out solution than just extra vigilance and the odd violent ambush every month or so, but we want to get your thoughts first. Obviously, you can¡¯t make an informed decision without knowing the backstory to all of this, so Vera has agreed to speak about her experiences. This is mostly for your benefit Lamb, although Nathlan ¨C some of this might be news to you as well.¡± He sat back and gestured for Vera to take over. She let out a long breath before grimacing and starting her tale. ¡°I don¡¯t like speaking about this part of my life much, but here goes; I was born in the Sunset Kingdoms ¨C near the border between the Sultanate and the territory that would become known as the Western Marchlands, following Duke Ryonic¡¯s rise to power. I was raised in a town called Reedholme. It was nice, and most of the men and women worked either in the marshes or servicing the needs of the workers and the town in general ¨C blacksmiths, cooks, cobblers ¨C you get the idea. My own little slice of utopia. ¡°Turns out it wasn¡¯t all that great, as I found out. There was a group of towns throughout the area that had banded together to negotiate with the previous lord over working conditions and such, similar to the things I mentioned earlier, Lamb. The old ruler of the Western Marchlands was amenable as it turned out, and we had won many concessions that helped make my childhood such a dream. It was a struggle though, with the towns and workers constantly vying to maintain their conditions, while some of the lower noble houses below the lord tried to remove those same concessions to line their own pockets. Things were stable for many years apparently ¨C I was a child back then remember, so this is all second-hand information from my¡­ - anyway, things were stable, if not easy. ¡°Then there was some sort of big war out in the wider world beyond the Sunset¡¯s ¨C beyond even the DragonSpine¡¯s if you could believe. A few of the lessor nobles sent off their scions; their sons and daughters, their fighters etc. I was a teenager by this point, and things were good ¨C didn¡¯t see the Lord¡¯s men, or even the nobles¡¯, that often. They were weakened, and wary of enforcing their rules too harshly given the loss in status and power they¡¯d experienced with this doomed venture. ¡°As all good things are want to do though, it passed. Duke Ryonic ¨C ¡®course he wasn¡¯t a duke back then, just some sort of cardinal, I think? Never did bother to learn the title system, different in every bloody kingdom anyway ¨C yeah, so Ryonic comes home, having achieved some ¡®great victory in battle¡¯, the normal noble stuff. He¡¯s classed up though, that¡¯s the important thing. Now the Lord wasn¡¯t the only triple-classed person in the kingdom, and things get tense. Skipping past a few years of noble politicking, and Duke Ryonic wins the shortest civil war I¡¯ve ever heard of with a 3-day campaign, and ends up taking control of the Western Marchlands. Must have been planning it for a while, as he¡¯s instantly accepted by the other kingdoms in the Sunsets. The Sultanate was an early supporter apparently, and they¡¯ve been close ever since. ¡°Not that weird really, that¡¯s kinda how it is in the Sunsets ¨C There¡¯s a new territorial dispute every few years and regime change is common. Part of the reason the local councils are so strong ¨C your average peasant can expect three or more different rulers in their lifetime with ease, and the councils help stabilise the political situation so most of the minor nobility see them as quite important. Would be a lot harder to launch a successful coup if you had to keep all the loyal administrators alive after all, and they¡¯re used to workers doing everything for them anyway. Jorge coughed then, steering her back on track gently. Vera looked chagrined and spoke again. ¡°Right, yeah sorry. Get trapped down memory lane sometimes when this comes up. So, Duke Ryonic was a hard bastard ¨C instantly started clashing with the councils, demanding higher output with lower investment, higher taxes, the whole deal. Problem is though, after near enough a decade of the good life, none of the workers want to go back to the old way of doing things. The negotiations turn to arguments, the arguments turn to protests, the protests turn to clashes and before you know it, we¡¯ve got a new civil war in the Western Marchlands. ¡°We were naive though. We¡¯d seen regimes come and go without much interference from the other kingdoms, and assumed this would be the same. We¡¯d fight and overthrow the Duke, run things ourselves, and the other territories would leave us alone as long as we abided by the higher-level agreements between the kingdoms. ¡°This was different. First the Sultanate joins against us, and then Escribar. No help from any of the other territories for us, but plenty of material support for the Duke. He crushes our little rebellion utterly. Slaughtered towns down to the last child, burned forests down ¨C it was a bloodbath. Turns out the thing we were missing is previous regime change was carried out by other noble houses mostly, and occasionally an outsider ¨C petty warlords pushed out from the more civilised empires on the other side of the DragonSpines. The other kingdoms couldn¡¯t abide a nearby kingdom run by workers, with strong links to the other territories ¨C might give their own workers ideas, apparently. Too dangerous, too subversive. Too much hope for a better life.¡± The bitterness was palpable, and I winced in sympathy. Looking around, both Nathlan and Jorge were also feeling the same, judging by their expressions. I could see Nathlan rhythmically squeezing the hilt of his blade, knuckles white from the strain. I knew little about his background, but I did know he was some sort of nobility originally. The fact that he had ended up travelling alongside my two other companions spoke to some sort of schism with that past. I hoped he hadn¡¯t been deposed by a revolution ¨C that could be awkward. But then if he had, I doubt he would be siding with Vera on this, which he clearly was. As for Jorge ¨C who knew really? As much as he liked to play up the mystery, he truly was inscrutable in many ways. I was only starting to scratch the surface of my understanding of this world, but a system title appeared to be a powerful boon if mine was anything to go by, and I doubt they were handed out freely. Vera looked up, and I was shocked to see tears in her eyes. She¡¯d always come across as hard as nails, stoic and stone-faced. The only time I¡¯d seen something different was when the mask slipped and she let her anger shine through, and neither of those states seemed to indicate a willingness to show weakness. She dashed them aside and continued on after a shaky breath. ¡°The councils backed down after three towns were burned and their fields salted. They tried to sue for peace, sent a delegation of all the local leaders to Ryonic Castle with terms. As far as I know, their skeletons still hang on the walls to this day. The resistance crumbled after that, and things got bad for a few years. Most of those who stayed and endured the worst had something to live for. Children, parents ¨C loved ones to protect. ¡°But some of us had lost everything, and we weren¡¯t content to suffer. A few of us younger ones resisted further, left our lives behind to live in the wilds and begin a campaign of guerrilla warfare against the Duke and all the nobles supporting him. We looked beyond the Western Marchlands to Escribar and the Sultanate, aiming to punish all who had supported that genocidal war. We knew the land better and had little to lose. We were as brutal as they had been to us, and for a few years we seemed to be making progress. The Duke came after us himself many times, and those were the times we lost significant numbers. 3rd tiers are regarded as a province-level threat for a reason. But the standard rank and file of the nobles and the Duke were just not able to match us after years of brutal war ¨C we had powerful combat classes and were gaining levels at a rate they couldn¡¯t compete with. ¡°That was the problem though ¨C just like in the first war, we were a threat not just to the current regime of a single territory in the Sunsets, but to the whole Sunset Kingdoms themselves. So they sent in the Lions after us. The Crimson-Fucking-Lions, all of them 2nd tiers, and experienced ones at that. Fighters we couldn¡¯t compete with on an even footing, and after a few years against the Duke and his forces, there were less than a hundred of us left. The Lions had six or seven times that number, and we had no chance. Some of our number tried to run, not sure how far they got and good on them if they ever made it out. The rest of us stayed, and that¡¯s where it all went to shit. ¡°A few running battles, and we were eventually cornered between a couple of large companies at Sternbridge. We fought to the last, and a few of us got some pretty powerful class upgrades. I hit 3rd tier in that battle and lost my mind. Some sort of berserking class, but when I woke properly, I was surrounded by my dead comrades and two decimated, fleeing companies.¡± She pulled a few stalks of grass from the earth and chewed on them absently, lost in memories and unwilling to leave them. We shared a few looks between us as she sat there silently, and eventually she returned to the present. ¡°So then I just got up and left. Fled through the wilds, avoiding civilisation until I had left the Sunsets. I couldn¡¯t control my class properly ¨C the rage would spring up uncontrollably. Jorge found me in the wilds. Not sure how, but he helped.¡± Jorge looked at her, tenderness in his gaze. ¡°I was travelling through a nearby town and heard reports from the local hunters. They were terrified a dragon had taken up residence in the nearby mountains. The local Dire-Bears and Ridgebacks had been thin on the ground, and they¡¯d found some corpses recently. Only thing they couldn¡¯t think of that could cause that carnage was a dragon, so I go off to investigate, and find this hefty lump of congealed-¡° He cut off as Vera choked out a laugh and pushed him over, dashing more tears from her puffy face. I hesitantly spoke up once the two had settled down. ¡°So¡­have you ever thought of going back?¡± Vera shook her head, rubbing the heel of her hand into her eye again as she did so. I was impressed she was even showing such vulnerability given her background, but she clearly wasn¡¯t comfortable with it either, trying to settle into that impassive mask again. ¡°No. I can¡¯t. It¡¯s taken me near enough a decade to change and rebuild my class ¨C iron out the berserking tendencies and gain enough control that I can be functional within society. Even then though, I can¡¯t go back to somewhere with so much¡­unfairness? Inequality? I don¡¯t know. But it will be too much, I know that. I might even be able to kill the Duke by this point, but it won¡¯t end there ¨C never does, does it? Besides, there¡¯s nothing left for me there anymore anyway.¡± I nodded, taking care to pick my words carefully, and show my empathy. As much as the previous fight had been mostly staged, it still didn¡¯t feel that way to me, and I knew she was delicate at the moment. I didn¡¯t want to put my foot in my mouth and ruin this chance at showing my support. ¡°Okay. So how do we deal with the Lions? Do we know why they are after you now?¡± Jorge broke in at that point. ¡°They¡¯ve tried a few times before to take her out, more common in the early days when we travelled together. We left more of a trail back then ¨C Vera had a hard time letting go of unsavoury behaviour, and had a¡­let¡¯s say, a direct approach to conflict resolution. You have to understand that the Crimson Lions are the premier power in the Sunset Kingdoms ¨C they are the glue that holds together the whole thing together. ¡°There isn¡¯t much that the various territories and rulers can agree on, but the Lions are their way of achieving their shared goals. Vera here is a very public stain on the legacy of the Lions. Their largest public engagement in a century, and they left the field in panic. They won in the end, but the wound she gave them is a deep one.¡± Vera butted in, shooting a reproachful look at the older man. ¡°It wasn¡¯t just me ¨C you know that.¡± Jorge¡¯s tone was calm and conciliatory, and I felt his aura blanket us with a smooth weight, reassuring and warm. ¡°I know, but as far as they know, you are the only survivor of Sternsbridge. In their minds, you are a thorn, a splinter that has yet to be removed. They cannot move on until you have been killed, and this failure gnaws at them. The younger ones are keen to prove themselves by besting you, and the veterans need to prove that they do not fear you. It¡¯s been a vicious cycle, compounded by the fact that you have shown no interest in returning. In the eyes of many, you beat them and walked away.¡± He turned to address me and continued, ¡°As for why they are after her now specifically? We don¡¯t know. We can find out though, and that¡¯s what we wanted to discuss.¡± His gaze became focused, and I found myself leaning forwards. Nathlan was still gripping his sword beside me, but it felt more like he was waiting to draw it and charge at the enemy. Clearly, we were both keen to aid in Vera¡¯s vengeance, and I had to admit to myself I couldn¡¯t help the thrum in my blood at the chance to fight the people who could inflict such misery. ¡°Now that you¡¯re both up to speed with the streamlined version, let¡¯s talk about the plan.¡± Chapter 29 - Inclement Weather It¡¯s hard to say to say what comes first; the collapse or the fall. Some say a society¡¯s fall is simply the moment of collapse. Multiple catastrophes occurring simultaneously push it to the limit, and as such each system can¡¯t keep up with the unprecedented demands placed upon it. When multiple systems fail at the same time, the invisible bonds holding a society together disintegrate. That is collapse. Others believe differently. Magnar Carlson, as one prominent example, believes instead that the fall is a long, drawn out process proceeding societal collapse. Contradictions are built in to a society¡¯s framework based on its material conditions, and those contradictions are always playing out in the background. For most societies, the internal pressures are papered over by external expansion in one domain or another ¨C trade, war, pursuit of knowledge or innovations in magic for example. Once this expansion fails to continue at pace, it can no longer cover for the conflict brought about by a society¡¯s internal contradictions, and this causes strain on its systems. These systems fail slowly over time, and this build-up of steady failure only further inflames the aforementioned contradictions. Such a vicious cycle is known as the fall, and only once the contradictions emerge on the surface as a bloody spectacle of violence; revolution, coup, civil war, famine¡­only at that point does the fall become the collapse. Of course, I am just playing semantic games here, and you would be right to point out that I¡¯ve simply flipped the definition of both words to suit my needs, but really; does it matter? Poison works fast, and your bodies have by now lost their ability to fight back against it. Nightshade and poppyseed makes a delightful tincture when processed just so, wouldn¡¯t you agree? Really now, a room full of astropaths and not one of you predicted this? Makes one suspect you are not as accomplished in the art of divining the future as you may pretend. Alas, perhaps if you were, my services would not have been needed to begin with. A great deal of blood must have been laid at your feet to justify my exorbitant fees after all. Alas, I think I was worth it this time, if I do say so myself. - Penultimate monologue from ¡®The Alchemist¡¯s Last Job¡¯ by Encante Lorazio, transcribed by scholars of the White Consortium in ¡®tales of the ancients ¨C fact or fiction?¡¯
¡°As far as plans go, this sucks.¡± I grumped, trudging along through the sodden grass, seed pods whipping me in the chest as they were blown about on the top of their long stalks by the wailing wind. Nathlan was listening with only half an ear, muttering to himself and tracing invisible lines in the air with his hands, so I was unsurprised at the grunt I received in reply. He¡¯d been at it for most of the morning, attempting to construct a weather-ward to keep himself dry. I¡¯d learned several new curses from him in the process as he wrestled with his magic, so at least there was a silver lining to the lashing rain. The satisfied swagger he¡¯d adopted since achieving his new class was long gone, and his shoulders were so slumped by this point it was almost comical. Apparently, a combat class with only a single active skill to compliment the old magic of his home was far less optimal than a support class refined over centuries to concentrate specifically on ward-craft. Who could have known? Where before I¡¯d witnessed him set multiple wards at differing ranges with varied sensitivities, now he was struggling to create a single vaguely opaque one centred on his person. Of course, I had no real frame of reference for the difficulty, but I was under the impression from odd comments dropped by Jorge that to be able to manipulate free-flowing magic to such a degree as Nathlan was doing, without the requisite skills from a supporting class, was nothing short of genius. Nathlan was still soaked through like me though, so what was a superior education and genius intelligence really worth in the end? Vera was striding along next to us with a stiff back and the same resolute stoicism that I was used to seeing from her. I detected a slight scent of wood-smoke from her though, and the air seemed to sizzle around her frame, so I was fairly sure she was using her aura skill to keep her hair and armour warm, if not dry. Despite my jealousy though, I couldn¡¯t really blame her. Thin, bitterly cold rain drops were driving into our faces, no matter which way we turned our heads. Water coated every long blade of grass and splashed against our legs as we waded through the waist high sea of green. Visibility was still alright somehow, the horizon grey and somewhat light, but that only made things worse ¨C instead of hope for something new, the endless expanse of sodden grass served as a constant reminder that there was no escape from the dreary dampness. It was the sort of weather that could not be enjoyed, merely tolerated. Unless you were Jorge that is. He was whistling a cheery tune to himself as he walked beside us, hands in his pockets and clothes enviably dry. A few inches from his body, water ran in rivulets down an invisible shield, such that he appeared to be outlined by an armour of water. My eyes traced a single drop of rain as it fell just above his forehead and joined a river flooding down past his neck and onto his shoulder, where it beaded up and dripped to the floor as he moved. He caught my eye and gave a jaunty wave, rolling a grass stalk from one side of his mouth to the other. I had never wanted to kill a man more in my entire life. The weather was unceasing and would likely stick around for another week or so at least. This was the other side of the beautiful steppes we travelled through ¨C monsoon season. Without a fancy aura skill, I was left to the mercy of mundane waterproof fabric. While I was impressed with the ability of the loaned poncho I was wearing to protect my torso from the rain, it could do nothing to prevent my lower thighs from being soaked through by the grass that seemed determined to splatter its watery payload against my legs. I had tried to hate the grasses for their role, but I had to admit that without their ability to bind together the soil, our steady trudge through endless grassland would be more of a sucking limp though fields of mud. In any case, it was safe to say I wasn¡¯t having a good time, and so I let my mind wander to the near future, and the plan we had discussed a few days ago. Jorge had outlined it simply enough. He had contacts in the capital of the Copper Canyons ¨C a city named Colchet ¨C that were heavily involved in information gathering or other sneaky spy work. He didn¡¯t use those words of course, but I got the gist of it. The Crimson Lions were known to operate out of Colchet as well, and Jorge suspected his contacts would be able to pinpoint the location of their safehouse, for the right price of course. There was not much point planning an ambush at this stage before we gathered at least some rudimentary information about the Lions and their presence in the Copper Canyons, and so the current version of the plan was basically; Step 1 ¨C get to Colchet. Step 2 ¨C let Jorge do his thing. Step 3 ¨C pending. So, we had abruptly changed course, and started heading east. It was a little frustrating to have travelled west for so many days, only to basically turn around once we reached the Iona Chasm and head straight back again, but it ultimately could have been much worse. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Over a month ago, after leaving Trading Outpost 17 at the foot of the Unnamed Peaks, we¡¯d begun crossing the great grass sea and heading west through the Wandering States towards the Panyera river. I¡¯d been excited ever since Jorge had told me we would arrive in time for the Sabayen ¨C an ¡®end of harvest¡¯ equivalent festival which lasted for weeks. The locals that lived alongside the Panyera relied predominantly on fishing the waters for the shoals of Saber-toothed Salmon, and our arrival would coincide with the spawning season festival of Sabayen. During the month in which the Salmon headed upstream to replenish their numbers, the people of the Panyera would hold off on fishing to keep the population of fish at a sustainable level. With the spare-time granted by the lack of fishing, they would run between the great smoke-houses raised along the riverbanks and filled during the rest of the year, and collect the now prepared fish for their villages. The smoke-houses were set roughly every 10 miles along the river and there was a tradition of running as many trips as possible within set timeframes. These ¡®Salmon-races¡¯ were the biggest cultural event that the Panyera People maintained, and placing high in one of these races was central to social mobility within the small villages that fed from the great river. When I had asked why the smokehouse were raised so far from settlements in the first place, Jorge had waffled on about the great herds of Jackal-Beaks occasionally veering off course and crossing the entirety of the grass sea just to descend upon a badly maintained smoke-house somewhere along the river. Whether it was an insane sense of smell, some magical awareness, or even the information sharing networks of the ¡®beaks¡¯ that set off the herds, Jorge wasn¡¯t aware, but the result was that these great smoke-houses had to be kept far from civilisation to prevent a feeding frenzy of roaming animals from destroying settlements. It was a good lesson in the interconnectedness of the ecosystems of the world, but when I¡¯d asked why the Jackal-Beaks wouldn¡¯t stay near the Panyera if they were so drawn to the fish, Jorge had just thrown up his hands and muttered about ¡®insatiable children¡¯ before walking off in defeat. So, we were heading back the way we¡¯d come before veering east towards the Copper Canyons, and had a journey of at least a month ahead of us. The weather would obviously heavily influence that, but Jorge was hopeful we¡¯d stick close to his estimate, and I saw no reason to doubt him. It was dreary work, trudging through the unchanging plains, and nobody had much desire for conversation. That wasn¡¯t entirely a bad thing though, as it gave me more time to familiarise myself with my now ¡®complete¡¯ set of skills. Of course, it wasn¡¯t as if I wouldn¡¯t incorporate new skills and evolve my current ones to be broader or more powerful, but now that I had filled every open skill slot, I could analyse my current ¡®build¡¯ as it were. I had a rare class that granted me a slight advantage in attributes right out of the gate, and the fact it was a combat class and not a support one further increased that advantage, as well as ensured the skills I learned from my class were relatively powerful. From some early questioning of Jorge weeks ago, it seemed the average attribute gain per level for a standard support class ranged from 1 to 3 per level, so my 5 was already an incredible advantage. There was a reason why combat classes were beneficial, despite their heavy costs. The drawback was that levelling both the class skills and general skills required combat, and more importantly danger. By dint of that fact, there was not much room for experimentation, as taking too much of a risk would likely see you dead or stalled out, unable to progress without dying. There was wiggle room of course, but it was a fine line between making decisions to benefit you in the short term vs taking a long view of things. Focus too heavily on short-term boosts and you¡¯d find yourself with a mess of skills that didn¡¯t mesh together well and no way to easily progress past the soft skill cap at level 10. Conversely, too much focus on building a powerful and versatile skillset that would come into its own only at a high level would leave you stuck in the early levels, unable to survive the tough encounters you needed to propel you through the levels to greatness. I had so far distributed my attribute enhancements fairly equally throughout the five attributes. When I¡¯d first approached Jorge about attribute distribution, his answers had concerned me. I¡¯d worried I¡¯d been making a mistake by seeking balance, but now I was unsure. Originally, I had done so out of necessity, experience teaching me that letting my attributes fall too far out of alignment would cripple me. Strength let me move faster but without the other attributes, I¡¯d worried I¡¯d be unable to use it. If my perception was too low, I¡¯d miss crucial sensory information, and impact unseen obstacles during combat and day-to-day movement. Too little cognition and I¡¯d be unable to process the wave of sensory information quick enough and react to the world around me. Too little agility and my movements would be so uncoordinated and unrefined that I¡¯d risk hurting myself even if I did see the threat and decide to avoid it in time. And without the necessary endurance, I¡¯d burn myself out from using my enhanced attributes and be left with nothing left in the tank. It turned out I had been right about the nature of the danger, but I¡¯d massively over-estimated the magnitude of it, and so failed to see the benefits of specialising. Many of the shortfalls I¡¯d worried about could be mitigated with training, if not overcome entirely. Somebody with twice or even three times the strength to agility ratio would not be able to muster the grace and control of their movements that my current distribution allowed ¨C they¡¯d never be considered much of a dancer, for example ¨C but they would likely have no issue overpowering somebody of a similar level (or attribute number, if the comparison was to be accurate ¨C levels did not tell the full story when class type and rarity were concerned). They could learn to function in day to day life, and their overwhelming power may see them through in combat. The same argument could be made for all attributes, although Jorge did note that the more physical attributes of strength, agility and endurance were easier to directly link to specific combat advantages. Not all battles were fought physically though, and support classes were so overwhelming more common than combat classes that most of the conventional wisdom was geared towards them. High perception alone may not win a battle, but it certainly made life easier for a jeweller, an antiques trader, an archaeologist etc. Ultimately though, Jorge¡¯s advice was to continue the even allocation until I had a better idea of how my ¡®path¡¯ would develop. Given my rare class, I had the wealth of attributes and could afford to spend them generously. So, days of introspection and contemplation. Searching within myself to see how my nature manifested into my actions. I¡¯d come to terms with my somewhat passive nature by now. I had a tendency to allow decisions to be made for me, by others or my environment either way. It was difficult to see at first, as I¡¯d originally mistaken it for decisiveness, which seemed contradictory. However, after much deliberation and reviewing my recent history, it was clear that I waited until circumstances forced me into a decision before I¡¯d make one. Rather than take an active roll in planning and pick from multiple options, I would continue to follow along the path set before me until fate forced me choose something. At that point, I would make a snap decision and stick with it, which is where the feeling of decisiveness came from. But in reality, it was little more than an animals choice ¨C reacting to the world around me without understanding, planning no further into the future than my immediate problems. It was a difficult thing to accept ¨C a flaw in the centre of my being. I was passive, a leaf in the wind, swept up in the current of fate and seldom looking up to see which way the river flowed. Most of a day was spent moping over that realisation before Vera slapped me on the back of the head and told me to get over it. ¡®All blades are double-edged in the end.¡¯ She¡¯d told me, and while I hadn¡¯t shared my thoughts with her, the words nevertheless seemed to be what I needed to hear. Yes, I¡¯d found a real flaw in my character that had caused real harm in my life and would undoubtably do so again. But it also had its benefits. I was decisive. Because I waited until a choice needed to be made, I wasted no time deliberating on the right course of action. Sure, I lost out on better options in doing so, but it meant that when a choice needed to be made, I made one and committed to it with everything I had. I spent far more time doing things than thinking about them, and that had paid off so far. During those first weeks trapped alone in the wilderness, lack of future planning was a massive help. If I had spent time considering what I would do, the hopelessness and uncertainty would have stolen all my will to survive. As it was, I was able to just put one foot in front of the other. So, it was a double edged sword, as Vera had said. Remould myself to cover the flaw of my passiveness, and I would also lose that in-the-moment decisiveness I had come to rely on. And so my long days of introspection in the rain helped hammer home Jorge¡¯s lesson that before seeking to change something, you first had to understand it. By the time the rain eased and the weather brightened, I had achieved a level of self-awareness that I¡¯d never had before, and a confidence in my own mind and decisions that helped ground me somehow. I was still far from seeing how my disparate skills and class could be unified into a defining approach or idea, but it wasn¡¯t a problem for me to solve yet anyway. First, understand the self. The rest will follow in time. Chapter 30 - Perspective ¡°Do you have any last words blasphemer?¡± ¡°I do. I regret only that I was caught! My cause was just, and history will absolve me. A great rising is upon us, and the winds of change will sweep you all from our ancient bridges. And so too will it scatter away the detritus that you lay at my grave! Heed my words now, for this is the last explanation you will receive before you are dragged from your homes and cast into the-¡° ¡°Pull it! Now!¡± - The penultimate soliloquy of the play ¡®Breeze-born ¨C birth of a legend¡¯, transcribed by an unknown scholar in the 2nd cleansing
The rain had passed, and the grass sea became a thing of beauty once again. We settled into a steady rhythm; Wake, eat, run, eat, run, spar, eat and sleep. Conversation and banter flowed, and we pulled together as a group even more over the next few weeks. My mind was filled with knowledge of tracking, foraging, herbalism, cooking, even some novel baking. Every skill that Jorge could work in over our journey even tangentially related to my Wilderness Endurance Hunter class skill was taught to me. It was clear he was an experienced teacher, if his system title wasn¡¯t enough of a clue. My skills flourished under the attention, and I hardly noticed the staggering amount of knowledge I was being fed or the competence that was slowly growing. The focus on training and self-improvement settled into to my mind as normal. I couldn¡¯t remember the man I had been before my ¡®rebirth¡¯ in this world, but I doubted I was ever as diligent in my desire for progress as I now was. Due to my combat class though, the actual level of my skills hardly changed. I gained a single level in Wilderness Endurance Hunter ¨C presumably from the risk of ingesting and cooking with ingredients that could be dangerous if handled incorrectly, as well as a single level in Skirmisher of Antiquity. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 25 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 22 Agility: 22 Endurance: 22 Perception: 22 Cognition: 22 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 8. Passive. Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 5. Passive. Cloven-Hooved: Level 6. Passive. Heart of the Hills: Level 3. Active. Check Step: Level 6. Active. Hill-Folk: Level 6. Passive. Indomitable Prey: Level 6. Active. Skirmisher of Antiquity: Level 2. Passive. However, the true changes were less quantitative than qualitative. When I dived into my soul-space and viewed my core, I could see new links emerging between the constellations of my disparate skills. There was an energy exchange, still in its infancy, but the slight flows of energy were perceptible to me now. It wasn¡¯t universal by any means, with some of my skills still orbiting my core on their own, seemingly disconnected from the rest. But it was a start. I could feel particularly the Skirmisher of Antiquity skill looked ¡®full¡¯ for lack of a better word. Swollen with potential, just awaiting the element of danger and energy from my enemies¡¯ deaths to drive it forwards to further mastery. We were roughly two weeks from leaving the Wandering States, at the edge of the grassy steppes, when I received another lesson in perspective, and this time it wasn¡¯t from any of my companions.
I was returning from the shallow basin below our camp, out of sight of my companions, where I had bathed and cleaned with the ¡®bath¡¯ as I had taken to calling the massive water canister that Vera kept in her storage device. Clad in relatively clean and fresh clothes, hair damp and muscles wrung out by exercise, I was feeling the same relaxed satisfaction that I had for the last few weeks. I listened in with half an ear to the bickering and banter traded by Vera and Jorge as they cooked, and the scratching of a quill on parchment as Nathlan scribbled away. The fragrant scent of sizzling rabbit, and the earthy tang of fresh potatoes frying in heady spices wafted around me as I settled down near my bedroll, withdrawing a shaving razor Jorge had lent me to scrape away the scraggly fuzz covering my lower jaw. I caught a quick flash of my reflection in the steel and noticed with interest the lack of dissonance at the face staring back. It was me of course, always had been, but I¡¯d undergone such a profound transformation when alone in the wilderness that by the time I¡¯d returned to civilisation, I didn¡¯t really recognise myself. Since then, despite travelling almost constantly, the trappings of luxury the others enjoyed ¨C and shared so freely with me ¨C had made me feel more like a man than an animal. I¡¯d been given new clothes and maintained them when they inevitably fell afoul of the rough use. I was eating hearty food, lovingly cooked for taste, not just for use as nutrition. I¡¯d enjoyed safety, comfort, warmth and companionship, and that combination had somehow allowed me to accept the rugged and lean face reflected in the blade before me as myself. Tracing the hard edges of my jaw and cheekbones with my hands, I memorised the face before me, trying to internalise the new image with the one I held onto in the deepest parts of my mind, far below conscious thought. I observed without judgement, simply noting the changes and updating the model in my mind to more accurately reflect my appearance now. It wasn¡¯t easy, battling with the slight feeling of wrongness whenever I discovered a new angle that sparked the dissonance anew. But over time, little by little, my face started to feel like my own again. That is, until my hands roamed through my hair again. The absent gesture drew my attention, and I noticed the matted, tangled nature of my shoulder length hair. Running a hand through it again, I was hit for the first time with how inelegantly it hung; skewed and always a little bit out of place. After a few moments of twisting and turning my head and wrangling the hair, I realised I didn¡¯t like it. At all. Looking up, I observed Nathlan absently tuck a loose strand of brown hair back into his simple tail, bound by intricately patterned twine. Vera¡¯s hair was free of her usual helmet, tucked neatly into a bun, with a fringe of dark red/brown covering her forehead. The less said about Jorge¡¯s disastrous style of ¡®mostly bald head and long braid¡¯ the better, but even that counted as a deliberate choice, disastrous though I may be. And here I was, trying to maintain some sense of sanity, of personal identity, and above it all hung a floppy, useless bird¡¯s nest. Resolved, I began a new battle. No longer wielding my spear and shield and fighting for my life against enemies far above me, instead I fought with a sharp razor against a forest of dirty hair. And I was losing. Clumps fell from the side of my head and my actions became increasingly frenzied as I struggled to part the matted locks. I nicked my fingers several times in my haste, and that only added fuel to the fire, causing my frustration to soar. I tried to bite down on the impatience, but for whatever reason, now that I had noticed my hair, I couldn¡¯t bear to have it there. It hung above me in smug victory like a limp otter steadily dripping water down my face whenever I stopped giving it attention. Cursing quietly to myself I leapt to my feet. Vera was already rising from her position by the fire and turned towards me, hands splayed in a placating gesture. ¡°Give me that, Lamb, and take a seat. What do you need?¡± I stomped over, incredibly glad for the help but still unable to wrangle the frustration at my failure enough to verbalise it. Vera took the blade from my hand though and guided me to the floor, kneeling behind me and running her hands through my hair without a word. The repetitive motion helped calm me and after a few more heartbeats I managed to speak again. ¡°I dunno, it just¡­I want it off. I don¡¯t like it. Thank you, by the way.¡± Vera nodded, or at least I think she did ¨C couldn¡¯t really see from where I was seated. A dozen more heartbeats passed in silence as she threaded her fingers through my hair, tracing out as many tangles as possible and setting the damp strands in place before she tapped the back of the razor on my head and spoke. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°What do you want then? All of it gone? Would be a shame I reckon. Long hair suits you.¡± I shrugged, unsure exactly what I did want, but knowing anything was better than this. The unkempt mane seemed to symbolise my lack of control over my own life. ¡®There goes Lamb, wants to master the spear but can¡¯t even master his own hair¡¯. The familiar voice bubbled to the surface once again, mocking and deriding everything I held dear. ¡°Maybe? I don¡¯t know what I want, don¡¯t even really know what¡¯s normal wherever we¡¯re going. Just something¡­less wild. I want to look like a human, not a half-starved crazy person, you know?¡± I felt stupid saying it, but Vera just continued combing my hair as she replied. No judgement, just a calm tone and soft words. ¡°My brother used to shave one side of his head, kept the other long. He used to say it symbolised his love and hatred both ¨C love for the people, and hatred for the nobles. We mocked him for it a little ¡®course. Bloody sentimental. But I think it might fit in your case.¡± I was startled by her words ¨C she rarely talked about her brother, even after our fight brought her past to the surface. That she did so now spoke to her insight, or perhaps it just was more obvious than I realised that I was struggling with something significant. But then I supposed she knew more than anyone what it was like to lose your identity, and the hard journey of re-discovering yourself after a dramatic change. ¡°I¡¯d like that. But I don¡¯t know how to braid my hair. I guess that means I¡¯ve always kept it short in the past?¡± I chuckled mirthlessly to myself at the realisation ¨C further evidence of how lost I was. Vera simply started parting my hair into strands before cutting them off, sections of hair falling to the floor around me as she worked. ¡°I¡¯ll help you learn. Used to braid Ulstur¡¯s hair before every battle.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a nice ritual ¨C were you always close?¡± I asked absently, leaning into the soothing process and letting my shoulders slowly relax. ¡°Yes ¨C he was a few years younger than me, so I was always looking out for him. He was the more outgoing one, and once our parents were killed, we joined the rebellion together. As I said, we would often mock him for spending so long on his appearance, especially when we were living rough towards the end. He used to say ¡®if I¡¯m going to die, I¡¯d like to die pretty.¡± I was still a little apprehensive around Vera and her past, although the last few weeks had brought us closer together. Her tone was light though, and I thought I could hear the soft smile on her face. ¡°He sounds fun. Thank you for sharing a bit of his style with me.¡± I put as much sincerity into my tone as I could, and then tried to lighten the mood at the end. ¡°I¡¯ll try my best to keep up the pretty warrior legacy.¡± Thankfully, Vera laughed and swatted me on the shoulder. ¡°Oh shut up, you¡¯ll do fine. He would have liked you, I think. He always managed to stay optimistic, even towards the end.¡± We lapsed into companiable silence for a while as she continued to slice away the matted fur clinging to my head. After most of the clumps were removed and she began to scrape away the course stubble, she spoke more about some of the exploits of her little brother. I listened and enjoyed the feeling of human contact. Vera had finished her work by the time the food was prepared, and I was the proud owner of a new haircut. She drew her blade to give me a good look, and I had to admit that I liked it. The left side of my head was feral ¨C shaved to a glint but would be stubbly and unkempt within days. A few small scars were exposed as well. It contrasted well with the wide braid down the centre of my head, with two smaller braids on the right hand side, collecting the stray hair and keeping everything tightly contained. It was a style, a definite choice I¡¯d now made on how to present myself. I could credit the savage side of myself that had got me this far while still seeking to define a future independent of it. On a whim I reached down and pulled from my wrist one of the two silver bangles I had taken from the corpse of the Crimson Lion I had found mauled to death by the Tarkenzi¡¯s. I bent it into a flattened semi-circle and placed it over the main braid, squeezing it into place along the back of my skull so that it could bind the hair together. I got some compliments over the meal on the new look, and thankfully little teasing. As much as I was comfortable with the banter and comradery, it must have been clear that I was a little on edge tonight. We were settling in for a quiet night, tucking into our sleeping rolls, when the ground shook. It was a gentle tremble at first, easy to pass off as nothing since I was rolling over at the time. Jorge lifted his head, and while it wasn¡¯t particularly fast, the eery way he kept still afterwards ¨C as if waiting for something and unwilling to move until it happened ¨C managed to catch my attention. That was the only reason I caught the subtle tremor the second time. A dozen shakes occurred before they became easy to make out, and by that time Jorge was already pulling himself to his feet. Another few dozen heartbeats passed with the rest of us dragging ourselves from comfort and looking at the horizon in concern. Jorge was rigid for a few moments longer, head cocked to the side, before he jerked into movement. A strange contraption appeared in his hands as he barked at Vera. ¡°Concentric ring around us. Twenty feet. Go!¡± Vera to her credit only hesitated for a moment before withdrawing a thick wooden staff and striding away from us. She struck the staff straight into the ground and pulled it along behind her as she walked, drawing a rent in the grass. Jorge snapped out the contraption and I realised it was simply two large staves, tipped with metal and connected by a long rope. He jammed one of the staves into the furrow created by Vera and stretched the rope out before placing the second one into the earth as well. He then began to draw in the earth, moving the thick staves through the ground as if dipping a brush through paint. I knew I could likely replicate the feat by now with my enhanced attributes, but the smoothness of the motion, the way the wood seemed to glide as it displaced the root-bound dirt, not skipping and stuttering even slightly, was impressive to behold. Once Vera had traced a large circle around us and Jorge had carved the swooping, circular patterns around the outside, I began to understand what they were doing. The why was still a mystery, but it was clear that this was some sort of ritual circle, although it matched no style of runes I had seen so far. I asked Nathlan quietly, but he was as much at a loss as I was, only able to confirm that this was not some sort of warding structure. Vera joined us a moment later, stowing away her staff and turning us both around to watch the horizon again. The tremors continued at a steady pace, but the earth was shaking more with each one. The grass began to wave with the thumping, and I saw worms coiling to the surface, as if drawn by the promise of rain. I felt Jorge¡¯s presence near us once more. ¡°You are about to witness something extraordinary. Say nothing unless I tell you to ¨C this will be far beyond your experience.¡± His words seemed directed not just at me, but Nathlan too. He stepped forwards past the edge of the impromptu circle, and I was surprised to see Vera stay beside us as well. I hoped she wasn¡¯t included in his earlier statement ¨C anything beyond Vera was a terrifying thought. The rhythmic thumping continued as this happened, and while it got heavier by the moment, it was over shockingly fast. Vera gasped and moments later I saw a figure on the horizon, impossibly vast. A hazy silhouette, black against the dusky sky, stars just beginning their twinkling suddenly blocked by a titanic figure. I caught an impression of movement, but my eyes refused to compute the information they saw. Heavy steps pounded the earth, and the world beneath me trembled. Dust clouds billowed between us and the horizon, appearing in sequence like ripples from a stone skipping across a still lake. Then it was before us, and all movement ceased. Dust blasted past us, and the earth heaved and shook. I could see the faint outline of Jorge standing still before us, head raised up as if in supplication to a great god of the sky. I shielded my eyes until the dust settled and glanced forwards again. No longer could I see the plain before me. The view was obscured by an immense brown trunk, wider than my body was tall. It emerged from a titanic foot. A human-looking foot. The scale was hard to wrap my head around, but a distant part of my mind noted that the five toes I could see were oddly pod shaped, and much wider-spaced than that of a human. The rest of my mind promptly ignored the irrelevant detail and commanded my gaze to rise. Echoing Jorge, I tilted my head up and tried not to lose my balance as the giant figure of the...well...Giant, resolved itself before me. One moment I was watching a silhouette blur across the steppe, and the next a giant was standing before us, utterly still. I heard Nathlan¡¯s breath catch, and I reached out to grasp his shoulder. Ostensibly it was to steady him, but truly I just wanted someone to hang onto. There was no doubt in mind that this creature was real. No illusion or psychotic break could conjure the raw majesty that I felt rolling off the creature in waves. Like a ball of hot metal dipped into water, magic poured off of the Giant in a constant gush of power. My gaze travelled up the tree-like legs, thick with corded muscle, to the navel ¨C an ever moving swirl of dark ink that seemed to draw my gaze. Only the speed at which I had wrenched my head backwards to look at the creature kept my eyes from focusing on that strangely hypnotic tattoo. Higher, I saw a broad chest dotted with mind-bending patterns and bone-like ridges, flowing up and over wide shoulders. The Giant had an undisputedly masculine face, with solid features and a heavy brow jutting over its eyes. My gaze travelled no further, and while I could make out a hint of tangled white hair and great horns crowning its head, my focus was entirely on the black abyss on either side of its craggy face where eyes should have been. I felt myself lean forwards, and only my hand on Nathlan¡¯s shoulder kept me from taking a step towards it. A moment later, I felt Nathlan pitch backwards, and I would have struggled to hold him upright without my enhanced strength. I wanted to look over to check if he was alright, but I could not tear my gaze away from the inhuman titan. Black pits of swirling potential held me enthralled and prevented my brain from truly processing the scale of the creature. I had spent enough time in the mountains to be used to feeling small. Mountains had a way of reinforcing perspective, of ensuring you never forgot that you were no more than an ant against the majesty of mother nature. But this giant was shocking in a way the natural world never could be. It had moved so fast, giving me no time to understand the calamity arriving before it was here. I did not feel small, so much as insignificant. My physical stature was irrelevant. I could tower over the Giant and still be no less than an ant to such an ancient entity. The longer I stared, the more the background stars seemed to fall away. I still heard the sounds of wind hushing through grass and crickets creaking, the smell of damp earth freshly overturned. But it was overshadowed by a presence so vast and significant, that I struggled to focus on anything else. My world tilted on its axis, as if I was standing at the base of a mountain, staring too long up at it and felt it start to fall towards me. The dark streaks of cloud rushed by above the horn-covered head, and the dark pits of its eyes stared into my soul. Vera¡¯s hand dug into my shoulder, and I barely heard her hiss into my ear, ¡°your aura skill!¡± It took me a few moments to realise what she meant, and I abruptly cut the flow of mana from my core to my bound skill. The unfathomable eyes regarded me for a moment longer, before the Giant¡¯s colossal head tilted down slightly. A low hum sounded from in front of me, and I realised Jorge had begun to speak. I wasn¡¯t sure how I knew, but I could understand his intent. Words were irrelevant, but I understood his desire to explain our presence, to confirm our wish to move undisturbed through these lands, and our proof that we had left them unharmed in our wake. A buzz so low I wasn¡¯t sure if I hearing it or feeling it in my bones was the only reply from the Giant, but again I understood its ¨C his ¨C response. Appreciation for the way-sign we had drawn and harboured in, reassurance that no tribute would be demanded. Two final pieces of information were communicated that made less sense to me, but I instantly flagged as important; The world tree stirs once more, and the Al-Sazine are on the move. I had the intuitive understanding I wasn¡¯t supposed to have heard that, but no reprisals were forthcoming from either party. Without fanfare, the creature stepped backwards smoothly. A single step carried him dozens of meters, and the grace with which he moved made me feel sick. Entities on that scale should not move with such speed. I blinked at the sudden dust cloud that enveloped us again, and when it finally settled, we were alone once more. The moon had not moved in the sky before the tremors stopped, and Jorge waved us away from the way-sign he and Vera had drawn. I had questions, I believe we all did, but Jorge refused to elaborate more on what had occurred, citing a need to consider the Giant¡¯s warning. Nathlan and Vera seemed perplexed, presumably not having understood the exchange, and I feigned confusion too. We stayed up late talking about that encounter, but after a while the seriousness fled, and we were just joking about increasingly unhinged theories as to how Giants reproduced. Eventually, we called it a night, and I snuggled into my bedroll. My mind refused to quiet though, wondering about the significance of the Giant¡¯s words, and why that message had had such a profound effect on Jorge. Interlude - Icarus, the City of Spires It is the nature of all things to change. Mountains rise and fall over aeons, rivers wend their way through the land over millennia, forests reclaim the world throughout centuries. And, as a testament to man¡¯s ephemeral nature, a city can fall to ruin in only decades. Icarus, named once in irony and once again in truth, lies fallen from the lofty heights it once inhabited. Nestled into the comforting embrace of a valley, its tall bronze and copper spires once arched proudly to the sky, soaring from streets paved with stone and interspersed with flowerbeds. Street vendors hawked their wares to all passers-by, and pleasant aromas filled the city streets. People moved throughout the city in waves and trickles. This tide of potential would ebb and flow at set intervals, glorious multi-toned bells heralding a brief pause as the city held its breath. Then a new surge of gossiping and haggling would rise from below to bathe the orange-brown spires in sound. As its influence spread across the continent, delivering art and food along the silk roads, the domain of Sythics Thrice-Blessed echoed with life and hope. No longer. Streets, once busy and chaotic, are now pristine and orderly ¨C scoured of filth by gangs of cleaners each morning. Street vendors are not in evidence, for the successful ones ply their trade from inside marble fronted buildings. The unsuccessful ones have joined the cleaning gangs outside. No loud and joyous calls for trade can be heard now in Icarus, for haggling is a thing of the past. Only the rich can afford to pay, and they care not for the price in the end. Breads and fruits are negligible compared to the cost of rising in the golden spires. Three rival gangs now exist in Icarus; the first group are the most visible ¨C the aforementioned cleaners, who work in drudgery before the important residents even wake. Nevertheless, they can be seen trudging back across gleaming cobblestones to the outer gates of the city come the morning rush. The second group are the most numerous ¨C these are the unemployed, the vagrants, the refugees and the ones most spurned by the City of Spires. They inhabit the shanty town that has grown around the city¡¯s great walls, like Verdigris creeping along a copper pipe, slowly subsuming all in its wake. They are the predators and the prey in the squalor that they are forced to live in, and just like rust on a pipe, they threaten the integrity of the city. The third and final group are the most feared, and the only ones to truly embody their role as a gang ¨C the guards of Icarus that have grown insular and isolated from its people. As Sythics Thrice-Blessed passes through the haphazard lines of tents and lean-to structures surrounding the city walls of his former home and greatest pride, his thoughts turn toward the third gang he has witnessed in residence. They once functioned as the immune system of his beloved city, protecting it from the attacks of petty parasites and violent disease. But the parasites have now taken root, and that immune system has been turned upon its host. Separated from their charges by circumstance and interest, the guard of Icarus are now its people¡¯s bane. They still serve the interests of its citizens, but that definition has been narrowed until it is unrecognisable, and the guard now protect nothing but rot. It is tempting to blame the parasites for the ruin of this great city, but that would be premature. After all, each host has ways of protecting itself from them, and they cannot take root until it has been sufficiently weakened by disease. Did he not train the guard himself? Did he not appoint capable people to ensure the checks and balances he wished for remained functional? Self-recrimination does one no good when it is wielded in error, and Sythics knew he had been careful. Despite his best intentions, a disease had taken root in his beloved city, long before the parasites took up their roost in his spires. He looks past the poor and the weary, ignoring the flea-bitten clothes and the buzzing flies cloaking the destitute and needy. He likewise turns a blind eye to the abuses and excesses of the Icarus Guard, as he slips through one of the three larger gates that holds back the human tide. He has been gone for nearly four decades, and this behaviour is deep-rooted. He will not waste time amputating a toe when he has yet to cure the affliction in whole. Signs of decay and decadence are abundant, as he flows along bare cobblestones and up beneath delicate stone arches. The copper and bronze spires he had spent so many days admiring at dawn and dusk are now golden, stained with evidence of the disease gripping this new city. The beautiful bells still ring, but rather than the mad rush of mingling citizenry, he sees only hurried workers, backs bent and heads lowered. Spots of stillness punctuate this flow, with eddies circling around the silent forms of watchful guards ¨C to draw too close is to risk their ire, after all. He lets his senses spread out, partaking in the sights and sounds, the smells and feel of this new place, for it surely bears little resemblance to his city of birth. Only its skyline is recognisable, and that has grown ugly to his eyes with the splendour heaped upon his favourite view. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. His slow march into the centre of this city suddenly speeds up as he gains purpose. His roaming senses have found what he is looking for, and his will bears him through the maze of city streets and underground passages until he stands within a bunker deep beneath the northern district. No windows or exits of any kind line the bare room, for this has been built around the occupant for a single purpose; to permanently contain a person that cannot be killed. The person in question is a small woman, ravaged by age and neglect. She lies slumped against a padded wall, head lolling in a ritual of boredom. A repetitive motion to help the mind escape from its physical prison and wander the depths of the imagination. Sythics speaks then, and the head stills abruptly. ¡°What has happened here?¡± The head rises slowly, and baleful eyes glare towards him. A voice that hasn¡¯t been heard in years now speaks, anger and recrimination adding a clip to each word. ¡°Where were you? I called to you, I begged, and I pleaded. You lied to me.¡± Silence meets the pronouncement, and the head lowers again, resuming its rhythmic bobbing. A few more heartbeats pass before the Thrice-Blessed waves a hand, banishing the darkness with light. A table and two chairs appear in the small room, bowls laden with fruit and an amphora of sweet wine now sitting on the table just as suddenly. ¡°Come my friend, ease your burdens and we shall both enlighten the other.¡± His voice is soothing, understanding and compassion flowing alongside those words to the figure in the corner. A small shudder, swiftly repressed, before the figure stands to her full height. It is not an impressive action, but Sythics is impressed all the same. ¡°A coup, 17 years ago. I was placed in a luxurious golden cage, placated with wealth as they stole my influence and destroyed our city. I spun my web anew, but I underestimated them. Again. 6 years ago, our rebellion failed and I was placed here.¡± The woman¡¯s rage from only a moment ago quickly gives way to a monotonous report, eyes flat and uninterested. Sythics recognises the coping mechanism for what it is; the enforced distance a way to keep his old friend from being overwhelmed by the reliving of history. He provides an ear to her, as well as a shoulder, and stays within that room for 17 bells. The monotony soon leaves her as she continues her tale, detailing the harrowing decades she has endured, all for their shared dream. The pain, the heart break, even the moments of brief success. He holds her as she cries and stays nearby as she sleeps ¨C the first true sleep of recovery she has likely had since she was placed here. He tries to ignore her thrashing and whimpering in the night as she relives her worst moments in her dreams. They discuss again after she wakes. He tells her of his travels, of all the things he has seen, all the joy and pain and wonder and terror. Everything she has sacrificed for a city that no longer knows her. He asks for her advice on his next move, although both know he is truly asking for permission. And what was once the voice of compromise, of gradual change and bloodless incrementalism, gives that permission to him without hesitation or reservation. This admission from his old friend, antithetical to the person he had left behind decades prior, does more to firm his resolve than all he had witnessed since returning to his place of birth. In a padded room, isolated from the city above, a dream lies in ashes, and Sythics Thrice-Blessed commits himself to action.
He acts, feeling the aether respond to his call as he pours his intent into one of his skills. The padded room simply disintegrates, walls crumbling away into dust, while the runes embedded within slough to the floor in piles of molten gold. Another flex of his will brings him from deep beneath the city one moment, to standing on the cobbled streets far above the next. Few notice him, and it is unlikely that the ones who do will show any outward signs of doing so. A single guard spots him soon though, standing tall and unbowed amid the throng of a cowed populace. He calls out, and begins to make his way towards Sythics, but a single glance stops him. The Thrice-Blessed moves again and the world changes, swiftly resolving into the shape of the central spire. Guards on the door glare menacingly out at the workers scurrying back and forth, but their expressions freeze as he appears before the doors. Hands drop to hilts before they reconsider, and he ignores them as they back away. Rain has begun to fall in his once-glorious city as he enters the building, and there is a moment of stillness, of silence, before it is shattered like glass. A body falls from the 13th floor, swiftly followed by several more. Screams echo through the city from the central spire, mixing with the gongs of a hundred bells until a symphony of violence is splattered around inside the great walls. The Thrice-Blessed descends from the tower, walking back out through the front door to be greeted by two crowds. One lies broken and twisted on the cobblestones in front of the central spire with limbs splayed at odd angles and blood leaking across the bright stone. The other seethes and boils with potential, acting as if a single creature that can¡¯t decide whether to run or to approach. He gives no chance for the indecisive crowd to do either as he raises his hands to the heavens, activating another skill to propel his voice across the crowd. ¡°A disease has gripped this city. It will now be eradicated.¡± Sythics Thrice-Blessed reaches his hands to the sky, and the glinting spires begin to melt. A trickle at first, gold flowing from the tallest buildings into the sky. Delicate filagree and extravagant plating alike are melted in the face of his will, and the trickle soon becomes a flood as a swirling ball of gold forms in the air above the city, every tower feeding its bounty towards the golden sun in the sky. He drops his hands, and the sphere descends towards the earth, dripping and spattering onto the pile of bodies in front of him. The copper spires of his childhood are returned, and as gold rains from the sky, he speaks again. ¡°Let this serve as a reminder to those who rule this city: If they place gold above life, then I will honour their wish.¡± The golden rain sheets down, covering the mound of corpses as the crowd stands transfixed. A shower of wealth and they are none of them touched by its cruel embrace. A few more heartbeats and the moment has ended. A single pyramid of gold now stands in front of the tallest spire in Icarus, and it reaches only a dozen meters across. A reminder to all. Interlude - Varice *Varice* Varice suppressed a shudder. It was cold in Ryonic castle, as it always was. The duke was a hard man and wouldn¡¯t allow the waste of heating such a large fortress. There was also the more significant factor of him deliberately choosing to present an overly austere fa?ade to his enemies. The creeping chill pervading every inch of the fortress wasn¡¯t what inspired her hastily covered shiver though. Instead, it was the presence of her liege-lord¡¯s son. Estan stood behind her, leaning one arm against the door in what he no doubt thought was a dashing display of masculine confidence. She thought he looked rather like a spoiled noble brat. Hard to look like anything other than what you are. She sighed, folding a small scroll back upon itself and placing it on the side of her small desk. She stood and turned to face the young man, raising a single eyebrow in question and folding her arms across her stomach. She watched his eyes travel up her figure and nearly shivered again. The only thing preventing her from beating some respect into him was that if she ever called the sick little prick out on his behaviour, he¡¯d surely say something that would force her to kill him there and then, and the duke would never forgive her for his son¡¯s death. Even if she privately thought that he might understand it. ¡°Yes? I assume there¡¯s a reason you are here?¡± She asked. Just because she couldn¡¯t kill him didn¡¯t mean she needed to play along with his delusions, however. Her curt tone was clearly lost on the man though, as he dropped his arm and slunk into the cramped room. ¡°My lovely Varice! Such a small room you have here ¨C my father clearly doesn¡¯t understand the value that you bring to him. On my heart, I vow I will treat you better when I inherit his responsibilities.¡± ¡°It is functional and keeps me out of the way of visiting dignitaries. I don¡¯t have much time for distractions.¡± Predictably, Estan didn¡¯t get the hint, instead doing his best to look interested as he looked around her small office. He couldn¡¯t quite seem to keep the disdain from his face though; that perpetual sneer in evidence even while attempting to be charming. ¡°Well, my office is always at your disposal should you wish it.¡± He said, turning to face her. He had managed to manoeuvre himself so that she stood between him and door, as if she had visited him in his chambers instead of the reverse. Varice sighed internally, deciding to be even more direct. ¡°Why are you here?¡± Estan sighed dramatically, speaking in such a weary tone it almost seemed like he had the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders already. ¡°My father is struggling, Varice. He hides it well, but I see the lines that stress has carved on his face. The Marchlands have flourished under his rule, and yet the peasants are less than grateful. The Sultanate has extended an arm of friendship, but it is a delicate offer to receive, as the Sunset Court is more divided than ever. Such problems are well within his ability to handle, but I fear the realm of foreign policy has taken too much of his attention as of late.¡± Varice had grown up as the third daughter to a minor baron in the Marchlands. Her father wasn¡¯t rich enough to have much influence at the Sunset Court but was still important enough within the Marchlands that she couldn¡¯t be allowed the freedom to choose her own path. That was as much a death sentence for a smart woman as the axe. And yet, despite that upbringing, she¡¯d not heard a bigger cartful of shit in her life. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°Speak plainly, Estan. What is it you want?¡± ¡°I wish to help reduce the burden my father bears. I know he keeps you within his confidence ¨C for good reason ¨C and I wish to work with you to accomplish his aims.¡± Varice once again restrained herself from rolling her eyes, but his next words caused her to focus again. ¡°I know you have sent the Lions after the Butcher of Sternsbridge.¡± It was a heavy statement, dropped into the space between them as a stone into calm water. He looked at her intently, as if trying to read from her face any falsehood or surprise. And surprised she was. She hadn¡¯t expected the fop to know anything about what was happening beyond the edge of his wine glass, but her face betrayed nothing. She was spymaster to the most powerful man in the Western Marchlands, and he would need to uncover more than that to get a rise out of her. Besides, that was the cover story of their real plan ¨C it was designed to be seen and scrutinised. ¡°Interesting. I didn¡¯t expect your interest to extend beyond our borders. I won¡¯t deny what is clear to all; Yes, we are aiming to bring the Butcher to justice.¡± Estan¡¯s face lit up like he had unveiled some ancient secret from the jaws of a dragon, rather than noticed an obvious move made known to many within the Sunsets. Still, surprising he had noticed at all. She would have to have one of her people investigate his movements for a time ¨C her open contempt for the man may be biasing her in this respect, but she was convinced that he hadn¡¯t discovered the move on his own. If someone was helping him¡­Varice would need to know about it. ¡°Excellent news, and a worthy cause if there ever was one! Tell me though; how did my father know where to send the Lions? I¡¯ve heard reports that the Talons dispatched have not reported in, and that can only mean that they have met the Butcher on the field.¡± She nodded to herself, now certain they had stumbled upon the true reason for his visit. ¡°I am not able to discuss the details, Estan. You will need to convince your father to share that. I have received no such orders.¡± He hummed in thought, as if turning the pieces around in his mind until they fit the pattern he was hoping for. She doubted he was doing any such thing, simply hoping his presence would somehow force her into spilling secrets he was unsuited to hold. Better luck with the barmaids and air-headed aristocrats he surrounded himself with. ¡°If that is all? I have work to return to.¡± She stepped aside and gestured to the door. He took the time to look her up and down again before sauntering out, looking back over his shoulder at her as he rounded the corner. Prick. She turned back to her desk, making sure to lock the door first. A deep breath, and then she activated her first skill, the one that had set her on her current path. Complex sigils appeared in the air before her, outlined in the glow of her infused spirit. Neon green lit the room with a soft light, and she reached out a hand to select three of the two-dozen sigils in sequence, rotating and dragging them across the air and into place. A faint click, and then a seam of green light split the air, parting reality like a curtain being opened in the middle of the room. She stepped forward into her Tower of Secrets, and searched for the correct book, taking it off a meticulously organised shelf and carrying it to a writing desk in the centre of the liminal space. She sat down and began to write, filling the blank pages with the new information she had gained, and the possible implications she could draw from it. Time passed, and she returned to the real world, the green glow fading from the room. Another flex of spirit, and another skill was activated. A sleek purple raven was conjured forth from the aether and spent a few moments staring at its master. ¡°Share with Duke Ryonic my concerns: his son is sniffing around where he should not, and appears to be receiving information from somewhere else. I suspect Escribar, but it is hard to know. He appears to have no knowledge of The Seer, but I do not wish to risk it. I¡¯ll leave some hints pointing towards our deal with Demitrious in Storm¡¯s Harbour, and hope he takes the bait.¡± The raven cocked its head to one side in that unnerving way that uncannily smart birds possess, and then took flight, ducking out of reality in a burst of purple feathers that floated slowly to the floor before vanishing themselves. Varice smiled to herself, remembering fondly her younger self¡¯s flare for the dramatic. Some may consider the extravagance a waste of spirit ¨C an unoptimized skill ¨C but she found it a fair price to pay for the reminder of who she once had been. Her steely eyes rose from the stone floor and back to her desk, and she sighed. More work to do. Chapter 31 - Welcome to Colchet ¡®There are 3 things all wise men fear; the sea in a storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle-¡® *Door crashes open* ¡°Get on your hands, knees in the air!¡± *Sirens blare* ¡°NO! I didn¡¯t mean it! I¡¯m sorry, I just wanted something to say, I-¡± ¡°No excuses! That¡¯s 30 years in the can for quote stealing. Tag him boys, let¡¯s move.¡±
¡°Nathlan¡­what¡¯s the deal with the World Tree?¡± I asked, keeping my breathing even as we jogged in a mile-eating lope towards the open horizon. Vera and Jorge were far ahead of us, their silhouettes wavering in and out of focus as the sun continued to rise. The heat was now palpable, beating down on our heads as we moved. It had been easy to ignore as we travelled further east out of the Wandering States, since the weeks of monsoon rains kept us cool and a brisk wind from the north took away the heat when it arrived afterwards. But now we were nearly out of the great grass sea and into the unofficial borderlands between the Wandering States and the city-states that dotted the wilderness on its border. The heat was starting to become an issue, and the environment was changing along with it. The undulating emerald grasses that had stretched to the ends of my view for over a month were abating, with sand dunes springing up intermittently, and sheltering their own little oases of rugged bushes and reeds. We had begun to pass still bodies of water, some no larger than puddles but some stretching almost to the edge of our vision. The great grass sea had broken against the dunes and the very earth was a testament to this battle. Rather than tightly packed dirt bound together by uncountable thin roots, the ground began to soften, giving way to pebble-dash and sand. Enterprising reeds and gnarled, twisted trees clung resolutely to their little kingdoms, carving out a small domain over which periodic rains could not wash their roots from. The running was harder work than usual because of the uneven ground, and I hadn¡¯t noticed how used to running on soft, flat, and stable ground I had become until it was taken away. My Cloven-Hooved skill had seen more growth today than over the last two weeks combined. Nathlan looked at me side-long as he replied, ¡°What do you mean? We¡¯ve told you about it before, haven¡¯t we?¡± His response snapped me out of my thoughts. ¡°Yeah, roughly. But I mean¡­like why is it so significant when ¡®the world Tree stirs¡¯?¡± I raised my hands and put on my best mystical impression at the last bit and Nathlan smiled at my antics. ¡°¡­and empires fall¡¯. That¡¯s a simultaneously simple and complex question, Lamb-¡± I interrupted him before he could really get going. ¡°Yeah, no I get it. Give me the simple version first, right?¡± I then juked to the side to avoid his hand as he shot it out to flick me in the shoulder. ¡°Okay. Simply put, the World Tree grants a large amount of power to a small number of individuals. There tends to be a trend towards centralisation in society through the ages ¨C city-states trade amongst one another, and as technology improves and cultural ties deepen, they form larger kingdoms. ¡°This leads to prosperity, but there is more room for squabble over who controls and benefits from the greater prosperity, combined with relatively weaker ties to overcome such strife. Territories expand outwards in search of greater resources to supress the internal struggle, and empires are born. These larger political entities are more likely to encounter one another, and wars inevitably break out, decimating entire swaths of the world with the resultant magics that are wielded.¡± I was tempted to interrupt him, prod him to get to the point, but I had to admit it was impressive to see how he could spin an entire lecture from nothing within moments, without missing a step. No filler words for Nathlan the wise, just pure information injected straight into your ears. The thought made me grin to myself, but luckily Nathlan was not one to be distracted when he got going. ¡°The World Tree is understood by most to seek stability. Its interests ¨C If they truly exist and are not just governed by blind instinct or complete randomness ¨C are in keeping the world whole and intact. It therefore acts as a counter to powerful states by empowering individuals far beyond anything that others could hope to achieve. A great mage may have lived for a few centuries and been able to bring down a Dragon or Leviathan or Giant ¨C with years of preparation, an entire city¡¯s worth of resources, and a healthy dose of luck ¨C but an individual empowered by a seed of the world tree can match that feat within a few years of growth. Alone.¡± ¡°Right, but how does that lead to more stability? Surely empowering people far beyond the norm simply creates more conflict?¡± ¡°Yes, but only in the short term. This leads to one of the most widely studied phenomena of the World Tree that still has no conclusive answer ¨C who it chooses to gift. To cut an entire avenue of research down into a single sentence; overwhelmingly powerful individuals create change in the societies they exist within. Empires fall because they are filled with inherent contradictions, and a sudden influx of powerful individuals from across all walks of society end up playing out those contradictions in bloody conflict. A slave state may be relatively stable, but there is a constant struggle between those who benefit from the slave labour, and those who are forced into slavery to serve them. Imagine what happens when a handful of the slaves are suddenly gifted with power to change things?¡± ¡°I can see where you¡¯re going, but surely its not just the slaves that are gifted power? What about the slavers themselves? I thought you said the World Tree was amoral. Empowering slaves certainly seems like a moral stance from where I stand.¡± He ducked his head in acknowledgement, before refuting my point. A polite show of respect before showing me how I was wrong ¨C very Nathlan. ¡°No, you¡¯re correct. But consider that gifting the slavers power doesn¡¯t mean they will win ¨C most slave states are inherently unstable and only persist because the slaves do not believe they can win their freedom ¨C even a failed rebellion weakens the state significantly. And consider also that it is not just those two groups that are gifted power anyway. How does the disrespected but still powerful merchant class react when given power? What if we consider ethnic or religious tensions as well? Other empires and kingdoms? Roaming powers and natural calamities?¡± I admired the way the sunlight glinted off hazy green and yellow dunes. The rolling plains had held an ethereal beauty, an agelessness that soothed my soul, but now that I was leaving, I couldn¡¯t deny that I was looking forward to some variety. I was born of the mountains after all, and I needed to feel the terrain around me move and shift constantly to truly feel in touch with the world. I let the words roll through my mind as I considered them, trying to tease understanding from the knowledge and largely failing. There was simply too much context I was still missing about the world. ¡°The point is, Lamb, that empires have a thousand different divisions and conflicts simmering under the surface, so there are always desperate people willing to do anything to change things. If you hand out incredible power just to random people, they will use it to further their own interests and that will bring conflict with other groups. Conflict breads instability, and the empires will eventually collapse. The World Tree therefore acts as a check on political centralisation, and prevents any single entity from growing too powerful.¡± Again, I considered the words and found myself out of my depth. But there was something niggling away. I used Heart of the Hills to clear my head and focus on the feeling of dissonance, tracing back the arguments to see what was pinging as significant to me. ¡°But then how come there are a bunch of empires running around now? I get that the Sunset Kingdoms are constantly in flux, but there are well-established empires and large kingdoms that still exist now ¨C how come they haven¡¯t fallen yet? What about the Ashkanians ¨C they were around for ages weren¡¯t they?¡± As soon as I uttered the sentence aloud though, my heart dropped. Why hadn¡¯t they fallen yet? Nathlan replied but I dismissed his answer as soon as I heard it. ¡°Sorry I should have led with this ¨C this is all pre-system. Following the creation of the system and its structuring of wild magic, states are much more stable than before ¨C that¡¯s why the gods are still overwhelmingly popular, despite their lack of engagement with their worshippers. Most of them anyway. ¡°No, the World Tree hasn¡¯t stirred in centuries now, and cleansings have grown much more rare in general as far as we can tell, which is one of the main points in favour of the stability theory. States are stable and unlikely to grow too large, mostly due to the existence of the system, and so the World Tree simply slumbers. We may never see it stir again.¡± I knew that he was wrong though. Not about the god stuff ¨C I knew nothing about that and would take his word for it. I was even worse placed to discuss the stability of pre-system vs post-system political states. No, he was wrong to say that the World Tree wouldn¡¯t stir again, and only I knew. I considered telling him then and there, I really did, but I needed more information first. So, I took a cautious approach ¨C not a coward¡¯s one, I forcefully told myself ¨C and spoke again. ¡°So the World Tree keeps the world safe and stable by indirectly causing the destruction of any polity powerful enough to destroy significant chunks of it?¡± ¡°In essence, yes. Bear in mind this is all conjecture ¨C as far as I know there is no firm conclusion on this subject, even from those who study the great tree directly. Especially from those few, I should say.¡± ¡°Right, and that was pre-system. Is that why Jorge was talking about cycles when he first tried to explain the world to me? What about post-system?¡± I asked. Nathlan nodded again, a gleam entering his eyes as he engaged with an attentive pupil. Despite his ostensible joy at his new class, I sometimes wondered if he wouldn¡¯t be happier as a teacher of some kind, raising a support class as he lectured to students throughout the world. It was an idle thought though, and I quickly refocused when he answered my question. ¡°Yes, and yes. I¡¯m surprised you remember that to be honest. Post-system, there has only been a single cleansing ¨C at least if you take Nathlan the Ancient¡¯s reading of history ¨C which I do, by the way. Siliantros is one of the more highly regarded scholars that disagrees and suggests a total of three cleansings, and others still posit a half dozen. Only one has been total though, and that was the cleansing that wiped out the Ashkanians roughly a thousand years ago.¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. I yawned, again watching the scenery disappear beneath our steady strides. ¡°Any of those geniuses have a guess at why the system has that effect?¡± ¡°I can see I¡¯m losing you, so I¡¯ll try and summarise it your way; Everyone¡¯s more careful when an old monster could be living in the village next door.¡± I nodded, and he seemed to take it as permission to carry on. ¡°You see, the system democratises power. Skills grant mastery with time and intent ¨C and danger in your case¡­our case now I suppose? ¨C regardless, rare knowledge and experienced teachers are no longer required. Experimentation and drive are all that is needed to truly excel. That¡¯s not to say that nepotism doesn¡¯t still exist and class distinctions have vanished by any means but there has been a marked reduction in inequality- hey wait!¡± I had started increasing my pace as he droned on, partly in a desire to get away from another lecture, and partly to see how fast he could go before he had to shut up and focus. I¡¯d learned part of what I needed to start unravelling the puzzle the Giant had presented and didn¡¯t want to push too far too soon. I grinned over my shoulder at him as I heard him shout and opened my stride further, racing to catch the two figures on the horizon.
We travelled for two more weeks after reaching the edge of the steppes, and the environment changed rapidly. Sandy desert and rocky plateaus dominated the landscape, and the colours of gold and orange were seared into my soul. After spending so long in a green haze, I was expecting to rejoice in the varied colours of a new world, but I quickly became bored with unceasing sun beating down upon parched land. It was with great enthusiasm then that I welcomed Jorge¡¯s pronouncement of our arrival. We were entering the city state of Colchet apparently, although I couldn¡¯t see any evidence of that. Nothing in the surroundings gave any clue, but Jorge must have read my mind because he pointed towards a rocky outcropping less than a mile away. We gathered round to squint over as he began to speak. ¡°Right, listen up. We¡¯re now in Colchet territory. That over there is a waystation. Doesn¡¯t look like much, I¡¯ll grant, but just trust me on that for now. That means it¡¯s time we have a little chat and go over the rules. Yes, there are rules.¡± He glanced meaningfully at me at the end, and I looked back with as innocent expression as I could muster. Nathlan snickered. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be any major cultural shocks in Colchet for either of you, Lamb and Nathlan, and we¡¯ve been here together before right, Vera?¡± She nodded and he continued. ¡°So, as I said, nothing too major. When we first arrive, I want us to stick together and get a place to stay. Vera will go and check out the state of play ¨C make sure there¡¯s nothing dangerous we need to know about. I¡¯ll go and check in with my contacts, but I want both of you to stay put for a day or so until Vera gives the all-clear. Just in case.¡± ¡°Is there something wrong with Colchet then? What are you worried about?¡± I asked, surprised at the level of caution. He hesitated for a moment. ¡°Not exactly. Colchet is built within a canyon that goes deep. Think Iona Chasm deep, although without the dead god as far as I know.¡± ¡°Wait what? Woah woah woah. Dead god!?¡± ¡°Did¡­did I not mention that the Iona Chasm was the resting place of a dead god?¡± Jorge looked sheepish for a moment before his face lit up again. ¡°No, I definitely remember telling you not to go down there. If you¡¯d have listened, no harm done right? That one¡¯s on you Lamb.¡± He looked at me smugly. ¡°He¡¯s got you there¡± Vera chimed in, showing her support for Jorge and leaving me turning to Nathlan with shock. ¡°I¡¯m not being crazy here, am I? That¡¯s something you should mention, right!?¡± I asked him. He just laughed and clapped me on the shoulder, ¡°I promise to tell you if I see any dead gods, Lamb.¡± Jorge clapped his hands to regain our attention and he continued speaking, over some quiet grumbling from me. ¡°So, the canyon is deep, and sometimes creatures come up from the depths to bother the city. They have a relatively powerful and well-trained defence force, but generally the city goes into lockdown during these events, and it can be a bit lawless as the guards are all busy. Just keep an eye out and be careful.¡± ¡°Rule 1 ¨C as I¡¯ve already said, don¡¯t go anywhere till Vera gives the all-clear.¡± He looked firmly at me and Nathlan again, as if we were naughty children he suspected would run off and get kidnapped at the first opportunity. Like the good little disobedient child I was, I poked my tongue out at him, eliciting a badly concealed smirk. ¡°Rule 2 ¨C Don¡¯t get in any duels. Especially if the person asking for one has any visible scars on their arms or faces.¡± Vera interrupted. ¡°I think that waters down your rule. No duels period. Scars are irrelevant.¡± Jorge looked at her askance. ¡°I thought I made that clear. No duels.¡± I butted in at that point, realising that this conversation was already going off-rails and I could help destabilise it further. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m with the big lady on this one. I¡¯m now just wondering if I should risk a duel as long as the challenger has no scars. You¡¯ve taken a very simple and strong statement and diluted it into a mushy soup of nuance. How many scars? What if they have scars but no legs and only one arm? What if they have no scars but are like super jacked or something?¡± Jorge seemed about to retort but instead he suddenly grinned, and I felt a hand close around my shoulder. A very strong, calloused, and heavy hand. I felt her breath whisper against my neck as Vera spoke directly into my ear from behind. ¡°Call me ¡®the big lady¡¯ again, and you¡¯ll get a very comprehensive idea of just how deep Colchet¡¯s canyon is.¡± Somehow, she managed to inject enough threat into that single sentence that it almost sounded like a growl to my ears, despite the fact she was whispering. ¡°Okay okay, no duels. Thank you for clarifying oh benevolent one, I will never besmirch your holy name again.¡± I squeaked, gaining confidence with every word until I received a gentle cuff on the back of the head. Jorge chuckled and we grouped up once again. ¡°Rule 3 ¨C Nathlan you will stay with Lamb, handle cultural matters on his behalf and generally keep him out of trouble. He will do the same to you, although probably less effectively ¨C sorry Lamb ¨C so don¡¯t fuck up too badly alright?¡± ¡°Not to get scolded again for pulling us all off-track but this seems less like a universal rule for us to follow and more a specific instruction to Nathlan only.¡± ¡°Rule 4 ¨C Lamb only speaks when asked to do so directly by me.¡± All faces turned towards me with depressingly unsympathetic expressions, so I raised my hands and accepted defeat. ¡°Right, that should do it. Let¡¯s go and see what delights civilisation has awaiting us!¡± He clapped his hands again and strode off towards the rocky outpost he¡¯d pointed out to begin with, and we filed after him like a small gaggle of ducklings trailing their mother. We reached the ¡®waystation¡¯ and I stood confused for a few moments before a deep rumble sounded. The rock slab before Jorge, roughly 3 meters wide and flecked with lichen, shuddered before drawing in and then sliding to the side with the sound of heavy stone grinding against earth. I looked around but could see no mechanism apparent, until I caught sight of a couple of horns vanishing behind a boulder at the top of the outcrop. Jorge strode confidently in towards the now empty tunnel that the rock slab had exposed, and Vera gave me a gentle shove forwards before I could remark on what I¡¯d seen. When Nathlan brought up the rear, the slab rolled back into place with a rumble. It was completely dark for a few moments, but Vera¡¯s heavy hand returned to my shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. The reassurance I took from that simple gesture was unexpected. A soft blue glow then appeared before us, and Jorge began to move forward. I followed, and once we started moving, I saw that a wall-mounted sconce held a wooden pole. It looked like a torch, although rather than the familiar orange glow of dancing flames, a cool blue light emanated from the head. Once I was level with it, I could finally make out the details of the torch head. An intricate, intertwined loop of thin branches, converging together at the point, almost like a tree grown around a pear with honeycombed gaps throughout. It was beautifully complex but somehow still natural, no evidence of seams or joinery present, although I suppose the best joinery would be hard to see. Moments before I reached the torch, another one lit up ahead of us, probably only a dozen meters in front, although with the slight curve of the tunnel it was hard to judge the distance well. We walked in silence for possibly a tenth of a bell, my first few questions hushed before I got the hint and just observed. Blue fire lit our way, and I noticed after a while that the torches behind us started to wink out as we moved, such that we were left floating in a gently glowing tunnel, detached from any sensation of distance and scale. Before the unsettling feelings this dislocation caused within me could blossom into panic and force me to break the silence, something changed. I saw a blue glow up ahead, beyond the bounds of our light. It resolved into a chamber, lit by a grand bonfire, burning away with the same blue flame. As we stepped moved closer, the scale began to settle in my mind, and I was suitably awed. A chamber curved around in a circle ahead, at least as wide as two pine trees laid end to end, with the same naturally grown, unnaturally lit torches set into sconces at regular intervals. It had a dozen entrances set about the room and a bright bonfire burning in the centre of the room, although on closer inspection this too was in the same form as the torches, albeit on a much grander scale and giving out a commensurate amount of light. Eleven of the entrances looked similar to the ones we had come from, leading to dark hallways curving away; some up, some down, but none likely to intersect as far as I could tell. The twelfth ¨C thirteenth if you counted our tunnel mouth ¨C was different. Where each entrance had a scribble of runes above it, the thirteenth was carved with exacting precision. It held an artistic quality that the other runes lacked, and was far more complex in its scope and detail. Lines of runes covered the sides and top of the blocky entrance, and I leaned forwards to attempt to decipher the runes. At that moment though, three figures strode out of the darkness. Bright red gowns covered their torsos and flowed down to their knees. Below their bare legs they wore sturdy sandals, with an upturned toe covering, presumably to prevent sand and grit from breaching the front of the sandal and rubbing the toes beneath raw. All three had rectangular shields secured to their backs by leather harnesses, and short spears strapped beneath, peaking over their shoulders. They wore no prominent armour otherwise that I could see, although the two on either side of the central figure wore metal helmets with swooping horns pointing at the sky. The warrior in the middle held her helmet slung under one arm and brought the other up in a lazy wave as she spoke. ¡°Hold there. You speak Ashtani?¡± She said, voice rich and deep, and clearly used to command. Jorge again stepped forwards in front of us, drawing the focus of all three warriors. ¡°Yes. We to visit Colchet. You assist?¡± I winced at his strange inflection. I¡¯d gotten so used to the wise man knowing everything that I was surprised to hear him sound unsure about anything. The woman didn¡¯t hesitate at the mistake, obviously used to traders and strangers fumbling the local language. ¡°Your purpose?¡± ¡°Visit. Trade. Old friend has¡­information? I check in.¡± I tried to keep my face carefully blank at the stumbling language, trying to store the moment in mind so I could mock Jorge later for being worse at something than me. The old geezer would hate it. ¡°I see no escort - are you fighters?¡± Jorge only hesitated for a moment while trying to pass the words before nodding. She asked another question, ¡°Where are your weapons?¡± to which Jorge simply held up his storage ring and conjured an apple from within before storing it again, then pointed at all of us. She simply nodded, and signalled her two companions to wait. She stepped closer, clipping her helmet to a little hook on her belt I¡¯d not noticed till this point, and withdrew 4 lengths of thick leather cord. She gestured towards us all as she spoke, underscoring her words with a demonstration. ¡°I need to bind your weapons. Understood?¡± Jorge looked a little lost at this and tried to ask for clarification. That was enough for me, and I stepped forwards to whisper in his ear what she had said. He looked surprised for a moment but then scrambled to agree, seeing the weariness of the two armed warriors spike after our conferring. He conjured a small war-axe and slipped it into a loop in his belt quickly before anyone could be spooked further. The leader stepped forwards and expertly wrapped Jorge¡¯s axe with the leather cord, fashioning a surprisingly durable-looking binding in only a few moments. She then approached my companions and did the same. By the time she reached me, Jorge had withdrawn and tossed over my spear, and I held it loosely, tip on the ground in what I hoped was a non-threatening gesture. I¡¯d never really considered how simple confusion and a language barrier could make even simple situations like this one risky, but now that I was here, I was definitely moving slowly. Despite that, the woman didn¡¯t look concerned, simply carrying out her checks with a casual professionalism. Once satisfied, she beckoned us to follow, and we strode into the darkness once more. The larger entrance through which they¡¯d originally emerged turned out to be nothing more than a short passageway leading to a guardroom filled with empty bunks and desks. Gear adorned the walls, and I spent time examining it while we waited for the woman to return. She did so, dismissing the two other warriors that had been guarding us, but she was not alone. An elderly human followed behind and brightened immediately upon seeing us. I caught his eyes flick to Jorge¡¯s neck, and Nathlan¡¯s and Vera¡¯s hands, and skim straight past me entirely, which left me puzzled. The female warrior unclipped her helm from her belt and said something in Ashtani as she gestured to the new man. I didn¡¯t bother to listen in too closely, and the man started running through a list of languages, pausing after each one for Jorge to comment. It only took a half-dozen until Jorge interrupted with joy and they began to speak back and forth in a rapid-fire exchange that was still too fast for me to follow, despite understanding their words. Something about storage devices, trade and debts. After what felt like only a few heartbeats, the grey-haired man looked away from Jorge and towards the three of us, a beaming smile on his face; ¡°Welcome to Colchet adventurers!¡± Chapter 32 - Debts A tower of bones stands in silent vigil, its gaze fresh and virgin. Spring grasses wave a cheery greeting against an ossuary foundation, Gales hurl and rains abound, before the sun returns. A tower of bones stands in silent vigil, its gaze hard and flinty. Bright earth beneath storm-wracked skies, life flourishes beyond its reach, Green against bleached yellow, but flecks of red emerge. A tower of bones stands in silent vigil, its gaze alight and blinding. Earth cracks and fingers grasp, fortifications rise once more, A field of death, a sanctuary of life. A tower of bones stands in silent vigil, its gaze forlorn and empty. Snow settles on ravaged ground, to hide from mortal sight, White layers red, the cycle continues, to turn forever more. - ¡®Lonely Vigil¡¯ by Althus C Winter, published in ¡®Poems of the Lost Age¡¯, transcribed circa .134
¡°Welcome to Colchet, adventurers!¡± The cheerful words echoed in my head as Jorge began to withdraw items from his storage device, Vera approaching to do the same and laying them out on nearby tables, hastily cleared of their previous loads by the eager trader. Was that we were? Adventurers? I wasn¡¯t really sure ¨C I¡¯d travelled so far in just a few months, through at least three distinct ecosystems and across multiple territories. It didn¡¯t feel like I¡¯d had much adventure, mostly just training and travelling, but I¡¯d fought living skeletons, wild animals of all stripes, and supposedly dropped into the realm of a dead god on one occasion. Perhaps ¡®adventurer¡¯ was an apt description after all. The grey-haired trader moved several objects to the side on each table, clearly indicating what he was interested in. Meats, pelts and various spices and herbs that I hadn¡¯t even realised Jorge was carrying filled one table, alongside some well-made but fairly standard long knives and short-swords. The trader never stopped talking as he moved, listing out prices and asking Jorge and Vera for other items they might be carrying. I was surprised by the lack of gold and silver, although couldn¡¯t pinpoint why that might be. Perhaps gold and silver served a purpose in my old life beyond jewellery or decoration? Vera produced some beautiful vases, delicately brushed with soft, chalky colours, and the trader practically buzzed over to examine them. He offered to take all she had, and she steadfastly refused, allowing only a half dozen to be set aside on the traders ¡®procurement bench¡¯ as I was coming to think of it. Nathlan even joined in, clearing half a table to lay out scrolls of various scholarly ancestry to be examined. After the whole charade had gone on for far too long, the trader and my companions eventually came to an agreement, and a series of wooden sticks were handed over, notched at various lengths and bearing a particular rune carved into the handle of each. Jorge passed a number to Vera, a couple to Nathlan, and stored the rest. The trader nodded to us, gave a final list of directions and advice that made my head spin, and then departed, shuffling away excitedly as if he¡¯d just made the score of the century. ¡°What was all that?¡± I asked when he¡¯d left. Nathlan looked back at me with surprise, before a look of realisation passed across his face. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯d forgotten this is your first time in a large settlement. Most large cities have their own internal currency, and we¡¯ve just traded with one of the guards¡¯ quartermasters for a price in the local currency. It¡¯s a bit cumbersome to trade this way, as these tarrots are not a truly circulating currency and aren¡¯t used for much other than taxation and commercial debts, but it¡¯ll be accepted by most establishments at least.¡± ¡°Oh really? I¡¯d thought they would just use barter I guess¡± I said. ¡°How would that work? A hundred thousand people bartering with each other, like for like? That sounds like a nightmare.¡± He shivered just thinking about it. ¡°No, most cities use a complex arrangement of debts with one another. It works on a personal level in nomadic or ¡®primitive¡¯ groups - that¡¯s an academic term by the way, not a value judgement - but coins or taels or tarrots etc. are used with outside traders. When you get to the level of a city like this, it¡¯s impossible for each person to know what the exchange rate is for each service or good they need, and so a local currency springs up. ¡°It¡¯s actually quite interesting how these currencies are created; you see, Rosenbaum wrote some seminal work on this and posits that currencies are created by states only in times of war ¨C they need a way to leverage debt to pay for a large standing army, and low-level exchange between personal groups doesn¡¯t encourage large surpluses to be created and then traded, so by forcing a universal medium of exchange and then leveraging small taxes, the state can encourage everyone, regardless of role, profession or class to work on creating surpluses that feed into this growing economy. The state can then-¡° ¡°Thanks buddy¡± I said, clapping him on the shoulder, trying to interrupt him before he could go further off-topic. ¡°So, these notched sticks are a medium of exchange? Why wouldn¡¯t everyone accept them then?¡± ¡°Not exactly. They are more of a measure of value. Most larger establishments and businesses will regularly use tarrots to pay their taxes and any debts owed to the city lords, but the smaller and/or less-than-legal groups won¡¯t have any use for them. Very few people inside the city pay each other with any actual physical tarrots ¨C most transactions are either in the form of informal debts or exchange of goods and services directly.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that just barter though?¡± I asked, feeling confused again as he continued. ¡°No, a fisherman won¡¯t exchange a barrel of fish to an innkeeper for a barrel of ale and call it quits. Rather, both will know the approximate value of their goods in tarrots and agree to an exchange with any excess value leveraged as debt. The fisherman gets the barrel of ale and 50 tarrots worth of debt from the innkeeper. Next week, the fisherman gets a barrel of ale and 25 bags of flour from the innkeeper, and the debt is cancelled. ¡°Most of this is actually to account for seasonal changes. Farmers tend to act as debt holders during the harvest season and live off those debts throughout the leaner months. This way, the economy isn¡¯t thralled to seasonal work and can run year-round in a fairly steady state.¡± ¡°Makes sense, I guess. Cheers for the explanation.¡± I said, and Nathlan beamed. There was something about sharing knowledge that seemed to light him up. I wondered briefly what could have happened to him to push him from his previous path of scholarly work into seeking ¨C and eventually obtaining ¨C a combat class like mine. I knew something had happened with his noble family, but the details and context were still unknown to me. I added it to the list of burning questions in my mind, the mental bookshelf already groaning under the weight of the tomes I¡¯d filled with as-of-yet unanswered queries.
The inn we were staying in was lovely. Nathlan and I were holed up in our room, enjoying the warmth of thick blankets on clean skin, and idly munching on a tray of carrots, hummus and olives, courtesy of the kitchen. One of the servers had taken a real shine to Nathlan, and I wrestled down a twinge of jealousy when I caught a glance at the extra helping of fine cheeses I saw on his platter. I crunched on the food as I read the scroll I¡¯d propped against the headboard, detailing the history of the Breeze-Born rebellion in Colchet and how its impacts were still felt today. It had been a fairly dry read that I was close to putting down, until the section on Markath Breeze-Born and the further discussion on how his unique class inspired a wave of copycats to take up his mantle, culminating in a city-wide rebellion and an end to an expansionist era within Colchet politics. I could tell I was not a particularly political or historical person, the details always feeling far too boring and intertwined for my liking, but something about the magic of this world, the system¡¯s classes and even the pre-system unique magic and creatures that existed on the peripheries of civilisation instantly drew me into what would otherwise be a completely uninteresting topic. As before, my surprise at some of the details told a story of its own about the world I had previously lived in, and from what I could tell, it was a sad one. Conflict didn¡¯t surprise me at all, and while the visceral, in-your-face nature of the violence I¡¯d seen was shocking, I was not at all surprised by its existence. Taking for granted the place conflict had in my life and the wider world no doubt implied a similar state in my old home ¨C no differences there then. But the magic, the system, the titanic creatures and impossible scale of the world and its hidden depths¡­there was mystery there and a wonder that I craved with such a deep longing it sometimes hurt. I came from a world where violence and conflict were normal, and magic and wonder were not. It was no world I wanted to return to anytime soon. The conclusion was one I had been edging towards for weeks now; desire for my memories fading with each passing sunrise and every beautiful sight I took in. Still, expressing it in my mind so clearly hit me with an unexpected surge of emotion. Not grief exactly, but a sense of loss, of moving forward. I was letting go of my old life¡­and moving onto something better. The words on the page before me blurred and ran together as my eyes misted, and I blinked away the tears before they could fully form. A knot within my chest I hadn¡¯t even been aware of lessened and slipped away, leaving me feeling lighter. I took in a shuddering breath, masking it with a cough when Nathlan looked over at me in concern. I waved him off and stood, muttering something about training as I hurried outside and in the direction of the courtyard.
*Nathlan* Nathlan shrugged as Lamb strode briskly from the room, ignoring his curt tone. It was easy to see through the cold shoulder after all. Lamb may be many things, but actor he was not, and it was plain to all that he was carrying a burden. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Clear to Nathlan at least, who had plenty of experience himself wearing guilt and sorrow like a cloak. Vera too most likely. He honestly had no idea what Jorge¡¯s past held, as while the old man liked to play up the mystery, Nathlan didn¡¯t doubt for a moment that there was a significant story there. You didn¡¯t spend your life travelling unless you were running from something, in his opinion anyway. A happy man without regrets would be living on a farm with a partner and a bevy of children by now, surely? He dismissed his musings and returned to his latest investigation - another attempted rebuttal of Nathlan the Ancient¡¯s thesis on the primacy of the World Tree in shaping imperial ambitions through each successive era. He dove in eagerly, scoffing as he read the abstract but continuing on nonetheless. He hoped dearly he had a reply from The Scholar himself for this one in his storage device, but given the flimsy nature of the starting arguments, he expected his namesake hadn¡¯t bothered to reply anyway. Ah well, perhaps the next one. He knew it was a vice. He pretended it was an insatiable thirst for knowledge, but deep down he knew he was at least partially invested in the shear drama of the bickering of high-level academics. Perhaps it was why the scholar-kings of Ashkania loomed so large in his mind. Snuggling further into the blankets, he settled in for a long night of petty back and forth and scholarly discussion ¨C one and the same in many ways.
He snorted awake, momentarily startled by the feeling of the papyrus scroll pressing into his face. He sat up, peeling the disappointing reading away and storing it. He stretched, glancing at the thin beam of sunlight staining the floor to confirm how long he¡¯d slept for. No more than a bell or so. He grabbed a final slice of cheese and headed for the door, intent on hunting down Lamb. While he wanted to give him space to work through whatever was going on with him, it was also good to lend an ear¡­and quite frankly, he was bored. A glance out the window showed Lamb exactly where he¡¯d known the man would be. In the centre of the small courtyard, spear and shield out and training hard. The clack of wood on wood was muted somewhat by the heavy panes of glass that filled the frame, but it was something that couldn¡¯t be blocked out entirely. The fact that the owner of the establishment hadn¡¯t raised any protests spoke to how quiet things were in the inn currently. Jorge had mentioned that the Remembrance was a solemn affair as far as festivals go, but seeing first-hand the lack of movement today in the apparently vibrant city was a bit of a surprise, nevertheless. It was only as he descended the wide staircase and found himself absently admiring the sweeping hand rail formed of a dark, dense wood, appearing to be grown into shape rather than carved, that he wondered over the noises he¡¯d heard. Hastening his step, he strode towards the courtyard entrance. Surely he wasn¡¯t hitting the tree itself with his practice spear? Not only was striking a stationary target often poor practice anyway, but surely even Lamb ¨C admittedly a bit of an idiot and culturally ignorant in the extreme ¨C wouldn¡¯t strike a sacred tree in the middle of a city renowned for their tree-singing arts? What a ridiculous question, of course he would. Nathlan nearly burst through the billowing silk curtains separating the outside space from the rest of the inn, positive he would find the man in the midst of a diplomatic incident, and keen to intervene before anyone took notice. What he found was not quite as bad as he¡¯d feared, but perhaps more perplexing. Lamb bounced on the balls of his feet from side to side, practice spear and shied in hand, facing the tree in the centre of the courtyard. It was old, gnarled, and sporting a truly astronomical number of branches from its thick trunk. Blue-green leaves hung in their multitudes from the branches, filtering the evening sun into a deeper, more mellow light that pooled around the roughly circular courtyard. The tree squatted in its ancient majesty in the centre of the yard, another wooden spear propped out at roughly shoulder height between a couple of branches and an old burgh, facing Lamb at a slight angle. He suddenly burst forward in a swirl of motion, spear jabbing out at an invisible enemy¡¯s face to distract as he closed the distance. A shift of his hips and neat piece of footwork later, and he¡¯d flanked the imaginary foe and twined his spear haft around the length of his enemy¡¯s before a slight flick of his wrists nocked the spear free from its perch and clattering to the dusty floor. The lean man straightened and turned towards Nathlan as he made his entrance, a dissatisfied set to his face. ¡°Thought you¡¯d still be reading.¡± There was a slight inflection in Lamb¡¯s voice at the end, turning the statement into a question. Shadows scattered as he propped the spear against his shoulder with a neat spin, showing an easy familiarity with the weapon that had appeared over the last several weeks of training. Nathlan reached back to retie his ponytail, a nervous gesture he¡¯d had since a child, and only recently started to allow once more. He still caught himself trying to still his hands at times before consciously allowing the tick. Leaving behind the viper¡¯s nest of his homeland would take more than physical distance. ¡°I had planned to, yes. But it was¡­disappointing. I¡¯ve still yet to read a comprehensive refutation of the underlying logic of The Scholar¡¯s thesis, if not a discussion of the historical record. I had hoped¡­anyway I won¡¯t bore you with the details and ruin your evening too.¡± He smiled at the shorter man and was gratified to see a grin split his face in return. Nathlan knew he wasn¡¯t the most sociable person in Tsanderos. His upbringing had given him the necessary skills to at least perform a role, but he¡¯d never felt comfortable, despite outward appearances. Perhaps his thorough education was exactly why he shied away from genuine friendly interaction. Sculpting an heir was not an act of good-hearted charity, no matter what one said in public. Regardless, his growing friendship with the newest addition to the group was at least out of reach of his past, if not untainted by it. Realising the gap in conversation was in danger of turning into a lull, he decided to ask Lamb what he was practicing. ¡°Ah, yeah that. I¡¯m sure it looks a little weird, but I¡¯m trying to figure something out.¡± The man scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he reached for the words, Nathlan encouraging him with a gesture but otherwise staying silent. ¡°Yeah, so you know how these skills are really awesome for self-guided training; giving you hints and such and pushing you towards refining your techniques? Well, I¡¯m getting hints that don¡¯t really work.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean. Skills don¡¯t encourage bad habits. The weaker ones may not be optimal in every situation, but yours was potent from what I saw. Jorge mentioned it was a conglomeration of styles and arts, so I would be surprised to hear it giving you poor advice. Perhaps it¡¯s a case of unsuitable styles clashing?¡± Nathlan asked. ¡°No, that¡¯s not right.¡± Possibly hearing the directness of his words, Lamb hastened to add ¡°I get what you¡¯re saying of course, and it¡¯s a fair point.¡± He had a strange way of doing that, Nathlan had noticed. Of wrapping up every sentence in layers of qualifiers and polite language. He would have suspected Lamb of some form of a noble background given the unintentional vagueness of his words, if it wasn¡¯t for his simultaneous complete ignorance and disregard of most social rules. ¡°But that¡¯s not it. I¡¯m working on a particular technique to wrap up my opponents weapon. Works best on a spear, but potentially could be suitable for any long-hafted weapon like a great axe/hammer/maul ¨C you get the point. It¡¯s simple enough on the surface, and Skirmisher of Antiquity seems to be giving me some pretty clear hints to follow. However, one of my other skills is interfering. Its subtle, and I didn¡¯t notice it at first, but I think I¡¯m getting a contradictory instinct from Guerrilla Warfare.¡± Nathlan hummed before replying. ¡°It¡¯s been known to happen with skills clashing. That¡¯s one of the main arguments for following a standard progression build that the larger nations offer to their citizenry. Most people will make minor deviations based on their life choices, and no two paths are the same of course, but a baker in one city is likely to have similar class skills to one in another, barring major cultural differences between cuisines. That doesn¡¯t really hold true for the elites though.¡± Lamb smirked and raised an eyebrow at that. ¡°Is that what I am then? One of the elites?¡± He seemed amused by the thought, taking it about as seriously as he would breakfast. No, that wasn¡¯t right actually. Lamb took every meal seriously from what Nathlan had seen. ¡°Yes. Or at least, you will be.¡± Seeing the surprise on the man¡¯s face, Nathlan clarified. ¡°You have a combat class, which is already a rare and powerful ¨C if dangerous ¨C choice. Considering it¡¯s a rare quality class in and of itself, you are already well on the way. Factoring in having a system-titled expert aiding in your development¡­yes, you will be an elite fighter in time.¡± His surprise was in itself a surprise to Nathlan, who had assumed the man was at least aware of his place in this new world in respect to his fighting ability, if nothing else. That even that wasn¡¯t true gave Nathlan an unexpected surge of sympathy. The man had no idea where he stood, did he? No wonder he took the name Lamb with grace. Lamb looked uncomfortable, scratching idly at his arm as he processed the news. To distract him, Nathlan backtracked to their earlier discussion. ¡°My point was, it is unlikely that your skills are openly pushing you in detrimental directions, and both skills you mention seem relatively compatible in terms of a path. They should not be giving contradictory signals. Are you sure you have considered every angle? Run through it slowly to find the exact point at which the¡­disagreement¡­arises?¡± Lamb nodded, his face clearing as he moved away from the ¨C to him ¨C troubling thoughts of his future competence, and began to move through the motions of the weapon-lock technique. ¡°Yeah, see the first few steps are solid, but it¡¯s as I step into the wrap that I feel the ¡®signal¡¯, as you called it. Took me ages to get to this point by the way, but yeah as I said; I follow my Skirmisher skill for most of this, but the Guerrilla Warfare skill flares up just before I ensnare the opponent¡¯s weapon with my own. If I ignore it, I get through the whole skill with Skirmisher and it works fine, if a little inexpertly ¨C seems a situational move at best that¡¯s really only useful against an opponent that has a reach advantage over me but is matched with, or beneath me, in physical strength. Given I¡¯m going with a spear and shield though, seems like an unlikely event.¡± Nathlan watched the series of movements and tried to see the problem. It was just as Lamb had described though, simply another technique to snare an opponent¡¯s weapon, if unlikely to be used. No glaring weaknesses in the movements stood out to his practised eye, and while Jorge would have to be the ultimate authority on the technique¡¯s execution ¨C being the one who taught it to Lamb in the first place ¨C he doubted there was a problem there. No, this seemed to be a different issue. ¡°So, what happens when you listen to the hint from your other skill?¡± He asked. Lamb shook his head warily, as if unhappy with his answer before he gave it. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s¡­confused, muddled somehow. From what I can gather, I¡¯m supposed to use my shield to catch the weapon and bind it somehow, but the footwork and angles are off to do something like a traditional cross-shoulder spear lock.¡± He mimed trapping a weapon between his shield and chest and stabbing forward with his off-hand. Nathlan had seen him drilling that move with Vera before, and it was terrifyingly effective. Not impossible to avoid obviously ¨C what move was ¨C but there was a reason that a long weapon and a shield were a frustrating combination to deal with. The protection offered a degree of safety in most positions that his single-sword focused style did not, and that same safety opened the door to versatile moves that would be too compromising for him to attempt. Not that Nathlan thought his chosen path inferior in any way, he knew his strengths and had chosen deliberately. The blade called to him. Calmed him. The focus and elegant balance a single straight blade offered was something¡­ He shook his head, banishing the thoughts before he became even more distracted. ¡°Guerrilla Warfare was a merged skill, correct?¡± at Lamb¡¯s nod he asked, ¡°what lower skills does it contain?¡± A brief pause. ¡°Err¡­.¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± Nathlan asked with resigned disappointment, again surprised by the man¡¯s ignorance despite repeated lessons. ¡°Even your own skills?¡± Lamb at least had the grace to look chagrined. He closed his eyes, muttering ¡°Give me a moment¡±. True to his word, a few moments passed before he came back with an answer. ¡°Simple Traps, Stalking and Improvised Weapons. Wow, okay yeah, I can see I¡¯ve been neglecting some of those.¡± Nathlan agreed but felt it only fair to point out his lack of opportunity. ¡°You¡¯ve not been in many wars since you left the valley, then?¡± Lamb laughed, and Nathlan suppressed his own smile in response, not keen on showing how happy he was that his joke had landed. ¡°So, which do you think is the culprit? Surely not Stalking?¡± Lamb absently twirled his spear, flexing his wrist and forearm to spin the weapon dextrously about himself as he thought. ¡°No, definitely not. Can¡¯t see it being Simple Traps either, being honest. How would Improvised Weapons be helping here though? What could it be indicating?¡± He shrugged, unable to answer his friend. ¡°I¡¯m not sure unfortunately. Skills sometimes give vague hints like this when something is missing, but it¡¯s hard to figure out what specifically they mean. Most people never do. There are a million hints that you¡¯ll ignore as you level your skills ¨C try not to focus too much on any single one. Only diligent practice lays a solid foundation, not bursts of insight.¡± He repeated the words his family¡¯s weapons-master had so often drilled into his head with a fond smile ¨C his memories of the old woman were some of the few that remained untainted by his later discoveries. Lamb nodded, considering. ¡°I¡¯ll get back to training then. Its gonna bug me all night though, I just know it.¡± ¡°Peace Lamb, it will happen in its own time. Enjoy your training, I¡¯m heading back upstairs. I¡¯ll swing by the kitchen on the way ¨C would you like me to request anything for you?¡± Nathlan moved back towards the door to the inn, looking back over his shoulder before leaving to check for a reply. He saw Lamb grinning at him with a knowing look in his eye. ¡°Oh no ¨C I think that was an offer only open to you, mate" he said with a wink, and Nathlan winced. Lamb only laughed harder, and Nathlan turned away to hide his blush. It wasn¡¯t cruel laughter, and he knew the man meant no harm, but Nathlan still struggled to treat the subject of romance casually, given his background. Although...perhaps it was time to change things. He thought back to the rather obvious looks the waiter had been throwing him earlier, and after a brief mental battle, decided it wouldn¡¯t be the worst thing to see if the man was free later for a drink. Chapter 33 - Tinker, Soldier, Scholar, Fight When training to fight, Jorge had always emphasised that intention was key. Yes; your body needed to go through the movements, and yes; you needed a resisting partner as well at times, but set katas and even visualisation could be important tools in a warrior¡¯s repertoire, because of their ability to sharpen one¡¯s intent. There was no use training without real intent to execute each move properly. If the mind wasn¡¯t razor-focused on the present, then it was simply exercise rather than training. Nothing wrong with the former, but there are easier and more efficient ways to do that than with weapons in hand. ¡®If you pick up a weapon lad, best mean business¡¯ as Jorge was fond of saying. Despite at least two months of near constant repetition of that lesson, it still took me nearly half a bell after Nathlan had left to try his luck in the kitchens to realise that I was wasting my time. I put my practice weapons down, including the spare spear nestled within the vibrant blue-green leaves of the tree whose branches dominated the courtyard. Sighing, I began to work through a series of poses designed to stretch out and limber up my muscles before heavy exercise. Then I got down to the business of working out. No intent, no thinking, just pushing my body to the extreme limits that my enhanced attributes allowed. I moved in the familiar patterns I¡¯d been taught; push-ups, pull-ups, squats, handstands. More advanced movements like front-levers and planches, that I never would have been able to pull off so effortlessly only a few short months ago. Working the body was of course an important part of any training program for a warrior, but the real benefit was mental. A small, simple task to distract my body so that my mind could wander. Driving at the problem head first wasn¡¯t giving me an answer and was simply causing me to waste time training without my heart in it. So instead, I let the repetitive actions lull my mind into a routine, dwelling on the problem and examining it from every angle. The big worry for me was that my skills were in conflict. Nathlan had tried to reassure me, but it his words hadn¡¯t fully sunk in yet, and I kept turning the possibility over, despite what he had said. If they were in conflict, which should I trust? Skirmisher of Antiquity was a rarer skill, based solely on the flavour text, but it had taken longer to acquire it and needed the help of a system-titled expert, so that was a point in its favour. However, Improvised Weapons had been with me longer, ¡®knew¡¯ me better for lack of a better term, and was also higher in level. Inspired by the exhausting series of physical movements I was putting my body through, I decided to implement some mental gymnastics as well. In a classic ¡®Lamb¡¯ move when I didn¡¯t know how to make a choice; I simply ignored it. I made the conscious choice to ignore the chance that my skills were conflicting, and instead attacked the problem from a different angle. A skill built around creating and using weapons was conflicting with a skill built around only using weapons. The problem was clearly not related to the use of the weapons themselves, but their creation. Perhaps I simply needed to make my own weapons? Jorge had talked about it as a given, after all. If I crafted my own weapons, would both my skills be more in alignment? Maybe, but then that still didn¡¯t really explain why I would get useless hints for a weapon that I hadn¡¯t designed and created myself. My eyes widened in realisation as I sat panting in the empty courtyard, sweat dripping from my forehead and pattering on the ground. The hints seemed useless because the weapons I was using weren¡¯t designed around them. I had assumed the hints were useless because they didn¡¯t fit with my current equipment, but I needed to flip the thinking. What was wrong with my current spear and shield that was making the instincts granted by Improvised Weapons not useful? I frantically set up the spare spear in the tree again, readying myself to move through the sequence once more. I had to restart a few times because I was too excited, finally convinced I would get my answer.
*Nathlan* A few heavy thuds echoed on the door to his room, and Nathlan reluctantly pulled his head from the book he was devouring. He sighed as he rose to his feet and moved to answer the door. He absently rubbed at his hair, trying to hide the evidence of his earlier nap half-heartedly before giving up. The bed was thoroughly rumpled anyway, so there wasn¡¯t much point to the gesture, he thought reluctantly. Besides, what was wrong with the occasional nap? Every scholar of renown was famous for them. Lamb practically barged through the door the moment Nathlan had unlocked the deadbolt, shining with so much enthusiasm that he looked like he had two bonfires in his head instead of eyes. He seemed poised to vomit whatever plan had got him so worked up all over Nathlan in a cascade of eager words, before he hesitated. Nathlan watched as Lamb¡¯s eyes darted from his sleep-mussed hair ¨C half of it completely free from its usual restrained pony-tail - to the messy bed and the pillow on the floor, and finally down to Nathlan¡¯s sleeping attire. He grinned conspiratorially, and suddenly it was as if whatever enormous news had him so excited was completely forgotten. Nathlan felt a sinking sensation in his chest as he heard the forced aloofness in Lamb¡¯s tone as he asked, ¡°Sharmelle mentioned that they were short-staffed in the kitchens this evening¡­you wouldn¡¯t know anything about that would you?¡± He sighed, knowing what was coming and deciding to head off the discussion before Lamb could embarrass him further. ¡°No Lamb, I had nothing to do with that. Kal had to leave early to sort things for the end of the festival tomorrow afternoon.¡± His friend¡¯s face crumpled for a moment. ¡°Ah I¡¯m sorry mate, I didn¡¯t think¡­-never mind. Fuck that guy, right? He doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s missing.¡± Lamb then moved to give him a hearty clap on the back, which he avoided expertly. ¡°Thank you for your kind words, but there¡¯s no need. Kal is a lovely man, and we¡¯ll be going for a drink in a couple of days after the Remembrance has cleared up. It should also be enough time for Vera to confirm if we are safe to wander the city, which is a bonus. He simply had to leave early tonight for work.¡± The tall man raised an eyebrow, before indicating the bed. ¡°And all this is¡­what? The result of a particularly aggressive nap?¡± Scepticism was clear in his voice. Nathlan dew himself up to his full height before replying; ¡°A hard sleep is the sign of a working mind¡± he quoted. ¡°Oh aye, I can see that your mind must have been racing, mate. No doubt Kal featured prominently in those thoughts¡­¡± Nathlan didn¡¯t dignify that with a response, simply raising an eyebrow to show how completely unphased he was by the implication. ¡°Enough nonsense. What had you so excited to practically broke the door down?¡± Lamb still had a self-satisfied smirk, confirming he knew he¡¯d gotten under Nathlan¡¯s skin, but as he settled down on the bed and dug into a half-eaten plate of fruit, the gleam came back into his eye once more. ¡°I figured it out!¡± It was hard to grin with a large apple in your mouth, but Lamb almost managed it all the same. ¡°Go on. Don¡¯t leave me in suspense then¡± Nathlan encouraged him. ¡°It¡¯s not a conflict of skills. I know you said that but shut up a moment and let me explain¡± He hurriedly finished as Nathlan opened his mouth to retort. ¡°It¡¯s Improvised Weapons giving me hints alright, but I realised I had to assume they were useful and work backwards. What changes would I need to make to my spear and shield for that move I was being led towards to make sense? Lot of hard work later and it turns out I need to build a new shield and spear, but I¡¯ve got some great ideas!¡± He bustled over to the desk in the corner of the room as he spoke, clearing away a pile of their clothes, neatly washed and folded so helpfully by the inn earlier today. Nathlan was gratified to see him handle the few scrolls and journals with more care, placing them gently onto the bed where he sat a moment before. ¡°Here¡¯s what I need them to do, but truthfully I¡¯m not exactly sure how to get these effects¡­.¡± Nathlan crowded around the cramped desk and watched the frantic scribbles take shape, Lamb¡¯s fevered speech painting a much better picture than his poorly-trained hands. Still, the idea had merit, they just needed to find the right person to help. Later, after planning out a rudimentary design for both pieces and asking the innkeeper for advice regarding the best smiths in the area, they shared a conspiratorial glance in their room once more. ¡°You know that Jorge would advise us to wait for Vera, yes? Nathlan asked. Lamb nodded. ¡°Aye, but imagine how fun it would be if I could take him by surprise in our next spar?¡± They both grinned.
Nathlan and I were standing in the bizarre cluster of shelving units and display cases that somebody had optimistically called a workshop, haggling with Sally the Tinkerer. I say we, but it was mostly Nathlan doing the actual haggling, while I would jump in with my requirements when they both paused to look at me. We had agreed ahead of time that Nathlan would be the one to negotiate on my behalf ¨C assuming they could find a common language ¨C and Sally seemed to pick up on that dynamic pretty quickly, which made things smoother. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. I pulled my gaze away from a clockwork contraption of gears and shining chrome tubes that I couldn¡¯t for the life of me figure out the purpose of. It almost looked akin to a complicated brewing mechanism, like the pop-up stands we¡¯d passed in the market earlier selling their coffees, teas, and cacao blends. As soon as the thought of consuming something from that strange metal contraption entered my head, I felt instincts not my own screaming at me to not, under any circumstances, try that. I assumed my Wilderness Endurance Hunter skill was responsible for the prompt, likely from the Hill Foraging skill which seemed to have a deep emphasis on recognising poisons. ¡°Huh?¡± I asked dumbly, as I felt the combines gazes of Sally and Nathlan settle on me like a disappointed blanket. Nathlan rolled his eyes and seemed about to reply when Sally spoke. ¡°What¡¯s it now? Ya like the look of it?¡± She gestured at the chrome contraption and continued to speak before I could respond. ¡°I made it on a whim. Well, this here¡¯s version 3 ¨C took me a while to figure out why version 2 kept implodin¡¯, and the prototype wouldn¡¯t even begin the process ¨C but it works now! Ya want it? 75 tarrots. Minimum! And tha¡¯s you twistin¡¯ my arm.¡± She turned back to Nathlan as she said the price, as if to begin a new round of haggling, now including the new purchase. ¡°Hang on, I never said I wanted it!¡± I was perhaps too hasty, and worried that I¡¯d come across as rude given her affronted look, so I ploughed ahead. ¡°I don¡¯t even know what it does. I thought it might be a coffee press like those in the market, but it looks too complicated for that, and one of my skills seems to be warning me of poison or something¡­.it¡¯s not a drink poisoner is it?¡± Sally raised one bushy eyebrow at me, her offended look melting into scepticism, as if she couldn¡¯t believe anyone could be that stupid. ¡°Na, it¡¯s not a drink poisoner. I¡¯m a Tinkerer, not a poison merchant. Scathler!¡± She muttered the word under her breath, clearly expecting nobody to understand. Context was quite enough, even without my godly given linguistic skills, for me to know she was calling me some manner of moron. ¡°How would that work? It would be so obvious ¨C ¡®excuse me madam, while I run your drink though this elaborate contraption, I promise no harm will be done¡¯. Why not jus¡¯ slip the poison in with a pipette or glass vial? Runts these days! Always trying ta do everythin¡¯ in the most complicated manner¡­¡± She continued to mutter quietly to herself as she zipped around the cramped little shop, shuffling papers and stray leather strips around on the various desks before grabbing something small and cylindrical from a drawer and holding it up in triumph. Nathlan and I shared a look, and I was relieved to see he was equally as baffled as me. ¡°I am not at all surprised ya didn¡¯t recognise the purpose of this little wizzeau, but I am surprised yer skill warned ya. I assume that drinkin¡¯ anythin¡¯ from it would be dangerous given the version 3 upgrade. I mentioned the version 2 imploded, yes? The pipes needed linin¡¯ with something non-reactive to filter the air, and so I used a coating the city uses for their sewer-system. It leaches over time and the runoff is quite toxic, but it¡¯s very stable for a number of years first. Unless ya heated something through it, I would guess. Sensitive skill ya have there.¡± ¡°You would guess? How do you not know that? Why would you use a material you don¡¯t know the properties of!?¡± I asked, more for the fun of it than with genuine worry. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not actually a coffee press, is it? Why would I waste time knowin¡¯ how safe my inventions are for every possible hair-brained scheme cooked up by some idiot chevala, eh?¡± I looked around at the cramped shop again. Littering every surface and shelf was what could generously be described as a conglomeration of random designs and half-finished prototypes. If Sally¡¯s mind was anything like her shop, it was unlikely that she did much parameter and safety testing. Perhaps I should have realised that as soon as I walked in, but I was too invested in the argument now to give up before I¡¯d had my fun. Fate had other plans though, as I was prevented from responding by a loud squawk of outrage. It was as if a chicken had been stuffed in a bag and shaken before being released back into the world. A series of crashes and thumps followed, and we all looked at the front window. The glass was mostly covered by various wooden scraps and boards, and what was left free to allow in light was grimy and discoloured. ¡°Something wrong?¡± Nathlan asked casually. Far too casually in my opinion ¨C perhaps I simply knew him too well, but it seemed painfully obvious that he was very interested in the disturbance and was just feigning his lack of care. Sally luckily didn¡¯t seem to notice, busy as she was sweeping knick-knacks and gadgets from the benches and display cases into drawers, then locking them with a frankly awe-inspiring numbers of different keys. ¡°Just a bocch from the central district tryin¡¯ to run a protection racket. It¡¯s been goin¡¯ on for a few weeks now but the city enforcers are spread too thin to deal with it, given the large incursion they¡¯re struggling with on the lower levels. It will be solved, and the rich fuckin¡¯ Carhon behind it will likely get caught, but they¡¯ve managed ta rope in some local thugs to make our lives harder in the meantime.¡± Nathlan¡¯s hand gripped the hilt of his sword at her words, and he looked over at me. ¡°Has anyone been hurt yet?¡± He asked Sally. She hadn¡¯t ceased her whirlwind of activity yet and replied as she bustled to the shutters at the front of her little store. ¡°Only minor injuries so far, but they¡¯ve been gettin¡¯ bolder. Gave all of us along the street a deadline to pay up or there¡¯d be ¡®consequences¡¯, and it sounds like tha¡¯s Larden outside havin¡¯ his stall broken up. I¡¯m packin¡¯ up for the day, so come back tomorrow if ya want to discuss those ideas of yers again.¡± She cast a quick glance at me towards the end, and I nodded gratefully at her. Nathlan brushed past, walking outside and casting a final, significant glance over his shoulder at me. ¡°These things have a way of escalating. I¡¯ll try and calm it down. Stay in here, Lamb.¡± I helped Sally finish closing up the store, keeping an ear open to the sounds of a heated argument outside. I could hear the scholar¡¯s soothing voice, contrasted against the yelling of what must have been Larden, and the excited jabbering of at least a few of the enforcers. I couldn¡¯t make out everything being said, simply from the speed and number of people talking over one another, but the odd word snapped out at me, and the general tone was enough to know it wasn¡¯t going well. There was a slight lull in conversation, Nathlan¡¯s calm voice rising slightly in warning, and then a meaty thud. A strangled yell cut off from Larden and a deeper voice echoed out, quelling all voices except Nathlan¡¯s. I could hear the tension in it now though, and was considering whether I could really just sit inside and follow Nathlan¡¯s instructions, when I felt a heavy aura descend upon me. Larden let out another anguished moan, and Nathlan abruptly stopped speaking. I heard a cruel laugh in that deep voice, and then I was at the door. The lock snapped in my hand before I¡¯d even realised that I¡¯d reached it, and the door was flying off its hinges as I was suddenly rushing out the shop. I barely had time to take in the view; three men stood on the street outside, standing over the remains of a wooden cart formerly filled with fruit and leather buckles and harnesses. These were now strewn about the carved rock of the street, its red hue smeared with yellows and greens from goods crushed without a care. An older man, grey-haired and whimpering, lay prone on the floor behind Nathlan, who stood rigidly before two well-dressed and thickset men bearing a cudgels and a longstaff respectively, weapons in hand and outraged expressions on their faces. Another one was on the floor, clutching at his throat and curled into a ball My eyes were drawn to the fourth and final figure though, directly in front of Nathlan; a tall man with an arrogant tilt to his mouth and a spear strapped across his back, much like my own but far more ornate and decorated with a red tassel at the top of the haft. He stood far too close to Nathlan, clearly inside his personal space. I could see every muscle in my friend taught, his body actively fighting the instinct to cower in the presence of the aura that blanketed the street. My body moved without my conscious input, responding in the only way I had learned how to when faced with imminent death. For that is what the weighty aura promised ¨C blood, pain, and death for anyone who got in the way of this pale man. He flicked his eyes at me as I burst from the shop and the pressure of his regard nearly buckled me. Had I control of myself I likely would have hesitated or even turned tail and fled. Unfortunately for all of us though, my rational mind was pushed far from the levers of control, and a more primal drive was holding the reins. My stride didn¡¯t falter, and in a blink I was between him and Nathlan. The three vultures behind the man flinched back at my presence and cringed away. The man before me seemed only amused however, and met my eyes with his own. Up close he looked older than I¡¯d originally thought, closer to the latter half of his life than the former, with grey creeping in at the edges of his close-cropped hair, and a weathered and lined look to his skin, such that he looked like an aged papyrus scroll stretched over a skeleton. His frame was wiry and thin, but his back was ramrod straight, utterly assured even as he stared me down. I felt again the weight of his aura, seeking to crush me and force me down. To make me beg and plead for mercy, to lie weeping at his feet in the hopes of avoiding his ire, much as Larden was currently doing. But while that desire tried to take root in my soul, something pushed back. Indomitable Prey had activated instinctively the moment I felt his aura descend, and it roared back from within my soul, covering me with a cloak of unassailable defiance and intent. The insidious, probing fear couldn¡¯t find purchase, and simply slipped away like water from a duck¡¯s back. I stared into grey eyes, taking a final step forward to push my face into his. I looked down at the arrogant little man before me, thrilling in the feeling of energy. That rushing in my blood, the song of violence in the air; hovering at the precipice. I could feel the air thrumming between us as my forehead hovered an inch from his. I heard a voice growl something, low and threatening, and it took me a moment to realise it was my own. He looked back at me impassively, curling his lip and spitting at the floor beside me. ¡°Out of my way, dog.¡± His voice was soft, filled with the same quiet confidence as his stance. I growled back again, the link between my brain and mouth not yet fully established. No words as far as I could tell, just an animalistic noise of warning. One of the other men behind him stepped forwards to tap the old man on the shoulder and lean in, but he cringed away again when my gaze fell on him. My thoughts were coming back to me, and I was beginning to realise the situation I was in, but the presence of Nathlan behind me forced away most of the hesitation. The man¡¯s next words sealed the deal. ¡°Move boy. The man behind you struck one of my men, and now owes me a debt. I will be collecting that debt today.¡± A brief pause to let his words be digested, before he spoke once more, ¡°I won¡¯t ask again.¡± The challenge inherent in his statement ignited a fire within me, burning away any chance at a peaceful solution. Nathlan was far better a mediator than I anyway, and he¡¯d been ignored and now attacked. If words had failed, then violence was the next step. My lessons with Jorge had taught me how to fight, and while the focus was on using a spear and shield, the fundamentals of human movement were easily transferable. He had also made sure not to neglect my ability to fight unarmed if needed. However, it wasn¡¯t the lessons from Jorge that I drew on to answer this man¡¯s challenge, but instead my discussions and occasional bouts with Vera. She brought an intensity to sparring that was electric ¨C a feeling of danger than thrilled down the spine. As if facing a friendly tiger; mostly tame, and normally predictable, but with an edge that left you flinching even so. She had a way of dispensing with the niceties and polite rituals that we lived with, so ingrained that we never noticed their presence until they were missing. Discussing our philosophies on life and the world around us was similarly dangerous. She did not mince words, and an offhanded comment could easily conceal a deadly trap of argument just waiting for me to fall into. Vera¡¯s contribution in this moment was simple; When violence is inevitable, strike first. Only a few heartbeats had passed since the man had aired his challenge, and I could see his mouth open once more to draw breath, whether to speak or simply fuel his body I couldn¡¯t tell. Didn¡¯t matter either way though. I drove my forehead into his nose. Chapter 34 - Patience is a virtue I''ve always believed that there are no consequences in this life. Tragedies happen ceaselessly, day by day, and the uncaring heavens watch it all. I have committed enough atrocities myself to understand that karma seldom rears her beautiful head, and even when she does, I have found her much more accommodating to me than to my enemies¡­but then sometimes, every once in a while, something happens that just seems right. The heavens themselves seem to shift, and as if a cosmic warden descends to earth, one of us will face justice for our many crimes. Occasionally, every now and then, I find myself half convinced that if I just wait long enough, I will live to see the consequences of my actions. What a glorious day that will be. Extract from ¡®Musings and muse ¨C a journal of my final years¡¯, written by Warlord Galacia in the 2nd age.
*Vera* As she strode through the bustling city streets, she couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the architecture. The majority of the homes and businesses were chiselled from stone, with wooden scaffolding weaving up the front of stores as if grown, supporting awnings and shelves laden with goods. Most buildings, beneath their wooden skeletons, showed a chipped finish from where the stone flakes were chiselled away to create the squat, curving structures. Older buildings were almost entirely smooth, weather-beaten into a near-sheen with their glossy red and brown finishes reflecting the light. She traced the recent development of the city through these patterns of weathering, noticing the flurry of new construction that had taken place within the last few decades centred around the higher districts. As she followed Jorge through twisting streets and the occasional long tunnel, she began to see far fewer new structures, and both the fresh patterned fa?ade of new money and the smooth majesty of old money gave way to unkempt and dreary homes. There was a drastic reduction in the number of sun-lamps too ¨C ingenious contraptions of twisted wood and shining mirrors, that turned throughout the day to catch the sunlight and redirect it to areas that lacked natural light. When coupled with the natural decrease in sunlight due to a descent through the canyon, the gloom of the lower levels was compounded. Smooth walls no longer denoted wealth, but neglect. Red no longer stained the city streets in vibrant displays, instead the browns got darker, marked by lichen, moss and damp. Even the stores and businesses catering to the populace showed the change, with trees no longer snaking their way up storefronts in elegant patterns. Actual scaffolding was the norm after the second level, with cut planks contrasting against the grown branches of the upper layers. Jorge looked back at her, catching her curious gaze and grunting sadly. ¡°Not enough sunlight down here for the Erasehal to grow without support, and the people who live and work this low can¡¯t afford to muster the lifeblood to support them. Outside of communal gardens, you won¡¯t find many of the living trees down here.¡± ¡°Shame¡± She muttered. And then, unable to keep her cynicism in its cage, she added; ¡°always the way though. Every city needs its underbelly.¡± He gave her a long look before nodding, ¡°Aye, it is a shame.¡± She turned away, thankful he had chosen to ignore her outburst, but desperate to avoid opening up that old argument again here and now. She searched around for something to fill the lull and distract him before it could stew for too much longer. ¡°You said something about a former councillor, so why are we heading so low?¡± He turned around and frowned at her, as if to say ¡®I know what you¡¯re doing¡¯, but answered her anyway. She rolled her eyes internally ¨C not like she was that subtle anyway. Not then, and certainly not now. ¡°My contact isn¡¯t actually the councillor, she¡¯s an information broker. Well, she don¡¯t call herself that but ¡®communications specialist providing high quality market research to interested parties¡¯ is one hell of a mouthful, and I¡¯ve never much liked the taste of bullshit. Anyhow, she has the location of the Lions¡¯ safehouse and is willing to trade it for a favour.¡± He gave her a meaningful glance over his shoulder as he skirted around a fruit vendor that had plonked himself down seemingly at random in the middle of the plaza they strode through. ¡°That¡¯s where you come in.¡± She raised an eyebrow at him, trying her best not to grin as she spotted a young child knock over a bowl of apples and scrabble to catch them, only upending the entire table and flinging the little fruit projectiles into the air straight towards the back of his head. Something must have shown on her face though, or else his ever-impressive awareness was truly dialled in, as he swerved at the last moment, avoiding each of the half dozen danger-apples that flew his way. He continued speaking as if nothing had occurred. ¡°She herself owes a favour to a certain retired member of the High Council. An eccentric lad by all accounts, he lives deep in the third layer and has a great interest in pottery.¡± He spread his hands wide in a gesture of surprise, ¡°and don¡¯t ya know it? I happen to know an excellent potter who owes me a few favours as well. Funny how that works, aye?¡± She ignored the crinkling at the edge of his eyes and tried not to quash the feeling of nervousness and pride warring inside her at the thought. ¡°You sure-¡± He cut her off before she could even finish her though. ¡°Aye aye, shut it. You know you¡¯re great at it by now, cut the false humility. He will die to see some of your collection, and I wouldn¡¯t be shocked if he tries to buy a few of your newer pieces too. I told you honestly Lass, you¡¯ve grown into an impressive artist by this point.¡± It was a testament to her growth over the last decade that she simply smiled at him and continued speaking. When she¡¯d first met him, she would have ignored it entirely, such was the morose state she inhabited at the time. Within the first year she¡¯d managed to reclaim some small zest for life, but still struggled with sincerity ¨C she likely would have taken a half-hearted jab at him to shut down the conversation. More recently, she would have at least blushed a bit at the genuine praise from someone about a skill unrelated to fighting. She knew she was a fighter, and wouldn¡¯t harbour any false modesty about that ¨C she¡¯d put money on herself against any similarly aged and levelled opponent without hesitation ¨C but her pottery was something deeply sentimental, and therefore something precious. It was a link directly to her battle with her past, hope for the future, and a reconstruction of her trauma. To show that to somebody was a supreme act of vulnerability, and for her to acknowledge a sincere compliment about her artwork without turning away was a true testament to her progress. She didn¡¯t miss the small nod of approval from Jorge, and that was a step too far. She feinted a jab at him, and he flinched, looking momentarily startled before laughing at her smug expression. They continued bantering back and forth as they moved through the stone city with the easy camaraderie of those who had remained close friends for just over a decade. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. The third layer of the city was a jumbled mess ¨C old estates fallen to ruin, twisting passages cut into the rock disappearing from sight, rickety rope and wood bridges criss-crossing the canyon and the dim gloom of afternoon shade all combined to create a dingy environment. Vera felt then like a cart pulled in opposite directions by equally motivated oxen. On the one hand there was the sense of mystery and adventure that unexplored places still prompted in her, the childlike wonder that the world had tried so hard to destroy but not quite managed to. On the other, there was her hard-bitten cynicism and ample experience with some of the worst of humanity, which shouted at the small excited child within her that she was an idiot, and those unexplored passageways just as likely led to a Tazine den and an early grave. It was with some relief then that they arrived at a fairly nondescript heavy metal gate in a large chiselled entrance way. The carvings were worn and difficult to make out, and still held an air of majesty in their level of detail and sheer scale. Other than that, it looked like any other part of this deep city, if more well-maintained. She had been worried about overly ostentatious displays of wealth and difficult etiquette that often came as part and parcel of meeting nobles, but this simple entrance served to allay her fears. Afterall ¨C it was unlikely that anyone of power or consequence would choose to live this deep within the canyon, surrounded by the lower classes and dregs of society that populated the area. Jorge strode up confidently and wrapped his knuckles against the heavy metal gate sharply. It was hard enough to produce a clanging that reverberated around the stone passageway, but he acted as if he¡¯d simply tapped it ¨C a perk of high attributes, as she well knew. The knowledge that your own body was more solid than the world around you was a strange understanding to come to after all, and most took years to truly make peace with it. It felt like mere moments had passed before a shadow marched around the corner of the twisting passage before them and resolved into the shape of a well-dressed man. He was of average height and looked unremarkable in almost every way, save for a small hat sitting atop his head at a jaunty angle. It looked out of place against his professional garb, but she was willing to overlook a few eccentricities from a reclusive noble ¨C ¡®councillor¡¯, she mentally corrected herself. She personally doubted that much changed except the names, but Jorge had insisted that not everywhere was run like the Sunset Kingdoms she grew up in, and she had to admit that the people in most of the lands she had travelled through did seem markedly better off. Still, she also saw the signs of neglect and oppression, and doubted the city of Colchet was much different. There would have been no need for the Breeze-Born Rebellion if everything was sunshine and roses, after all. She shook the thoughts from her mind and greeted the man politely, allowing herself to be ushered through the gate, which had slipped into the floor on some sort of smooth rolling mechanism, before it closed behind her and Jorge as they headed inside. The passage turned out to be a short twist followed by a dozen or so steps, during which the man introduced himself as the ¡®Assistant Gardener and Gate-Warden of the House¡¯ ¨C another strange title to be sure, but Colchet did seem to be one for weird professions. He left them to wait in a small room filled with tea and a few assorted baked treats, as he went to ¡®inform the Master of the House¡¯ of their arrival. She pointedly ignored his stupid little hat as he marched off and took a deep breath to rid herself of the frustration bubbling up inside her. Jorge caught her eye and smiled. ¡°He seems alright?¡± More of a question than a statement, she knew he was asking for her impression of the place so far. She had to agree that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and it actually seemed fairly understated for the home of a fancy bigwig. ¡°Except for that stupid hat.¡± She replied, biting a piece of one of the honey-soaked crumbly pastries. She raised an eyebrow after she swallowed, begrudgingly adding on ¡°good food though.¡± He chuckled and grabbed one for himself. ¡°So you¡¯ll be alright, you reckon?¡± He asked around a mouthful of flakes. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll be fine¡­as long as I don¡¯t have to deal with too much noble nonsense it shouldn¡¯t be an issue.¡± Right on cue, the first man strode up to them out of the passage he¡¯d disappeared into, beckoning them over before turning away and striding off the way he had come. They quickly wolfed down the remainder of their pastries and followed, Vera snorting as she saw Jorge dusting off a number of flakes from his shirt. They emerged out through the passageway into a large cave-mouth, a beautiful garden to their right set against the canyon wall. Vibrant blue, orange and green mosses clung to the layered stone, and dew gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from the open canyon, artfully assisted by what must be a fiendishly complex array of sun-lamps scattered through the canyon above. Beautifully verdant vines swung between many-limbed trees that gripped the rock, and flowers of all colours and varieties hung between them. Such was the sight that she took a few moments to simply stare in wonder, spinning to take it all in, before turning again to follow the Gate-Warden. The ¡®Gardener¡¯ title certainly held more esteem in her mind now after seeing the garden he tended to. Her brief moment of calm contemplation was shattered utterly by the man before her though. Jorge nearly bumped into her back as she stopped abruptly when she noticed the bench to her right. Or rather, the figure on the bench. Bedecked in a comically oversized fur coat, he looked more like a tiny bear than a man. The enthusiasm with which he sprung to his feet at their approach was more akin to a puppy, however. ¡°My friends! So glad am I to see you here! Welcome welcome, please take your rest on this fine seat, allow me to introduce you to my home.¡± Sleeves several times too large waved through the air as he gestured, and his green hair danced wildly with his motion, dangling sporadically from beneath a hat with the widest-brim she had ever seen. Colourful feathers adorned the monstrosity, and Vera was almost blinded by flashing gemstones set into many the bracelets and rings exposed by the flopping sleeves of his coat. It only got worse as she looked him up and down, as from his boots to his belt, to the strange layered silks he wore around his waist, the man seemed a perfect example of ¡®overly ostentatious¡¯. ¡°Ah, I see you¡¯ve already met my good friend Alisdair ¨C such a jewel he is! I could not help but snatch him away from the Contessa when I visited her garden several years past.¡± He leaned in conspiratorially as he continued in a stage-whisper, ¡°She was a bitch, do not worry. Oh! You¡¯re going to love it here! Come, let me show you my favourite piece.¡± The man turned smartly on his heel and shuffled off into the undergrowth behind the bench. She turned to see Jorge looking at her wide-eyed, half-way between amused and concerned, and also caught a glimpse of a somewhat pained-looking Alisdair the Gate-Warden looking on at both of them almost apologetically. She¡¯d known her patience was to be tested this day, she¡¯d known it with every fibre of her body. She hated nobles with a passion and had a long personal history of circumstance to back that hatred up. She also knew that nobles, of all stripes, seemed to be unable to not flaunt their status at every opportunity. But despite knowing this, she had foolishly considered herself ready anyway. She had spent nearly half a decade of her life training specifically to control the twisting beast of rage and anger that lurked within her, ever ready to spring outwards at a moment¡¯s notice. She had then spent an equal amount of time re-working her class to be more than the simple reactive conduit for that same rage. She had renounced her 3rd-tier class, studied cultures across the continent and re-created new skills from half-destroyed texts. From the ashes of her old berserking class, she had built a new one. One that was under her control, a class that channelled that anger into something productive and malleable in her hands rather than the uncontrollable beast it had been before. It had been more than a year since she had truly lost her temper and she knew her control of herself was iron-wrought at this point. And yet. And yet this pompous little prick had her hands clenching from simply meeting him. How could she possibly survive an entire day without ripping his head ¨C enormous hat included ¨C from his tiny body, like pulling a grape from the vine? Jorge¡¯s rough voice pulled her from her grisly contemplation. ¡°Well it looks like you¡¯ve got everything in hand here Vera¡­I¡¯ll just be headin-¡° ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking dare.¡± The older man looked back at her wide-eyed, but she knew the shock at her harsh words was feigned. The little bastard was more than amused, she just knew it. ¡°If I have to suffer through this today, then so do you. Now get your short ass over there to follow little Mr Pompous or I swear by the great tree itself I will gut you with your own blade right here and now!¡± Her threat was somewhat undercut by the polite clearing of a voice from behind both of them, and she was soon met with the dulcet tones of a very posh Gardener. ¡°Now see here young lady, I don¡¯t think language like that is at all appropriate in this household.¡± She turned her glare on the well-dressed man, who abruptly blanched at her expression. ¡°Well¡­that is to say¡­if you could modulate your diction somewhat, I would be most¡­ah¡­eeep!¡± His courage ran out, and he scuttled away, tiny hat bumbling awkwardly as he retreated from the cave-garden. Jorge laughed and clapped her on the shoulder as he slipped past. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get this over with then, lass. I¡¯ll bet ya a pint that the little lad shows us an entire closet just for scarves before the day is done.¡± Chapter 35 - Tinker, Soldier, Scholar, Fight part 2 ¡°Did you think I wouldn¡¯t notice?¡± ¡°Yes. I was quite literally betting my life on it.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Will my answer change what is to come?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Then I will take my reasons to the grave.¡± ¡°As you wish.¡± - Excerpt from ¡®The End of an Era ¨C the life of the Dread Prophet¡¯, recovered from the 3rd Ashkanian grand-library to be exhumed by the Desolate Empire following the 3rd Cleansing
I drove my forehead into his nose, feeling a crunch even as I brought my right hand up to protect my face and fell forwards with the movement. My raised arm caught the punch from the grey-haired man and it rocked through my shoulder with his power. I staggered to the side with the blow and used the momentum to slip past him and grab the first man behind him - the one tht had tried to get his attention only moments prior. I watched his eyes widen in alarm as he raised his arms and took a step backwards, but by then my superior stats showed their worth, and I was on him. Gripping him underneath the arms, I locked my hands around his back, pivoted on the spot and heaved. His feet left the floor as if he was weightless, and he slammed sideways into the older man who had turned to pursue me. It was a surprisingly good throw, and a silly thought popped into my head ¨C did my Improvised Weapons sub-skill help? And if so¡­did that mean the well-dressed thug count as a weapon for me in that moment? I shook off the musing as I stepped towards the two remaining lackeys. A brief flurry of strikes put one on his ass, and the way he clutched at his side made it unlikely he would be rising quickly. The second man managed to use that moment to tackle me to the floor though, and I barely managed to twist in the air so that we landed side by side, rather than with him on top. Most of my fighting experience was in the form of ¡®weapons-work¡¯ as Jorge had called it, and while I had some rudimentary wrestling and grappling training, it was likely dwarfed by the experience of the brawler in front of me. What I did have in abundance though, was strength and agility. He managed to wrap his legs around my chest, clearly going for some sort of triangle choke, but my superior attributes again showed their worth. I managed to simply sit up and pound him down onto his back. Once, twice¡­the third slam was enough for him to release his hold, and a quick jab to his face put him down for the moment. I rolled to my feet again and took my bearings. Despite the rapid nature of the exchange, I had still taken far longer than I¡¯d planned. Not that I¡¯d come up with much of a plan to begin with. Either way, I had turned my back on the real danger and even worse, I had been taken to the ground while doing so. I should have been stomped to unconsciousness before I¡¯d had a chance to finish my second opponent, and I would have been if not for Nathlan. This I suppose was according to my ¡®plan¡¯, if you could call it that. I knew my aura skill was special ¨C ¡®pathbound¡¯ they¡¯d called it ¨C and that normally, an aura skill took either significant concentration or high amounts of mana to keep active. Vera¡¯s was mana-intensive, although somewhat offset by the nature of her other skills, and Nathlan¡¯s was similar to a spell; requiring active concentration and not something he could keep running while fighting. I had no clue how Jorge¡¯s aura skill worked, if he even had one, although I suspected his calming presence was due to more than just sheer charisma. The point was though, that this older man was keeping Nathlan suppressed via his aura skill, and he likely wouldn¡¯t be able to continue to do so for long, either running out of mana, or hopefully, losing concentration due to my attack. And while it certainly was one hell of a shitty plan to have when getting into a violent street fight with unknown criminals in a strange city, it did actually survive contact with the enemy. I saw Nathlan locked in a whirlwind exchange of strikes with the leader of the group, and I couldn¡¯t tell who had the upper hand. I had felt the power of our opponent, albeit only in a single punch that I managed to deflect, but even so it was enough to determine he had a strength attribute similar to my own. Watching him fight now, I could see he lacked some of my agility, and it was too early to tell how his endurance stacked up. That meant Nathlan was at a fairly significant attribute disadvantage, being so early in his new class, but he managed to bridge the gap through sheer skill. Much like when he fought with a blade, his footwork was impeccable, and he kept the distance between them even as he dodged and weaved away from the vicious looping kicks and straight punches thrown by the old man. I knew Nathlan could stand and trade blows with those who should sit far above him, due to his longer-than-average reach and clinical approach that baited out an opponent and punished them when they made the smallest mistake. I had been on the receiving end of one of his cleverly disguised fake-outs on more than one occasion. Despite this, he was not a well-rounded fighter. Given that his primary weapon was a straight double-edged blade, he did not need to worry about his reach being negated, as he could use the weapon even in tight quarters. As such, while he trained without weapons for the sake of completeness - and because Jorge demanded at least modest competence in all areas of fighting from those he trained - he was not a particularly proficient unarmed fighter when all was considered. Nathlan lacked a passion and talent for grappling and wrestling, and as such tried to keep the older man at a distance, punishing his attempts at closing the ground between them with heavy, accurate strikes. The older man in turn was clearly a competent fighter, and seemed to sense this strategy for what it was ¨C an attempt to conceal a weakness. Even as I moved towards them, I watched as the grey-haired man shot in for Nathlan¡¯s legs. He was rebuffed both times, but had used the second attempt to land a nasty over the head elbow strike that landed cleanly and left Nathlan reeling. I disregarded my attempt to find a good opportunity to end the fight cleanly, and instead launched forwards in a bullrush, wrapping my arms around the shorter man and allowing him to throw me to the ground. I needed him away from Nathlan, where their uneven attributes could spell disaster for my friend, just as I had so swiftly taken out the others. I did not trust the compassion of this man with his arrogant smirk and domineering aura, and would rather take a few blows from him myself than let Nathlan suffer the same. My endurance was impressive, and I had faith that I¡¯d survived worse. It made sense in the moment when I¡¯d made the decision to become a human shield, but as soon as I felt the hammer blows of his fists against my back, I had to reconsider. I felt something in my ribcage give with his fourth or fifth blow, all delivered within a few heartbeats, and knew my initial estimates were off. Perhaps I was wrong about his strength attribute, or perhaps he had some skill active to enhance the effect of his punches. All I really knew was that I couldn¡¯t take many more of them, especially not in a sensitive area. Resisting the natural urge to turtle up, I instead stretched my body out in a straight line and then crunched up like a shrimp. The move allowed me to twist to the side, pushing myself out from underneath his body. Again relying on the training I¡¯d received from Jorge, I used the space created by that move to spring off the ground and wrap around his back, letting my full weight drive him into the floor and trying to worm my arms around his chest and under his neck. He tucked his chin and fought me the whole way, trying to buck me off and roll away. It only sealed his fate though, as now that my back was to the floor, I could keep him in the air where he would struggle to get any purchase to push off. I wrapped my heels around his abdomen and straightened him out, going for a choke. It was a desperate, painful struggle, as opposed to the clean motions I had practiced while sparring with the others. He managed to crack his head into my nose at one point and I felt my own blood being smeared around my face by his near-silver hair. Bruises formed on my ribs from where he hammered at me, trying to weaken my grip, but luckily he couldn¡¯t get a good angle and could only spare a single arm, his other still desperately clawing at my forearm where it squeezed his neck. Like a fish stranded on land, he flopped and wriggled for a surprising amount of time in my grip, but in the end, his battle for air was just as unwinnable. His endurance couldn¡¯t match up to mine, and once this became clear, he overextended in his panic, allowing my grip to firm. A quick crank of my arm and the arteries in his neck were pressured, and a few moments later his head hung limp at my shoulder. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. I waited a few heartbeats onger before rolling over and staggering to my feet. Blood dripped from my chin, my shoulders heaved as I drew in great lungfuls of air, and sweat and dirt had smeared across my arms and face. Nathlan looked across at me; calm, composed and clean. He had the three men we¡¯d dispatched earlier face down on the floor, hands behind their backs in a clear display of submission. He raised one delicate eyebrow at me, not a hair out of place, and I barked out a laugh. ¡°If I wasn¡¯t so tired, I¡¯d punch you right in the face.¡± I said, spitting blood to the side. He cracked a grin at me and gestured to the men lying on the ground, who all simultaneously cringed back at the movement. He leaned down towards the most coherent of them as he spoke, carefully enunciating his words in that typical scholar¡¯s dialect I¡¯d come to expect from him. ¡°Get your leader, take him back to wherever you came from, and tell whoever is in charge to leave whatever issue they have in the dust. We¡¯ll be reporting this to the guards, so if we bump into you again, we¡¯ll be using our weapons, not our fists.¡± He paused for a beat; ¡°You don¡¯t want that.¡± It was surprisingly intimidating if I was being honest, and the man on the receiving end seemed to agree. A frantic nod and then he was carefully up and corralling his companions into dragging away the older man. As the thoroughly beaten group beat a hasty retreat, I was tempted to grab that beautiful spear as the spoils of battle but thought better of it quickly. Jorge would already be frustrated ¨C we were supposed to be keeping a low profile after all, and while Nathlan had so confidently proclaimed our intention to alert the guards, I was pretty sure he had no idea how that would work or if they¡¯d even care. I wiped my face down with the outside of the rag I was using to sheath my spear-tip and turned back to the store, just in time to see Sally scurrying away down an alleyway. Nathlan made to shout after her, but I waved him off. We might be confident in defending ourselves from retaliation, but that didn¡¯t mean she wanted to be associated with us as anything more than random customers. If these men returned and saw us treating with her so soon, they may try and extract revenge on her. It was often the way of petty men to strike out at those weaker than them, especially once they had been humiliated by those stronger. ¡°We¡¯ll come back tomorrow, let her have a day off.¡± I said, as we turned and began the short stroll back to the inn. ¡°I¡¯d like to iron out my plan for the spear upgrade, see if I can alter the shield at all to match. Maybe you can waggle your eyebrows and get us some extra cheese tonight, hey?¡± I dodged to the side before I¡¯d finished speaking, aiming to avoid a playful jab from Nathlan that I knew would still be coming. He remained the master of distance management though, and his fist managed to find my arm anyway.
¡°We shouldn¡¯t have done that.¡± Nathlan was pacing back and forth in our small room, alternately retying his long hair ¨C an action I¡¯d long since recognised as a nervous tick of his ¨C and staring at the scroll in his hands. I leaned back against the headboard of my bed, the plush pillows providing precious little support. The subtle smell of roses they released whenever pressed did help with calming my racing mind though. ¡°Okay. I concede it was a little¡­rash maybe. But I still think we did the right thing. Why are you so worried?¡± I tried to push out a feeling a calm towards the irate scholar, training my aura to act as something other than the ¡®precocious child¡¯ that Jorge liked to refer to it as. It didn¡¯t work. A yellowed scroll, bound with burnished copper at the top and bottom was thrust toward my face with all the deadly intent of a jousting spear. ¡°Why am I worried!? Oh no reason. No reason at all! Just maybe the fact that the entire roots-damned Council of Brothers seems to be intimately connected to the people we just assaulted!¡± Clearly, he was working himself into a frenzy. He got like this sometimes. Mostly it was curiosity and interest that hooked Nathlan by the brain and threw him into a whirlwind of research that would leave me comatose, but that same ability to follow a thought down a million rabbit holes also worked against him at times like these. He had worried we had done something stupid, and so had spent most of the previous night steadfastly refusing to sleep and instead hunting through the mini library he¡¯d acquired from the guard quartermaster for evidence of our folly. Now, convinced that he¡¯d found it, he brandished that evidence like a weapon and demanded I join him in his panic. I nodded slowly and tried again to weave tranquillity and peace into my tone as I answered. ¡°Could you explain that a bit more please?¡± ¡°Oh shut up you patronising little weasel!¡± So that was not a success then. Man, this aura manipulation was hard. I was also a little taken aback by the venom in his tone, and some of that must have shown on my face as he seemed to deflate after looking over at me. ¡°Sorry Lamb, I didn¡¯t get much sleep last night and-¡° ¡°Clearly¡± I couldn¡¯t help it. I snorted and the word had left my mouth before I could stop it. I looked up in time to see the venom return and Nathlan¡¯s eyes grow hard. I quickly raised my hands above my head in submission. There was a tense standoff between us; a hissing snake on one side, coiled and ready to strike, and a red panda on the other, hands raised above its head in dumb supplication. Nathlan sighed dramatically before smirking slightly at me. ¡°That¡¯s so stupid. Why do you always do that? It makes you look like a blood-bear.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a sign of peace! Like saying ¡®I¡¯m harmless don¡¯t hurt me¡¯.¡± Nathlan rolled his eyes before I spoke again. ¡°What¡¯s a blood-bear?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a large mammal native to the Iskan Peninsula, near my homeland. One of the few species of mega-fauna that poses no real threat to sentients. They¡¯re massive, bigger than the cave bears you sometimes see in the Wandering States ¨C remember that time Jorge had us backtrack for most of a day? That was apparently to avoid crossing the territory of an ancient one. ¡°Regardless, they¡¯re massive and one of the apex predators in the region, on land at least, but are very docile and not aggressive in the slightest. They wave their arms about above their heads when locals get too close, and just stand there like silly statues until the locals leave. I¡¯ve read reports of them maintaining the posture for bells at a time, although that seems to be rare. Unsurprisingly, a 6-meter-tall ball of muscle standing upright and staring in your direction is enough for most people to back away quickly.¡± I smiled as Nathlan entered his ¡®lecture-mode¡¯ and watched his heart rate slow in real-time. While I had asked the question mostly as a distraction to calm him down, I had to say I was growing invested. The more I heard about the wider world, the more I wanted to explore. But not yet. As amazing as seeing the world was, I couldn¡¯t safely traverse even a fraction of it as I currently was. I wanted to get stronger, faster, more self-sufficient. I wanted to be able to see all that this world offered. The wild places, the lost planes and the mountains and valleys hidden for millennia. And there was no point doing all of it alone. I wanted to share the experiences with companions I could trust. So reluctantly I dragged the conversation back to the present. ¡°So, what is in that scroll that¡¯s got you so worried? The Council of Brothers are the lower chamber of this city¡¯s governing council, right? They can¡¯t all be in league with criminal elements, surely? And definitely not the same ones if so.¡± Nathlan sighed again but replied nonetheless. ¡°The ¡®criminal elements¡¯ as you so eloquently put it, are nothing special. But that spear-wielding one that you choked unconscious carried a very finely detailed weapon ¨C far better than somebody that weak should be able to afford to keep, let alone purchase. Its apparently a symbol of office for high-level enforcers in a mercenary company that works across Colchet and a few of the city states at the edge of the Wandering States. The ¡®Wielders of Azlan¡¯ they call themselves, not a great reputation as you might imagine and tend to be involved in low-level crime mostly. Protection rackets and the like. They are linked to some of the Council of Brothers members rather directly by all accounts, but those could just be rumours.¡± I nodded and swirled my hand at him, asking him to continue. ¡°No, the issue is that the Wielders of Azlan shouldn¡¯t be working with random local thugs, as they were in this case. That¡¯s only happened three times in the past. In each case, the Wielders of Azlan were employed alongside local criminal elements to destabilize the city and generally cause a bit of chaos. They would embolden criminal elements within cities and disrupt the local balance of power by bringing in over-powered individuals. As we saw, none of the non-combat classers in that area would have been able to stand against that man, and none of the higher-tiered members of guilds would have time to interfere given everything else going on.¡± ¡°I can see you¡¯re building to something Nathlan, but I¡¯m having a hard time figuring out why we shouldn¡¯t have interfered.¡± I stated. ¡°There¡¯s clearly something bigger going on. If this was a random group of street thugs trying to drum up a few more tarrots then we wouldn¡¯t have to worry about any backlash. But this-¡±. He shook the scroll at me again. ¡°This is a historical account of the Blood-Wind Coup. And before you ask, it was a successful coup that led to a lot of chaos and was only resolved around 40 years ago. The point is that things are clearly progressing in a similar way here. You remember Jorge saying that there¡¯s something going on down in the lower levels, and much of the guard presence is down there dealing with it?¡± ¡°An incursion or something wasn¡¯t it?¡± I asked, and he bobbed his head happily as he continued babbling. He always seemed to love when his ¡®students¡¯ actually listened. ¡°Well, it seems like some bigger players are making the most of the chaos to try something. Before you ask, I have no idea who or what they hope to achieve, but my gut is telling me that there is some sort of conspiracy here, and that means consequences. Street thugs might scuttle away if we scare them off, but if there are bigger players involved, then somebody might come investigating soon.¡± I had always tended to be a fairly laid-back person as far as I could remember. I could definitely work myself into a panic, but most things tended to work out, and I generally took the stance that I¡¯ll do what I can now, or deal with it later. That laid back attitude was helped by the fact that I¡¯d yet to meet anyone in this city that could pose much of a challenge to Jorge and Vera. Anyone in this world in fact. As soon as the thought entered my mind, I remembered cold, black pits in a massive craggy face. My legs shaking with the rumble of a voice so alien I could not even relate, let alone understand. I shivered, doing my best to put the memory out of my mind. ¡®The Al-Sazine are on the move¡¯. The mystery rose again unbidden despite my best efforts. Wrenching my thoughts back into place, I considered anew. I had been so relaxed about our actions partly because I had the support of two of the most powerful people I¡¯d yet met in the city. No low-level street thig could compare to the battle-hardened Vera after all, and if the law got involved and dragged the true powerhouses into things, we were in the right and our enemies were notorious ¨C if unimportant - criminals. That wouldn¡¯t matter anymore though, if Nathlan was right at least. And how often was he wrong? No. We could very likely have people of a similar level as our companions and teachers coming after us now, or at least investigating the incident. Maybe they¡¯d look into it, come to the conclusion that their over-eager grunts had simply pissed off the wrong people and leave it at that. But it seemed like a flimsy thread on which to hang your life. ¡°Shit.¡± Nathlan looked up, seeming relieved more than anything. ¡°At least you¡¯re finally taking this seriously¡± he said. Chapter 36 - Bad Idea I am Al-Sazine. I stand against the most powerful men and women on this continent every day of my life. I stand against empires and kingdoms, warlords and clan-leaders, merchant houses and slave-states. All seek my death and fear my presence with equal fervour. And the strangest thing about it is that not a one of them cares about me in the slightest. My ego has long since perished, deprived of nourishment years ago. When I journey through new lands, the powerful take note, but not of me. It is what I herald that they fear, what they worry I bring to their shores. They are mistaken, for I bring nothing. I come seeking that which they have nurtured. Through their actions or negligence, a seed of resentment and potential has grown within their lands, and the World Tree takes notice. I have been accused of sheltering such seeds, helping with their growth and guiding their development, but it is not so. The fact that I stand here still, alive despite the power of my enemies, should be enough to confirm the truth of my words. My death would be easy for many of them, but they dare not carry out such a sentence themselves. For the Al-Sazine are heralds, but we are also caretakers. We prune the stunted seeds, cut the branches that cannot develop. The powerful do not know whether we arrive to eliminate a problem or to exacerbate one, and so they do not interfere. Once we have acted, they quickly find out the purpose of our presence, but it is always retrospective. Even we do not know why we travel so, and what we plan to do when we arrive. Our fraternity is one of drifters. Constant motion and weak ties. The reverence we hold for the Great Tree is stronger than any earthly bond, and so we roam these lands and seek to balance the scales. The World Tree sends it gifts far and wide, and we follow in their wake. The heralds of change, the bringers of nothing. - Defence of Rakise Stillwater, standing trial for treason and regicide following the collapse of the Desolate Empire¡¯s capital city circa .98. Infamous for being the first public trial of a member of the Al-Sazine in the 4th following the 3rd Cleansing
We spent nearly a bell going round in circles, coming up with one scenario after another and concocting plans. Eventually though, we came to the sad conclusion that the best course of action was to stay locked up in our cushy inn and wait for Vera or Jorge to get back. Not much we could do, and changing location would only make us more likely to be noticed, not less. It was unlikely we would face any reprisals for our actions, and I managed to reassure Nathlan enough that we settled into an easy afternoon of studying, training and talking, after the initial discussion. Jorge returned later that same night, giving us a brief update on Vera¡¯s frustrations trying to entertain a ¡®poncy¡¯ councillor. He had apparently been a very experienced potter though, and so while his eccentricities seemed perfectly design to get under her skin, she had agreed to stay for a few days to learn from one another. Jorge found the whole thing hilarious and took great joy in telling us about their *mandatory* tour of his hat collection, and we managed to put aside our worries for a meal as we shared in the joy of Vera¡¯s frustration. He was not quite so happy to hear of our escapade and subsequent issue, however. I had never found Jorge to be particularly intimidating. A sometimes-stern teacher, of course. A wily and dangerous opponent on the sparring field, for sure. But the way his brows closed together and his gaze seemed to pierce directly through me at that moment left me feeling like an ant starring into the eyes of a mantis. It was gone in a blink, and he then interrogated us for another bell or so, teasing out all our suspicions and making us replay the events in detail. The good news was that we were unlikely to face repercussions. The bad news was that we were banned from leaving the inn without his express permission. So, nothing had really changed, considering we had planned to impose the same ban on ourselves. Having someone tell you ¡®you can¡¯t leave¡¯ and deciding not to go out yourself were two different things though, and I chafed at the restriction, even if I agreed with it intellectually. Jorge did agree to help with the designs of my upgraded shield and spear though, and with Nathlan to help out with the technical diagrams, and Jorge to consult on the viability of the weapons, and particularly the skill progression I was aiming for, I had a sheaf of notes to be delivered to Sally the Tinkerer by the end of the second day. Not two days later I received the reply from Sally that she had a working prototype and was working on the final design. I felt the fire of curiosity burning a hole in my belly, but managed to fight off that fire with reason. When the follow up note came the day after, confirming the completion of the project and an invoice for the work, I felt the fire burn away reason with nary a thought.
I waited until Nathlan headed downstairs, knowing he would be gone for at least two bells. He¡¯d been taking lunch with Kal the waiter who had plied him with cheese on our first night here, and things were beginning to heat up, as far as I could tell from his evasive answers to my annoying questions. He was a reserved man, and I took pride in my ability to needle him just enough to cause mild embarrassment, but not enough to cross any lines into outright shame or rebuke. If my plan was even close to reality, I would be back in my room before he even returned. Nathlan had already agreed to loan me the necessary tarrots, so I grabbed the bundle of marked sticks off the side and snuck outside. The window made no sound whatsoever as I swung the elaborately grown wooden window frame from the wall. I then slipped out with the dexterity of an acrobat and dropped soundlessly the 2 meters to the floor. Grinning with the thrill of doing something I shouldn¡¯t, I scarpered along the busy streets, doing my utmost to look inconspicuous as I threaded my way through crowds of bustling shoppers and down streets carved from ancient stone. I spared no thought for the beautiful architecture as I skirted the edge of open-air markets, the cries of sellers hawking their wares falling on deaf ears. I also spared no thought for the shadow that detached itself from an alcove as I passed by, slinking soundlessly in my wake. My ears were likewise deaf to the occasional chirping of a small bird that seemed to follow me in my journey, despite the lack of any such creatures this far below the surface. I arrived at Sally¡¯s workshop in good time and was nearly giddy as I pushed open the door to the chime of the needlessly elaborate bell. Who puts a clockwork mechanism on a doorbell? What would that even do? The thoughts were snatched from my mind though as Sally¡¯s high-pitched voice started babbling at me in a rapid cadence, reminding me of a duck¡¯s feet slapping the floor as it runs. ¡°About bleedin¡¯ time ya made it back here, ya little bastard! All mornin¡¯ I¡¯ve been waitin¡¯ for a knock at my door, and in strolls you looking lost as a lamb! Is that why they call ya that?¡± A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Rather than be offended by the barrage, I grinned, recognising the excitement on her face as a mirror to my own. She shuffled over to a bench in the corner, shucking a heavy leather quilt to reveal my two new weapons. She did so with a flourish, clearly pleased with her work, but I couldn¡¯t appreciate her jubilant smile as my eyes were drawn instead to the artifacts before me. A heavy brass shield rested firmly on the table, circular and lightly concave enough to bleed momentum from a deflected strike rather than stop it outright. Six lines radiated outwards from the boss in the centre, splitting the shield into equal segments. It looked smooth, polished to a shine and strong despite its relatively thin edge. Speaking of the edge, it was tapered slightly but not sharp enough to cut. When driven with force it would surely do damage, but more in the way of a steel bar to the face breaking a nose than a sword slicing through bone. This also enabled it to be braced against armour or the environment without issue and wouldn¡¯t harm a weapon braced against its rim in turn. All in all, from the front it looked like a fairly unremarkable, if well-made shield. I picked it up from the table and slipped my left arm into the straps, synching it tight. The real magic of this weapon could be seen from behind the rim. Small, intricate gearing could be seen running beneath the rim inside the shield, made from the same brass-coloured metal. There was no button or trigger with which to activate the contraptions, as I had been briefed by Sally in her invoice, but I still found myself a little sceptical it would work. Nathlan had been over the process of claiming magical artefacts the night prior with me, but it was one thing to know and another entirely to experience. Waiting for a nod from Sally to show I had permission to do so, she just rolled her eyes and waved me on. I focused on my core, entering that strange meditative state of being where I visualised my soul, feeling the mana filling my core ¨C incorporeal potential just waiting to make its mark on the physical world. I lingered for a few moments, simply enjoying the sensation of feeling magic ¨C Magic! ¨C flow through me, before I reached out. Reaching past my core, towards the celestial tapestries that hung above, the constellations dim and inactive, frozen in time without mana to feed their frenetic whirling. Beyond even the path-bound aura skill I had that dominated the ¡®sky¡¯ of my soul, looming over all my skills like a judge. My senses failed me as I pushed further, unable to see past the dimly lit patterns of my skills. There was something there, just on the edge of my soul-space. I could feel an aberration, a smudge in the darkness. Straining, I searched as if combing the floor of a muddy pond. A few endless moments passed this way before I latched onto something. Further examination of the feeling yielded a dim light, rapidly brightening as I focused on it. Recalling the instruction from Nathlan, I spun a small trickle of mana from my core, guiding it towards the flickering light past the edge of my soul-space, and finally making contact. I wrapped it around the light, pulling it back towards my soul-space. There was more resistance than I¡¯d anticipated, the seemingly empty void outside of my soul tugging at the artifact as I brought it past the frozen lights and into my soul-space proper, and felt the connection snap into place abruptly. An awareness of the artefact branded itself into my soul, and I knew intimately how to activate the shield¡¯s functions. I couldn¡¯t resist demonstrating anyway, and one look at Sally¡¯s face told me she¡¯d likely kill me if I left without showing off what she had spent the last few days working on. Grinning, I fed another trickle of mana into the weapon, willing the gears in the top-most segment into action. There was a brief delay caused by my relatively poor mana-control, but as soon as the mana entered the connection within my soul, the shield responded. A whisper of metal sliding against metal and the rim of the shield retracted into itself, leaving a gap at the top of the shield, almost like a crenelation in a tower. I stepped aside and lowered my arm, imagining my opponent¡¯s weapon snared against the now-jagged edge of my shield and pulled out of line. Another thought and brief flex of mana and the shield returned to its previous, unbroken circular shape. ¡°So¡­what d¡¯ya think?¡± Sally said with a grin. She could see the eagerness in my eyes, and it was mirrored by her own pride in her work. ¡°I couldn¡¯t get anythin¡¯ except the edges ta retract or change shape without weakenin¡¯ the metal too much I¡¯m afraid, but I think the speed and smoothness of the change at the edges is impressive enough ta make up for it. I doubt many opponents o¡¯ yours will be able to see it coming.¡± I nodded, activating the shield a few more times as I stepped through some quick forms. My mind was already busy planning certain combinations of strikes to leave certain counters open that I could then exploit. A weapon like this would open new patterns to my style and I couldn¡¯t wait to try them out. ¡°Havin¡¯ only the outer edge retractin¡¯ also means ya can activate any o¡¯ tha segments together. Hells, you could retract the whol fuckin¡¯ thing all at once, and that might make up for some o¡¯ weakness in materials. Smaller shield but twice as thick, right?¡± I nodded in understanding, eager to return to my friends and plan some sparring and training in to familiarise myself with the new potential. ¡°Try the spear, try the spear!¡± The tiny woman barked, her excitement making me laugh as I reached for the spear. There was less engineering that had gone into this weapon, at least visible on the surface. A plain shaft of the ¡®living wood¡¯ so prevalent in the stone city of Colchet, its swirls and whorls tracing a chaotic pattern up the haft, before disappearing under a metal coat of hammered copper covering the end. The artificial light reflected off the copper patina and I traced it¡¯s curve as my gaze moved up to the spearhead itself. A double-edged blade, clearly inspired by the lanceolate shape of the leaves of the Ereshal, but strictly shaped for function over form. It was around a foot long, thicker and wider at the base and tapering to a slim point the colour of burnished bronze. There were no obvious seams along the metal of the blade that I could see upon close examination, and I raised an eyebrow at Sally in question. ¡°Aye, I tried what ya suggested but after messin¡¯ about for far too long at the drawin¡¯ bench, I couldn¡¯t figure out a way ta do it without riskin¡¯ the blade crumpling when tryin¡¯ to pierce somethin¡¯ dense. Don¡¯t despair though, young lad! There¡¯s a reason ya¡¯ come to a professional like ma¡¯ self. I figured the extra reach could come from the wood jus¡¯ as easy as the blade, right? So go on, claim it and give it a whirl!¡± I shrugged, trusting to her ingenuity if nothing else, and went through the same process as before to claim the spear. It was a little easier this time, whether because the artifact was simpler or because I was more experienced, I couldn¡¯t be sure. Either way, less than 30 breaths had passed by the time I had my second claimed artifact in hand, and fed a sliver of mana to the weapon. The copper housing clunked, and an extra half a foot of metal emerged from the casing, extending the reach of the weapon substantially. My eyebrows rose at the speed of it. Sally cackled with joy. ¡°Exactly hun! Now jus¡¯ remember that the extra reach only extends from the top o¡¯ the spear, not the bottom. Not sure if that¡¯s an issue really but worth keeping in mind.¡± I ignored the obvious point and tried not to take the patronisation to heart. Instead, I focused on the brilliance of the weapon itself. It would be a standard upgrade to my current spear anyway based on the materials and craftsmanship, but the spring-loaded mechanism at the top of the haft would add an extra surprise for somebody facing me for the first time. Like with the shield, most of the advantage would come from fighting people, given animals and monsters tended to fight aggressively and without much regard for distance management. My style of fighting was similar ¨C overwhelm my opponents with aggression and physicality. I had high enough endurance to outlast most people at my current level range, but if they could survive my initial onslaught for more than a few moments, they were likely much more skilled given my advantage in attributes. In that case, I¡¯d need to keep some tricks up my sleeve to disrupt anyone who could feel out my distance and timing. An extra foot of reach suddenly appearing would surprise most, and the ability to grapple and snare weapons with my shield would likewise increase my survival odds against a superior foe. I grinned down at Sally, clapping her on the shoulder after putting down my commissions and reaching into my pocket for the payment. She tried some token haggling, but I simply handed over the exact amount mentioned in the invoice, and she accepted with only some minor grumbling. I knew it was more an act than anything since she offered to bind my spear and shield properly, as per the guards¡¯ rules, and gave me some oil for the weapons, as well as a more specific mixture for the mechanisms in both artifacts. A flurry of maintenance instructions that left my head spinning were recorded on a small scroll and tucked into my waistband, and I was off out the door with a bulging bag over one shoulder and a cheery wave behind me. I barely managed to look around before I took off back to the inn, humming to myself happily as I let my thoughts prance around inside my head, simulating new katas and movements I could link together for a more cohesive fighting style that made the most of my new artifacts. So it was with a smile that I hit the floor, my skull cracked from the force of the blow I had not seen coming. Blood barely had a chance to well up from the wound before my body was picked from the street like an apple from a basket. Vague sensations flittered through my mind, but delirious as I was, I noticed none of it, my consciousness having retreated as I was carried over a shoulder and spirited away through city streets I wouldn¡¯t have recognised even had my eyes been working. Chapter 37 - How Many Times And still, you ask why? My people knew well enough why I did what I did. For generations, they understood. You could hear it in the stories they would tell, in the artwork they would create. Even the economic decisions ¨C the siege stores always well-stocked, the walls in good condition¡­.no longer. I hear the new declarations, the whispers in the streets. Every seven years I hear new resolve from the senate, and now, well after the second centenary of our independence, I hear a different tune rising. They carve new statues of my brother now, as you must have seen. ¡®The Hero¡¯s time¡¯ they call it. A time of opening, a time to let shackles of war fall to the ground, and peace bare its newborn head at the sky. Romantic, and hopeful. I am heartened to know my stewardship has given you hope, dear city. My heart gladdens as you stretch your arms towards the world, reaching with innocent expectance of a brighter tomorrow. I see this trend, and I approve. But do not forget the lessons of the past. Had the world been the noble place you so wish for it to be, my brother would be standing guard above you now, not I. I stand here; the looming shadow that wraps this city in a protective shroud of bitter fury. My wings darken the skies, and my cries haunt the wind. If you yearn for the Hero¡¯s time, heed well his lessons. His heart raged at every injustice. When the Suljuks sacked our city, he burned with righteousness at their disregard for our lives. We all remember his defiance as they lined up our comrades and burned them at the stake in front of our eyes. The Temple of Al¡¯Ashok unveiled a new mural depicting this piece of history just this year, did it not? The artist¡¯s brush renders well the pain in his eyes, as he strained against our captor¡¯s bonds, even as his men died before him. Beautiful art, no doubt, but what did they get wrong? It was a time of violence, and our civic pride was sorely needed, so I don¡¯t fault the artist for rendering the Suljuks as monstrous, their cruel smirks and twisted bodies so terrible to behold. No, what I regard as disappointing revisionism is the power in the Hero¡¯s frame. A titan among men he seems in that work, unbroken, unbreakable. That is what I regard as the failure to heed his teachings. The lesson of the Hero of Altine is that all men break. He let the fires of injustice burn within him and was immolated by them. He took in the pain of our people and was consumed by it. He gave everything he had to resist the Suljuk occupation, and so, inevitably, he became a martyr for that cause. Let us not forget who led the rebellion in the days and weeks following the burning of our comrades. While the hero laid on death¡¯s door, and the underground apothecaries fought against the Great Leveller itself to bring him back to us, who gave orders? Who kept the resistance on its feet? I can see you now about to bow in obsequiousness at my words, seeking to grovel and apologise and proclaim my great benevolence even as I scold you. Please, do not. I do not remind you of those times to diminish my brother¡¯s sacrifice or elevate my own. There is a reason that the Hero¡¯s name echoes throughout our history. Altine is free because of his struggle and is great because it seeks to emulate his ideals. I wish only to remind you of the price that those ideals come with. Once the dust settles, there is an accounting. There must be someone left to pay. If your heart aches at every injustice, you are friend to Altine and kin to the Hero himself. Remember though, somebody must remain to make the choices that come after victory. If all the great men sacrifice themselves, who remains to rebuild? I look forward to the Hero¡¯s time. I see a great future for this city as it reaches from the shores of Tsanderos to the foothills of the Titans. We will never be an occupying power, never be more than a single city reaching out in solidarity with all. But that commitment comes with a price. My presence wards you from the world outside, but I cannot ¨C will not ¨C decide your future. There are decisions to be made and I urge you to make them with caution. Stay true to the Hero¡¯s ideals, and spread justice before you, but do not forget that a price must be paid. If you are not around to pay it, onto who does that debt fall? - Excerpt from the 3rd memoire of Sol D¡¯Antereg, Guardian of Altine, Winter¡¯s Embrace. (Transliterated by scholar Rostruik in ¡®the price of freedom ¨C 7 centuries in Altine¡¯)
*Nathlan* Nathlan wasn¡¯t one to panic easily. Not unless somebody disturbed his reading or rifled through his scrolls. Or if he had to present at a scholarly conference ¨C those things were testing even for the elderly scholars whose accomplishments would take half a bell to fully list. Or if he was trying to blend into a huge crowd ¨C something about the bustle made him think of the huge storms that would rock his homeland every winter, the sea-spray rising dozens of meters high and coating the storm-wards with foam. On reflection, perhaps he was one to panic easily. But still, there were very specific circumstances under which he would normally panic. His friend being out too late wasn¡¯t one of them, however. He hadn¡¯t worried too much upon returning to their room and finding it empty. Lamb had made a few jokes before about leaving the room free in case his lunches with Kal ¡®went well¡¯, but Nathlan had thought they were just jokes at his expense. After a couple of bells and still no sign, he knew he¡¯d snuck out, against Jorge¡¯s wishes. It was a stupid thing to do. Jorge wasn¡¯t some guard captain creating rules to teach youngsters some discipline. There was a real threat of retaliation by powerful groups in the city, and his advice was to stay inside where we were less likely to be recognised. The odds of reprisals did seem slim, and the new artifacts Lamb had commissioned did seem intriguing, especially considering his plans to integrate his skills more tightly as a result, but it was foolhardy to not wait a few more days. Vera would likely return today or tomorrow from her exchange with the ex-councillor, and Jorge was apparently already working with his underground contact regarding scouting the Lions¡¯ base of operations. His disappointment with his friend¡¯s rash decision had turned to worry once Jorge had returned. His contact had confirmed the suspicions they¡¯d had from days before, and after some digging, had confirmed that not only were the Wielders of Azlan involved, but so were a certain other mercenary company ¨C the Crimson Lions. It wasn¡¯t really surprising, and shouldn¡¯t have anything to do with Lamb, but there was a feeling that began brewing in his stomach. After arguing and negotiating with his panic for far too long, feeling it gnaw its way up from his belly like a vengeful rat, he had finally reached the point where he couldn¡¯t keep it in any longer. ¡°Something has happened.¡± The statement hung in the air between them, and Jorge gave him a long, measuring look. Nathlan met his gaze, guilt and worry gripping him. A brief pause before Jorge simply nodded. A piece of thin bark appeared in his hands, and the older man scrawled a message quickly with a thin chisel. The instrument disappeared just as abruptly and within a handful of heartbeats they were moving out of the room at a brisk pace. They strode swiftly down the stairs and into the street, the heavy wooden door to the inn barely having time to close before they disappeared around the corner. ¡°What do you think, lad? What¡¯re you putting together?¡± Jorge asked, gruff voice lower than usual and missing its normal joviality. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Nathlan considered. Truth be told, his mind hadn¡¯t stopped racing since Jorge had returned, but it was starting to whir faster and faster, in that way he remembered from his childhood when the only one who could calm him down was his mother. At least in the early years, before she became too busy with her duties. But then Old Nan from the kitchens had been there to fill the void, and then when she was too old to work it was his friend, Nanw¨¥, that had stepped in to the role. And then there were some hard years following the murder. Jorge¡¯s voice brought him out of the growing fog though, and he clawed desperately at the distraction from his thoughts. ¡°What? Oh, yes. I think he¡¯s been taken. Obviously, we know something¡¯s happened, but I suspect he has been kidnapped by the Wielders of Azlan and will be held as a hostage to force myself and possibly you and Vera as well ¨C if they have done their research on us ¨C into a disadvantageous ambush. I would be surprised though, as what little knowledge of them I have does not indicate a sophisticated intelligence gathering operation within their company, or a strong connection to local information networks.¡± Jorge slipped effortlessly between the busy evening streets, navigating around groups of soon-to-be-revellers starting their nights by smoking some sort of psychedelic leaf burning in small communal braziers outside certain brightly lit buildings. Nathlan followed in his wake, happy to let the more experienced man weave a path through the throngs while he continued spinning out the thoughts in his head. ¡°What¡¯s to stop the Wielders paying a local broker for information about the ¡®mysterious and powerful¡¯ newcomers in the city they¡¯re working in? Seems an obvious first step.¡± Jorge said. ¡°Nothing in theory. But their actions have had profound consequences, at least in the short-term, on the local underworld elements of Colchet, and most of those consequences are negative. The larger brokers belong to specific criminal factions who are in relative disarray, in large part due to the actions of the Wielders of Azlan, and so are unlikely to be ¡®open for business¡¯ so to speak. Similarly, the smaller brokers that remain independent are even less likely to work with the Wielders given their reputation, and are probably laying low to let this storm settle.¡± ¡°Aye, fair point. I struggled getting in touch with one myself, and he¡¯s an old friend. This city is like a nest of Rakshasa¡¯s after a good kicking. Not that you¡¯d know it from here,¡± at this, Jorge swept an arm out to encompass the group of a dozen men and women warming their hands around a massive fire-pit to the side of a broad street, drinking and chatting to one another with abandon. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right lads!?¡± He then shouted towards the group, raising his arm and clapping one on the shoulder as we strode past. The group cheered in response, raising potted jugs sloshing with a menagerie of liquors and sweet wines. Friendly callouts flowed after them, but Jorge turned to wave them off, and Nathlan simply used the time to stretch his stride, catching up to the shorter man once again. ¡°So it¡¯s unlikely they¡¯ve managed to gather much information on us¡­which means¡­¡± He trailed off, and after a few moments of relative silence, Jorge turned back to give him a raised brow. ¡°Go on then, which means what, you daft egg?¡± Nathlan smiled at the insult, delivered more as a term of endearment than anything. ¡°Which means they probably think it¡¯s just Lamb and I. But then why kidnap him? Why not simply turn up at the inn, or wait for both of us to leave together, and take us out then? They surely have the strength for it. Outnumber us by even one and I can¡¯t see us getting out of that fight, assuming that man wasn¡¯t the very strongest of them. Which should be a safe bet considering the rather mundane enforcement task he seemed to be on.¡± ¡°So you think they know something we don¡¯t? Why else would the Wielder¡¯s take him?¡± Jorge asked. The sun had set more than a bell ago by now, and the streets were lit with the gentle orange glow of the night-lamps. No ingenious contraptions of living wood and mirrors these, the simple wall-mounted sconces burned with mana-light, kept fuelled by a regular rotation of city guards. Of course, with the incursion in the lowest levels stretching the guard well-over capacity, only the wealthier and busier layers near the top of the canyon were properly illuminated. ¡°Perhaps it wasn¡¯t the Wielders who took him. Perhaps his capture was orchestrated by another mercenary company, operating the in the same area, that we have had run-ins with before.¡± He cast a significant glance at the back of the armoured-man in front. Jorge seemed to notice as well, turning once again to look him over before facing forwards once more. ¡°Hhmmm. Let¡¯s pick up the pace.¡±
¡°No, I¡¯m tellin¡¯ ya that I saw him no more¡¯n 4 or 5 bells ago, must¡¯ve been jus¡¯ after midday.¡± Sally¡¯s shrill voice cut through Nathlan, bringing him back out of his catastrophising and into the moment once more. They¡¯d made quick progress through the city to Sally¡¯s workshop, and the tinkerer had been closing for the night so they¡¯d been able to get a quick word with her before she left. It wasn¡¯t good news. ¡°An¡¯ did he say where he was headed?¡± Jorge asked in his calm way. Sally crossed her arms and glared at him, having put aside her bag and seemingly finished clearing up for the day. ¡°Listen young man-¡° Nathlan nearly snorted. It was the first time he¡¯d heard anyone address Jorge as such, the steel-grey hair around his jaw enough to ward off the assumption, to say nothing of his weathered skin and crows-feet. He looked equally surprised, eyebrows rising in response. Sally was undeterred however and blundered ahead with the alacrity of the ignorant. ¡°-the only reason I¡¯m even sharin¡¯ as much as I am is because I recognise the young man there¡± here she pointed right at Nathlan, before turning the accusing finger back to point squarely at Jorge¡¯s chest. ¡°an¡¯ he seemed a good friend o¡¯ Lamb¡¯s. But yer startin¡¯ to make me question myself with your insistence here. Go and find him yourself, I say!¡± Rather than stare dumbly as Lamb would have, respond with anger as Vera likely would, or even garble an apology and rush from the shop as Nathlan himself would, Jorge handled this problem as he did so many others. ¡°I understand, lass. Strange man shows up outa nowhere and starts demandin¡¯ answers from ya? I¡¯m sorry, I can see why that¡¯s got ya backed up inta a corner somewhat, but listen;¡± Nathlan would swear his thick brogue had lessened slightly, taking on some of the twang of the Tinkerer¡¯s own accent. ¡°Lamb¡¯s a good friend, and we¡¯re worried about ¡®im. Ya remember that nasty piece a work from a few days ago, with the spear?¡± Sally¡¯s face had softened as Jorge continued, and she nodded. ¡°Aye, well we think he might have arranged ta bump into our little Lamb again, if ya catch my meanin¡¯? We¡¯re just tryin¡¯ to keep ¡®im safe.¡± The earnestness in his gaze won her over, and she slumped. ¡°Sorry my love, tough day, an¡¯ I am a little worried meself with yous all turnin¡¯ up in a tizzy. Make¡¯s an old woman¡¯s heart start ta flutter, hey? Wish I could help but it¡¯s as I said; left here earlier just past lunch. Didn¡¯t say nothin¡¯ about where he was going, but looked pleased-as-punch as he wondered out with his weapons.¡± Nathlan¡¯s head snapped round at that, and his speed must have shocked Sally as she stopped talking abruptly. He didn¡¯t care, social rules long from his mind as he followed the trail his brain had began to mark. ¡°They were artifacts, yes? Both of them?¡± Sally looked a little taken aback, but she recovered from her shock at his sudden move and nodded. ¡°Aye, minor ones but some o¡¯ my best work, at such short notice anyhow. Why¡¯s that matter? No refunds if he¡¯s lost ¡®em!¡± Nathlan found himself repressing a surge of annoyance at the tinkerer, concerned about money when his friend¡¯s life was on the line. For that is likely what had happened, he realised at this point. Sure, it wasn¡¯t impossible that Lamb had slipped into a bar and was getting drunk with a random group of new friends, but he knew the man. They¡¯d been travelling together for months at this point, and while he might make some questionable decisions and have a penchant for light-hearted nonsense, Lamb was nothing if not driven. He may display more laughs and smiles that everyone else when he trained, but he put in the work, same as the others. Often more, taking the care to stretch out and cool-down following intense bouts of sparring and training, in a way Jorge and Vera didn¡¯t have to worry about so much with their significantly more advanced attributes. No, Lamb would have headed straight back to the inn, and Nathlan would have expected to see him down in the courtyard training, and that was only if Lamb hadn¡¯t begged him to spar as soon as he returned. The fact that he never had returned could mean only one thing in Nathan¡¯s mind ¨C he was taken by someone. Or killed. Nathlan didn¡¯t like to consider about that option. ¡°Can you trace them?¡± Nathlan asked the diminutive woman. Sally blinked, considered, and then shook her head. ¡°Not simply. I resonate with em¡¯ course, given they were forged by my own hand, as ya probably know. But i¡¯m not skilled enough ta have the range ta cover the city, let alone beyond it. I could rig somethin¡¯ up that would alert ya if ya got close enough, but it would have ta be within a few miles or so?¡± Nathlan cursed and looked away, but Jorge jumped in with a handful of tarrots and Sally unslung her bag with a sigh. She made no further complaints though, and got straight to work at her forging bench, for which Nathlan was grateful. It went a long way towards soothing the surge of annoyance at the woman, that she would stay late into the evening with little prompting simply for Lamb¡¯s sake. The pay no doubt helped as well though ¨C few talented crafters worked for free after all. A few miles would not be enough though - the canyon city was deep and vast. While the difficulty of carving out solid stone was lessened by specific skills and sometimes just pure attribute-powered hard-work, the city could not grow directly downwards due to the relatively poor load-bearing capacity of the rock and the difficulty of keeping the city well-lit. As a result, the layers were built as a descending set of stairs into the face of the canyon to harvest as much sunlight as possible. Therefore, it¡¯s total size far eclipsed a few dozen miles, with bolt-holes and further developments no doubt ranging even further in cleverly hidden passageways and enclosed tunnels. They couldn¡¯t just walk through the top layers and expect to get much feedback from the instrument that Sally designed. It was exactly what he did though. While Jorge and Vera traded favours and paid directly for any information on Lamb¡¯s abduction, Nathlan wandered the streets of Colchet. By the end of the first day he knew it was pointless, but it wasn¡¯t until the third day passed fruitlessly that things changed. Chapter 38 - Cage Yoga The world is a terrifying place; Shrouded Mountain, the Silent Moors, the Ice Meadows¡­there¡¯s no end of deadly environments on Tsanderos. But never underestimate people. They¡¯ll live anywhere. Seems to me that the worse a place is, the more dangerous the men and women that make it out are. Grimmer the North came striding out of the Ice Meadows one day, and the Salazar Coast has been piss-scared of him ever since. Not much you can do to a man that¡¯s worse than a childhood spent in freezing misery picking off the dead carcasses of waylaid ships. That¡¯s why the Sarhail nearly wiped us all out. They came out of the Southern Deltas, so deep that even the flies will kill a man. No surprise they kicked our arses. Is what it is, I suppose. Just be glad you live in the heartlands, hey boy? Means you¡¯re unlikely to meet a man like that. But if you ever do, run for the fucking hills, you hear me? - Anyway, enough about that. Happy birthday, lad! I got you this little ball in a cup. You play it like this, see? - Guard Captain Ischus Travail on his nephew¡¯s 16th Colchet, circa .211
My back ached and my legs were nearly cramping. It was time to change to position 5. I rotated my body within the tight confines of the cage, stretching my legs to rest against the roof, dangling an arm out between the bars. The other I had to trap beneath my back in order to cushion it from the jolting impacts as the contraption rushed across the bumpy plain beneath me. Francis ¨C the only one in the four-man convoy that wasn¡¯t pulling the cage-on-wheels I was trapped in, other than the scout roaming far off beyond sight, turned to face me as soon as I moved, and spoke in his monotonous voice. ¡°Keep your arms inside the cage.¡± That was it. No inflection, no gestures, the most emotionless man you¡¯d ever meet. ¡°Oh come on Francis, you big bag of dicks. I¡¯m squished in here like a fucking sardine! Give me a break.¡± My reply, on the other hand, was full of nothing but emotion. It was day three of this charade and I was sick of it. I¡¯d been given food and water along with the others as they ate, but I was watched at all times. They gave me a break from the cage every night to allow me to sleep, but I was shackled even then. We made good time, much to my dismay, and with two of my captors pulling the cage, we had quickly left the desert behind on the first day. By now we were barrelling merrily through the plains eastwards alongside the foothills of the Dragon-Spine Mountains, and while my knowledge of the geography of this world was still shaky, it seemed to me that we were destined for one of the many seaside port towns littering the edge of the Shattered Sea. It made sense that we wouldn¡¯t be crossing the Dragon-Spines¨C far too easy for me to slip away when not confined to this ridiculous cage, not to mention far too dangerous to cross at my level, and theirs too I would wager. No, it was the coast for me it seemed, and likely a long sea voyage to the Sunset Kingdoms from there. I had reluctantly settled into my current position as prisoner. I had rebelled against the idea for two nights, creating schemes each more hairbrained than the last, before I finally reached the point of acceptance. I was trapped, and there was precious little I could do about it. I still felt the familiar rage bubble up every now and then, especially when my captors reinforced the hierarchy. ¡®Keep your arms inside the cage¡¯ and other ridiculous rules seemed more like a reminder of my helplessness than a real requirement ¨C realistically, there was no chance of escaping. At this stage anyway. What helped most was the discussion I had had with Nathlan a few days prior. Reading about the Breeze-Born rebellion in Colchet had inspired me to look for more. I¡¯d asked him about other famous heroes, mythical figures and folk-tales, and Nathlan had lit up like a beacon. We¡¯d spent most of the afternoon talking, and he¡¯d filled my little brain up with a multitude of heroic individuals; Markuth Breeze-born, Arakosh Wyrms-Bane, The Silence, Sythics Thrice-Blessed, Hazel of clan Zutesh, the Scarab King¡­the list was likely endless, with more would-be gods rising to challenge the heavens each era before being broken by their counterparts or the uncaring world around them. The one that stood out though, was Sol D¡¯Antereq. Not for any feat of greatness, but rather because her story gave context to my current situation. Her story presented two choices when the anger came; the first was to react. Let the rage leak out in a great display of violence, fight with all my worth against my captors and show them my defiance. I may not win, but I could make their lives hell. I could show them that I was not a mere rat to be captured and caged. I could make them bleed for their arrogance. This was the path of Altine¡¯s hero. Unfortunately, that would probably get me killed. Or so beaten and broken that I would spend the rest of the journey a shell of myself, and long-term my odds of escape would go down drastically. So the other option then; Accept my position. Swallow my rage and play along. I would still put up the token resistance expected of me, but I would harden my heart to the humiliation and discomfort and play the role of meek captive. Use the reprieve to stay as ready as possible, so that when the time comes, I could escape with as much of my former strength as possible. It was an easy choice in theory, but I struggled in practice not to rage against the treatment. I¡¯d never really had a temper in my old life, as far as I could recall. My rebirth in this new world, where my first few months were filled with life and death struggle, had certainly lent me a savage edge I¡¯d never had before though and I struggled to keep it under control. It seemed obvious in hindsight, given how my aura skill had become path-bound, echoing deep within my soul, reflecting a facet of my very being. But it really was surprising to me how much I struggled to put aside my pride and reflexive anger at these four captors. At least they were cold and professional. One of the men had looked at me with a glint in his eye that had initially concerned me, but it turned out he was just a bit of a sadistic bastard, and once I¡¯d decided to play my role, he seemed to settle down a bit more. The occasional hard kick in the ribs when I was sleeping was all I could expect from him now, which was a lot better than the alternative his hungry gaze had initially brought to mind. I had no doubt now that I wouldn¡¯t be harmed too badly ¨C I was needed after all. No idea what for, but the leader had assured me that he knew of my ¡®God-Touched¡¯ title, and that was the cause of my capture. Therefore, ol¡¯ wandering eye wouldn¡¯t be allowed to take too many liberties with my confinement, lest he turn me from a begrudgingly cooperative captive to a belligerent and then likely dead one. Didn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t gonna kill him before I escaped though. I allowed the thought to carry me pleasantly through another quarter of a bell in my current position before moving onto the sixth and final pose in my new cage-yoga routine. It kept me as limber as was possible in a small cage, and more importantly, gave me something to focus on. I had tried to meditate ¨C draw on the mysterious forces of the world and bend them to my will, empowering myself beyond all mortal means. Unfortunately, it didn¡¯t seem to work like that, and without something to fight, my skills and levels would remain firmly in the middle of the 1st tier. I itched to be free, to shed my shackles and face my captives at the end of my spear, but I suppressed the feeling as best I could. They surely out-levelled me but weren¡¯t so strong they could disregard me completely ¨C hence the whole cage and shackles routine. I could tell the leader, Francis, was of a different calibre to the others though, just by the way they all acted. I hadn¡¯t just spent the last three days complaining internally, I¡¯d also been observing them and searching for anything I could glean about my captors. Three seemed to be a well-oiled machine, exchanging insults and banter freely and while I wouldn¡¯t call them friends, the group dynamics certainly seemed to have some history behind them ¨C even the clear apprehension that the two had for their friend ¡®Sir Rib-Kicker¡¯ as I had mentally dubbed him. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The three all shared the common theme though of acting like they were in the presence of a superior officer when around Francis. Eager to follow his suggestions like orders, and unquestioning of his actual orders to a degree that showed they were not just paying him respect as a senior but genuinely frightened of his power. At least that was my read on it. In summary, I could maybe take each of the three on their own ¨C hard to know without seeing any of them fight ¨C but would not have much hope against all three together, and that was still disregarding the real threat of Francis ¨C likely in his 2nd tier if I had to put money on it. So, patience. I repeated it like a mantra. Patience. Your time will come. Patience. We were skirting the edge of the Dragon-Spine Mountains if my memories of Jorge¡¯s geography lessons could be trusted. Of course, the continent-spanning mountain range didn¡¯t just burst forth from the earth like ¨C well, the spine of a titanic dragon. Like every good mountain range, it was ringed by smaller hills and rolling forests carpeting the transition from open plane to rugged terrain we couldn¡¯t - or rather shouldn¡¯t - cross. It would be folly to try and escape deep into the mountains, as Jorge had heavily emphasised to me that there were parts of the world far too dangerous for me. Places where the creatures, and sometimes even plants and earth themselves, were far too powerful. Places where even a 4th tier warrior ¨C those nigh-invincible gods ¨C would struggle to survive. The deep peaks and valleys of the Dragon-Spines were some of those places, and while there was less danger the further from the highest peaks you travelled, that was relative. Anywhere in the mountains-proper would be too deadly for anyone not already in their 2nd tier, and a strong one at that. I could stick to the hills though. The lowlands, the rough meadows and rocky outcroppings, sticking deep into the forested valleys, and hiding my presence in the vast wilderness. While I did not fancy a fight with all three of the weaker captors, I had no such qualms about out-running them. They may even have movement skills, but my combination of strength, agility and endurance was high even for a warrior in the first tier, and I would back myself against any similarly levelled individual when it came to a chase through wild hills. No, again it was that fuck Francis that I was concerned about. Any escape attempt would have to start with him distracted, and for long enough for me to get out of sight and lose myself among the trees. Probably longer, for I¡¯d need to cover my tracks as well. I could see the edge of the forest on my left as we trundled along the packed earthen road, probably no more than a mile away. Less than a quarter-bell and I¡¯d be hidden within tree-chocked valleys, beyond the reach of my captors. So now I just needed the luck of the gods to shine down on me and drop a massive distraction in my lap. Great. More cage-yoga for the time being then.
I tracked the heavy clouds as they rolled towards us from the mountains. Dark, foreboding, and full of promise, the storm-front swirled and scudded across the sky, wind leading the charge and whipping the hair from my face as I gazed at the horizon. I tried my best to contain my vicious grin, but I needn¡¯t have bothered. Francis had seen the storm just before I had and was busy shouting orders to the two idiots pulling my cage. The fourth and final member of the team ¨C Sir Rib-Kicker himself ¨C was out scouting, but I could see him returning from ahead already. ¡°Sven, Rank; get that fucking cart turned around! We¡¯re heading to the forest. Now.¡± Francis¡¯s commanding voice cut through the charged air, and the two bulky guards scrabbled to obey. The speed at which the storm arrived was impressive, but also not unexpected given the mountainous environment. Weather changed quickly here, and while the locals would probably call this nothing but a quick shower, the heavy clouds and scything wind seemed more than a storm to me. My captors clearly didn¡¯t want to be out in the open plain either with this weather, and as I was finally wheeled under the cover of the forest canopy, I caught the first few impacts of fat raindrops on my head. I turned my face to the sky, eager to slake my thirst, knowing this may be the last chance I would get before my desperate escape. As the team bustled around setting up their camp, I tried desperately to think of a suitable distraction. Ideally, I¡¯d want to lure a creature here that could challenge Francis. Something powerful this close to the plain would be difficult to find, let alone lure out without arousing suspicion. I knew a few calls that could come in handy - mountain lion, bear, auroch, and a few species of birds ¨C but I was liable to get my teeth kicked in if I started hooting in the middle of the camp. Couldn¡¯t be sound then, too obvious. Smell¡¯s not really an option either, and taste was out. Sight then? But what could any creature see in this fucking forest? Anything I could do that they¡¯d see would mean they were already here in the first place, and I currently saw no animal-shaped distractions happily swanning around the camp. ¡°Get a fire going ¨C not too large, don¡¯t want to draw unwanted attention. I need some hot food if I¡¯ve got to sit through a thunderstorm. Will be good for the watch too. Get the kettle out Sven.¡± ¡°Right you are boss.¡± I nearly laughed with relief. Smoke, that would do it. I just had to make the not-too-large fire into a definitely-too-large fire somehow. Smiling to myself internally, I settled back into the cage in position 3 and waited to be released. It came no more than a bell later, my captors no doubt keen to get bedded down inside their canvas tents and out of the cold rain dripping through the canopy. I actually did let out a smile when I saw the sadistic one come to grab me, knowing he would give me more plausible deniability. The cage door clanged as it opened, and a thick arm thrust its way in, grabbing a handful of my robes and pulling me roughly out. I fought back, acting affronted that I would be handled in such a manner, going so far as to spit at the burly man as I was pulled out of the iron crate-on-wheels. His reaction was swift and outsized, as I had hoped. I was thrown bodily to the floor, a cacophony of swearing from the man as his boot sunk into my stomach. I groaned and flung myself in the air, not having to do much at all to simulate the movement, such was the force of his strike. Unfortunately for him, I landed directly on the small cooking fire that Sven was nursing. I rolled, at first just trying to spread the fire to as much of the still-dry underbrush as possible. Within a few heartbeats though, the heat started to become noticeable and my act became a frantic scrabble to put out the flames clinging to my heavy cloak. I eventually succeeded, although I¡¯d left a nasty burn on the wolf¡¯s fur cloak around my shoulder, and singed some of my hair, not to mention the reddened skin on my cheek that would likely develop into a proper burn soon. I barely looked up in time to block another hefty swing of a heavy boot coming at my face, and despite my hands shackled together, I diverted enough of the force to merely knock me on my back rather than break my nose outright. ¡°I¡¯m gonna make you bleed for that, boy.¡± The sweaty face and greasy hair of Sir Rib-Kicker leered down at me as he lifted his foot again, intent in kicking my teeth in. He was shoved off by an equally red-faced Sven, who seemed just as pissed, although at his companion rather than me, thank all the gods. ¡°Fuck off Shavkat, you ruined my trousers! There goes our fucking tea too, ya scrub.¡± He bellowed, pushing the burly man again. Shavkat for his part seemed bewildered, gesturing wildly down at my prone form as he raged back at Sven. ¡°It was his fault! Idiot boy spat in my face, you think I¡¯m gonna just let that slide!? And why are you pushing me, hm? Need me to remind you what happened last time a man got in my face like that?¡± Sven blanched at that, and Shavkat took a menacing step forwards, hand dropping to the handle of a thick knife at his belt, clearly noticing the change in demeanour and relishing the fear he put in his companion. For my part, I was bewildered as well. The burning red logs now scattered about the forest floor were catching in the underbrush. The wild grasses covering the plain were losing their grip on the land inside the forest, being replaced by carpets of mosses and pine needles, but given how close we were to the edge, the floor was still predominantly made up of tall yellow grasses. Grasses which acted like kindling, twirling and dancing in the overcast twilight as they shared their eager flames with each other. I watched in awe as the fire spread, snaking through the camp and climbing up one of the tents and another of the trees by way of dried, mossy vines. I gaped in amazement as I watched the two massive idiots argue and square off against the backdrop of their camp collapsing behind them, entirely unnoticed. Maybe they¡¯ll even come to blows and I can sneak away right now? ¡°Oi! Get your asses back here and clean up that fucking fire before I put both of you in that cage with the little bastard.¡± Francis¡¯s voice echoed around the clearing. No such luck then. The two arguing men abruptly stopped, no doubt hearing the anger in Francis¡¯s words, if not his tone, and deciding to listen rather than face his wrath. Rib-Kicker gave me a look that I¡¯m ashamed to say made me flinch a little, and he curled his lip before spitting at me, his smirk promising retribution that I definitely didn¡¯t want to be around to endure. The flames were quickly stamped out, water thrown over the vines and tent, surrounding us with the sound of hissing and spitting for a few moments. Then, without much fanfare, the fire was put back together, the camp reorganised and the evening continued on as normal. I caught Francis watching me out the corner of my eye a few times, but he didn¡¯t say anything, and for now seemed to buy the idea that I was a victim of circumstance rather than an instigator in the whole camp-on-fire oopsy we¡¯d just experienced. Good. I watched as smoke curled up and away from us, winding through the canopy and hopefully shining like a beacon in the sky above to mark our camp for every predator around. I certainly knew it was a risk, what with us being so close to the Dragon-Spines there could easily be a Cave-Bear or Rook or even one of the more fearsome apex predators like the Rakshasa around. That would push my plan from the ¡®just about success¡¯ category into the ¡®firmly dead¡¯ one. Nevertheless, I¡¯d made my bed, and now it was time to lie in it. Luckily for me, it was only a few bells later, when Rank was on watch and the embers had long since burned out, that I heard them. Rain spattered from leaves above, and wind howled quietly in the night when I heard the first growl. Chapter 39 - Following Leads That¡¯s the problem with killing; it gets easier every time ¨C unknown proverb
*Nathlan* It was impressive to see the speed at which Jorge and Vera could plan an operation like this. Word had come from Jorge¡¯s contact that the Crimson Lions¡¯ safehouse had been confirmed as occupied only a few days ago, and nobody had seen or heard of them leaving the city since. That was all that Jorge needed to decide it was time for a raid. Normally that would be a risky thing; to raid the safehouse of a mercenary outfit, unsure on their exact numbers and fighting strength, with no knowledge of traps or hidden exits. But it had been two days since Lamb had gone missing, and everyone was willing to take some liberties with risk if it meant a possible lead. Nathlan himself had spent the last two days roaming the streets of Colchet with Sally¡¯s tracker, hoping to pick up some faint sign of the artifacts¡¯ lingering presence, but to no avail. Jorge had been in contact with information brokers and various underworld elements to see if anyone had a lead, and Vera had to be talked down from striding right into the Council of Brothers in their fancy chamber and starting to crack heads until somebody gave her info about the Wielders of Azlan. It was just in time then, when Jorge got the news from his contact, and none of them wasted a moment longer than necessary to prepare. By the time Nathlan had strapped on his armour, belted on his sword and covered himself with a large cloak to obscure his figure, Jorge and Vera had already scrutinised maps and blueprints provided by Jorge¡¯s contact and come up with a plan of attack. A brief discussion as they moved quickly through empty streets, and then they were in position. So it was that Nathlan found himself crouched behind the eggshell-smooth side of a house in one of the lower districts of the canyon city, doused in shadow by the poor lighting of the lower levels, and with eyes on the door to the ¡®abandoned¡¯ warehouse. He focused on keeping his breath even and smooth, counting upwards to 30 as he ignored the various muffled bangs and crashes coming from inside the warehouse. The moment he exhaled his thirtieth breath, he knew it was time and darted forwards across the street. His sword was in his hand and his foot crashing into the door before he had fully inhaled his next breath, and then he was inside. The warehouse was a huge open space, with ¡®hallways¡¯ made of stacked crates at least 3 men tall dividing the giant room into a labyrinth of halls and small rooms. Nathlan instantly knew that their original plan would be out the window given the unexpected layout, but it was a vague plan for a reason. Vera and Jorge had breached the building ahead of him and planned to snare up any heavy resistance and draw the attention of all the fighters. Nathlan was to wait for that to occur and then break in through the back and assess. ¡®Assess¡¯ was a pretty broad action and left him with lots of creative freedom and was quite frankly a heart-warming display of the trust his two companions held in his abilities. Putting that freedom to the test, he decided against pushing forwards to the sounds of fighting ahead and to the left where Vera and Jorge were no doubt holding off a far greater number of enemies. Anyone they couldn¡¯t easily walk through would be too powerful for Nathlan anyhow. Instead, he decided to slip quietly through the hall of storage crates and take a turn to the right at the intersection. He kept his blade low and ready, ears pricked for any hint of an enemy. Slapping footsteps echoed through the building coming from further ahead and he quickly ducked up against the wall beside him, waiting with bated breath. The next moment, a broad-shouldered man with an ostentatiously detailed war-axe held in both hands careened round the corner and straight past him, heading no doubt to the cacophony of violent shouts and screams coming from the front of the building. Nathlan saw the man¡¯s eyes widen with alarm and his head twist to take him in as he ran past, but it was too late. Nathlan¡¯s blade darted out, snaking across the man¡¯s hamstring on the way out, and slicing down at his ankle as it retreated. The man screamed and fell to the floor, skidding along the scuffed stone, and Nathlan flashed towards him, blade already falling. To his credit, the man had twisted even as his leg gave out and a wild swing of the axe was all that kept his head on his shoulders, as Nathlan was forced to disengage. It brought him no more than a few heartbeats though, as Nathlan¡¯s bright blade whistled through the air, empowered by his skill Veracity¡¯s Edge which lent it a shining golden hew as it descended. The man, obviously much stronger than Nathlan was physically, was still bowed beneath the weight and pressure of the blow. His shoulders shook with the strain of holding off the strike, but he didn¡¯t break. The fanciful designs of his war-axe may make it look like something out of a noble boy¡¯s dreams, but the weapon was incredibly durable, and despite the power of Nathlan¡¯s skill empowered strike, it remained unblemished. Seeing the man recover, Nathlan quickly tried again. The window for taking advantage of his surprise was rapidly diminishing and the last position he wanted to be in was one where he faced a man far beyond him in levels. He could likely outrun the man now considering his first crippling blow, but it¡¯s possible he had a healing skill of some sort. Incredibly unlikely considering their rarity, but it was always dangerous to make assumptions that could kill you if they turned out to be wrong. He gritted his teeth and made a show of looking angry, snarling at the man on the floor as he raised his blade again. He once more infused spirit into Veracity¡¯s Edge, turning the blade golden and practically telegraphing his next move to the man. As expected, the warrior hunched once more, preparing to take the blow on the haft of the axe and slip aside. Unfortunately, Nathlan was a little smarter than to carry out the same strike twice, and so as the blade descended once more, he abruptly cut the flow of spirit to one skill and activated another instead, in the span of a single heartbeat. Deception¡¯s Call was the darker cousin to his previous skill, and his sword abruptly stopped shining, instead taking on an indistinct purple haze. Its primary function was to cut through lies and constructs of spirit, as he had used to such success above the Iona Chasm. Nathlan had found a secondary function though when he combined it with a third skill. It was extremely spirit intensive, and required immense concentration so wasn¡¯t easy to use in a fight without leaving himself exposed. But when it was applicable, it was worth the trade-off. His dark blade met the metal haft of the axe and clanged against it with only a fraction of the power of his previous strike. He strained against the man on the floor, who finally seemed to see his fortunes reversing, a cruel grin splitting his face as he realised that he possessed much greater strength than his attacker. Nathlan for his part was only glad the man hadn¡¯t pulled away yet. It still took him a few moments to pull together the focus required to activate two skills concurrently. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. A moment later though, it was over. Nathlan felt The Master¡¯s Tools activate, and most of his spirit left his core in a rush that left him feeling hollow and wrung out. His blade became incorporeal for a moment though, slipping straight through the haft of the war axe without damaging it. By the time he had deactivated the skill, his blade was already parting the skin of the man¡¯s shoulder. Nathlan heaved down with all his weight, cutting deep between the shoulder and neck of his opponent, who gurgled and slumped to the floor in response, his neck nearly severed by the blow. Nathlan shivered, sucking in air and pulling his blade free from the corpse as the system dinged in his mind. You have killed a Human (Azlan¡¯s Inheritor) (level 55). Experience gained. You have reached level 19. Attribute points available for allocation. You have reached level 20. Attribute points available for allocation. Skill ¡®Veracity¡¯s Edge¡¯ has increased in level. Veracity¡¯s Edge ¨C level 4 Skill ¡®Deception¡¯s Call¡¯ has increased in level. Deception¡¯s Call ¨C level 3 Skill ¡®The Master¡¯s Tools¡¯ has increased in level. The Master¡¯s Tools ¨C level 3 The man was barely into his 2nd tier, but it was still an impressive victory judging by the level discrepancy alone. Hard to consider it such though when Nathlan had started the fight by literally hamstringing his foe from hiding. Vera would approve. He quickly shook the thought off and ran back around the corner, hunting for any other mercenaries that may be holed up and waiting in ambush. He wouldn¡¯t be springing any if he found them, but it would be good to have intel for when Vera and Jorge finished up at the front. He eventually emerged into a small room, surrounded on all sides by stacked crates full of who knew what. Two heavy trunks lined one wall, thrown open and mostly empty, and a single desk sat against another. In the centre of the room was a firepit lined with stone blocks no doubt meant to be used as stools by people gathering around the fire. There was only one person here though, a young woman roughly Nathlan¡¯s age if he had to guess, frantically throwing letters and missives onto the fire, which was barely burning ¨C clearly it had been out for a long while and only the onset of the attack had caused the woman to stoke it back to life in the vain hope of burning the evidence of their activities. Nathlan leapt across the distance sword first and she stumbled back from the fire, dropping the bundle of papers in her hands onto the growing flames as she did so. His eyes darted between the unarmed woman and papers about to start crumpling in the heat, and he made a decision. ¡°Stay back!¡± he shouted, running forwards to kick the paper away from the fire, stamping out the bits that were already burning and attempting to keep as much legible as possible. He was taking a risk, and knew it too, but in that moment he judged the risk of losing the only potential lead they had on Lamb¡¯s whereabouts greater than the risk of turning away from an enemy during a fight. Besides, she was unarmed. He wasn¡¯t stupid though, making sure to keep his sword extended in her rough direction and stealing glances to check on her every few moments. All that meant that he wasn¡¯t entirely surprised when he felt something smack aside his blade, the sound of steel striking steel hitting him in almost the same instant that he looked over. She was already within his range, the short dagger plunging desperately towards his heart with deadly speed. Nathlan did his best to swivel, feeling his brigandine take the impact of the stab and thankfully hold. His chest felt like someone had sucker punched him though, breath whooshing from his lungs as he fell backwards. The Lion staggered past him with the momentum of her lunge, and almost without conscious thought he stabbed out, catching a clean thrust through her neck as she moved. She dropped like a puppet with her strings cut, dagger skittering away across the floor and blood pumping from her neck in a grisly fountain. He coughed a few times, gasping as air flooded his abused lungs once more. You have killed a Human (Crimson Cadet) (level 25). Experience gained. He shakily got to his feet in time for Jorge and Vera to round the corner. Vera was beside him in an instant, reaching for buckles and clasps with experienced hands. He pushed her off, stepping backwards and managing to get the words out despite his leaden tongue. ¡°Blood¡¯s not mine. Hers.¡± He pointed vaguely in the direction of the dead woman, blood pooling around her from her torn throat, and the glance over was enough to make his gorge rise. He stumbled away and vomited, bile spattering against the floor. Jorge started to gather the remains of the papers Nathlan had saved from the fire, keeping them out of reach of the growing pool of blood. Vera rested a hand on his shoulder and murmured soft words until he had calmed down. ¡°First time?¡± She asked, once he had regained some of his centre. He nodded shakily. ¡°Since I left Krakenport anyway.¡± He said, squeezing his eyes shut to push away the memory ¨C how easily his blade pushed had through flesh, the sickening resistance as it lodged for a moment in the trachea, then the moment after when it slipped through anyway. He shivered and listened to Vera as she talked to him about her first time killing a man. It wasn¡¯t a pleasant story, but there was a strange feeling of relief in hearing it. Like he wasn¡¯t the only one who had crossed that line. Like he wasn¡¯t alone with the sensation. Jorge had finished gathering the papers and completed a cursory sweep of the room. They retreated quickly, combing over every inch of the warehouse with quiet efficiency before slipping out the back door that Nathlan had entered through, and into the dark streets beyond.
Back at the inn, they each dug through a small pile of singed letters and scrolls. Nathlan seemed to be making the fastest progress out of the three ¨C an addiction to academic drama at least had the side benefit of making one proficient at trawling through papers. It was no surprise therefore, that he was the one to find the most useful missive. The scroll contained orders from a certain ¡®High Marshall of the Academy¡¯, although the name and most of the message was burned away. What little Nathlan could glean from the destroyed scroll was some sort of order of reassignment for a member of the ¡®esteemed house of D¡¯Sware¡¯ in order to take charge of the effort in Colchet. What exactly that effort entailed was either left out of the original message, or simply explained in the burned off sections, so Nathlan had no way of knowing. However, the fact that they were burning evidence before they left ¨C and doing in such a sloppy manner ¨C suggested that this was not necessarily a planned move. That the Lions unexpectedly disappeared around the same time that Lamb went missing was one hell of a coincidence. He set what was left of the scroll aside and continued on with renewed vigour, but ultimately found nothing else of value. Everything else was burned beyond legibility. Vera found some minor documents of interest ¨C enough to piece together that the Lions were on the lookout for a certain number of individuals, but no details on who they were or any descriptions ¨C those most likely burned or disposed of by the Lions before they left. It did confirm that the orders came from on high though, superseding any standing orders the Lions stationed in Colchet had previously had. It seemed likely that the new orders came along with the relocation of whoever was mentioned in the missive that Nathlan had found, but they were simply speculating at this point. The evidence was far from damning, but new orders coming in only a few weeks before their arrival, then the Lions disappearing at the same time that Lamb did was enough for all three of them to decide to pursue the lead. It was the best they had after all. It seemed insane to Nathlan that even with two high-level, experienced 3rd tier classers on the trail after no more than a few bells, Lamb could still go missing right under their noses. Given that it was clearly the case though, he was not particularly confident that they¡¯d be able to follow and track the Lions once they left the city, and he voiced that fear aloud once it became too loud rattling around in his head. Jorge looked at him with determination before answering, ¡°Aye, fair point. Difference is, I¡¯m not great at tracking through busy cities and under the earth. That¡¯s why I have contacts who can do it for me. But I promise you this lad, get me under the open sky out in the wilds and there¡¯s not a man or woman in Tsanderos under the 4th tier that I can¡¯t follow.¡± Vera came to stand at his back, her powerful frame scattering shadows around the room from where it partially blocked the glow of the lamp. It was strangely comforting. She nodded at him as she stood. ¡°Let¡¯s get him back then.¡± Chapter 40 - Shadows in the Night Everyone always asks what the greatest weapon I have wielded is. The God Cleaver, Last Dance of Shadows, Ol¡¯ Bessy here. I¡¯ve met more crafters than I can remember and received gifts of every variety. Even the mythical beasts I have faced have been forged into weapons. I¡¯ve always given the same answer though; the best weapon is the one you¡¯re familiar with. ¡®A blade in the hand is worth three in the sheath¡¯ as my Da used to say. Truthfully though, I think I was wrong. The greatest weapon I have ever wielded is desperation. - Words of Markuth Breeze-Born, as recorded by Archivist Al¡¯Rizan of the Sons of Ash
It was a familiar sound, one engrained so deeply into my very soul that I felt the reverberations travel down my spine, shaking me to my core. I was frozen for a moment, brought back to my very first night in this world, staring down the baleful gaze of a creature out for my blood. Something within me bristled at the fear though, and I felt my pathbound skill unfurl its metaphorical wings, the constellation in my soul-space beginning to spin once more, siphoning mana from my core without my conscious prompting and activating with a howl of its own. In an instant my mouth was filled with saliva, my hands were prickling, and blood was shunted to my muscles, priming me for a fight. Along with the bewildering swirl of sensations, my mind kicked back into gear and I sat up, swivelling this way and that to find the source of the noise. A pair of yellow eyes stared back at me from meters away, unmoving. I swallowed thickly. The eyes were far above me, surely at least shoulder height when I was standing ¨C this was not a simple Tarkenzi like I had faced before. I slowly stood, turning side-on to the creature, angling my body so that I was ready for a charge, but giving myself the opportunity to confirm there was nothing sneaking up behind me as I did. This may be a different beast than I¡¯d faced before, but so was I a different man. The manacles binding my hands clanked against the thick iron bar that held them together, and the chains leading from each wrist to the central plate tinkled with my shaking arms. I felt the central chain grow taught as I stood, keeping me from moving any further from the tree that it was wrapped around and secured to by a thick metal piton driven through the links. I thought to myself that panic would be a fairly appropriate response right now ¨C chained and manacled, without a weapon or armour, facing down a wolf nearly as tall at the shoulder as I was and likely twice as heavy. Strangely though, I was glad for it. Not only did the heavy iron plate serve as some sort of shield for me, and possibly even a weapon if I put some oomph into a swing, but the coming fight was something to struggle against. I¡¯d asked for this had I not? Intercession by some wandering beast? Ideally it would have attacked one of the others, but I suppose I did look to be the weakest of the herd. Another growl, saliva dripping from curled lips, glistening fangs contrasting with the dark of night in the dull light of the embers. I heard a muffled thump from across the camp where Sven was on watch, followed by a wet tearing sound, and I looked back to see a massive shadow slam into one of the tents. Instantly I knew I¡¯d made a mistake and dived to the side. I felt the rush of air displaced above my head from the wolf¡¯s charge and heard a snapping of heavy jaws. Landing, I rolled to my back and managed to bring my arms - and the plate on the end of them - up above me. An impact rocked me as paws hit my shoulders, and I flinched as saliva dripped onto my cheek. The lupine body atop me was strangely light, and I was surprised to find myself able to keep the jaws from my throat. I pushed back against the wolf above, straining through gritted teeth as it bore down, but with each heartbeat, I saw it moving further away, inch by inch. Teeth, clamped around the iron bar connecting my wrists, scrabbled for purchase and scraped against metal. Something changed suddenly, and I felt mana flood the air. The wolf¡¯s jaws bunched, and with a flash of silver light and a squeal of tortured metal, those teeth sheared through my restraints. The creature lifted its head, shaking from side to side to dislodge the heavy plate before finally throwing it into the bushes and focusing back on the man pinned below it. Unfortunately, its distraction had given me enough time to reorient myself, and as it moved to lunge towards my face, I slammed both wrists together around its neck. Jagged metal cut into pelt and then flesh, and I roared as I strained, shrimping my body to the side and yanking with all my strength to drive the creature off me and to the ground. An explosion of fire and sound lit up the night from my right, engulfing the tent that I¡¯d seen the shadows fall into, and the figure of Sven appeared, wreathed in fire and bellowing a war-cry as he threw the body of another massive wolf over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Something whistled over my head, and I heard the sickening smack of rock against flesh. Turning, I saw the wolf that I¡¯d wrestled with curling around its now ruined hip, mewling weakly, a heavy stone larger than my head lying cracked on the ground next to it. ¡°Boy! Get back to the cage! Rank will protect you.¡± Francis¡¯s deep voice boomed across the camp. I turned to see the powerful warrior and leader of the group swing his axe one handed, thudding into the body of another shadowy wolf that was lifted off its feet with the impact. Its yelp was lost in a maelstrom of noise as snarls and grunts mixed together with the crackling of fire. He looked back at me, gesturing wildly to the iron cage, metal door propped invitingly open. Rank was making his way over, Rib-Kicker not far behind him, both fighting through the burning detritus of the camp that Sven had set alight, and at least four of the shadow-wolves, all lunging with silver jaws bared wide. Rib-Kicker was closest after slipping past one wolf and braining another with his mace, and he beckoned me over. I stared in shock for a moment, wondering why in all the world he would ever expect me to voluntarily come with him, but then I heard a much lower growl behind me. It felt like it shouldn¡¯t have been audible, shaking the ground I stood on ever so slightly. If I thought I¡¯d heard the first growl in my spine, this one set my entire skeleton to tingling. I turned again to see a dozen sets of yellow eyes blazing from the underbrush, and two sets far higher than the others. I wondered at first if a couple of wolves had leapt into the lower branches of the pine trees surrounding us. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! It wasn¡¯t until I saw a shoulder emerge from the darkness, brushing against a trunk as thick around as my entire torso, and the trunk was pushed aside, did I realise I was in fact looking at a simply enormous wolf. It had to be at least 12 foot high as it padded forwards, and where its brothers were pitch black, this one looked to suck in all surrounding light, its fur glossy with darkness. Shadows dripped from its open jaw as it pounded the earth with its front foot, and I felt a hand grab my shoulder, pulling me backwards. I flinched and looked around again, seeing Sven pulling me away while Rib-Kicker hefted his mace and took position in front of me, stepping backwards slowly ¨C careful to keep his weight evenly distributed to avoid being caught flat-footed if the massive beast charged. I was still trying to process things ¨C it was one thing to know that creatures far more powerful and magical existed in the world, but another thing entirely to stand face to face with one. To witness something so frankly awe-inspiring, it shifted my perspective of what was possible yet again. If a wolf could grow to be so fucking massive, what could I achieve? Not much trapped in a cage, that¡¯s for sure. I allowed Sven to lead me back through the camp, backing away the whole time. I did idly wonder what was keeping them back at all. Sure, we could likely all take a few of those smaller wolves, especially when fully armed and armoured, but all the weapons in the world wouldn¡¯t give me much faith in Sven, Rank, Rib-Kicker or myself for that matter when faced with the titanic wolf of shadow. Turning again to look behind, I saw Francis standing utterly still, staring straight at the edge of the tree-line where I knew the two massive wolves still waited. He looked calm, despite the obvious chaos surrounding him, and I had absolute certainty in that moment that my threat assessment for him had been way off. 2nd tier at least. If he was able to give those creatures pause with his mere presence, I wasn¡¯t keen to imagine what he was capable of if truly roused to fury. But then there must have been a reason he wasn¡¯t intervening himself as well. If he felt confident in slaying them without endangering himself, his men, or his captive, then I¡¯m sure he would be in there with his axe already. A stalemate then, and one I would not be able to take advantage of much longer. I hardened my heart, resigning myself to a bitter flight through the trees and then probably death by wolf. At least it¡¯d be on my own terms though. A bitter thought honestly. I hardly had a story as inspiring as that of the Hero of Altine, no reason to be remembered by much of anyone. Was there much point risking death for this? Fuck it though, I wasn¡¯t getting back in that cage. At that moment, I tripped. Cloven-Hooved ensured I caught myself before actually falling, and all Sven saw was a brief shuffle of my feet, but that near-fall was enough to drag my attention to the floor. Rather than a tent-pole or log from the fire like I expected, I saw a dull metallic glow, firelight reflecting from a copper rod. My mind struggled for a few moments, trying to categorise the sight as some sort of cooking pot or the like, before I felt the recognition sweep through me. The smooth wood, studded copper along the haft and a lanceolate blade at one end ¨C my spear. Without taking any more time to think, I shrugged Sven¡¯s hand off my shoulder, ducked to the floor and grabbed the spear in hand. I stepped sideways even as my other arm searched the ground for the shield beside it, before my fingers grabbed the metal edge. I pulsed my mana, feeling two artifacts shine in my soul, as the connection between us snapped into place. ¡°Wha-?¡± I heard Sven turn but ignored it, pushing off the floor and bursting into a sprint, body low and aiming directly at the back of Rib-Kicker. Francis¡¯s voice followed me, and the fury within was almost enough to make me reconsider. ¡°Boy! Don¡¯t y-¡° Almost. I continued on in a frantic sprint, but the call was enough to alert Rib-Kicker, who turned in time to take in the scene. With no more than a few meters between us, I saw him react with commendable speed, raising his mace in a sideways swing to knock aside my spear as it sliced towards his neck. It was an impressive reaction, speaking to a familiarity with violence that was probably to be expected from what I knew of the sadistic prick, but still took me by surprise. I could see the satisfaction in his eyes as he realised his mace would intercept my spear-tip when it was only inches from his throat, and I knew he was already imagining the beating he would give me after he¡¯d subdued me. Unfortunately for him I had planned ahead, and mana was already surging across the link between me and the spear. There was a thunk! as the internal gearing within the haft of the weapon was activated by the mana through the artifact link, and another foot of metal behind the blade shot forwards, delivering the leaf-shaped blade straight into his neck. It emerged from the other side of his body in time for the shaft to be hit by the heavy mace in his hand, smashing the blade to the right and near-enough severing his entire neck through. I barrelled into him only a heartbeat later, wrapping an arm around his waist and driving upwards, carrying his almost-headless body on one shoulder, shield pinned against his back and spear jumping in my right arm as it pumped back and forth as I sprinted towards the trees. I heard a bellowing snarl from somewhere in front, and the pattering of small feet on the forest floor. I had no time to form a coherent plan, no complicated string of actions that would intertwine to create a masterfully predicted outcome. Instead, I did what I do best; made a series of uninformed, likely stupid, and objectively sub-optimal decisions in the heat of the moment, and fell from one bad situation right into another. I roared a challenge, leaning on the domain of Indomitable Prey to hopefully make the smaller wolves hesitate before leaping at me. At the same time, I threw the increasingly limp body of the virtually decapitated Rib-Kicker into the air above me and dove forwards in a low roll. There was a nauseating crunch as a pair of jaws larger than my entire body slammed shut on the corpse above, and I saw in slow motion a pair of massive paws hit the earth to either side of me. I activated check-step and the heightened reactivity it supplied allowed me to roll back to my feet underneath the belly of the creature. The thought briefly flashed through my mind that if I wanted to kill it, now would be the best time, as a spear to the gut would no doubt be a crippling wound, even for one of such stature. Luckily, better sense prevailed, as I prioritised appropriately and dashed out from beneath it and into the woods behind. A weight slammed into me from the left and I was knocked to the floor, breath driven from my lungs. Another snarling snout greeted me, surging over the lip of my shield to bite at my exposed throat. I jerked my shoulder up in response and leaned back, buying myself enough space to survive to the next breath. It was all I needed. Another surge of mana through the link to my second artifact and the top segment of the shield, currently supporting the neck and one of the front paws of the wolf that was clamouring to rip my throat out, abruptly retracted back into the centre of the shield. The wolf¡¯s momentum forced it to fall down between the two segments on either side, and even as it made to surge forwards, I wrenched to the side, rolling my body around and over to mount it, with my shield bearing down on its neck to press its face to the earth. Three quick, heavy blows from my fist shattered its skull, and I pushed off into the night, heart pounding a furious rhythm. I tried to ignore the ringing in my mind, the first system messages I¡¯d received in what felt like months, as I ran flat out through the trees, no particular destination in mind other than away. Away from the thuds of steel on flesh, away from the roar of titanic wolves and unbeatable warriors, away from the smell of burning fabric and blood and shit. Away from the fighting. Away from everything. I sprinted through the forest, weaving past trees, hurdling over moss-covered rocks, ignoring the wondrous sights of fluorescent mushrooms, enormous trees and lush hanging vines. Slowly, as I scrambled up steep rock faces and leapt from shelf to shelf, as I crested hills and slid through ravines, I began to calm. Long ago had I stopped hearing any signs of the fight, and if I¡¯d turned to look back, I would have seen the smoke distant on the horizon. Instead, I kept running, heedless of the world behind. Chapter 41 - Hunting the Hunted ¡®Fish don¡¯t fear the current, even when it pushes them into the jaws of the gator. When the current pulls, go with it.¡¯ ¨C Proverb of the Plutash peoples of the southern deltas. There is some controversy around the translation of this proverb, with arguments that it is satirical in nature, meant to mock wise elders that council patience to the young. Others disagree, and suggest it is simply our own biases that prevent us from seeing the wisdom in it. The River-Runners were a collective culture, and so the sacrifice of one to maintain the status quo is not inherently evil as we would see it. A single fish can save the shoal, and to disrupt the current would be to change the river itself ¨C it is a call for patience, for stepping back and seeing the wider picture. A confirmation that acting in one¡¯s own self-interest can be detrimental to the whole. Considering that the tablet this proverb is traced from also contains several drawings of an oversized phallus with comically small testicles, I think it is safe to conclude the former interpretation is the correct one. Do not give the ancients credit they do not deserve ¨C they were people just like us. - Excerpt from ¡®historiography and the dangers of revisionism¡¯ by Scholar Rostruik.
*Nathlan* Nathlan knelt in the stiff grass, cursing to himself as another of the strangely spiky plants stabbed him in the back of the knee. How was that even possible? He was kneeling! The only thing stabbing the back of his knee should be his own calf. He cursed aloud a moment later when he ran his hand down the thick cloak bunched around his knee and found nothing spikey at all. He heard Jorge¡¯s low chuckle and glared daggers at the man, who for his part looked entirely unruffled by it. ¡°We¡¯re in the steppes lad, best get used to a few prangs every now and again. Easier to cope if you stop trying to work out how and just accept it as fact.¡± Nathlan held his gaze for a moment before standing up, dusting off his knees and deciding to squat above the tracks they were examining rather than risk the ire of the grasses again. He ignored Jorge¡¯s raised eyebrow and focused, listening as the older man pointed out the particular details that he never would have placed significance on without prompting. ¡°¡­the grass here is depressed further than on the other side, Y¡¯see?¡± Jorge asked, and Nathlan answered without thinking. ¡°Yes, but isn¡¯t that to be expected? We know ¨C based on what those traders told you ¨C that he¡¯s being carried in a cage with only two wheels, and it lacks the space to properly stretch out. He¡¯d more than likely be leaning on one side or the other, rotating regularly to ensure blood flow and ameliorate the confinement as much as possible.¡± Jorge nodded patiently, pointing with one finger close to the edge of one of the wheel-tracks. ¡°Yep, but look here ¨C see the weave of the grass? Thicker than elsewhere, and the same is true as far as I can see. The wheel is heading over a much thicker weave of grasses, and yet still its decompressed to this degree. What does that mean?¡± ¡°¡­that one side is bearing more weight? So, he¡¯s leaning against one side, as I just said¡± Nathlan answered, confused as to where his mentor was going with this line of questioning. Jorge sighed. ¡°Aye lad, possibly, but that don¡¯t seem too likely now when we consider what you just said about him regularly changing positions, right? If we assume it¡¯s not related to misbalanced weight on the cart ¨C and remember, the grass is thicker on this side for likely miles so it would have to be a big difference in weight to create the extra force needed to cause this decompression¡­¡± Both men stared at each other, one expectant and hopeful, the other blank and uncomprehending. Jorge sighed again. ¡°¡­then its likely due to the different forces pulling the cart. Two people pulling the cart, both with different strength, causing the imbalance. One is pulling harder to keep it aligned correctly as the other struggles to keep up. It¡¯s like your brain just shuts off when it¡¯s not related to magic, you know that son?¡± Nathlan looked indignantly back at him and opened his mouth, ¡°Not this again you old bast-¡°, but he cut off with a yelp. Leaping into the air and whirling around, he found Vera grinning with a pointy grass stalk in hand, withdrawing her hand from where it had jabbed out at him while he was distracted by Jorge¡¯s stupid lessons. A few more rounds of squabbling ensured, but the lesson wrapped there for the day, even Jorge¡¯s venerable patience fraying when confronted by Nathlan¡¯s obstinate lack of affinity for anything not magic-related. When sat around their campfire in the evening, the plains stretching out around them for miles unending, a more serious conversation took place. ¡°We know he is unlikely to be harmed. A hostage is no use if already dead, and we¡¯ve seen no evidence of torture or significant injury in our hunt.¡± Vera said, seeking to reassure the worry Nathlan had expressed. ¡°Aye, but we don¡¯t know for sure. We¡¯ve not had a perfect line on them the whole way, and we wouldn¡¯t necessarily expect to see evidence from the tracks alone.¡± Jorge countered. Nathlan watched her lean forward across the fire and could almost imagine the flames in her eyes were from within rather than simply a reflection. ¡°It¡¯s Lamb, Jorge. If they hurt him, you know he¡¯d make them pay for it.¡± ¡°Vera, I know you like the lad but he¡¯s new to this, he not-¡° ¡°I know he wouldn¡¯t win Jorge, I¡¯m not a child. But he¡¯d fucking hurt them, and we¡¯d see some of that blood. He¡¯d also leave a sign somehow ¨C It wouldn¡¯t be easy.¡± Nathlan chimed in then; ¡°As much as I want to agree with you Vera ¨C and I do desperately hope you¡¯re right ¨C they¡¯ve got an experienced one leading them. They¡¯re not all desk-jockeys and cannon fodder. You saw the reports.¡± She nodded but smiled slightly at that rather than be put off. ¡°Yes, and you saw that safe-house same as me. Well organised ¨C at least the part run by the Lions and not those Azlan fucks ¨C run clean and straight to regulations I¡¯d wager. That D¡¯Sware scion is sure to be experienced, but that works in our favour. Never rough up a hostage before the first round of negotiations. They know I¡¯d never be willing to trade if he was already brutalised ¨C where would be the trust that we¡¯d get him back?¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Nathlan pounced on the last part, circling back to an old conversation once more. ¡°So we¡¯re confident that they kidnapped him as a hostage to use against you? We¡¯re running with that theory?¡± Jorge leaned forwards to add another log to the fire, ostensibly poking and prodding at the existing ones to get the optimal position, although Nathlan secretly suspected he just liked hearing the pop and hiss of wax burning, and the dancing of the flames. ¡°Yeah, we reckon that¡¯s why. Only theory we got really. They cleared out as soon as they got him, left in a hurry too. Orders we could decode suggested they were looking for someone, and the fact it was such a light presence even in Colchet fits too with the idea they¡¯ve got troops out all over ¨C looking to cover a wider net.¡± ¡°But why go to such lengths? Why not try and take out Vera directly?¡± Nathlan asked, struggling to wrap his mind around the seemingly illogical plan of the Crimson Lions they were following. ¡°It ain¡¯t that easy to just kill Vera lad, you know that. Besides, they don¡¯t have enough 3rd tiers anywhere outside of the sunsets to send them all on suicidal missions. Its not like they haven¡¯t lost two squads already in the attempt, as well as the Talons we killed back in the Unclaimed Peaks. They were likely to just wait and report back our movements so HQ could stage a better ambush. When they saw him separated, they just took the opportunity for what it was.¡± Nathlan nodded, accepting the answer but still unable to ignore the twinging feeling that something was wrong with the explanation. He chased that feeling, following the web of logic and trying to look at each event in turn, to see what jumped out. The Lions had left Colchet quickly, which made sense either way, whether it was pre-planned or a spur-of-the-moment decision. But they left so quickly. By the time Jorge and Nathlan had checked in with Sally and realised Lamb had been taken by somebody, the Lions were likely already out of the city. Vera had joined them only half a bell later at the inn, and they¡¯d shared their news. They¡¯d searched the city for a day and half, and as soon as Jorge¡¯s information broker got them the location of the Crimson Lions¡¯ safe house, they¡¯d raided it within a bell. They¡¯d found it cleared out, only non-essentials left and most of the likely secret orders burned or destroyed somehow. What little was left had been decoded to the best of their ability and seemed to be low-level marching orders; ingratiate with the local criminal underground, keep an eye out for somebody or something ¨C that bit was unclear as a bunch of documents were missing ¨C and get out of dodge quickly if they found that someone or something. It could make sense that they had just happened upon Lamb while going about their business, and somehow knew about his connection to Vera, and made a split-moment decision to kidnap him. But then how had they cleared up and left so quickly? How did they have a portable cage just lying around? As a mercenary company operating a secret cell in a city far from their country, they were not likely to be in the business of transporting prisoners. They¡¯d probably managed to slip out quickly due to the lack of city guard resource due to the ongoing incursion deep within the canyon, but that had only preceded Nathlan and his friend¡¯s arrival by a few weeks. Surely they¡¯d not been running a covert kidnapping campaign for long enough to warrant regular use of that cage? He shook away the questions and focused on the moment, turning to Jorge. ¡°So how old are those tracks we were following today?¡± He sighed, scrubbing at his face as if to alleviate the bad news. ¡°Two days at least, likely more like four though. Its hard to tell in the steppes, weather being what it is, but I¡¯d expect we¡¯re travelling quicker than they are, and I¡¯d hope to close that gap within a day or two. Let¡¯s get some rest, we¡¯re up in 4 bells.¡± With that, he clapped his hands against his thighs and groaned as he rose to his feet, heading to the bedroll laid out on the floor.
They came upon the remains of a burnt camp, blood staining the trees and undergrowth, and bodies littering the floor. Most had been pecked clean, indicating it had been a day or two at the least since whatever calamity had befallen them. Vera was wearing that smile she did whenever she considered the Crimson Lions ¨C vicious and almost gleeful if he was being uncharitable, grimly satisfied if he was being generous. The truth was likely somewhere in between, but he couldn¡¯t fault the woman for her spitefulness given her history. She kept it well under control, and he¡¯d never seen her be actively cruel to anyone ¨C a swift death was all she granted her enemies, at least in front of him. That was good enough for Nathlan. Jorge picked his way through the camp, analysing and recreating a picture of what happened in his mind. It was impressive enough that he had smelled the carnage from such a distance ¨C near enough 20 miles of open plains and he¡¯d caught the scent, alerting them to what they would find when they arrived a couple of bells later. They¡¯d obviously increased their pace, none of them needing to say it to know they were all worried that Lamb¡¯s luck had finally run out. The results seemed promising so far though. Lamb¡¯s body wasn¡¯t in evidence, the camp was destroyed and the shackles broken, and one of the captors already dead. Jorge returned from his circuit after another stretch of time in which Nathlan rested, preparing his body for another pursuit through the hills. He¡¯d always hated hill-running, but he knew Lamb. If the man was free, he¡¯d head for the hills, sure as Nathlan himself would head for the back of the library ¨C all the best scrolls were hidden in the dark corners at the back after all. ¡°Thoughts?¡± Vera asked as The Shepard wondered over, his overlapping broiled leather armour hissing softly with each movement. ¡°You were right, the little bastard¡¯s slipped away. Looks like he made them pay too ¨C that dead one looks to have been killed by a spear to the throat, clean strike too.¡± He puffed out his cheeks as he said it, not looking as satisfied as Nathlan would expect. Vera, of course, was grinning fiercely at that, slapping Jorge on the shoulder encouragingly. ¡°Anyhow, looks like the camp was attacked by shadow-wolves in fair numbers, a couple of 2nd tiers amongst them by my guess. There was a fight, Lamb slipped his shackles somehow and ran, and the others followed afterwards. Seems D¡¯Sware and the two others with them were relatively unharmed, so most of the blood belongs to the wolves. There is sign of a fire that I think predates the attack though, so I¡¯m not too sure what to make of it. Guess we¡¯ll find out from the man himself when we catch up. Two days.¡± The last was delivered quickly, in response to Vera questioning eyebrow. Nathlan had been travelling with the two for nearly two years now, and he was still amazed by how well they knew each other sometimes. It was easy to forget, with Jorge¡¯s casual old man antics, and Vera¡¯s focus on pottery, poetry and other unlikely arts, that both had been fighting and killing together for near enough a decade. He shivered to think of facing either of them on the battlefield. Vera was obviously a monster, but he found it was Jorge that he dreaded the most. Something about the quiet, understated confidence, the economy of movement and the ease with which he navigated the world ¨C despite his token groans and complaints ¨C set alarm bells ringing as if a leviathan had been spotted and the great sea wards needed raising once more. It didn¡¯t hurt that Vera seemed to regard him as a peer also. Glad to have them onside I guess, he thought to himself, readying his legs for days of hard climbing. They exchanged a few more words, shouldered their weapons, and off they ran. Chapter 42 - Finally, Progress Once More There seems to be a curious tension among our fellow academics when it comes to the way they write and speak about so called ¡®invasive species¡¯. Obviously, we are all aware of the prejudices displayed by our less esteemed fellows in the social professions ¨C and best not even mention the humanities! ¨C when it comes to the state of migration and ownership over land and resources by people, but I feel few among us are willing to address the very real errors we ourselves harbour. We think that because we study the earth itself, its varied species and its current formations, that we are immune from such errors of perspective, but we are not. Just because we do not study the political does not mean we are not beholden to it. Consider the term ¡®invasive species¡¯; what does it imply? That a certain species shouldn¡¯t be here, in this place, at this time. But why? Is that not what creatures do? Roam to new places, outcompete the locals or die off into obscurity. That is how the world works. At the heart of the term is a moral judgement; that the way the world is, here and now, is right. That it should stay as such. Now some may even agree with that statement, but few could argue that it¡¯s not a moral supposition, or that its one based solely on scholarly rigour. I wish to challenge not just the assumption that we should seek to keep our ecosystems constant in the here and now, but also a deeper assumption that lies below. The belief that there was a time in the recent past, when everything was right. The perfect balance of fauna and flora has never existed. Our home has been a constant battleground for untold generations, a crucible of struggle for supremacy, as each organism fights to establish dominion over its niche. Climatic upheavals are always just around the corner, and there is no mythical era of beauty that we can harken back to. The world simply IS, and we are within it. Let that be enough. - Opening speech to the 14th Convenance of the Scholars Biotica, held within the White Tower Consortium, circa .233
Splashing through a stream once more, I sucked in a breath as I saw the broken reflection of the sky above. I whirled to look up and saw the deep reds and vibrant yellows of an aurora snake its way across the night, impossibly vast and beautiful as anything I¡¯d ever seen. It occurred to me then that this was the first time I¡¯d stopped in an age. My breath was ragged, legs tired and shoulders aching from carrying the weight of my spear and shield. Given my enhanced attributes, I must have been running for a few bells at least at quite a pace to be able to reach this level of exhaustion so quickly. And to have not noticed it, I must have been continuously using my aura skill. After confirming I wasn¡¯t about to be attacked by any predators lurking nearby, I slowed my breathing and slipped into my soul-space, observing my core. It was barely alight, the silvery mana that trickled in at the bottom of my core in a constant draw from the environment all that sustained it. I had so little mana within me that even my pathbound aura skill had been unable to sustain itself. I needed to rest. I could neither hear, see, smell or otherwise sense any signs of pursuit by my erstwhile captors, but that wasn¡¯t really much to go on. I didn¡¯t expect to get much warning before I was caught, if they ever caught up to me. Perhaps they¡¯d skip the capture and just straight up kill me? Couldn¡¯t be sure that wouldn¡¯t be preferable too; after I¡¯d killed one of their own, I doubt their treatment of me would be particularly great. Thoughts churning, I turned and headed upstream through the little creek I had stopped in the middle of, in an effort to obscure any tracks I¡¯d made. With icy cold water sloshing against my boots, I turned my attention to the subtle chiming in my mind, relying once again on Cloven-Hooved to keep my footing steady on the moss-slick rocks. You have killed an Umbral Wolf (level 33). Experience gained. You have killed an Umbral Wolf (level 31). Experience gained. You have killed an Umbral Wolf (level 29). Experience gained. You have killed a Human (Crimson Fang) (level 35). Experience gained. Well, that confirms a few things. Firstly, I now knew that I received experience not just for creatures that I¡¯d landed the finishing blow on, but also those that I helped kill alongside others. I still didn¡¯t know for sure if there was a threshold of damage I needed to do to be recognised by the system as deserving of experience, if a set amount of experience existed for each creature that I killed, or how my combat class differed from support classes in the experience I gained from kills. So, while I¡¯d gained confirmation that the final blow wasn¡¯t necessarily required, I still knew almost nothing. Can¡¯t believe I¡¯ve never asked Jorge about this before. I also now had confirmation that creatures didn¡¯t seem to have a class. Or rather, their class was not distinct from their species in any meaningful way. Given that the human I¡¯d killed was clearly Rib-Kicker ¨C shame I never got his real name honestly ¨C and I¡¯d received information on what must have been his class, that meant that the system did show class information on these ¡®kill notifications¡¯ if the enemy had one¡­or so I suspected. A sample of one was a little small to be making sweeping generalisations by, but then again, what was I supposed to do? Start killing more people just to confirm things? I shivered at the thought though, for I knew that he wouldn¡¯t be the last human I killed. I had at least three more chasing me, and while the world was in some ways less outright brutal than I¡¯d assumed it would be given the insane inequality between the powerful and the weak in terms of sheer might, the fact that these mercenaries were so blas¨¦ about wheeling me around in a cage through hundreds of miles of open ground on well-travelled roads meant the practice was likely not that uncommon. Come to think of it though¡­I hadn¡¯t seen a single other person during my four days of capture. Not a single person on the roads. We had stopped on occasion, wheeling off-road through underbrush every now and then, so perhaps that was in an effort to avoid other travellers? We also spent significant time cutting directly through the steppe lands, and I supposed the common presence of people with enough strength to pull huge loads on their backs without strain would make road networks less important? Anyway, this was all irrelevant. Get yourself back on track. I didn¡¯t need to be the one to kill something to gain experience, and animals didn¡¯t have classes distinct from their species. I¡¯d not actually fought many creatures with powerful abilities beyond their own enhanced physicality yet, and so I¡¯d not had the chance to really consider it, but presumably this meant that if I fought a creature that displayed a certain ability ¨C say, a powerful bite attack that could crush heavy iron ¨C then all other creatures of the same species I encountered would have that ability as well. It wasn¡¯t exactly confirmed, but I would work with that as fact for now. If nothing else, I would be more careful when engaging in a fight with a new animal I¡¯d not fought before. With how my thoughts were jumping all over the place and refusing to stick to a single tack, I could tell I was nearing true exhaustion. A judicious application of will brought my fraying mind back under my control enough to focus on the remaining notifications. You have reached level 26. Attribute points available for allocation. You have reached level 27. Attribute points available for allocation. You have reached level 28. Attribute points available for allocation. I quickly distributed the attributes, putting an entire level¡¯s worth into endurance immediately. I then shared them between the other attributes with a slight focus on perception, hoping that would give me an edge when it came to tracking and survival in the wild. I nearly groaned at the feeling of a full 15 points of pure power surging through my body, changing me on a primal level and again reconfiguring what I thought was possible. Almost instantly I felt the exhaustion pushed just a little further away, my body feeling simultaneously both lighter and more solid, and the innumerable aches that I was trying my best to ignore became a little quieter once again. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. With a final flick of attention, I read through the notifications of my skill upgrades from the recent fight. Skill ¡®Wilderness Endurance Hunter¡¯ has increased in level. Wilderness Endurance Hunter ¨C level 7 This must be entirely due to the Running skill that was incorporated into the larger merged skill, since I had definitely not done any Meat Preparation or Foraging in the last few days. Unless cutting a man¡¯s head off counts as butchery now? Fuck, that was a macabre thought ¨C I need some rest. Skill ¡®Cloven-Hooved¡¯ has increased in level. Cloven-Hooved ¨C level 8 Another two levels as well for my movement/balance skill. Makes sense ¨C I should run for my life for most of a night through unknown mountain woodlands more often. Skill ¡®Check-Step¡¯ has increased in level. ¡®Check-Step¡¯ ¨C level 7 Just a single level, but I¡¯d only activated it twice in the frantic rush, and it seemed a relatively slow skill to level anyway based on its progress so far. Skill ¡®Hill-Folk¡¯ has increased in level. ¡®Hill-Folk¡¯ ¨C level 7 Another unsurprising addition. A single level in a skill that primarily provided me with general toughness, in response to putting my body through physical hell while in danger. This wouldn¡¯t be a fun one to level in future, I suspected. Skill ¡®Indomitable Prey¡¯ has increased in level. ¡®Indomitable Prey¡¯ ¨C level 8 Two levels in my pathbound skill. That¡¯s strange. Despite using it non-stop for most of a night, I was surprised by that increase. It had never jumped two levels from a single fight, no matter how hectic, and usually levelled fastest when I was directly pushing against the influence of someone or something else trying to dominate me. But then Jorge had said that it was, due to it being a pathbound skill, more heavily affected by my choices and decisions rather than purely my actions. While the fight and following flight themselves hadn¡¯t been huge for the skill, the decision to break away from my captors, to refuse bondage and relative safety, to refuse to be swept along in the currents of others and the decision to risk it all forging my own path forwards¡­perhaps that was responsible for the relatively fast increase in levels? Skill ¡®Skirmisher of Antiquity¡¯ has increased in level. ¡®Skirmisher of Antiquity¡¯ ¨C level 4 And finally, some levels in my weapons-skill. It was a very short fight, using my spear and shield only once or twice, depending on how you would define ¡®using¡¯ anyway, and so it was almost a surprise to gain two levels. However, I¡¯d been training for weeks on end now with the it and had pushed my theoretical understanding of the skill and familiarity with its forms well past my practical experience in lethal combat; the moment I used that knowledge on the battlefield, the system rewarded me with levels. I was personally hoping to ride out the foundations I¡¯d built with Jorge, Vera and Nathlan in the sparring ring all the way to level 10 in this skill, but time would ultimately tell how viable that goal was. Skills reviewed, I was surprised to feel a single notification left pinging in my mind, like a thorn prickling at my shin ¨C barely noticeable when busy but the moment I was no longer distracted, it became incredibly irritating. Skill gained ¨C Tinkering. No open skill slots available, skill unable to integrate. Do you wish to merge into a greater skill? Options: Guerrilla Warfare I blinked, surprised by the notification and then the option it was giving me. I paused for a moment, wondering what the skill ¡®Tinkering¡¯ actually involved. The moment I did, new information flashed through my mind. Tinkering ¨C Active. With a curious mind, you have manipulated and deconstructed the tools and weapons you wield, and with the help of others you have improved them. You are no engineer to create something entirely knew, but you can tinker around the edges, making subtle improvements. Your changes are quantitative rather than qualitative, but small ripples can still change the face of the lake. This skill will aid you in visualising and actualising minor improvements to your gear. Further levels will increase the scope and execution of such changes. It seemed like an obviously useful skill, and I was glad to add it to my collection. It was clear where the skill had come from ¨C it seemed using the weapons I¡¯d helped create was the only missing piece to receiving the skill after my time in Colchet with Sally the Tinkerer, and that piece was missing no longer. I accepted the merger. Skill ¡®Tinkering¡¯ merged with Guerrilla Warfare. Integration complete. It would synergise well with Improvised Weapons as well by the sounds of it and would fit well into the merged skill of Guerrilla Warfare, so there was little danger of ruining that skill. I knew I needed to be careful of diluting a merged skill with too many additions that took away from its central purpose, but that didn¡¯t seem to be the case here at all. The only real downside was that I was adding a relatively low-levelled skill to a higher merged skill, and thus would have to focus heavily on levelling Tinkering to get it to a point of parity with the rest of the skills within Guerrilla warfare before the whole merged skill could level further. This was somewhat off-set though by the massive influx of experience with the Tinkering skill I¡¯d received already. It seemed designing, creating and using two artifacts was a big enough deal to garner me a fair few levels in the skill right off the bat, despite the fact that¡¯d I¡¯d had significant help. Come to think of it, working with a 2nd tier tinkerer to design and create the weapons was probably responsible for me gaining the skill to begin with. Sally¡¯s influence on me during the design and pickup of the artifacts was likely more significant than I¡¯d first thought, or else every noble, general, or requisitions officer in the world would probably have a million skills related to bartering and supplying and who knew what else. Huh. Thanks Sally. Again, I yanked my thoughts into order. Time for a final review of my status before actually looking to the immediate future. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 28 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 24 Agility: 24 Endurance: 27 Perception: 26 Cognition: 24 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 8. Passive. Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 7. Passive. Cloven-Hooved: Level 8. Passive. Heart of the Hills: Level 3. Active. Check Step: Level 7. Active. Hill-Folk: Level 7. Passive. Indomitable Prey: Level 8. Active. Skirmisher of Antiquity: Level 4. Passive. I really needed to bring Heart of the Hills up to standard with the rest. I was soon to hit the soft cap at level 10 for most of my skills, and I was hoping to push through it with each of them before my 2nd tier. As far as Jorge had explained to me, skills became a lot harder to level beyond level 10. Scholars still argued about the exact mechanics, but the practical point was that each skill level required far more experience, time and intent to reach. Support classes needed to include an element of experimentation, pushing the boundaries and truly connecting to their skills to reach past the soft cap, while combat classers had the opposite problem. Because of the violent way we increased our skills, the first 10 levels were a rush ¨C as long as we survived that is. Things slowed down at the soft level cap because combat classers were required to truly understand their skills and gain a solid foundation in the skills before progressing them. This was easy in theory, but needed to be backed up by experience using the skills themselves for their purpose, which meant a large amount of actual violence, hence a lot of death, and few combat classers making it past the soft cap. Nothing I needed to concern myself with now, but something that may prove an issue in the future. Regardless, Jorge assured me it was overhyped. Yes, getting my skills as high as possible before cracking through to the 2nd tier and upgrading my class would give me more powerful options, but it was not an overly dramatic shift in quality, and the amount of time and danger one would need to invest to do so would be better spent levelling directly through the 2nd tier. Sure, if you spent another few years with your 1st tier class before classing up, you¡¯d be stronger for your level¡­but that was exactly the point. Stronger for your level. Why strive to become a top-rated 1st tier when any middling 2nd tier would dismantle you with ease? The attribute allocation alone was a quantitative shift for most, let alone the types of skills and mana capacity one could gain. Either way, I didn¡¯t have too much to worry about. I already had a somewhat rare and powerful class, doubly so if one took into account that it was a combat and not support class, and I had plenty of challenges to push me to my potential before I could even think of classing up. Put another way, I had lots of danger in my near future and plenty of opportunities to die. Well done cynical Lamb, you always find a way to cheer yourself up. I couldn¡¯t really deny my excitement through as I turned my attention to the world around me. My feet were somehow still dry, the icy water unable to make it through the waxed hide of the sturdy boots I wore. They were cold though, so it felt almost the same. Half a bell hiking through a frozen stream would do that to you I supposed. Getting my bearings, I decided it was time to leave the creek and head directly up into the deeper hills. I would be being followed, if not now then soon, and I needed to get as much distance between my pursuers as possible. The deeper hills would offer me more cover, more places to hide and most importantly, more powerful creatures to hunt. I had been given a taste of progress after months of stagnation, and I was keen to grab the fire with both hands and keep it burning. Chapter 43 - Navel Gazing I spent the night huddled in a small cave a few dozen meters up a steep rock face, hidden from the wind by a few gnarled and crooked gorse trees that clung to the cliff like crabs in the sand. Their thick roots wormed their way into cracks in the stone and covered the cave floor in a mass of polished bark, looking for all the world like a frozen mass of writhing wooden snakes. Despite their appearance though, they provided comfort; not only did the sparse foliage act as a windbreak, but after a while of wriggling around, I was able to find a spot where the indents fit my body just right, and I snuggled into the wooden bed surrounded on all sides by gnarled roots. Bed might have been an overstatement, as I woke the next morning to an ache in my ribs and a crick in my back that made me feel as old as Jorge, groaning as I stretched. Still, the rest had done me good, and I felt like a new person in comparison to the night before. Stronger, more solid, and somehow lighter at the same time. It was a heady concoction, and I looked out from my cave at the forested hills below with anticipation. While I was still being hunted ¨C and I had no reason to suspect I wasn¡¯t ¨C heading into the open plains would be foolish. I¡¯d be visible as far as the eye could see without any significant geographical features to break up the view, and I had no doubt that at least Francis could see pretty far. I also knew for a fact that Sven was something of a tracker. So, I couldn¡¯t leave, and staying in the low hills felt equally foolish. I had put some solid distance between myself and where I¡¯d left the others, fighting for their lives against a large pack of magical wolves, but I suspected they¡¯d close that distance quickly. And again, they had a tracker. So the only sensible choice was to head further into the Dragon-Spines and hope I could lose them in its immensity. I didn¡¯t really need to evade them forever either. I just needed to avoid them for long enough that they give up, that the costs of staying become too high. Every moment they strayed into the deeper valleys and higher peaks would spell danger, and eventually they would start to lose out. That was also true of me of course, but I was more confident in my own ability to navigate this environment than theirs. Perhaps it was nothing more than arrogance, but I felt an affinity for the mountains, wherever they may be, and my class was quite literally optimised for survival in such terrain. Not only did I plan to survive though; I planned to thrive. Looking past the gently waving gorse needles and down at the steep gullies running away from the granite cliff beneath me, I took in a breath and grinned. I was going to get stronger, and once my hunters had been sufficiently broken down by the land, I would reappear to finish the job.
You have killed a Harmonious Spitter (level 33). Experience gained. I frantically tried to blink away the notification, even though it didn¡¯t appear in my vision in any meaningful sense. I¡¯d made the mistake of letting my attention be captured by the echoing noise from the system rather than carefully checking my surroundings for more of the weird crystalline mammals, and I was now paying the price for that hubris. I hit the ground and rolled, feeling the blessedly soft earth compress beneath my shoulder, and slammed my shield into place in front of my torso just in time to hear the shattering sound of three distinct impacts. Shards of blue crystal rained to the ground around my shield, and I threw myself back to my feet and dashed to the side, a judicious activation of Check-Step enough to see me safely behind the nearest tree as more crystal projectiles followed me. Crouching down behind the many hanging roots of the mangrove, I focused on quieting my breathing, trying to hear anything I could. I heard the rushing of my own blood in my ears, the gurgling of the nearby stream and the steady drip-drip of water from the great fronds above onto the damp mossy earth below. A few heartbeats of careful listening yielded no further clues, until I caught a muffled clop of a hoof against something solid on the other side of the mangrove. I flexed my hand on the spear at my side and took a final steadying breath, careful not to suck it in too sharply and alert the creature hunting for me. I activated Heart of the Hills then to ensure my excitement didn¡¯t get the best of me, and smoothly rose up behind the mass of hanging roots. My right arm slung the spear out to my left even as I circled round the opposite way, small fast steps covered by the sound of the weapon clattering to the ground. A moment later, when I heard the now unmistakable sound of exploding crystal against rock, I sent a pulse of mana down the artefact link to my spear, coaxing the mechanism behind the blade to engage, causing the weapon to buck on the ground. Another two shattering impacts resounded as I drew around the other side of the tree to see the cause of the noise. A shaggy creature, akin to the great Tundra Mammoths of the north but far smaller, crouched facing my spear where it lay against a large slab of granite, crystal shards surrounding it in a fluorescent blue light. Two short, equally fluorescent crystal tusks jutted from its lower jaw, and while I couldn¡¯t see from this angle, I knew that its mouth would have been emitting that same unearthly glow. I didn¡¯t hesitate and charged forwards, closing the few meters between myself and the strange creature in moments. It wheeled around at me, crystalline tusks scything through the air with a whistle from the speed of its movement. My face was cast in eery blue light as it opened its mouth and let loose another volley of crystal shards my way, even as I closed in on it. Another activation of Check-Step allowed me the time and ability to juke to the right and plant my foot on an upturned slab of rock, partially enveloped by the ever-hungry vines of the mangrove trees surrounding us. I pushed off, hearing a projectile whistle whizz past my face by mere inches, and saw another two pass by underneath me as I leapt up and forwards. Time seemed to slow for a moment as I flew, and I knew it was not the effect of Check-Step, or any other skill for that matter, purely the mixture of adrenaline and weightlessness which allowed for that strange feeling of stillness. The eternal moment eventually passed as I slammed into the thick hide of the creature shield first, knocking it back a few paces. Without wasting a moment, I followed it even as it staggered back and by the time it stabilised its footing, I was already upon it, arms bunching as I gripped its tangled coat with one hand and withdrew the make-shift dagger from my make-shift belt with the other. My first stab missed anything vital, and I was rewarded with an enraged bellow and a vicious headbutt from the larger animal, but my second stab found more success. The bellow turned to a gurgle, and as I wrenched the dagger out it sagged in my grip alongside a torrent of blood spattering to the floor. I raised the curved tooth once more though and slammed it down with all the force I could muster, stabbing deep into the back of its broad neck and feeling the dagger glance off bone. I put all my weight behind a final push, and felt the bone give way, snapping the creature¡¯s neck and causing it to fall to the floor completely. Its back legs kicked desperately for another moment before it lay still, red blood pooling on the dark earth below and glinting oddly in the blue glow cast by its crystalline tusks. You have killed a Harmonious Spitter (level 41). Experience gained. I put a hand to my head, smearing the blood running down my face from the cut on my temple. Gingerly I felt at the wound, but it was shallow, soon to close without much intervention. I bent to retrieve my spear, and flinched when I felt a sharp pain in my arm. Glancing down, I noticed for the first time the thin crystal projectile lodged in my forearm and winced as I flexed the muscles there, feeling them pull at the wound. Another deep breath, and then I wrenched out the crystal bolt, dropping it to the floor with a tinkle. I grabbed my spear, surveyed the area to make sure there were no more of the creatures, and then started back towards my temporary camp. It took near a bell of steady hiking through the sunken valley, and I spent the time carefully examining the world around me. It was dangerous this deep into the hills. I had long since passed through the low hills, and I was nearing the boundary between the high hills and the true mountains. The valleys were now deep funnels in the earth, ridges rising to either side nearly a thousand meters high. I could see snow-capped peaks in the distance, and the flora and fauna were becoming more magically saturated, and therefore more dangerous. I climbed the last few meters, swinging my spear over the lip and onto the small plateaux, hurling my shield over as well before pulling myself up. The shelf of stone jutted from the cliff, and just like the cave I¡¯d stayed in last night, I found no sign of habitation inside the hollow of stone. Obviously, there were the odd signs here and there of scurrying creatures, small rodents and insects and other crawling denizens of the forest that were otherwise beneath my notice. I had worried to begin with about the possibility of insect swarms, ants crawling over me in the night and devouring me in moments. The thought of that swarm back in the endless valley, the paralysing fear and creeping dread as they approached, was forever seared into my mind. But now just as then, I¡¯d been given a tool to deal with it. The constellation of Indomitable Prey hung in my soul-space, a reassuring cloak covering my other skills and core from the darkness beyond. I¡¯d had it activated when I slept, the mana-drain small enough that I could keep it going for a couple of bells at a time. It interrupted my sleep when it deactivated, the slight backlash of having my core depleted enough to jar me from slumber, but it was a worthy trade-off in my estimation since I remained undisturbed by the no doubt countless species of biting nasties that inhabited this land. I needed less sleep than before anyway, so six or so bells of solid sleep, with a couple of bells rest between to recharge my mana, was more than enough to see me recovered, even considering the intense strain I was putting my body and mind through. I was eating well, with fire-spitted meat to complement the bevy of vegetables I was foraging during the day. The world was verdant, filled with life, and I had no issues finding sustenance throughout my days. Perhaps things would change if I dared to tread too high ¨C the snowcapped peaks and bleak, barren mountain passes below them did not scream fecundity to my eyes, but it was impossible to know for sure. I also did not plan to venture that high regardless. I¡¯d seen dots swirling around the peaks and given the immense size and distance of those mountains, it meant that whatever creatures I was seeing from here would have to be truly massive. I remembered the Rooks I had seen in the endless valley and had no desire to test myself against beasts of their calibre just yet.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. All in all, it was another successful day. Another day, another few foes slain, more experience gained, and more power accumulated.
I realised it then, as I sat halfway up a cliff with my legs dangling out into empty space, the ground a good 50 or so meters below me; I was fulfilled. I couldn¡¯t wait to get back out there, to see what I could conquer next. I¡¯d already faced bizarre facsimiles of crystal and mammal and scavenged the fang of some enormous snake. I¡¯d seen a mangrove forest hidden within a deep valley, totally out of place with the surrounding geography. I knew - I just knew - deep within my bones, that a hidden world waited just out of sight for me to explore. A whole host of hidden worlds, filled with wonders and mysteries, wildness and danger. And unlike any other time in my life before now, I knew I was equal to it. I was so strong, stronger than this environment in many ways. I could roll off this ledge right now and catch myself with one hand, hang on the ledge for long moments, and pull myself up with one arm with ease. In fact, I felt the urge so strongly that I did just that, laughing with joy as I hauled myself up so effortlessly, spinning and flipping around like a child that discovered furniture could be a playground for the first time. I felt the new power coursing through every cell, every iota of my being, and I knew that within my chest rested an endlessly refilling well of pure possibility. Mana suffused my being, spreading through my soul and nourishing the skills that defined me. They had protected me, kept me safe and secure from the world as it tried to impose its will upon me. Now, I felt in control for the first time. I could choose where to go, and my skills would allow me to tread there. I could use those skills to leave my own mark on the world. Months ago, before I chose my current class, I had been offered choices. Wind Runner wasn¡¯t the right choice at the time, but I was offered it all the same. The system, by whatever inscrutable logic the gods bestowed upon that incomprehensively vast and complex work of magic, had judged me, and found the spark of exploration in my soul. Enough so that I was granted the option to acquire skills related to travel and exploration, of movement through the natural world. Now was the time to let that side of me out. Rather than wait in the hills, hiding like a scared child and waiting for my parents ¨C or my mysterious old mentor and his merry band of misfits, as the case may be ¨C to come and save me, I was going to grab the metaphorical dragon by its tail and ride it all the way to the top of the mountain. Strap in Galvathrax, we¡¯ve got some fucking work to do, Lad. I tried to clear my throat in my head, attempting to cover up the silly thought. I knew Jorge¡¯s influence was probably the only thing that had kept me alive this far, but I wasn¡¯t yet prepared to start talking like him, even within the sanctity of my own mind. Anyway, point being ¨C lets fucking go. With that thought echoing through me, I dropped from the ledge. Wind whistled in my ears, its hands curling through the unkempt mane on one side of my head as I fell. I reached out, grasping a thick branch, swinging up and around before letting go and soaring through the air, now parallel to the cliff. Fingers closed around hanging vines, and I spread my weight out between three of them as I arrested my fall, two eventually snapping under the strain, and the third attached to a branch that bowed so dramatically under my weight that I barely slowed at all once it was the only one supporting me. I activated Check-Step at the last moment, and managed to push off a tree trunk nearby, turning the slow fall into a leap towards another clump of vines only a few meters off the valley floor. I landed neatly on the floor, my boots sinking into the dark earth as emerald light filtered through a canopy to bathe my face in a verdant glow. I grinned in satisfaction as my hands released their grip on the vines, wiping off the mud and sap that tried to stain my hands on my trousers. I almost flinched as I felt the cool wetness against my bare thigh and glanced down to examine the rip in the fabric. Never particularly beautiful to begin with, my travelling clothes now resembled something you would expect a beggar to wear rather than a moderately prosperous adventurer. Was that what I was now? An adventurer? I looked back down at the ripped and torn trousers, stained cloak and dirty robes I wore¡­definitely not moderately prosperous in any case. My clothes¡¯ state of disrepair couldn¡¯t stop me from cracking a grin as I jogged off through the dense forest though, angling towards the nearby stream. I felt the subtle push from my Hill-Foraging skill, now part of a larger merged skill, reminding me to follow the water. Damp and shielded from the sun by overhanging mossy banks, mushrooms would likely be found at the sides of the stream. Less than a bell of easy running up beside the babbling brook paid off, and I had collected a small handful of fragrant, earthy mushrooms to savour. The taste was strong and not off-putting, but the texture almost made me grimace with each chew. I overcame my squeamishness though and was rewarded by a welcome ringing in my mind. Skill ¡®Wilderness Endurance Hunter¡¯ has increased in level. Wilderness Endurance Hunter ¨C level 8 A few more bells passed in relative peace, and I enjoyed the quiet rhythm of my boots pounding away softly on the earth. Song birds chirped and trilled, filling the air with a smile. Gentle sunlight trickled through spindly branches as the heavy pines gave way to slim birch trees, resplendent with red and green leaves. It was a gradual transition, and I felt my spirits soar as the light filtered down to the floor more and more with each mile. A beautiful world to explore, but I did have a goal beyond just enjoying nature. I was nearing level 30, where I was likely to acquire another class skill. Jorge had given me the facts ¨C that each 1st tier class generally gave a smattering of skills when first acquired at level 15, then one more at level 30 and another at level 40, before capping at level 45 and requiring a feat to advance to 2nd tier. Nathlan had filled in the gaps in that explanation, giving me the why to Jorge¡¯s how. Apparently, general skills could be acquired at any time if the prerequisites had been met, but classes came with set skills that were bestowed upon a certain threshold level being reached. The level 30 and 40 skills ¨C the late skills as they were often referred to as ¨C were generally more powerful than the ones given immediately on receiving the class, and required more mana, or finer control, or just more experience to wield effectively. Given the system¡¯s seeming preference for guiding and teaching rather than outright bestowing power, it made sense to only give skills to a person once they had grown familiar with their class and path, or so it seemed to me anyway. The problem this left me with though, was that I only had 8 skill slots, and none of them were free. I could elect to replace a skill with the new one I received at level 30 (not a guarantee by the by, since some weaker classes only received a single late skill and so the level that it was bestowed upon could be anywhere between 30 and 40), but that would cost me one of my other skills. I was not keen to lose any of them at the moment. Perhaps I could merge some of them, but I was in danger of having too many intertwined at that point, and the requirements to level such a broad merged skill would be enormous. The fact that I had a combat class which could siphon the energy from those I killed would somewhat ameliorate that problem, but it was still a concern. I could try and merge Indomitable Prey and Heart of the Hills ¨C both skills had a strong mental component, and I could see the appeal of having a wider view of things when gripped by the defiance that my pathbound skill brought on within me, but there were other problems. Firstly, I had no idea how to try and encourage such a merge. Secondly, both skills stood in opposition to one another conceptually. Indomitable Prey was a general skill that had become pathbound, a result of exceptional circumstances and a hefty bit of luck. I couldn¡¯t alter it easily if I tried, since it was so deeply ingrained within my soul-space, but at the same time I understood it on a primal level. Heart of the Hills was the opposite ¨C a class-given skill bestowed on me by the system that I was still exploring. It was able to be moulded, but I wasn¡¯t familiar enough with the underlying structure of it to really manipulate it properly yet. One burned hot, filling me with passion and making the world louder to all my senses. With my pathbound skill active, there was nothing more important than what was in front of me, and I hummed with a desire to break out of what was constraining me, regardless of the cause. The class skill was cold, dispassionate; ice in the deep. The world was quiet when I activated Heart of the Hills, and it opened a space between me and my experiences, allowing me time and perspective. One removed everything but the world before me, and the other put that world back into perspective with myself. I could not see how to merge them without losing one or the other effects, and I wanted both. Skirmisher of Antiquity was far too new, and I had many more secrets to learn from it, so I wouldn¡¯t mess with that one either. Which left me with three class skills to play around with; Check-Step, Cloven-Hooved and Hill-Folk. It was a simple choice when I thought about it. Check-Step was an active skill that had saved my life a few times already, and I could see how to advance it in future, as long as I didn¡¯t add in further complications to it. A narrow skill that required skill and familiarity to use effectively, but I could feel the potential with its slight time-dilation and momentum altering effects. In contrast, Cloven-Hooved and Hill-Folk were both passive skills. Cloven-Hooved was a general skill consisting of Scrambling and Sure-Footed, both acquired by long exposure to mountainous terrain, and named after the many species of hardy mountain goats; LongHorn, Flame-Horn, Ibex, Markhor etc. Come to think of it, of all the even-toed ungulates I¡¯d encountered or read about, most had ¡®Horn¡¯ somewhere in the name. How uncreative. The point being that it was a skill in tune with the mountains and hills, and therefore should be in tune with my class. Hill-Folk was the least interesting and perhaps most understated class skill I¡¯d received, giving me a general boost to survivability and toughness. Broken bones became bruises, snapped tendons and ligaments became strains and sprains, and I healed faster from the many minor injuries I sustained. My understanding of the structure of the skill also paralleled my understanding of my newly enhanced body. As I learned to adapt to the superhuman attributes, so too did the spinning constellation within my soul-space become more understandable. It was a straight-forward skill, that I felt fairly confident I could alter without losing any of its efficacy. That both Hill-Folk and Cloven-Hooved shared similar roots was essential for me to merge them without assistance from the system, and something I could only attempt because of the deep understanding of both I had gained by now. I would need to stop tonight, to meditate upon both skills and attempt to create the links that would merge both together, giving birth to a new skill. The deadline was arbitrary in some ways, but I needed to open up a skill slot before I hit level 30, and each day I moved through the hills I got closer to that immediate goal. In a twist of cruel irony, the universe conspired to make that thought especially prescient, as the stream I had followed all morning disappeared into the ground before me. I was not particularly surprised, as the open valley had gradually grown deeper until I was treading along the bottom of a gorge. The low cliffs to either side had been converging together slowly, and now it seemed I had reached the end. Cliff-edges met, barring my way forwards, and the stream it seemed didn¡¯t originate from above the cliffs, but from below them. That was not the surprise twist, although the timing was suspect in and of itself. No, the surprise was the two skulls hanging from vines on either side of where the stream disappeared into the rock. Skulls belonging to some form of stag, or goat, or other large mammal. Curling horns twisting to either side, a long snout of bleached bone, and empty gaping sockets. As I stepped closer, I felt a rock dislodge and clatter from the riverbank. I stepped aside quickly, my skills ensuring I did not lose my balance, but the damage appeared to be done anyway. A deep groaning sound echoed from the earth, and stones began to clatter down as a yawning cavern opened in the ground. I watched in awe as the earth shifted, opening a mouth to coax me into its belly, carved stone steps lit by green light. I looked up to see the source of the green light, and saw the two skulls leering back at me, fire burning in their eyes. Vines slithered across the ground, tangling with one another and forming a skeleton around which the very earth ¨C leaf mulch, small pebbles, grasses, mud and all sorts ¨C collected. Within a few moments, I stood face to skull with two humanoid golems formed of earth. Thin and emaciated they may be, but they both towered over me at nearly 3 meters in height. Clawed hands formed of whiplike vines capped their overly long arms, and their legs flowed straight into the earth itself. The one on the left raised its gnarled fingers and pointed at me, white skull leering and letting out a pained howl indecipherable to human ears. I heard its intent clearly though and raised my shield and spear into position quickly. There was only one way this ended. Chapter 44 - Vine Dining ¡°¡­and we need to take our country back! Back from the inbred nobles that run shit into the ground every year! Back from the landowners that salt our fields with their shortsighted wars every generation!¡± ¡°Yeah!¡± ¡°You fuckin¡¯ tell ¡®em Garry! ¡°Good on ¡®im!¡± ¡°Back from even the Guardians that patrol our borders and kill the beasts! They are innocent of all crimes, and even the greatest of our heroes seek to slaughter them in cold blood to feed the ever-expanding war machine of the¡­¡± ¡°Wait what?¡± ¡°Yea-¡­hang on¡± ¡°They have destroyed our connection to nature, and now we suffer for their sins! I have gazed upon the face of the divine and seen their wrath! We are meant to live in harmony with the creatures of this world, not war against them! Let the Cave Bears walk among our streets, let the Rooks roost in our towers and the Rakshasa scurry beneath our feet, and I promise you children...our lives will be beautiful once more!¡± ¡°Oh, he¡¯s completely lost me now.¡± ¡°Did a bear write this speech?¡± - Last speech given by street preacher Garolden Harkony, as transcribed in ¡®In my father¡¯s footsteps ¨C a memoire of the silk roads¡¯ by Brother Ferdinand Genitivi
Wind whipped leaves into my face in a swirling pattern of obfuscation as I leapt back from a scything cut from one of the creatures before me. They moved surprisingly quickly for things with bodies made from mulch, and their claws appeared wickedly sharp from what I could see. The ground was broken from the emergence of the cavern, and the footing was slippery and insecure. Cloven-Hooved was invaluable, more than confirming my desire to hold onto the skill rather than replace it with a new one. Fighting two opponents was never easy, especially when I didn¡¯t have a reach advantage to keep them at a distance, but if I also had to watch my footing and navigate around obstacles while fending off their deadly blows¡­well, I probably would be doing a lot more bleeding than fending. They moved strangely, in rapid jerks of intense movement. When the writhing masses of vines that acted as their legs were touching the floor, they stayed roughly in place, leaning forwards on fluid appendages and swiping out with their freakishly long arms. It was akin to a snake ¨C fast, unpredictable, and dangerous. But when I danced out of range of their lunges, they would slow right down, unable to follow as quickly. That was all that saved me from death, as they took time to detach their leg-vines from the earth and stride forwards unsteadily, before picking a new spot to sink onto and strike at me from. The first few moments of the fight were hectic, and I nearly didn¡¯t make it out of range of their first attacks in time. But as things started to drag out and I established their range and speed, I also started to notice a growing problem. A dread aura emanated from the creatures as the fight dragged on, pulling at the edges of my mind and making me feel as if there was something behind me. Check, just look behind you, it seemed to say. There is something back there. Don¡¯t move towards it! The whispers demanded. I activated Heart of the Hills, and the skill gave me the clarity I needed to understand it was simply an effect of an aura skill. Dangerous though, especially if I hadn¡¯t had a mental skill of my own to combat it. It had started subtly, and the suggestion had almost seemed like an instinct, similar to those instinctual suggestions provided by Skirmisher of Antiquity. Heart of the Hills warded my mind, while my shield warded my left side. The creatures carried tremendous strength in their blows, rocking my shoulder and bruising my forearm where I took the impact, even with me angling the deflection to bleed off momentum. I couldn¡¯t just block them forever, as while my endurance was impressive, it would likely not outlast these creatures. Animated golems, brought to life by some unknown magic, were unlikely to tire ¨C and that was ignoring the fact that creatures/monsters/beasts ¨C however you classified them ¨C tended to have higher attributes relative to their level than the sentient races with classes. Of course, they could be incredibly strong but very fragile creatures, with energy only enough to fight for a few dozen heartbeats. Would be pretty shitty guardians if that was the case though. And they were clearly guarding something, with the way they flanked the entrance to this cavern, designed rather than natural as the stone stairs were. I tried to trade a few blows with the golems where I could, but my spear was primarily a stabbing, piercing weapon, not designed for the broad slashes that could sever through the vines beneath the mud. They lacked armour, but the thick mud and mulch covering their bodies was surprisingly effective at protecting the vine-skeleton beneath. Despite the sharpness of my spear-tip, all momentum was leeched from each strike within moments of connecting, preventing any serious damage. Given their strength, I was hesitant to try and tangle with them more closely. Perhaps I could simply reach into the coagulated mass of their bodies and rip out their vines, but I didn¡¯t fancy my chances of surviving such a feat. No, I needed to stay at back, dance in and out of their range and try to sever any vines that I could. Over the next half a bell, I tried to make that strategy a reality. I danced in towards them, nimble footwork carrying me under and past heavy swipes, hearing the whistle as claws of sharpened bone parted the air above and around me. Surprisingly, I found it easier to stay within their range when both were nearby. From a few meters away, they were deadly and quick, lunging forwards faster than a cobra, but when facing each other, they had to check their swings lest they slice through each other¡¯s tough bodies. I carried a nasty cut along my ribs from one of them, blood sheeting down my stomach and staining my ragged robes, but thankfully the bone had saved me from evisceration, and my guts still were firmly where they should be. Hill-Folk seemed to toughen me up in general in body and mind, but with a particular focus on my bones and connective tissue. It also speeded up my recovery slightly, but I wasn¡¯t sure how much my endurance played a role in that compared to my skill. Either way, I was fairly sure the skill had saved my life in this fight at least once. After what felt like an eternity, a dozen minor injuries and the above-mentioned major one, I cracked the code. I would use my footwork to stay at range until both were ¡®planted¡¯ near one another, then I would dart in, using their bodies as shields against the other and slicing out with my knife to cut through the thick mud and into the softer vines beneath. A change occurred when I managed to sever all the vines of one leg and the creature it belonged to collapsed to one side. It could no longer hinge forward on its legs and therefore its range was greatly reduced. This almost spelled disaster, since it was no longer in danger of cutting through its companion when swinging for me. I managed to use Check-Step at the last moment and throw myself away, but I did feel a heavy impact in one rib as I landed on a slab of stone, dislodged by the cavern revealing itself earlier. It was roughly in the same area as the slice I¡¯d received earlier, and so it was likely that the injury had weakened the rib enough to crack ¨C I was long past being fragile enough to take serious damage from falling from only a meter or two off the ground by now.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. The fight from there was more of a lesson in conserving my energy. Each breath carried a sharp stab of pain where my chest expanded and forced my injured rib to move, and I found myself struggling to bring in enough oxygen for the explosive movements I needed to avoid further damage. The one missing its leg was a much safer target though, and I managed to manoeuvre the other one a dozen meters away before disengaging and rushing to the injured creature. Its companion tried to follow, but it was slow after uprooting itself, and I had enough time to slip behind the injured creature and start slicing through the vines entwined through its leering skull. The fang I used as a knife ¨C tougher than anything I¡¯d yet come across and sharp as the day I found it ¨C sliced easily through the thick green vines but left not a mark on the bone beneath. I glanced behind me to see the other creature mere meters away, its front leg slamming into the earth and the vines making it up writhing beneath their mud-shell as they wriggled into the ground beneath. Knowing I had only a moment before claws would pierce my back, I sliced through another clump of thick vines before gripping the horns on either side of the skull both hands and yanking, roaring as I did so. A slight delay where nothing was heard but my straining, and then there was a tearing sound and suddenly I felt no resistance to my pull. Stumbling backwards, I remembered at the last moment to drop to the floor. As I fell backwards to the ground, I watched a long arm swipe by just past the tip of my nose, gleaming claws parting nothing but air as I hit the ground hard. The breath was driven from my lungs by the impact and my already-broke rib screamed in protest. I activated Heart of the Hills once again, knowing that without help, the pain would inevitably make me hesitate as I rolled away and leapt back to my feet. I didn¡¯t wait to see the reaction of the creature to my killing of its companion. The instant I felt the ringing in my mind I sprinted back away from the gorge and the cavern it contained, leaping over rocks and weaving through trees for long moments before I paused to listen. There was no sound of pursuit, so I slowed my pace as I continued on, checking myself over and confirming I was not about to drop dead. The cut along my ribs was deep but already clogged, no new blood welling forth to stain my clothes. I had no doubt I would re-open it a few times in the coming days, but it hadn¡¯t cleanly severed through the muscle beneath the skin, and so I would expect it to heal quickly. I sighed as I realised that I¡¯d left my spear on the battlefield, but I knew I¡¯d be back tomorrow. I needed to retreat now though and lick my wounds. Metaphorically of course, I¡¯m not a dog. I cut left and through the sparsely covered gorge, heading to the cliff that surrounded the sunken riverbed on one side. Gritting my teeth against the pain of my many injuries, I started to climb, taking my time and being careful to test any hand holds that looked insecure. My diligence paid off when near the top, at least 30 meters from the valley floor, a huge chunk of rough stone pulled loose from the cliff when I tested it. Despite specifically checking for it, my heart still pounded in my chest and adrenaline flared through me as I imagined what would have happened had I been more careless. A good lesson there. Once I reached the top, I trekked along the lip until I reached the end of the gorge, feeling too fragile to run as I usually did. It took another half a bell to return to where I¡¯d fought, and when I looked down, I could still see the gaping hole in the earth and the still form of the remaining guardian, rooted to the ground a few meters from my discarded spear. I sighed, and backed away, trekking back again until I found a cave within the cliff face before scaling my way over to it. I couldn¡¯t find the back of the cave, as it seemed to stretch on into the rock for dozens of meters at a downward slope, and I soon backed out again deciding I wasn¡¯t in good enough shape right now to investigate properly. I was tired to my bones, and simply wanted to curl up in a ball right there and then. I activated Indomitable Prey to put some fire back into my step, and I headed back outside, mentally marking the location so I could find it again tomorrow. The sun had begun to drip below the distant peaks when I finally found an acceptable cave, with no evidence of habitation and no large cracks through which something could emerge. I dumped my shield and the skull I still carried for some reason, leaving my knife free in one hand as I headed back out to collect some firewood. I found a couple of pieces of flint and some dried moss and headed back to my cave, where I deposited them with the firewood already collected. It took far longer than it should before I managed to get a spark to catch, but luckily the moss was incredibly flammable. The problem was rather creating the sparks in the first place since I lacked steel to use with the flint, but my enhanced attributes and a bit of patience eventually made up for the lack. Despite the fact that I¡¯d been carrying my own fire-lighting rune around for half a year, Jorge had insisted on basic survival lessons, and I was now quite thankful for them. Meat-Preparation also lent me some wisdom when it came to how to get a fire going as well, and so the result was a hearty flame burning merrily inside my cave, smoke drifting out into the night. I had nothing to eat, and quite frankly was too exhausted to go hunting, especially in the dark while injured, so I just huddled around my small fire, feeling the warmth leech into my bones and my body start to unwind from the tense state it had been in for the last few bells. I turned my attention to the system notification that had been insistently buzzing in the back of my mind. Skill ¡®Cloven-Hooved¡¯ has increased in level. Cloven-Hooved¡¯ ¨C level 9 Skill ¡®Hill-Folk¡¯ has increased in level. Hill-Folk ¨C level 8 Skill ¡®Skirmisher of Antiquity¡¯ has increased in level. Skirmisher of Antiquity ¨C level 5 Skill ¡®Heart of the Hills¡¯ has increased in level. Heart of the Hills ¨C level 5 You have killed an Autumn Forest Wraith (level 61). Experience gained. You have reached level 29. Attribute points available for allocation. I perked up a little at the notifications, my mood improving when I realised how high-level the creatures were. This was the first time I¡¯d killed something above level 50, and this was not the weakest 2nd tier equivalent monster I¡¯d heard of either. This fight also confirmed what Nathlan had explained ¨C that higher-levelled creatures provided more experience to combat classes. Cloven-Hooved was now my highest levelled skill, and Hill-Folk was now in joint second with most of the others. It might have been my imagination, but I almost felt like the ache in my chest eased with the increase in level, although after consideration I was sure it wasn¡¯t real since the changes from skill upgrades were instantaneous, unlike level-ups where the attributes needed allocation before they could take effect. Speaking of, I allocated the attributes I¡¯d gained; two into Endurance and one into Strength, Agility, and Cognition each, bringing my lowest attribute up to 25. That done, I pulled the tattered robe tightly around my body, huddling close to the fire and settling in for a long, cold night. Tomorrow, once properly rested, I would attempt the merge of my two skills, and then go and retrieve my spear.
Dawn found me with a dry mouth and full bladder, and neither would allow me to continue to snooze. After refreshing myself at the nearest stream a good few miles from my cave, I jogged back, feeling light and fresh, although still favouring one side of my body. The wound in my right side, once cleaned and rested, was simply a shallow laceration that would heal in time, but the bruising around the rib beneath was large and mottled. I could still move around unhindered if needed, but I felt a slight twinge if I moved too fast in certain ways, and I couldn¡¯t banish the dull ache that thudded away in the back of my mind. I wasn¡¯t keen to face the creature that I knew was still waiting at the cavern mouth, and so I took my time collecting more firewood, and spent a bell fishing in a large creek nearby. I flipped a fish out of the water onto the bank nearby, and only narrowly avoided a nasty puncture wound from the foot-long creature as I threw it. Looking down in confusion, I was startled to see a pair of fangs lining either side of the fish¡¯s mouth, glistening in the early morning light as it flopped around hopelessly on the bank. Wary of getting too close, I simply watched it flop about, before turning away. I had no problem hunting for my food ¨C the creatures I¡¯d bumped into in Tsanderos seemed much more aggressive than I would expect, which probably implied something about the world I¡¯d come from before ¨C but I didn¡¯t exactly relish seeing another creature in pain. While I wouldn¡¯t risk a bite from those teeth, especially with the possibility of poison, I likewise wouldn¡¯t watch if suffer. A few moments later I heard a splash and whirled around in time to see a flash of pink as the fish slipped back into the stream. I cursed, louder than perhaps appropriate when alone in the woods, but still¡­fuck! I¡¯m watching the next one till its dead. Luckily, I caught another quickly. The sun had barely moved in the sky when I closed my hands around the next fish. It flew through the air towards the bank, and I even managed to reach out and grab its tail as it flew. A quick yank and I¡¯d brained it on the floor, stunning it before I stabbed cleanly through its head with my make-shift dagger. The fang seemed to almost drink in the blood as I left it impaling the fish, but I paid it no mind, stepping back to observe the death throes of the creature and praying it wouldn¡¯t somehow wriggle away like the last one. You have killed a Speckled Creek-Hopper (level 8). Experience gained. Breakfast secured, I headed back to my cave and got to cooking. Licking the remains of the fish from my fingers, I sighed in contentment ¨C I¡¯d found some fennel on the way back from the creek, and while I missed the bountiful supplies that Jorge kept in his storage device, the fish had a natural salty tang and went down easily. I could only put off my project or so long though, and after clearing up ¨C an easy job, just kicking out the fire and throwing the carcass and wooden spit into the valley far away ¨C I settled into a comfortable pose and dropped into the meditative trance that allowed me to view my soul. I had work to do. Chapter 45 - Merging Can Be Dangerous If Not Done Properly With a belly full of fish and a smile on my face, I dove into my soul-space. The view that greeted me was both familiar and welcome. Seven constellations circled a well of pure starlight that was my core, with another, larger constellation resting like a shroud above them all. Beyond that shroud was empty darkness, broken only by a small trickle of starlight flowing from the well out to a small glowing rune - the artefact link drawing mana from my core. It had originally looked like nothing so much as a small pinprick of light, but that had slowly resolved itself into a rune that, while in my soul-space, seemed to conjure the idea of a shield. It was strange; I could not remember the rune itself despite its deceptively simple shape, and I knew from experience that when I left my introspection, I would be unable to recreate it. Just as with my artefact link to my shield, all of my skills were incomprehensible when I was not viewing my soul. When I sank into this meditative state however, I could catch hints, greater each time. The twinkling blanket that covered my core and the seven skills around it was the most familiar to me, and I had recently felt the structure of it stay with me for a few moments after leaving my meditation, a testament to my greater understanding of the pathbound skill. The other skills below, orbiting my core slowly and dim without mana syphoning off to activate them, were more mysterious to me, but I could still feel the progress I had made. Originally, all had seemed the same, just vague spinning shapes of many lights. I knew each was unique, but I had no idea how ¨C they all seemed similarly unknowable, resisting my inspection in some magical manner. Now though, each had its own defining features. Guerrilla Warfare was all sharp angles and unexpected twists, where trying to trace a path along the pinpricks of light simply led back against itself, forming a confused tangle of a path. Skirmisher of Antiquity, my newest skill, was a bizarre mishmash that when activated, formed a multitude of runes, pictograms, letters and shapes, as the mana from my core flowed in patterns from one light to the next. It reminded me of a hundred different languages, alien and incomprehensible but each with its own story to tell. The feeling of majesty in this skill rivalled that of Indomitable Prey, and I knew I had only begun to skim the surface of the knowledge it could impart. Moving my attention from one skill to the next, I inspected the changes that long months of growth had written across my soul. Each skill had its own quirks; where the merged skills still showed delineated segments between the sub-skills that made them up, these were starting to close, and links had formed between the disparate pieces to create a more stable and enduring shape. I could see the places where Scrambling and Sure-Footed merged together to create Cloven-Hooved, the constellation akin to a river meeting an ocean of ink and left to mingle for days on end; it was clear that each side had different origins, but it was becoming hard to say where one ended and the other began. My mind grasped for metaphors to describe each skill, but it was ultimately fruitless ¨C they were unlikely anything else in the world and comparing them to worldly aspects only allowed for a sliver of comprehension. The individual skills that could not be reduced further showed their own growth as well. Hill-Folk, Heart of the Hills, Skirmisher of Antiquity, and Check-Step were all distinct entities that could not be broken apart, their shapes too intertwined for any divisions to be clean ¨C to attempt to slice away individual parts would leave the whole thoroughly broken. They did however show greater detail, the paths between each twinkling light somehow clearer than before. I noticed that my higher-levelled skills were more defined than those with which I was less familiar ¨C an obvious point in hindsight but still interesting to see confirmation of. Finished with my inspection of each skill, I moved to my core, viewing the well of mana as it filled ever upwards. It was deeper than ever and comparing it to when I had first received my class was akin to comparing a puddle with a fresh spring. I didn¡¯t originally know where the mana I produced came from, but it seemed the environment was the most likely answer. The rate at which it replenished was higher here in the hills than it had been on the plains, and it seemed like too much of a coincidence that stronger creatures, more magical environments, and a higher rate of recharge of my mana wouldn¡¯t be linked. I thought for a moment about how much faster my mana recharged down in the Iona Chasm, and shivered at the memory of that strange melody that had seemed to itch at the back of my mind while I was down there. The thought distracted me enough that the cave around me swam back into focus and I lost my connection to my soul-space for a moment. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I took a few slow breaths and focused once more, diving back into that internal view and moving on from my core and to the two skills I wished to manipulate. There were already some tentative links between most of my skills; Indomitable Prey hung over all others, a few small tendrils extending from it to each skill below, dripping influence and sharing its energy. So too did the other skills extend their own offers of alliance to each other, their questing tendrils reminding me of mycelial networks in the soil, connecting trees within a forest and sharing their energy. Making the whole stronger than the sum of its parts. Hill-Folk; that hardy skill that resembled nothing so much as a mountain, hung in empty space, as solid and immoveable as the hills themselves from which it drew inspiration. Cloven-Hooved hung opposite, a swirling mass of lights that seemed to jump and bounce, playful and fast, impossible to pin down and shooting out lines of dimly pulsing light across its intricate form. To begin, I willed both out of the circular formation and towards my core. It was a strange feeling, my intent was the only thing that mattered in this space, but I still felt resistance. It didn¡¯t cause any strain on my part, as creating the artifact links between myself and the spear and shield did, but rather just a gentle reminder that the skills did not want to be out of formation. I examined them again when they hung next to one another, tracing the lines between the constellations, paying attention to the negative spaces between the lights as much as to the lights themselves. I urged both to stop their incessant spinning, seeking to find a pattern that was shared between both. For a while it seemed hopeless ¨C two completely alien representations that had no more in common than two papyrus scrolls would if each were given to a monkey with a pen and unlimited time. Slowly though, as if response to my desire to find common ground, similarities started to become noticeable. Patterns that I¡¯d previously mischaracterised as belonging to other sequences stood out on their own, and I began to see repeating clusters of lights within the greater constellation of each skill. Each collection of similar lights gave me hope and pushed me to keep searching in a self-fulfilling cycle of discovery. Once I had established their shared heritage, I focused on what I wanted each skill to do, how they would complement one another and work towards a common goal. Hill-Folk drew upon the concept of the hills; their hardy, enduring, and rugged nature, to empower my body and mind to withstand the rigours of the outside world. Cloven-Hooved drew inspiration from the denizens of the hills and mountains; their durability and agility, along with their absolute conviction as they navigated deadly terrain, to train my body and mind to move through the outside world. They both sought the same purpose, with similar methods of achieving it. I spent an indeterminable amount of time emphasizing the goal, visualising the end state of the merger of these two skills. A single constellation, embodying the enduring solidity of the hills alongside the dynamism of those that inhabit them. I sought to match the overall shape of both skills, overlaying one with the other and playing with the structure in my mind¡¯s eye until I had a clear idea of what the end goal would be. I visualised how it would spin once the links between the endlessly repeating segments were created, how the momentum of its movement would change its shape. It took time, with many restarts and failed attempts. Frequently I dropped back into my soul-space to re-examine the two skills, to ensure I hadn¡¯t missed out a crucial aspect of either in my own design. Finally, after my mind was wearing thin at the seams and my body itched to move in the real world, I sunk back into my introspection and began the merge. My will flexed, and the two skills were brought to the forefront of my soul, hovering close together in front of my core. Tendrils of mana began to siphon off from my core and move towards the skills, gripping different sections and rearranging them. It was in some ways easy work ¨C no movement was particularly hard, and the resistance was negligible. The difficulty lay in trying to keep the image in my head of the final product, alongside manipulating the many different pieces of the puzzle. After each light was moved into position, I had to imbue it with a sliver of my intent, to force it to stay put rather than drifting back to its original position.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. I was confident in the beginning, knowing my preparation had been solid, but as the skills slowly lost their form, I felt the strain begin to set in. The diagram in my head that I was trying to recreate was becoming hazy, sections slipping away as I left more and more of my will in the constellation itself. It was a battle of faith at that point. Had I formulated the constellation correctly to begin with? Had I copied the formulation completely, without errors? Was this all a hopeless attempt that would ruin two of my key skills for no benefit? In the end, I was too tired to care. With a final surge of effort, I urged the last trickle of mana from my core into the new constellation, willing away the unused and discarded sections of the old skills into the empty void. Mana flowed into the first of the dim lights, illuminating the void around it with a healthy glow before flowing towards the next light in the sequence. First a trickle, then a flood of mana was drained from my core as the new skill brightened, taking shape and beginning to spin. It rotated faster and faster, the original ungainly lump resolving itself into the pattern of an ever-shifting mountain as it whirled to life. An eternal moment passed as the skill danced faster and faster in the void, before it slowed to a more sedate pace just as the mana in my core was about to run dry. I sighed and let slip my final iota of control over the skill, and it eagerly snapped back into place in the formation around my core, six faintly glowing constellations making up the circle now, rather than seven. Skill ¡®Cloven-Hooved¡¯ removed. Open skill slot available. Skill ¡®Hill-Folk¡¯ removed. Open skill slot available. New skill created ¨C Mountain-Born. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Mountain-Born ¨C Passive. The mountains are harsh, and only the strong survive. You have lived this lesson, have been cast and remade in accordance with its truth. Weakness prohibits survival, and so the mountain has scraped all weakness from you. Use this newfound toughness to navigate the harshest environment many will ever face, and move through it as only those who call it home can. Further levels in this skill increase your adaptability to harsh climates and aid your movement within them. I exhaled slowly as I opened my eyes, smiling to myself as I took in the flood of information that the system provided. Success. A new skill, and a free skill slot. I was tempted to spend longer reviewing the new skill and its appearance within my soul, but I knew that the best way to familiarise myself with it was to use it. Experience is the greatest teacher, and I said that as someone taught by The Shepard himself. My knees ached, and my back was numb from where it had been pressed to the rock below. Stretching, I noted the crimson light brushing the forest below and sighed to myself. Most of a day spent lying on the floor, staring at my own soul. If I wasn¡¯t careful, I¡¯d be offered some sort of soul-surgeon class soon. A silly thought, as I knew such individuals existed, and they were highly sought after. If it was so easy to operate on another¡¯s soul, the classes to do so wouldn¡¯t be so rare, and combat between classers would likely look very different. I sighed at the ache in my stomach and reviewed my status to ensure all was as I expected. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 29 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 25 Agility: 25 Endurance: 29 Perception: 26 Cognition: 25 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 8. Passive. Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 8. Passive. Heart of the Hills: Level 5. Active. Check Step: Level 7. Active. Indomitable Prey: Level 8. Active. Skirmisher of Antiquity: Level 5. Passive. Mountain-Born: Level 9. Passive Open skill slot Everything seemed as it should. My soul was now ready for level 30 and the new class skill that it promised, but my body counselled patience. The ache in my chest from the broken rib was noticeably quieter, only murmuring at me on occasion when I bent and twisted too vigorously, and the cut had clotted neatly, with no hint of infection around the wound. I was also hungry again, and my mind felt a little sluggish. As the afternoon sun tipped towards evening twilight, I decided to slip out and gather some more food and firewood. The creek would take too long to get to and from before dark, and I needed some vegetables anyway. I¡¯d spied what I was reasonably confident was a chestnut tree nearby, and I doubted I¡¯d struggle to find some tubers and edible roots near the base of the cliff given how diverse and abundant the forest around me was. After a large meal, an evening of stretching and movement, trying to get to grips with my new skill and attributes after the latest enhancement, I again laid down for a long night. I¡¯d recovered my mana by now and so would be able to keep Indomitable Prey active for at least couple bells, enough for a decent rest at any rate.
The morning sun found me running through the forest once more, fleet of foot and filled with purpose. My grip around my shield was firm, and the fang at my hip was within easy reach. It was a sensible precaution, as I noticed blood and an animal carcass on the ground not far into the journey, and a splintered tree trunk later that looked to have been the result of a powerful impact. Something dangerous was within these woods, and while that was not exactly new information, the evidence of it still filled me with equal parts excitement and fear. I slowed as I neared the end of the gorge and took deliberate care to keep my steps soft and quiet. As I reached the edge of the forest and gazed out across the remaining 50 or so meters of open, ruptured ground, my stomach twisted as I saw the likely culprit of the damage I¡¯d seen earlier. Three men stood, red cloaks hanging off of broiled leather armour for two of them and overlapping metal plates for the other. Their backs were to me, one of them crouching to the floor with an arm outstretched, clearly pointing something out to the other two. I frowned for a moment, the deep red cloaks pulling at a memory. The uneasiness heightened as I made the connection, and even further still when the man kneeling on the ground turned and I caught a glimpse of dirty blonde hair and a nasty burn on one side of his face. Sven. That meant the others must be Francis and Rank, my erstwhile captors, but why were they wearing the same cloaks as the Crimson Lions? They even had the little gold crests on the top right where they attached to the armour, so it definitely wasn¡¯t just a coincidence of colour. They were only a few dozen meters from the cavern entrance and my spear, laying as it was among the rocks at its mouth. I couldn¡¯t see the guardian for a moment and wondered briefly if it had gone looking for me over the last two nights, before I spied the skull hanging from a vine in the cliff face above the cavern. It was relatively well hidden unless you knew to look for it, and there was no baleful green light emanating from the eye sockets this time, so I assumed it was in a dormant state. Clearly it was actually a guardian of this entrance, and not just a wild creature. My thoughts churned as I considered what to do. On the one hand, I could slip away now without detection and try and put some more distance between myself and the men before me. It was the safest option in the short-term, and perhaps they would have a harder time tracking me in the high hills and low mountains. On the other hand, they¡¯d found me once already, and it¡¯d probably just delay the inevitable. It would give me time to gather strength, attempt to gain a new class skill and maybe a few more levels before the confrontation. On the other other hand ¨C so back to the first hand again ¨C the creatures were already dangerous and only becoming more so the higher I fled. I had no guarantee the men wouldn¡¯t catch up to me after a serious injury at the hands of some wild beast, and my chances then would be much lower. So if I didn¡¯t run, then what? Attack them now, setup as much of an ambush as possible and hope to slay them all? I was still sure I had no chance against Francis in a straight up fight, but I could see Sven and Rank taking at least heavy injuries, if not death, if I set things up correctly. The priority would be to take out Sven, then slip away again. They may be able to follow but without a dedicated tracker, I had a much higher chance of evading them over the long haul. But how to take him out and then retreat without being captured or cut down by Francis ¨C a fighter a whole tier above me at the least? I watched as Sven exchanged words with the two standing men, gesturing about at the ground and having a heated discussion. Francis pointed down at the cavern entrance, but Sven shook his head emphatically and they continued to argue back and forth. Rank, evidently bored with the discussion or simply realising his opinion would have no impact on the outcome, turned to look around. I wanted to shrink back behind the tree I was shadowed against, but Wilderness Endurance Hunter screamed its instincts at me to stay still, and so I stayed locked in place moving not a muscle. Once again, the artificial knowledge granted by my skills turned out to be trustworthy, as his gaze flicked over me without any hint of recognition or acknowledgement, and I slowly let out a breath as he turned back to the others. They would move forwards soon, I was sure of it, and once they found my spear, there would be no doubt I was close. I¡¯d lose the element of surprise, and the chances of a successful ambush would fall dramatically. They were near the edge of the cavern entrance, probably only a dozen meters away, and about 3 meters from the edge of one of the cliffs. The skull of the still-living wraith ¨C if you could really describe an animated forest spirit as living in the first place ¨C was between the entrance and the group also, and only a few more steps forward would cause it to activate, assuming the same rules applied today as two days ago when I was last here. My spear was also on the ground not too far away from the cavern and stairs below. A plan was starting to form, and I spent a few moments running through how it would work. If I could make it along the cliff face behind them, I could get in position to drop onto them from above. That should allow me to kill at least one of them outright, and perhaps in the confusion injure another. Assuming I could catch Francis by surprise, that would the best option, as no matter his level or tier, I expected a knife through the throat from surprise to be enough to kill anyone. The other two could then be dealt with more traditionally. If Francis wasn¡¯t a good option due to positioning, I¡¯d aim for Sven and then hope to leg it back through the gorge, activating the wraith as a distraction for Francis. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but no plan of mine ever would be, and the longer I waited the harder it would be to make it a reality. And frankly, I couldn¡¯t wait to kill these fuckers. Nobody puts me in a cage and lives to tell of it. I felt my pathbound skill echo approval in my soul at the thought. Interlude - Daughter of the Mountain ¡°I can see that you have not yet understood me if you ask such. How is this land ours? To that I ask how is it not? We do not claim these mountains under any illusion of sovereignty, nor do we seek to keep its borders. This land exists, and we exist as part of it. Would you ask the lightning-weasels if they own the mounds of moss they burrow in? Would you ask the rivers if they own their beds? My father travelled far and wide and the stories he told me of your world shocked me. You lowlanders decimate entire forests, reshape lakes and tunnel through mountains. You are welcome in this land, and my people would not contest your settling here. But if you seek to change these mountains, you will draw the ire of its denizens. Should you tunnel too deep, the great bears will rise from their slumber. Should you build too tall, the storm-rooks will come down from their perches. Should you spread too far¡­well, then the barbarians will come calling. Respect the land or face its wrath.¡± - Excerpt from the speech of Barbarian King Solomense to the Ashkanian refugees following the fall of the 2nd age, as described in ¡®the untamed lands ¨C a warning to settlers¡¯ by unknown author.
Sadrianna grimaced at the predicament. At well over fifteen meters off the forest floor, she was too high to drop to the ground without injury, and if she shimmied down the Great Oak any further, her prey would surely hear her. She was fast over open ground, and faster still in the steep valleys and narrow ridges that marked her homeland, but a Springtooth was not a creature that humans could match in power before at least their 2nd tier. A deep, even breath brought her racing heart back into line, and she accepted the possibility of failure. An afternoon of stalking would be wasted, true, but she wouldn¡¯t consider it time wasted. If simple carelessness and impatience cost her the hunt however, there would be no forgiveness. Better to focus, analyse the world and draw inspiration from it. Only once that well ran dry would she act. Patience today, greatness tomorrow so the saying went. Thus resolved, she ran her gaze back down the enormous trunk of the Great Oak upon which she clung, gripping the hand-sized ridges in the bark with all four limbs, toes curling and gripping as surely as her fingers. She was a novelty in her clan for her use of the Gecko¡¯s Grip, a skill that no champion, berzekarr, or prize-fighter had made use of in generations. Some of the gatherers and scouts swore by it ¨C she¡¯d learned the art from an old man who had led the hunters back in the day after all ¨C but nobody who dreamt of joining the heady hights of the clan¡¯s greatest fighters would be willing to waste a skill slot for something with limited combat potential. Indeed, that was part of what made Sadrianna such a prodigy; not only was she a dominant fighter in her clan across the first two generations ¨C and breaking into the third rapidly as well ¨C but she did so with an un-optimized skill-build. Her mother had begged her to seek out one of the wizened old dream-weavers their clan had in abundance once she managed to convince her parents that she was truly set on becoming a warrior. And she had, dutifully and without complaint. There was some complaining afterwards though, once she was done listening to the ramblings of a soul long past its prime, trying to live out dreams of glory through the young. ¡®That would be waste of potential for a young lass like you¡¯, ¡®no, don¡¯t try something new, we¡¯d figured it out long before your birth¡¯ and her personal favourite; ¡®do you think your mother rose to such heights by disrespecting her elders so?¡¯ It was especially ironic since while her mother was in many ways an orthodox fighter, treading straight and true the path of a berzekarr of clan White-Cliff, Sadrianna knew she started to see real success only after incorporating the unusual training style of her father. And it was a training style she was using herself to great success. Rather than live the life of a typical warrior of the clan, training every spare moment and sparring with the other warriors and fighters in the local circle, she spent most of her free time hunting. Most of the core skills that the clan cultivated relied on embodiment. The great shamans of clan Red-Cloud were famous for drawing inspiration from the world around them, embodying the stalwart nature of the mountains themselves, the inevitable strength of the glaciers and the unshakeable foundations of the caverns below. Clan Yellow-Peak chose to study the seasons, fighting with techniques that mimicked the slow death of winter and the rapid growth of spring. White-Cliff had a more common style among the many clans of the Dragon-Spine Mountains though ¨C they were animal-walkers. Sadrianna had spent many summers watching the lithe, vibrant little geckos that littered her home. She studied their anatomy as they sunned themselves on rocks, she echoed their movements as the sped away on strangely articulated legs, and she observed the patterns of their life-force as it flowed through their bodies, enhancing every action in a subconscious mimicry of the magic of sentients. So it was that she clung to the Great Oak with ease, hands and feet splayed against the textured bark. She didn¡¯t want to end this hunt with a loss, especially considering the Springtooth was a young male. It had left its mother only last winter if she had to guess based on its size, and would be looking for a territory of its own to claim. Slipping away now could be seen as a dereliction of her duty to the clan. If it came upon one of the less-powerful gatherers, there could be serious injuries. Death was unlikely, close as they were to the lowlands and with relatively weak wildlife to contend with as a result. It was possible though, had happened before. Likely even if that oaf Sindri was assigned as support to the gathers out this way. She pushed away the errant thoughts and refocused. She wanted to end this with a victory, but the fall was too far, and she could not hide the sound of her movements from a predator with such advanced senses as a Springtooth, even one barely out of adolescence. If she¡¯d had more time with Gecko¡¯s Grip, she could try to incorporate the explosive speed that the small animals displayed when startled, into a rush to the foot of the tree, but that was currently beyond her understanding, and possibly out of reach until the skill evolved. She¡¯d fully mastered the main draw of her skill ¨C that of unusual movement and grip on most surfaces, but more advanced applications were still beyond her.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. She examined the world around her once more. A small forest of Great Oaks, rising from the uneven mossy floor to kiss the tops of the high cliffs to her right, well over 100 meters above. The land sloped sharply away to her left, dipping into a valley with a stream in the centre, heavy with snowmelt from the higher peaks. The Springtooth snuffled at the forest floor, routing through the boughs of the great trees¡¯ root systems for ground nesting birds and other delicacies. Its long, prehensile nose flickered around, darting forwards occasionally and taking long, snorting sniffs of the air, trying to make sense of the riotous smells surrounding it. It left furrows in the earth as it sniffed, ivory canines scraping against the loam and brushing aside leaves as they followed the waving snout. Deep in its search, it was insensate to the world above it, thinking itself protected from aerial predators by the thick oaken canopy. Unfortunately for the young cat, a predator lurked above. Sadrianna eased her hand into a pouch bound to the rough skins that wrapped her legs and withdrew a small pebble with a hole drilled straight through from bottom to top. She rolled it in her palm until the grip felt right, and then took a deep, slow breath. With a momentary prayer to the spirits above and below, she whipped the stone through the air, far above the head of the Springtooth and towards the stream far below to her left. At the same moment, she released the hold of her toes, and swung around on her remaining hand, dropping a meter or so and swinging around the back of the great oak. From there, she let her momentum carry her downward easily, grabbing holds in the bark every meter or so as she skittered down the trunk. She stopped only a few meters from the floor when she heard the whistling cry of her rook-stone cut off abruptly. She stayed still, allowing only a small portion of air to inflate her lungs, keeping her breath slow and even to prevent any excess noise. She replayed the descent, focusing on the sounds that had come to her and separating them out into their constituent parts. First, and most notably, there had been the whistling scream that her rook-stone had made, as it spun through the air, and the wind flew through the carved hole to replicate the keening cry of a rook on the hunt. Simultaneously, there had been the abrupt cessation of the snuffling and a scramble of ferns being pushed aside as the Springtooth whirled towards the sound, muscles no doubt tense for flight. Then the whistling had stopped as the sound of a stone crashing through thick vegetation could be heard, before an echoing crack rebounded around the small valley, where the stone had smashed into something of greater density on the riverbed. Nothing else though, no further sound at all. She waited, breath even but hands settled on her hatchet and long-knife, ready to be attacked by a raging cat larger than most of the warriors of her clan. No attack came though, and after another few dozen heartbeats, she heard the hiss of vegetation being parted, and snuffling resume once more. Grinning fiercely to herself, she allowed success to fill her soul for another moment before she settled onto the balls of her feet and began to stalk around the tree¡¯s base. She had no true stealth skills, unwilling to ¡®waste¡¯ a slot, but that did not mean she didn¡¯t study the masters all the same. She may never truly embody the grace of a stalking cat, but she could learn something of their nature even so. Her centre of gravity dropped as she lowered herself closer to the floor, and she reached out with each foot carefully, questing for a stable foothold, before transitioning her weight from back foot to front so slowly that no sound escaped beneath her soles. The loamy earth added extra padding and prevented vibrations from travelling far, but the steady dusting of the continuously falling leaves was a difficult challenge to navigate. Sadrianna was a prodigy, and as proud of her skill as any other young warrior of the various mountain clans ¨C that is to say; she was brash, confident, and unapologetic in her ability. However, that aspect of her personality was tempered by the perspective granted by her mother¡¯s sparring, and her father¡¯s patient acceptance. How could one revel in the stream when they had seen the lake from which it drew? So it was with humility that she accepted she would draw no closer without alerting her prey, when she crouched in the earth only a dozen meters from the big cat snuffling through the undergrowth. Five breaths; one for each of the great peaks, and seven more for the endless valleys, and she was ready. As the final breath filled her lungs, she exploded forwards in a charge that had won her many fights in the first round. Markhor¡¯s Rush activated, and the world seemed to blur slightly at the edges of her vision, as she catapulted towards the cat at superhuman speeds. She saw the Springtooth tensing, reacting in an instant to the rush of noise. Her feet crushed the earth as they landed, heavy thumps sounding with each impact as the distance between warrior and predator dwindled. The cat¡¯s back legs bunched, muscles contracting to launch the heavy mammal two meters into the air, all the while its elongated fangs swung around, aiming for the approaching threat with deadly precision. Luckily for Sadrianna, her people had lived alongside, and fought with, these animals for millennia. They had named the mountain cats as they had for a reason. She continued her charge, unperturbed by the surprisingly fast movement and the wicked teeth baring down on her, for the skill she had activated was not simply to close distance. No more than a few heartbeats after she had activated the skill, she had crossed the dozen metres between herself and her prey. Simultaneously, two immense curled horns formed of molten rock shimmered into existence above her head. She ducked low and whipped her neck up and angled directly at the cat, intercepting the ivory teeth and knocking the large cat sprawling through the air. A picture-perfect application of the skill, and her opponent was tumbling to the floor no more than a few metres from her. She threw her hatchet overhand even as she dashed forwards, and the cat, having seen the weapon heading for its eyes, dove to the right¡­directly into an extended thrust by her long-knife. There was a pained scream from the creature, but she twisted the blade sharply and cut off its misery in an instant. A few moments had passed, and she had killed a ¨C technically ¨C adult Springtooth. Just like that. You have killed a Western Springtooth (level 65). Experience gained. She dismissed the notification, and quickly set about binding its legs together and trussing it to a large stick. She plugged the wound with a salve to clot the blood and wrapped it in a rag to prevent a blood trail directly to her clan, and then heaved the carcass onto her shoulder. Setting off back down towards home, she pondered her accomplishment. In many ways it seemed far too easy a kill, but that was only true on the surface. If you looked at the battle itself, yes it was a simple and rapid affair in which she took no damage at all. If you considered the context though, she had spent all afternoon stalking the creature, waiting for the perfect place to ambush it. It was also an ideal matchup for her ¨C Springtooth¡¯s were ambush predators after all and didn¡¯t take being ambushed themselves all that well. You also had to make allowances for her most prized skill, activated in all life-and-death encounters, that made her much more lethal than she had any right to be as a warrior still in her first tier; Razor-Beak. The skill she had spent so long working towards, that elevated her hatchet and long-knife from mere sharp pieces of metal into the most dangerous of weapons that could threaten anyone. As it was, the skill had allowed her long-knife to easily pierce through the cat¡¯s thick hide, and glance off the bone of its ribcage and straight towards its heart without breaking. If any of the above factors were not present, she may have faced death back there. As it was, she was returning victorious. Such is life. Patience today, greatness tomorrow. Interlude - Fire and Seed The child shook with anger. Balled fists were pressed to his sides, as if trying to contain something in his stomach that couldn¡¯t be held back. He was dirty, tears streaking through the grime and ash stuck to his face, tunic hanging limply from his narrow shoulders and sticking to patches of blood around his midriff. Markas needed only a moment to observe the boy kneeling before him to understand that there was no chance of peace this day. How many such sights had he seen over the last two years? Dozens at least, and it was only getting worse. He raised his head to survey the burned buildings surrounding them both and saw no answers in the destruction; simply more work. Smoke rose in lazy swirls towards the blue sky above, and the juxtaposition of the grey and black village to that wonderful sky made his heart ache all over again. The crackling of the flames had long since vanished, their work done. The village he stood in was utterly destroyed, down to the last man, woman and child ¨C all but one. Markas¡¯s gaze returned to the boy trembling on the mud-slick ground, trampled by numerous boots and hooves such that the sturdy wooden planks demarcating the central square were barely visible. The boy took a heavy breath, and the remaining embers hidden within buildings winked out in an instant. Young lungs inflated far beyond their capacity before an explosive sob racked his bony back and the fires leapt and danced again, where before there had only been smouldering remains. He nodded in understanding and crouched opposite the young boy. He met red-rimmed eyes, drooping with exhaustion but sharpened by desperation and desire nonetheless. In that gaze, Markas saw only devastation. A world on fire, scorched plains where once had stood proud forests. Rubble replacing cities, violence taking the place of peace. He spoke for the first time that morning, and though the ash tasted thick on his tongue, his voice was smooth and calming. ¡°It won¡¯t get easier to control.¡± The boy choked back another sob, clamping his fists into his sides again, and a plume of smoke curled from the burned husk of the central tree around which this village was built. Those burning eyes that had stared hopelessly and defiantly into his only moments before were now squeezed tightly shut. Markas continued to speak, tone soft and slow. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault that they came here, and there¡¯s no excuse for their crimes. But it won¡¯t get easier. This pain you feel now¡­it will be a constant companion.¡± The boy looked up again, a vein standing out harsh against his neck, writhing like a serpent as he struggled with the power threatening to burst from him. His voice was a gasping growl, more dog than human in that moment. ¡°Who did this? Why!?¡± Markas cocked his head to the side, considering. He hummed to himself for a moment before replying. ¡°It does not matter. There are no good reasons that could justify this. ¡°Nevertheless, it is not my secret to keep, and so I will share with you what I know. I would like you to answer a question of mine first though.¡± He waited, holding that desperate gaze for a few moments before the boy jerked his head in response. ¡°I know who did this, and I will administer the justice they are due. You may join me if you like, boy, but I ask you to consider what you wan-¡° He was cut off by a strangled yell. ¡°Vengeance!¡± The outburst caused the boy to hunch over on himself, curling around his stomach as if to shield it from the world. The fires began to lick at the blackened buildings around them with renewed vigour. A few more gasps before the boy spoke again, ¡°I want vengeance. I want them to pay for what they did here.¡± Fresh tears fell from his red-rimmed eyes, tracking familiar paths down his too-young face. Markas steeled his heart, wrapping his mind in a protective shell of ice before he replied, voice calm as ever. ¡°Do you want to see them pay, or do you simply want it done?¡± Confusion marred his little face, and he flung an arm out towards the old warrior in anger as he yelled. ¡°Speak plainly, old man! I want them dead, every single one of them, and-¡° It was Markas¡¯s turn to cut him off this time, and although he spoke with the same volume as before, his calm voice still cut across the desperate yelling of the boy like a whip through smoke. ¡°And do you need to be the one who delivers that justice?¡± The tears were sizzling on the boy¡¯s cheeks now, and the flames were dancing higher and higher with every moment. ¡°They¡¯re still in there.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. A bony arm pointed towards a large home, roof partially collapsed and skeletal beams clawing towards the sky, blackened and chipped by the fire¡¯s wrath. ¡°Da and Jules.¡± The arm moved to point towards a smithy that stood gutted nearby, ¡°Ma and little Janey.¡± Fresh tears fell towards the floor as he hunched over again, hissing as they hit the bubbling mud below. The tree in the centre of the square crackled and split as a deep orange glow roared within the trunk. ¡°Miss Tameira used to bake in there, but she¡¯s dead too. They took her goats though ¨C they were too valuable to leave to burn with the rest.¡± The boy¡¯s voice shook throughout, but it cracked again at that last statement, and Markas felt the icy wall he kept in place around his thoughts crack alongside it. ¡°I shall carry out your justice; they will die before the year is done. Each and every one of them.¡± He drew a thick-bladed knife from his belt and slid it into the earth between them, hilt facing the sky. He nicked his palm against the edge and squeezed the cut before holding it towards the boy. The blood began to bubble and sizzle, heat emanating from the boy in waves and causing the blood on Markas¡¯s proffered palm to boil. He brought it back to his own face, smearing it across his cheek, over his nose and down one side of his neck. ¡°So do I swear, in the presence of the World-Tree¡¯s representative.¡± The boy stared with wide eyes, glancing quickly to the burned corpse of the tree in the centre of the square then back to the old man crouched before him. ¡°But my question for you, boy, is whether you want to be there when justice is dealt.¡± The boy made to speak and then hesitated, looking back to the tree again before seeming to truly see his surroundings for the first time. He hurriedly tried to tamp down on the fire burning in his core, scrunching his face and sucking in a deep breath. The snakes of fire that had been wending their way towards him through the mud disappeared, the roaring walls of flame all around falling to mere questing tendrils once more. The mud stopped its bubbling, and the boy rocked back and forth with the strain. ¡°It won¡¯t get easier, not ever¡± Markas reiterated. Despite his eyes remaining clamped shut through the pain, the boy raised his face to look directly at the old warrior. ¡°Why?¡± The pain carried within that achingly young voice was a gut punch to the old man, but he once more armoured his heart in ice. ¡°You are seeded. The World Tree chose you, and it gave you what you wanted most, what you needed most. It doesn¡¯t care for consequences, and it doesn¡¯t care for you. Only your goal. You needed to control the fires, so it gave you the power. You are burning up, boy; I can feel the flames inside you. That passion, that need for vengeance, has combined with the seed to drive changes within that you cannot hope to control.¡± ¡°How do I make it stop?¡± The desperate confusion in that plea nearly shattered the cold defence he had wrapped around his mind and heart, but Markas had seen such tragedies before, and knew he would witness many more before his work was done. And so he steeled himself once more and answered in a calming tone, betraying nothing of his grief, ¡°There is no stopping this, only your death will end the struggle.¡± Red-rimmed eyes blinked open to view the world, and Markas once more saw a future of fire and rubble. ¡°Then I¡¯ll let it loose! I¡¯ll find them and we¡¯ll burn together!¡± Markas slowly nodded, ignoring the smoke beginning to curl from his beard. ¡°It¡¯s no less than they deserve, but many will be caught in the middle. How many homes will burn for your vengeance before you smoke out the last rat?¡± They boy continued to rock back and forth, curled around his stomach. Markas could see his words burrowing into his mind, influencing his thoughts, and he knew then that he would convince him. Afterall, the boy was not trying to keep his core safe from the world. He was curled s desperately around his stomach to shield the world from the flame within. ¡°Let me shoulder this burden. You have heard my oath. I am Al¡¯Sazine ¨C we do not take such vows lightly.¡± Again, the boy¡¯s eyes widened, the flame dimming momentarily as the name forced to the forefront memories of bedtime stories and happier times. Markas could pinpoint the exact moment that the boy remembered his parents and sisters were dead, and as the flames returned, he felt the heat around him for the first time. ¡°I came too late to save your village. I cannot reverse the sands of time to give you the life you want, or any life worth living. But I can give you peace.¡± He reached out a hand to the boy¡¯s shoulder, feeling the skin on his palm blister as the boy¡¯s home-spun tunic burned away in the flames surrounding them both. ¡°Pass to me the burden of vengeance and join your family in the embrace of the Great Tree with the knowledge that justice will be done. Let go of your anger and accept peace into your heart one last time.¡± The boy let out a choking sob and fell towards him. Quicker than thought, Markas moved to hold the child to his chest, feeling his shaking shoulders slowly subside. Surrounded by flames, he watched the word burn as a young boy cried. Uncounted breaths passed before he received a shaky nod from the young child, after which followed a sharp exhale and the flames abruptly vanished, leaving Markas kneeling in the remains of a ruined village under a bright blue sky, with a limp body in his arms. He lowered the corpse carefully to the floor, retrieving his broad-bladed knife from its back, and pressed his lips to the mud-slick floor, murmuring a prayer before rising to his feet. A shovel appeared in his hands a moment later, and he got to work. He dug the dead tree up from the square, pulling it out by the roots. Moving from house to house, he collected the bodies before piling them into the expanded hole where the tree had once rested. There was nobody alive to ask what possession each would enter the Emerald Glade with, so Markas withdrew a large bone from his storage ring, crushing it with a single swing of his shovel before placing a single sliver of bone on the chest of each corpse where they lay looking up to the sky. He covered them with earth from outside the village, and then, with reverence, he withdrew a small seed and placed it atop of the mound of earth. He tamped it down, covering the seed in a thin layer of soil before observing the now empty square. Sun shone brightly down, illuminating the patch of fresh earth, and Markas straightened from his half-crouch. Only once his shovel was returned to his storage ring and his hands were brushed clean did he remove the defensive shield of ice around his thoughts. An old man wept, and his tears fell on freshly turned earth. They would help nourish new life in the coming weeks, but that thought did little to stem his grief at the world. Such was the curse of his order, after all; to arrive ever too late. Chapter 46 - Faultline If you¡¯re ever on the edge, and all the plans in the world have fucked off without you, buy time. ¨C The Shepherd
I scouted the rock face before me, mentally tracing my route as I would traverse it. It was fairly simple, with big jugs of jutting rock for handholds most of the way along, and the solid granite made for confidence in the rock. The last thing I wanted was to alert them with a falling rock, or gods forbid slip and land on my ass in front of them. That would be an inauspicious start to my ambush. I noticed a thick ledge running along the rock about 5 meters up and terminating just a few meters shy of their current position, now that they had moved closer to the cavern. It seemed Sven was trying to make sense of the field given the sundering of the earth from the cavern¡¯s immergence. I silently thanked whatever god had engineered that feat, as clearly the movement of the earth had thrown any tracks I¡¯d made into disarray and was causing Sven quite the difficulty in figuring out my path. Sven seemed to be of the opinion that I¡¯d not ventured into the cavern itself and was trying to convince the others of this, if I¡¯d read the situation correctly. That was hard to do when I was a good 40 meters away by the tree line, but I would chance it. In the end I didn¡¯t really care what they were discussing, as long as they continued doing it without looking up while I approached. I traversed in as close to silence as I could manage, controlling my breathing and taking care to prevent my shield or the two bangles on my left wrist and the broach securing my cloak from knocking against the rock ¨C the scrape of metal on stone would surely alert them to my presence, while the soft hiss of leather and cloth could be safely ignored. I made slow, steady progress, trying to coincide the more dynamic movements with the moments that clouds passed by the sun. It was painful work and with each moment I was convinced that one of them would look up at the cliff face and spot me. The sun hadn¡¯t moved in the sky, and Sven and Francis had only managed to exchange a few dozen sentences by the time I was in position. No matter how quiet I was trying to be, 40 meters of climbing was a quick affair to my enhanced body, further boosted by skills and ample experience. I hung silently a few meters above the group, watching them talk with bated breath. My knife whispered from its place lashed to my belt, the giant fang nearly as long as my forearm. My shield was gripped firmly in my left hand I could see my spear laying in the ground a dozen meters away, hidden behind a small boulder and a bank of grasses. Sven was moving methodically closer by the moment though, and I knew it would not take long for him to find it. Francis was still examining the mouth of the cavern and the carved steps within while talking to Sven, and Rank was next to him¡­scratching his balls. Gods I love that man ¨C a true hero, doing my work for me. Suitably distracted, he would have been a great target, but he was the lowest on the priority list to take out, and I would only get one shot at this. Francis was unfortunately out of reach, closest to the cavern as he was, and I was not confident in reaching him without my presence becoming known too early. Sven was within reach though, and crouched as he was to the ground, he would have no way to avoid the swift death I would deliver to him. I licked my lips, resisting the urge to spit to the side, my saliva thick and sour in my mouth as always before a fight. I drew deeply on my mana, activating Heart of the Hills to keep my excitement under control, and readied myself for a fight. I saw Francis stiffen, turn, and start to speak. ¡°I feel something, ready yourself-¡± I leapt before he could finish his warning, my legs propelling me from the rock and twisting around in the air to face forwards as I rocketed out towards where Sven crouched. He was already rising and turning towards Francis when he caught sight of my body hurtling towards him but was too slow to react with anything other than a shriek before I slammed into him. My knife silenced his scream as it tore through his windpipe and out the back of his neck, and I yanked it to the side as I hit the floor, already rolling as his throat was torn open in my wake. The next thing I knew was a weighty impact, and I was groggily raising my head from the earth, blood trickling down my face and the entire left side of my chest screaming in protest. I coughed, spit and phlegm and blood coating my chin as I struggled to draw breath and pull myself up from where I lay. My vision swam and I realised the figure slowly walking towards me was not in fact swaying from side to side, but instead I had simply taken a blow to the head. I felt panic clawing at me and activated Heart of the Hills again, relishing the feeling of distance between myself and the pain in my chest. Francis strolled leisurely towards me, and I could now see Rank pawing at the body of his companion, frantically trying to stem the blood leaking from his ruined neck. I worried momentarily that I had failed, but the faint ringing in my mind confirmed that I had killed the man, and I felt a flash of cruel satisfaction at the realisation. Rank seemed unable to believe it though, as he wailed at Francis a moment later. ¡°Help me! Boss, help! We can still save him. Please Francis¡­¡± His cry, so tortured and raw that it shook me from the spiteful thoughts and brought on a brief moment of shame, quickly became begging as he saw Francis entirely unmoved by his plea. The older man just continued to walk towards me, never looking away from my eyes as he replied over his shoulder. ¡°Leave him Rank, he¡¯s already dead. He was the moment this one marked him out I¡¯d wager.¡± His next statement was addressed directly to me, and I felt a shiver at the evenness of his tone. He sounded different now, the mask of a hard-bitten mercenary falling away to reveal a strangely well-spoken man that dripped disdain with each word he spoke. ¡°I imagine you targeted him because he was the only one of us with skill in tracking? A bold plan. I must confess I didn¡¯t think you had it in you, coming back to face us again. I thought we¡¯d have to run you down over the next several weeks.¡± He wasn¡¯t worried. He was curious, almost impressed, but not for a moment did he seem to feel even remotely threatened by me. This man was far beyond my ability to harm. I hadn¡¯t even seen him act, but whatever he had done had cracked most of my ribcage on the left-hand side, making raising my left arm almost impossible. My shield was now useless, and I felt so nauseous that I doubted I could walk in a straight line right now, let alone fight. I cast about my body, searching for what had knocked me over 5 meters away from Sven¡¯s body and almost surely ended the fight before it had truly begun, but I saw nothing. ¡°What¡­what did you do to me?¡± I croaked, having to clear my throat of more blood before I could complete my sentence. The metallic taste almost made me gag. He chuckled, no more than a couple of meters before me now, and crouched down to look me in the eye. ¡°Nothing special, a skill of mine if you must know. Really, you never had a chance Lamb ¨C that should have been obvious since the day we took you. Why you insisted on this drawn out farce is beyond me.¡± I kept my mental skill active, my faculties returning to me moment by moment. I was surprised to still be alive at this point, but I knew I needed to keep him talking to keep it that way. ¡°Why am still alive? What do you want with me Francis?¡± The question seemed to amuse him more than anything, and he rocked back on his feet, sitting down against a small boulder opposite me. It was bizarre how casual this conversation seemed if you only considered him, and not my bloody mess of a body as well. ¡°I doubt there¡¯s much harm in telling you, it¡¯s just you and me now anyway. I¡¯ll be keeping a closer eye on you from now on, and you¡¯ll not have another chance to slip away this time.¡± My confusion must have shown on my face at his words, as he smirked and sighed, turning towards Rank as the man looked over at us with tears in his eyes and blood coating his forearms. Francis gestured lazily and a meaty smack echoed around the gorge as Rank collapsed forwards, a thick-hafted forester¡¯s axe embedded in the back of his head. I gaped in confusion before the axe whirled through the air and into Francis¡¯s palm, at which point he wiped it on the grass and sheathed it through a leather loop at his belt, all the while maintaining a pleasant smile. ¡°What? He¡¯s useless to me now, and we¡¯d have had to leave him behind anyway. We¡¯ll be moving faster than he can keep up, and he¡¯d die in a week if left alone in the mountains. He¡¯s not a survivor like you.¡± ¡°Huh? Isn¡¯t he your...what? your companion?¡± I asked, frantically trying to untangle the web of confusing information with half my mind while the other half just screamed that it was irrelevant and to get the fuck out of there. An argument that the first half of my mind shut down simply by asking how. The silence to that was deafening. ¡°Oh no no, he was just a new recruit, barely a year out of the academy. I¡¯d only known him for a few months and I¡¯d categorise him as thoroughly incompetent without the help of his smarter friend there that you so unhelpfully killed. Nothing to be done about that though. Unlike Rank there, you still serve a purpose.¡± He slapped his knee and made to stand. ¡°What purpose? Why do you need me? What could I possibly offer that¡¯s so important that you¡¯d risk taking me further? After what I¡¯ve done?¡± I was of course playing for time, but it wasn¡¯t hard to inject the curiosity and desperation in my voice. ¡°Ah well that¡¯s a good question Lamb, and you¡¯re right, I did say I¡¯d answer, didn¡¯t I? It¡¯s simple, you¡¯re god-touched.¡± I waited for him to continue, and he rolled his eyes at my expression after a few more heartbeats with neither of us speaking. ¡°Oh alright. The Duke has found a ruin that appears to be from the later-Ashkanian Era and it¡¯s locked in the usual way. He wants god-touched to help him open it up.¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. I stared blankly at him, and he seemed genuinely surprised at my lack of reaction. ¡°Oh really now? How is one as powerful as you so uneducated? I¡¯d assumed you were the son of a wealthy trader, or perhaps even minor nobility in one of the larger cities, but that idea¡¯s out the window now. How did you get this far with such a poor knowledge base? They really are uneducated outside of the Sunsets, aren¡¯t they?¡± The last part was said more to himself as an afterthought than to me, but he soon picked up the tread of his explanation. ¡°It¡¯s definitely from the late period of the Ashkanian era, and that¡¯s when the empire had fully mobilised for war with the multiple calamities they were facing. They left a series of vaults ¨C small cities filled with weapons and supplies, magical knowledge and other wonders to help them rebuild if their civilisation should fall. They are legendary but notoriously rare, only a few being found this era, and all of those by already powerful factions. It should be obvious why my employer would want to get inside one of them.¡± He raised an eyebrow at me mockingly, as if daring me to be that stupid. I rolled my eyes, wincing as the gesture caused a sharp pain in my skull. ¡°Yes, but why me? What has my title as god-touched got to do with breaking into an old ruin?¡± I rasped, feeling beginning to return to my left arm, although breathing was still tight and painful. Francis tsk''d at me in rebuke as he spoke. ¡°It¡¯s ancient, not merely some old ruin from a few hundred years ago, boy. As for your involvement; all god-touched display strange abilities above and beyond the purview of the system. The most common by far is the ability to read, comprehend and sometimes speak almost all languages, especially those that date back from before the system was instituted. Based on the way your eyes widened at that, I can assume that is the ability you possess as well, which is lucky for me. Don¡¯t look so shocked, you¡¯re painfully easy to read.¡± He sighed in contentment before continuing. ¡°I¡¯d get paid either way mind you, but if you can actually help the exploration efforts, I¡¯ll get a lovely bonus. Perhaps the Duke himself might even advise me on breaking through to the 3rd tier ¨C I¡¯m right on the threshold, you see.¡± Fuck, that¡¯s not good. He gave me a wink, and I had no doubt that his smile was entirely due to the reminder of the power disparity between us. Although I¡¯d already received ample evidence that this wasn¡¯t an opponent I could kill when he took me out of the fight completely before I could react. I wracked my brain, trying to think up a way out of this situation, but my options were limited. I still felt woozy, and it was hard to get my thoughts in order over the ringing in my head- ¡­gods I¡¯m a moron. I tried to keep my face neutral as I focused on the system notifications I¡¯d received, acknowledging the prompts relating to my new level up and upgraded skills before sending a silent prayer to all the gods in existence upon seeing the name of my newest class skill. Skill ¡®Heart of the Hills¡¯ has increased in level. Heart of the Hills ¨C level 6 You have killed a Human (Crimson Fang) (level 31). Experience gained. You have reached level 30. Attribute points available for allocation. Skill gained ¨C Faultline. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Faultline ¨C Active. The hills rest on foundations of stone, and you have gained a minor understanding of this unassailable truth. You have witnessed the earth rupture and navigated the twisted pathways that have resulted. Use this skill to gain a mild level of stone-sense, and the power to impose your will upon it. Further levels increase both your sense and control of the stone beneath and around you and will broaden the possible applications of your basic earth manipulation. I felt the skill lock into place in around my core, bringing the circle of six skills back into balance as a seventh joined the wheel. Understanding unfurled within me, and the calculation of the whole encounter now changed yet again. I was struggling with the feeling of whiplash from the many ways this plan had gone awry already, but no plan survives contact with the enemy, doubly so for any that my tiny pea-brain could formulate. I continued the conversation with only half an ear, happy to note that the man seemed keen on talking now that his companions ¨C more like underlings by the sound of it ¨C were gone. ¡°So why kidnap me and refuse to tell me why? Why not just pay me like a regular fucking person?¡± I asked, actually kind of angry now that I thought about the simple solution. At the same time, I activated Faultline for the first time and felt a new sense bloom in my mind. As a human, I relied intensely on my vision. Surviving for months in the wilds had heightened my sense of smell to some degree, and I also made good use of my hearing, but my eyes were the way I really understood the world. That was probably why this new sense appeared to my mind so much like a vision. In my mind¡¯s eye the world below me was mapped out in a 3-dimensional relief of the stone, fault lines highlighted and different densities and impurities in the rock contrasting against one another to giving a feeling of texture rather than colour. It was confusing, and I had no doubt that without the system¡¯s help it could take me years to make sense of the whirl of sensory data. As it was though, I had a cognition attribute of 25 which seemed to be doing the heavy lifting ¨C filtering out useless information, allowing me to focus on the new sense and contrast the vision in my mind with the location that I lay on. The stone beneath was a clusterfuck of upheaved slabs of granite, cracked along pre-existing fault lines by the opening of the chasm ahead. I traced one such weak point as Francis answered my question, probing at the fracture in the rock beneath me and comparing it to the position of the carved steps leading into the cavern. If I was right, they extended down into the earth a few meters to my right, with only a few meters of earth and a meter or so of solid stone between us. ¡°Yes I understand you may find it a little frustrating, but there is a degree of secrecy about this. We have found that most god-touched are rather touchy ¨C ha! ¨C and tend to refuse offers such as the one you suggest. In either case, we are not in the habit of letting them back to wherever we picked them up from afterwards until the ruin has been fully excavated. It wouldn¡¯t do to have the secret leak early, and some powerhouse from the larger factions outside the Sunsets sweep down upon us, now would it?¡± His insinuation that I¡¯d not be leaving after performing my duties hardly fazed me at this point, given everything I was currently experiencing, but I did remember to act surprised enough for him to hasten to reassure me. ¡°No no, don¡¯t worry yourself Lamb, I don¡¯t mean that you would be killed. Simply, we would require your services for longer than you may want to give them, and so you will have to stay with us for perhaps a few years. Nothing for a strong fighter like yourself ¨C perhaps we could arrange appropriate training for you to reach the 2nd tier while with us if you behave, hhmm?¡± His tone was becoming more familiar as time passed. I could only assume that once he had dropped the act that he put on for the others, his true personality was coming to the fore. ¡°You began this by saying you were simply a mercenary working for an employer. You sound awfully familiar with them now; ¡®we this¡¯, ¡®we that¡¯. I¡¯m starting to suspect you are more involved than you let on.¡± Contrary to my expectations, he seemed delighted by my question, his face lighting up in a satisfied smirk. I focused again on the stone, tracing the fractures already present and confirming once more that my hunch was correct. I knew he could feel mana usage, and so I would have to be careful, but the small trickle of mana required to sustain the sense part of the skill was likely impossible for him to distinguish from that of my continuous activation of Heart of the Hills. I sat up, propping my arm behind me to help take the weight from the left side of my chest that still pulsed in pain, even through my mental skill. He raised an eyebrow again at my movement, but didn¡¯t interrupt himself, mid-way through his sentence as he was. ¡°Yes, well, perhaps I have some minor financial interest in the endeavour. You will not know this of course, but the D¡¯Sware house is heavily invested with Duke Ryonic, and helped finance his rise to power. We stand to gain a lot from his success. My father was a casualty in the Sternsbridge massacre actually. Mother was ever so worried when I signed up for the academy, but I said I would follow in his footsteps, and I have done so.¡± I looked up at him, at the proud tilt to his chin, and despite his words earlier it was the first time a truly realised that this man was, for all his armour and weapons and levels and terrifying power, simply a pompous noble ¨C a posh boy hoping to make his dead father proud. I smirked then, a malicious grin that caused the now dry blood on my face to crack and twist. I laughed, levering myself to the right a few paces as I started to crawl towards the fault-line and the steps below. ¡°Sternsbridge? Isn¡¯t that where an entire company of 2nd tier veterans was defeated by some farmers?¡± His head snapped down towards me, the superior smirk gone from his face and shock in his eyes. He strode towards me, reaching out as if to grab my robe in his hand but stopping several meters away. ¡°What was that? What would you know of Sternsbridge?¡± I could see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes now, and perhaps it was fear that was holding him back. After all, how could a random newly arrived god-touched know of such things? Was I maybe a spy of some foreign power, that he¡¯d just spilled state secrets to? Or one of the ghosts of Sternsbridge, back for revenge? It didn¡¯t have to make sense, but the seed of doubt had been planted and now his imagination would get to work conjuring scenarios based on his insecurities. ¡°I know enough, Francis, you fucking parasite. I know that your da was a murderous cunt just like yourself, and that when he got put in the ground, the world was better for it.¡± I grinned up at him through bloodstained teeth as he roared and took a step forwards, winding back a punch that would surely shatter my face. My grin didn¡¯t fall though, as I said one last thing. ¡°Vera¡¯s coming for you.¡± He staggered to a halt, arm raised above his head and shock once again replacing the rage. ¡°She¡¯s out there Francis, and she¡¯s coming for every single one of you.¡± If I¡¯d ever had doubts about Vera¡¯s reputation in the Sunset Kingdoms, the horror painted across his face now put all of that to rest. I then took a last gamble and jutted my chin over his shoulder, saying; ¡°Heads up, there she is now.¡± The oldest trick in the book and it still worked, the older man whipping around like a startled cat to stare wildly behind himself. The spectre of my friend was long, and she¡¯d done me one last favour by distracting the man. I activated Check-Step and gritted my teeth against the pain as I had to let Heart of the Hills subside. My mana control was growing, but keeping two active skills going was already straining things ¨C a third was currently beyond me. I lunged forwards across the several meters separating me and my spear, grasping the haft even as Francis whirled around and thundered after me, alerted by the mana usage. I wasted no time in turning to face him however, and rolled aside again, trying to put as much distance between myself and the spot my spear had rested on as possible, regardless of where Francis was. Half expecting to feel the bite of an axe into my back at any moment, I was gratified to hear a familiar whistling noise of claws passing through air, and I turned in time to see Francis leap back from a wild swipe by the remaining Autumn Forest Wraith. I¡¯d caused it to reanimate when lunging for my spear, and it had come alive just in time to distract Francis before he could kill me for my comments. Skill ¡®Guerrilla Warfare¡¯ has increased in level. Guerrilla Warfare ¨C level 9 I spared no time feeling proud of myself for the successful trap, the system notification further reinforcing that Simple Traps didn¡¯t just encompass using sharpened sticks and rock-rolls. Time to try and upgrade another skill then. I focused back on Faultline, which I¡¯d kept active the entire time to guide me into position above the hairline fracture running through the ceiling of the cavern below, and with a flex of will I pushed mana into the skill and focused on widening that crack. My intent was singular, my objective clear, and the rock below me obeyed. I just had time to look up to meet the furious gaze of Francis, mid-battle with the Forest Wraith, before there was a deep, grinding scream of tortured stone. Then the earth below my prone form gave way, and I plummeted into darkness. Chapter 47 - Into the Depths Skill ¡®Faultline¡¯ has increased in level. Faultline ¨C level 2 The ringing of the notification was the first sensation to return to me upon awakening, and I had a brief moment of vertigo ¨C it felt as if the very ground beneath me was shifting about. The pain in my chest and left arm rushed back in the next moment, alongside the realisation that it wasn¡¯t in fact vertigo I was feeling. The huge chunk of stone and earth I was draped across was tipped on its side and beginning to shift about, and I had just enough time to consider the precarious position I was in as it abruptly slipped down the small mountain of rubble we were balanced upon. I was thrown bodily from the impromptu sled as it impacted the floor of the cavern and sailed through the air for another heartbeat before impacting against more stone. The upside was that this stone was blessedly unmoving. It belonged to the steps I had previously seen, carved into the floor of the cavern and descending down into darkness. I had sensed correctly, and my first use of Faultline had done exactly what I¡¯d wanted it to. Yay! Go me! The downside, however, was that I was severely injured, sprawled across the stairs of some hidden tunnel, surrounded on all sides by rock and earth, with a massive slab of stone sliding down the stairs towards me. It must have weighed a few tonnes, as an ungodly screech echoed from where it scraped against the rock beneath it as it barrelled down the steps. I had only a few heartbeats to act, and so with all the athleticism I could muster, I fell against the wall and groaned. Luckily, the moving shelf of stone shot past me, and I lost sight of it as it slid into the darkness. I waited for what felt like hours without hearing any final impact of it coming to a halt, so either the darkness swallowed sound, or the stairs went down a long way. I could only see a few meters in front of me before the light was swallowed completely, and looking back up the tunnel was difficult with all the dust in the air. There was a sliver of light piercing down from above, where the ceiling had collapsed as a result of my recently acquired skill, but the rest of the tunnel was unlit. The sides and ceiling looked natural, hinting that perhaps the structure pre-dated the carved stone stairway. I couldn¡¯t tell how far I was from the cavern entrance, but I couldn¡¯t hear any fighting from above, and my head was ringing from the accumulated damage I¡¯d taken so much that I couldn¡¯t bring myself to activate my stone sense to check. Instead, I stumbled down the carved steps, keeping a hand against the wall for support as I descended. I focused on my breathing, wincing with each step that jostled my mangled chest, and kept count of every step I took. After a few hundred, I was struggling to keep up with the strain of holding my body together, my legs wobbling with weakness. I allocated a single point into Endurance to bring the total to 30, but as soon as the transformation took place, I knew that wouldn¡¯t save me. I had been told that the effect of attribute enhancement decreased as you increased in level, if only because the ratio of the points you invested into a single attribute vs the points currently allocated would decrease, but to actually experience it was another thing entirely. I had been expecting a rush of vitality and energy to surge through me, renewing my body and steadying my legs. Instead, I just felt a mild warmth radiate through my limbs and little else of note. My Endurance was already my highest stat by a fair margin, and while it would certainly help my recovery in the long term, it would do little for me now. I panted as my feet stopped moving and gritted my teeth against the pain that stung with every breath. I spat against the wall, hearing the wet impact and knowing that saliva alone wasn¡¯t enough to prompt it. Maybe you just bit your cheek when you fell? Don¡¯t think about it and keep moving. I tried not to dwell on the thought of what blood in my mouth could mean, and instead allocated the other four points into strength. A flash of pleasure shot through every nerve in my body, and my legs suddenly felt slightly less weak, the burden they carried ever so slightly lighter. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough to coax me into continuing. A few hundred more steps passed before I felt a change in the air around my face. The tunnel was still pitch black, the only light source now hundreds of meters above and failing to penetrate this deep. Enhanced perception could only do so much without a light source nearby, and so I was relying on the feel of the natural rock against my hand and the carved stone beneath. The other side of the tunnel suddenly felt less close than before though. Had it been a gradual change I doubt I would have noticed, but the certainty I had that I was on one side of a tunnel vanished and was instead replaced with the creeping dread that I could be in a massive room, enemies from my left crawling ever closer with each moment. I stopped, fighting off the panic manually, knowing my mind was too strained to activate two skills at once, and also knowing I needed my stone sense right now. Faultline activated with a grunt, and while I couldn¡¯t drop into my soul-space in my current state, I felt the drain deep within me. I had only moments left with the skill before my core ran dry completely. I pulsed the stone-sense, rapidly building a mental picture of my surroundings. I was still hugging the wall of the tunnel, with steps continuing down beneath me, curling gradually to the left. However, the left-hand side of the tunnel cut away abruptly to empty space. As my skill-guided magic ran through the rock all around, the image in my mind enlarged, filling out. The stairway rang along and down the edge of a massive cylindrical chamber, at least a hundred meters wide judging by the gentle curving of the walls, although I couldn¡¯t sense far enough to view the other wide. The chamber descended further than I could sense as well, and the same was true when I extended the sense upwards. So, either a strange cylindrical hole in the deep rock, or a tunnel of massive proportions leading up to the surface. The stairs I was descending down had appeared out of a tunnel in the wall seemingly at random, but for all I knew this giant chamber was honeycombed with tunnels leading gods knew where.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. I spent a few precious moments bottling up the fear that the unknown held, cramming it all into a little box and forcibly shoving it to the back of my mind. Once done, I set off again, keeping a hand glued to the wall as I descended onwards. The panic was close however, hovering at the back of my mind and ever eager to take the reins. I nearly tripped, and in steadying myself lost my grip on the wall to my right. The intensity of the anxiety that gripped my soul in that moment was shocking, and I scrabbled to find the wall so obsessively that I ended up grazing my knuckles against it in my haste. Time seemed to lose all meaning in that enormous chamber. With no point of reference to measure my progress against, and no light by which to see it even if it did exist, I plodded ceaselessly for what felt like an age. I couldn¡¯t quite remove the thought that something alien and gigantic stood silently within the chamber to my left, tentacled hands reaching out to grasp me. A strange desire to simply end the nightmare intruded, a small voice telling me to just fling myself off the ledge. It was strangely alluring too. I was certain I wasn¡¯t being influenced by an eldritch horror beyond comprehension. Although how certain can you ever really be of that? No, this desire felt organic and entirely my own. It didn¡¯t come from any deluded sense that something blissful was awaiting me, or in order to commune with a greater entity. This feeling was so alluring precisely because it offered a way out of the horrifying reality I currently lived. I could go on, but without knowing how long this would continue on for, I was committing to an ageless eternity in terror. The counterpoint was a quick death. Just leap. That¡¯s all; no dramatics, no uncertainty, and no more fear. Just a quick and hopefully painless death. Certainty. It called to me in a familiar voice.
I was suddenly reminded of a conversation with my Ma. She had dropped a glass on the floor and screamed. 8-year-old me had run in, scared in the way only a child whose parent was hurt could be. She wasn¡¯t hurt though, at least not in any way that I could understand at that age. I saw the shell of the glass on the floor and looked with wide eyes at Ma just leaning against the sink, a look of pure defeat on her face. It hit me then how old she looked. The last few years had taken their toll but again, 8-year-old me couldn¡¯t understand. All I knew was that Ma had screamed, but she wasn¡¯t hurt. I¡¯d asked if she was okay, and she¡¯d just nodded and said something that sounded more like a cough than words. I¡¯d knelt down and started picking up the pieces, and she¡¯d let me. Normally she tried to keep me away from stuff like this, worried I¡¯d get nicked by the broken edges of cans or glass bottles - the kitchen was filled with points of fear for a parent, after all. But this time she let me, and moved not an inch while I went about clearing up the big pieces, getting the dustpan and brush and hunting along the aged vinyl floor for stray bits. I made it into a game, jumping from spot to spot like a frog, pouncing on my prizes and tidying away the mess. It must have taken minutes, and I remembered the feeling of strong arms embracing me, lifting me from the floor to nestle into her shoulder as Ma picked me up again like she used to. I tried to sit on the edge of the sink to let it take my weight, cus I knew she wasn¡¯t strong enough anymore to hold me up like she used to. Always thought it was because I¡¯d grown, but looking back¡­might be that she¡¯d gotten weaker too. It was hard to think of my Ma as weak though. She¡¯d started crying by then, and that just made me cling on tighter, trying desperately to help but having no idea what the problem was. I remember the kisses on my forehead, the half-laughing half-crying way she said my name. The feeling of safety and confusion both. How could Ma be sad when she was always happiness and comfort to me? Maybe I was misremembering, and 8-year-old me was smarter than I was giving him credit for, but the confusion felt true at least. I¡¯d asked again what was wrong, and she¡¯d just shaken her head, hair tickling my chin as she did. ¡°I¡¯m just tired.¡± She¡¯d said, and I¡¯d pouted. ¡°You can¡¯t be tired. You¡¯re never tired! You¡¯re always doing stuff.¡± ¡°¡­and it gets tiring doing stuff all the time.¡± She¡¯d replied with a smile. ¡°Then why not do less stuff then, stupid-Ma?¡± I¡¯d asked with the wisdom of an 8-year-old and the smugness of a stage magician. ¡°Rukha¡­¡± She sighed as she said the nickname she¡¯d given me, sounding weary beyond her years. ¡°I don¡¯t do as much stuff as you and I¡¯m never tired!¡± I exclaimed, fighting back a yawn as I did so. It won me another smile though, more genuine this time, and that was victory enough for me, even back then. ¡°You¡¯re little, it¡¯s different¡± She¡¯d said. ¡°But Ma.¡± I¡¯d stamped my little feet, outraged that she¡¯d dismiss my wisdom like that. ¡°Let me do it then. I fixed the glass and that took like a second! I¡¯ll do it all. I¡¯ll sweep the kitchen, and cook some food, and put Phula to bed and feed the cats outside and give Nona her little knitty spikes-¡° I¡¯d gone on and on then, listing all the things, great and small, that needed doing in our little household, and Ma had hugged me all the while until I¡¯d eventually worn myself out. She¡¯d carried me out of the kitchen and tucked me into the little cot, taking care not to wake my sister across the room as she did so. She wrapped me up and kissed my forehead, and I sleepily asked her what we would do tomorrow. I remembered her face then, the way it fell, unveiling an emotion I didn¡¯t understand at the time. I could remember her eyes now though, and I recognised that look as an adult. Bone-deep exhaustion. And dread. ¡°We do it all again¡± she¡¯d said.
As I gazed longingly out into the darkness to my left, I relived the memory. The call of the void rang in my mind, but as it scrabbled for purchase, the surface of my thoughts was slick with memories. Of all the times I had resisted. Of the example Ma had set for her little Rukha. Death is easy, living is hard ¨C that was the message of Ma¡¯s final years. She¡¯d held on until her hands were gnarled from the effort, her body twisted and wasting away, battered by time and weathered by bitter experience. But she¡¯d held on for as long as she could. Long enough for me and Phula to grow up. Long enough for us to leave. The relief I¡¯d seen on her face at the end was palpable. It wasn¡¯t so much acceptance as it was joy ¨C to be done with it all, finally. To let go of the guilt, the expectation and responsibility, and to take one final selfish action ¨C to give up, at long last. Took me a while to get over my hatred of Da for leaving us like he did. I couldn¡¯t show it of course, he had sacrificed everything for us after all. Death in service, blah blah blah. It rang hollow though. He¡¯d died for sure, but Ma had lived for us. She¡¯d done it day after exhausting day. He¡¯d made one choice, and she¡¯d made a thousand. I would have hated him less if I hadn¡¯t heard them arguing before he left. Ma begging him to stay, for our sakes. He had his duty apparently, but it wasn¡¯t to his wife, and it wasn¡¯t to his kids. And much like Altine, with its guardian and its hero, there was a lesson hidden in my past. Who did I want to be like? Ma ¨C pitiable and enduring, or Da ¨C respected and ephemeral. The answer would be nearly unanimous in the village, but little Rukha and Phula would have dissented from that obvious opinion. I turned away from the cavernous abyss and continued on my journey. I didn¡¯t question why I¡¯d recalled that specific memory, and I didn¡¯t question why it was strange either. Slithering roots retreated into the darkness, and my memories fled with them. Chapter 48 - What Lies Beneath The Surface *Nathlan* Jorge stared into the campfire, the flames flicking their shadows across his familiar features. Nathlan had always considered the man to be pleasant - if not smiling, then never far from it. A twitch to his lips, a slight crease around the eyes that lent him a friendly demeanour. But every now and then, only rarely and in times of great difficulties, did he see the older man beneath the surface. Jorge was old, he knew that. Hells, he made fun of him for it often enough. But only in the moments when the ever-present half-smile vanished from The Shepard¡¯s face, did Nathlan truly get a sense for that age. Weathered. Craggy, even. His features now, highlighted as they were by the swirling firelight in the dusky evening, gave the sense of an enduring monument, upon which the weather of the world had raged for centuries. And yet still he sat there, shoulders hunched forward and hugging his knees to his chest, as if the cold could affect him. Nathlan wondered then, possibly for the first time, whether it was all an act in truth. Did he simply play the role of old man, weary of the world, for fun? Or did he truly believe it? Gods knew that his knees didn¡¯t actually ache when he squatted down, but perhaps the performance was simply engrained cultural conditioning? Had a lifetime of repetition drilled into him habits that couldn¡¯t be shaken now that he was grown? Did he hunch away from the cold, closer to the fire, not to seriously receive its heat but because that was what one did when near a fire on a cold night? He was at least in his third tier, possibly pushing toward his fourth. Maybe he had even transcended that legendary barrier? Either way though, a chilly summer¡¯s eve in the high hills of the Dragon-Spines would not be enough to even mildly inconvenience him, let alone cause him to crave the warmth of a fire. So was he simply fooling everyone, playing a game because that would make them more comfortable around him? Nathlan rubbed his hands, clicking and popping the knuckles as he thought, the gesture automatic. It wasn¡¯t a pleasant thought, and he couldn¡¯t decide what worried him more; that the act was calculated or unconscious. One implied a level of concern for his companions, which was good, but also an attempt at active manipulation. The other option was that the man staring into the fire was so old that the only thing keeping him human was habit. Perhaps a third answer though; maybe the old man clung to the act purely to connect himself to the experiences of regular people, a reminder that the world was different to how he experienced it, and that he should keep that connection alive so as not to lose himself. The urge to ask bubbled up inside Nathlan then, in a way he was not used to. Talking to people had always been a requirement, a duty to be met and prepared for, rather than anything genuine. Knowledge was always something he¡¯d hungered for, but never the inner lives of others. And yet. ¡°What is it like?¡± He found himself asking. Jorge stirred, hard lines coming to life with movement once more, and he looked up at where Nathlan sat stretching out his fingers. ¡°Hey?¡± ¡°What is it like, to not feel the cold?¡± He asked again and saw understanding flood the older man¡¯s face. ¡°Ha! I still feel it lad. I may be stronger than you, but I don¡¯t lose the feeling. It¡¯s more¡­under my control I suppose is the best way to say it.¡± Nathlan hummed softy in agreement, digesting the words as he puzzled their meaning. ¡°Is that true of all sensations? How do you cope?¡± Again, he surprised himself by asking, the questions occurring to him and tumbling out of his mouth at the same time. ¡°Roughly I suppose. I choose what¡¯s important and ignore the rest. Takes a while to get used to, but you tend to settle into it. Age does that to ya though boy.¡± He said the final part with a grin and wink, and Nathlan rolled his eyes in response. ¡°Is that why some of the most powerful people act in such petty ways? Their emotions are too strong, and they are too thralled to their feelings?¡± he asked, but Jorge shook his head sadly. ¡°No lad. I think the powerful are surprisingly reserved to tell the truth. Tsanderos wasn¡¯t always as peaceful as it is now ¨C relatively speaking - ¡± He frowned at Nathlan quickly as he said it, ensuring he couldn¡¯t interrupt before continuing. ¡°and its remarkable how little they meddle in the affairs of the various states and ¡®the mortals¡¯¡±. Nathlan could hear the derision in his tone as Jorge used the term for 99 percent of sapients on the continent, coined by the rich and powerful. Nathlan had caught his teacher in a surprisingly loquacious mood and was keen to capitalise on it. ¡°What makes you say that?¡± Jorge just sighed, levering himself up with a barely suppressed groan and stretching out as he talked. ¡°You¡¯re right in some ways; the powerful sapients still involved in mortal affairs tend to feel things more strongly on account of their level, and so their actions can escalate far past reason. But they¡¯re also inordinately powerful, and I¡¯ve seen what a few can do to a country if things go bad. The fact that there hasn¡¯t been a major war for a few decades is good an¡¯ all, but the fact that there are still enduring political entities to war at all is a gods damned miracle if you ask me. As far as I understand, with the exception of the 2nd age, this is the most peaceful time to live in Tsanderos.¡± Nathlan mulled that over, a dozen follow-up questions occurring to him in the moment, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Vera returned. She was covered in dust, her dark hair now an ashen grey, and a fine powder coating every link of chainmail and plate of armour within sight. She strode right up to Jorge and shook like a dog, flinging a cloud of dust into the air with the force of her attribute enhanced wiggle. Jorge groaned and staggered back out of the miniature dust-storm, and Vera cackled in victory. Nathlan simply frowned, still working through Jorge¡¯s earlier statements. He didn¡¯t have long to consider things though, as Vera swiftly took a place by the fire and called them both in, ¡°Settle in, got bad news.¡± Once all were seated around the fire, Vera gave a brief summary of her trip into the cavern, the tracks around and ended with her thoughts; ¡°Lamb definitely went in, and probably managed to collapse the roof somehow as well. The D¡¯Sware prick entered not long after and cut his way through the mess ¨C definitely peak 2nd tier with his attributes, unless he has some skills specific to moving earth and rock, which I saw no evidence of. Would be strange for a Lion too ¨C he¡¯s likely following a familial path of some sort, and they tend to avoid any skill that could be construed as useful for manual labour.¡± Her face twisted, as if a sour taste was in her mouth and she wanted to spit. ¡°Well that¡¯s not great, but you said we¡¯re only about a day behind them, right Jorge? What¡¯s the issue?¡± Nathlan asked. Vera glanced at Jorge, and the two shared a look that Nathlan couldn¡¯t read before she replied. ¡°The tunnel appears to be made by a Deep-Worm and then later chiselled away by sapient hands. I must have gotten a good few miles in before coming back up, and I¡¯d wager Lamb is just running blindly, trying to put as much space between himself and the man after him as possible. He¡¯s gonna get lost in a fucking maze of tunnels, and there¡¯s a lot down there for him to worry about. Hells, I¡¯m worried about going down there too far. If we don¡¯t find him before something else does¡­¡± Jorge sighed, shaking his head at that. ¡°We¡¯ll run him down, it¡¯s this Lion I¡¯m more concerned with. He¡¯s a bloodhound to be going down there. I wouldn¡¯t expect a mercenary to risk this much for Lamb, even with the prize of Vera here. He¡¯s gotta be worried about us coming after him as well, so I woulda thought he¡¯d abandon the mission by now. 3 men dead, hostage escaped. Better to deal with whatever comes down the pipe from the higher ups than risk it all, surely?¡± Vera scowled. ¡°As much as I had to suggest it, maybe he¡¯s just got some balls on him? Can¡¯t imagine he¡¯d get much of a punishment from the Academy bigwigs given he was going up against ¡®the Butcher of Sternsbridge¡¯. Probably give him a fucking medal just for surviving.¡± Another derisive snort. Nathlan was surprised, seeing her more animated in a single week that she¡¯d been in the near two years he¡¯d been travelling with her. He understood why, but it was still strange to witness. Nathlan cleared his throat, meeting the two gazes across the fire and once again putting his theory across. ¡°¡­unless it¡¯s nothing to do with Vera. If there¡¯s another reason they¡¯ve taken him-¡° Jorge huffed and waved a hand at him. ¡°Not this again lad. I¡¯m not saying you¡¯re wrong, but what could it be? We got no evidence of that, other than things not quite adding up neatly, and it wouldn¡¯t change our approach anyhow.¡± He sighed then and raised his hand before Nathlan could respond. ¡°Look, this is bad news for the kid. A 1st tier has no business going down in those fucking tunnels. Bound to be all sorts a¡¯ nasties running about in there, and I don¡¯t wanna come across a corpse. We¡¯d better pace it out Vera. Nathlan ¨C I want you up here securing a camp and guarding the exit. Lamb¡¯s a massive idiot at times but I wouldn¡¯t put it past him to sneak back out under our noses somehow, and we can¡¯t miss him if he does. Vera and I will go faster than you can keep up with, and while I¡¯m impressed with your bladework son, I wouldn¡¯t fancy your chances if you come across anything in those tight tunnels, aye?¡± Nathlan hummed with impatience at that. He was here to fight. To gain strength and levels! He¡¯d taken a combat class for a reason, and he wasn¡¯t going to get far twiddling his thumbs around a camp in the wilderness. He felt the familiar resentment bubbling up, boiling in his guts and rising up until he couldn¡¯t hold it in any longer.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Before he could embarrass himself further with any outburst or petulant refusal, Jorge grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. ¡°Hey, look at me boy!¡± The grip was strong, unyielding. Brown eyes bored into his own. Normally placid and calm, they now reminded him of a freshly turned grave; empty and waiting for a corpse. He blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change from resigned and weary to intense. Jorge cracked a grin then, and the oppressive grip opened and turned into a hearty slap on the shoulder. ¡°There he is. Thought I was gonna get shouted at again there, aye lad?¡± The older man said with a wink and a grin. ¡°Anyway, nobody¡¯s suggesting you shouldn¡¯t go hunting or anything, just get things setup and put down a solid ward in place to alert you if anyone or anything comes through, and don¡¯t stray too far, alright? Ideally we¡¯ll be back in a day, but give us three before you start to panic, yeah?¡± Nathlan nodded, taking a long breath to try and calm the bubbling pit of ever-present anger inside him as the words sunk in. ¡°Oh, and catch¡±, Jorge said as he threw him a ring. Nathlan quirked an eyebrow at him and Jorge laughed. ¡°Storage device! One of the Lions had it on hand ¨C surprising for a 1st tier I¡¯ll grant you. No surprise that Lamb missed it though, the moron. Ah can¡¯t blame him though really, get the sense he was in a rush. Anyway, have a look if there¡¯s anything interesting, and I¡¯ll leave you some supplies to set us a camp. We¡¯ll be staying for a few days after at the least for one hell of a debrief with Lamb, and it might be a good place to train for you both as well come to think of it¡­So make it comfy.¡± There was a clatter as a host of supplies fell to the floor, deposited by Jorge from his own storage device. Tent poles clinked against rocks and stove pots, and heavy canvas slumped to the earth with finality before the old warrior and the slightly younger but no less intimidating berserker flashed off into the cavern a moment later. Nathlan looked around the tight gorge, camping supplies on one side and corpses on the other, and sighed to himself. Then he got to work.
*Francis* Francis D¡¯Sware, second born son of Matriarch Celeste D¡¯Sware and contested inheritor to the 2nd most powerful house in the lands of Duke Ryonic, strode calmly through the tunnel before him. Contrary to what he¡¯d told his former underlings, he did in fact have a tracking skill. It was wrapped up with a few other general survival skills into a larger merge and was one of only three non-combat skills he possessed. It was currently helping to guide him along the trail of Lamb ¨C the god-touched bastard with the stupid name. He looked forward to seeing the shock on the prick¡¯s face as he caught up to him. He shouldn¡¯t be surprised though, leaking blood everywhere like he was. Francis was a little surprised he was still moving in all honesty. He¡¯d put a bit too much power into his strike when he¡¯d knocked Lamb aside back on the surface, and had thought for a moment that the boy would expire before they could reach the Sunsets. Thankfully, the god-touched was more robust than expected and so Francis would still have a trophy to bring home. The downside of that though was that he was currently following a trail through dingey tunnels far underground. He was still confident in catching the boy, and he¡¯d been closing in over the last few bells, but he had to admit that if this went on for much longer, he¡¯d begin to get nervous. At the peak of the 2nd tier he may be, with a large number of combat skills as well, but he knew that there were dangers here he would not be keen to face. It was the same story as above ground; hidden valleys, deep forests, high peaks and empty skies¡­.anywhere people didn¡¯t often tread held terrifying monsters, and Francis was no fool to go charging blindly into an unknown biome. Unlike the moron he was following. Although he couldn¡¯t blame the boy too much for that after all; While Francis himself might know better, the difference between an ancient Hollow-Claw and a 2nd tier warrior might seem indistinguishable to a wet-behind-the-ears peasant boy. Especially one that¡¯s god-touched, notoriously ignorant as they were. He¡¯d passed the corpses of some sort of burrowing insect that Lamb had killed, and by the fresh drops of blood following that scene, he could tell the battle hadn¡¯t been an easy one. Again, not surprising given the number of corpses and the man¡¯s low level but still, it confirmed that this chase was soon to end. He played with the axe hanging behind his right shoulder, making it bounce in time to his steps and the tune in his head through the telekinetic link he¡¯d established. He whistled quietly to himself in satisfaction. A hunt soon to end. Strangely, he began to notice curling patterns in the walls. Squiggles of raised rock, as if something small and thin had squirmed beneath the surface, pushing aside the stone in its path. After noticing the first one, he began to see it everywhere. Within another mile, the walls were covered in these bizarre patterns, and the thickness of them seemed to be increasing. Another fork in the path, with one tunnel dipping down further into the earth, and the other breaking off to curve gracefully to the right. Francis followed Lamb¡¯s trail along the branching path to the right, wincing in almost sympathy as he observed the smeared blood on the side of the tunnel, where the boy had clearly fallen against the wall to stabilise himself. He marched on, no doubt in his mind that he was within only a few miles of the lad now. He couldn¡¯t quite summon the confident smirk he had started with though, given the size of the patterns in the walls now. They were thick around as one of his legs and extended for a dozen meters at least before seemingly disappearing. It almost looked as if something had swum though the rock towards the tunnel, then veered away at the last moment to avoid breaking through. He knew there were Deep-Worms within the Dragon-Spines but they were so far beyond mortals that he¡¯d barely thought of them beyond the stories. Creatures only rumoured to have been fought ¨C never confirmed, and even then only by the legendary 4th tiers. There couldn¡¯t be such titanic creatures so close to the surface. It still made him uneasy though. He¡¯d spent years in the Academy, and years afterward on contracts in the field. He¡¯d risen through the ranks, outshining his peers and carving a bloody name of repute for himself. It had been years since he¡¯d felt small. Looking at the swirling patterns in the wall now though, deep underground and cloaked by darkness, he once more felt like a child. He increased his pace, finally breaking into a run, eager to close the distance between him and his quarry, to end this farce and return to the surface. The tunnel gradually widened until he could no longer see the patterns in the walls. His dark-vision extended only a dozen feet around him after all. He heard a voice distantly and further increased his pace. His footsteps began to echo, slight at first, and he slowed to a walk once more before the sound could spread far. The voice was still there, murmuring at times, no longer shouting. A conversation perhaps? He felt damp air ahead, and the promise of light. Dripping water soon met his ears as he crept around the tunnel, keeping tucked to the side as he reached, incrementally, the end of the passageway. A long, thin strip of rock jutted out from the passageway, surrounded no longer by the comforting embrace of stone. Instead, it hung in a void of twilight, and Francis struggled to muster the courage to even poke his head from under the tunnel roof to view the titanic cavern itself. When he did, he withdrew it quickly, unable to explain the feeling of unease just the mere act of looking upon the cavern had on him. He had not enjoyed the sensation of being deep underground ¨C what human would - but when looking out beyond his little tunnel, he found himself wishing once more for the rock to swallow him up. The rocky path extended into a cavern ¨C its scale beyond understanding. Hundreds of meters in diameter, this cylindrical hollow in the bedrock of the very earth itself oozed malevolence. Water cascaded down its sides, dripping from mossy and fungal growths clinging to the rough walls of the cavern. Roots criss-crossed the stone and slithered into tunnels, emerging from the walls at sporadic intervals, making the cavern itself seem strangely honeycombed. It was dark, but not dark enough to require his skill-assisted dark-vision any longer. Light trickled down from above, and while he couldn¡¯t see the sky itself, he assumed this gash in the earth reached up to the top. He looked down and saw nothing but the same below; root-covered walls descending into darkness. At the edge of the outcropping, standing with his back to Francis and seemingly not a care in the world, stood Lamb. He was looking out into the dark void, speaking seemingly to nothing, hesitating every now and then, as if listening before again responding. Francis would have been tempted to think the boy was just coughing his lungs up, so guttural and harsh were the noises he was making, but there was an undeniable rhythm to it. The flow of pauses and noise was similar enough to a human conversation that he couldn¡¯t discount the possibility of speech. Was it a prayer to a strange god? Perhaps the one that had brought him here? Francis hesitated. He¡¯d read the reports gathered by the Duke about god-touched, and it was clear that there was no evidence of heavenly favour, no hint that they could talk to their ¡®patrons¡¯. Indeed, it seemed entirely random, and they received no help aside from their title-granted powers. But there was a seed of doubt in his soul, that if he stepped out onto that outcropping, some unknown god would smite him down where he stood. It should be impossible, but still it sounded as if Lamb was talking to someone. That he was listening. He shook it away, and calmed his mind, taking a few deep breaths before stepping out into the open space. The moment he stepped out into the open space, Lamb turned. He was slightly hunched over, with one arm pressed against his side, blood seeping over and pitter-pattering to the floor. Despite the grievous injuries and his hopeless position, he smiled. More of a grimace then anything but the attempt at bravado was still there. Francis knew he needed to be careful now. Not due to any risk to his own life, but it was becoming clear that the boy was in more of a ¡®victory or death¡¯ mindset rather than a ¡®surrender peacefully¡¯ one. He thought for a moment, letting the silence stretch before he spoke. ¡°Come Lamb, there¡¯s no need for all this drama. I want you alive, it¡¯s in my interest to get you back to the Sunsets as unharmed as possible. Step away from the ledge, let me get you back above ground, and then we will leave. I¡¯ll heal you up, and we can be gone.¡± The man made no move, observing him silently, breath hitching every time his chest moved. He was in pain, and was likely expecting more to come. Francis needed to give him a reason to stay, to not launch himself into that open void and throw his life away. ¡°A year or two to work on one of the biggest archaeological finds of the century, and then you¡¯ll be free. Hells, the Duke will likely write you a gods-damned recommendation letter to the Triumvirate Scholasticar and you can live a happy life as a respected scholar afterwards. Think boy, there¡¯s no need for this.¡± Another few heartbeats of silence. ¡°I know you think me a cruel man, but I am simply pragmatic. I killed Rank because he couldn¡¯t follow us, and to prove a point. I gained something from his death and lost nothing. It¡¯s the opposite with you, Lamb. I gain nothing from hurting you, and lose substantially from your death.¡± He saw a gleam enter the man¡¯s eye and knew that last sentence had been a mistake. Fucking child! Was he really going to throw his life away just to deny Francis something he wanted? ¡°You¡¯ll lose substantially from my death, huh? Guess that gives you an incentive to come out here and get me, doesn¡¯t it?¡± No, he was just trying to play the odds in his favour and tempt a confrontation. Francis shook his head. The man didn¡¯t learn. Did he really think he could even hope to use the terrain to his advantage? Some last-ditch attack that he wouldn¡¯t see coming? And he knew he couldn¡¯t talk the boy out of it. He was still wet behind the ears and wouldn¡¯t listen. Only action could prove his silly notion false. Francis flexed his mana, channelling it to the skill link with his axe, and it shot from the holster on his back. The heavy weapon crossed the space between them and hovered in place only inches from Lamb¡¯s neck. He didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid, boy. You have to know you have no chance here. Just come quietly and make this easy for both of us.¡± Lamb opened his mouth and uttered a single sentence, coughing out the sounds as if they hurt his throat to make. Something stirred in the void. Chapter 49 - Deal ¡°Deal¡± I said, and the contract was sealed. I heard harsh laughter echo in the darkness and a malevolent intent wash over me. Rocks shifted below and the cavern shook, a slight tremor felt by both my stone-sense and feet alike. I saw Francis¡¯s eyes go wide, and he took a half-step back. That did bring a smile to my face, the pained grimace from before giving way to a genuine expression of happiness. The smug prick had finally lost his sense of superiority. It was almost enough to make me feel good about the bargain I¡¯d just struck. Alvorak the Broken - She of the Cursed Tongue, Whispers in the Dark, and a thousand thousand names ¨C as she¡¯d introduced herself to me earlier ¨C rose from the depths behind me. I stared directly at Francis as the titanic Magma-Snake appeared, willing every muscle in my body to lock up. I saw the horror plain on his face as something huge beyond our shared comprehension blotted out the light from above. I wasn¡¯t trying to intimidate him, or prove a point, or any such thing. I simply didn¡¯t want to witness what I¡¯d called from the depths below. Looking at Francis gave me an out, something to focus on other than the monstrosity that warped the very world around it. It had appeared almost immediately after I had spoken. A gusting wind buffeted my back, and the sound of scales sliding against rock hissed around me. I fought the urge to turn around, the almost instinctual need to see the thing looming behind my back. I didn¡¯t need to see details to know though, this was a presence beyond anything I¡¯d previously seen. The giant on the steppes was inscrutable and massive, but Jorge had stood before it. The aura I could feel roiling off the creature behind me, expanding to fill the entire cavern, was not one that could be stood against. There was no bargaining with a calamity. The thought stood out to me as slightly odd, and I tried to slow the racing, raging swirl of thoughts in my head to examine that one in more detail. My instincts were screaming at me that this creature couldn¡¯t be bargained with. But hadn¡¯t I done just that mere moments before? I reached for Heart of the Hills, keen to gain clarity and distance from the fear that gripped me, and I found it difficult. My mana felt sluggish, refusing to move to my commands as swiftly as normal. I pushed harder, willing more mana into the pathways I¡¯d reinforced within my soul, building pressure until I felt something move. The connection between my core and my skill finally engaged, but it was slower and weaker than before, the constellation turning at a fraction of its usual pace. I felt better for a moment, as my perspective began to shift back to normal, before the connection was interrupted once more. My mana froze completely, unable to flow along pathways it had slipped through with ease for months now. I felt panic at the feeling of losing control, and that feeling was only compounded as the temporary distance granted by my mental skill was broken, and the world came rushing back into sharp focus. I felt once more the looming shadow behind me, now unable to see in the darkness cast by Alvorak¡¯s bulk. I could feel wind on the back of my neck though, fluttering my hair in its poorly woven braids such was the force of its breathing. Francis¡¯s axe had begun to wobble in the air, and now clattered to the ground from its place at my neck. He seemed equally frozen, staring up into the face of the great snake where it wove back and forwards above him. ¡°Is thisss the one you mentioned? He doesss not look wealthy to me. Where are his ringsss? Hisss gold and jewelss and sshiny thingsss?¡± I heard the voice of the snake, its guttural speech washing over me in a cloud of fetid air. Francis seemed not to understand, which made sense, and simply trembled in place. I kept my gaze fixed on his face and hissed back my reply in its ancient tongue, my mouth stretching and contorting strangely to parse the syllables. ¡°Yes. He will wear a storage device of some sort, as I said earlier. Leave him in one piece, I will search him and find your reward.¡± As I spoke, Francis finally wrenched his gaze away from the monster and back at me, staring slack jawed as I spoke to the colossal creature. He frowned as the creature leant down towards him. I still hadn¡¯t moved my gaze, but could feel the presence of it leaning over my shoulder, saw a flash of pale yellow/white in my peripheral and saw Francis track its movements with his eyes. He spoke aloud once more, no longer talking to me but instead addressing the creature above me. ¡°What is this? Wait, no! I can-¡° He was talking fast, words tumbling over one another as he tried to backpedal, unwilling to break eye-contact with the creature and look behind him, such that he nearly fell off the ledge. He caught himself at the last moment, arms windmilling as he regained his balance and stood. He straightened and glared at me, and I knew he had suddenly found his resolve. Perhaps he would die, but he would take me with him. He raised his arm, reaching toward the axe and attempting to do¡­something. There was no response though, the weapon remaining inert on the floor by my feet, and I smiled to see the hopelessness on his face. I knew what he was feeling; the total loss of control over his mana, the sudden understanding that he was in the domain of someone ¨C something ¨C else and that he had no power here at all. Rather than give up, he drew a hatchet from somewhere I had not yet seen. Perhaps a belt around his thigh, or a fold in his cloak. Not his storage device, for that required mana to access. Nevertheless, he drew it from somewhere, and hurled it at the snake above me. There was no impact for a few moments and the creature did not move even an inch, and then I heard the sound of metal striking stone on the other side of the cavern. I saw that same resolve crumple once more, as fleeting as my own defiance upon meeting the inhabitant of this cavern had been. Even still, he was at the peak of the 2nd tier, and possessed a powerful support class built for combat. He was of noble lineage, and therefore presumably had time and connections enough to earn himself a moderately powerful first class to begin with, and so he was not someone to be dismissed. His highest attribute likely ranked in the triple figures, and while his mana and therefore active skills may be out of reach, his passive ones were not. Combined with his attributes, his body alone would be all but impervious to damage from the world around him, being tougher than most substances not reinforced with magic of some sort. He could not just be dismissed as a threat, no matter how powerful his opponent. And yet. A root from the wall behind him detached, silent and lighting quick, and darted out at him. It punched straight through the back of his head, making a mockery of his face as it crumpled his skull in one blow. It withdrew and returned to the wall, pausing momentarily to flick the viscera from its surface before returning to the tunnel from whence it came. I watched in terrified silence as his body crumpled to the floor, dangling out over the empty cavern, only his torso slumped on the rocky outcropping. No system notification sounded in my head for the kill, though I did receive an upgrade to Guerrilla Warfare, likely for successfully leading an enemy into a trap. The high level of both my foe and my trap must be making up for the lack of control I had over the situation, considering we would both have ended up here regardless of my interference. All I did was follow marks on a wall and head towards the open air. Skill upgraded in level. Skill: Guerrilla Warfare ¨C Level 10. ¡°He isss sslipping away mortal. You bessst hurry.¡± The voice shook me from my thoughts, and I dived towards the corpse with not a moment to spare. Catching his arm before he could fall from the ledge, I hauled Francis¡¯s corpse back onto the outcrop and began to frantically search his body. Feeling the looming presence behind me, knowing immense fangs as tall as my body were poised directly above, I searched faster, ripping away clothes and digging into pockets, scrabbling around like a rat in a cheese-store. What a weird analogy. I felt a moment of dissonance again, unable to square the flippant thought with the inescapable death hanging over my head. I knew it was out of character. I could play the role of the fool to play for time in a crisis, but I¡¯d always been focused. I wouldn¡¯t be thinking silly thoughts when I was truly in danger of death ¨C my instincts simply wouldn¡¯t let me. Scrabbling around on the floor, rooting through a dead man¡¯s pockets while my enemy watched from above, ready to execute me as soon as I found their trophy? That wasn¡¯t something I would normally countenance. Better to die on my feet than live on my knees. The bound skill within me roared its approval of that thought, and I resolved myself to look up. The instant my eyes took in the horrifying visage of the snake, I knew something was wrong. Every instinct screamed at me to look away, to avert my gaze and cower before it. Streams of steaming lava boiled from its mouth, slipping past its fangs and dropping to the floor of the outcrop, hissing as they cooled. Its scale was beyond anything I¡¯d seen before, filling the cavern and coiling upon itself in order to look directly at me with a head several times larger than the massive bear I¡¯d seen back in the Endless Valley. But hadn¡¯t it danced above me for long enough to converse? And not a single drop of lava had hit me. It wasn¡¯t until I took it in that I had noticed the liquid rock to begin with, and yet now that I knew it was there, I heard the hissing of it cooling on rock, saw the light bubbling from between its jaws flickering on the cavern walls. Perhaps it had a strange new aura I hadn¡¯t encountered, but each powerful creature/anomaly I¡¯d encountered had found me lost in their gaze, disconnected from the world. Not left cowed and shivering on the ground. Something was strange here. Either way though, it had killed Francis, so it would have no problem with disposing of me if I didn¡¯t grant it what it wanted. I returned to the body, flinching as the sibilant voice spoke once more.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°My patience wainsss mortal. Did we not sstrike a bargain?¡± I tried to pry a gold ring from one of his fingers but my own were shaking too much, shivering with fear and adrenaline. A confusing concoction of emotions; the terror of certain death, the fear of the unknown, and the creeping sense of dread heralding the end of everything¡­.and a subtle feeling of dissonance, that something was not as it seemed, drifting about at the edges of my mind. ¡°Sshall I drive my fangsss through your head, asss I did to your friend, hmmm?¡± I tried to pry a necklace from around his ruined head and offer it to the snake. I did not want it to make the same mess of my face that it had made of Francis¡¯s¡­.but then how did it kill him again? I searched for the memory, unsure how a giant snake could have so easily crushed his skull with fangs as thick around as my torso, and yet leave such a clean kill. I remembered the moment of his death, the root bursting from his face and withdrawing in a flash. Had I witnessed wrong? Was it maybe the tip of a tail? Or a fang moving so fast I couldn¡¯t properly see it? But I¡¯d been focused for so long on nothing but his face, terrified of looking at the creature above and behind me. The root! I looked up once more, flinching back as the snake danced around on its massive neck to look me in the eyes, and managed to focus instead on the cavern behind it. The cavern¡­lined with roots. Gnarled, twisting, writhing roots that squirmed across the cavern, covering the walls and entering a hundred tunnels pockmarking the cavernous walls within view. My fingers stilled their shaking. I looked back up at the snake, took a breath, and spoke once more; ¡°You¡¯re not real.¡± Its eyes blazed down at me from a monstrous head, its pale body almost glowing in the gloomy twilight. Flaming molten rock dripped from its open mouth and it reared back as it boomed out in its sinister voice. ¡°Arrogance! Hand me my promisssed reward or find yourssself-¡° I dropped my gaze from the towering creature and turned to look out over the cavern, leaning down to look upon the dark abyss below before cutting off its tirade mid-sentence. ¡°I wish to know with whom I have bargained. Does Alvorak the Broken truly exist? Or do I speak with a ghost?¡± My words dropped into the vast emptiness below and were swallowed. No longer did I converse in the ancient tongue of the world-serpents ¨C although I did not know its name as such ¨C but a still older tongue, one not spoken in millennia. Time seemed to hang in the void, just as the outcropping upon which I stood did, and passed not at all as I waited for reply. No fangs pierced my chest, no lava burned me to a cinder, and that by itself confirmed my theory. I waited for what felt like days, staring into darkness with bated breath. Eventually I turned away, and saw nothing but empty air where once had stood the titanic snake. I wondered briefly if I was to be free to leave ¨C I had seen through an illusion and the world deemed me worthy of survival. Just as the cheery thought occurred to me, a voice echoed up from the earth once more. Unlike that of the snake though, guttural and harsh, this was soft and flowing. Almost musical in its lilt. ¡°Impressive child. It takes a strong will to break through one of my illusions. Very well; Alvorak the Broken does exist, but she resides here no longer. Much like her moniker suggests, she fled to a rent in the earth in the early epochs of this world to recuperate. She has long since left, and her presence has not been felt on Tsanderos for many centuries.¡± ¡°What was she? What are you?¡± ¡°A Magmatic Serpent I believe, although few have classified ones such as her. Truly powerful beasts are not well known by the enlightened races as I understand, and so I imagine there is little discussion or consensus on such unique creatures.¡± ¡°Did she really talk like that? The hissing and everything? Seems a little clich¨¦.¡± I mumbled, somewhat thrown by the pleasant voice I was speaking with. A musical laugh, beautiful in its timelessness, echoed around the cavern and my face relaxed a fraction at the noise alone. Nothing so beautiful could foster dire intent. ¡°Ah child, alas that was my hubris. I am not familiar with your culture, and so thought to add something familiar. If I had known that would raise your alarm, I would have abstained from such silliness. Regardless, you saw through my ruse anyway.¡± ¡°I notice you didn¡¯t answer my second question¡­¡± I said, raising my voice as a question towards the end. ¡°and nor shall I.¡± The voice responded, though I felt no rebuke in the statement, simply an answer. ¡°Understood. Then thank you for saving me. Will you honour our bargain? I am sure he has many things of value.¡± ¡°Yes, I imagine he does. I am not interested in materials however, simply toss me his storage device and I shall consider your duty fulfilled.¡± I nodded, unsure if the voice could see my action before remembering how swiftly it killed the peak 2nd tier warrior and chuckling to myself. My mana was still thoroughly locked down, but the voice had calmed me enough to no longer need the help of Heart of the Hills to keep me sane. A brief search of the corpse later, and I had activated his storage device ¨C a heavy silver broach wrapped around his upper arm. I spread out the contents on the floor before me, marvelling at the fortune in spices, gold and fine sheets of silk. There were also the usual supplies one would expect from a commander in the field. Say what you like about Francis D¡¯Sware ¨C and I certainly would, what a prick! ¨C but he was at least competent. Interestingly though, alongside a bundle of documents I would definitely be keen to peruse later, was a collection of flowers. Bright blue and brimming with mana, they exuded a sense of steadiness to my senses. They even felt significant to my stone-sense, as if a vital piece of the world rested atop the stone they sat upon. The air around them seemed to shimmer, and while my foraging skill was focused upon edible plants, not magical ones, even I could tell these flowers were special. ¡°Beautiful.¡± The disembodied voice breathed, genuine awe detectible. Not the awe that I felt when confronted by overwhelming power or the majesty of the mountains, but a gentle, almost motherly awe at the beauty of a young baby¡¯s smile. Hearing the fondness, I didn¡¯t hesitate in the offering. ¡°They are yours. Shall I just throw them over the edge or¡­.?¡± I asked, suddenly uncertain now that I had offered. It seemed silly to just chuck something into the void, hoping it would be caught. I felt like I should be kneeling to represent them like a bouquet of flowers. Another musical laugh greeted my question, followed by gentle acceptance. ¡°My thanks child, for the beautiful gift. Yes, just drop them from the edge, and enjoy the spoils of victory, young wolf.¡± I did as the voice asked, watching the bundle of flowers drift into the dark abyss below the outcrop, alongside the storage device. Beauty fading to blackness.
*Vera* Vera sprinted along the tunnel behind Jorge, the smaller man moving far easier on account of not having to duck in the tight passageway. They had followed the scent of Lamb and Francis deep into the earth, and all was well until a few moments earlier. They¡¯d both felt a presence blanket the area, pushing up the tunnel and warning them back. Such power did not belong to any beast below the 3rd tier, and Vera doubted a simple wild animal could be responsible. The malevolence of this aura required a lifetime of bloodshed and careful action to accumulate. Vera had nearly despaired at that point, knowing they would not reach Lamb in time. Jorge had simply grunted and pushed faster, at which point she had needed to activate her movement skill to keep up. The aura cut off as suddenly as it appeared however, and Vera was left perplexed. She knew for certain that Francis, let alone Lamb, could not be responsible for killing such a beast, and expecting it to simply leave was the height of folly, based on the aura alone. Jorge though had gone still. She¡¯d nearly run into the back of him, so sudden was his halt. She pushed him aside, striding past and turning over her shoulder to examine him as she did so. The shock she saw on his face was an expression she had never before seen on her old companion. ¡°Jorge! What¡¯s happening!? What the fuck is this?¡± She asked, urgency in her voice once more. Something strange had occurred, and Lamb was at the heart of it again, no doubt. Either way though, there was a chance he still lived when unexplained things were happening, and she wouldn¡¯t waste time now messing about if she could instead save a friend. Jorge just looked past her, an expression of¡­awe? On his face. It was strange. Tears filled his eyes, and she suddenly saw past the fa?ade of a crochety old man he liked to wear above the guise of the just-as-fake genial old man beneath. Instead, for the second time in her life, she saw the true face of The Shepard; the face of a zealot witnessing the divine. She turned and sprinted down the tunnel, blowing past strange depressions in the walls, growing in thickness as she ran. They gave off a faint feel of dampness, deep earth and creeping roots to her spirit-enhanced vision. Her heart pounded inside her armour as she rushed through near a mile of slowly widening tunnel in what felt like moments, and she emerged at the entrance to a vast cavern to see a corpse sprawled on the floor before her, its head crushed and its face ruined. She felt sick. Another friend dead, another potential comrade back to the mud. Then she took in the figure kneeling further out on the outcropping, surrounded by the contents of a storage device, and sorting things into piles with meticulous care, blood painting one side of his ruined clothes. She went towards him but stopped at the last moment as she heard him speak. Words of unknown construction tumbled from his mouth, a musical flowing dialect sounding alien to her ears. She unstrapped her helmet, tugging the heavy helm off in order to hear better, but still couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of it. She had no trouble making out the voice that responded though. Its words were equally nonsensical, but the power behind them was undeniable. The hair on her arms raised, her neck prickling and mouth dry. Fucking idiot! Playing with things beyond his comprehension as a 1st tier. What did she expect though? Everything was beyond the runt¡¯s comprehension according to him. She needed to extract him from the grasp of an empowered beast ¨C possibly one of the Deep-Worms judging by its power. Had it enthralled him somehow? Trapped him in a web of illusions? The previous aura she had felt was almost dripping in hatred, yet this new one felt comforting in a way that made her hair stand on end. She glanced behind her, hoping for advice from Jorge, but he simply walked straight past her once more, brazenly and almost trance-like in his calmness as he strode to the edge of the outcrop. Lamb looked up at him as Jorge strode past him and turned to look at Vera from where he knelt. He looked relieved to see her at least, which she doubted he would if he was the thrall of some ancient eldritch entity. That relief abruptly vanished as Jorge spoke. Incomprehensible words flowed from his throat in a strange warbling call, sounding ritualistic to her ears, and then the older man dropped to his knees beside Lamb. Where the young man knelt out of convenience, Jorge looked reverent, as if in the presence of a god.
¡°Venerable spirit of old, I greet you in the name of the Al-Sazine.¡± My happiness at seeing Vera and Jorge was replaced with confusion as Jorge knelt beside me. I wasn¡¯t surprised that the old bastard could speak this seemingly ancient language, I¡¯d yet to understand truly how powerful he was after all, and at this point I¡¯d believe he could do anything until proven otherwise. What shocked me though was the emotion with which he spoke. I looked to my side and saw tears drip from his cheeks, mixing with the blood I had left to mark the rock below. The reply was equally shocking. ¡°Greetings in turn, my child. It has been an age since I have met one of the Many-Rooted, let alone one as old as you.¡± Jorge shook at the words, though whether he was pleased by them I couldn¡¯t tell. The unearthly voice continued on though. ¡°I sense your designs upon this young pup. Tell me old one, do you suspect his blessing imminently?¡± I watched as Jorge raised his head. I looked back once more to see Vera stepping over cautiously, as if ready for something to strike at any moment. ¡°It is not my place to say. The world is changing though, and a great shift is coming. I worry that Autumn is upon us once more.¡± His cryptic words were unfamiliar, but again they had the sense of ritualism to them, as if they had been repeated throughout history by countless tongues prior. ¡°It is rare to hear one such as you talk of Autumn as something to be feared. Do you not yearn for it?¡± Jorge hesitated, then shook his head. ¡°There are¡­differences of opinion in the order currently. I do not agree with my fellows on many things, and I do not think we are ready for another upheaval yet. It is not my place to question the way of the world, but nevertheless, I do not welcome the coming chaos.¡± The voice hummed in thought, seemingly puzzling out a problem before replying. ¡°Many new things have I experienced this day: One of the Many-Rooted dreading the dance of the leaves, and a little wolf in the guise of a lamb. Amusing and ironic in equal parts.¡± I puzzled over the words for a moment as Jorge bowed his head in thanks, before the voice dismissed us both; ¡°Thank you for the gift young one, and go with my blessing both of you. Keep to your faith and fear not the turning of the seasons.¡± And with that, the comforting aura vanished from the cavern, leaving us alone with the sound of dripping water and the smell of damp rock. Chapter 50 - Choices There¡¯s pain in letting go. Some folks go so long carrying around a heavy burden that it becomes a part of them, and they can¡¯t figure out how to drop it without losing a part of themselves in the process. When your entire life is based around staying just above the water line, with every moment spent trying not to drown, what do you do when it finally recedes and you¡¯re on dry land once more? Some might celebrate, but most spend their life looking over their shoulder, waiting for the wave to come crashing down once more. Your brother is mourning the loss of everyone he has ever cared about. My advice? Be there with him, stand on that island surrounded by volatile seas and reassure him with your presence that the water isn¡¯t coming back. Grief demands a witness, and you must be there with him. - Passage from the memoire ¡®Cursing Empty Fields¡¯ by Sergeant Victorian Seneschal, retired after the flower massacre, circa .76
¡°I¡¯ve got this memory Jorge¡± I faltered, my voice cracking slightly. He looked back at me curiously. ¡°Alright lad, go ahead.¡± I tried to gather my thoughts, tangled as they were. ¡°I think I remembered something. Down in that tunnel¡­probably was loss of blood now that I think about it but...¡± I looked up at him with confusion, trying to put into words this indescribable feeling I was having. ¡°Time slipped, you know? I remember stumbling down those stairs, worming my way through that tunnel when it emerged into that huge cavern, seeing the worm-tracks through the stone. But there¡¯s a gap afterwards, between the tunnel going from wide and only a few marks, to narrow and bloody filled with them. Like time slipped.¡° ¡°Roots, not worms. Tell me more about it then.¡± Jorge¡¯s reply was calm and I was thankful he didn¡¯t try and point to my physical state at the time ¨C blood loss, pain, and adrenaline were a potent amnesiac, and I appreciated that he didn¡¯t immediately offer the explanation before I¡¯d finished. ¡°What? Oh yeah, I guess that makes sense. Gods, how fucking huge was that thing? What was it by the-no, never mind. We¡¯ll get to that later. Point is, if it was just a few lost moments of stumbling around, I¡¯d be right there with you suggesting I¡¯d lost my wits. But I remember this feeling. It¡¯s like I can look back and feel something of great weight happening. Like I learned something. Something that meant a lot to me. Even now, I¡¯ve got this intense feeling of¡­of¡± I gestured about, grasping with my hands as if I could catch the right word as it floated through the air before me. ¡°Loss. But not quite, more like¡­bittersweet? Does that make sense?¡± I looked over at him again, hoping for something more than understanding on his face. He looked thoughtful. ¡°The mountain tribes have a word ¨C lashvagual. It means the feeling one has when a great warrior hangs up their weapon and takes a partner. A sadness brought about by the loss of something great, tinged with gladness at their happiness. Y¡¯see lad; in the Dragon-Spines a warrior surviving to settle down and build a family is a great thing for the tribe, but for the warriors, they lose a respected and loved commander. They are happy for their friend but cannot escape the sadness that this loss in their lives engenders.¡± I probed at the amorphous feeling hovering in the pit of my stomach, refusing to disperse but equally refusing my attempts to understand it. Loss, grief, sadness¡­but also a profound feeling of love and fondness. Something more cutting, more painful lay within as well, as if something lurked within my mind, just waiting to strike at me once I¡¯d peeled back the layers of emotion obscuring it. ¡°Lashvagual¡­possibly. It feels like love and pain mixed together. I¡¯m not sure, but I think I may have remembered something, Jorge. It¡¯s the only thing that fits, right? But how? Why then? And why can¡¯t I remember anymore?¡± The older man pursed his lips before speaking. ¡°Aye lad¡­perhaps. There is a lot to discuss after that, and I want Vera and Nathlan here when we do. I do think we¡¯re getting ahead of ourselves right now, but there is potentially an explanation hidden within.¡± I shrugged, then hesitated. ¡°Hey, what was all that stuff you were saying to Alvorak the Broken earlier?¡± ¡°That is the strangest question I¡¯ve ever heard asked so casually¡± Jorge replied, one eyebrow trying its best to climb off his head as he looked up at me. ¡°We¡¯ll get to all of that with the others though. Patience.¡±
¡°I can¡¯t believe Nathlan was right¡­he¡¯s gonna be insufferable now. I spent a few months working that noble superiority out of the brat, and you¡¯re gonna undo all that work with one fucking compliment.¡± Jorge groused. I¡¯d appraised him of all that Francis had told me regarding the reason for my capture ¨C the need for god-touched to translate and help navigate the Ashkanian ruin beneath Duke Ryonic¡¯s castle in the Western Marchlands. That Vera was a hated enemy of the Crimson Lions seemed to be little more than a happy coincidence as far as I could tell. ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡± I asked in amusement. ¡°Oh lad, you¡¯ve no idea the looks I¡¯ve been getting from him the last few days! We were under the assumption you¡¯d been kidnapped by the Lions to hold as a hostage to draw out Vera, but Nathlan thought the two things were disconnected. We didn¡¯t exactly argue about it, since it was less important than tracking your useless hide half way across the desert at the time, but he definitely let us know he thought we were wrong.¡± I smirked, knowing that the lanky scholar would, in fact, be a bit of an insufferable prick about it once he found out. ¡°Bet you a tarot that he says ¡®I told you so¡¯ within the first half a bell.¡± Jorge snorted in response before replying. ¡°Make that half a sentence and you¡¯ve got a deal.¡± I nodded, smiling to myself and enjoying the banter, before cocking my head to one side. ¡°Wait, does that mean that you¡¯re betting he will say it within the first sentence, or that you¡¯ll accept the bet if I change my prediction to that? Cus that¡¯s a shitty deal if so, mate.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I felt a weathered hand clap me on the back as the shorter man looked up at me with fondness. ¡°I¡¯d forgotten how much you just jabber on about the dumbest things lad, it¡¯s nice to have you back.¡± I tried to look affronted, but he looked so genuine that I couldn¡¯t help but smile in turn. ¡°Thank you for coming for me¡± I simply said instead. We shared another moment of fond silence before I decided the tone was becoming far too emotional. I had been through a lot, was exhausted beyond belief, and really didn¡¯t fancy breaking down right now in front of Jorge and Vera, so I searched around for something to break the moment with. ¡°Seriously though, you don¡¯t wanna formalise the bet? I¡¯m feeling pretty lucky, reckon I could grab a few of your tarots off you...unless you¡¯re scared of losing?¡± He laughed, glancing back at Vera as she trudged behind us and sharing a conspiratorial eyebrow raise. She just rolled her eyes in return. ¡°You¡¯re as easy to read as a gods damned book. But no, I don¡¯t mind formalising our bet. Won¡¯t be tarots though ¨C pretty much useless outside of Colchet and the main trading routes in the Copper Canyons.¡± I sighed at that, realising that once again I had no idea how the world worked. Jorge ploughed on though, sticking out his hand as he stated his terms. ¡°He will say ¡®I told you so¡¯ within the first 7 sentences after learning what you¡¯ve just told me. If he doesn¡¯t, I¡¯ll find you something to upgrade that spear of yours with.¡± He saw a grin start to split my face and pushed forwards, speaking louder to account for the inevitable interruption he was expecting from me. ¡°If he does though¡­you have to take over my tracking lessons for Nathlan for an entire two weeks.¡± The smile dropped off my face abruptly, and Jorge nearly cackled at my conflicted look.
We emerged from the cavern into fading daylight, the sky brushed with pinks and blues, reminding me of the riot of colour I¡¯d witnessed during the migration of the jackal-beaks so many weeks ago. Nathlan had kept a fine perimeter going, and was there to meet us, camp set and eager to hear the news. We took our seats, and I recounted my journey, allowing Jorge and Vera to fill in parts for me as I set to devouring the stew and thick bread courtesy of Nathlan. When it came to discussing the motives of my capture, Nathlan surprised all of us. He nodded perfunctorily, muttered a quiet ¡®interesting¡¯, and then continued listening intently. Jorge couldn¡¯t hold his surprise in and looked up with open-mouthed astonishment. Vera chuckled. ¡°Close that big mouth before you start catching flies¡± She cajoled, and I heard Jorge¡¯s teeth snap shut with a satisfying click. The three of us shared glances as discreetly as possible while I continued the narrative, and I had to fight off a smug grin as I spoke. By the time I¡¯d finished recounting my dive into the caverns, the mad flight through them and then the impossible meeting with whatever the hells I¡¯d met, Jorge had come to accept his loss of our bet, and was engrossed in thought again. ¡°So Nathlan¡­any thoughts?¡± I asked into the silence that had followed my story. He cocked his head from side to side before seeming to come to some conclusion. ¡°No, not particularly.¡± We exchanged glances again, perplexed but attempting to hide it. I coughed and complimented the stew, hoping to draw out something more from him, but he simply looked at us one after the other, serene as a duck in a pond. I finally broke after another few moments of silence and started speaking. ¡°Well then, I guess I¡¯ll go first-¡° Nathlan cut me off however, with a heavy sigh. ¡°Fine. Jorge¡­I told you so.¡± He sounded so weary in that moment that I¡¯d have guessed him to be some ancient farm-hand lamenting bad weather in harvest season if I didn¡¯t know him. Vera cheered and Jorge sagged in place. I couldn¡¯t hold back the grin that split my face and leapt to my feet, spinning around our little circle in merriment and doing a dumb little dance to celebrate my win. ¡°You are painfully easy to read. All of you. Lamb is over here rushing through his story until he hits Francis¡¯s monologue, at which point he stops every other bloody word to wait for my reaction. Jorge ¨C you¡¯re practically biting your nails in anticipation, and you and Lamb keep grinning over at each other like hungry cats. Vera is the only one with a somewhat passable poker face, and yet she is just sitting there stoically without a word, which on its own tells me something weird is going on, even if you two weren¡¯t quite so obvious! You wouldn¡¯t last a day in the Ancient Archipelago.¡± Nathlan¡¯s explanation turned into more of a tirade mid-way through, but I didn¡¯t care. New spear upgrade for me! I did have to end the dance soon after, on account of my body almost collapsing without warning. I managed to turn the move into a careful wobble and lower down to a seat on an upturned rock, but by then it was too late. Vera had hustled over and started pulling away my shirt to get a look at the heavy bruising all along one side of my stomach and chest. ¡°Gods Lamb, why didn¡¯t you mention this earlier!?¡± She said, exasperated and worried in equal measure. ¡°Jorge ¨C get me that salve. No, the one with the Wyrmsbane in it. No, the other one. What¡¯s wrong with you tonight? Yes, that¡¯s the one, bring it over.¡± She bustled around, laying me out on the grass with all the strength of a gorilla. I was literally powerless to resist, and soon accepted my fate. A cold compress was strapped to my right side, and a generous slather of salve beneath it made me feel all gross and sticky. I couldn¡¯t argue though ¨C Vera had dealt with far more battlefield wounds than I had, and seemed hellbent on making me recover properly. I tried to continue the conversation, but Nathlan had already set to washing up the aftermath of our meal, and Jorge was checking the permitter ward that Nathlan had put in place earlier, muttering to himself and making some notes on a piece of hard bark with his chisel. By the time Vera was done and the other two had reconvened by the fire my eyes were drooping, and I had a hard time staying awake. The adrenaline of the last few bells had finally caught up to me, and I felt my head lolling forwards unless I consciously focused on keeping it supported. Jorge snorted as he saw my latest attempt at staying awake and finally called it. ¡°Right then; bedtime lads and ladies. Get some rest, we¡¯ll finish this tomorrow. I¡¯ve got some news to share, and I¡¯m sure we all have questions, but I won¡¯t do myself the indignity to having my audience fall asleep mid-way through any story I tell.¡± I tried to put up a token groan, but it turned into a yawn midway through, and I hobbled over to my bedroll nearby where Nathlan had so helpfully set it up earlier. The stars twinkled above me, reminding me of the constellations within my soul, but I was too tired to check on them. Despite my exhaustion though, sleep didn¡¯t come easy. I shifted about, thoughts churning, picking over the rawness in my chest and the feeling of emptiness, of missing something. Emotions not entirely my own were left to swirl around my mind, and I clawed fruitlessly at them, hoping in vain that they would somehow unlock the memories I so desperately wanted. I¡¯d thought I was over my amnesia. I thought I had accepted it and decided to live in this new world many months ago, given the fantastical and magical nature and scale of it. So much to explore, so many things to see and taste and experience. But despite it all, here I lay. Wishing I could remember my presumably pitiful life from before. It was the feeling of love that I think was driving me mad. I had loved something ¨C someone ¨C so dearly, and that was still missing in my current life, despite all the wonder and magic. I remembered sitting atop that valley so many weeks ago, right before gaining my class, realising that what I desired above the adventure was people to share it with. Vera and Jorge were great companions, and I¡¯d stuck to them almost like parents, feeding off their wisdom and the security they provided. Nathlan felt like a brother ¨C not quite a friend yet ¨C we were still too unsure of each other and ourselves to really have the confidence to choose a relationship on our own terms, and instead relied on convenience and circumstance to draw us together. But there was progress, slowly. I needed more though, something to balance out the pain and loss of those missing memories, some reason to stay in this new reality. I needed a reason to choose the present over the past. Eventually, sleep claimed me. Interlude - The North Wind Blows You should always turn away from the north wind. Grimmer has learned this lesson well. Family, death, life; teachers in many places. As a boy, he learned from his mother. ¡®When the wind blows from the north, Grimmer, you¡¯d best cover that face, else your nose¡¯ll freeze right off!¡¯ Bitter words, wrapped in kindness. But that is the way of things in the North. The Ice Meadows are not for the faint of heart, and every child learns young to turn away from that biting chill. As a young man, he learned from the dead. ¡®When the seas grow dark and the skies churn, best turn your ship south and fly with the storm¡¯. Time passes strangely in the perpetual night of a northern winter, but a smart lad can learn quickly. The cold wind blowing brings a promise of warmth, for those in the Ice Meadows warm themselves on the bounty of broken vessels. As an adult, he learned from the living. Grimmer the North is a name that echoes, and few are the ships that do not turn and flee when his presence is confirmed. Not all are cowed, and those brave souls are the ones that have marked him, though they live no longer. Grimmer has lived long enough to have seen people of every creed and stripe. One thing remains certain of the living though; all turn away from the North.
He grips the worn surface of his ship¡¯s wheel. The grain is familiar beneath calloused hands, and the groaning of the deck feels closer still. No different than the thousand times before. He feels the chill in the air, scars stretching as he grins in fierce joy. The clouds are dark, the seas are churning. A baleful glow lights the water and shapes twist beneath the surface. Unknowable, unfathomable. The wind howls through creaking wood, and the ghosts of sails snap and billow.
That¡¯s the problem with teaching a smart lad though. There¡¯s no doubt he¡¯ll learn, but which lesson?Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. On the surface, they all tell the same; turn away when the north wind blows. Grimmer was always a clever one though, and digging beneath the surface is something he¡¯s done all his life. A teacher gives a lesson, and a boy takes from it another. A mother tries to teach her son to be wary of the world. But he was no more than 9 winters when she died. 20 yards from their tent, buried in ice, her footprints told a cruel tale. Easy to get lost in the dark, after all, and there are precious few landmarks to orient by in the darkness. If only she had retraced her steps. Instead, she lay dead below snow and ice. Facing south. What lesson is a boy to take from that? Never turn away from what one knows to be right, even in the face of the north wind. The dead want to teach a young man that there are dangers beyond his home. It¡¯s a hard life, digging through the bones of dead ships. They creak and groan, threatening collapse on every young northerner with hope. They often follow through. But the Ice Meadows are dangerous too, and a young man of ambition faces death on every morrow. At least the ships are filled with potential. What lesson is a young man to take from that? One¡¯s death can provide life to another, delivered by the north wind. The living wish to teach an adult that life is worth preserving. Grimmer has met many souls, and more still have fled his wake. The runners can be found in every corner of Tsanderos, telling their tales and living their lives. The ones who stayed litter the shores and float in deep graves. Despite their deaths, they are the ones he remembers. The ones he thinks about, dreams of, wishes earnestly to recover and share thoughts with. What lesson is an adult to take from that? Better to die with a name than live without one, even if one must face the north wind.
It¡¯s easy to see why then, as a man stands upon a ship, screaming at a storm-front blacker than his own heart, how his life has led him here. Ask any sailor and they¡¯ll tell you true; horrors beyond man lurk in the depths at night. They all still go out though, night after night. Perhaps there¡¯s a draw there? A lure, dangling in front of everyone that has ever smelt the salt and breathed the breeze. Grimmer has felt it every day of his life. And it¡¯s hard not to look back, now that he stands upon the precipice, and wonder if every moment, every choice, was proscribed by the heavens to bring him to exactly this point. No matter. Here he stands, face numb and hands burning. Every inch of exposed skin protesting. A final curse, a grit of the teeth, and a name echoes out into history as Grimmer the North faces the north wind once more. Chapter 51 - Exit Interviews ¡°Right, breakfast¡¯s out of the way now ¨C thank you Nathlan ¨C so let¡¯s have a chat. A few things need discussing, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯re all curious, so let¡¯s get to it.¡± Jorge spoke calmly. There was no rush, we¡¯d get to whatever questions were burning their way through my mind eventually, and we had plenty of time. Those thoughts should be confirmation enough that Jorge was leaning extra hard on his aura skill, as I would never be so sensible when curiosity got the best of me. The same was true of Nathlan as well in fairness. Jorge spoke again. ¡°So Lamb, please do us the honour of recounting your tale, O great bardic one.¡± His dry delivery was enough to warrant a pebble splitting in half near his foot, and he smirked at me in response. I¡¯d been trying to train my Faultline skill in small ways almost immediately after waking that morning, despite my weariness. I was just too excited about the actual gods-damned magic I could now wield to leave it alone for even a moment. I¡¯d envisioned myself splitting mountains with a stomp and collapsing castles to rubble with a flick of my hand. My recent tests however seemed to indicate my current skill was slightly more grounded in terms of its output. Collapsing the roof of the cavern yesterday had been right at the edge of my abilities and was only possible because I was so close to the existing cracks and because they were so pronounced due to the cavern¡¯s opening only the day prior. I was hopeful it would grow in time though, and Jorge agreed. Didn¡¯t stop him from laughing at my currently feeble attempts though, the sod. I did as he suggested, recapping the last week since my capture and giving more detail where required. I slowed when I came to my experiences beneath the earth, and picked over the details clearly, leaving some of the emotional turmoil out of my ¡®report¡¯ ¨C that would be discussed later, once we had the facts and some context. Jorge and Vera gave their experiences, and before we could start to get into the meat of the issue, Jorge made Nathlan give a brief report on his side of things as well. It felt like a waste of time, since nothing had happened to Nathlan and he¡¯d mostly been waiting, but it was standard practice by now, and was probably a good habit to get into. You never knew when a seemingly innocuous detail for one person could trigger a realisation for another. ¡°So, the meat of the issue¡­¡± Jorge said, mirroring my thoughts exactly. ¡°What happened down in that cavern?¡± We exchanged glances, and I was amused to see Nathlan leaning forwards across the campfire almost enough to burn his robes. ¡°Needless to say, Lamb met a very powerful creature down there. Youngsters¡± - by which he of course meant myself and Nathlan - ¡±take note. The aura of a 4th tier beast is immense. Some of the more powerful are known as god-beasts ¨C or other equally dramatic names ¨C by many cultures purely because their very presence can shut down anyone not well into their 3rd tier. Also important to note that the difference between a 1st, 2nd or 3rd tier creature and a 4th tier is as of nothing when compared to the difference between 4th tier creatures themselves.¡± At my quirked eyebrow, he expanded further. ¡°I know of no further qualitative leap above the 4th tier. It seems that is the end of traditional advancement within the system¡¯s purview. That doesn¡¯t mean they are all equal though ¨C a 4th tier beast can be a hard fight for a prepared group of mercenaries, or an empire-killing threat, or anything in-between.¡± Vera sighed, ¡°He¡¯s saying they vary in strength massively, just can¡¯t seem to get the words out properly.¡± She gave him a pointed look as she spoke, and he had to grace to look chagrined. ¡°Aye, that¡¯s about the gist of it I reckon. Anyway! Point is, you met a powerful 4th tier beast and lived to tell the tale. Congrats!¡± He gave a somewhat sarcastic round of applause, and I split another pebble near him. His grin was at least more genuine at that. ¡°But it wasn¡¯t a normal 4th tier beast, was it? I thought we had established that Alvorak the Unbroken, She who Thirsts for Knowledge, was just an illusion?¡± Nathlan asked, impatient and perplexed at the same time. ¡°Alvorak the Broken, She of the Cursed Tongue, Whispers in the Dark¡± I corrected. ¡°Does it matter?¡± Nathlan responded. I looked across at him then, holding his gaze through the fire. I hadn¡¯t realised how important it was until I had started speaking, but now that I did, I needed him to understand too. ¡°Yes, it does.¡± He was silent for a moment, searching my face for something. Satisfied he¡¯d found it, he nodded slightly and turned back to Jorge, who had been watching the interaction carefully. ¡°Oh no she¡¯s very real, think I recall a few stories about her actually ¨C was known as some sort of war-god for a while, since she used to descend upon any major battlefield within her territory and kill any who didn¡¯t run. No idea if that¡¯s just embellishment from decades later but there were enough similar stories from different concurrent civilisations that it might have some merit. Anyway, back on track.¡± ¡°You¡¯re getting awfully distracted this morning, Jorge.¡± Vera commented, a query in her voice. ¡°Yeah, are you alright mate? Feels a little like you might be putting off the next bit.¡± I echoed. He sighed again, this one sounding partly exasperated. ¡°No, its fine. Look, I¡¯m a bit¡­frazzled from that. Point is, she is ¨C or was at least ¨C real, but what we saw was just an illusion, or projection of some kind. The one doing the actual projecting, the creature we actually met...I¡¯m not sure.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t give me that Jorge. I was there, and I heard her words as surely as you did¡± I protested, and for the first time I saw some uncertainty in his posture. His shoulders shrugged helplessly. ¡°No, it¡¯s not what you think. Let¡¯s just¡­ Look, I¡¯m not clear on exactly what happened, but let me try and explain.¡± Jorge struggled over his words, and Nathlan was practically in the fire at this point. I doubt he¡¯d ever seen the older man so unsure ¨C I certainly hadn¡¯t ¨C and the mystery must be killing him. ¡°I think the creature that summoned the illusion, the one that killed Francis as if it were nothing and could create a facsimile of a 4th tier creature¡¯s aura so expertly that Vera could not see through it¡­I think it was a child of the World-Tree.¡± He sighed again as he finished, though this was more relief than anything else, as if he was glad to have spoken aloud the thought that had been bothering him. Nathlan actually gasped, and Vera frowned. I sat there quietly, waiting for somebody who understood the gravity of the statement to say something. When nobody did, I butted in anyway. ¡°So...that means what exactly?¡± ¡°It means, Lamb, that I am now reconsidering many of my fundamental beliefs about the world.¡± He looked at me keenly then, and I felt his assessing gaze once more. I¡¯d seen that expression when we first met, and a few times since in the early days of training. He¡¯d come to some conclusion in those early days, and I¡¯d never felt that consideration again since¡­until now anyway. Vera spoke up then, saving me from that inscrutable gaze once more. ¡°I notice you didn¡¯t include yourself in being misled by the illusory aura. You recognised it?¡± He nodded, and she followed up, ¡°Akshaltr?¡± He nodded again. She seemed satisfied by that, and sat back on her haunches one more, poking at the fire absently, and causing a few sparks to leap at Nathlan. He shuffled back a pace and then leaned right back as he started talking, seemingly oblivious to the action. Vera smiled at that. ¡°So you recognised either the illusory aura, or the real one beneath. Considering you said all you knew of She of the Cursed Tongue was a few stories you¡¯d heard, I assume that means you have met a Child of the World-Tree before? Or at least felt its power? But if that¡¯s true, then why would its presence here be such a surprise?¡± Nathlan asked of Jorge. ¡°Yes and No.¡± The older man responded. ¡°I¡¯m going to need you to expand on that.¡± Nathlan said, deadpan. ¡°Right, so-¡± Jorge started, but was interrupted by Vera. ¡°He felt the presence of a Child of the World-Tree at a place called Akshaltr many years ago. This creature¡¯s power was similar enough that he recognised it.¡± She looked at him pointedly again. ¡°I¡­yeah that¡¯s about right¡± Jorge huffed, but she continued before he could say more. ¡°It¡¯s thrown him off though, because it spoke to him directly. His world-view is in shambles because he thought of the World-tree and its children as forces of nature rather than sapient creatures with shifting desires and plans. So now he doesn¡¯t know what¡¯s true and what¡¯s false, and is very confused but trying his best to hide that fact...That about right, Jorge?¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. I laughed at the resignation on his face, and Vera¡¯s smug grin that she was trying to hold back. ¡°Ah, ya fuckin¡¯ witch.¡± He replied, somehow managing to inject fondness into the insult. The terrifying woman simply raised an eyebrow at him and let her grin finally appear in earnest. Nathlan looked shocked she¡¯d allowed the insult but when questioned, Vera explained. ¡°One of my less fond monikers in the early days when we first met was ¡®the burning bitch¡¯¡­for reasons I won¡¯t bother explaining ¨C you¡¯ve seen my aura skill, and it was much less controlled back then. Jorge decided to start calling me things that rhymed with it for a while, and it turned into a bit of a game.¡± ¡°¡¯The slurrin¡¯ snitch¡¯ was my favourite I think ¨C she got so drunk once that she fessed up to this man and didn¡¯t realise he was a spy for¡­.¡± He trailed off at the now dangerous glare he was receiving from Vera, the campfire jumping an extra foot higher all of a sudden. He coughed awkwardly before continuing, ¡°Vera the burnin¡¯ bitch. Now that¡¯s a callback. You¡¯re getting old, you know that right?¡± He asked with a cheeky wink, and it was nice to see the old man back to himself for a moment. The banter also gave me enough time to process a few thoughts. Jorge had taken me on as a ward essentially, for no particular reason, then travelled half-way across an entire country to rescue me, and paid the costs of my training and board for a few months now, with no immediate goal in sight. He had a system title that sounded like it was related to training or guiding people, was very close to a former revolutionary and was currently training another disaffected noble of some sort. Nothing certain in that, but then when added to the hints dropped by the Giant and the creature we¡¯d just met, alongside his admission that his entire ideology seemed to base itself at least partly on the World-Tree¡­I felt like my burgeoning suspicion of him had just been confirmed. ¡°So¡­cards on the table, I¡¯m assuming this has something to do with you being ¨C or at least related to ¨C the Al-Sazine.¡± I dropped my suspicion into the conversation like a lead weight into a pond. Ripples spread and silence greeted the announcement. Vera¡¯s and Nathlan¡¯s faces whirled towards me, showing suspicion and surprise respectively. Jorge though, he looked relieved. Not an emotion I was expecting to see honestly, and he caught my raised eyebrow. ¡°Aye, had my suspicions you might have caught wind of that but you kept it close to your chest. Was it the Giant that clued you in?¡± He asked quietly. Nathlan was still shocked, and he jerked at the words. Whether at the almost-confirmation that Jorge¡¯s statement provided, or at the allusion to the Giant and the conversation I had had with him the following day, I wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°Yeah that was part of it. Honestly it¡¯s pretty obvious with hindsight given the hints my title gave me but everything is still so new that it¡¯s hard to tell what is unusual behaviour sometimes.¡± ¡°Fair enough, lad, makes sense I suppose. It¡¯s a relief in some ways honestly ¨C knew you were keeping something from us, and it¡¯s nice to know it¡¯s just this. I¡¯m sorry lamb.¡± ¡°Sorry? What for? You¡¯re allowed to have secrets¡­pretty fucked for me to just blurt it out now that I think about it. I should probably apologise to you.¡± I said, and he laughed in response. ¡°No, its fine lad. I¡¯m sorry for making you carry that around. For making you think you couldn¡¯t trust me. It¡¯s not easy keeping secrets, and I can¡¯t imagine it would have felt good to worry about the hidden motives of the only people you know in all the world. So, I¡¯m sorry.¡± He paused for a breath, cocking his head to the side for consideration. The breather gave time for his words to hit me, and I was surprised by my reaction. It was visceral, like someone had punched me right in the chest. I hadn¡¯t realised how much it was eating away at me. I¡¯d been trying to think of it as a fun mystery to solve, but he was right ¨C there was a very real part of me that was suspicious of him still because of that. ¡°I hadn¡¯t intended to discuss this right now ¨C but I can see it¡¯s important. So, to get it out of the way: Yes I am a member of the Al-Sazine. I know you have questions, both of you - ¡± He gave a very pointed look at Nathlan who was literally vibrating, fingers twitching with fervour as he tried to contain his curiosity, no doubt cataloguing and re-prioritising his endless list of questions. ¡°- and I will answer them, but first we have to deal with what has just happened. I give you my solemn word that I will answer any questions you have later. Alright?¡± It was a question, and he held our gazes for long enough to confirm we understood and agreed, but such was his presence that neither of us thought to disagree with the suggestion. Vera shrugged then, speaking; ¡°Well thank you for the massive distraction Lamb, but we were talking about the Child of the World-Tree and what that means.¡± Jorge picked up the thread with admirable enthusiasm, given what I¡¯d just revealed and his apparent struggle to grapple with his world-view falling down around him. ¡°Right, thanks again Vera ¨C what would I do without you, aye?¡± ¡°So, the Children of the World-Tree are essentially giant primordial trees. We call them Subakir. No idea how many of them there are, but I would assume all are at the very least powerful 4th tiers, with perhaps a few having even reached apotheosis. It¡¯s irrelevant for us right now anyway. I¡¯m also not sure why this one would have been trying to hide its identity.¡± Nathlan spoke up. ¡°Obviously it wasn¡¯t trying particularly hard. Surely someone as weak as Lamb isn¡¯t able to pierce an illusion created by a creature of that power?¡± ¡°Hey!¡± I protested, at the same time as Vera and Jorge both said ¡°Agreed.¡± I looked affronted, but a few raised eyebrows cut my ego back down. Of course, it was a sensible point and I was being silly. ¡°I see two possibilities; one is that it wasn¡¯t particularly adept with illusions, and once it felt me ¡®see through¡¯ its illusory aura, it decided to let it lapse for Lamb and Vera as well.¡± Nathlan leaned forward to interject, and Jorge paused to allow it. ¡°So how strong are you exactly, Jorge? Is it much more plausible that you would see through this illusion than Lamb? Than Francis, or even Vera? What sets you so far apart?¡± The scholar asked. It was a good question, and I replayed the brief words exchanged between me and the child of the World-Tree. ¡°She called you ¡®ancient one¡¯.¡± I remembered, and Nathlan grinned in victory at hearing it. It seemed he was taking that as proof that the lead he was following would go somewhere. ¡°I am venerable and wise, ¡®tis true¡± Jorge said, with that stupid noble countenance he often put on. It was so exaggerated we couldn¡¯t take it seriously, and Vera swatted him. I cracked a pebble beneath his foot again as well, and our two-pronged assault broke through his fa?ade, causing a smile. ¡°It¡¯s not so much quantitative as qualitative. I am no more powerful than Vera ¨C she¡¯d kick my arse if we ever truly fought. But I have ways of seeing through untruths, peering behind the curtain as it were. There¡¯s a reason I¡¯ve been able to help with your class specifically, beyond the obvious pointers I can give as an experienced fighter and teacher. Still, I agree with you in a sense Nathlan. I think it¡¯s unlikely that I managed to pierce that veil. Which leaves option two; The child was testing Lamb, seeing if he could see through a shoddily constructed illusion.¡± ¡°But how could I hope to when Vera and Francis both failed?¡± I interrupted. ¡°Well, firstly we should again acknowledge that people all have different skills. Vera has a tendency to respond in a certain way when faced with greater power, and let¡¯s just say higher order thinking takes a back seat¡­¡± There was a thwacking sound and a laugh as Jorge raised his hands in supplication. ¡°I joke, I joke! In all seriousness, you had clues that neither Vera nor Francis did. The most important of which being the way he was killed. You also had fewer distractions towards the end.¡± I remained unconvinced. I wasn¡¯t known for my cunning after all. While Nathlan and Vera asked their questions, I mulled it over. ¡°There is a third option.¡± I interjected. A nod from the others prompted me to continue. ¡°She was teasing me. Didn¡¯t feel like some master plan. The impression I got from her was that she¡¯d tried to put up an illusion and didn¡¯t really care whether I saw through it. Once I had, she decided to reward me¡­on a whim more than anything. I think reading some complex motive into her actions might be¡­unwarranted? Seemed like someone just fucking around if I¡¯m honest.¡± Jorge frowned at that, and Nathlan asked a question in response after a few moments of thought. ¡°She? I notice you are humanising this creature far more than Jorge.¡± ¡°Well, don¡¯t laugh but¡­her voice sounded like a woman¡¯s. That¡¯s it. She came across as playful more than anything.¡± ¡°Well I¡¯m convinced¡± Vera deadpanned. I threw a pebble at her, but her grin didn¡¯t falter as it bounced off her leg. ¡°I know it sounds strange to you, and probably especially to Jorge, but why should there be a good reason? We give them a special name and overlay our own desires onto these godlike entities, but honestly; why shouldn¡¯t they just be messing about. I¡¯m not thrilled by the conclusion either, since I¡¯m the one that would have lived and died based on her ¨C its ¨C whims, but¡­ I don¡¯t know, I just think we need to keep an open mind on this one¡± I said. Jorge spoke up, returning order to the proceedings. ¡°Putting that aside, it¡¯s a plausible theory, and at this point the why¡¯s don¡¯t really matter. What we know is that a Subakir intervened in our mortal affairs directly and shared some words of wisdom. Let¡¯s discuss that.¡± It went on like that for a few more bells, all of us sharing our thoughts on what had transpired, proposing theories and deconstructing words shared. I struggled a little when it came to the new gap in my memory, but all agreed the likeliest theory was that I had remembered something of my past life. Jorge had explained, in his usual manner with a bunch of questions and ¡®aye lad¡¯s speckled throughout, that the gods were outside the system¡¯s purview, that their magic was unbound by its laws. Therefore, the Child of the World-Tree¡¯s simple presence, or perhaps by intentional affect, had weakened the influence of the system in the surrounding area, which had allowed me to relive a poignant memory. There were a few outstanding questions from that explanation, like why I couldn¡¯t remember what I¡¯d actually remembered, whether Subakir actually counted as gods or were something altogether different, how the system suppression worked in actuality etc¡­but broadly we agreed that it made sense. It also had some pretty big implications; namely that the amnesiac affects experienced by god-touched seemed to be a result of the system rather than the gods themselves. If true, that would call into question a lot of the traditional wisdom surrounding god-touched individuals. Regardless, that was just one of the revelations of the night. The other big one was that Nathlan was never taught one of the cardinal survival tips ¨C namely; stop, drop and roll. He had gotten too engrossed in the conversation and one of the sleeves of his robe actually caught fire. He had only noticed once it was well and truly aflame, and then spent precious moments trying to reconfigure his personal shielding ward to stamp out the flames. It apparently should have been easy with his previous class ¨C or so he insisted after the fact ¨C but his new combat class was much less concerned with warding, and his admittedly considerable proficiency with free-style magic was not enough to save him. Vera had taken charge while he gestured wildly, weaving strings of magic together in increasingly frantic movements, and simply tackled him to the floor. A few rolls and the flames were thoroughly smothered. I considered it a poignant lesson in the advantages of physicality over magical might, but that was probably just my bias talking. I want to jump off of mountains, damn it! I wasn¡¯t willing to bank on decades of study of complex magical theory to get me there, but with the system¡¯s help it may be possible. Actually using magic to impact the world in front of me with my new Faultline skill might go some ways to changing my mind though. So many options. Interlude - The Blending 1 We do not take of this earth, we become it. ¨C Solomense, the Barbarian King
*Sadrianna* *3 cycles past* It felt loud enough to wake the great bears from their ancient slumber in the bowels of the earth. But then again, it always did. She¡¯d fought six times in the circle so far, not including today, and each was the same. Hooting calls and jeers bounced around her, shouts from a hundred throats echoing off the sheer granite walls only adding to the confusion. Emotions ran hot in The Blending. It was a time of greatness for her people. Great victories and great tragedies alike. The highs and lows of their entire existence sketched out in a single annual festival. ¡®A bloodbath¡¯ the lowlanders called it. ¡®Uncivilised¡¯ was the favourite word of the aristocrats in their ivory towers on the great plains below, as they sat fat on stores of grain behind their high walls, shut away from the world around them. ¡®A circus of violence better left in the past¡¯ was her personal favourite ¨C a quote her father had overheard from some lowlander general. The fucking cheek of it! Complaining about violence while coordinating the systematic destruction of not just their enemies¡¯ people, but their very land too! She snorted to herself softly, rolling her head around to stretch out her neck, as the cacophony of noise continued. She caught snatches here and there but let most pass by ¨C not worth her time. The insults weren¡¯t so bad this year. At last year¡¯s Blending she had stepped into the circle untested against the other clans, and she had faced a barrage of jeers, call-outs, and general nonsense to be expected when a new challenger entered the games. She¡¯d shut them up quick though, and now there was a markedly different tone in the air. Members of her clan used her current dominance of the circle to their advantage, calling out insults to their opponents, jockeying for position, and generally leveraging her victory for cheap political points. It was all a game for most at this stage anyway. For Sadrianna, and a few select others, The Blending this year was a chance to hone themselves against a calibre of competition they could not find in their own tier, outside of the few old monsters that each clan seemed to have hidden away. Individuals who, for whatever reason, never managed to achieve a higher tier class but somehow kept their drive for excellence, and so harboured a wealth of experience alongside finely honed skills. They were often essential to the clans¡¯ continued functioning though, so had little time to spare for training the younger generation, and besides, they were rare and so provided little variety. Variety that Sadrianna craved at this point. Hence why she was standing in the centre of the circle, listening to her clansmen shout boasts and insults towards the young 1st tier warriors of the Yellow Peak clan. Her last opponent was being helped back through the men and women thronging the edge of the circle, limping from a nasty gash on his inner thigh. He shifted in the arms of his companions though, sparing a final glance back at her, where he offered a respectful nod. He evidently realised that she could have sliced clean through his artery if she had wanted to, probably his entire leg too being honest ¨C RazorBeak was a powerful skill after all. She offered a nod of respect in turn, and the lad was hurried off to the healers. A particularly nasty remark involving a girl in the Yellow Peak clan and a camp dog caught her ear though, and she whipped around sharply, eyes narrowed. She scanned the crowd, searching for the man that had made the call. She quickly found him, wearing the white and gold of her own clan, and she stared him down intently.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. His smile faltered, then fled completely when she turned to the girl from Yellow Peak, offered a low bow and withdrew from the circle entirely. A hush spread around the circle, catching from one person to the next like a wildfire, as all around picked up on the change in mood. Most had obviously not heard the jab, but any who had were eager to share, and soon, the entire crowd was waiting with bated breath. The Yellow Peak girl, a strong competitor a few years younger than Sadrianna by the name of Nahail, strode to the centre of the circle angrily, every step sharp and filled with barely contained outrage. Indeed, it had been a vile insult, and one she was sure the boy had only thrown out because he was confident that Nahail would not seek to challenge Sadrianna¡¯s place. He obviously hadn¡¯t counted on her ceding the circle voluntarily, and she allowed herself a venomous smirk as the lanky boy half stumbled, half fell into the circle opposite the girl, pushed as he was by those around him. A few jeers rose in response, but were quickly hushed, as silence settled once more. Nahail drew her weapon, a short spear with a long, gracefully curved blade, and settled into a fighting crouch. ¡°Nahail of the Yellow Peak clan challenges her opponent.¡± She called in a high, clear voice. The boy looked a little sick now. He was maybe a summer or two older than Sadrianna, but while she vaguely recognised him, she knew little about him. He spent little time in the practice square, and she knew he wasn¡¯t part of the hunters or scouts. From his build, she knew he was no true clan defender, and so he was likely part of one of the non-martial professions. Given the amount of time she spent in the training yard and amongst the fighters of the clan, her relative ignorance of him was not a good sign for his chances of success. But then again, that is why she had ceded the floor to him. After he tried to use her protection to say such hurtful things to a young woman likely just on her first Blending, she would have beat him herself if there wasn¡¯t a better lesson here for both the disrespectful boy and Nahail herself. One would be given the chance to grow in confidence and see that standing up for oneself could end in victory, and the other would learn some respect. Or at least learn to shut his fucking mouth around those of greater ability. She hoped for the former but would settle for the latter. Not her job to teach every arrogant caharrg in the clan, after all. The boy found his voice after a few hard swallows and warbled out a reply ¨C ¡°Vargel of the White Cliff clan accepts this challenge¡± ¨C before drawing his own weapon. His stance was sloppy, and his round shield looked meek from where it hovered just below his eyes, the straight blade poking out from beneath managing to look almost pathetic in the tall boy¡¯s grip. Then followed a few awkward exchanges where the girl tried to get him to repeat his words before passing his guard with ease and bashing him across the jaw with the haft of her weapon. His voice was so clearly filled with humiliation and desperation though that she seemed to take pity on him in the end. A rapid series of cracks rang out as wooden spear haft met flesh and bone, and the boy collapsed nursing his right arm, whimpering pathetically. Sadrianna watched the display with barely concealed contempt. It wasn¡¯t the weakness that bothered her, for she had been diligent in studying under her father. His lessons of the world and their place within it were instrumental in shaping her into who she was today, and she knew in her heart that without them she would be an arrogant woman, no doubt. No, it wasn¡¯t the boy¡¯s relative weakness that bothered her so, but rather the fact that he clearly knew he was weak, was insecure of that weakness, and still did nothing about it. If he had accepted his place as one of the clan¡¯s non-combatants, in need of protection by White-Cliff¡¯s warriors, and decided to pursue a different path of utility¡­well then there would have been no issues. But no, the boy clearly longed for the status and respect of a great warrior, without the necessary drive to get there. Even worse, he seemed to have the ego of one already, without the power to justify it. She was drawn from her musings by Nahail catching her eye, bowing low and withdrawing from the circle once again. Sadrianna shook herself off and strode back into the centre of the circle. She swept her gaze around the young faces before her, searching for an opponent. There was a moment of calm, where people looked on expectantly, no challengers in sight. ¡°On behalf of the White-Cliff, I extend thanks to Nahail of the Yellow-Peak, for educating one of our own.¡± Chuckles and sniggers from among the crowd at the ritualised words, a clear insult to the defeated boy, for the old words were used mostly to make and accept challenges and little else in these modern times. She straightened then, smirking at the faces before her, ¡°Now¡­who¡¯s next?¡± Chapter 52 - Time Flows like a River I would definitely class the previous day as a little dramatic. Very scary as well, and more than a little painful. Doesn¡¯t sound like a good mix of experiences to be honest, but after waking the next morning and beginning to pack up our small camp, I did find myself in many ways glad for how things had gone down. Don¡¯t get me wrong, the day itself was fucking dreadful, but I felt a new sense of comradery with my companions that I had been missing, unconsciously perhaps, but keenly nonetheless. Nothing was strictly different about this morning from all the others we had shared ¨C no additional banter, no extra boasts or inside jokes, nothing tangible¡­.I just felt different. An invisible string tied me to each of them, and over the course of the last few days, that had strengthened into a solid rope. It might be that it was finally sinking in that these three had dropped everything and crossed an entire country just to save me, or the unburdening of various secrets between us all. Either way, we were closer because of it, and the world around me seemed to agree. Bright beams of sunlight caressed our faces and warmed our backs as we went about the tasks of packing down a camp and removing as much of our presence as possible from the wilderness we had inhabited. It was a beautiful morning, and after a light breakfast of dried fruit, nuts and a few strips of jerky, we began to move off. Jorge set a leisurely pace, allowing us to simply move through the world and let our minds run wild. We talked, joked, laughed and occasionally shared some companiable silence. After the sun had taken residence directly above us and began to beat down with intensity, our rambling conversation turned towards the future, and our current plan. It was now clear to all of us, given the information Francis had provided, that something big was going on in the Sunset Kingdoms. I was leaning towards just leaving it alone. Not our problem. I was kidnapped as a random event more than anything. Sure, I¡¯d have to be careful around any Crimson Lions in the future, but their information network was focused locally in and around the Sunsets, besides their minor presence around the Copper Canyons. We could return to the Panyera like we¡¯d originally planned, although now we¡¯d likely miss the Sabayan, so that plan may need some revision. But the point was, that for me at least, our dealings with the Crimson Lions could be at an end. I knew they had some means of locating God-Touched, but the way Francis had spoken about that, it sounded more like a Seer¡¯s prediction of where new God-Touched would appear, rather than a definitive way to track them afterwards. However, Vera was concerned. ¡®Failed revolutionary¡¯ I may have dubbed her in the sanctity of my own mind ¨C I¡¯d never call her that to her face, I wasn¡¯t suicidal! ¨C but she clearly still felt a strong connection to her homeland and wasn¡¯t thrilled with the idea of Duke Ryonic gaining further power. I wondered if this was a dangerous road to go back down considering how things had ended last time, and Nathlan ¨C bless his courageous scholarly soul ¨C had actually put that question to the berserker. She had calmly explained though that it was a cost calculation and this new information changed everything. For her, the costs of trying to oust Duke Ryonic were prohibitive in terms of the lives of her people that would be destroyed in the process. Add to that the fact that the other principalities, mainly but not exclusively the Sultanate, seemed unwilling to tolerate a more revolutionary kingdom on their boarders, and the cost became pointless. Even were they successful in driving off the Duke and taking control, they would be swiftly overwhelmed when their neighbours marshalled their forces. Better to tolerate the indignity and hope for things to change. She could have more of a positive effect elsewhere in the meantime. I¡¯m sure a large amount of trauma and feelings of betrayal and grief were also keeping her away from her old homeland as well, but it was a sensible argument. However, the Ashkanian ruins changed all of that. If Duke Ryonic was able to plunder such an ancient ruin, he would rise in power dramatically. Both personally and politically, he would become untouchable, able to reinforce his draconian policies over generations if not longer. In other words, the costs of intervening were as high as ever, but the costs of doing nothing had risen sharply. Jorge had agreed. I suspected that the meeting with the Subakir had shaken his faith in a way, and that its ¡®meddling in mortal affairs¡¯ had encouraged him to be more involved as well. Either that or he just really hated the Lions at this point. I had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to the wait and see approach Vera had previously been taking than was said aloud. I didn¡¯t know exactly how strong she was, but I suspected that she had been growing in power for the last decade rather than just learning to control her class. If she managed to reach the 4th tier, I had no doubt she would swoop into the Western Marchlands and take control relatively unopposed, making any retaliation from other kingdoms completely moot ¨C nobody wanted to make an enemy of a 4th tier. Nathlan had no dog in this fight, so to say, and neither did I to be honest. However, I was pretty angry at my treatment, and my own sense of injustice roared to life when I considered the plight of the people who would suffer if the Duke got his way. Just imagining a legion of Francis D¡¯Sware lookalikes swaggering around a country, harassing farmers and peasants with no repercussions, protected by powerful artifacts from an ancient civilisation did set my blood pumping. Suffice it to say, it didn¡¯t take much to get me onboard. Nathlan likewise hated noble subterfuge ¨C to a fairly surprising degree given what I knew of his background ¨C and so hopped on the bandwagon quickly once Vera gave details on how the Western Marchlands were actually run. In many ways, that was the easy bit ¨C deciding that we were going to intervene. The hard bit came afterwards, when we contemplated how the four of us planned to overturn the plans of a powerful Duke ruling over a vast territory, hundreds of guards and soldiers under his command and a veteran mercenary company within his employ. That was something for the others though, I was far too inexperienced to offer much more than light comic relief and a soundboard for picking holes in proposed plans. Most of it sounded extremely vague to me anyway, but when I voiced that concern, I was assured that all plans began this way, with details added over time. Jorge eventually gave me a task to distract me anyway. In his words; ¡®Look Lamb, you¡¯re not being helpful here anymore. Go and catch us some dinner, and we¡¯ll update you when you get back.¡¯ The harsh words would have stung me when I¡¯d first arrived on this world, but after months living, training and fighting side by side with Jorge, I¡¯d come to appreciate his often-blunt communication style. Hard days without food, of recovering from near-deadly wounds, and balancing my life on the edge of a blade had sheared away some of the ego I once had. I was no monk or holy man with my ego completely subsumed by a higher power or anything like that, but I could take some light criticism without feeling too put out. He was right, I wasn¡¯t helping here. I didn¡¯t consider myself a great general or strategist, and what I knew about the Sunsets, or a destabilisation campaign against a state for that matter, could fit inside a thimble. Why should I be upset when someone stated I wasn¡¯t helping with something I couldn¡¯t help with? Plus¡­hunting was fun. As Jorge had predicted, our plan had started vague, and gained more detail as we progressed. We were crossing the DragonSpine Mountains ¨C not the deepest parts admittedly, that would require 3rd tier skills at the least ¨C and it would take weeks on its own. Then it was a multi-week trek to reach a port city on the other side of the mountain range, before catching a ship to take us along the Burning Coast and up-river into the Sunset Kingdoms themselves. A trip of months would leave plenty of time for planning after all. More importantly though, it would leave plenty of time for training, for refinement, for progression. I now had my first taste of real magic, and I was practically salivating at the thought of growing that power. I was moving through the mountains after all, what better opportunity was there to practice my control over stone?
3 root-damned weeks. That¡¯s all it took. I¡¯d spent a large part of my captivity pining after my companions. The only friends in the world I had. Other than Sally the Tinkerer I guess, but I doubt she thought of us as such. Just another customer I suppose. It was more significant to me though ¨C she was one of the few people I knew by name! There were others of course. We¡¯d met a few traders and shared food and wine with them on our lonely trek from the Iona Chasm to the Copper Canyons. Pleasant evenings all considered. I was getting side-tracked though. 3 weeks was all it took for me to get thoroughly sick of their shit. It had been building for a few days now between all of us. Something in the air maybe, but jokes had stopped landing, compliments for food were missing, each of us was getting visibly more frustrated with the normal jobs of setting up and packing down camp each night. Minor bickering became arguments, and we were in danger of breaking out into a true disagreement.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Nothing personal as far as I could tell, but we were all just a bit sick of each other by now. Constant companionship will do that to a group through, and we¡¯d been in a non-stop stressful situation for a few days now. So yeah, I was on my own, scouting ahead and trying to give my companions some slack within my own mind. Nathlan had retreated back into himself and was acting like an angsty teenager, but honestly, I could sympathise. Vera was also being a bit of an ass, way too prickly at every comment and seeming on the verge of eruption at any moment. Pretty sure I¡¯d seen her hair smoking after one particularly annoying barb from Jorge. Jorge though was the worst. Rather than his usual calming influence, he was quiet. We all understood to a certain degree ¨C he was still reeling from whatever private revelations he was having about his ¨C religion? Cult? ¨C I wasn¡¯t sure really. Either way, I tried to be forgiving but damn, he was being so sulky! So I¡¯d slipped away, nobody commenting about my decision to go scouting. We were being followed by the vultures still, and getting an advanced view of the path ahead was a good idea in context. We¡¯d picked them up about 3 days ago, but they¡¯d stayed on our tail since, circling in the evenings and growing ever bolder as time passed. I eyed the giant winged creatures warily from the bluff I perched upon, their massive stature and long beaks reminding me somewhat of the titanic eagles I had seen battling so long ago. That wasn¡¯t a fun thought, and I quickly reassured myself that their scale, in comparison to the trees below them, was not in the same realm as those god-like beings. None of those vultures would be casually dropping a cow on me at any rate. While I had some reservations about fighting them, especially considering my weakness at range, I was pretty confident we¡¯d be able to lose them in a forest environment. Jorge had further reassured me that they were not particularly dangerous predators for anyone of a similar level. Nathlan and myself were likely a dozen or so levels beneath them, but we could punch up against wild animals fairly reliably, and Jorge and Vera were far above them. He¡¯d then destroyed any of the calmness he¡¯d instilled in me with his next sentence; ¡°It¡¯s what follows them that you should fear¡­¡± Suffice it to say, I¡¯d chosen to scout ahead rather than behind us.
Time passed, and with its passage my strength grew. 1 level, then 3, then 4 and swiftly 5. I had gained 25 attributes to spend in less than as many days, and as we moved through deep valleys and winding gorges, I could feel the power coursing through my body. I¡¯d been tempted to hold off on ¡®spending¡¯ the bounty of my levels so that I could increase all at once. Ostensibly to ¡®maximise gains¡¯ or something, but really, I think I just wanted to experience the rush of power all at once. If I was particularly sneaky I could maybe surprise Vera with extra attributes that she hadn¡¯t calibrated for and beat her in a spar. Jorge shot that idea down mercilessly. I needed more time to get used to my enhanced body, and hording attributes would only hinder that pursuit. Stupid, practical Jorge. In any case, I was stronger than ever, and the myriad wounds I¡¯d sustained had fixed themselves up. Jorge reassured me that while he could have fixed me up in an emergency, it would be better to let my natural regeneration deal with this. Improved vitality would handle most of the small niggles within the day, and the cracked ribs would set themselves back properly following Vera¡¯s careful bandaging of my torso. It conserved resources, and also gave me an idea of how long it took me to heal. It was tempting to think he was just being an ass, but I had to acknowledge that it was actually a fair point. Experience is the greatest teacher after all, and the way I seemed to be living my life ¨C dangerously ¨C involved trading minor injuries to impart greater ones on my opponents. I wasn¡¯t some ¡®eye for an eye¡¯ berserker or anything, but I did tend to get hurt in small ways in many of my fights. Add to that my outside of combat experiences ¨C climbing, running and otherwise flinging myself around the mountains like I was in a giant playground ¨C also gave me my share of scrapes. I made calculated risks, and so I needed to have a firm grasp on what the realistic consequence of each action was. I¡¯d only get that by experiencing the downtime and recovery of my actions, rather than relying on some magical potion plucked from the void by my high-level mentor. Anyway! Happier thoughts could be thought now, as I had healed up completely, just some minor scars still marring my form. And I was stronger than ever. Level 35 was a rush. I was delving into the secrets of Faultline every day, and with guidance from most notably Nathlan, I was growing by leaps and bounds. I could climb up almost any stone surface now, widening existing minute cracks within the rock to form gaps big enough to use as hand and footholds. I couldn¡¯t yet do much more than widen and pressure existing faults within a stone structure, but I was gaining more control each day. I could now channel the direction I wanted the fracture to move in, and even link up small fault lines within rock, assuming they were close enough together. Nathlan seemed impressed by the latter use of the skill, pushing me to try and carve patterns within rock with the aim of one day forming runic circles or warding patterns invisibly through the microstructure of stone below my enemy¡¯s feet. The problem was, I knew nothing of runecraft and the underlying magical theory behind it, and had no real desire to learn. Sure, it was interesting in an abstract sense but I knew myself well by this point. I didn¡¯t have the dedication to work at something so theoretically dense; I preferred to use my body, or see the immediate effect on the world around me, and that progression would drive me forwards. Burying myself in books for a few years to achieve an arguably greater level of power and versatility was not something that excited me when I had other viable paths to follow. While his enthusiasm for raw magic wasn¡¯t something I could quite keep up with, his knowledge was profound, and his guidance did help push me far further and faster than if I were alone. Visualisation exercises, ¡®dexterity¡¯ exercises ¨C by which he meant the ability to make fine adjustments with my magic rather than body ¨C and other small tests and games to expand the way I used the skill were incredibly effective. I was now at the point where I could sense stone easily and naturally. My domain for the stone-sense was roughly 20 or so meters in a sphere around myself, but I could double that distance if I pushed in one single direction. The further my sense moved away from my body, the weaker and less precise it became. My control over the stone itself became more precise too. I could sculpt it more fluidly than to begin with and was gaining some measure of delicacy over the way I manipulated the material. I was still no sculptor, but I could create rough cracks and lines quickly and under duress. I was even experimenting with creating divots and holes under my opponent¡¯s feet while fighting, and that seemed to be a promising line of advancement if I could keep working at it. Obviously, the skill was heavily dependent on the environment, as it only worked on stone, and most effectively on stone that was heterogeneous, lit through with twisting cracks and broken lattices. In the high mountains, where scree slopes were plentiful and the earth was filled with sediment and minerals, I was in my element. It was unlikely I would have such control in arable farmland. There were technicalities around what counted as stone that I¡¯d not yet dived into. Could I manipulate sand one day? Coral? Crystal? Probably not. I was no scholar or mage, and I had little hope of expanding my current skill use into true understanding. I would be happy to simply control and manipulate the environment I spent time in. Simply control the mountains ¨C what a thought! Shaking off the thought, I reviewed the recent gains I¡¯d made. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 35 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 30 Agility: 30 Endurance: 30 Perception: 30 Cognition: 40 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 9. Passive. Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 11. Passive. Heart of the Hills: Level 9. Active. Check Step: Level 9. Active. Indomitable Prey: Level 9. Active. Skirmisher of Antiquity: Level 9. Passive. Mountain-Born: Level 11. Passive Minor Stone-Shaping: Level 7. Active. I¡¯d decided to pump up my cognition in order to get the most out of Nathlan¡¯s lessons. I knew it didn¡¯t make me smarter per se, but I did find myself able to retain and access the knowledge I learned a little easier, and the ability to concentrate harder and for longer was definitely a nice bonus. I¡¯d then rounded out the rest of my attributes to an even 30 because I liked the symmetry. Yes, it was a petty reason, but honestly, I wanted to keep an even spread for now. Cognition could jump ahead, and then I¡¯d probably invest more in strength, but in general I wanted to be more of a jack of all trades than a master of one. Also, Jorge had hinted that attribute allocation could influence what options you were given on classing up a tier. I wanted to keep a varied approach, and specialising too heavily would skew things in certain directions. Besides, with my rare combat class I had the spare attributes to chuck around.
*Days later* The hunt was on. My blood sang as I rushed through the pine forest cloaking the steep valley, mounds of earth and fallen logs unable to bar my path as I leaped and ducked above, around and beneath them, all the while feeling the wind push against me as I kept my speed up. I could hear my friend lowing with excitement as she sprinted alongside me, separated by half a mile of open air on the other side of the valley, but keeping pace effortlessly. I could barely see her, only the occasional and bizarre coughing grunts reassuring me she was near, and the rare flash of silver I sometimes saw through the trunks and canopy normally obscuring my view. My stone-sense could pick up the reliable thumping of heavy paws as our quarry fled in panic. The fact that I still couldn¡¯t catch even a glimpse of the massive creature was a bit of a worry given how it was lighting up in my new sense so dramatically. It implied that the creature was bigger than I¡¯d expected, even considering the advice Jorge had given me before I set off on this hunt. ¡®Don¡¯t back them into a corner and don¡¯t get too close until they¡¯re nearly done ¨C they can twist at a moment¡¯s notice and are far too strong for you to stand toe to hoof with.¡¯ I was taking his words to heart and closing in slowly with the giant herbivore. I was almost tempted to believe that the lack of predatory instincts might make this animal less dangerous, but thankfully, the months in the wild had wiped away some of that naivete. Ferns whipped past my legs as I ran after the thumping creature ahead, still just out of sight. As I began to close in though, I started to see the signs of its passage more clearly; splashes of water dripping from bushes, tiny icicles rapidly melting on the bottom of overhanging leaves, frost littering the ground in little clumps where pine needles had adhered to one another as if to ward off the chill. The rhythmic thumping in my stone-sense suddenly shifted, and I looked up in time to see a wall of bristling ice spikes pointing my way as I failed to slow myself down before impact. Chapter 53 - A Cold Reception ¡°Have you ever run with wolves, Varghen? There¡¯s a rush to it. You¡¯re moving on your own but it¡¯s like you¡¯re all one. Like a shoal of fish or something. Fuck, it¡¯s incredible! And you feel all this energy within you. Just bubbling up in an endless well. ¡°You can¡¯t fall behind until the others get tired, and you¡¯re all focused on that one goal together? I love it. I try to get out at least once a season to track and hunt with the Timbre Wolves of the Great Plains. ¡°But I only went hunting with a big cat just the once. Terrifying experience, honestly ¨C I¡¯ll never do it again. The hunt was fine itself, but there was no comradery there. Didn¡¯t feel a hint of shared purpose. I was out there for the joy of it, and the cat ¨C great big fucker of a Jag, he was. Nah he was out there just to kill. ¡°I swear, we took down some sort of Great Elk ¨C impressive specimen itself to be fair ¨C but the moment that thing was dead, the cat looked at me. Flat eyes. Nothing behind them. Calculating and cold, but no emotion whatsoever. I was next on the list, and the only reason I walked out of there was because I¡¯d not turned my back for a few miles. ¡°Fuck me ¨C never again.¡± - Royal Huntsman to Suzerain Antanista Red-Hand, 2nd Herald of the Winter Court, as recorded by royal scribes in the Book of the Court (16th edition)
I sensed the massive footfalls of the creature I was hunting abruptly stop and I looked up in surprise. A few meters in front of me, through the gaps in the large palm fronds and Jurassic ferns that thrust bravely towards the canopy above, I spotted a glittering wall of icy spears. Shards and icicles at least 3 feet long protruded in a semi-circle, their bristling points aimed at my head. And my heart. And my eyes and my face and my stomach and my¡­ Safe to say I was panicking. I activated Check-Step, more instinct than conscious thought at this point, and the world slowed minutely. I had a moment to think as my body hurtled towards its imminent death. No time to stop, barely any time to slow myself, and not sufficiently to prevent a grisly death by impalement in any case. I couldn¡¯t tell visually, but my stone-sense helpfully informed me that the ice was at least a couple of meters thick. Despite my enhanced attributes, there is no way that I¡¯d be able to brake through with a charge, and those ice-spears would make any such impact devastating. I could bring my shield to bear and potentially save myself the indignity of leaving a body full of holes, but I¡¯d certainly break a collarbone and perhaps worse by hitting a solid wall of ice at my speed, even tucked behind it. And that ignored the creature responsible for the ice wall as well. The creature I had been hunting, alongside my trusty silver friend, had pivoted on its giant three-toed feet and was rearing up on its back legs, moments away from descending and smashing through the ice wall it had just created. My mind worked at a frenetic pace, frantically creating and discarding plans to get me out of the death sentence I¡¯d written for myself, until I stumbled upon an idea that might work. It was a gamble, but I didn¡¯t have time to search for a better one in the heartbeat since I¡¯d activated Check-Step. Committing fully, I de-activated Check-Step to put all of my focus into Faultline as I reached out to within the convex wall of icy death before me. Time didn¡¯t slow as i searched for imperfections within the conjured element, instead I let my instincts guide me. Long days of hard study and experience forcing my mind to search in likely locations for that single microscopic crack, that tiny imperfection that could allow my skill to take root. Blessedly, after another heartbeat in which I closed half the remaining distance to the spears in front of me, I found the microfractures littering the internal lattice of the wall, and without hesitation pushed all of the mana I could muster from my core into the skill constellation of Faultline. An ominous crack echoed through the forest, and a moment later my body slammed into the wall, shield held in front of me and shoulder and knee bracing against it. I was curled tightly into a ball, keeping as much of my body covered by the bronze artifact as possible. There was a series of crunches as my shield, reinforced and given momentum by my Mountain-Born body, smashed through the 3-foot-long pikes that extended from the white barrier, before I impacted the wall itself, right against the burgeoning crack created by my newest skill. Breath whooped from my lungs, and I felt my very bones shake with the impact, but my shield held strong, and the ice wall did not. I burst through the crack, spittle spraying from my mouth as I was essentially punched in the entire body by a massive fist of elemental mana. It didn¡¯t matter though ¨C I was through. Just in time to see the giant body of the Glacial Rhinoceros falling towards me. Over 5 tonnes of mammalian might descended upon me, encased in an armour of frost and snorting freezing air from its massive nose. I once more activated Check-Step but my feet had not even touched the ground and I had little hope of avoiding the tree-trunk sized legs aiming to crush my feeble body. Another impact rocked me, and I was now flying sideways, watching the earth shake as the rhino stamped down on empty earth with an outraged bellow. I rolled swiftly to my feet, seeing a silver flash as my hunting companion darted in and under the massive creature, catching its attention for a moment and buying me time to reassess. The Juvenile Rakshasa that had accompanied me on my hunt was not yet a match for such a massive creature on its own, although if it reached maturity and developed its 3rd set of tails, it would be far more powerful. What mattered right now though was that there were two of us attacking the one Glacial Rhinoceros, and clearly we were able to work together. I shrugged my shoulder bearing the shield. It was sore as all hells, but still responded seamlessly to my commands, and that was what was important at the moment. The Rhino was at least 3 meters tall at the shoulder, and its hide was hidden beneath a foot or so of solid ice. Jorge¡¯s advice from earlier was essential to my plan of attack and current survival. The hint was in the name ¨C I was hunting a glacial creature, with an affinity for not just frozen water, but one inspired by the frozen lakes of the Dragon-Spine mountains themselves. Its ice was not just water cooled below its freezing point, but also further compacted by geological amounts of pressure. That pressure caused bubbling and the build-up of many small layers within the substance, responsible for the white colour rather than a natural blue. Normally that would make it stronger than regular ice formed by temperature alone, but it also made my skill much more effective.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Jorge hadn¡¯t exactly told me that hunting a Glacial Rhinoceros was a good idea, but when I¡¯d confirmed my desire to do so with enough force, he¡¯d eventually relented and given me some advice regarding my approach. ¡®Use your most powerful skill to break through its armour and skills¡¯ wasn¡¯t exactly phenomenal advice when you really thought about it, but that was the good thing about being impulsive ¨C I didn¡¯t tend to think too deeply about things like this. I hefted my spear and held my arm in position for a few moments, whistling at the Rakshasa to get its attention. It flicked an eye stalk in my direction while it continued to prance around and beneath the raging ball of muscle and hoarfrost we were fighting, in what was once a normal patch of forest. It now resembled a small clearing at least 20 feet wide. The broken carcasses of trampled trees lay scattered to the floor, and the 6-legged Rakshasa danced through them without issue, nimble padded feet guided by the mane of prehensile eye-stalks flaring out from its neck to survey is surroundings. It had clearly gleaned my intent, for it launched forwards in a flash and scraped a glowing silver claw as long as my forearm down the icy armour at the rhino¡¯s flank. It hadn¡¯t managed to pierce through, but the smaller creature was deceptively strong, and the impact must have hurt since the rhino whipped around with another bellow. The moment it moved I launched forwards, a throw with my entire body behind it, guided by 9 levels in Skirmisher of Antiquity, 10 in Guerrilla Warfare, and over 40 attribute points in strength. The Copper coloured metal of the lanceolate spear tip thudded into the gap between the rhino¡¯s neck and shoulder and buried itself deep into the frozen coat protecting its vitals. I dove to the side as the enormous creature continued its turn, swinging its backside around towards me. It seemed like a ridiculous move on the surface, but with a few tonnes of armour-wrapped muscle flying towards me, I had to admit to its effectiveness. From my position on the floor, having avoided death for the 2nd time in as many moments, I reached out with Faultline and seized on the cracked armour at the creature¡¯s shoulder. Fractures spiderwebbed their way across its chest and flank, and I pushed my intent towards the skill, willing my mana to creep between the cracks and rip them apart. The Rakshasa dove back in just as I screamed with the mental effort and tore away a thick plating of armour from the rhino¡¯s neck. My spear fell to the floor and suddenly there was nothing to protect the creature¡¯s hide and the organs beneath from the lunging claws of one of Tsanderos¡¯s most prolific hunters. The Rakshasa scraped a deep wound into the rhino that fountained blood around the clearing as the larger creature reared back in pain. Unwilling to be outdone and keen to claim my part of the experience, I rushed forwards. Mountain-Born guided my steps, and I leapt into the air, spear flying to my hand as the artifact link responded to my mana. I stretched like a bow, both hands gripping the weapon above my head, back arched and ready. As I reached the height of my leap, I flexed inwards and drove the spear into its hide. I was left to swing back and forth for a moment, riding out the frenzied bucking of the Glacial Rhinoceros as it contended with strikes from two directions at once. I caught another flash of silver in my vision as the smaller creature darted back out of range as the rhino summoned another wall of spears. My temporary ally hadn¡¯t been in much danger of being hit, but the rhino¡¯s attack did give it some breathing room and so I was on my own for the moment and now firmly back in the top spot for most aggravating prey. Rather than hang around to find out what horrible things would happen if I didn¡¯t move, I climbed up onto the back of the titanic beast, breath wheezing from my strained lungs, whether from exertion or the cold I wasn¡¯t sure. I managed to snag one of its ears in hand, and wrenched myself around and onto its face, sliding down until I could place on foot against the first of its two horns. It all happened so fast. By the time it had realised I was still holding on to the spear, I was scrabbling down onto its face. By the time it realised I was on its face, my knife was driving into one of its eyes. I was flung bodily away by its flailing and sailed through the air to land with a heavy thud against the trunk of a downed tree. I groaned as I sat up, but regained my wits quick enough to leap to my feet and start moving once more. I had done serious damage to the creature, but with a beast of this size and power, to stand still was a death sentence. The many-limbed Rakshasa scrabbled up the wall of ice and leapt onto the back of the great rhino as it continued to fling its head about, trying in vain to dislodge to knife from its eye and bellowing in pain all the while. Sharp claws began to tear at the armour on its back, and I reached out once more with Faultline to rid it of its protective shell. Soon enough, the claws were leaving bloody furrows in the rhino¡¯s hide as thick ice slipped to the ground, and I was almost entirely forgotten in favour of the creature on its back. From there it was a long, drawn out and brutal affair. We whittled the massive beast down, opening fresh wounds and spilling gallons of blood before it finally collapsed with my spear through its neck. I sagged in place, shoulders drooping from the strain and red staining my clothes. My spear but dug into the earth as I leaned against it after pulling it out of the corpse. A crimson muzzle raised to the air and sniffed my way, prehensile eye-stalks looking strangely like a mane of dreadlocks focused on me for a moment before resuming their constant vigil. The young Rakshasa feasted, diving through the viscera with glee to seek out the nutrient and mana-rich organs of the fallen behemoth. ¡°Fuck, I¡¯m exhausted.¡± I groaned as I levered myself down to a seat on a broken tree stump. A couple of eye-stalks swivelled my way and focused intently on me and I laughed before speaking again. ¡°Not that exhausted mate, don¡¯t push it.¡± Thankfully, the rhino began to jerk around once more as the juvenile terror continued its feast once more. I wasn¡¯t truly sure how much of my speech it understood, but the Juvenile Rakshasa definitely had a way of letting its intentions be known through its actions and body language, despite its lack of language. The adults were a terror across all of Tsanderos, able to excel in almost any environment and incredibly hard to kill on account of their prowess and intelligence both. After trailing the Glacial Rhinoceros for a few bells, I¡¯d caught sight of it running along the opposite ridgeline and thought it had been stalking me at first. We¡¯d come to an agreement though by funnelling the great beast towards the end of a valley, herding it together from opposite sides. It was a gamble, but in an open area like this, with food plentiful and easier prey around, I had decided to risk it and continued the hunt, praying it wouldn¡¯t turn on me at the end. Given the joy with which it was ripping through the carcass currently, I was incredibly glad it had paid off. I was distracted from the grisly sight by the ringing in my head though and turned my attention to the gains from the fight. You have killed a Glacial Rhinoceros (level 78). Experience gained. You have reached level 39. Attribute points available for allocation. Skill ¡®Faultline¡¯ has increased in level. Faultline ¨C level 8 The last week had provided a bounty of levels, and my skills were growing fast. I had managed to bring my newest skill almost up to even with my others, and I was closing in on my last skill that I would receive before classing up to the 2nd tier. Not that¡¯s I¡¯d yet figured out which skill I would sacrifice to accept the new one, or even confirmed if I was actually going to receive a 2nd late skill with this class, although it was likely. Problems for later anyway. Right now, I had a carcass to butcher. The meat would be useful, and I was keen to bring back at least a part of one of its horns to Jorge. Not only could he tell me if it was likely to be valuable or not, but he may also know of a way I could use it as a material for potential weapons or armour. I sighed in contentment as I did a final check over my injuries to ensure the adrenaline wasn¡¯t hiding something from me, before I got on with the morbid task. Interlude - The Blending 2 *Sadrianna* *2 cycles past* The noise crashed into her mind like an avalanche. If she had thought the circles from her previous years had been loud, she was wrong. This was noise. This was passion. Drums pounded a frantic rhythm, shaking the very air. Voices crowed delight to the heavens as people from a dozen clans watched from the cliffs, reacting to each blow and counter of the fighters in the circle below them. Nestled into the crags on small platforms, waving food and fine silks from the south, the spectators boomed their appreciation to the skies. Dozens of meters below them, oat the base of the canyon, nestled in amongst the far less boisterous crowd that lined the circle itself, she watched entranced at the fight before her. To her right and left were men and women well into their 2nd tier, standing still and watching with rigid attention. In front, there were the shield-bearers. The strongest of each clan¡¯s 2nd tier fighters, they stood in ready crouches with large shields presented inwards towards the circle, marking out the perimeter and protecting those behind them from any stray blows or skills that may cause harm. Sadrianna was tall though, just able to see over the shoulders of the two men before her and their massive shields. She drank in the sight of combat with eager eyes, straining to see each move as it happened, to put herself in the circle itself and analyse how she would react to each strike. She¡¯d always been gifted when it came to fighting, evident from an early age, her mother¡¯s blood in her veins apparent for all to see. She¡¯d added to that base with diligent study and long months of practice to build a stable foundation. She then took lessons from her father, learning more about the world and herself, and immersing herself in the true challenge of a wild hunt. The naivete then drummed out of her by long seasons spent in life and death struggle against the denizens of the wilderness, she sought out every warrior the clan had to offer and learned from them, before progressing into the circle for the first time not yet a true adult. A few more seasons of competition against the best of her age, she ironed out any issues with her unorthodox path and techniques, consecrated her skills, and then progressed further. She stood at the base of the 2nd tier, a true member of her clan¡¯s martial might. Now, she entered the true competition. And that same gift she¡¯d always possessed of reading the flows of battle, that same ability to analyse an opponent, honestly and without ego, was now telling her that she was outclassed. She watched two fighters of consummate skill trade blows that would have shaken her bones with each deflection. She saw skills used in ways she had never dreamed of, that she had no way of countering and even less chance of predicting. As the fight came to a close with a near-decapitation ¨C the strike only stopped by the circle¡¯s Holder intervening herself ¨C Sadrianna breathed out for the first time since the battle had begun. The man next to her, a bearded northerner wearing heavy furs and colours marking him as a member of clan Red-Cloud, clapped a hand on her shoulder. ¡°No worries lass, you¡¯ll be fine out there. Those are two o¡¯ the strongest we¡¯ve got I reckon. Doubt there¡¯s any here under forty winters that can match either of ¡®em! Yall be fine.¡± It was a comforting gesture, and she grunted in polite thanks without looking away from the two warriors as they embraced and then slipped back into the crowd to further cheers. But any who had been looking her way would have seen not the anxiousness the Red-Cloud man had taken her silence for, but a burning excitement that lit her whole face with its glow. She had seen a new level of competition, and her heart burned to reach it. It was a fanciful thought at this point. Both fighters were so far above her that she¡¯d be an idiot to challenge them now. Not to mention arrogant. The Blending was a test, a tool to draw the clans together and sharpen the younger generations against one another, but it was also an exhibition of each clan¡¯s strength. A source of pride, with all the ego that such an event entails. To stand against someone in the circle was to put yourself on their level. To acknowledge their ability, and claim loudly and to everyone present, that you could match it. She would feel no embarrassment to be defeated by either warrior, but the shame she would bring herself and her clan by proclaiming her their equal before proving that a lie would be immense. A challenge then, but one as-of-yet out of reach. Her eyes still shone with excitement though ¨C she¡¯d just needed something to aim for. The details of how she would get there were irrelevant. A new challenger stepped into the arena, interrupting the silence of her thoughts. Young, brash, stalking forwards with all the cockiness of untested youth. She recognised the arrogance of the man before her, because it was a mirror of her own. She had stood head and shoulders above others in her clan for an entire cycle, unbeaten in ¡®official¡¯ bouts for two. Nobody in the Blending last cycle could stand up to her, and so she carried with her a self-confidence bordering on arrogance. The difference between her and the man strutting around the arena waving his arms to pump up the crowd was that she had people around her far more powerful. Her own mother could defeat both the previous fighters at the same time without breaking a sweat. In other words, she had perspective. That alone had dampened any ego she¡¯d begun secretly harbouring as a teenager, but what truly humbled her had been her parents showing her their own insignificance. She¡¯d been taken to the deep lakes, holes in the earth filled with a water so icy blue that they appeared more as enormous crystalline caves than bodies of water. They had wrapped her in their protection, cushioned her feeble intent in their own will and beaten back the oppressive aura of the ancient mountains to such a degree that she could survive for half a morning in such an environment. But that was long enough for her to see the titans in the depths of the deep lakes. To witness the leviathans that truly ruled this world, and to understand that for all her mother¡¯s power as one of only three 4th tier warriors of the mountain clans, she was nothing but dust on the wind to those that lurk below. Watching the man stride around the circle of shields like a caged tiger, his admittedly impressive physique rippling with each movement, she couldn¡¯t help but think she might be able to provide him with some perspective herself. After all, he surely knew he couldn¡¯t match the previous challenges himself. He was noticeably younger, clearly newly into his 2nd tier and so his pride likely came from his power relative to those of his rank, not in an absolute sense. It just so happened that she was also newly into her 2nd tier as well, and hungry for competition around her level against which she could test herself. A perfect opportunity. ¡°Is there no one else? The Red-Cloud had some fine competitors last cycle, surely one or two have advanced in the interim?¡± The man asked, his voice surprisingly deep, rumbling through his broad chest before pouring from his mouth like a sandworm breaching in the desert. Swaggering around the edge of the circle, he reminded her of immense shadows lazily circling in blue-white waters, and she began to slip between the men and women in front of her. Faces turned her way as she pushed shoulders and slid between arms, dodging the weapons that each warrior had strapped to their backs, sides, and generally any spare inch of flesh that could support more steel. Say one thing for the mountain clans, their reputation as barbarians was understandable if you only considered their aesthetics. One huge ball of muscle in the shape of a man whirled round as she slipped by and nearly took her eye out with the spiked maul he had slung over one shoulder. Despite the danger though, she emerged from the gauntlet of her fellow clansmen and out into the light, breaking past the shield-bearers in time to hear the confident shout of the man in the centre of the circle. Up close he was far more intimidating than from a distance, and she now understood why he was struggling to find a challenger. He was still early in the 2nd tier, and none of the veterans would lower themselves to face him until it was clear that there was nobody from his level to accept his challenge. There were few in the early 2nd tier in the Blending to begin with, and that would mostly be made up of those who had recently broken through. Upon gaining a 2nd tier class, most would spend months working to familiarise themselves with their new class, and in so doing would progress rapidly through the levels. This period of growth was offset by a return to their normal duties afterwards, and so a much slower rate of progress through their 2nd tier until they reached the bottleneck of attempting to breakthrough to the 3rd tier. All of this to say that there were not many hovering around level 50 in this circle, and almost all of them were very new to their advancement. It was understandable therefore that few had the confidence to challenge somebody in the circle, in front of the eyes of the combined clans above. Doubly so for a challenger who seemed as confident in their abilities as the brash man currently pacing within. He was broad in the chest and shoulders, rippling with muscle, his red hair wild and his head down, stalking back and forwards with feline grace. All sleek muscle and hard edges. He carried a heavy battle-axe in one hand, short-hafted and lacking in reach, though no doubt quicker to wield. Not that he needed it, for he was built more like a gorilla than a man, with arms far longer than normal. It would have surprised her on somebody else, but he wore blue ribbons woven into the pelts that adorned his legs and back, and his fiery hair was braided with blue and purple feathers. A member of the Blue-Cavern clan, he surely followed one of their few combat paths. While most famous for their alchemical prowess, the clan was also known throughout the mountains to have a narrow but deep inheritance. They had few pure combatants, but those they did have were powerful. Rather than variety and adaptability, they were the epitome of Solomense¡¯s saying ¡®do few things, but do them well¡¯. Sadrianna operated on the other end of the scale. She came from a relatively large clan, with a large proportion of warriors inhabiting many roles and with a wide variety of possible paths to follow. She took this a step further, by forging her own path, taking unorthodox skills and earning herself a class not yet seen among the mountain clans, at least as far as she knew. There were more paths to power than there were trees in the world, according to her father. This would be a good test of her style, to see if it truly held up against a path as enduring as a Blue-Cavern warrior-inheritance. She stepped up to the shield-bearers in time to hear his first pronouncement. ¡°And here I was hoping to catch at least a single win before being put in my place by my elders. Is there no-one here with a spine?¡± She saw some people stiffen as his words drifted to them, saw some clench their jaws as his mocking tone dug into their heads. He had shown enough humility and respect to those more powerful than him that the higher-levelled 2nd tiers were unlikely to step in. So not completely arrogant then. Pragmatic. Calculated. But still smug, still proud to the point of conceitedness. She filed away the information, for she was under no illusions that the upcoming fight would sorely test her. That was the point though.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°Really? Nobody?¡± He laughed, turning to the point towards a small knot of veterans at the edge, marked as such by their sheer presence, undefinable but still obvious nonetheless. ¡°I apologise my friends, it seems as though you will not have much new competition for a few more cycles. I shall try my best to make up for this shameful-¡° ¡°Are you going to keep barking, or will you issue your challenge?¡± Sadrianna called out, clear and confident as she vaulted over the shoulder of the shield-bearer before her, finally breaking into the open as she did. All eyes swivelled to her, and the Blue-Cavern man turned to regard her with strangely flat yellow eyes. He rolled his great shoulders and stretched out his back in a gesture reminiscent of a hunting cat preparing to spring. ¡°Oh ho? It seems I was too hasty! My apologies to the young generation, at least one of you isn¡¯t a coward.¡± His voice gained an edge to it with his next sentence though. ¡°Perhaps soon she will wish that she was.¡± Sadrianna rolled her eyes, having heard many such boasts before. The cold expression in his feline eyes did have her heart starting to beat faster, however. She recognised that look, it was one she had seen in many of her hunts. When she looked into the eyes of her quarry when it was cornered, she occasionally saw that same flat empty gaze staring back at her. Only from the predators though. She kept her chin high and strode into the centre of the circle, drew her spear, and waited patiently. Her breath echoed in her ears, soft and even despite her growing fear. It was a natural emotion, and she never tried to supress it when it arrived without fail before every serious fight. She controlled her breath, her expression, her voice, but never her emotions. The man before her stood straight, showing off every chiselled inch of his deadly physique as if a challenge itself. She let the fear build, feeling the world start to shift in that strange way it does, as time simultaneously slowed down and rushed past. She heard his words, and somehow spoke herself, accepting the challenge with the ritual phrase, before backing off to the edge of the circle, directly across from him. They stared at each other then, and she found his eyes, still cold, still flat, staring straight into hers. By now the fear had spread through her body, urging her muscles to twitch, strengthening the bond between her mind and body, such that it would respond before conscious thought. Lyncas¡¯s Legacy was her most frustrating skill to earn, but it had saved her life on more than one account, and it came through again in the first few heartbeats of her biggest fight yet. The man, still unnamed to her, rushed forwards with a speed that belied his bulk. The heavy axe he carried in his right fist glittered as it cut through the air, whistling as it filled the space she had just vacated. Her dive turned into a graceful roll, and she was back on her feet and turning, spear tip springing out like a cobra to ward off another attempt, if he was capable of such. The pace of his charge was quite frankly shocking, but rather than feel discouraged by the gulf between their likely attributes, she was pleased. It was likely an active skill that let him rip across a dozen meters in an instant, and he seemed unable to repeat it quickly, although she would have to watch for the possibility again for the entirety of the fight now. He had shown a capability to finish things with a single move, and she was now on the backfoot, trying to respond to his feints and probing strikes even as she back-pedalled. He drove her back, keeping up constant pressure with his relentless advance, and she gave ground before him. Her footwork and consummate skill with the spear were the only things that kept her in the fight in that first exchange. He was stronger, faster, and clearly had high endurance based on his relentless pace. He was also skilled, leaving nothing open to her for a counter strike. But she was also a talented fighter and had skills to make her very difficult to pin down. Unorthodox Movement and Surety of the Ibex were active in conjunction, allowing her to slip below his arcing weapon at odd angles and keep her balance at all times throughout the strange movements. It was also a stylistically difficult matchup for him, given his shorter reach with the axe. His freakishly long arms went some of the way to redress that shortfall, but her spear was just over two meters long, and she knew how to use it. Every single strike from him was an attempt to setup the next. He swung at her shoulder, only to pivot and kick at her leading leg as she blocked with the haft of her spear. She checked it perfectly, but even so, as the fleshy part of her calf absorbed the force, she felt it falter. A few more of those kicks in the same place and the leg would be unusable. However, he paid for the opportunity he¡¯d created. As his foot lashed out at her calf, her spear sought retribution. The steel flashed in the sun as it slid through the air unerringly for his neck, and his quick reactions were the only thing saving him from a loss then and there. Nevertheless, she scored a thin slice along his brow, which started dribbling blood down his face almost instantly. That set the tone, and so the fight shifted again. He now knew he couldn¡¯t hope to exhaust her, or trade blows one for one and hope to come out on top. She was the better weapons-master, and she had the stylistic advantage against him as well. He stopped trying to trade strikes with her, and instead turned to his skills. She had read the change in the air, and knew to expect something, but was still surprised when a gout of fire burst from his off-hand, resolving into a long chain that dribbled molten mana to the arena floor. She barely had time to blink as it flew towards her face, and she engaged all of her strength to kick off the packed earth, sliding several meters to her left and back towards the centre of the circle from that one step. Her spear came up in an overhand jab as she moved, seeking to disrupt the snaking chain before it could reach her. Her eyes briefly met the man¡¯s, and she saw him burn with delight as spear met chain. His splayed hand suddenly clenched, and the chain whipped around the top of her spear, snaring it. His chest and shoulder rippled as he clenched, readying himself for a heave backwards which would send her rocketing towards him. She could see his weapon rearing back even as he moved to pull the chain taught, readying a massive blow that would hit her with all the force of a rampaging rakshasa. She had nowhere to go and could not disengage without losing her weapon. It was a near-perfect setup and would have no doubt been enough to end any one of the younger generation present around the circle today. Unfortunately, he wasn¡¯t dealing with just one of the younger generation. He was dealing with her. She felt her mother¡¯s blood thrum through her veins, her pulse powerful and sure despite her rapid breathing. Her teeth bared in a savage grin as she returned his gaze, she saw the confidence falter even as his eyes widened. Neither of them had time to stop what was coming, so rapid was the exchange, but she was gratified to see that he paid her the respect of at least realising she had more to give than he¡¯d yet seen. She activated Razor-Beak as the chain wrapped around the blade of her spear, and she harnessed the energy of the impact to send the spear circling at the end, just slightly. Razor-Beak had started out as a useful skill when she would hunt, letting her pierce the hides of tough creatures without requiring immense strength or a rarer weapon. When she reached her 2nd tier class though, it had transformed from a utility skill to a situationally powerful combat one. The 2nd tier skill allowed her to pierce not just material, but also mana. So as the spear tip weaved a circular defence in the air, the skill-empowered steel blade sliced against the infernal chain summoned by her opponent. Her skill warred with his as the mana in blade and chain met, and rather than being snared, her spear cut straight through. He staggered as the weight at the end of his chain suddenly vanished, and his heave became an aborted stumble backwards, even as she rose off her back foot and lanced forwards, spear tip leading the way. A textbook one-legged extension ¨C ¡®the willow bows in furious winds¡¯ her mother called it ¨C her blade stabbed deep into one of his massive shoulders, but in a testament to his skill and composure, he harnessed the momentum from both his stumble and her strike and managed to turn aside, whirling to face her again and leaving an arc of blood trailing in the air from the wound in his shoulder. Her back foot drifted to the earth, slow and measured, and she stood tall once more, heart pounding a staccato rhythm in her chest but face a calm mask. His eyes, once so cold and flat, were now blazing. Dancing with a fire equal at least to the remnants of his infernal chain. He flipped the axe from his injured arm to the free one, releasing the chain as he did so. It was a gambit that had not paid off, but he surely had a few more nasty skills to surprise her with. Both combatants faced off against each other, her holding the centre of the circle, and him only a half-step from the shields at his back. She could hear nothing but the rushing of blood in her ears, overwhelming the raucous cheers and yells from the crowd around her, and the duller roar from those observing in the canyon walls above. A pause then, as a calm huntress stared down an implacable tiger, neither willing to back down in the face of the other. Vaguely she could make out the smell of burning moss, her opponent¡¯s mana-constructed chain smoking on the ground from where it was discarded. He had clearly de-activated the skill, but such was the intention behind his mana that the construct persisted in the physical realm for the moment, burning itself out on the moss-covered rock between them. An invisible signal, and both warriors re-engaged. Sadrianna activated Markhor¡¯s Rush and shot forward in a blink, cracking the stone beneath her front foot as she split the air apart with her charge. The man¡¯s enormous legs bunched beneath the heavy furs wrapped by gut-twine that surrounded his lower half, and he met her charge with one of his own, axe swinging from above in a brutal cleave. She allowed the mana-forged horns of her upgraded skill to deflect his blade, feeling her neck twinge at the impact, reinforced though it was with her skill. Dropping her shoulder, she burst upwards, attempting to sink a heavy blow to his gut and leave him reeling. The man was from Blue-Cavern though, and followed an inheritance that had nurtured generations of fine warriors. She had observed his cat-like movements, more subtle and graceful than expected for a man of his size, and she had thought she¡¯d taken his measure. Clearly, she had been slightly off. Rather than crumpling over her skill-toughened shoulder, he instead leapt into the air, borrowing the force of her shoulder check, and adding it to the power his legs provided. She felt him pass over above her, and her instincts, honed by years of training and hunting, and further enhanced by her passive skill Lyncas¡¯s legacy, screamed at her. She hurled herself forwards, uncaring for her weapon as it clattered to the ground behind her. A heavy axe blade whistled through the air where her torso had been only a moment before, and she rolled to her feet to find the man leaping towards her again from high above. Another frantic dive towards her spear was cut short by the discarded chain rearing from the ground to snare her legs, and she reeled backwards to avoid a heavy kick aimed at her chest. Rooted to the spot and unarmed, she didn¡¯t hesitate to act. Her father deserved credit for those instincts, for no matter how hard the training and sparring with her fellow clansmen was, nothing could rival the desperate struggles she endured against wild animals hellbent on her death. She had learned many times, and had the scars to prove it, that even a bad choice made quickly was better than a good choice made too late. And so, without hesitation, as the titan of muscle before her bared down on her axe first, she stamped her one free foot to the ground and roared. It was a sound unlike any that the White-Cliff clan would recognise, no imitation of great-bear or mountain lion. This was the tortured sound of rocks grinding in the depths, the shriek of matter being crushed by overwhelming weight, the very hills breaking apart before the force of inevitability. She had no idea what sound she truly made, but in her mind, she channelled her experience of the canons and gorges that littered her home. The waterfalls and valleys that created such mesmerising topography and allowed her to get lost in the twists and cracks of the mountain. She became the very bedrock beneath her feet, and experienced the slow grinding away of all that she was in the face of the frozen water that shaped her life. In the few moments she had before the final blow came by way of a Blue-Cavern warrior, she connected to the earth with one foot and cried out, activating her most powerful skill; Glacial Carcass. The circle shook and earth ruptured, throwing shards of rock in the air. Her opponent leapt backwards, seeking stable ground and attempting urgently to catch his balance. Sadrianna acted, relying on Surety of the Ibex to guide her feet, and Unorthodox Movement to keep her balance in the suddenly transformed circle of heaving rock and scattered stone. Even as slivers of the canyon itself fell back to the earth or ricocheted off the raised shields around her, she wove through the maze of crumpled earth. Leaping from an upturned stone shelf, she pushed against a falling boulder the size of her torso and extended her right arm, catching a small shard of rock as it fell to the ground in front of her. She fell to the earth alongside it, and with a simple step had the blade pressed against the neck of warrior before her, leg braced behind him to kick out his legs if he did not yield. A ground fight might not suit her, but she would be damned if she¡¯d let him recover for even a moment if he refused to yield ¨C she was very nearly done, hovering near the edge of exhaustion from the activation of her most mana-intensive skill. Luckily, despite the arrogance with which he had entered the circle, the man knew when he was beaten, and he held her gaze as she held him upright, raising an arm to signal to all that he was defeated. The blazing in his eyes dimmed a moment, before roaring back to life with a different intensity. She frowned for a moment before recognising it and stepped away hastily from the large man. She shook her head, reassessing how much arrogance she had truly beaten out of him before turning to the crowd. A furious roar met her as she raised her arms to the sky, glorying in the elation of victory. Looking to the sky, her gaze hovered around the top of the canyon where white rock met blue sky, and she grinned as two figures waved back in acknowledgement and congratulation. Her path had been tested, and her commitment redoubled. Chapter 54 - The 6 Ps of Survival ¡°You will have no doubt heard many lectures in your time here as students about how geology and geography shape the politics of sentients throughout Tsanderos. It is almost clich¨¦ to point out how the vagaries of the natural world influence us without our conscious awareness. ¡°Today I would like to talk about how politics shape the politics of our lands. I know, it sounds obvious, but you¡¯d be surprised by how few people give serious contemplation to how the grand mega-structures that rule the continent affect the various small kingdoms and principalities we often study. ¡°Take the Sunset Kingdoms for example; their constant warring and relatively backwards political structures can be understood quite clearly by the large nations they border. Trapped between the relative progressivism of the Desolate Empire and the inhospitable lands of the Scarab-King, it is no surprise¡­¡± - Introductory lecture by Harmdel Ess to students taking the course ¡®Peace and Power¡¯ at the White-Tower Consortium, Circa .161
¡°Congrats lad, you nearly had him there.¡± The words drifted down to my ears, worming their way into my brain and dragging me back to the present as I started from where I lay. Jorge¡¯s smiling face appeared upside down in my view, and more words tumbled down towards me from his upside-down mouth. ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡± he asked, although it again took a few moments for me to parse the words, giving a strange feeling of chronological dislocation as I watched his mouth move and only afterwards heard his sentence. The smile dropped off his face and he pulled something from the air with a twirl of his hand, leaning down to feed the potion into my slightly open mouth. ¡°Gods Nathlan, how hard did you hit him?¡± He asked, a bit of reproach in the older man¡¯s normally calm voice. I felt something cool hit my tongue and swallowed on reflex. Something splashed down the side of my face, and my tongue went numb and tingly ¨C a contradiction I was currently unable to puzzle out. Another form appeared in my vision; dust being kicked up from their rapid footsteps. My view started to clear rapidly, and I realised how blurry everything had been only moments before. Nathlan¡¯s voice replied, clipped and clinical, though a hint of strain was detectable under the surface; ¡°I didn¡¯t think I had ¨C I pulled the strike as soon as I realised he fell for the feint, but with my new attributes¡­.¡± He trailed off, and I abruptly realised I could now track the words as his mouth moved, the strange delay and confusion I was previously experiencing now gone. I sat up, groaning automatically but laughing once I realised that was more a habit than anything ¨C my head didn¡¯t hurt even remotely. I wiped away the drool and remains of the healing potion from my mouth and neck, both Jorge and Nathlan still looking down at me in concern. I assumed it was due to the laugh and tried to explain. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m just laughing because I realised I sounded like Jorge!¡± They shared a look and my reassurance seemed to have the opposite effect. Jorge leaned down and shook my shoulder gently, as if expecting my head to fall off if he wobbled me too roughly. ¡°You alright Lamb?¡± I looked at his hand and then back at his face, taking my time before responding. I briefly entertained the idea of messing with them and pretending to be completely concussed for a while, but that ultimately wasn¡¯t a great joke, and their genuine concern did warm my heart a little. ¡°Yeah I¡¯m good, I¡¯m good. Thanks for the potion. Must have taken a big hit, right? Didn¡¯t even see it. What happened?¡± Both visibly relaxed, and Jorge grabbed my arm and hoisted me up, dusting off my back as I rolled my neck around. The potion should have removed any lingering side-effects of the concussion, but it never hurt to be sure. Nathlan stepped back and caught my eye. ¡°You fell for my feint and tried to slip left ¨C ducked your head straight into the pommel of my sword.¡± I snorted as I replied. ¡°As if it was just floating there and you didn¡¯t ram it into my head, right?¡± He had the grace to look a little sheepish, but I caught the grin there underneath it. He was secretly pleased with himself for his victory, and I was glad to see he was confident enough in our friendship to share that fact with me, even if only in a small expression. Jorge clapped his hands to get our attention and gave his customary feedback after a hard spar. ¡°Good work both of you. Nathlan, great offense! We¡¯ve been working on that pressure, and I¡¯m glad to see you applying it well. Gave him no room to breathe and find his range, and you managed to end it before his endurance became a problem. You¡¯re under-levelled and at a distinct disadvantage with weaponry, so good work overcoming that.¡± Nathlan nodded his head, and I clapped him on the shoulder to show my agreement. He¡¯d decisively beaten me again, and as far as I was concerned, he¡¯d earned the win. ¡°Lamb ¨C good work also. I¡¯m impressed with your footwork, you managed to hold out for longer than expected. If you¡¯d kept that shield up when lunging, you¡¯d probably have managed to stay in the fight, and every moment would have been to your advantage. No shame in losing to a superior foe though, and Nathlan has been training much longer than you. Weapons-only doesn¡¯t favour your fighting style, but this is why we train.¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. I shrugged, speaking idly. ¡°Understood. Would be interested to know how I stack up against regular, competent combatants though.¡± I watched Nathlan out the corner of my eye before continuing, trying to keep a straight face. ¡°It¡¯s one thing to test myself against spindly, creepy spider-men things but I wonder-aaghh!¡° my words cut off abruptly with a scream as Nathlan¡¯s now-sheathed sword poked me in the belly, hard enough to make me dance away. Jorge smiled at our antics with a grandfatherly look on his face. On consideration, it was just a standard fatherly look but with a bit more grey in the hair and beard. Maybe an uncle? I shook my head, pulling my hair back and tucking a few errant strands behind my ear where they belonged as I spoke up again. ¡°Seriously though, I would like to know. It¡¯s hard to figure out when the only opponents of a similar level to me are wild animals or Nathlan, who¡¯s held a sword in his hand since he was a baby.¡± It was only once I had returned from the nearby stream, washed and ready for the day, that Jorge made his suggestion. ¡°If you¡¯re serious about fighting others of your level¡­I may have a suggestion.¡± I paused, ringing out my hair over one shoulder and towelling it dry. ¡°Go ahead.¡± ¡°We¡¯re coming past the territory of the Mountain Clans soon, and if I¡¯m right-¡° ¡°Come off it, Jorge, you¡¯re always right.¡± I said with tone of profound resignation. ¡°And if I¡¯m right,¡± he continued on as if I had never interrupted him, serene as a swan in a lake, ¡°they will be gathering around about now. They have a friendly competition between the warriors of the various clans called the Proving.¡± He hummed to himself for a moment. ¡°No, that¡¯s not right. The Mixing? Merging? No, The Blending!¡± He snapped his fingers to emphasise it, eyes lighting up. ¡°And you think I should fight in this¡­Blending? Do they even let foreigners in?¡± ¡°Oh aye, of course! They¡¯d love the chance to humiliate and batter around one not of the clans!¡± he said with a wide smile. My own smile became a hair more strained.
We travelled for a few more days, alternatively hiking and running when the terrain called for it. We continued our training, and Jorge stepped up the intensity of his ¡®survival training¡¯ as he dubbed it. Things were a fair bit simpler with the presence of storage devices. While we couldn¡¯t exactly take them for granted ¨C expensive and rare magical artifacts that they were ¨C we had 3 of them in our little party of 4 by now, so we did make ample use of them. Hauling supplies was obviously much easier, but other considerations were solved too. Keeping bedding, clothes and maps dry, food and perishable goods cool etc. Jorge¡¯s task over the next several weeks ¨C as declared by the man himself ¨C was to get it in to ¡®our thick skulls¡¯ that survival encompassed far more than combat, tracking and setting a camp. The preparation was key, and it was something we would need to learn about. Nathlan had apparently gone through all these lessons before but was so useless and scatter-brained that they needed repeating. ¡°Head too full of academic nonsense to fit any actually useful knowledge in there¡± as Jorge had said. The lessons were useful, I couldn¡¯t deny that. He was right that the preparation for an expedition or long journey was unfamiliar to me, and I was happy to learn as much as I could¡­but gods it was boring too. Just drudgery. ¡®Lamb! What are the 6 P¡¯s of survival!?¡± Jorge barked. ¡°Previous Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance¡± I replied wearily. And on it went. Important? Yes. Boring? Also yes.
The first sign we got that Jorge was correct was a threat. It was the first sign I¡¯d seen at least, and Nathlan too if his yelp was anything to go by. It was impossible to be sure with Jorge, as he was full of shit anyway ¨C he¡¯d pretend to have expected an event and smile mysteriously as if everything was according to plan, even if he was as surprised as I was. Vera was an implacable wall of unconcerned armour, but judging by the fact she hadn¡¯t drawn her weapon or reacted in any way other than halting, I guessed she had been aware of the threat for a while at least. Jorge just smiled as usual, the prick. ¡°The next step will be your last lowlander.¡± A strong voice rang out from the forest before us. Nathlan yelped, but to his credit his blade was halfway from its sheath by the end of the sentence. I scanned the trees around me, seeing nothing out of place. An uncanny feeling of being watched settled on my back, itching as if eyes were boring into me from all directions. Vera had come to a stop, resting a hand on the pommel of her heavy blade but not otherwise escalating the situation. Jorge stepped forwards and spread his arms magnanimously as he spoke roughly in a language he was clearly unfamiliar with; ¡°Greetings! We mean no harm and seeking-¡° He was cut off by an arrow thudding into the ground by his feet. I saw his leg twitch slightly and I wasn¡¯t sure if the arrow had startled him, or he had moved minutely to avoid it. Judging by the way his arms dropped to his side and the undercurrent of tension that wrapped his next words, I suspected it might be the latter. ¡°No threats - please. I¡­We speak?¡± I had shifted my shield onto my arm from where it was slung across my back and held it low in front of me. I hadn¡¯t even noticed I was doing so, but my feet were now planted at an angle, with my shield facing the direction of the arrow¡¯s flight, and my spear held to my side. Guess the countless bells of drilling and fighting were starting to pay off. Vera¡¯s leather and steel gauntlets creaked from the strain of her grip tightening on her sword, and I felt a moment of sympathy for the poor hilt being crushed by her unrelenting grip. Nathlan had fully drawn his sword now and I could feel a shimmer of anticipation in the air. I was trying to stay calm, but my blood began to sing again, my heart pounding out a frantic rhythm that made my body want to move. ¡°There is no discussion between lions and men. Head back to your plains or die in our mountains.¡± The voice called again, and I had to admit that the effect was somewhat intimidating. It bounced around the forest, echoing eerily and making it impossible to pin down its origin. It was somewhat undercut by the grandiose words, however. There was an audible scorn that whoever it was spoke with; an arrogance and sense of superiority that made my blood boil. It sounded to me like a young child trying to mimic their father, or a teenager deepening their voice in an attempt to intimidate. Jorge, bless his venerable patience, tried one more time. ¡°I want to speak the mountain clans. We trade and¡­speak your elders-¡° Again, he was cutoff, the echoing voice harsh now and dripping disdain. ¡°I have stated your options. Choose.¡± Nathlan and Vera didn¡¯t speak whatever language was in use, but both picked up on the growing tension. Jorge was obviously not fluent by any means, although I suspected he understood more than he spoke. I decided it was time to step in myself and clear things up. What could go wrong? ¡°Why must we leave? Are you not accepting travellers into your territory? We wish to understand.¡± Diplomatic right? I was very pleased with myself, and the way my voice didn¡¯t even waver at all when addressing the mysterious voice. ¡°Vashedan!¡± ¡°Hold!¡± Two voices shouted at once following my words, and three arrows came whizzing towards my neck. Maybe I needed more practice. Chapter 55 - A Lonely Mutiny *Sadrianna* Sadrianna sighed internally yet again. Bjorn was such an insecure little child. She¡¯d been assigned weeks ago to his Scourer group, the 5-man team down a member due to pregnancy. By all accounts ¨C meaning the gossip she could dreg up from the tent-hands ¨C the woman she was replacing was a skilled tracker and the only one who could smooth over the leader¡¯s inflated ego. His father held a position of prominence in his clan, and as such he walked around with a permanent sneer on his face and a superiority complex to make a god blush. He¡¯d earned his position as leader of the small unit by a combination of strength of arms and nepotism. The first week or two was okay, and she was thankful for the opportunity to get out with the team. This initiative was actually something her father had spear-headed a few decades ago. In an attempt to increase cohesion between the clans, the council decided that ¨C at least during The Blending ¨C camp guards and Scourer groups should be made up of multiple clans. It was a good idea in theory, and she¡¯d seen the benefits during the first two weeks where she¡¯d gotten to know members of the other clans, but she suspected it was perhaps doing more harm than good at this point. Each member of her team, as far as she could tell, now harboured a profound dislike of the Black-Sky clan. Hard not to when Bjorn was their representative. She could see why he would be appointed to lead a Scourer group in the abstract. He was tall and strong-featured ¨C looked the part, certainly ¨C with a mane of white hair and an enormous bow nearly as tall as he was slung across his back. He gave commands naturally, oozed confidence, and didn¡¯t panic in a crisis. In many ways he was the perfect fit, but that arrogance was a killer. He had taken his time to assess her, and only after two weeks had he become confident in his conclusion that he was stronger than her. Once that happened¡­the problems started. With nobody left in the group to challenge his power, he began to revel in it. Taking less time to discuss with others, letting his disdain for some of the ¡®lower¡¯ clans truly show. Some of the ancient clans seemed to be of the opinion that the higher up the mountains one lived, the better one was. It was an opinion that Bjorn clearly shared. True to their name, the Black-Sky clan usually resided in the high peaks, conveniently leaving them at the top of their ideological framework of importance. Funny how that always seemed to be the case. So here she was, scouting ahead of the rest of her team and praying she would find nobody entering the territory that they were patrolling. Bjorn had already taken liberties with some traders drawn to the mass of humanity presented by The Blending this year. She¡¯d managed to keep him from extracting bribes from them by careful massaging of his ego and reminding him of the displeasure of his father if he did so¡­but it was a close-run thing. It also hadn¡¯t stopped him from making the traders cringe with his threats. It had been hard to hold herself back from smacking the man after Bjorn had made some unsavoury comments about the trader¡¯s son. And so it was that she found herself looping through the forest, tree to tree, keeping her eyes peeled and senses sharp for anything out of place. With luck, nothing would be amiss, and this patrol would be uninteresting. As it so often went in her life though, things got complicated. As she usually did when scouting, she periodically activated Myriad Senses, observing the world as her prey did. This was her only skill that had no utility in combat, but she had ¨C upon advice from her father and one of the clan elders ¨C put an immense amount of work into her study of each of the animals she used as inspiration for her other skills. And not just for the traits she was keen to gain. For example, Markhor¡¯s Rush was primarily a distance closing and impact skill, but when observing the Markhosian Goat to base this skill off, she had also taken care to observe the way its great horns could collect sound and funnel it through to its stubby ears, thereby granting it an incredible fidelity of hearing. Similarly, with each of her other skills she had picked up a new or enhanced sense from each creature and folded them expertly into a new skill ¨C Myriad Senses. She used that skill now, flickering through enhanced hearing, hawk-like vision, a tremor sense from a Frozen-Hare that partly inspired her finishing move ¨C Glacial Carcass ¨C and a strong heat and radiation sense courtesy of the many species of Gecko she had studied as a child for Gecko¡¯s Grip and later Unorthodox Movement. Those many senses were now warning her of people. Three or four, she couldn¡¯t yet be sure. They were moving slowly, at a jog if she had to guess by the steady footfalls, and either heavily armoured or well-muscled judging by the weight. Her nose picked up no unusual smells from this range, but they were down-wind of her current position, and so she moved closer. Spiralling above, working her way through canopies and along branches, she scuttled like a beetle and did her best to remain beyond their senses. She brushed past a branch at one point, not noticing the rot that had started to set in, and so not accounting for its brittle nature. The crack that followed was not loud in the forest, and should not be out of place either, but it still made her wince. She noticed the heavy woman in her gecko-given sense flare with heat briefly as the branch snapped, and she decided it was time to report back. Most likely a coincidence, since she had not reacted outwardly in any other way, but her body temperature did not fluctuate much at all in the preceding half-bell that Sadrianna had observed her, and it felt like too much of a coincidence for her to be certain she hadn¡¯t been noticed. She retreated back to her group, informing them of the spot and urging a cautious approach. For once, Bjorn took her advice, and she led them to a spot where the people she had observed should appear if they kept up their trajectory and speed. The forest was broken for a league in each direction, bisected by a fast-flowing river and its flood-plain on either side. Given the time of year, the autumn rains had not yet started and so the basin was filled with thick grasses rather than bog. Still though, the group would have to emerge onto open ground for a few hundred yards, giving her team plenty of time to observe them and take their measure. It would also be an excellent place for an ambush, Sadrianna noticed. Not something she had or would recommend, and the fact that Bjorn hadn¡¯t said anything concerned her. Nothing was easy with that man, and she did not trust him to deal with this situation with anything resembling calm. The four travellers emerged from the forest like wraiths ¨C one moment a plain of grassland stood empty, and the next it was full of movement. They jogged in a pack, equidistant from one another, and keeping pace effortlessly, without the need for communication. Not that it was a particularly difficult thing to do when focusing, but the way they moved spoke of an understanding of one another that was gained only through long affiliation. Each bore arms ¨C one a heavy war-axe, one a longsword and two bearing spears and shields. They were relatively lightly armoured except for the woman, who looked like a one-woman battering ram given flesh. They crossed the distance methodically and appeared none the wiser to Sadrianna¡¯s Scourer group hiding just out of sight in the trees before them. She glanced over at Bjorn, waiting for him to announce their presence before the group reached the tree-line. That would be her signal. If they got within twenty strides and he said nothing, she would step in herself. Despite their unfamiliar appearance, she would not allow innocents to walk into an ambush, for that is surely what it would mean for Bjorn to let them pass beneath them. Just as she was about to be forced to directly intervene, Bjorn¡¯s smooth voice cut across the clearing, echoing about in that unusual way he had. She still wasn¡¯t sure of the details of his skill, but at this point had decided she didn¡¯t really care. It may have uses in combat she would need to watch out for, but she was hoping to avoid open conflict with him anyway so hopefully it wouldn¡¯t be relevant before she finished the short-term assignment. The group came to a halt rapidly, no doubt due to the outright threat Bjorn posed as his greeting. She inwardly seethed at the arrogance and incompetence he displayed with a single sentence. Already this event had become significantly more dangerous to both groups because of the prick¡¯s ego, and they weren¡¯t even twenty heartbeats into the meeting. There was a back and forth as the leader stepped forwards to negotiate, doing an admirable job of attempting to calm the situation despite his clear lack of familiarity with the language. Bjorn continued to be completely intransigent, and the lack of cowering and fear in the group of four clearly rankled him.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Even so, she was caught off-guard when he sent an arrow thudding into the ground by the old man¡¯s foot. She had de-activated Myriad Senses, and so missed the flash of heat that erupted from the large woman for a moment as the arrow was released, but she could feel the tension in the air thicken all the same. Bjorn gave one final command ¨C completely unreasonable as it was ¨C and then the younger man bearing shield and spear stepped forwards to speak. He spoke perfectly, his language fluid and fluent but sporting a strange mix of accents from all clans, such that he sounded native to none of them. As she was attempting to puzzle out the mystery he represented, she felt Bjorn stiffen from his position on the tree to her left. Her intuition warned her of incoming stupidity, and she acted without thinking, shouting for her companions to ¡®hold¡¯, even as she started to move. She heard Bjorn¡¯s command of ¡®Vashedan!¡¯ and would have cringed if she had the time. It was a ritualistic battle-cry rarely used by anyone outside of pitched battles, which the mountain clans rarely took-part in anyway. Another sign of his lack of suitability for the role of leader, signalling a desire to recreate the stories and legends of the past with no concept of what constituted an appropriate use of violence and what did not. Knowing what was coming, and knowing also that she would be too late, she acted regardless; leaping from the tree and barrelling in front of the flightpath of Bjorn¡¯s arrows, she desperately reached forwards with her spear.
*Lamb* I grunted with the impact as my shield deflected the first arrow, my ears ringing with the sound of metal on metal and my shoulder stinging from absorbing the power in the projectile. The second was knocked off-course by Jorge¡¯s spear, which appeared as if by magic only inches from my face, darting out from him like a viper to intercept the arrow with incredible precision. I felt an intense heat from behind and to my left, Vera having activated her aura. Luckily, I was exempt from its affects as an ally, so the desire to look around at her wasn¡¯t present. I knew though that whoever was hiding in those trees would be drawn to her like a moth to flame. Inexorable. Unrelenting. I couldn¡¯t feel Nathlan, but I did hear the sound of blade scraping earth, and suspected he was forming a runic circle around him, no doubt working on a battlefield-altering affect to slow and bind our enemies while Vera and Jorge waded into the fray. My job would be to stay on the edges of the fight and only intervene if an opportunity presented itself. I was a scavenger, a skirmisher, picking targets when the conditions suited me, and otherwise acting as a last line of defence for Nathlan if anyone slipped through the terrifying noose of Jorge and Vera¡¯s combined assault. I took it all in in a moment, bracing myself behind my shield for the impact of the final arrow, and praying it wouldn¡¯t punch through. The first one had knocked me back a step and bruised my shoulder, and that was with most of its energy being diverted due to the angle of my shield. A direct hit now would likely knock me to the floor, and I was readying myself for a quick scramble to my feet if the worst were to happen. Thankfully though, no impact was forthcoming. I heard more shouting, a female voice loud and commanding ¨C the same one that had shouted earlier when the arrows were loosed, I realised ¨C but from much closer. The disdainful echoing man shouted over her, demanding she move and ordering an attack, but there were no further arrows winging their way for my throat, for the moment at least. I looked over the rim of my shield to see a woman standing on the path before us, back facing our bared blades and staring towards the trees in front. I saw a broken arrow lying on the floor at her side and she stood defiantly, head raised as if daring the trees to strike her down. Daring the people in the trees more likely. Again, her voice rang out, and even without my understanding of her language, I could feel the animosity in her command.
*Sadrianna* She saw the first two arrows slip past her, their speed too great for her to catch, and all she could do was pray to the Thirteen Peaks and Seven Valleys that the travellers had their own methods of defence. She had sent her spear spiralling forth from her hand to intercept the first two arrows and had missed, but her momentum had brought her within grasping distance of the last, and so she reached out with supernatural speed and plucked it from the air. She heard the clang of metal on metal, but no thudding of flesh being punctured, no tortured screams or wet coughing to signal a serious injury. She couldn¡¯t spare a moment to glance back and survey the situation as she was sure Bjorn would use her distraction to attempt to finish the job. Interposing herself between the travellers and the treeline, she glared up at Bjorn and shouted; ¡°Hold, you fool! What were you thinking!?¡± His reply was as stupid as she would expect, though still disappointing nonetheless. ¡°They are a threat to the clans. If you stand with them, you will die alongside them!¡± ¡°They were no threat before you shot at them, moron!¡± She replied, then realising the scale of the problem he had created, spoke again before he could interrupt. ¡°Varney, Ross ¨C secure him. He¡¯s gone too far this time. If he resists, kill him.¡± Bjorn sputtered, and she was disappointed to see the two burley members of their Scourer-group hesitate. They were both from his Clan ¨C Black-Sky ¨C and she had hoped they would act quickly. If she, or Hashtet ¨C her other team-member ¨C had moved to apprehend Bjorn then he could very well spin it as a retaliatory action against clan Black-Sky rather than the necessary pre-emptive peacekeeping action that it was. Seeing the lack of conviction in her allies, and Bjorn reaching for another arrow, she snapped the arrow in her hand in half, using the cracking sound to draw his focus for just a moment. ¡°Draw another arrow from your quiver and I will deliver you to your father in pieces. This I swear on the honour of my clan.¡± She said the words quietly, but with such an intensity that they cut through the clearing all the same. Her team-members stilled, knowing this was not simply an idle threat from her but a promise she would fulfil. Bjorn slowed his hand, resting it against his quiver but making no further moves. The pressure mounted, as they stared each other down.
*Lamb* I stood quietly, not willing to relax my stance as the dark-haired woman before me castigated her companion and ordered his arrest. She clearly had sway in the group, but the lack of response to her demands made me suspect that she was far from the leader. The man with the deep, echoing voice was clearly nominally in charge, and while he seemed to be the only one willing to commit to a course of violence, the woman before him seemed to be the only one willing to put herself in harm¡¯s way to prevent it. I sighed internally, feeling a vague feeling of frustration at people in general tickle my mind. Bjron seemed like an ass, sure, but I couldn¡¯t give much credit to the three others who just stood on the sidelines and watched him attack us without cause. What did I care who fired the arrow, so long as they would all stand by and watch me bleed out if it struck true. Fair play to the woman though ¨C she was quite literally putting her life on the line for strangers. I wanted to speak up in support, but knew that any move I made, verbal or otherwise, was just as likely to hurt as help. This was clearly a power struggle, with group dynamics playing heavily in the background that I was far too ignorant of to risk involving myself. That being said, I marked the place she was staring at in my mind, knowing it was where Bjorn hid. If a fight did break out again, I¡¯d be aiming to cut the head off the snake while Jorge and Vera distracted the others. I had to be careful though ¨C the power in that arrow was certainly a step above what I was used to, easily able to piece my leather armour and punch right through my body if it hit. Finally, the woman seemed to relax a hair, half-turning her head to address me, while still keeping her gaze facing the trees. ¡°You. Why are you here?¡± she called, clear and loud enough for all to hear. I assumed this was a test of some sort and decided to keep things simple. ¡°As my friend stated ¨C we are here to trade, and to speak with your elders.¡± Better keep it vague than make statements I wasn¡¯t actually sure about. After all, I only had the vaguest summary of Jorge¡¯s plans. She seemed satisfied, nodding at that and replied, ¡°and how is it that you know our language?¡± I shrugged, ¡°My friend ¨C Jorge ¨C has met with the mountain clans before and picked up some of their language. He understands more than he can speak. I do not know all the details ¨C who he met with and when ¨C but you can ask him. As for me¡­¡± I paused, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour. She seemed helpful, and I was thankful she¡¯d stepped in to prevent a fight, but I wasn¡¯t about to trust her with one of my biggest secrets. I recalled the very first conversation in this world I had overheard, and Nathlan¡¯s comments about my language comprehension. ¡°I have a skill ¨C Scholar¡¯s Tongue. It lets me speak most currently existing languages. I do not grasp the historic or cultural significance of the words I use but can translate roughly on a phrase for phrase basis.¡± It wasn¡¯t strictly true, but I didn¡¯t understand the details of my God-Touched boon entirely myself and was hoping that she would likewise not know the details of the Scholar¡¯s Tongue skill Nathlan had mentioned all those moons ago. Perhaps I¡¯d picked up a little of the prejudices of this new world as well, but the pelt-wearing warrior before me didn¡¯t seem to be the most¡­academic sort. My gamble seemed to pay off though, as she just shrugged and called up to the trees once more. ¡°Satisfied? Heshtat, Ross, Varney¡­I will not ask again. Take his weapon and bind his hands, and I will deal with the lowlanders. Bjorn is clearly unfit to lead this Scourer group, and I will take command in the interim until we return from patrol.¡± She waited a heartbeat for acknowledgement from the rest of her cowardly team, or so I had dubbed them, and when none came, she growled ¨C literally growled! ¨C before turning her head slightly to address me once more. ¡°Back up a few hundred paces. I will deal with this. Do not move until I signal you again, understand me?¡± It was a command laced with authority, with the unshakable certainty that it would be followed. And why not? Seemed a sensible thing to do to get out of the way of whatever fight was brewing. I could only hope the woman would be victorious, as I didn¡¯t fancy facing Bjorn or his crew myself. Jorge and Vera could likely kill them with ease, but you never knew how stray arrows could fly in stressful situations, and I didn¡¯t fancy digging one out of my eye or throat. I nodded, then spoke to my friends. ¡°Back up, she had some business to sort with her boss. Slow and steady, back to the tree line behind us, and we wait there for her signal.¡± The others didn¡¯t protest, and we eased back, hands never leaving our weapons and eyes scanning the trees in front for any signs of shooting arrows. Bjorn shouted something again when it was clear we were leaving, but he was interrupted by Sadrianna, who clanged her shield and spear together and advanced to the treeline. I didn¡¯t have a good view of what happened next, but the sound itself was terrifying enough. Chapter 56 - What Fools Must Suffer *Sadrianna* The lowlanders were at least sensible and started to back away when asked. Bjorn tried to whip the rest of the team into action, claiming Sadrianna was letting ¡®our enemies¡¯ escape, but she just called him a coward and asked him to face her in the open. He refused of course ¨C he wielded a bow as a primary weapon, and currently had the advantage of height. He would be foolish to step down from his perch and meet her in an open field, closer together and with enemies still in sight. Still, given his earlier actions she had thought it might be possible. She stalked forwards and called for the others to stay out of it. Seemed they would too, cowards that they were. The other Black-Sky clan members were a bit of an unknown, but if they hadn¡¯t acted so far, she could assume they wouldn¡¯t unless she showed distinct vulnerability. Heshtat wouldn¡¯t lift a finger either ¨C she was as ambivalent as a rock to all this. What were the corpses of four more lowlanders to her? Her parents had fought in the Sientary Campaign as mercenaries, and their stories had instilled a belief in their daughter that lowlander life was worth as much as the mud they lived in. So she walked into the trees, glad to have no arrows raining down upon her yet. Bjorn was a bastard, sure as sure, but he was a prideful one. He¡¯d not disgrace himself by attacking her from a distance, that would be dishonourable to him. Stupid as all hells too, considering he used a bow and she a spear and shield. That was the problem with honourable men though ¨C they were more often than not complete fucking morons. And hypocrites too, since there was nothing honourable about killing innocent traders. Alas, he deserved the lesson she was about to teach. She reached the foot of the tree, where he waited, chest puffed out and blade drawn. He drew himself up again to say something no doubt foolish and arrogant, and she rushed him. Markhor¡¯s Rush bathed her in fiery light and mana-formed horns sheathed her head. She was upon him before he could do more than hastily hunker down behind his blade ¨C a sloppy thrust that she brushed aside easily before her spear punched through his stomach. She lifted him up in one hand, slamming the butt of her weapon down into the ground a few feet. Bjorn hung several yards off the floor, impaled and retching, bile and blood dribbling from his mouth. A grisly tree, spear acting as trunk and his body forming the canopy. A heartbeat passed with no further sound from any of her team, and then Bjorn started to slip down the shaft of the weapon. The scream that tore from his throat was gruesome, and she took pity on him, kicking the spear out of the ground and watching him fall to the floor. A knife to the heart finished him off quickly, and when she looked up at her companions, none objected. ¡°Right then. Heshtat, I want you on overwatch. Varney, you carry Bjorn back to camp when we leave. Ross, you¡¯re by my side while I talk to these traders.¡± Heshtat and Ross both made noises of agreement, but Varney hesitated, looking back her forlornly. Sadrianna raised a questioning eyebrow at him. ¡°Right you are boss¡­it¡¯s just that this is a new cloak see, and he¡¯s bleeding pretty fierce¡­¡± He let the statement hang in the air between them, a plaintive look in his large brown eyes. ¡°Oh by Varshak¡¯s nutsack! Here, wrap him in this.¡± She conjured into her hand a hessian sack, reinforced with silk on the inside, and passed it over to Varney. She wasn¡¯t blind to her relative wealth courtesy of her powerful parents and so tried to use her storage device sparingly. It wouldn¡¯t do to remind those under her command, however temporary, of her privilege, but in this case the need outweighed the possible downsides. His eyes lit up as he caught the large sack, and he set about his grisly task of rolling, folding and otherwise packing a limp corpse into a just-about-big-enough sack. Oh gods ¨C she now had a corpse sack. Shaking away the grisly thought, she returned to business. ¡°I will speak to these lowlanders ¨C Ross, I want you with me now.¡± She turned her gaze to the impassive woman in the tree and the corpse-packer, ¡°I want you both on standby, wait for my signal to engage. Again ¨C no acting without my word, agreed?¡± Another chorus of agreement, and she turned on her heel and strode back out into the sun. She thought about cleaning the blood from her spear, but honestly there was no point ¨C she doubted the strangers had missed the screaming, and there would be little to gain in trying to hide it. Better to make it a statement.
*Lamb* I flinched as I heard the scream, and then again as I heard it cut off only a few moments later. It wasn¡¯t the first such noise I¡¯d heard, and it likely wouldn¡¯t be the last, but I was thankful to know my heart wasn¡¯t becoming numb to suffering. Sometimes violence was necessary, and when it came knocking, somebody always lost. Didn¡¯t mean you had to glory in the loser¡¯s pain though. Nathlan was doing a good job of looking stoic, but I could see a slight wince on his face as he imagined the scene that caused such an unholy noise. Jorge and Vera were actually stoic, no emotion to be seen, faces carved from granite. Heavily weathered granite in the case of the older man, but stone all the same. ¡°What do you think¡¯s going on then?¡± I asked, unable to restrain my curiosity. Vera turned toward me, face still empty and flat, like the great plains we had trekked through weeks ago. ¡°A tea party.¡± The delivery was less dead-pan and more slaughtered-kitchen, and after a few moments Jorge snorted, cracking the stony fa?ade he was wearing. I grinned a bit but grew more serious as moments passed without further noise from the trees. ¡°Do you think she won?¡± I asked again. Jorge nodded, having turned back to study the distant treeline. ¡°Aye lad, handily. She¡¯s a strong one. Rest of the team is falling in line by the look of things.¡± He hesitated for a moment then, seeming surprised. ¡°She¡¯s¡­putting the man¡¯s corpse in a bag. Huh. Don¡¯t see that everyday, do you?¡± He said to himself in consideration. It was Vera¡¯s turn to snort then, and she elbowed him lightly in the ribs. ¡°She wouldn¡¯t be the only one to use a trusty corpse-sack, would she? I haven¡¯t forgotten Vashellen, much as you might try and block it out.¡± It was met with a simple ¡°aye¡± from the older man and a far-away look in his eyes.Stolen story; please report. I waited, enjoying the banter, and happy for the distraction. I wasn¡¯t so nervous anymore, knowing it was unlikely they would attack now, and confident that even if they did, Jorge and Vera could handle it. Still, I didn¡¯t like waiting at the best of times. The world answered my silent plea in the next few moments, as the woman emerged from the tree-line, a big man with white ribbons woven into his hair and armour trailing a few paces behind her. She was much more striking however, and took the majority of my attention immediately. Tall, as noted before, and obviously strong ¨C muscle thick on her arms and shoulders ¨C gave her the air of a warrior. Combined with the steady, confident way she moved it told a clear story. Raven hair cascaded down her back, tied in a warrior¡¯s braid, and her armour was light and supple. Her shield was slung across her back now, and the long spear she carried gleamed in the light, its head coated in fresh blood. The red stood out against the steel, dulling the shine, and after a moment I realised it spread not just down the blade, but to a foot or more along the shaft as well. That painted a picture as to the origin of that scream, if nothing else. I also suspected the fresh blood coating her weapon acted as quite a statement. Had we been meek traders or perhaps diplomats from a neighbouring country, that message would likely have been received. As it was though, none of us were strangers to blood on steel. She strode deliberately towards us, crossing the river with a nimble leap, and stopped only a few meters from where we stood. She looked at me, bowing her head slightly and speaking in clear voice. ¡°I apologise for the reception you¡¯ve received. My name is Sadrianna, of the Red-Peak clan, and I formally welcome you to clan territories.¡± I stepped forward a fraction, fighting the urge to look to Jorge for help. I was the one who could speak the language, and so I would be the one to carry this conversation through. I thanked her, gave our names in turn, and restated why we were here. It was a strangely formal conversation, but once introductions were made and intentions made known, things got moving quickly. We were escorted directly to a nearby watchtower nestled into the base of cliff, mist shrouding the ravine behind it. Sadrianna spoke to a few other clan-members ¨C all armed and armoured ¨C before returning. ¡°You have been granted passage to our lands, but you should not roam. I do not know where you come from or how things are in your homeland, but my experience with lowlanders has been similar so I will warn you this once: These lands are wild. Creatures roam the mountains and gulleys. Sprites, spirits, djinn and elementals rule this world, and we are not the masters of this land. Do not mistake permission for safety.¡± She gave us all a significant look, seeming satisfied by what she had seen in the eyes of at least Jorge and Vera. She gave us a begrudging nod and turned to leave, before Jorge spoke. ¡°Cheers lass, I¡¯ll keep ¡®em in line, have no doubt. You look like a capable fighter though¡­any chance you¡¯d know if we¡¯re in time for The Blending this year?¡± I saw her stiffen at his tone at first, and it was no surprise. Jorge was a brilliant teacher, but his old man persona was sometimes a little too accurate, and I imagined a young woman like her had dealt with her share of patronising old men. She quickly shrugged it off though and turned with interest at his question. ¡°Yes, you¡¯re in time. But barely. It¡¯s two days hence, and you¡¯ve at least half a day¡¯s hike if you¡¯re fast. Are you familiar with it?¡± Jorge grinned, gesturing in a humble way as if to say ¡®this old man? Hardly!¡¯, and yet his mouth said the opposite, ¡°I¡¯ve been lucky enough to witness a few in my time.¡± ¡°Oh really? Which year-¡° She cut herself off abruptly, cursing and turning to the gate of the small watchtower. ¡°Listen, I must finish my patrol and I have some unfortunate news to deliver to the family of Bjorn - the one who attacked you¡±, she amended upon seeing our confused faces. ¡°but I would like to hear this story. Find me if you are interested in telling it tomorrow evening. Anyone in clan Red-Peak can direct you.¡± She eyed Vera as well, an obvious up-and-down look that almost came across as voracious if not for the clear respect she showed to the larger woman. ¡°Perhaps you should enter, would be a sight to see you facing some of the clan¡¯s old monsters.¡± Vera snorted, hooking a thumb at me. ¡°The runt is the one who¡¯ll be fighting, if anyone is.¡± Sadrianna turned a curious look toward me and I felt like a mouse beneath the gaze of a hawk. The sensation vanished quickly, and she shrugged in response. ¡°It will be interesting to see how you fare. Come and find me tomorrow Jorge, my father will no doubt be keen to speak with you as well. Farewell.¡± With that final parting, she slipped out of the gate and towards a few of the canvas tents pitched outside, likely a butchers by the smell. We looked at one another for a moment before Jorge clapped his hands. ¡°Well. Sounds like we¡¯ve got a hike ahead of us. Top of the mountain aye? fuck me, but my knees aren¡¯t pleased with all this climbing.¡± ¡°Watch out for the sprites ¨C heard they like old whiny men.¡± I snarked, and his hand shot out, quick as a flash, slapping me on the top of the head. ¡°Bastard¡± I muttered, as Vera and Nathlan¡¯s laughter echoed around us.
Despite Sadrianna¡¯s warning, it was an uneventful journey. After passing through the gate behind the tower and staring at the ominous shroud of mist hanging over our path, we collectively breathed in, and began our climb. We hiked slowly, in relative terms ¨C we still moved through the mountain vista far faster than any low levelled support classer could ¨C and did our best to avoid tripping on the wet rocks and scree that made up the twisting path. There was little enough light, hemmed in as we were by high canyon walls on either side and the mist obscuring the sun above. Mountain-Born kept me stable, a combination of skills working together to keep my body in constant motion and balance, despite the terrain and weather. The others had similar skills, or at least enough physical attributes and experience to navigate the path with ease, and after no more than a bell, we emerged from the ravine into a land of sunshine and rainbows. That was possibly a little over the top, but the view at the top of the ravine was certainly impressive. We stood in the middle of a giant basin, massive buttes and tranches of red and white rock rimming the edges like titanic towers reaching towards the sky. Colourful meadows were zigzagged by fast flowing streams which led to a dozen lakes of varying size. The smallest looked only a few dozen meters wide, but most were far larger, and the biggest was at least a mile at its widest point. Pine forests lined the edges of these lakes, and I caught the sight of tents peeking out from between these trees. Before I could begin to analyse the tent city below, as spread out as it was, I was drawn to the centre of the basin. Each lake seemed to drain towards the centre. Many rivers and streams would flow towards each lake ¨C the larger ones having many more suppliers ¨C but only one would flow from each lake towards the central depression. Twelve torrents of water speared down from the lakes and over the edge of a strangely circular hole in the earth. The word waterfall didn¡¯t do it justice, for this was of a scale I had yet to witness in my travels. Thousands of tonnes of water must have cascaded over the edge every moment and to where it flowed, I had no idea. The mist at our back could not seem to escape the cloying grasp of the ravine, and the vista before us was painted with the afternoon sun, blue giving way to yellow and gold in a soft dance through the heavens. ¡°Right, now that¡¯s a fucking view, aye lad!¡± Jorge said, ruining the moment. We started trudging down the well-worn path, thick enough for us to walk side by side with ease ¨C all four of us. We chatted idly about what we expected to see at this ¡®Blending¡¯, and Jorge did his best to remain aloof and mysterious about it all. We did get confirmation that it was a tournament, although he said he wasn¡¯t sure of the exact rules, only that I would be able to fight if I wanted ¨C Nathlan too if he felt like it. It was a surprisingly short walk from the top of the basin to the lake nearest to us, and consequently, to the settlement huddled around its shores. Like the others, the settlement was a haphazard mix of temporary and semi-permanent structures ¨C great oak trees felled and split to create longhouses, which sat surrounded by dozens of smaller tents, the occasional forge or animal coop popping up as I let my eyes roam across the lakeside. ¡°Where does the fighting take place then?¡± I asked, having expected to see a great colosseum or raised dais or something. Jorge turned around with a fierce grin at that, eyes alight and sparkling. ¡°That would ruin the surprise now, wouldn¡¯t it? You¡¯re gonna love it though.¡± And that was all he would say on the matter. Nathlan and I shared a look, he rolled his eyes and I smirked, before we continued on towards the lake, blue and white banners fluttering in the wind ahead of us. Chapter 57 - Are You A Betting Lass? *Jacyntha* ¡°This is the year. This is the time. No one will stand before you. You will dominate the circle and remind all those who have abandoned us that our path, our family, is to be feared and respected in equal measure.¡± Hastor¡¯s voice shook with emotion as he paced back and forth in the small tent. He had to periodically duck beneath a finely woven tapestry, but that seemed to have no impact on his grandstanding. Jacyntha, lying on the table with her head facing the floor, just hummed in response. She knew better than to try and talk, even if it was in agreement. Her father¡¯s approval was to be gained only through action. Jacyntha was his vehicle to vindication, and as long as she continued to fight and win, she would receive her father¡¯s praise. A small voice, sounding very much like her late mother, spoke softly in the back of her mind, is this all you are worth? As had become habit over the last decade, she ruthlessly crushed it. There could be no room for doubt. If there was one thing Jacyntha knew, it was that a fighter had to have conviction. So she stayed mostly silent, grunting now and then to show Hastor she was listening, but otherwise not contributing to the diatribe. ¡®We must reclaim our rightful place¡¯, ¡®the vultures took everything from us¡¯, ¡®make them pay¡¯, ¡®remind them who we are¡¯ and on and on it went. Jacyntha instead focused on the feeling of the cool hands massaging her aching muscles. Training and fighting were the only things she was good at now. She¡¯d given up trying to make friends long ago. Funny how nobody wanted to talk after you beat their friend bloody for an insult. Wasn¡¯t even really an insult if she was being honest with herself. But self-reflection wasn¡¯t something Jacyntha liked to do. She was self-aware enough to know it, but no amount of awareness would prepare her to face her demons. It hurt too much. Too much rage, too much anger, too much guilt and self-loathing. If she ever started to truly grapple with her mother¡¯s death, she¡¯d have to put the blame where it belonged¡­on her own shoulders. And there was no gods-damned way she would ever do that. Easier to beat some kid half to death when he brought up her mother in jest, whether the boy meant anything by it or not. Easier to push away anyone interested in helping than to open herself up to that spinning ball of fear and rage. Far easier to brand the elders as pompous, selfish Carhhags than consider if they were telling the truth about her father. No, Jacyntha focused on training and fighting, on earning her father¡¯s approval, and restoring their rightful place in the clan hierarchy. She would deal with the rest of it once he had done her duty, close at hand as it was. Hastor was right, this was the year. She¡¯d beaten every competitor in her clan already, and last year gave a convincing showing in the circle too. She¡¯d not been crowned The First in her cohort of course, that bitch from White-Cliff had dominated, and her father had pulled excuses to get her away from the circle before Sadrianna had arrived. She¡¯d raged about it but had to admit she¡¯d been concerned when seeing the White-Cliff woman fight ¨C only a few levels separated them, but the difference in tier was too much to broach. No longer though. The hands kneaded into her back, magic flowing from them into the lines carved into her skin. Ink and scar tissue mixed to form swooping patterns, relying on ancient principles to enhance her physical prowess. It was this secret that had her father kicked from the council, that had resulted in her mother¡¯s death and their shunning by the rest of the clan. They had discovered a path to power that others were too cowardly to take, and they had been branded heretics for it. So your father says, whispered her mother¡¯s voice. She shook off the doubts once more. She couldn¡¯t deny the benefits. She recovered quicker, fought harder. Her skills sometimes felt further away, hazy in a way that didn¡¯t entirely make sense to her, but with the power coursing through her muscles, she didn¡¯t really care. What need for skills had she when a single punch could shatter stone? She suspected she was beyond most early 2nd tier warriors in her clan by now. Some of the other clans had some terrifying warriors of their own ¨C grizzled and experienced men and women still in their 1st tier somehow ¨C and even a few young geniuses that could still trouble her, the bitch from White-Cliff included. But her own clan was small, and she was far above the rest of their 1st tier warriors, diminished as their younger generation were. And who¡¯s fault is that? ¡°Girl! Are you not listening!?¡± Her father¡¯s voice cut through her thoughts, silencing the traitorous voice of her mother. ¡°Yes father. Tomorrow, I will crush them.¡± She tried to put the earlier conviction into her tone, but it sounded weak to her ears. Her father didn¡¯t seem to notice, slapping her on the back just slightly too hard to be affectionate. ¡°See that you do. This is the final treatment. Remember my words girl, and you will make me proud.¡± Jacyntha didn¡¯t turn, not wanting to see the scorn in her father¡¯s face. If she didn¡¯t see him speak the words, she could almost imagine they were sincere. ¡°¡¯Mercy is a tool created by the weak to control the strong¡¯.¡± She quoted instead and focused once more on the hands kneading into her back. ¡°Your mother would be proud,¡± Hastor said, ducking out of the tent and vanishing into the night without so much as acknowledging the old man working at Jacyntha¡¯s back. She thought of her mother¡¯s face, arms reaching towards her, tears and blood spattering her face and Jacyntha¡¯s name on her lips. Begging her for help. She heard again the thud of fist against flesh, the sound of her father raging under the influence of foreign magics. Heard her once more beg for mercy. Weak. She didn¡¯t know if she aimed that at her mother or herself. Both were true, neither mattered now. Her gaze landed on the great axe hanging from the ceiling, above a tapestry depicting her parents battling a Frost Wyvern, and she wondered if she¡¯d ever live up to that legacy.
*Sadrianna* She walked through the camp of canvas tents, yurts and the occasional log-house. White and yellow strips of cloth fluttered in the air, attached to every conceivable surface. Tent-line? Put a couple on. Marking posts? Of course! Washing lines? Oh my, what a perfect spot for a few clan-colours to hang! She snorted to herself, smiling at the display despite her attempt at cynicism. The medley of colours was lovely, and she was privately glad that both White-Cliff and Yellow-Peak had both chosen to pitch beside Lake Vashtegara this year ¨C the contrast made for a beautiful picture. Her steps felt light, her heart no longer burdened by the pressures of command. She¡¯d been in charge of a Scourer team for a single night and had hated every moment of it. A death per day was not a good ratio for her first command, whatever the circumstances around it had been. She had delivered the hard news to Bjorn¡¯s father this morning and was pleasantly surprised ¨C and a little concerned ¨C about how well he had taken the news. ¡°Always knew that arrogance would cost him. Brat of a kid ¨C thanks for fixing one problem for me at least. Want a crack at the other one? He could do with a strong hand to steer him, and I¡¯m sure an ambitious woman like yourself could teach him a lesson, eh?¡± His lecherous gaze had sent shivers down her spine, given his power both physical and political. She¡¯d rejected the offer as politely as possible and left quickly, once again thankful for the privilege her parent¡¯s position afforded her. Bjorn¡¯s father was a well-connected 3rd tier warrior, respected in his youth and no less dangerous now that he was well into his eighties. Evolving your race ¨C a prerequisite to breaching the 3rd tier ¨C had profound effects on the body and mind after all. Killing his younger son, no matter how justified in the moment, put her in a difficult position. As a member of a different clan, he would be entitled to claim a blood-price from the high-council for the killing, and his son¡¯s relative position ¨C a promising 2nd tier warrior in command of a small group ¨C would make that price steep indeed. Not to mention the man could claim, however fraudulently, that he was grooming Bjorn to take his place one day, raising Bjorn¡¯s value, and therefore the blood-price, well beyond her ability to pay. Thankfully though, she was spared this negotiation entirely by the fact her mother was one of the most powerful fighters the mountain clans could boast ¨C a member of the Sworn Triarchy, no less ¨C and her father led the White-Cliff clan himself. They could pay any price Bjorn¡¯s father could demand of the high-council and had enough power and influence to negotiate the blood-price down significantly, to a point where it became meaningless. Bjorn¡¯s entire family and possibly clan would lose face, Sadrianna would walk away consequence-free, and the only downside would be the expenditure of social debts and favours owed to her parents. It was better therefore to simply accept the discomfort of such an offer and turn it down politely, knowing she would evade any follow up. Gloomy thoughts for such a lovely day, and she was glad to have put it all behind her. As it was, Sadrianna was a free woman ¨C no duties to attend to for several days ¨C leaving her enough time to catch a few matches in the circle. She wouldn¡¯t compete this year herself, needing to shore up her skills and adapt to the reality of her newfound power. Gaining 15 levels in under half a year at her grade provided a massive boost in attributes, and her skill upgrades needed to be studied, refined and assimilated before she would be content to test herself against another clan member. Too easy to make a mistake and seriously hurt someone. Wouldn¡¯t be the first time such a thing happened in the circle after all. The Holders were the best of the best for a reason, but it was a delicate balance to walk between protecting the next generation from lethal blows and stifling their progress entirely. The most beautiful plants grew in the wild, and nothing unexpected came out of a greenhouse. Speaking of unexpected, she turned her thoughts to the group of ¡®traders¡¯ she had escorted the night prior. They had no doubt made it to the Titan¡¯s Crown by now if they¡¯d followed the path from the northern watchtower.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Gods only knew which encampment they had headed towards first ¨C there were several within roughly equal distance from the misty ravine they should have emerged from ¨C but she was confident they would find her at some point. White-Cliff was one of the larger clans, and much of the inter-clan trading was overseen by both White-Cliff and Yellow-Peak. Even if they didn¡¯t ask after her, it was likely they¡¯d be in the area anyway. Perhaps her gamble would pay off, and she¡¯d hear of her mother¡¯s fighting days before she rose to such prominence. It was one thing to hear the stories from her parents, and quite another to have a relatively objective stranger describe it. It was with a fair amount of surprise then that she walked into her father¡¯s tent, nodding to Linkat on the way ¨C her father¡¯s sworn shield and oldest friend ¨C and nearly walked straight into the old trader she had been thinking about. She hurriedly stepped back, avoiding an embarrassing collision, and tried to stifle her surprise at his presence. Her father sat comfortably behind his granite desk, a stray menhir tipped on its side rather than a true table, legs propped up and a horn of ale snuggled comfortably between his delicate fingers. His other hand rested affectionately around her mother¡¯s waist, where she stood beside him, leaning her hip against the back of his chair and picking dirt from beneath her fingernails with a short knife. Her father smiled at her as she walked in, and her mother barked a laugh at the near collision. Whether it was the expression or the noise that made the trader turn she couldn¡¯t be sure, but he twisted around so smoothly despite her hurried entrance that it almost seemed he was expecting her. ¡°Jorge ¨C may I present Sadrianna, my favourite daughter.¡± Her father said in a rich voice, smile on his lips. That set the tone, and Sadrianna felt herself relax a fraction. That her father would joke in front of this man spoke to a level of familiarity. ¡°I¡¯m your only daughter.¡± She replied, rolling her eyes at her father and striding into the large tent with renewed confidence. Turning to the grey-haired man she had met the night prior, she bowed her head slightly in greeting, ¡°Well met again, Jorge. What do you think of Titan¡¯s Crown?¡± The older man smiled kindly at her, and she felt her gaze drawn to the crow¡¯s feet at the corners of his eyes, speaking to a lifetime of laughter. He reminded her of her grandfather before his passing, of days bouncing on his knee hearing tales of Sinbak the Pirate Lord and picking daisies in the spring. She blinked, surprised at the memories that had risen unbidden in her mind. She felt tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, and hurriedly dashed them away. When she looked back, she saw a much more sincere smile on the man¡¯s face before her gaze was abruptly drawn to his armour and weapons. The change was almost shocking. She¡¯d not noticed the spear leaning against the tent behind him, nor the ovular shield propped below it. The 4 or 5 knives she could see strapped to his chest and legs shouldn¡¯t have been a surprise either, but they were. He stood, short and stocky and somehow more solid than the rest of the room. It hit her then; this man before her had a presence much like her mother. She saw the way his feet were spread wide, hips pitched slightly forwards and arms hanging loose and ready. There was nothing overt, indeed his weapons were still leaning against the tent behind him, but something about his posture set her instincts screaming. She took a tentative step back, settling into a fighting crouch and hand reaching back towards her long knife, strapped to the small of her back as it always was, before she even realised what she was doing. Her father then clapped his hands and the pressure ¨C invisible until this very moment ¨C suddenly abated. She was panting and confused and looked wildly to the stone table where her parents still leaned nonchalantly. ¡°Thank you, Jorge, that¡¯s quite enough I think.¡± Her father said jovially, and Sadrianna¡¯s brain finally started to catch up. Her mother pushed off the chair and strode towards her, arms out and welcoming. ¡°Well done, my girl. You¡¯ve grown strong to break through such an aura. He is a friend, dear. Do not be so worried.¡± The simple words were enough to calm her racing heart somewhat, delivered as they were by the strongest person she had ever known. Jorge then spoke up, hidden behind her mother¡¯s broad back currently, but his voice more than carried to her. ¡°Aye, lass. Takes a sharp mind to pull away from such memories as quickly as you did. And impressive instincts once you did too. I mean you or your family no harm though, just a favour to your parents is all.¡± She pushed past her mother, cutting a sharp glance his way. ¡°You saw my memories?¡± He hastily shook his head though, which helped calm the growing heat of anger within her. ¡°No no, nothing so dramatic. I¡¯ve just got a feel for my aura after so many years, and I know the sorts of things folks tend to see when under its influence. Good memories I trust though? Seemed to set your heart alight, at least from my view. Nothing to be ashamed of mind, always good to remember the good times.¡± His voice was smooth and even, and she suddenly realised he was speaking fluently, with none of the broken words he¡¯d displayed to her the night prior. ¡°You speak our language properly?¡± She blurted out. ¡°Oh aye, I go way back with a few of the elders. The mountain clans have a firm place in my heart. Wanted to see how the runt would handle his first stab at diplomacy though.¡± He said with a wink. She assumed he was talking about the man with mismatched clothes and armour who spoke with the Scholar¡¯s Tongue, and guessed he was some sort of ward. Her parents seemed comfortable around this Jorge fellow, and didn¡¯t dispute his claims, so she would accept it. Wiser and more experienced heads appeared to vouch for the man, and that was good enough or her. Her mother interrupted before she could ask further anyhow. ¡°What did you see, little one?¡± ¡°Grandfather, when he used to read to me. Simbak the Pirate Lord and the like. Haven¡¯t thought about him in years honestly.¡± Her mother beamed at her reply and folded her into the tightest hug Sadrianna could bear. Literally. The 4th tier knew her attributes like the back of hand and had clearly adjusted the strength of her hug accordingly. She saw Jorge smile another genuine smile, and finally decided she liked the man. He had the same air of control that her parents possessed, just channelled in a softer direction. His aura seemed to be pulled back now, not influencing her beyond a calming presence, as far as she could tell at least. She doubted her parents would let it stand once she had passed their test after all. ¡°Excuse me if the question is rude¡­but why are you here? I doubt it is simple trading while you pass through, and it sounds like you have history with the clans¡­¡± She let the question hang in the air, thankful to feel no ire from either of her parents. Her father sat up and grabbed another horn from beneath the table, conjuring ale from the air in a flourish ¨C now that she had her own storage item, she found the display much less impressive. Passing the drink over, he said cheerfully ¡°He¡¯s here to test his latest prot¨¦g¨¦ against the best 1st tiers our clan can muster!¡± Jorge downplayed it significantly, ¡°Let¡¯s not be too hasty now. We genuinely do come to trade ¨C information and goods both. We¡¯re heading north through the Dragon-Spines to the coast and need to know which passes are best this season. We also need to stock up on winter gear and supplies. That we have arrived while The Blending is underway, and I have a couple of relatively untested 1st tier combatants under my wing, is simply a coincidence.¡± Her father snorted at that, but Sadrianna was more interested in the earlier statement. ¡°It¡¯s summer ¨C why do you need winter gear?¡± ¡°You know how things can be in the high mountains.¡± He said, shrugging. Her mother joined the conversation once more, taking her arm off Sadrianna¡¯s shoulder and sitting on the large desk. Her father looked on in mock outrage as she shoved papers and scrolls off to one side but took no action other than an imperiously raised eyebrow. ¡°You can¡¯t go into the high mountains with two 1st tiers!¡± Her mother protested. ¡°Aye, well¡­they¡¯d best break through soon then.¡± The grey-haired man said, his grin slight but still present. Her father sighed then. ¡°You came with two, yes? Do you expect this for both?¡± Realisation dawned on Sadrianna then, and she spoke her suspicion aloud; ¡°¡­you¡¯re looking for a feat to push them both over the edge, that¡¯s why you¡¯ve come here¡­The Blending.¡± Jorge¡¯s turned to face her once more. ¡°The timing is auspicious, can¡¯t argue with that. Your parents were just telling me of your progress this last year ¨C sounds promising.¡± He hesitated for a moment, smile growing sly, before speaking again. ¡°You¡¯ve only been in the 2nd tier for what? A year?¡± ¡°Almost exactly, I broke through after the tournament last year.¡± She replied. ¡°But, not to be too boastful, I dominated. I was proclaimed First among my generation and beat all challengers. Do you think your two wards can do the same?¡± Her mother chimed in, charming as always; ¡°The 1st tier pickings are strong this year. Betting pools have been going wild. Pretty much every single clan has multiple good options, even Grey-Rock have their favourite. I don¡¯t mean to doubt your means Jorge, but you¡¯ll be pissing into the wind if you think your two lads can win this year!¡± ¡°They don¡¯t have to win, just perform well enough that the gods recognise their success.¡± Was his response. ¡°You mean the system, surely?¡± her father asked. ¡°Is there a difference?¡± he replied. Sadrianna considered his enigmatic response but found nothing particularly profound in it. It was an accepted view among many that the first era of gods had drawn together to create the system. She didn¡¯t subscribe to it personally, but it was nothing especially radical. Her parents though seemed to be giving his words more weight than seemed warranted, her father deep in thought and her mother looking over at him with a question in her eyes. She always deferred to him on matters of philosophy after all ¨C she stayed rooted in the practical. She was about to excuse herself, feeling a shift within the tent to matters more esoteric than she was interested in, but Jorge addressed her first. ¡°Sadrianna ¨C what d¡¯you think of my ¡®wards¡¯ then? Will they embarrass me tomorrow?¡± He said with another smile, taking the sting from the words. She hesitated, not wanting to insult the old man. ¡°It would be hard to say given I know nothing of their skills and have never seen them fight.¡± ¡°If you were a betting lass, which would you back?¡± Sighing, she thought back to what she had seen of both of them, playing along. ¡°The shorter one who did the talking.¡± She was met with a raised eyebrow. ¡°Care to elaborate for us slower folks?¡± her father butted in. ¡°He¡¯s unpredictable.¡± She explained, before continuing. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t put money on either of them. Neither are at the peak of 1st tier near enough as I can tell, and while they could well be once-in-a-generation geniuses, I have no evidence for that. But I¡¯ve seen the competition they¡¯ll face. The clans have a strong crop this year ¨C that Grey-Rock barbarian, Sothan¡¯s Boy and the girl with the knives I can never remember the name of-¡° ¡°Kelp¡± Her mother helpfully supplied. ¡°Her father thinks she will challenge you in a few more cycles ¨C she¡¯s got promise.¡± ¡°Thank you for the reminder mother.¡± Sadrianna said, somewhat sarcastically. ¡°As I said, competition is fierce, and I wouldn¡¯t back either. But the shorter one seems more of a wildcard.¡± ¡°And what makes you say that?¡± Jorge asked, his gaze now slightly more intense than earlier. ¡°His armour¡¯s all mismatched for one. Understandable for a poor welp but I get the sense you could provide better if he needed it. Same with the weapons ¨C both shield and spear have life-force within them, but not much. Seems a waste of resources to enchant 1st tier equipment, especially with your plan of them hitting 2nd tier so soon. Weapons will be useless soon unless you reforge them, and if you were already planning on that, you wouldn¡¯t have got the enchantment in the first place. So I can only conclude that he¡¯s got tricks up his mismatched sleeves.¡± She saw a glimmer of approval in his eyes and continued, now more confident in her assessment. ¡°Besides, he¡¯s a mess of styles. Hair seems unlike any lowlander fashion I¡¯ve seen, that bracer reminds me of the stories father would tell of the desert tribes far to the south, and the arm rings look like something a pirate lord would wear.¡± Jorge chuckled. ¡°Aye I¡¯ll grant you the lad¡¯s got a piss-poor sense for dressing himself. Not seeing why you¡¯d put your hard-earned coin on him winning though.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t, remember? But I doubt you would have picked up a man who spends more time thinking about fashion than fighting, from what I¡¯m hearing from you at least. And if that¡¯s true¡­it means he¡¯s had a fair few experiences already. The desert tribes, the pirate lords¡­unless he¡¯s walking into a bazaar in every town he visits, he¡¯s seen some things.¡± She shrugged, ¡°I don¡¯t know, seems like a sensible choice to back the odd one out. He¡¯s your lad though, you¡¯d know best.¡± He nodded at that, before turning to her parents. ¡°You have raised a very astute lassy between the both of you. Even passed on some wisdom too, which I struggle to imagine either of you gaining in recent years, but alas.¡± Her father winked over the edge of his horn, and her mother waved him off, spilling ale in the process. A flash of life-force in the air and the ale reversed course, trickling back up into her horn as if it had never left. Sadrianna rolled her eyes at her parents antics and turned back to Jorge, aiming to recuse herself once more. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, you¡¯re right. He is a bit of a wild card. I¡¯d still bet on Nathlan though in a duel. Out in the world though¡­who knows?¡± he said with a shrug. She made her excuses and left the tent, walking back to her own as the sun set behind the peaks ringing Titan¡¯s Crown. She wasn¡¯t sure she shared the old man¡¯s faith in his pupils, but she had to admit she was now more interested in the results of tomorrow¡¯s tournament. Chapter 58 - The Arena When Jorge had said so confidently that the arena had a hell of a view, I¡¯d had big expectations. He¡¯d said similar about the Titan¡¯s Crown the day prior ¨C as I¡¯d learned the basin was called from an absolutely sloshed barbarian in the tavern last night ¨C so I¡¯d expected another natural phenomenon that would light the spark of imagination and wonder in my mind. What I saw that morning as I stepped into the ¡®arena¡¯ was something else entirely. I¡¯d assumed I¡¯d have trouble sleeping the night before a tournament, but when the sun started to flare through the canvas and heat up my tent, I woke softly, as if I¡¯d slept for an entire day. I guess after you¡¯ve truly put your life on the line and faced death a dozen and more times, the thought of performing in front of a crowd really didn¡¯t hold the same sort of terror as before. It was a leisurely morning for me after that. Stretching, dressing, some light work with the spear and shield against Vera just to limber up and get my muscles moving in the patterns I would ask of them later that day. A heavy breakfast, considering we wouldn¡¯t be fighting for at least a bell or longer. Poor old Nathlan didn¡¯t seem to sleep as well as I, bags under his eyes indicating a night fraught with uncertainty and worry. By the time his sword was belted to his waist and armour donned though, he no longer looked quite so miserable. We journeyed down, four amongst thousands, towards the hole in the centre of the basin. It was a quick jog for us, Jorge making sure to emphasise the importance of a proper warm up before any strenuous activity. Such a grandad. Approaching the hole, the twelve powerful rivers feeding the waterfall began to close in on either side, and the murmuring and excited chatter of the crowd of spectators began to be overwhelmed by the sound of rushing water. Green grass faltered under foot, and I soon heard the sound of my leather boots slapping against hard rock. It was a transition I could see from a mile away though, as white marble was the rock of choice, split through with seams of grey and black. The mottled rock abruptly ended, with a cascade of water heading over the edge and white foam drifting off the ledge and obscuring the view across to the other side. We stopped well before that though, joining a line of people queuing before a tunnel chiselled into the rock, descending at a steep angle. Streaked marble was cut into rough steps, and I could see the passage of time in the wearing of the rock beneath our feet. This place was ancient. Untold generations had journeyed through this passageway, pressed against one another in excitement. What stories could be told, what legends were formed in this arena, before the view of thousands of their peers? The excitement of the crowd started to leech into my bones, and I felt my heart respond, beating harder within my chest. We pressed on, and eventually reached a fork. To the right, the tunnel flattened out, and guards in clan colours ¨C I had no ideas which corresponded to what clan, but each clan clearly had their own markers ¨C were directing spectators along that tunnel. Every now and then, a young man or woman would duck out of the queue and take the left hand tunnel, heading down deeper into the earth. Each one received a nod of respect from one of the guards, and the queue chittered excitedly at each one. It was no great feat of deduction to realise there was a tunnel for spectators, and one for combatants. Jorge turned towards us both then, giving Nathlan and myself serious looks. ¡°I am not expecting greatness. Go out there and have fun. Pull a blow that you think it will be lethal, but the Holders are all significantly higher levelled than the combatants and should be able to pull out anyone before a fatal strike. Anything you want to say before we part ways?¡± Nathlan shook his head, knuckles standing out white against the hilt of his sword. I hesitated a moment before also shaking my head. ¡°Good. Lamb, I want you to use your skills and not rely on your attribute advantage. Wear this.¡± So saying, he shoved a thin beaded necklace towards me and I hastily put it on. As soon as the beads settled against my skin, I felt the magical connection, mana rushing through the beads and forming a cage around my neck. I looked up in alarm as the cage retracted, settling against my skin and applying a subtle pressure. I felt in my soul an ability to resist, to fight off whatever was happening to me, but Jorge explained before I had a chance to decide. ¡°Calm yourself, lad. It simply drops your attributes to an artificial limit I set ¨C temporarily.¡± He said the final word with great emphasis, no doubt reacting to my alarmed expression. ¡°and I can alter it remotely. I¡¯ll be setting this to a similar level as your opponents¡¯ each fight ¨C nothing too precise, but roughly the same total attributes, distributed in the way of your current build. You understand?¡± I nodded uncertainly, knowing I needed more information but not quite sure what exactly to ask. ¡°I¡¯ll alter it a bit before each fight once I get a good look at your opponent, so you¡¯ll have time to adjust. Stretch and go through some forms while you wait, aye?¡± I dipped my head again, feeling a little like a donkey with the amount of nodding I was doing. ¡°Yeah understood. Can we go yet?¡± I wasn¡¯t so much impatient to get to the fights as I was starting to feel the nerves set in. We were deep underground again, and memories of the last time I was in similar tunnels were bubbling to the surface. Or the time before that, in the Iona Chasm. Come to think of it, I didn¡¯t have a great track record of tunnels. Vera turned around to break the uneasy silence and gave her characteristic wisdom; ¡°Go and fight. Win if you can, lose if you must. It¡¯s all training.¡± She turned her back on us once more, her wisdom now exhausted. We nodded to one another, and then Nathlan and I stepped out of the spectator queue and swung left, heading deeper into the cliff. I watched my friend¡¯s back as he descended, spears of sunlight glinting off the steel bands of his pauldrons intermittently as holes in the ceiling allowed light to filter through to the tunnel from above in sections of shadow and light. An age later, and simultaneously feeling less than a few heartbeats, the stairs abruptly stopped, giving way to smooth stone floor. We followed the snaking pathway around the edge of what must have been the waterfall, completely insulated by the rock and unable to hear the cascading water just outside. The tunnel abruptly opened into a large antechamber, racks of weapons and wooden benches lining the edge of the room. People lounged around, talking intermittently and warming up together in an overwhelming mix of colours. Ribbons and silks denoting clan affiliation were wrapped around each person present and tapestries hung on the walls, no doubt liberated from various ¡®lowlander¡¯ settlements, given the eclectic mix of peoples and myths that were depicted without any unifying pattern. We hovered uncertainly in the tunnel mouth for a few moments before a man in robes came bustling over, a heavy chain hanging on his chest. He introduced himself as one of the event organisers ¨C it was a crude translation of his title that doubtless missed much of the significance he was afforded, but that was the best I could provide to Nathlan in the moment ¨C and things proceeded quickly from there. Before I knew it, I was sitting on a wooden bench, looking at my knees and intermittently clenching my hands into fists. Nathlan had won his first match handedly, despite being significantly under levelled. He was only at level 29, but given his powerful and rare combat class, he likely had attributes surpassing most in their 40s. He didn¡¯t have much of a chance to give me the rundown, since I was whisked away virtually the moment he returned, but he managed to tell me that he won, that I should relax, and that the arena was ¡®a marvel reminiscent of the architectural wonders of antiquity¡¯ ¨C a very Nathlan way of saying it looked pretty fucking cool. I was escorted out of the ¡®holding cell¡¯ as it seemed to me ¨C I¡¯m sure it was more of a waiting room but with the whole ¡®being underground¡¯ thing and lack of sunlight and heavy iron-banded doors¡­it definitely felt like a holding cell. I followed the official out through another looping tunnel, hearing my footsteps echo around us. As we moved though, that sound started to become muffled, overwhelmed by a growing roar. I thought at first it must be the roar of the crowd, my heart speeding up at the thought of so many people shouting together. I guess I was a little nervous of performing in front of thousands after all ¨C so much for all that ¡®life and death struggle lends perspective¡¯ bollocks. I had managed to distract myself with such thoughts for long enough to reach the end of the tunnel, but as we reached the entrance to the arena proper and I stepped out of the unassuming archway following the gesture by the official, I staggered. It felt as if a thousand lions roared directly in my face, and I could feel their spittle hitting me. The reality was in fact the thunderous crash of tonnes of water hitting the ground every moment, and the mist rising from the floor that sprayed me in the face. That reality was no less intimidating in the moment though. I felt small, insignificant, and achingly delicate.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. I stepped reverently, unable to stop but trying to move as slowly as possible to savour the experience as I walked. Stone steps rose before me, slippery from water but crossed-hatched to give a semblance of grip. To each side was a gently curving wall, overhung with a jutting cliff of white and red stone, though the colours of the rock were partly covered by vibrant mosses; greens and blues and even bright yellows visible at different points ¨C a wild tapestry, chaotic in the way only nature can be. And beyond the mosses, a dozen or so meters out into the open air, fell the water. A sheeting mass of white and blue hung as if suspended, details always moving but the totality unchanged. It was an impossible sight, and it took me long moments to work out what I was seeing. I was in at the bottom of the hole. The lakes each fed water directly to the massive sinkhole in the centre of the basin, and beneath that is where I now stood. I knew this was likely where we were aiming for ever since we¡¯d reached the top of the sinkhole on foot and then journeyed underground. I¡¯d felt the curving of the tunnels, knew we were sketching a path along the wall at the base, and the archway behind me could emerge only at the centre of the cavernous space given the sunlight that now intermittently bathed my face. But still. The scale of it was impressive enough to make me hesitate. I started to climb the steps ahead, hearing the roar of water amplify as I drew closer. The steps led to the top of a large stone dais, but as I reached the top, I saw that it was concave, flowing down and away smoothly from where I stood. The water smashed into the angled wall, and ran down into a moat that circled a much smaller dais raised above it. It was clear that dais is where I would face my opponent, and so I squared my shoulders and strode forwards. The steps reached the top of the ¡®wall¡¯ and continued over and down. A few meters below the top of the wall, at the height of the noise and spray was the point at which the curtain of water hit the ground. It was many feet thick if I had to guess, and would no doubt knock down a person without enhanced attributes, possibly fatally. I had to assume that if you were deemed strong enough to fight in the arena, you were strong enough to cross through the barrier of rushing water. While I had seen it as a relatively clear curtain of water, marred only by the occasional patches of white water kicked up by some imperfection of the rock lining the top of the sinkhole, towards the bottom it was a bubbling, frothing mess. I would have been apprehensive to face this if I had stumbled upon such a feature out in the wilds by myself, but knowing that each competitor had to face it too gave my nerves some steel, and I took a deep breath before marching forwards. The pressure was immense, and the slap of water on the exposed skin of my neck and arms was a stinging shock. I had faced such pains before though and walked through with my head bent and arms out to my side for balance, weapon and shield in a firm, white-knuckled grip in each hand. I strode as confidently through the breach as I could, the impromptu shower waking my mind and refreshing my body in a surprising way. It also hurt like all hells. Without looking I knew the skin on my neck and arms was red, and the sting as it was touched by cool air was enough to tell me it was beaten raw. No matter. I didn¡¯t want to show weakness now that the harm was already done, and so descended the remaining steps before leaping the two or so meters up over the moat and onto the dais. Blessedly, the stone was dry and I came to stop smoothly, standing from my slight crouch to my full height. Leaning back, I looked up and around, marvelling once again at the view. The sinkhole must have been a few hundred meters wide at its centre, and water fell all around to the floor of the cavern, with a large circle of sky visible maybe a hundred meters above. Looking around, I now realised why the water had not been entirely clear ¨C where the patches of disturbed whitewater had originated from. Small caves littered the sides of the rock, and wooden beams extended out from them to pierce the falling water, offering small slices of air through which spectators stood shoulder to shoulder. Larger caves had bigger groups and consequently bigger wooden structures to part the water. Towards the top of the sinkhole were smaller groups, often sitting in fine-looking chairs or cushions, food and even attendants present to serve the whims of the no doubt more powerful and rich families and groups that sat, literally and figuratively, above the unwashed masses below. I was unsure if anyone could be described as unwashed being so close to this massive shower, and the hierarchy of the clans ¨C while clearly formalised and enforced ¨C seemed relatively flat compared to ¡®the lowlands¡¯ through which I¡¯d travelled and learned of, but the point still stood; big dogs at the top, runts at the bottom. I smirked to myself at the imagery, especially considering I¡¯d gone by the name ¡®Runt¡¯ for a long while before being gifted my current moniker ¨C not really much of an upgrade honestly, but hey-ho. My awe must have been fading, hence my irreverent thoughts coming back to the surface, and so I refocused with an effort of will. I was alone on the stadium, and my emergence from the wall of water had enthused the crowd. I couldn¡¯t really hear them over the deafening crash of water, but I could see the ones standing in the lower caves shouting and hollering in excitement through their ¡®windows¡¯. I looked around for an umpire of some sort, and after a few moments saw a woman standing off to the side, her head barely peeking over the edge of the dais, stood as she was on the curved wall behind it. She nodded at me in respect or acknowledgement ¨C I wasn¡¯t sure which ¨C and stepped lightly up onto the raised dais to join me. I say stepped, because she appeared to float as if on air, crossing the distance between us with a grace that looked so normal and effortless, I barely noticed that she was floating above the floor until she arrived and stepped back down to the rock next to me. She bowed her head again, and in a soft voice introduced herself. ¡°Well met. I am Finanda - the Holder of this circle - and I will be overseeing this fight.¡±
*Vera* She stood quietly in the cave, high up in the cliff face, trying her best to keep her nerves at bay. Jorge and Sadrianna¡¯s parents sat on comfortable-looking cushions discussing something Vera was neither particularly interested in nor able to understand. Geopolitics was not something she liked to dwell on, despite Jorge¡¯s seemingly renewed interest in recent days. Sadrianna seemed to have a similar view, leaning against a wall on the other side of the small cave toying with a small knife, looking nervous but trying to hide it. Vera sighed and shifted, looking out past the sturdy wooden beam that split the wall of water in front of them, giving her an unobscured view to the arena below. It was currently empty save for the Holder standing just off the dais at the edge, but she knew Lamb would be entering soon. Nathlan had won his first fight handily, putting on an admirable display of swordsmanship, and not having to rely on flashy skills to finish the fight quickly. It was still early in brackets, so the feat wouldn¡¯t garner him much interest, but it was a good showing, nonetheless. Nothing Vera didn¡¯t expect to see. He had a style made for duelling ¨C impeccable footwork and great skill with a longsword. His level was comparatively low, but the combat class made up most of the difference in attributes ¨C it was the skills that would be the problem. They were under-levelled compared to most top 1st tiers, and Nathlan¡¯s particularly were not heavily combat focused. And yet she hadn¡¯t been concerned and wouldn¡¯t be until he reached later rounds and fiercer competition. Her real concern was for Lamb. He had a comparative advantage with attributes compared to pretty much all 1st tiers at this point due to his combat class ¨C it was no more potent than Nathlan¡¯s, but he still had around 10 levels on the man ¨C but no amount of raw power could make up for a deficiency in skill. Well, that wasn¡¯t quite true, but it was in this case. She worried Lamb was going to get a reality check. His skills were well-levelled, although still behind what a normal support classer his age would usually boast, but without the chaos of an active battle and an attribute advantage, she suspected he¡¯d have issues measuring up to the technical ability of his opponents. His arrival only confirmed her fears. The curtain of water shielded the arena from the view of those waiting, and likewise shielded the competitors from the crowd before they fully entered. This curtain was split on the southern side, as Lamb strode out through the water-wall. Fool of a boy she thought to herself, unable to help the small smile that slipped past the stony mask that was her face. It grew wider when she heard the answering roar of the crowd, and Arynia¡¯s exclamation. ¡°I love the confidence! Taking a beating like that from the waterfall before the fight! Shows he doesn¡¯t consider his opponent dangerous.¡± Ventus picked up the thread of conversation his wife had started; ¡°Is your man down there cocky, or smart? Can¡¯t tell if this was a calculated risk to mess with his opponent¡¯s head, or just showboating.¡± The question was directed at Jorge, and the older man just shook his head, a mysterious smile on his face. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll find out¡± he said evenly. But Vera knew the truth. Lamb had no idea how to actually enter the gods damned arena and hadn¡¯t bothered to ask. ¡°Well, no matter. He¡¯s up against Grashtan¡¯s son, and he takes after his father from what I hear.¡± Ventus remarked. ¡°So he¡¯s a smug prick too?¡± Sadrianna asked, and her mother laughed in response. ¡°Just so¡± Arynia said.
*Lamb* I bowed myself, feeling a slight charge to the air around us from her power. She was clearly in the 3rd tier. Where Vera dominated the world around her, this Holder ¨C Finanda, I reminded myself ¨C seemed to be accepted by it. Her presence was undeniable but seemed less a challenge than a comforting weight. ¡°Your opponent draws near, young lowlander. You had best prepare yourself.¡± It was the first time I¡¯d heard that expression said without even a hint of derision or insult, and I turned to follow her gesture towards the opposite end of the dais. I saw nothing for a few moments, before the water about two meters above the ground split apart. An elegant blade emerged through the waterfall and forced itself into the light, glittering in the early morning sun. Water cascaded to either side, and the blade twisted to show its flat to the earth and sky, and the water diverted to either side, creating a doorway of air beneath the blade through which my opponent strode. The blade abruptly dropped alongside the arm wielding it, and its wielder stepped quickly through, not a drop of water marring their person. Ahhhh. So that¡¯s how it¡¯s done then. I looked down at my drenched clothes and mismatched armour, still dripping onto the floor in a puddle around my legs, then back at the elegant person opposite as they strode across the dais. I must have looked a little embarrassed as the Holder shot me an amused glance before leaning in to whisper, ¡°The crowd loved it. If you win decisively now, it will look like it was a deliberate show of force. If you lose though? Well¡­¡± I absorbed that while ringing out my soaking hair and tucking it into my leather and scale armoured vest. Squaring my shoulders, I resigned myself to fighting in soggy shoes, and stepped into the centre of the arena opposite my opponent. I saw his confident smirk, the finely engraved glaive leaning lightly against his shoulder, and the expensive-looking filigree on his shining breastplate. He didn¡¯t exactly look like a barbarian from the mountains. There was only one thing he reminded me of now that I got a good look at him. The sons and daughters of rich nobles I saw hanging around in the canyon city of Colchet, drinking and laughing at all bells of the day. Pampered, entitled, arrogant. Perhaps I was being overly judgemental though, after all I knew precious little about the mountain clans or their society. The next words out of his mouth confirmed that I wasn¡¯t, however; ¡°Don¡¯t worry boy, I¡¯ll make this quick.¡± Fucking nobles. Chapter 59 - The First Fight ¡°There are three ways to beat a fella in a fight. You can be better than them. You can make them think that you¡¯re better than them even if you¡¯re not. And you can just be plain old lucky. I prefer to do all three personally, but that¡¯s not an easy ask for anyone not named Henny half-hand, now is it?¡± - Post fight interview with Henny Half-hand after defeating Thraskall The Bloodless to claim the title of Arena Champion of Salazar, circa .179
I stood across from my opponent, his sneer setting my teeth on edge and the swish of his glittering glaive parting the air in looping swirls setting my ears itching. It was a lazy movement, twisting from his wrist rather than using the full range of muscles in his back and hips to drive the blade around. He stood relaxed; shoulders drooping and one arm held out to his side in a facsimile of a dandy gentleman. I assumed. Didn¡¯t really have much experience with fancy lads, but from what I¡¯d seen in Colchet when passing by the various inns and restaurants filled with finely dressed nobles, this man would fit right in. It was incredibly annoying, but I fought down my frustration, knowing that this was either a tactic to deliberately piss me off, or the guy was just that much of an ass. Did it matter though? Either he was trying to rile me up, in which case I should stay calm, or he was just a pompous prick, in which case fuck him and his opinions. I wouldn¡¯t get all worked up over the views of a fancy noble brat, now would I? My little pep talk helped me somewhat, and I felt my shoulders relax a hair. I breathed deep. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Felt the grain of the wood in my hand from my spear, heard the creek as I gripped the leather wrapped handle of my shield too tightly. I was ready. The moment he had appeared through the water I had felt my attributes lower in response to Jorge¡¯s amulet-guided influence. A slight decrease in strength, a big drop in endurance, not much change in the mental attributes and agility remained unchanged. I¡¯d adjusted to it already, having at least a few dozen breaths to feel my body change and understand its limits. Finanda stood between us, gave a quick rundown of the rules ¨C basically fight as if your life is on the line, as she would step in to prevent any fatalities ¨C and then with a sharp gesture, she stepped back and the man started to stroll towards me. He still looked too calm, like he didn¡¯t consider me a threat at all. He raised his glaive in one hand and saluted at the crowd ¨C or the cliff to our right anyway, no idea who was watching ¨C so I moved forwards. He had actually turned his head away from me to look at where his weapon was pointing as well. What an arrogant prick. Did he really think I was going to stand there and let him posture? He turned to face me, surprise widening his eyes as he saw me rushing at him, but his weapon was too far out to bring around in time. I was inside his guard before he could properly set it and thrusting my shorter spear towards his stomach in a flash. He backpedalled, moving with rapid steps to propel his body out of the way of my thrust. It would have worked perfectly if I¡¯d aimed for his throat, as he could have simply swayed his head to the side to dodge. It would have worked fairly well if I¡¯d aimed at his chest, as he could have leaned backwards while stay just outside my range, maybe getting a slight scratch on his chest plate. But I¡¯d aimed for his stomach, and the only way he could keep his intestines on the inside was if he caved his body, sucking in his gut and hoping the extra few inches of space would save him. And they did. The lanceolate blade stopped only inches from his ¨C relatively ¨C unarmoured waist. He no doubt thought himself safe as it began to retract, and I saw his eyes look back up to my face after watching the spear miss its mark. I saw the comic surprise again as he saw my shield arm come barrelling towards his unprotected chin as I used the momentum of my thrust to propel my other arm up in a savage uppercut, shield rim leading the way. He was possibly more agile than I was, but he was moving backwards and was still reeling from surprise at my blitz. I was moving forwards in a planned and practiced pattern, and the difference between our respective positions showed. Where I was expecting to hear a meaty thump of metal on bone, I instead heard nothing. Finanda had shot from her position behind me to knock my opponent backwards and my shield impacted only empty air where his head would have otherwise been. She interposed herself between us, gesturing sharply again to signal the fight was over. I panted despite the fight only lasting a dozen heartbeats. The adrenaline coursing through my system wouldn¡¯t let me off easily, and I had to breathe through my nose, leaning back to compose myself quickly as the Holder helped the arrogant prick to his feet. He glared at me and spat to the side, shouting something about me being a ¡®lowly cheat¡¯, utilising ¡®unsporting behaviour¡¯ and how I was emblematic of all the ills of the world as a ¡®filthy lowlander bitch¡¯. He seemed to be reaching with that last one, and the Holder escorted him quickly from the dais. I looked up to the crowd, seeing faces shouting through their little water-windows. I still couldn¡¯t hear them over the thunder of the waterfall, and I couldn¡¯t tell if they were yelling in support or consternation. I shrugged, turning around and walking back to where I had come from. It was only once I¡¯d made it through the waterfall that I realised I was facing the wrong part of the circular sinkhole and had to trek around the edge to find my waiting room.
*Vera* ¡°A dominant performance!¡± Ventus cried, clapping Jorge on the back. Vera snorted. It was a cheap shot, and Lamb was lucky he was fighting a preening peacock and not a true warrior. It was more likely to happen in the 1st tier bracket, but he was still lucky to have met someone so unprepared for a duel even so. Jorge didn¡¯t let his emotions show, and even Vera couldn¡¯t tell what was going on in his mind. Was he satisfied with the quick win, or disappointed Lamb had resorted to such underhand tactics? Not that his opponent didn¡¯t have it coming, but she doubted his reputation would recover unless he could pull out a few spectacular wins. At the end of the day, a crowd loved a winner, as long as they kept winning. Vera couldn¡¯t deny a little pride at the outcome though. She¡¯d been the one to teach Lamb that true combat had no rules. He¡¯d obviously taken that message to heart. Sadrianna had lent forwards following the brief fight but was now leaning back against the cave wall again in thought. ¡°Not what I was expecting¡± she muttered, almost to herself. Her mother questioned her though, so she explained further; ¡°He was incredibly patient when we met for the first time. Given what I now know about Jorge and Vera here, their team was never in much danger from us, but Lamb was trying to avoid escalating things. Just wouldn¡¯t have picked him as someone who would fight dirty, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°He¡¯s like you, Sadey.¡± Her mother said, and Vera saw the girl flinch from the nickname before casting a quick glance at both Vera and Jorge. Vera filed that info away for later ¨C the girl clearly wasn¡¯t as confident as she projected. Arynia continued; ¡°Jorge here says he found him in the wilds at a very low level, and when they next met, he had gained a class. Spent a few months in the wilderness fighting for his life against wild beasts. He¡¯s not a favoured son or daughter like many of your peers.¡± Vera could hear the approval in the powerful woman¡¯s voice. She clearly agreed with the idea of getting real combat experience against creatures trying to kill you over safe sparring. That Sadrianna also did the same was no surprise ¨C two powerful classers would obviously insist on their children being equally powerful, and that required solid foundations. Sadrianna nodded. ¡°I¡¯m more interested in his next fight now, at least. Still not sure why he walked through the waterfall though.¡± Vera knew though. She considered it a personal favour to the boy that she kept her mouth shut.
*Lamb* ¡°That was quick¡± Nathlan said, looking up from where he ran a cloth along his bare sword. I sat heavily on the wooden bench next to him, my legs no longer wanting to support my weight. ¡°Aye, I guess it was.¡± I grinned tiredly. ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad though, Jorge and Vera no doubt understand you still lag far behind me and won¡¯t hold you to the same standard.¡± Nathlan¡¯s head whipped up, eyes squinting dangerously, and I laughed out loud. He broke into a small smile as well after a moment. I started peeling my armour off piece by piece, hanging up the leather and scale heavy vest on an armour stand nearby before wringing out my drenched shirt. ¡°Any idea how long we¡¯ll be waiting between fights then?¡± I asked. Men and women were moving about in nearby caves, connected by open corridors. I could hear the clink of armour and weapons being moved about, and the chatter of excited voices. An official came to our cave, bustling in and gesturing for Nathlan to follow. He turned to me as he slid his sword back into his sheath, and I noticed for the first time that he was almost completely dry, with only the lining of the bottom of his robe being damp. ¡°Apparently not very long. Luck with you,¡± he said with a nod, and then he was turning away and striding after the official. I turned back to the armour stand I¡¯d commandeered, watching a small puddle forming beneath it as my sodden armour continued to drip. I sighed.
I stood in the centre of the arena across from my second opponent, feeling my armoured vest dig directly into my skin. I¡¯d forsaken the sodden undershirt and donned the armour directly over my bare chest, and while it had saved me a few moments of comfort when putting it on ¨C and admittedly looked a bit more dashing now too, if I did say myself ¨C I was starting to regret it. I¡¯d been hoping for another quick win, and it was looking increasingly unlikely. I had trudged through the waterfall and out into the arena-proper, greeted Finanda, and slipped easily onto the dais to await my opponent. The first I saw of them was a massive tower shield bursting through the water, followed immediately by a large woman huddled beneath it. Her bright red hair flicked water everywhere as she shook like a dog after emerging through the curtain, but that seemed to be the only part of her to get wet despite her more vigorous entrance. I was still very much the soggiest man around, it seemed. That wasn¡¯t so much the issue though. No, the problem was that she had arms and legs like tree trunks, crisscrossed with scars, and a short gladius in her other hand. Clearly, this was an experienced fighter and not some rich brat using his father¡¯s money to live vicariously as a warrior. And she had a massive shield and a short stabbing sword, which was not a combination I liked the look of. I¡¯d felt my attributes reset once more as she emerged from the waterfall, and once again I¡¯d had time to adjust. Strength lowered slightly, endurance unchanged, Agility slightly lower and perception way down. Cognition barely moved though. It was a strange mix of attributes in my opinion. She was clearly following a path meant for her to stand in the centre of a battle and hold her ground. An enduring rock in a chaotic storm. High cognition to help process the maelstrom of sensations in a battle and sort through which was most important. Perception wasn¡¯t as important when she was unlikely to move around at high speed, and so it was discarded in favour of greater endurance and strength. A solid fighter, if unexceptional as a duellist. She didn¡¯t need to defeat an exceptional duellist though, just had to beat little old me. Fuck, this is gonna take a while.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. I rolled my shoulders and hitched the armoured vest up away from my armpit again, trying to avoid the chaffing already building there. Deep breaths, and then Finanda was between us once more. A few more heartbeats to observe my opponent, catching the gleam of golden eyes beneath a curtain of ruddy red hair, and then the Holder was gesturing us together and stepping away. Setting the tone, my opponent shuffled forwards carefully. Her feet moved deliberately, taking her forward and round, circling to my left while closing the distance. Shield up protecting her from shin to shoulder, blade poised at her side, its tip winking at me as it caught the sun. I let her take the initiative, responding in kind to her movements. My spear darted out a few times, testing her reflexes, and what I saw was not promising. She might lack the agility and perception I possessed, but she had a large shield and knew how to use it, closing off angles of attack with her positioning before I could even think of exploiting them. Her blade sought my front leg when I darted forwards for a strike over her shield, but I was able to check the stab with my greave. I backed away again and we exchanged a few more strikes of that nature. Back and forth. Probing. Uncertain. It was a boring way to fight, and I felt impatience nipping at the edges of my mind. She was utterly unexceptional, but I knew that if this continued for too much longer, I would make a mistake first. Her muscles were defined and strong, her jaw set firmly and without a hint of doubt on her face. Her entire figure spoke to a discipline that I lacked, and I knew that in a fight of attrition, as long as our attributes were evenly matched, I would lose. Luckily, we weren¡¯t just two fighters with different weapons and fighting styles. We were two warriors with entirely different builds, and entirely different skills. Skirmisher of Antiquity had fed me the knowledge of ancient spear-arts, but she no doubt had her own weapon skill. Jorge and Vera, and even Nathlan bless him, had trained and sparred with me for days on end, sharing their own knowledge and skills. But she had also trained with others, presumably an entire clan. I couldn¡¯t rely on beating her with superior skill at arms, or with superior training. I had to therefore turn to another strength. I had to make this unpredictable. Guerrilla Warfare wasn¡¯t so useful here; setting traps and taking advantage of the terrain was not possible in an open arena, governed by rules. I¡¯d forfeit the match if I stepped through the waterfall after all, and without the ability to break line of sight, I doubted I could really surprise her. Luckily, I had other skills to fall back on. I let my stone-sense sink into the ground, and circled around her, just out of stabbing range. I sent a few more flicks with my spear, aiming to remind her of my range and to keep her hesitant. Then I sent a rush of mana through my soul into the constellation of Faultline. I felt the rock beneath her feet and willed it to crack. Lunging forwards at the same time, I hoped that my sudden attack would make her back-peddle and trip over the new feature. Unfortunately, she had her own skills. It was a subtle aura skill I hadn¡¯t noticed yet, as it had no direct effect on me or herself. It did affect the environment around her though. I was able to sense the stone beneath us, but as I sent my intent into the floor, it abruptly cut off in a sphere around her, a few meters in diameter. Where she moved, I could not influence the rock. I guessed it would probably hold true of all elements to a rudimentary degree. Even had I control of other elements, I would not be able to suffocate her by withdrawing air from around her mouth and nose, or blind her with wind to whip her hair into her eyes, or draw moisture from the ground and cover her head. As the ideas swirled around me, I realised how prone I was to a sudden death from a skilled classer. I aborted my charge, slipping past a lightning-quick stab of her gladius, and spinning to face her once more on the other side. So much for that plan. The momentary realisation of all the ways I could have killed her had I the skills, or all the ways she could likewise kill me, was a slap in the face. I was thinking too narrowly. Much of my recent training time with the others was focused on weapons skills and fighting directly. Jorge had always championed the philosophy that the most effective way of killing an enemy would be to use your weapon. Skills were powerful, but your weapon was your greatest ally in combat. Didn¡¯t much feel that way right now, but alas. I had spent long hours drilling forms and sparring, but equally I had spent many days working on my new skill. Faultline wasn¡¯t just a way to trip my opponents. I was only using it mostly like that because I lacked the power for greater feats, and the control for more accurate ones. Sure, I couldn¡¯t send a rock hurtling at the speed of sound at my enemy¡¯s face with mana alone, but I could just throw one myself. I might not be able to grip my enemy¡¯s legs in the ground, but I could litter the battlefield with craters and divots to make their footing less even. I began to back away, focusing my will and marshalling my mana before transforming the environment. Cracks formed in the rock all around ¨C Mountain-Born kept me steady despite the now varied footing ¨C and the dais split as first dozens and soon hundreds of small fissures appeared in the rock. They weren¡¯t deep, but even a crevice half a foot deep could be treacherous. My opponent seemed perplexed, staying crouched in place and simply watching as I scuttled around the arena, cracking the stone in varied patterns. I looked up to see if the Holder of the circle would protest, but I received no sanctions, just a simple nod at my clear questioning posture. So, I continued. After the first dozen heartbeats, my opponent started to move. She tentatively stepped forwards, extending her sphere of nullification as she moved but the ground didn¡¯t reform to its previous state. She was wary of an ambush, but my ambush had not yet been sprung. Or, more accurately, I hadn¡¯t figured out what it would even be yet. First step was to transform the battlefield into something a little more chaotic, and that¡¯s what I had worked on. I pranced back from her advance, staying out of reach and further altering the terrain around us. She clearly decided that enough was enough though, as she raised her sword to the heavens and shouted. A bolt of brilliant lightning crashed down from on high, hitting the rock where I¡¯d been standing only a moment before. Branching scorch marks stood out against the white marble surface of the floor, like hands grasping out in all directions. There were small chips and flecks of stone left in the tiny crater where the bolt had impacted as well. Luckily, I knew to get the fuck out of the way when someone gestures dramatically and does something unexpected, and so I was unhurt. I doubted she did it on purpose, but I knew from experience that impressive skills like that involved lots of mana and an intense focus of will to control ¨C both of those things were easier to carry out when you made a big deal about them. Just as lifting a heavy boulder was harder when you had to keep silent, so too was activating powerful abilities without an obvious tell. Didn¡¯t make the effect any less awesome to behold though. I couldn¡¯t yet pierce her defences, and she could call down lightning on my head. Great. I was at least forcing her to use some skills though. I grabbed a small sliver of marble from the floor where Faultline¡¯s passing had resulted in a small island of rock disconnected from either of the cracks running both sides of it, and hurled it at her. She ducked her head behind her shield on instinct, and we both heard the rather anticlimactic patter of tiny stone on metal. As she looked back around the shield though, my spear was hurtling at her head. She was forced to sway to the side again to avoid it, and it went clattering off the floor and over the side of the raised dais, rolling down the descending wall as I moved backwards. I had to backtrack fast, as she took the opportunity to rush me, fast stabbing attacks of her sword aiming for exposed parts of my thighs and forearms. I kept my cool, despite the uneven surface, and used my heavy bronze bracer to deflect one stab, raising my lead foot to avoid another and hopping backwards to avoid the third strike. She clearly thought I was in trouble without my weapon, and took the opportunity to harry me with blows, taking care to interpose herself between me and where my weapon had landed. I continued to parry with my shield and armour while moving through the jumbled mess of raised and cratered stone. Every opportunity I got - which was fewer than I¡¯d like since she was a solid fighter ¨C I took to stamp on the odd thin canyons of rock I¡¯d formed with my Faultline skill, kicking over any that looked small enough and leaving a trail of thin shards of marble in my wake. We were both beginning to tire by now, having been fighting for a while. Nowhere near exhaustion mind, but her thrusts were a little less crisp, the footwork from both of us a hair sloppier. We would be able to trade blows for another half a bell, but each one would be weaker and slower than the last. I wasn¡¯t trading many blows myself, having no spear to hand. I had my primal dagger at my belt but knew it would be near useless at this range. I¡¯d need to get past her shield before I could make use of the weapon, and that wasn¡¯t something I could achieve yet without becoming full of sword-shaped holes. But things were looking better than before. I decided to try another bit of subterfuge, and leapt forwards at her, raising my free hand in the air and bellowing an indistinct war-cry. As I did so, I activated Indomitable Prey, and I saw her flinch back behind her shield. The combination of the big gesture and shout, and the intense change in atmosphere as my powerful aura skill activated, had convinced her that I was going for a big finishing skill. My raised arm would no doubt be filled with holy light as I descended upon her with the force of a thousand meteors¡­or something. I didn¡¯t know what she was expecting, but neither did she, and that was the point. Her uncertainty made her cautious, and she abandoned the opportunity to thrust at an open target in favour of sheltering behind her no doubt skill-reinforced shield to survive the incoming attack. The reality of the situation was that I thudded into the front of her shield with only the momentum of my weight and my strength. I was exactly as strong as her thanks to Jorge¡¯s stupid test, but I lacked the skills she clearly had that helped turn her into an unshakable bulwark behind her shield. She didn¡¯t so much as stumble, but my round shield was pressed against her larger one, both of us shoulder to shoulder with only two sheets of metal separating us. I could hear her heavy breathing, and while I couldn¡¯t affect the stone around us for a few metres, my stone-sense still worked. I felt her weight shift slightly, and knew a stab was coming. Praying my gamble would pay off, I sent a burst of mana down the artifact link with my shield and willed one of the segments to retreat into itself. Her blade shot out past her shield and towards my chest like a charging bull, swift and deadly, but I was ready. I twisted aside, turning the piercing thrust into a simple slice along the skin. As I did so, I twisted my wrist to spin the shield, catching the blade in the open segment of the shield and twirling it further. I heard her grunt as her sword was twisted from her grip, and she elected to drop it rather than have her wrist snapped to maintain her grip. The move had cost me though, as I was now unbalanced compared to her steady stance, so even as I flung my shield aside, her blade still trapped in its grip and clattering to the floor at the edge of the dais, her foot came stamping down on mine. I hissed in pain, which turned into a gasp as she drove her whole body forwards, knocking me off balance and onto my back. She followed me to the floor, a great mass of muscle and steel baring down upon me like a falling tower. I managed to roll aside, leaping to my feet and backing away furiously. She had regained her feet almost at the same time I had and sprinted towards her blade. I stamped down, separating another thin, irregularly shaped shard of rock from the broken floor and raising it above my shoulder. I saw her frantically scrabbling on the ground behind her with one hand while keeping her gaze locked on mine. She couldn¡¯t spare a moment to glance back to find the sword, which I could see resting only a few feet from her arm, as I would skewer her the moment she did. Each moment that passed brought her closer to her blade and back to the status quo that favoured her. Especially with my shield now out of reach. Luckily, I had spent time scattering the battlefield with small spikes of stone. I quickly scooped up a couple more of the thin spikes and started throwing them overhand at her. My right was a blur of motion as I launched spear after spear of rock towards the prone form on the floor. A couple missed entirely which was rather embarrassing, but each contained enough momentum that she had to take the threat seriously. I was circling her as this went on, trying to find the right angle for my impromptu projectiles, when a better idea came to me. Instead of aiming for any exposed part of her body ¨C already a slim target given the size of her shield, I instead took a heartbeat longer and aimed at her sword. I knew she would be able to block this shot and seeing me take longer to aim she¡¯d know it was a more critical shot for me and hence take it more seriously. So, to divert her attention, I hefted another shard of rock in my left arm and slung it underarm at her shield, clenching my face up in concentration and trying to make it look as if I had imbued a skill into it to give it extra power. At the same moment, I threw the last shard of rock in my right hand at her sword where it lay on the ground by my discarded shield. Two projectiles rushed through the air towards her, one possibly imbued with a powerful skill and on track to penetrate right through her chest. The other simply made of rock, unenhanced and brittle, and on track to miss her by a good foot or two. It was an easy choice to make, and she slid her shield in front of the first one, where it broke apart into harmless pieces with a crash. That sound was echoed though by stone on metal, as her sword was hit by my second rock and sent spinning off the edge of the raised dais we fought on. She had clearly heard the noise and knew what it meant but didn¡¯t have time to turn and confirm before I had launched myself at her, flying through the air like a vengeful squirrel. I slammed into her shield and we both rolled about on the floor, grappling for a dominant position. She had the weight advantage with her large shield and heavier armour, and our strength attributes were roughly equal. The crucial difference was that I had two hands free, while one of hers was wrapped around a shield handle. I managed to slip around her back and take a mount position, raining blow after heavy blow down over her head, covered as it was by one arm and her shield. She kept trying to interpose the shield between us, to push me away with it and regain her distance from me, but I had wrapped my legs around her waist and held on even as I continued to punch at her. Eventually I managed to pry her shield arm out to the side, and while I received a heavy punch to the side of the head for my trouble, I now had her spread out below me, only one arm free to defend herself. A few more punches exchanged by both of us, and then my knife was in my hand, its ancient and faintly serrated edge pressed against her throat. I felt her muscles strain beneath me for a moment before she relaxed slightly, and I looked into her golden eyes for long moments before she spoke. ¡°I yield.¡± Her voice was higher than I¡¯d expected given her size, but I had no time to consider my surprise. I quickly disengaged and stood, reaching a hand down to help her to her feet before Finanda appeared by our sides. She nodded to me briefly, slipping past and whispering as she did so, ¡°Thank you for your restraint. It would have been difficult to intervene without hurting one of you.¡± She stood in the centre of the arena and gestured sharply once more, signalling the end of the fight and no doubt communicating with someone up above to confirm the outcome. I went to collect my weapons, as did my opponent, and we shared a warrior¡¯s hand shake before exiting the arena once more. I smiled grimly to myself as I passed through the waterfall once more. Once is a fluke. Twice is a pattern. Chapter 60 - The Third Fight In no surprise to me, Nathlan had won his second match as well. In classic understated Nathlan fashion, he told me it was a hard-fought battle and his opponent was ¡®of respectable skill¡¯ ¨C despite the fact he¡¯d won in such a short span of time. The way he seemed to float around the arena was impressive by itself, but I was more impressed given that I knew his attributes were far below what his opponents could boast. I was being reined in by Jorge¡¯s intervention to the level of my opponents, but Nathlan had no such restriction. The problem for him was that he was simply under-levelled. He was pushing level 27 now and had a powerful combat class, but these clansmen were no slouches. They were all in possession of a powerful support class themselves, and all at or near the level 45 cap of the 1st tier. That meant they all likely had up to 105 attributes to distribute, in comparison to Nathlan¡¯s 75. Where I was struggling against their greater skill and experience though, Nathlan was far beyond them. He had trained with the sword since a boy, and despite what I may have been tempted to think given his complete lack of talent when it came to most practical matters ¨C tracking, general survival etc. ¨C he was incredibly proficient with the weapon. Add to that Jorge and Vera¡¯s lessons, and the man was practically a savant at this point. He was slower and less agile than the lithe woman he fought in his second match, but he seemed to slip past her strikes and anticipate where she would be, such that it looked to all the world as if she was falling into his counters. He barely broke a sweat, and I had to admit that looking at him there, I wasn¡¯t sure if I would beat him myself, despite the massive gulf in physicality between us currently. I did suspect he would start to struggle against more aggressive fighters in the later rounds though. Neither of us had really faced the best the clans had to offer so far. We chatted idly in the waiting room, watching the competition as they warmed up, cooled down or just commiserated and celebrated with one another. There were clearly factions present within the marshalling quarters, but it wasn¡¯t split so cleanly down clan lines as I had suspected. Clearly, the festival was also intended to bring the clans together and forge new bonds, not simply prove who had the better warriors. It wasn¡¯t long until my third fight was called, and I wearily climbed to my feet. I was escorted back through the large room, swaying between half-dressed fighters when the escort told me who my next fight was against, and I saw some faces whip around to stare. A man to my right winced and gave me a sympathetic smile, shrugging as if to say ¡®sorry mate, enjoy getting beaten¡¯. That was my interpretation anyway. Sandent Varselli of Yellow-Peak was apparently a name that inspired worry in her competitors. Good to know. I continued with my now customary walk-out through the geyser, and the crowd looked to be roaring enthusiastically as I took the stage, not that I could hear them over the thundering water. Evidently, they thought my fights so far had been entertaining. Perhaps they had a pool running on who would be first to beat the lowlander. Given the looks I¡¯d received in the antechamber moments prior, I assumed most of the money would be betting against me on this fight, assuming the crowd knew the match ups ahead of time anyway. I was preparing myself to meet a monster, psyching myself up to deal with ungodly strength or impossible skill at arms. Hence my confusion when a young girl, no more than 15 winters by my best guess, slipped through the wall of water and onto the dais. It was an impressive entrance certainly. The cascade above her just froze in place for a moment, hanging suspended in a single sheet of swirling ice, before crashing to the ground a moment after she had slipped through. But despite her impressive command of the elemental, seeing a young girl barely into her teenage years stalk across the fighting ring towards you was a strange experience. I shot a brief glance towards Finanda, checking that I was actually expected to punch, kick, and otherwise commit myself to heavy violence against such a young person, and received an impassive look in response. Okay then. I wasn¡¯t stupid, and based on the looks I¡¯d received earlier and her age, I could assume Sandent was actually a very dangerous competitor. I wouldn¡¯t underestimate her like some arrogant young master, but it still felt weird to contemplate punching a child in the face. But when you got a job to do¡­
Turns out I needn¡¯t have worried about hurting a child, because I couldn¡¯t even get close. Just like my first match where I¡¯d embarrassed the fancy lad with his glaive, Sandent thoroughly embarrassed me. I wasn¡¯t actually that upset about it afterwards, since she was clearly levels above me. Not in a system enforced way ¨C she was just at the peak of the 1st tier, after all ¨C but in terms of her skill. I wasn¡¯t sure about her skill with a weapon, because I never got close enough to see if she could use the woven rope in her off hand and short spear in her right. Instead, she froze the entire dais below me the moment the fight commenced, and then sent thick icicles whirling through the air towards me in an instant. That wasn¡¯t enough to stop me, although it did a hell of a job slowing me down. The real issues came once I started trying to close the distance, as she reached out to the water cascading down all around the arena and pulled it towards herself. I never got to see what she was actually planning on doing with it, because upon seeing her use such a powerful skill I immediately threw my spear at her chest, hoping to end things with a lucky strike. She effortlessly dodged, and as a great swirling mass of churning ice spun above her head in an ever-growing whirlpool, Finanda stepped in and ended the match. The young girl released the skill, but not before delicately threading the ice back into the waterfall all around and removing it from the surface of the dais too. Moments later, we were standing across from one another, with Finanda between us and signalling to the judges high above. The Holder caught my eye as she turned back. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I do not believe you could have withstood that last attack, and I have seen her cast it many times in the past. If you believe you have a skill of sufficient power that you have kept close to your chest until now, I would be happy to observe it after you leave the arena, and if you are correct, I will amend my intervention and declare a rematch.¡± Rather than be offended at her assumption, I just laughed. ¡°Nope. She¡¯s way out of my league by the looks of it. The speed she brought that together¡­¡± Finanda ushered me out of the arena, giving me a final parting comment. ¡°Yes. But she is also a hard counter to your abilities, from what I have seen. There are others of similar power in this tournament that you may do better against. Do not count yourself out just yet.¡±
Whether or not I would count myself out was kind of irrelevant at this point though, since it was a single elimination bracket as far as I had understood. Striding through the open cave at the back of the arena, I searched for Nathlan¡¯s gangly form in the jungle of people.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He stood alone at one edge, moving through forms slowly with his blade sheathed, clearly aware of the many moving people just meters away. I wandered over, making sure to move into his way just a little so he¡¯d have to adjust his practice. ¡°Gods Lamb, were you always so clumsy? Did you get dropped on your head as a babe?¡± he asked, frustration clear in his tone. ¡°I¡¯m not sure mate, I can¡¯t remember.¡± My answer shut him down, and he huffed quietly. ¡°You understand that you can¡¯t just use that as a shield all the time?¡± He said, and I just grinned at him in response. ¡°Anyway, how did you get on? I assume a rousing success from your lack of bleeding?¡± He asked. I shrugged my heavy scale vest off and hung it up on the nearest rack as I explained the fight and my loss to him. He was a good listener, and despite my acceptance of the loss, it was still nice to talk about the disappointment to someone who understood. We were discussing his approach to his next bout when an older man came to escort him out to the arena once more. He eyed me over for a few moments before dismissing me and turning towards Nathlan. ¡°Come. Follow.¡± His voice was gruff and his manner brief, but Nathlan rose without complaint and followed along dutifully. He gave me a final nod, and I watched him once again don the mantle of proud warrior over his true identity as just a lanky scholar, infinitely curious about the world.
The Nathlan that I saw next was neither proud nor curious. I was alerted by the raised voices and commotion in the next room and glanced through the open doorway to see a group of people milling around uncertainly. There was an excitedness to the small crowd of fighters. I turned away before catching a glimpse of a limp arm hanging off the side of a stretcher, blood dripping to the floor as the group rushed through the antechamber. Curiosity stirred, I looked again, and this time saw the scabbard of a familiar blade held loosely in the fist of a man I didn¡¯t recognise. Nathlan¡¯s blade. My blood surged in my temple as I rose to my feet. People were jostling around to get a good view, but they parted before my shoves and elbows. I breached the moving circle around the stretcher and gripped the arm of the man holding my friend¡¯s sword in a vice of flesh. He jerked and turned angrily, raising a fist in threat, but I was no longer paying attention. My grip had loosened as soon as I saw the man lying on the stretcher, being carried through the room. Nathlan was insensate to the world, blood bubbling from destroyed lips and one leg bent inwards at the knee. The man I had accosted softened his stance when he saw my face and pulled me to the side as Nathlan was whisked away. I tried to resist but he slapped me lightly and spoke. ¡°Hey. Hey! You with me?¡± The words drifted over my head as I watched Nathlan¡¯s head loll as the stretcher turned a corner, the flesh of his face pulped and oozing crimson. It was only as I saw the stretcher disappear into the darkness of the tunnel that my eyes refocused on the man speaking directly into my face. ¡°Friend of yours?¡± The man asked, watching me intently, as one does a skittish animal. At my nod, he proceeded. ¡°Good. Nasty business but they¡¯re taking him to the healers now. He will make a full recovery swiftly, on my honour.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± My voice was low, but the question was clear even if the words were not. ¡°What do you think? He fought in The Circle! That sort of beating isn¡¯t standard, but it¡¯s not rare either. Did you not see the fight?¡± There was a note of disappointment in the man¡¯s voice with his last question. ¡°I was still stretching out after my last fight,¡± I replied mechanically, and he nodded at that, realisation dawning. ¡°Ah you¡¯re a fellow competitor? Sorry, I¡¯d assumed you came from above after. Anyhow, he fought well but got caught at the end. Nothing particularly strange about it really¡± he said cheerfully. I felt anger build within me, and forcefully tamped it down. This was an expected result of fighting. I would do the same to others without remorse, and as long as everyone was healed and played within the rules, there were no real problems. Good even, for Nathlan to get some real combat experience. ¡°Hard to see, is all¡± I muttered, and received a look of sympathy from the big man. ¡°Understandable, friend.¡± He reached out a hand to shake, and I grasped it absently. ¡°Name¡¯s Jax. Listen, your friend will be up in no time. A couple of weeks tops for the leg, but I suspect he¡¯ll be up and awake in a few bells.¡± ¡°Weeks!?¡± I demanded. His reassuring tone had not had the intended effect, as my outburst no doubt made clear. He raised his hands in a calming gesture. ¡°Yes, but that¡¯s not surprising. His knee was shattered, bent backwards from what I could see. Was a controversial strike, truth be told, but such is the way of things, right?¡± Again, my voice was low, a hard-edge bleeding into it. ¡°What do you mean, controversial?¡± Jax looked a little concerned, but I saw the exact moment his desire to gossip overcame his concern for spreading rumours. He leaned forwards. ¡°You see, it was the final blow. Big woman with a big axe ¨C nothing special, but crazy strong ¨C she comes in with a final blow aiming to take his head right off. Obviously, the Holder steps in and stops the strike, but the Carhagg stomps on his knee at the same time. Holder can¡¯t stop both, and a head is a lot more vulnerable than a knee. Nasty business, as I said.¡± I felt my neck itch, the desire to break something bubbling up within me at the words. ¡°You saw this?¡± He nodded. ¡°Yeah, I was in the stands. I lost a few rounds back and thought I¡¯d at least get a show out of the whole thing if I can¡¯t place highly. I¡¯m not sure it was on purpose, but I wouldn¡¯t be surprised. He gave her a hell of a fight. Seemed to be wining too till she stepped it up a gear.¡± He began to lose enthusiasm as I failed to react and slapped me on the shoulder. ¡°Anyhow, I¡¯m sure your friend will be fine. See you around.¡± He backed away, and I didn¡¯t bother to give him my name. He hadn¡¯t asked anyway. Was my anger that obvious? I couldn¡¯t find it within me to care too much though. Someone had hurt Nathlan, and needlessly form the sound of it. In retaliation for a hard fight, even more likely. I returned to my seat in the other room, stewing. Deep breaths came and went, and it felt like an eternity later when I had finally centred myself. Nathlan had fought and lost. He was injured, but not severely. No doubt Jorge and Vera would have the resources to get him fixed quicker than expected, and it would be a good lesson for the scholar. Not much I could do about it at this point. I wasn¡¯t going to attack a fighter outside of the tournament for a slightly dirty blow. I¡¯d talk to Jorge and Vera, see if they saw and knew what had happened. I could leave any follow up to them as well. Doubtless they¡¯d do a better job than I would. Slapping my knee, I rose and turned towards the long tunnel leading to the surface. Just as I did, the brisk man from earlier appeared, striding into view and giving me a terse once over. ¡°You fight again?¡± He asked. ¡°I¡¯ve lost once already,¡± I replied uncertainly, and the man scoffed. ¡°Loser¡¯s bracket¡± he said, as if that meant anything. ¡°And that means what exactly?¡± I asked, too weary to bother with niceties in the face of this man¡¯s rudeness. He rolled his eyes and gestured angrily at me. ¡°You lost. You enter loser¡¯s bracket. You fight again. Yes?¡± It was strange. I had a god-given ability to comprehend seemingly all languages, and yet this man still talked in broken sentences. It wasn¡¯t a translation issue, so he really must have just been a fan of brevity. ¡°Does everyone who loses enter this ¡®loser¡¯s bracket¡¯?¡± ¡°No. You must beat first two rounds¡± he replied, again somehow making me feel as if I was the idiot for not understanding this system that nobody had explained and whose rules were written nowhere. Although, that was coming from the man who hadn¡¯t figured out how to enter the arena properly so take it with a pinch of salt, I guess. ¡°Fine. Yes. Who am I facing?¡± I asked, keen to get my mind off Nathlan. There was nothing I could do to help, and Vera and Jorge would be there for him when he woke. The man simply stared at me for a few long moments, and I thought he would simply refuse to answer. Wouldn¡¯t be a surprise considering his attitude thus far. Instead, he spoke carefully. ¡°The one who hurt your friend.¡± My eyes snapped up from where they had drifted down to examine the elegant lining of his cloak. Strange to see such fine clothes worn by an escort. ¡°What?¡± I asked, biting off the word. ¡°The woman who hurt your friend has lost to Sandent Varselli. She will enter the loser¡¯s bracket and face you as her first opponent. We wish to see her lose.¡± I floundered, surprised by the sudden change in both attitude and diction. ¡°Why? And who is ¡®we¡¯?¡± He shook his head lightly though. ¡°Your friend was crippled for no reason. It was a calculated move, designed to take out a possible competitor from the loser¡¯s bracket. No doubt also an emotional reaction to having to cheat to win so early in the tournament. Will you fight her?¡± ¡°What do you mean cheat? Are you saying that she broke his knee intentionally?¡± My voice rose with my last question, and I took a step forwards towards the tall man. He was unmoved, examining me with his too-sharp gaze. ¡°Will you fight her?¡± he asked again. We stared at one another as my breath echoed in my ears. Heavy. Someone had hurt my friend, and I was being given a chance to make them pay for it. What else did I need to know? ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll fight her.¡± Chapter 61 - The Sting of Loss Fighting isn¡¯t an art. That¡¯s what these fancy gladiators from Saarkand don¡¯t understand. They come over to our shores thinking they will be the next big thing in the arenas of Salazar ¡®cus they made a name for themselves already in a two-bit fighting ring entertaining nobles in the city states of Finderan or Nikea. It¡¯s not the same lads, I¡¯m telling you. They look good with their fancy armour and their little tridents and nets, but it¡¯s a fucking joke, honest! They¡¯ve never smelt blood and shit smeared across a deck. Never fought in storm-wracked seas or boarded a vessel filled with reavers out for their blood. They¡¯re peacocks! Pretty little birds for the rich to laugh at and coo over. If you¡¯re ever worried about your opponent¡¯s skill, just ask yourself this; would you fuck ¡®em? If they¡¯re pretty, then they can¡¯t fight. Simple. You ever met a Salazan arena champion you¡¯d fancy? Nah didn¡¯t think so. Point made. Come on then lads, go out there and embarrass some pretty little birds. - Excerpt from a speech by Pirate Lord DreadFlame to his team of fighters before the legendary defeat of the Salazar pirates to the gladiators of Saarkand.
*Vera* Nathlan fought hard, but there was little to be done in the face of overwhelming power. He used his impeccable footwork and long reach to stay in the fight for as long as possible, but the end came all the same. An aborted slash with the great axe from the powerful woman turned seamlessly into a strike with the haft of the weapon that broke through Nathlan¡¯s guard. It was a nasty blow, mashing his lips and causing blood to spray to the side. Vera tensed, but knew it would do the boy some good to face defeat in a controlled environment. She hadn¡¯t meant to get so protective of him, had initially been sceptical even, given her history and Nathlan¡¯s past. But he had won her over quickly. To walk away from what he did showed a spine and diamond-hard moral framework that most she had met had lacked. Especially those from similar positions. He stumbled back, and though his sword still remained between himself and his opponent, the large woman was fast enough to close the distance before he could recover. A wide swing of the black-hafted axe finished the fight, but Vera knew the Holder would do their job and so wasn¡¯t initially concerned. She had worked hard for years at controlling the roiling volcano of rage bubbling within her chest at every waking moment. While she slept too. It was only those long years of diligent practice that had kept the beautiful cave they inhabited from bursting into flames as she watched Nathlan¡¯s opponent stomp his knee backwards even as the Holder intervened. The armrest splintered beneath her hand, but no aura leaked out into the world, and nobody was looking her way to see the fire blazing hot in her eyes. They were all watching the scene below unfold, as Nathlan fell, and the Holder intervened to prevent his death. Everyone in the room was over their 2nd tier, and all could see plain as day that his opponent had had no intention of pulling her strike. Sadrianna called in outrage, and her parents began a rapid-fire conversation with her. Jorge turned to catch her eye and flipped her a bottle of something while speaking. ¡°Go and see him, give this to the healer attending.¡± He didn¡¯t need to say more. She stood and moved towards the tunnel at the back of the cave, stepping aside adroitly to avoid a finely dressed warrior entering. The man was broad in the shoulder and wearing ornate armour made from overlapping plates of carved bark. He smirked at her as he brushed past, and if she hadn¡¯t been in such a hurry she would have made him rue his arrogance. But she was. Nathlan would be in a healer¡¯s tent soon, and she would not have him wake alone.
*Sadrianna* ¡°I agree it was unnecessary, but sometimes young fighters struggle to control their emotions in the circle. This is why we do this ¨C to give them a chance to learn where the consequences are not so deadly.¡± Sadrianna scoffed at her father¡¯s words. ¡°It was a cheap shot, and you know it. That¡¯s Hastor¡¯s daughter, right? Apples and trees¡± she replied, turning to see the newcomer enter the room. ¡°Speak of the devil¡± muttered her mother quietly, as Hastor himself swaggered into the room, looking immensely pleased with himself. In a louder voice that carried across the cave, she stood and spoke to the armoured man. ¡°Welcome Hastor. Congratulations on your daughter¡¯s recent victory. To what do we owe the honour?¡± Sadrianna knew her mother wasn¡¯t necessarily one for politicking, but as a member of the Sworn Triarchy, she had a responsibility to the tribes as a whole. As such, she had learned a sliver of the craft of pretending not to hate those she wanted to kill. It seemed to take considerable effort for her mother to apply that craft at that moment. A tightness in the eyes, the smile a fraction too broad, with just a few too many teeth to be entirely friendly. Nonetheless, Hastor seemed not to notice, grinning with bravado and approaching for a firm handshake. There was idle chatter for a few moments, with both her parents talking kindly to the snake of a man who still retained enough personal power to warrant politeness, despite his reputation following his wife¡¯s untimely death. Rumours. Detailed, and likely true rumours, but unsubstantiated rumours, nonetheless. It was hard to listen to, and she turned her attention instead to Jorge. The older man sat quietly, dismissed by Hastor as soon as he was introduced, and seemed content to avoid the attention. Her parents likely understood the reasoning and helped along with diverting questions whenever the big man looked over at Jorge. She saw no tension in the older man¡¯s posture. Indeed, he seemed serene as a still lake, no emotion marring the surface of his lined face. She wondered if seeing one of his disciples beaten to bloody unconsciousness truly stirred no anger, or whether he just hid it well. The next two fights were a rote affair. Strong, if uncreative, warriors matched against similar opponents, leading to boring fights. And then Sandent Varselli took the stage opposite Jacyntha of clan Grey-Rock, and things became interesting once more. Even Sadrianna had to admit to being impressed when the young woman summoned ice from the flowing water all around her before sending a hundred flying shards at her opponent. Jacyntha seemed to just bull her way through, numerous cuts opening along her arms, legs and face, though her heavy chainmail shirt protected her torso from the storm of projectiles. Sadrianna did suspect a defensive skill in use though, as there was a slight sheen of grey sheathing her limbs as she burst forth through the hailstorm ¨C a legacy of clan Grey-Rock if she had to guess.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Perhaps that was the correct approach though, because it allowed her to close in enough to force the young mage to cut off her weave of elementalism and defend herself physically. A rope dart flickered out, fast as a viper and accurate as one too, given the way Jacyntha winced even as she ducked aside. Another line of blood added to the others on the dais, and the young woman backed off. So the fight continued for many breaths; Sandent would begin some great working of magic and Jacyntha would push through it with speed and toughness alone, taking minor wounds all the while, before attempting vainly to hurt the slight girl. It seemed a strategy that would favour the mage, given that she was sustaining no injuries while the bigger woman was being bled steadily, but spirit-drain was a significant concern for someone who relied on big, powerful skills. Sandent was a genius by all accounts though ¨C by no means the most obviously powerful or combat focused of her generation, but an unsurpassed talent in the weaving together of magic, and so she was unlikely to experience an exhaustion of life-essence from using a few skills in a short battle. High-level skills and excellent essence control would result in very efficient skill use, and Jacyntha was paying a cost for each approach, be it in blood or essence herself, as she kept flaring her defensive skill to weather the proverbial storm. Hastor paced in the background, muttering to himself as the fight progressed, his mood growing darker as it became more and more clear that Sandent was winning the fight. Something changed after the waif of a girl landed an unexpectedly heavy blow with the braided-rope she wielded in her off-hand. It whipped out, somehow extending in her hand to whirl through the cascading water outside the arena. When it emerged from its arc, it was sheathed in frozen water, shaped like a maul made of solid ice. The magical weapon smashed into Jacyntha, who had barely managed to interpose the haft of her great-axe between herself and the incoming weapon, and she was sent flying across the dais, shards of ice scattering in every direction. Sadrianna had thought that would be the end of it, and Hastor had cursed loudly then, but his daughter rose swiftly from her crumpled heap. Her shoulder appeared dislocated, and Sadrianna winced as she imagined the crack! as the woman slammed it back into place with her other arm. A ghostly green light began to waft from the scars that marred her limbs and neck, and she seemed to swell on that dais, somehow taking up more space than before despite her stature remaining unchanged. Sandent was clearly aware of the change, whether or not she understood the source, because she frantically began to weave more ice from the cascading water that surrounded them. Jacyntha crossed the space in moments, axe leading the way and determined to carve a piece from the younger girl. Sadrianna was shocked by the scale of the transformation. It was like watching two different fighters; Jacyntha had previously been a relatively powerful, if uncreative fighter, who possessed middling skill with a weapon and a sharp tactical mind. Now she was a very powerful fighter, with little in the way of strategy or tactics, and no skills to speak of. She no longer even bothered with the defensive skill as she rushed in, and Sadrianna was shocked to see blood splashing in strings from her arms and face as she dashed through a storm of icicles with little thought. Her sweeping cuts with the axe missed Sandent by only inches each time, and it was surprising to see the genius pushed so hard that she had to rely on physical skill rather than magical might to evade her opponent. How had Jacyntha managed to pressure her so quickly? She was moving faster than should be possible, as if a sudden boost to her attributes far beyond any enhancement skill Sadrianna had heard of in the 1st tier. ¡°That¡¯s it, girl! Show them the might of Grey-Rock!¡± Hastor was practically screaming, pacing interrupted to watch with rapt attention as his daughter herded Sandent into a corner of the circular dais, difficult as that feat was. It was a tactic that had served the large woman well in her previous fights, but unfortunately for her, the edge of the dais brought her opponent closer to the frothing water that smashed relentlessly into the rock all around the arena. Sandent Varselli was not an enemy you wanted near into a large body of water. The young girl¡¯s mouth moved from its firm line for the first time in the fight as she spoke. Sadrianna couldn¡¯t begin to guess at what she said, but it was likely a chant of sorts to help shape her magic into a particularly complex form. Moments later, Jacyntha¡¯s legs froze, captured by a thick shroud of impenetrable ice from the waist down. She tried to wrench herself free with her no doubt impressive strength, but had no luck. She brought her great-axe in an attempt to crack the encompassing wall of frozen water around her legs, but Sandent¡¯s rope dart was already winding around her neck, the bladed tip licking out and then back in to rest against her throat. A single yank by the young girl would spell the end of Jacyntha, with or without a defensive shroud such as the Grey-Rock inheritance that she¡¯d demonstrated earlier. The Holder leapt in quickly, dispelling the ice with a casual flick of her wrist. Sandent retracted the rope-dart with a flurry, and Finanda grabbed the bigger woman by the arm as she seemed set to charge after Sandent even now. It was a startling display, a key reminder that while the young peodigy may be known as a mage, she hadn¡¯t neglected her weapon¡¯s training and shouldn¡¯t be thought of as a 1-dimensional problem to solve. Jacyntha had forgotten that at the end, and had paid the price for it. Still though, it was a good showing for the Grey-Rock barbarian, no matter how Hastor muttered venomously under his breath at the loss. Sandent Varselli would proceed, and Jacyntha would fight for the position of 2nd. It meant she would be meeting Lamb on the arena floor at some point, and Sadrianna wasn¡¯t feeling confident about the lowlander¡¯s chances.
*Lamb* Something was different this time. I could feel it. The crowd was probably smaller, although I still couldn¡¯t hear them over the roar of the waterfall surrounding us. Despite the lack of volume though, there was a feeling in the air when large groups of people were present, and I was starting to get a sense for it. Perhaps it was simply my sense for sources of mana nearby that I mistook for some human instinct, but either way, I sensed that fewer people were present for this fight. Or perhaps it was because I had heard of the outcome of her last fight? My opponent had nearly killed the young prodigy, and only lost because the Holder had trusted in the Ice Flower¡¯s skill to deflect a lethal blow. Knowing I was facing someone skilled enough to nearly defeat the girl that had mopped the floor with me not two bells prior was surely enough to give one some butterflies. But it wasn¡¯t nerves that had my skin prickling. My opponent didn¡¯t look nervous either. She was raging. I could see even from here, a dozen meters across from her, the fire burning in her eyes. Her brows were heavy, a frown marking her otherwise beautiful features in what seemed to be a familiar expression. Hulking shoulders - knotted with muscle and criss-crossed with ritualised scarification - heaved as she drew in shuddering breaths. Her hair was combed back so tightly that it stretched the skin of her forehead, and her knuckles were white from where they gripped the haft of her massive great axe. I thought of Vera, and it seemed an apt comparison. Strange then that my attributes seemed limited. Strength was down, endurance down, agility and cognition and perception mostly normal. How had this woman given Sandent such a tough fight? From the version of events I¡¯d heard, it was very much a battle between skill and strength, with skill coming out on top. Yet my attributes were limited to just above what they had been when facing Sandent Varselli. It didn¡¯t make sense to my mind. And perhaps that was the reason for my unease. My body was screaming in silence. Sweat wicked my palms and the short stubble on half my scalp prickled in the mist from the cascading water nearby. ¡°In the interest of allowing both of you to showcase your abilities, I will be allowing minor wounds to stack uncontested. Our healers can sort out most minor injuries, but amputations will be difficult, so please pull your blows if you are expecting anything lethal or debilitating.¡± Finanda looked at both of us, but I thought her gaze lingered longer on my opponent, likely in a silent rebuke for her actions when facing Nathlan. ¡°I will be watching and will be sure to intervene and make sure it is counted.¡± The Holder¡¯s calm voice flowed over me but did little to repress the shiver I felt worming its way up my spine. ¡°Jacyntha ¨C are you ready?¡± she asked. My opponent didn¡¯t take her eyes off me as she answered. More a grunt than words. Her bare feet flexed against the stone, and her axe glittered in the sun. Fuck, she¡¯s intense. ¡°Lamb ¨C are you ready?¡± I nodded, determined not to swallow and show my unease. It was bad form to let an opponent know they had you rattled. Besides, what do I care if I lose this match? It¡¯s all experience in the end. The thought didn¡¯t help settle the pit in my stomach though, no matter how I tried to believe it. I waited a few more breaths before realising that Finanda was awaiting verbal confirmation, and I looked over. ¡°Ready¡± I said. Chapter 62 - Pride and Prejudice I blinked rapidly to clear the sweat from my left eye, but it was no use. I barely saw the threat of steel barrelling towards my front leg and pranced back just in time. I had to reach up to rub my eye, clearing away what turned out to be mostly blood trickling from a small cut on my forehead. I couldn¡¯t risk any impact to my depth perception in a fight this close, and so I disengaged entirely, backing away to give myself time to smear the blood around on my forehead. It might not keep it out of my eye for long, but it would have to do. Jacyntha smirked at me, a rictus grin that seemed more appropriate on a corpse than a human. The blood in her teeth ¨C courtesy of my quick jab earlier in the fight ¨C contrasted against her pale skin and dark hair. It stained her lips too, giving them a rouged appearance that I couldn¡¯t help but find striking. Any thoughts of her beauty were banished by her anger though, the emotion turning her smirk cruel and ugly. And that was before I considered her actions against my friend as well. She stalked forwards, axe raised over one muscular shoulder and posture mocking. I could see through it though, read the readiness in her stance. She wanted to appear cocky and assured, but she was careful. Had to be ready for me to spring back into range. I spat to one side and rolled my shoulders once more, stepping forwards until we were only a few meters apart. The roar of cascading water cocooned us, giving a strange sense of privacy. ¡°Why?¡± She raised a delicate eyebrow, ¡°Because he was weak¡±, she replied. ¡°And that means you should cripple him, does it? You have two dozen levels on him!¡± I told myself I was trying to prick at her pride, to seek some psychological advantage. In reality, I desperately wanted to redeem her. I needed a reason, to know that she wasn¡¯t just cruel and vicious. I had no idea what reason there could be, but somehow I didn¡¯t want to believe the worst of her. ¡°He entered The Blending, sought to wager his power against my own. It is his arrogance to blame, not me.¡± We circled one another as we talked, although I wasn¡¯t looking for an opening right now. ¡°Arrogance to think you would respect the spirit of the competition? To expect no cheap blows from one of the mountain people?¡± I laughed bitterly. Scornfully. Her next reply wasn¡¯t verbal. The axe whistled towards my head, splitting the air in a keening cry as I shifted back. My spear tip rose and quested towards her throat, but she was a whirling bundle of momentum, impossible to pin down. I activated Faultline once more, pushing my mana into the skill and stamping down to marshal my intention more forcefully. The rock split apart in front of her feet, but rather than abort her strike, she instead leapt into the air and barrelled towards me, axe leading the charge. My eyes widened in alarm, and I activated Check-Step. I stepped forwards and ducked low, bracing my shield and exploding upwards beneath her as she landed. Her axe clanged off the edge of my bronze shield and she was thrown over my head, rolling as she hit the floor to land on her feet once more, several meters behind me. She appeared no worse for wear as I whirled to face her, spear point once more between us. ¡°Your friend was too weak to defend himself, and you are no more impressive. I shouldn¡¯t have expected anything else from lowlanders.¡± I sighed then, finally letting go of any hope that she might have some secret justification. She raised her chin at me, daring me to challenge her assertion, and I saw it once more. Pride. That was all this was. Mixed in with some xenophobia to give justification to her actions perhaps. But mostly just pride in her position as a powerful warrior. As better than Nathlan. Better than me, better than everyone. Not quite everyone though. An idea occurred then. ¡°I suppose you¡¯re lucky Sandent Varselli doesn¡¯t share your philosophy then,¡± I said as casually as I could, considering the circumstances. That got a reaction. Jacyntha flinched, eyes darting behind me to the caves ringing the arena, as if looking for someone. Checking whether she had been seen? She had clearly found whoever she was looking for though, for once her eyes returned to mine, they were blazing. An expression of rage painted itself across her beautiful face, far surpassing what I had expected. I had no more time to wonder at it though, as she launched herself towards me with a shout. Her axe came sweeping at my head, my legs, even my shield, in a dizzying pattern of strikes that I could just barely keep up with. I back peddled for a few moments, rolling with each blow and using my shield to protect myself before a judicious use of Check-Step gave me time to slip one of her heavy swings and step close, smashing my shield into her chest and sending her stumbling backwards. I followed up with a lunge, forcing her even further back, and she fell to the floor in an attempt to avoid the questing tip of my blade. ¡°Guess you better hope I don¡¯t share your philosophy either, right?¡± I tried to put as much disdain into my tone as possible, but it was undercut by my heavy breathing. Seemed to work all the same though. Jacyntha looked past me from behind the tip of my spear, and screamed.
*Sadrianna* Where the previous fight had been an intriguing display of pure power versus pure finesse, this one resembled nothing so much as a brawl in a longhouse. Lamb and Jacyntha fought like two boars fighting over the prime spot at a watering hole. The clanging of steel on bronze, the heavy breathing, the grunting and expletives¡­ all were covered by the sound of the waterfall, but Sadrianna could imagine them well enough. Jacyntha was a skilful warrior with the way she wielded her axe, and her attributes were clearly impressive. Lamb himself was much the same, since neither side seemed to have much of a physical advantage over the other. What he lacked in direct skill with his weapons he made up in creative use of his longer reach and more frequent use of skills.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. It was a surprise to see Jacyntha using none of her skills, but then again, she hadn¡¯t relied on them overmuch even against Sandent. That was partly why Sadrianna thought she had lost that bout to the girl earlier, but there must be something more going on. That woman didn¡¯t look the kind to leave an advantage untapped. Hastor had finally stopped his protestations and grumbling following Jacyntha¡¯s loss. He had tried to declare it a foul, had rounded on Jorge when the man had simply pointed out that his daughter had done her best. Personally, Sadrianna thought that ¡®If her best is defeat, then what good is she?¡¯ was a shitty thing for a father to say about his own daughter, and said more about Hastor than it did Jacyntha, but she was smart enough to keep it to herself. She wouldn¡¯t let her pride create more headaches for her parents to deal with, and a man like Hastor wasn¡¯t likely to listen to someone like her. Or anyone really. She felt she now understood why Jacyntha acted out of anger so much, but again, her sympathy dried up when she remembered the stomp she had seen. The girl had deliberately distracted the Holder with a death blow to Nathlan, then kicked his knee backwards when the Holder intervened on the axe blow. It was played off as a legitimate strike before the match was stopped, but Sadrianna could tell. Jacyntha had enough of a speed advantage that she could have ended the fight cleanly. It had actually been an impressive display of tactical fighting the way the woman had manoeuvred the lowlander towards the edge of the dais. She had cut down his options until she was certain he had nowhere to go, and then swung faster than expected. Sadrianna could see no world in which the stomp was necessary, and there was plenty of circumstantial evidence that it was done in retaliation for embarrassing her. She¡¯d seen the exact moment that Jacyntha had decided to make the man hurt. It had been when she had looked up into their own cave. Hastor had shouted something about her embarrassing the family name. She doubted Jacyntha could hear, but lip-reading? That was possible with her high attributes. She imagined it was a phrase that the woman had seen many times on her father¡¯s lips by the way she reacted too. And now that angry woman was fighting Lamb. It wasn¡¯t the same dynamic anymore, roughly matched in attributes as they were now, but Sadrianna didn¡¯t doubt the result would be similar in the end. Lamb was holding his own surprisingly well, but despite Jacynth¡¯s lack of flashy skills and true talent for weaponry, she was still more experienced than the tall lowlander. The two fighters stopped for a moment, exchanging words, though presumably none but the holder could hear the specifics. Then the fight was back on, although there was a new intensity. Lamb almost stumbled, then corrected in the face of the bigger woman¡¯s charge, and threw her bodily over his shoulder in an impressive display of strength and timing. Spinning back to her feet, Jacyntha again looked up to the stands, and that¡¯s when Sadrianna confirmed it. ¡°Fucking finish him, girl!¡± Hastor¡¯s voice boomed around the room, and Sadrianna caught Jorge¡¯s eye. He winked at her. Turning her attention back to the fight, she saw Jacyntha run back in but there was a lack of that previous tactical forethought in her movements now. She overcommitted in an attempt to hurt Lamb, and he knocked her to the floor for it. Sadrianna barely heard Hastor¡¯s mutter, but she saw him turn away. Jacyntha chose that moment to look up over Lamb¡¯s shoulder, and either she¡¯d seen the look of disgust on her father¡¯s face, or simply saw his back as he walked away. Either would be enough though. She screamed, and burst to her feet far faster than before, her ritual scars burning with a faint inner light. Lamb was swiftly overwhelmed by a flurry of blows, and then went skidding across the dais from a hefty kick to the chest. ¡°That¡¯s more like it! Show that pathetic lowlander what it means to be a fighter!¡± Hastor was back into the fight by the sound of it, and Sadrianna was privately left to wonder how long her parents would put up with his rudeness. The lowlander¡¯s benefactor was sitting right next to the abrasive man, and it was the height of discourtesy to denigrate the man¡¯s ward publicly like that. She once again stole a glance at Jorge, and the older man no longer looked so casual. He was leaning forwards, lips pursed and sniffing the air, as if trying to catch an unusual scent. She turned back to the fight again, curious to see what he was looking for. Jacyntha had gotten dramatically faster after her scream and was clearly using some sort of body enhancing skill, given the strange sickly green glow wafting from the looping marks on her skin. It was the same skill she had used against Sandent, and while it hadn¡¯t saved her then, it looked like it would this time. Lamb scrambled to his feet and backed up, shield cradled defensively in front of him. The axe came down, over and over, cutting and slashing in a relentless assault. It was clear that her attributes were enhanced well beyond his by this point. Each blow sent him reeling, and they came faster than he could react properly to, so he was no longer able to redirect them or keep his footwork clean. The woman also finally lost that slightly wild edge, and some of her previous strategy returned, herding Lamb towards the edge of the arena and clearly setting up a finish. Finanda was close by, hovering just out of reach and clearly unwilling to allow a repeat of the previous fight¡¯s ending, which was reassuring. Sadrianna sighed though. Jorge¡¯s hope for a feat to push both his wards through to the 2nd tier was clearly out of reach now. Perhaps she could guide him to the Hoarfrost Caverns once they recovered? A successful hunt of anything down there would surely be enough for a 1st tier feat, although it was a tall order for both fighters from what she could see. The fighters below paused once more, and again it seemed like words were being exchanged. The end was coming though, and even by provoking the woman anger, Sadrianna doubted Lamb would find a way out.
¡°Who do you keep looking at?¡± I asked from the floor, the muscular woman looming above me with her axe propped on one shoulder. It seemed unwise to allow me to speak and recover, but she could see the exhaustion in my posture, and the last 30 breaths had done a lot to convince her I was now harmless. I lacked the skill or power to challenge her while in her heightened state, and so she allowed me to speak. Likely just wanted to bask in her victory for a moment longer. She didn¡¯t strike me as particularly cruel though. Reactive certainly, quick to anger and faster still to act on it. But I didn¡¯t get the sense she was revelling in my suffering. More just finally accepting her victory, and basking in the feeling of achieving it finally. I was making excuses for her again. Gods, she was pretty. Dammit Lamb, get it together. ¡°Words won¡¯t save you now, lowlander¡± she said, not quite mocking but skirting the edge of it. ¡°Just seems to make you real mad whenever you look up. Some rival, maybe?¡± I asked through gasps as I tried in vain to recover my breath. ¡°It¡¯s not Sandent, is it?¡± my smile was weak, but at least I saw a bit of fire return to her gaze. Not that I was in any state to take advantage of it. ¡°Shut up. I¡¯ve heard enough of your whining,¡± she said, and I was surprised to find myself a little outraged. ¡°Maybe if you spent more time training than flapping your gums, you¡¯d perhaps win the odd fight.¡± ¡°Oh, fuck off. You won because you have a powerful skill, and I¡¯m limited-¡° The thought shot through me like a lightning bolt. I was limited by the amulet to an attribute level commensurate with my opponent, but Jacyntha had gotten significantly faster and stronger mid-way through our fight and I had experienced no similar increase myself. It was possible she had higher attributes than me while enhanced, but I definitely wasn¡¯t at my limit yet, so clearly something else was going on. Was I going to sit here and lose to a bruiser like myself, simply because Jorge had decided that enhancement skills didn¡¯t count against raising my attribute limit? Fuck that. Perhaps if she had beaten me with greater weapons-work, or artful use of some tricky skills. But to just dog-walk me with higher stats while I could still potentially match her? Fuck no. I reached up to my neck, making eye contact with the big woman as I did so. ¡°You know what¡¯s funny about all this?¡± My fingers dug beneath the leather rim of the gambeson I wore, searching for the thin leather strap of the amulet. ¡°I¡¯ve been fighting for less than 6 months, and I still almost kicked your ass.¡± Her face contorted at that, and she took a half-step forward, axe poised to strike. ¡°And I¡¯m not even done yet.¡± My fingers found the loop of leather, and yanked. Chapter 63 - Artificial Limitations ¡®Nothing can cure the soul like the senses, and nothing can cure the senses like the soul¡¯ This strange duality, this dichotomy of purpose; to ground one in nature and to remove oneself from it simultaneously. An aching expression of a juxtaposition that can only have its roots in the divine. This is the curse of the enlightened races. To know always more than one thinks, and always less than one wants. - Excerpt from Ude Hanunda¡¯s ¡®discourse on the divine¡¯, dated to the 2nd age, in the aftermath of the first cleansing.
Our gazes met, as Jacyntha raised her heavy battleaxe from one shoulder and into a ready stance. I steeled myself for what was to come and yanked the leather cord in hand. Nothing happened. I tried again, but the thin leather might as well have been forged from steel, unbreakable as it was in my hand. The warrior before me didn¡¯t know exactly what I was doing, but she could read the surprise in my face, and her lip twitched upwards into a satisfied smirk. The expression looked almost inhuman, lit from below as it was by the orange light of her glowing scars. She didn¡¯t waste time gloating though, and we both knew this was to be the end. But I¡¯d never been content to let endings drag me along. I clung to life, whether it was battling for survival in that endless valley, or fighting for my freedom when captured at the foot of the Dragon-Spines. I activated Indomitable Prey, shunting as much mana as I could out into the constellation that dominated my soul-space. It didn¡¯t stop her in place, but the shock of my fully unleashed aura caused a moment of hesitation, and the two-handed blow slammed into my shield rather than collarbone. I crumpled onto my back from where I had been kneeling, and she leapt forwards to me, another heavy blow already raining down on my prone form. I rolled, slamming my shield into the haft of the long axe and knocking it to the side. She abandoned the weapon then, straddling me with her legs and grabbing my shield with both hands, before wrenching it aside. I let her, and connected with a straight jab to her face, once more staining her teeth red. She only grinned though, using her mounted position to land a flurry of disorientating strikes at my head and body. I couldn¡¯t even turtle up due to her dominant position, and given her enhanced strength, each blow hit like a thunderbolt. I felt my nose break with a wet squish, and the entire left side of my body felt like pulverised meat. I scrabbled to draw my dagger from my belt, the leather wrapped fang falling free from numb fingers even as another punch split my eyebrow. One eye closed against the sheeting blood, I saw Jacyntha lean back, raising the leather wrapped fang that I¡¯d failed to draw above her head, ready to sink it into my chest. At that moment, all thoughts of this being simply a tournament were forgotten. Even my indignation and outrage at Nathlan¡¯s treatment fled my mind. No thoughts of revenge either. Just the animal terror of a life-threatening battle. If I had taken a moment to look up, I would have seen Finanda hovering mere feet from where Jacyntha and I wrestled, ready to intervene. But I had no time, nor the intention. Every bit of body and mind was screaming in unison that I had to stop the descent of that dagger. My arms shot out and found her wrists, and there we pitted our strength against one another. She had the dominant position, pushing down against me with all her weight. I had desperation on my side, but my attributes weren¡¯t a match for hers, diminished and enhanced as they were respectively. The gleaming bone-white tip of the fang of an ancient beast slipped inevitably towards my neck, and I did scream then. A vocalisation of the terror and frustration. The hatred at my powerlessness, seeing death descend so achingly slowly, and still being powerless to stop it. I still had more to give too, but it was locked behind a wall. An impenetrable division enforced by the will and intent of Jorge ¨C the venerable 3rd tier. If it was his intent driving things though, he surely didn¡¯t want me dead. I didn¡¯t necessarily think the thought ¨C there was no time for deductive reasoning, and I had no focus to spare from the task of slowing that fang¡¯s descent. It was more of an instinctual understanding. If Jorge¡¯s intent was what was locking my attributes, then I could break through. He would not want me to die for vanity, and so his intent would be weaker than my desire to live. I pushed. Rather than physically breaking the amulet¡¯s encirclement of my neck, I fought to break the amulet¡¯s spiritual encirclement of my soul. My attributes were my own, and they were supressed by the amulet and Jorge¡¯s will because I allowed it. They were not some temporary enhancement that could be taken away. My very being was stronger, more agile and enduring, more perceptive and streamlined. I wasn¡¯t weak. I marshalled my intent, focusing not on the amulet itself, for that was just an object. Devoid of mana to power it and intent to shape it, it was inert. Instead, I reached towards the arena stands, past the cascading froth of hundreds of tonnes of water, and into the caves. One particular cave I searched for. One particular person. I don¡¯t know how I knew, but my soul must have recognised the binding placed upon it, for I found him easily. A beacon of power shining within a cave lit by many other great souls, all ablaze with light and energy. The fang slipped towards my neck another inch, and my arms were shaking now, sweat dripping from Jacyntha¡¯s forehead into my face, her teeth bared in a snarl. She lifted one arm off, and for a moment I felt the pressure abate. But then she slammed one palm into the base of the hilt, and the knife jerked forwards another inch. Over and over, she pounded that weapon down further, and with each blow the tip sunk closer to my bare skin. I had only moments left before my death. With one last push I connected to that ball of power in the cave. The moment the connection snapped into place, I felt the link between us. The chain of power that bound my attributes. I took it within metaphorical hands, and I shattered it.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Jacyntha slammed her palm down once more onto my dagger, but rather than lurch, it held still. New strength had flooded into my body the moment the artifact link had broken, and I felt my potential bloom once more. Strength, agility, endurance, perception, cognition. All rose, though not equally. My shaking arms stilled, and I looked up from the dagger for the first time. My eyes met Jacyntha¡¯s, and she hesitated. My aura rose around me once more, Indomitable Prey active and blazing with mana and intent, pushing back the futility from moments ago. She wasted no more time, and reared up, putting her entire body into one final slam of the dagger. Rather than meet her strength for strength though, I lurched my hips upwards and rolled to the side, pushing the dagger away from my body and throwing her to the side in the same movement. Her looping scars blazed with fell green light, but her advantage in strength was now gone. Even at my full power though, my strength wasn¡¯t much above hers in her enhanced state. But my endurance was, and my agility and perception were both much higher. So it was that I rolled to my feet far faster than my opponent. I backed away and collected my spear from the ground, keeping my eyes on her as I circled. She staggered to her feet in turn, and lurched towards her battleaxe. I made no move to stop her, rolling my shoulders and stretching my neck out in a casual gesture. I was still injured, my left side a pulpy mass of bruising, and at least one rib cracked. Blood gummed one eye shut, and my teeth felt loose in my mouth. But as I spat blood to one side and looked over at my barely harmed adversary, I felt confidence bloom in my chest. I let it show on my face, the smile cracking the drying blood smeared across one cheek, and was gratified to see Jacyntha¡¯s eyes widen. I knew I could beat her now. And so I did. She roared with anger as she swung. The rage of victory denied at the last moment. Impotent and bitter. I moved swiftly, using my longer reach to keep her at bay before using my shield to get inside her guard. A headbutt and a trip had her sprawling backwards to the floor, and my spear followed her. She battered it aside and rolled to her feet, but the lanceolate bronze spearhead followed the movement, and she returned face to face with it once more. She tried again, and again I punished her for it, superior speed and agility defeating strength. It was an anticlimactic end in many ways. I wore her down, and eventually she slipped. My spear didn¡¯t, and Finanda knocked it out of the way before it could pierce Jacyntha¡¯s windpipe. She screamed then, as I had so recently. Hers marked an end though, where mine had marked the beginning.
*Sadrianna* She kept one eye on the brawl, and one eye on Jorge. She couldn¡¯t quite bring herself to look away entirely from the two figures wrestling with the knife, given what Jacyntha had done to the other lowlander, but the Holder was hovering close by, and she was more interested in how Jorge would react to his pupil¡¯s defeat. He seemed calm though. Not quite resigned, but there was a hint of something that could have been disappointment on his face. Although it could just as well have been frustration with Hastor¡¯s roaring and crowing. She didn¡¯t feel what happened next, but she saw the results clear enough. Jorge blinked in surprise, and leaned forwards in interest. Her parents both whipped around to look at him as well, and the fight on the ground abruptly changed. Lamb somehow managed to gain a second wind, and then threw Jacyntha off him. That was all she had time to watch of the fight though, because Hastor¡¯s reaction was much more dramatic than her parents. He rounded on Jorge, bellowing with rage and reaching out with one big hand to grab a handful of Jorge¡¯s long braid. He yanked the older man¡¯s head back, pulling a knife from somewhere with his other hand, and pointing it down towards his face in a dangerous threat. ¡°What did you do, Mage!?¡± She didn¡¯t know what was happening, but she felt her mother shoot to her feet. She said felt rather than saw, because she couldn¡¯t track the movement, so swift it was. One moment her mother was looking around in interest, and the next she was beside Hastor, laying a hand on his weapon-arm, eyes hard as diamond. ¡°Easy now, Hastor. Let¡¯s put that knife away.¡± Arynia said. Her voice was soft and low, but there was an edge to it that seemed far sharper than the knife Hastor currently wielded. Sadrianna didn¡¯t get to see this side of her mother often. Before her now stood a standing member of The Sworn Triarchy, and there was no hint of the boisterous and loving figure from her childhood. He hesitated a moment, and Sadrianna thought she saw her mother¡¯s hand tighten slightly on his arm. Hastor winced then and the knife disappeared back into a storage ring. He didn¡¯t let go of Jorge¡¯s hair though, and Jorge seemed content enough to sit where he was. ¡°I will release him when this fight is stopped. He has interfered somehow, and now my DAUGHTER!¡± he shouted that last word with a volume to match his obvious anger. ¡°¡­is sharing the ring with a cheater empowered by a 3rd tier. I won¡¯t have it!¡± Her father looked to Jorge with obvious discomfort. ¡°We did all feel it, Jorge. I hope there is an explanation for this?¡± The older man sighed and rubbed his greying stubble as he replied. ¡°Aye, there¡¯s a perfectly banal explanation-¡± His head was yanked to the side by Hastor, who pulled him fully off his stool and practically roared at her parents, ¡°Stop this fight now! So help me, if my daughter is injured by this man¡¯s welp, then I shall have his head right here!¡± The knife didn¡¯t reappear, but her mother¡¯s warning look was not enough this time, as a spiked gauntlet appeared sheathing one of Hastor¡¯s hands, which he cocked back menacingly. Jorge for his part had picked himself up from the floor, and there was something different in his presence now. He stood, straight-backed and facing Hastor. It should have looked foolish for all the difference in their statures; a mouse facing a lion. But Hastor flinched. There was something in the smaller man¡¯s gaze, some seed of warning and danger that made even the brash and abrasive Hastor take note. When Jorge spoke, it was with a tone of finality. ¡°My lad down there is not cheating. He will not injure your daughter more than necessary to end the fight.¡± A pause for a moment to let the words sink in, before a final rejoinder. ¡°I don¡¯t teach my charges to lash out in anger like broken dogs.¡± The scene had unfolded rapidly, and Jacyntha and Lamb were still circling each other after grabbing their respective weapons. Hastor¡¯s gaze flicked down at the fighters, and then back up at Jorge. Jacyntha lunged then, axe carving a wild path through the air. A few more blows were exchanged before Lamb stepped in close and headbutted her, tripping her back leg in the process and leaving her sprawled on the floor. Hastor grit his teeth and raised his arm, and Arynia made a warning grunt. Her father spoke again, ¡°Okay, let¡¯s all take our seats, yes? Jorge says he has an explanation, and I am inclined to believe him. If it doesn¡¯t satisfy,¡± at this he cut his eyes at Jorge as if in warning before speaking directly to Hastor once more. ¡°-then we can work on overturning the results of the match and move from there.¡± ¡°If it doesn¡¯t satisfy, I¡¯ll have his fucking head.¡± Hastor growled. Sadrianna rolled her eyes. Egotistical posturing at this point. She stopped at his next words though. ¡°Then I¡¯ll make my way down to that arena and take your lads skull too.¡± A blur of movement, a meaty smack!, and a wet cough was all Sadrianna had time to notice as the scene abruptly changed. Hastor fell to his knees then, coughing. She couldn¡¯t see what had happened, but her mother was there between the two men, facing Jorge. The lowlander leaned forwards, weight supported by Arynia and whispered something to the bigger man. There was a pause before a hesitant nod from the kneeling figure, and Jorge leaned back again, receiving a stern look from Arynia. Jorge casually righted his stool and took a seat, groaning as his knees protested the motion. He dusted off his hands and settled in, gesturing for her parents to sit alongside him. By the time everyone was seated, the Holder had stepped in to declare Lamb the victor, and the tall man was trudging back through the waterfall, leaving the defeated form of Jacyntha behind. ¡°Now that that¡¯s taken care of, let¡¯s have a chat, shall we?¡± he said. Chapter 64 - Consequences and Coincidence It is an interesting point of historical fact that philosophy and culture booms following catastrophe. We see throughout the 2nd, 3rd and 4th ages a tremendous increase in cultural output in the first century in comparison to the later years of each era. Some of my colleagues argue that as society drags itself further from the ashes of devastation it gains access to new, more efficient means of record; stone and bark slabs exchanged for scroll repositories. Scrolls exchanged for libraries of thick-rimmed books, and eventually to the advanced printing presses one sees emerging from our brothers and sisters in Altine across the sea. That is certainly an argument of merit, and it would explain why we tend to find evidence of such a huge cultural output following disaster ¨C primitive records survive longer than easily destroyed paper and papyrus. I have a counter-theory though. Apocalypse has a way of lending one perspective. Only once you have lost everything, both personally and as a society, are you truly free to wonder why. To question the whole grand plan of existence and our place within it. I disagree with almost everything my opponent has just stated, and find myself wondering if perhaps they may have more success with their pursuit of truth if their home were to be razed before their eyes. At least I would not have to listen to such drivel any longer if it were so. - Opening arguments from Aristo Santovelli in ¡®the great debate; were hawk or duck feathers the primary material for quills in the 3rd age¡¯, as discussed at the White Tower Consortium circa .267
I felt hollow after my victory. I faced three more fights after a brief rest but none of them were more of a challenge than Jacyntha. One man weaved a stunning defence of cursed smoke that he used to confound my eyes and nose while he picked away at me with some strange weapon that resembled a knife at the end of a long rope. Eventually though, I managed to catch the weapon, and from there it was a quick finish. The other two weren¡¯t worth mentioning. Worthy combatants and each more skilled with their weapons and skill-use, but the amulet¡¯s restriction was removed, and my superior attributes did more than level the field. I sat in the antechamber, my armoured vest dripping onto the floor from where it hung on the armour stand. Smaller puddles pooled below both feet, where I had upended my leather boots onto the floor before putting them back on again. I was a sodden sight, and it did much to shield me from the raucous banter traded by the myriad fighters around me. The winner¡¯s bracket ¨C otherwise known as ¡®the real competition¡¯ ¨C was still in full swing, and while Sandent Varselli was the favourite to win after her knock-out of Jacyntha, there were other challengers that had some hype behind them. The mood in the rest of the room was uplifting. Excited. That feeling when the snow starts to thaw, and the first green shoots emerge after a heavy winter. In the midst of it, I sat alone, in a little puddle of disquiet, as men and women bustled about around me. I wanted to be done with this now. The competition no longer excited me. I was receiving no experience because of my combat class, and none of my skills required more experience to grow at this point. The Blending would doubtless help sharpen my skills, and I expected to see a bevy of levels in various skills once I began hunting and fighting in earnest once more, but without the instant gratification, I was left to stew. Nathlan was injured. I doubted it would last long, that Jorge and Vera didn¡¯t have a way to speed up his recovery significantly, but it still rankled. Felt like a reminder, more than anything, that had this been a true battle he would have died. Had this been a true battle, he wouldn¡¯t have been alone though. I would¡¯ve been there. It was a strange realisation to have. That I would gladly risk my life for a friend. That¡¯s what he had become in all this. The weeks trudging through the grass seas of the Wandering States had introduced us, but the few days shared in Colchet, and the brief sojourn in the Iona Chasm, had sharpened that connection into a friendship. It was¡­nice. To have someone to fight for. To have a reason to trudge through all the weariness and pain. I laughed to myself then, drawing a few strange looks from those nearest by. Get your head out of your ass, Lamb. My inner critic emerged then, poking his vicious little head out of whatever hole he¡¯d been hiding in for weeks. I hadn¡¯t heard him much recently, and I imagined it was thanks to the company of my companions. So why are you here moping about, and not with them right now? He had a point. I had a point? It didn¡¯t matter. I clapped my hands on my knees and rose to my feet, determined to leave this stone-carved room behind, and my emotional turmoil with it, even if it meant withdrawing from the tournament. I¡¯d lost once already, after all. Striding through the antechamber, heading back towards the tunnel that wended its way towards the surface, I was intercepted once more by an usher. They lacked the strange presence of the man I¡¯d spoken with before my fight with Jacyntha, but they delivered their message clearly. ¡°You are Lamb, the lowlander?¡± At my uncertain nod, the woman bowed her head in a polite show of respect. ¡°Congratulations on your performance. Your next fight was to be for the title of Second, but it has fallen through. Your opponent sustained heavy injuries and is unable to fight again today.¡± I was nonplussed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that. I wish them well with their recovery. I was actually about to-¡± They spoke with the kind of bland politeness that told me they were used to dealing with strong personalities. Or children. She steamrolled right over what I was saying without ever once raising her voice. I blinked at her, having no choice but to cut myself off to listen as she continued. ¡°Therefore, you may rejoin the true Blending now if you wish, or you may leave and be crowned Second in absentia.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± I asked, blinking. ¡°The role of Second is coveted, although not to the same degree as a high rank in the true Blending. It conveys with it not just a reward from the united clans, but also the opportunity to rejoin the true Blending and pit yourself once more against the best talents of the young generation. ¡°Traditionally you would face one more fight to determine who is most worthy, but both the winner and loser of the last fight in your bracket are too heavily injured to continue, and there is nobody else able to face you for the title. Do you wish to rejoin the true Blending, or bow out gracefully?¡± It seemed a little too good to be true, but I shut my mouth before I could jeopardise my good fortune. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say. Instead, I nodded formally and accepted. ¡°Thank you for the honour. I would like to withdraw from the competition.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She nodded, unsurprised. ¡°Excellent. One of us will fetch you tomorrow for the closing ceremony where titles and rewards are conveyed. You may ask for a minor boon from the clans, as is tradition, though please use the rest of the day to rest up and learn more of what that entails. It would not do to ask for something beyond your station.¡± She gave me a knowing glance at that, which I felt was a little unfair. ¡°Where will you be staying?¡± she asked. Recovering from the veiled insult, I hesitated a moment before answering, ¡°Clan White-Cliff, on the west side of the Basin of Tears. Most there should know where we reside.¡± One more perfunctory nod later from the usher, and there was nothing between me and leaving this sunken arena. I headed for the sky.
*Sadrianna* ¡°So it was magical backlash stemming from Lamb himself? Not instigated by you at all?¡± her father asked once more. Jorge sighed wearily, as if resentful of answering the same question once more. ¡°Yes. I placed an artifact on him to limit his attributes to approximately those of his opponents. He broke it during the fight with Hastor¡¯s daughter, and the mana surge you noticed was the result of him breaking that artificial limiter.¡± ¡°Horseshit! We all saw how quickly he beat my Jacyntha after your little stunt,¡± Hastor growled, though he remained seated. Whatever had passed between the two men earlier was enough to make the big man wary, at least. ¡°¡­and as I have explained, the lad has very potent attributes for his level derived from a rare combat class he received before I took him under my wing. He would have had a significant physical advantage over your daughter from the moment he broke that link.¡± ¡°Not with-¡° the big man stopped himself mid-sentence. ¡°You might be surprised, old man, what my daughter is capable of. To lose after such a dominant performance does not make sense without outside interference.¡± Her mother butted in then, the diplomacy with which her father spoke no longer in evidence. It was clear Arynia was tired of the brash man by this point. ¡°Give it a rest Hastor. She wouldn¡¯t have fared much better even had she reached Second and rejoined the true Blending. Sandent is not the only surpassing talent in this year¡¯s crop, and there are many that would likely have overcome your girl.¡± His eyes bulged slightly at that, vein in his forehead throbbing. ¡°Not with-¡± he let go of another explosive breath before trying again. ¡°She was denied the right to find that out for herself because this stranger¡± he practically spat the word, ¡°decided to manipulate The Blending in his favour. It is a sacred rite of our people, and he pissed all over it!¡± Her mother leaned back at the tirade, and when Sadrianna caught her eye, she thought she saw a faint smirk crinkling the corner of her mouth. Jorge¡¯s next words quieted things down again, however. ¡°Are you so sure you want to talk about tampering, Hastor? I¡¯m happy to undergo a formal investigation, but I reckon it¡¯s not Lamb that¡¯ll have trouble explaining the power he showed during the fight.¡± It was softly spoken, but even Sadrianna, who had no idea what was being alluded to, could pick up the edge of a threat in that sentence. Hastor glared on in silence, nostrils flaring. Ventus picked up the thread, leaning forwards in interest as he did so. ¡°What are you implying, Jorge?¡± The older man spread his hands wide and locked eyes with Hastor for a few long breaths. Nobody spoke, and the silence stretched across the room like a mist, filling the space and eddying about until nerves ran taught. Finally, Jorge leaned back and stretched languidly. ¡°Jacyntha¡¯s scars¡­that¡¯s old magic. I noticed she didn¡¯t use many skills in the fight. They a bit more out of reach than normal, perhaps?¡± Hastor flinched at the mention of his daughter¡¯s scarification but recovered after a moment. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re implying, lowlander, but the mountain clans have dabbled with empowerment and enhancement skills for centuries. This is nothing taboo, no matter what petty biases you might harbour.¡± Ventus frowned. ¡°You¡¯re talking about sacrificial vows?¡± He looked over to his wife, asking ¡°Did you see her use any skills against Sandent? I wasn¡¯t paying much attention at that point.¡± Arynia shook her head after a moment, and Hastor blustered once more. ¡°You can¡¯t be seriously considering what he says? The allegations of a lowlander hold no sway here. He¡¯s not to be trusted! He struck me in this very cave not moments ago! That you would support him is shame enough, but to accuse my daughter of¡­of¡­of what? Cursed magic?¡± His eyes were wild, looking from Arynia to Ventus as if seeking support. Her father only shook his head slowly. ¡°Your wife passed recently, did she not?¡± he asked softly. Hastor¡¯s stool slammed into the wall as he leapt to his feet. ¡°I won¡¯t take this from you! The affairs of my family are those of Grey-Rock. They are no business of a couple of traders and their pet lowlander whore!¡± He turned to leave but Arynia stood herself. ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡± It was spoken quietly but carried the aura of command. The big man hesitated, though he didn¡¯t turn. Arynia stalked forwards until she was standing in front of him, her back to the exit tunnel. Water still cascaded down from either side of their viewing port, and the noise drowned out any nearby ears. ¡°The High Council will have questions for you, Hastor. You can walk out of here by my side as an honoured guest until they have their answers, or I can deliver you to them unconscious. But I will be delivering you to them. Now.¡± His great shoulders fell, and Sadrianna breathed out in relief. It was pathetic in a way. She didn¡¯t understand all the details, but it was clear that he had dabbled in forbidden rituals and forced that upon his daughter as well. He had sacrificed everything for power, but when it came down to it, he had given up without a fight. Fine for others to fight and sacrifice on his behalf, but he was just a coward at the end of it all. Jorge caught Ventus¡¯ eye as Hastor and Arynia departed the cave. Her father shrugged before sighing. ¡°I assume I should follow along?¡± the lowlander asked, but her father waved him off. ¡°No need. The Elders will take their time combing through this mess. You and Lamb will be needed at some point, but it will likely be a few days at least by the time they¡¯re ready for you, and I will vouch for you in the meantime. Go; eat, drink. Rest up and see to your pupils. I will send for you when it is time.¡± Jorge inclined his head graciously and left after a few more parting words, spoken with kindness.
I trudged slowly up from the arena, breaching the rock tunnels into daylight with a sense of relief. The late afternoon sun was shining, and I wondered briefly how the huge underground arena would be lit come the evening, but ultimately decided I was too tired to care. My mental bookshelf filled with tomes of questions I needed to ask about the world was already straining under the weight of its burden, and I had no desire to tip it over the edge. I was already sulking, nobody needed me having a meltdown as well. Despite my dour mood, it was a pleasant walk up from the central bowl of the valley, and as I felt the warm rays of light caress my face, I felt my soul begin to lighten once more. I was still tired, and knew I wouldn¡¯t be fully back to myself until I had confirmed Nathlan¡¯s recovery with my own eyes, but the weight of weariness that felt like it was lodged in my very bones had abated. The Basin of Tears appeared as I crested the gentle rise some time later, and I looked down over the beautiful lake, shrouded as it was by tents and loghouses. The colourful bolts of cloth streaming in the gentle breeze gave the encampment a cheery feel, and the few people I saw scurrying about looked, if not happy, then at least content. My plodding steps drew me to a large, semi-permanent structure close to the water¡¯s edge, and I ducked inside without pausing to take in the wonderful view. I was close now, and my nose had caught a familiar scent on the air. Blood. A pale man stood in the central atrium, three or four hefty texts laid out on a crude wooden table before him. He was pointing to something on one book while tracing through another with his off hand when I walked in, and he spoke without looking up. ¡°What is your purpose here?¡± He had a strangely commanding tone, the expectation of being listened to lending his quiet voice a subtle power. I blinked a moment before getting my bearings. My mind was still partly trying to decipher what my nose was telling me. ¡°Visiting an injured friend. Nathlan.¡± Then, unsure how many people this strange hospital treated and how familiar this man was with his patients, I expanded, ¡°the lowlander with the broken knee.¡± There was no hesitation from the spidery man when he answered. ¡°Among a few other things. Yes I know the man. And what is he to you? We both know that is not a term of endearment.¡± ¡°He¡¯s a friend. I would see him now,¡± I said with conviction. I was probably firmer than warranted, because he did look up then, peering with strangely intense eyes at me over the covered table. A moment passed before he pursed his lips. ¡°I believe you. Follow me.¡± With that, he turned on his heel and headed towards one of the two hallways veering off from the atrium. A short walk later, he deposited me in front of a plain door and promptly left without a word. I would have found it strange if not for the smell of blood growing in intensity every moment. I heard the sound of a blade sliding in a sheath, and ripped open the door, nerves ablaze. Vera stood over a comatose Nathlan, arm out over his injured leg and gushing blood down onto the ruined joint. She looked faint, an arm propped beneath her on the bed frame to keep her steady, while crimson dripped from a glistening wound in her wrist. Chapter 65 - Hot Heads Marcus Antionville once wrote that ¡®I pity the common man, for they know nothing of victory¡¯. I understand the sentiment, but I think I envy them, myself. They scurry about with their unimportant lives; small joys but also small miseries. I rather think I would amend Marcus¡¯ famous words as follows; ¡®I envy the common man, for even as they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared knowledge of defeat¡¯. - Words of the Lord Proctor following the sacking of Altine in the 3rd century of the 2nd age
I stood in shock for a moment. The scene made no sense, and it took a few moments for me to notice enough minor details to decipher it. Even as I stalked into the room and faltered, I saw the blood around Nathlan¡¯s knee leech into the wound itself. The dregs that pattered from Vera¡¯s open wound behaved as I would have expected, but the red mess on the clean sheet beneath his leg seemed to rush back into the fine seams I could see in his skin. I saw Vera¡¯s eyes flick my way, and she held up her off hand for a moment, before grunting in exertion and grabbing the bed once more to hold herself up. Unsure what was happening, and unable to help in any meaningful way, I simply waited for the strange healing process to take place. Vera¡¯s wound quickly stopped bleeding, and she seemed to regain vitality as moments passed. Nathlan was still insensate to the world, but the delicate cuts crisscrossing his knee joint were closing over as well, and before more than a hundred breaths had passed, his knee looked clean and whole once more. Once it was over, Vera sagged and stumbled over to a chair in the corner. She nodded gratefully at me, ¡°Thanks for trusting me there, would have been a real pain to knock you out without ruining the spell.¡± I gaped a little, before recovering. ¡°Oh please, you¡¯re weak as a kitten. I could probably pick you up right now and smush your little face up like a baby.¡± My smile widened as I saw her eyes narrow to slits. ¡°Try it,¡± she said, one hand straying to the hilt of the broadsword belted at her waist. We shared a laugh as I sat down in a chair opposite before glancing over at Nathlan once more. He looked small on the bed, thin and bookish once more. A far cry from the assured warrior that had beaten some of this generations best 1st tiers while nearly 20 levels below them. ¡°How is he?¡± Vera shrugged. ¡°Better than we have any right to expect, worse than we¡¯d hope. It was a nasty break, Lamb. Type of wound I¡¯ve seen end men not two days from the battlefield. Infection, fever¡­¡± She looked down at her hands tiredly, but when she caught my dark expression hurried to amend her thoughts. ¡°It¡¯s healed well. Alson¡¯s got steady hands, sliced him up real nice-like.¡± I raised an eyebrow at the heavy accent that had begun to creep in as she spoke, but my concern for Nathlan overrode my curiosity right now. ¡°Was he the surgeon? Did he say anything about the recovery?¡± ¡°Yeah, a real spider of a man, that one. Lots of bone splinters to dig out, some cartilage that needed reattaching. He got it all back in place though and I got here before he could stitch him up, thankfully.¡± At my questioning eyebrow ¨C still raised from earlier ¨C she continued. ¡°With a little help from Jorge and some very costly alchemical support, I can perform some low-level sympathy magic. It¡¯s a class skill of mine, though very much unsuited to heal others. With some¡­creative intent, let¡¯s say, I¡¯m able to speed up his recovery by orders of magnitude. You see his scars?¡± I looked again at the latticework of thin scarlet lines traversing his leg and winced as I imagined the work that had gone in to creating them. Most were at odd angles across the knee joint, but several snaked up to mid-thigh and down along his shin. My expression was once again enough for Vera to see my thoughts. ¡°Physically, he¡¯ll be healed by nightfall. The longer-term issue will be re-learning how his body works. The muscle is new and doesn¡¯t remember how it¡¯s supposed to move. Will take time for him to regain that easy grace.¡± ¡°How long?¡± I asked. Another weary shrug, as if her shoulders were weighed down by a heavy pack. ¡°Who knows? Could be days, could be weeks. Shouldn¡¯t be any longer than that, knowing Nathlan.¡± ¡°Could be¡­or he could decide to milk it for as long as possible and catch up on some reading.¡± She didn¡¯t bother looking up to see my hopeful smile, but I did see her lips crinkle slightly. I settled into the uncompromising wooden chair and waited for my friend to wake up.
¡°Hey sleepy head,¡± I said in my best sing song voice. Nathlan¡¯s nonplussed expression was enough for Jorge to laugh, and I threw my hands in the air as I caught Nathlan¡¯s newly awakened eyes. ¡°Surprise! You¡¯re alive!¡± He swatted at me half-heartedly and groaned as he tried to rise. Vera was on him in a flash, arm braced across his chest and growling into his face. ¡°I¡¯ve lost too much blood to see you whole again. You. Stay. Still.¡± Jorge¡¯s familiar aura descended upon all of us, a warm blanket on a cold night. ¡°It¡¯s good to have you back with us, Lad. You remember what happened?¡± Vera eased back after getting a frantic nod from Nathlan, and he took a deep breath before explaining. ¡°Yes. I was beaten by Jacyntha of Grey-Rock. She was too fast.¡± He spoke in quick, clipped sentences. Trying and failing to sound clinical. I could see his mind shying away from the incident even as he spoke. I glanced again at the cross-hatched scars and decided I¡¯d probably do the same in his shoes. ¡°Aye, that¡¯s about it. She kicked your knee backwards while the Holder intercepted the axe, and I suspect you took a blow to the head on the way down too.¡± ¡°No, it was the Holder that hit me¡± he said. Jorge focused on the scholar with such intensity that Nathlan actually shied back an inch. He hurried to clarify. ¡°I felt my leg buckle, and I was falling down. The Holder reached out before I hit the ground and tapped me on the forehead. I don¡¯t remember much else after that point, but I distinctly remember her reaching out towards me. I think she was trying to numb the pain.¡± Jorge had eased back on his unwitting glare a moment into the explanation, and nodded in thought. ¡°Aye, I can believe that. Good news then. You still have all your faculties, Lad?¡± Nathlan shrugged. ¡°How would he know either way?¡± I asked. ¡°Rumsfeld¡¯s predicament,¡± Nathlan answered quickly. As he looked around at Jorge and Vera, no doubt showing the same incomprehension that my face was displaying, he explained; ¡°There are things you know that you know, and things that you know you don¡¯t know. I know I understand how Cave Bears survive centuries of slumber without dying of starvation, and I know I don¡¯t understand how Rakshasa reproduce. ¡°But there are also unknown unknowns ¨C things I don¡¯t understand that I¡¯m not even aware of. I am ignorant of many things that I do not realise I am ignorant of. This is Rumsfeld¡¯s predicament ¨C how can we lay claim to knowledge when we are ignorant of even our own ignorance?¡± I let the silence hang a few moments before breaking it. ¡°Are you saying that you don¡¯t know if you¡¯re an idiot? Because I think I can answer that¡­¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Jorge chuckled as Nathlan shot me a glare. ¡°Well you certainly seem to be the same Nathlan. You feeling alright?¡± The young man sobered abruptly, his mock glare giving way to a more troubled expression. ¡°Yes, but I can¡¯t stop thinking about the fight¡­¡± He trailed off for a few moments, and Jorge prompted him. ¡°Dwelling on the moment of injury is common enough, lad. Just try not to focus on the pain, aye? Has a way of sticking with you if you let it.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s not that. It wasn¡¯t the pain anyway, more so the noise. I could hear the pop and squelch of the cartilage-¡° he shuddered, and I was glad that he left the rest of that thought unsaid. ¡°anyway, it¡¯s more the fight itself. I don¡¯t think I stood much of a chance either way, but I was holding her off well enough for a while. Then she used some sort of enhancement or boosting skill, and I couldn¡¯t so much as touch her shadow. Why would she be keeping that hidden for so long if she could have ended the fight at any point?¡± We all hummed in thought before Jorge spoke. ¡°Aye, well you¡¯ll all probably learn soon enough so no harm if I share what I reckon now, is there? Listen in¡­¡±
Following Jorge¡¯s revelation about the likely trial coming soon, we discussed lighter topics. Chatting, commiserating, providing Nathlan with company and hope. Seemed crazy that he would be recovering within most likely a week, but to go from the heights of physicality we currently inhabited, all the way down to bed-ridden was a hell of a fall. It took some adjusting too. I left him in the capable hands of Jorge and Vera after a few bells and went wandering through the haphazard cluster of tents and semi-permanent structures that served as gathering point and holy site both to the mountain clans. I wanted to let my mind wander as well as my legs, and the light exercise would also help my own bruises and bumps to recover quicker as well. I felt fresh as a spring chicken next to my almost-crippled friend, but I wasn¡¯t in the best state to be honest. My ribs ached fiercely, and while I¡¯d cleaned the blood from my face, bruising still mottled my tanned skin. I heard laughter drift out of a longhouse up ahead, like liquid joy seeping out between the open windows and doors alongside the firelight. Curious, I found my feet drawing me towards the building, and I slipped inside. A cheerful drunk man slapped me on the back as I entered. It was a longhouse, made of rough-hewn pine logs thick around as a man and stacked seemingly without care. It was well-named though, for the benches lining the sides and spearing down its length bore at least a dozen men and women on each side. I stepped carefully past boots casually spread on the floor, and brushed shoulders with many a reveller, but no angry looks were cast my way. The vibe was¡­happy. A gentle excitement, thrilling in a mundane way, without the edge of danger that I was used to. I found my way to the bar and waved down the tender. She was a tall woman with eyes the colour of amethyst, and I found myself taken aback by her striking appearance for a moment. ¡°Had too much already, love?¡± she asked in a teasing tone. I forced myself to focus on anything other than her shining gaze, which caused my gaze to travel down to her inviting lips and the smooth swell of her collarbone- I wrenched my gaze back to her face and coughed at her coy smile. Blushing, I asked for a sweet mead, and was rewarded moments later with a frothing tankard. Some of the cool liquid splashed down my hand as I picked it up, but the barmaid and patrons on either side of me didn¡¯t seem to mind. ¡°You new here? Don¡¯t much look like one of the mountain-born, I must say,¡± she said. I found myself smiling at the irony, and her eyes crinkled alongside my own. Just then I felt a meaty slap on one shoulder, and was yanked nearly entirely around. I was face to face with a giant. I wasn¡¯t small by any means, clocking in just over 6 feet and well-muscled given my last few months living wild and fighting almost every day. This man dwarfed me. Red beard, bound in a tight braid. Arms like tree-trunks, and gnarled and scarred as old oak to go with it. His massive hands seemed like they could reach out and crush my skull with barely a thought, and the power I felt from the grip on my shoulder put truth to that instinct. His voice, when he spoke, rolled like thunder through the room, and I swear I could see my mead jittering in its cup. ¡°That¡¯ll be down to him being a filthy lowlander bastard, Alfie. I see the way those eyes o¡¯ yours are a¡¯twinkling, and you¡¯ll be keeping your hands off this boy!¡± I was starting to worry at the turn of events, and my heart sank further as I saw the woman behind the bar smirk. Was this some sort of setup? Felt too obvious, but I suppose I was stupid to come here alone, given the prejudice I¡¯d seen already during the arena. I¡¯d thought that was just brash youngsters in a competitive environment, but I guess they learned it from somewhere. The woman ¨C Alfie ¨C jutted her chin up at the colossal warrior and her teeth flashed in the firelight as she smirked wider. ¡°And why¡¯s that, big man? Might be I¡¯m bored of the usual, and fancy finding myself someone more¡­exotic to spend the night with¡­¡± In any other circumstance I¡¯d be thrilled to hear it, but unfortunately for everyone involved, and especially me, we weren¡¯t in any of those other happy circumstances right now. Don¡¯t rile him up further, you ass! A quiet voice screamed inside my head. For once, my inner critic and I were in perfect agreement. The big man lifted me up before him ¨C literally lifted me up like one would a puppy ¨C and growled in a menacing tone over my shoulder at the barmaid. ¡°He ain¡¯t some handsome airheaded clansboy, Alfie. This here¡¯s the bastard that beat my nephew bloody ¡®front of the whole stinkin¡¯ lot of us!¡± And just like that, things had gone from bad to worse. ¡°Look mate, no hard feelings-¡± I tried to raise my hands as I spoke, but he had me by the shoulders, so I was left to plead my case while dangling helplessly above the floor. I abruptly cut off my pleading as I was wrenched around to face him once more, orange bristles almost tickling my face as he brought me close to his. ¡°Don¡¯t be apologising boy! You beat him fair and square! Serves him right, the little prick ¨C never wanted training from his favourite uncle, did ¡®e? No no, couldn¡¯t have that.¡± He tried his best to imitate a whiny little child with his next words, but his baritone only shifted an octave higher, taking him from rumbling the earth to ¡®only¡¯ rumbling my bones. ¡°¡®Uncle Ribcrusher scares me da, I don¡¯t wanna train with him no more¡¯, ¡®Sorry Alker, my boy can make his own choice. If he doesn¡¯t want to learn under your hand, then he doesn¡¯t have to¡¯. Look where that¡¯s bloody got him! Beaten by a lowlander in front of everyone. Ha!¡± He spun me back around to face Alfie, the beautiful woman arching a delicate eyebrow in amusement. Whether at the giant¡¯s antics or my plight, I couldn¡¯t tell. When her eyes caught my own, I saw her smirk return once more. I had whiplash, but I couldn¡¯t be sure if it was from the physical sensation of being twirled through the air like a marionette, or the emotional whiplash of bracing for my death only to realise I was probably going to be okay. Probably. Just as I was coming down from the terror of moments past, I felt hot breath on my neck and heard the big man growl practically in my ear. ¡°I¡¯ll not have you getting your grubby mittens all over this innocent boy, Alfie. Hands off!¡± And with that, he plonked me back down in front of the bar. I held a steadying hand out to my side and took a moment before straightening out of the crouch. ¡°You look like a virgin sailor finding dry land once more,¡± Alfie said with a playful smile. I just let out a heavy breath. ¡°That was worse than The Blending,¡± I said in response. The big man behind me laughed, clapping me on the back so hard I had to hold onto the bar to steady myself. He leaned over my head and shouted at the top of his lungs ¨C which, as I¡¯d already established, were pretty fucking big ¨C ¡°Free drinks for the lowlander. My respects to The Second!¡± A couple of cheers went up in response, likely more to the ¡®free drinks¡¯ part rather than anything related to me, but it was nice to hear some loud noise that carried good tidings for once.
Vera came by to drag me back to our shared tents a few bells later as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, and Jorge came around even later on to fetch her after she¡¯d failed in her task. ¡°¡­and so he says to the thief, ¡®why are you always wearing leather armour, anyway? Wouldn¡¯t steel-plate protect you better?¡¯ and the thief looks up at him and says-¡± I couldn¡¯t quite hold in a cackle, and Vera elbowed me, her flushed face gleaming almost as red as her hair in the gentle firelight. I waved her off, shushing her, and the giant of a man that I¡¯d come to know as Alker pushed her back into her seat with one massive hand while he leaned forwards to listen. I got control over myself for just long enough to finish the sentence before breaking into another fit of laughter. ¡°and he says, ¡®because it¡¯s made out of hide!¡¯¡± Alker practically howled at the ceiling, stamping his foot hard enough to jostle the furniture around us. The reception was more mixed with some of the other barbarians we were drinking with ¨C the late hour and steady supply of alcohol making the men and women generous with their laughter, but there was only so many ways you could polish a poor joke. There were a few snickers and sporadic laughter, although all were drowned out by Alker¡¯s wheezing. Vera just groaned and flapped an arm at me in protest. ¡°That was awful, Lamb!¡± I raised my hands in surrender, ¡°I can see that my time here is at an end and- Oh, Jorge!¡± I tried to drape an arm around his shoulders and pull him over, but he was rooted to the earth like a statue hewn from marble. He raised a single finger and wagged it imperiously at Vera, saying simply, ¡°I¡¯m disappointed in you.¡± He then turned on the spot and marched out the door again, although I could see him waiting just outside. I shrugged at Vera as she clambered to her feet, patting Alker¡¯s leg as she did. He looked at us like a forlorn puppy ¨C a good imitation of what I must have looked like earlier in his colossal hands ¨C but she waved him off. ¡°No no, bossman¡¯s right. We¡¯ve got a big day tomorrow and need an early night.¡± I nodded reluctantly. ¡°Aye, been a pleasure¡± I said towards the big red-headed giant of a man, and tried my best not to catch the eye of Alfie as she wiped down the bar. A big part of me wanted to make an excuse to stick around ¨C I knew Jorge and Vera would have no problem with it ¨C but I knew getting tangled up in something casual like this wasn¡¯t good for me right now. I turned away before realising I owed her at least a bit of courage. I turned back and smiled at her, mouthed ¡®thank you¡¯ and then followed on after Vera. I caught her approving look as I turned, and was suddenly very thankful I¡¯d not just snuck out without saying goodbye. ¡°Back to camp?¡± I asked, slinging an arm around Jorge¡¯s shoulder. Chapter 66 - Ceremony War is just like love...it''s all about the moments in between. A keen general keeps their eyes peeled not for the moment of the shield clash, but the spaces between the clang of steel and clamour of voices. Those quiet moments where men decide if they hold firm or abandon all reason. Likewise, pretty words don''t make a lover. It''s the silent spaces, where breath is all that disturbs the world and desires have room to be felt. Master the gaps, the spaces between each moment where the world hangs on the edge of a thread, and you will fare well in love and war. - High Marshall Arterion The Fell addressing concerns on his strategy against the Sarhail threat in the late 3rd age.
The closing ceremony of The Blending held many surprises in store for me. My first shock was to see someone other than Sandent Varselli claim the title of First. The young genius was defeated by an older boy, though still in his teenage years, from the Green-Bough clan. He was rangy; long-limbs that seemed feeble but could apparently carry lethal momentum into his strikes. He had two small daggers strapped to his belt and was by all accounts a shockingly fast mage. Not enormously powerful, like Sandent had been, but Vera had drilled into my head the lesson that you don¡¯t need much power if you can hit first. The second surprise in store for me was both how much reverence was shown to the younger generation, and simultaneously how informal the ceremony was. I had thought that the turnout would be low, assuming that most of the spectators were eager to see fighting and had little care for the personalities involved. But not so. There were thousands of people in attendance as the Council of Elders handed out praise and material rewards to the highly placed fighters. Many young ones ¨C children, as I would have described them ¨C received special feedback. They had obviously failed to place highly due to their low levels, but the clans had clearly decided it was good to get them exposed to the thrill of battle from a young age, and so I saw many teenagers, some even as young as 10, step forwards to be praised in front of the crowd. Soon it was my turn to stand before the jostling mass of expectant faces, as 13 men and women in fine garb addressed me from a raised plinth. ¡°Rise, Lamb. You fought well and earned your place as Second. Name your boon.¡± The usual praise and ritual was cut from my address, presumably a political move from some members of the council, but I was too ignorant to understand the ins and outs of it all. Or care. I knew what I wanted, and they would abide or deny me as they saw fit. Better to ask than to hope, after all. ¡°I wish for allies. My companions and I are heading over the Dragon-Spine mountains, bound for battle. Any fighting men and women who wish to join us would be welcomed.¡± It was a more formal style of speech than I was used to, but I figured the ceremony demanded a little gravitas. I doubted I would get many fighters lining up if I simply said ¡®Oi, who fancies a scrap?¡¯ Although¡­my eyes searched the crowd for a shock of red hair standing head and shoulders above others, but I saw no sign of Alker. Probably still sleeping off the hangover. There was a drawn-out silence before a woman, tall and built like a willow stalk, spoke. She stepped forwards as she did so, seeming to bend in the gentle breeze. ¡°Are you urging the clans to war, young man? That is far beyond the scope of your boon,¡± she hissed, disapproval lacing her quiet voice. ¡°No, of course not. I simply seek the council¡¯s permission to recruit any who are interested,¡± I hurriedly reassured them. ¡°If there are fighters among you who wish to see the world, I would ask that you grant them leave to do so.¡± Two of the men on the dais, who had leaned forwards in anger at my request, now settled back down. There was a quiet hum as the Council of Elders deliberated, and I was left to examine them. They were an eclectic group, dressed in colours presumably representing the clans they hailed from but each with a style distinctly their own. The willowy woman clearly held a position of prominence, as did another man built like a hunting cat ¨C all sleek muscle and graceful movement. They didn¡¯t spend long discussing, and soon I had an answer. ¡°We are prepared to grant you leave to recruit, but only amongst the newly awakened 2nd tier warriors. We will not risk our younger generation on an outsider¡¯s mission, and our more powerful warriors cannot be spared with the Southlands at war once more.¡± I inclined my head gratefully. ¡°Thank you, council¡± I said, and turned to leave. ¡°One more thing, lowlander,¡± one of the Elders called. Turning back, I saw him stand next to the lithe woman who seemed to command such respect. He was of medium height and build. Strong, without the excessive musculature of some of his peers, grey trimming his short-cropped hair, and dressed in flowing yellow robes of a surprisingly humble design.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Your demand may have started bold, but its fruit is now humble. There are unlikely to be more than a few warriors eligible to join your expedition, let alone interested, and it is therefore unlikely that we,¡± at this he gestured both arms to encompass the entire council, ¡°will be granting much of a boon at all¡­¡± ¡°We cannot allow our reputation to suffer, since you did fight bravely and obtain a position of honour among our clans. It has also come to my attention, and that of the council¡¯s, that one of your opponents was using profane methods with which to enhance themselves. This is not acceptable.¡± I looked on in surprise, unsure how this would proceed. It wasn¡¯t exactly good news that there were few we could recruit from, but even a single 2nd tier warrior was a substantial increase to our current power. Besides, it felt as if the man was building to something. ¡°We cannot have our hospitality questioned or besmirched by your experiences, and I see only two ways to present this. If we are unwilling to execute you now-¡± I blanched at that, and some of the horror must have shown on my face, for he hurried on with his decree a tad faster than before. ¡°Which I can assure you that we are,¡± a quick hard glare at one of the men on the council before he turned back to address me once more. ¡°Then we must remedy the situation. It would not be proper for us to grant a tangible reward in addition to your boon, but information is something we can share for free¡­¡± I waited somewhat impatiently while the man held the crowd¡¯s anticipation at bay. Clearly, despite doing me a solid favour, this was mostly a way to curry favour with whatever factions within the clans were to be impressed with displays of generosity to outsiders. Perhaps it was simply important to show the younger generation, and possibly their close relatives, that ample rewards were given for reaching a good position in The Blending? ¡°The Titan¡¯s Crown is a sacred place. Its holy waters nourish the land, and places of power form in abundance around and beneath this blessed basin. To the west you will find the Lost Grove, and its bounty shall be yours if you are deemed worthy to claim it.¡± I was surprised by the abrupt turn back towards more ritualised language but had enough of my wits to bow appreciatively and give my thanks, before retreating back to my place among the crowd. The ceremony continued on for another half a bell before I was interrupted by a shuffling in the crowd behind me. I turned around, by this point eager for any distraction from the monotony. There were a few disgruntled murmurs as people were softly pushed aside, and moments later a figure had moved to stand by my side. Sadrianna looked at me out of the corner of her eye, a small smile on her face. She was nominally watching the ceremony like the rest of us in the front few rows, but she leaned over slightly to whisper conspiratorially to me as the Council of Elders continued their ceremony. ¡°Congratulations on your placing. Impressed with your prize?¡± I sighed quietly before speaking. ¡°Honestly, I have no fucking idea what that guy was on about.¡± She laughed then, and quickly snapped her mouth shut after a hard look from an older woman to her left. Doing her best to look contrite, she whispered back, ¡°I thought as much. You looked confused as all hells, but don¡¯t worry. Father was playing up the drama for the crowd, but he¡¯s asked me to give you the rundown on this Lost Grove.¡± I looked at her in surprise then, and she simply nodded, saying, ¡°come¡±, before beckoning me over. I followed her back through the crowd, and we strolled on towards the Basin of Tears, as the lake around which clan White-Cliff¡¯s camp was located was named. She told me about the Grove in light detail ¨C a small copse of trees within a sinkhole, brimming with mana and magic ¨C and assured me that she would escort me to and from it whenever I was ready. She refused to tell me more about what I would find there and why it counted as a reward however ¨C apparently Jorge had determined that it would be better for me to discover on my own. Even this was just another plot masterminded by that annoying old man, apparently. We made pleasant small talk as we wandered, and I asked after the fallout from her botched scouting mission where we first met. She lost a bit of her cheeriness after that, so I decided to cheer her up by telling her all about last night. At the mention of Alfie, I noticed her curl her lip slightly, but when Alker entered the story, she grinned once more. ¡°He didn¡¯t!?¡± she laughed as I described my temporary employment as a doll in the big man¡¯s hands. ¡°He did! Threw me around like a baby. Told her to keep her grubby little mittens off of my innocent face, or something of the like¡± I said, smiling at the memory. ¡°Ha! He¡¯s right too, you don¡¯t want to get tangled up with Alfie. She¡¯s got a sharp tongue, that one. How¡¯s your friend holding up? The one with the knee?¡± she asked. I filled her in on Nathlan¡¯s progress and we made it back to the camp shortly afterwards.
It had been a pleasant morning spent with Jorge, Vera, Nathlan and Sadrianna in our shared tent. We¡¯d eaten and chatted, and Jorge had spent some time with me reviewing my options for which skill to eliminate if I was to be granted a 2nd late skill ¨C something we both thought was likely. It was good to see Nathlan up and around again. He was still being careful ¨C Vera watched him like a hawk and anytime he tried to move too fast or without support, she was there to glare him back into submission, but he was moving under his own weight, at least. The physical damage had been mostly repaired, but the muscles around the joint, and more worryingly tendons and ligaments, needed time to strengthen once again before he could be said to be anywhere approaching healed. I had attempted to introduce Sadrianna to everyone, but it turned out she was already familiar with Vera and Jorge, and Nathlan was a relatively closed-off person to those he did not know well. I expected the pain wasn¡¯t helping in that regard as well. It quickly turned into me begging Jorge to tell me what was happening and what the Lost Grove was, and Jorge refusing to answer in anything but asinine riddles and nonsense truisms. ¡°Please?¡± ¡°If one must ask the question, are they truly ready for the answer?¡± ¡°I hate you.¡± Eventually he relented though, as do all when faced with my assault of childlike enthusiasm. The Lost Grove was the key to me reaching the 2nd tier. I needed to fight a few more enemies, gain some more experience and level up to the peak of the 1st tier, and a trek through wilderness with a destination in mind was a sure-fire way to facilitate that goal. More importantly though, once I reached the peak of 1st tier, I would need to achieve a feat of sufficient renown that The System recognised my worthiness and granted me access to 2nd tier classes. There were many types of feat; crafting a powerful item, defeating a powerful enemy, achieving a high rank within a storied organisation. All had one thing in common though ¨C they had to ring with significance and be tied to your class. I would find the means of achieving such a feat within the Lost Grove, according to Jorge at least, and I was about to find out how. ¡°Right Lamb. I believe I promised you a piece of a weapon, aye?¡± Chapter 67 - The Lost Grove Sunlight speared down through the gaping maw of the sinkhole, illuminating the lush patch of forest below. Songbirds flittered around the rim, and their calls lit up the sky as surely as the morning sun. I looked over at Sadrianna as she plonked herself down against a rock. She closed her eyes, crossed her arms beneath her head, and began to sun herself on the large slab like a lizard. As if sensing my ire, she popped one eye open and squinted over at me as she spoke. ¡°What? My job¡¯s done. You¡¯re here at the Lost Grove, safe and sound. I¡¯ll wait right here until you¡¯re done, but Jorge was very clear; you¡¯re on your own down there.¡± She winked then, or blinked? I wasn¡¯t quite sure what it counted as when she only had one eye open to begin with. ¡°Best get to it, Lamb.¡± It wasn¡¯t the best pep talk I¡¯d ever been given, but she was right in one respect. There was no time like the present. I turned back to the sinkhole before me, stretching out my back that had begun to stiffen up from the long hike here. We were near the edge of the Titan¡¯s Crown now, with the lakes around which the clans gathered nothing but specs in the distance, the morning sun reflecting off their calm surfaces making them seem like jewels glinting in a bed of green. I shrugged my shoulders, feeling the reassuring weight of my sleeveless leather vest settle against my back. My arms were bare except for a bracer of dark metal covering my right arm from wrist to elbow, and my boots were newly reinforced with steel plates affixed to the foot and shin. I was still under-armoured, but I had marginally more protection than before. I hefted my bronze shield in my left hand, and my right gripped the familiar grain of the haft of my spear. Both artifacts were settled within my soul-space as they were within my hands, and I felt my confidence return. The sinkhole was daunting to behold. At least a few hundred meters wide at the lip, it was shaped as an irregular circle, with the mouth being the narrowest part. It bulged down and out, resembling nothing so much as the shell of a sea urchin, and I shivered as I imagined what may be lurking within the shrouded darkness at the edges. In the centre of the sinkhole, illuminated by the glorious sun, was a small grove of ancient oak and yew trees perched on a small hill. The forest looked inviting, dappled light playing off the faces of a million leaves of green and gold. The songbirds flitted around ceaselessly, going about their small lives with abandon. Focusing on only the grove brought a measure of peace to my chest, but I couldn¡¯t help my eyes from slipping from that beautiful sight to the darkness at the edges. But I had my weapons, and I had my skills. Sadrianna had battled wild creatures and the occasional monster on our trek to this ancient place, but none had been particularly high-levelled, and I suspected I could have handled them myself. Of course, she had taken on the role of guard so that I wouldn¡¯t waste my strength before arriving here, but it still gave me hope that nothing in that hole in the earth would be too far beyond me. I spent half a bell walking around the lip of the sinkhole, examining it from every angle and trying to plot a path down. The first option was to sling a rope down, secured to a sturdy boulder at the top, and descend that way. Something about descending directly into that darkness, with no rock to place my feet against, filled me with a terror I couldn¡¯t quite place, but even the tallest of the trees were too far below the edge of the sinkhole to safely jump across. I returned to Sadrianna, and luckily as a resourceful mountain-born clan warrior her storage device was filled with useful equipment. A long sturdy rope was soon in my possession, and I set about securing my abseil point. She wandered over to check my knots, but I had taken to Jorge¡¯s survival lessons well, and she begrudgingly nodded before heading back to her sunbathing rock. I stood at the edge of the lip once more and took a final look around at the sinkhole below me. The moment stretched on for a while, something within me rebelling at the idea of falling into darkness alone and unprepared, but I eventually sighed heavily. When you¡¯ve got a task to do¡­ I fed the rope behind my shoulders and stepped backwards off the ledge into open air.
I landed softly, a bed of moss cushioning my feet from the several meter drop. The rope was pooled on the floor nearby, but I wished to spend no more time than necessary in the cool darkness beneath the small hill. I couldn¡¯t see the rocky edges of the enormous cavern, shrouded in shadow as they were, but I could taste the dampness in the air. I imagined the beads of rank water trickling down the stone, flowing over small holes through which centipedes and spiders would frolic and slither. I shivered, my imagination doing me no favours. I returned my shield to my hand from where I¡¯d strapped it to my wrist, hefted my spear, and set off towards the light once more. It was a short climb up the steep hill, and I had to skirt around the edge of the hillock for a few dozen meters before I found a good place to scramble up. Spiky grass stabbed at my hands as I pulled myself up the uneven surface, but the occasional tree-root binding the earth together offered ample handholds. Upon cresting the small hillock, I was met with the true majesty of the Lost Grove. The hundred or so trees standing proudly in place seemed to shine in the sunlight. Their many leaves sparkled, water droplets flickering like diamonds as light lanced through them and split into a million piercing blades. I recognised oak and yew as I walked slowly between them, all ancient and thick-trunked. I felt as though I entered a new world of dappled green and gold, the light refracting as if I was underwater. Birdsong echoed strangely off the trunks around me, and I felt the worry in my chest ease, the dank edges of the cavern feeling further away somehow. After touring the entire copse, I felt at peace once more. Wondering through the venerable trunks, I was overcome by a sense of calm. Time passed without notice, and it was with shock that I realised the warmth beating down against my head was of the afternoon sun rather than that of the morning. I felt closer to nature here though, as if I was absorbing some minute aspect of the wisdom that these trees had inherited over centuries, and I was loath to waste the opportunity. I turned my gaze inwards, sitting back against the bough of an ancient oak, and examined my soul-space. It had been a while since I had last viewed it in detail, and I was struck at how interconnected my skills had become. My core was full, constantly replenishing and overflowing with the mana that seeped from every inch of this primal place. Around it hovered my shroud of skills, dim and peaceful in their un-awakened state. 7 complex constellations, gently cocooned by a larger skill above ¨C my path-bound aura skill. Whereas before they had been mostly independent of one another, with the occasional strand of starlight mana questing from one to the other, now my soul-space resembled a spiderweb. Each skill was still recognisable as its own, but dozens of strings of starlight connected it to others, forming a lattice of mana, constantly sharing and nourishing one another. I was reminded, perhaps because of the fecundity of the place where I currently dwelt, of a mycelial network linking and supporting a forest. A single organism of many parts. There were two skills that seemed notably out of place, however. Where the others were woven together by strings of starlight, these two hung alone, a few feeble strands linking them to the rest of the tapestry. Faultline was a relatively new arrival, and I couldn¡¯t fault it for its aloofness given that fact. Even so, it hovered closer to Mountain-Born than I had expected, slightly out of alignment with the others, such was the growing bond between the two skills. They resonated with one another, and I could sense in their pairing a possible future coherence into a single skill, or perhaps just a thematic alignment that could pave the way for my true path.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. In any case, Faultline was not the problem. No, it was Wilderness Endurance Hunter that seemed to be the issue. It held strong links to half of my skills; Guerrilla Warfare, Mountain-Born, Heart of the Hills and Indomitable Prey. The skills I had gained early in the mountains while trying desperately to survive. The skills that had grown to be a part of me, had made me into somebody that could protect themselves from a harsh environment where weakness meant death. It had almost no connection to the other half of my skills. Skirmisher of Antiquity, Check-Step and Faultline were left to hang opposite with almost no linking strands of mana between them and Wilderness Endurance Hunter. I spent a while thinking on it, under that great oak, crowned in gold and green. My thoughts wandered as I examined what it was within the skill that made it incompatible and came to the conclusion that it was simply a matter of intent. The purpose of that skill was to help me survive in the wild. To be self-sufficient and self-reliant. The three other skills that hovered across from it were based around fighting. Faultline had some potential as a non-combat skill, but I had so far used it almost exclusively to gain advantage in battle. And to annoy my friends, but that wasn¡¯t important at the moment. The more I thought about it, the more clear it became that of all my skills, Wilderness Endurance Hunter was the odd one out. It adapted me to life in the wilderness but conferred no advantage when it came to fighting. Each of my other skills did both. I could survive, and hunt, and forage, and climb and live and everything in between¡­and fight as well. The struggle to survive was intimately tied to the struggle to slay my foes, and Wilderness Endurance Hunter did not help me slay my foes. It was a depressing thought to be honest. I didn¡¯t set out in this world to become a killer. I had wanted to survive first of all, and then when that was taken care of, I had wanted to explore. To travel freely and move with speed and confidence. The loss of that innocent dream was in some ways a sad thing, and I took the time to mourn in that grove lost to history. It was the way of things in this new world though. To progress, for somebody like me at least, was to struggle and fight. How many could I save with the power killing brought me? How much freedom could I acquire when laws no longer bound me? That wasn¡¯t right. It was simultaneously more encompassing and less grand than that, no matter how contradictory it may have sounded. I wanted to be. To excel and improve and to see a thing and then do it. To become such that I could achieve a challenge previously beyond me. And to get there I would need to fight. It always came back to that in the end. Only one of my current skills wasn¡¯t suited to that life and so I took the time to grieve. For the life I could have had were things different. For the person I could have become had circumstances not been as they were. That¡¯s the thing about circumstances though; they are as they are. And then I began to prune. I was at the edge of level 40 now, and I knew that somewhere within the next 5 levels I could expect a new skill. It wasn¡¯t guaranteed, but I had strong suspicions. The class on its own still felt incomplete, and only my non-class skills rounded it out. I¡¯d given thought over the last week to what skill I would sacrifice if I needed to, and the reflection in this grove had helped cement my decision. So I marshalled my intent into metaphysical shears and began to prune away the links between my various skills and Wilderness Endurance Hunter. I cut mercilessly through the spiritual embodiment of my progress and wrenched the skill from my soul-space. Skill Wilderness Endurance Hunter has been removed. Open Skill Slot remaining. The System chimed its acknowledgement of the deed, although I did not need its confirmation. The empty hole in my soul-space was evidence enough. I still retained much of the knowledge of food preparation, stalking and foraging that I¡¯d gained over the last half year, but there was a difference between knowing a thing, and doing it. That was what I had just lost. Rousing myself from my introspection, if only to avoid looking at that empty gap in my soul-space, I returned to a world of emerald and orange. The afternoon sun had given way to a soft evening glow, and the birds no longer sang, chattering quietly to one another instead. I had gotten distracted, waylaid by the wisdom the world left for me, scattered in one of its many hidden places. My real purpose had been revealed the day prior. I was here for a weapon. I once more began to walk, brushing past dangling leaves and occasionally running my hands along branches and boughs, looking for an appropriate target. As with everything else in this magical grove, I took my time searching for what I was looking for. I didn¡¯t have a firm idea of the weapon I was seeking. I knew it to be a spear, that much was obvious given my class and training, but there were many kinds of spear, even before you factored in magic. My weapons-work with my companions had taught me that complexity could be found in everything, and weapons were no exception. Given that I was in a semi-magical grove of ancient trees, I could only assume that the most sensible component I could find here was that of a haft. I tried to keep an open mind, but I did find my eyes tracking each new branch, searching for imperfections among any likely candidates. A bell passed unsuccessfully, and the evening sun began to wane. I was taking more notice of time now, unwilling to stay in this primal place when darkness set. The birds had stopped their play, and now perched in their well-defended nests in the great trees. Shadows had begun to waver at the edges of the cavern, and I heard the occasional rustling and chittering from the edges of the cone of sunlight. Things were stirring beyond the light. I gave myself one last loop around the grove but found nothing that called to me. I considered felling a branch with the hatchet in my belt simply to have something to bring back, but thought better of it in the end. Jorge had been clear; inspiration was what I was looking for. In an almost sacred place like this, where the world stores wonder and power, it does not do to take without the earth¡¯s blessing. Another confusing riddle from the old git. Still, I didn¡¯t want to tempt fate. I could always return tomorrow for another look. Perhaps sleeping on it would shed some light on the correct approach? I had felt a slight fluctuation in the ambient mana suffusing this place as I circled but couldn¡¯t get a good read of where those fluctuations originated from. I slithered down the steep embankment surrounding the elevated copse of trees and came to an abrupt halt. My heart sank. The rope was pooled on the floor, sliced into ribbons. My escape route was lost. I couldn¡¯t see all the details through the steadily encroaching shadow brought about by night¡¯s swift onset, but it looked very much like something had gnawed through the rope in several spots. It hung now at least 20 meters above me, well out of reach, even if I were to scale the side of the bulging cavern¡­which I definitely did not fancy given the scuttling that I could hear growing in frequency from beyond the edge of the light. I backed away, returning to the protective sunlight of the hill in the centre of the sinkhole. Something hissed at me from the shadows, and I flinched. I felt an increase in the mana density once again, but had no time to wonder why. Fuck! I didn¡¯t like the insectile sounds I was hearing. Please don¡¯t be centipedes, please don¡¯t be centipedes. I repeated the litany of hope in my head as my back hit the damp earth of the embankment behind me. A patch of darkness, somehow more solid than the shadows around it, detached itself from the cavern wall and scuttled forwards. I heard the clicking of many hard points against stone and watched as a creature emerged from the darkness. A chimp of some kind, muscular and stout, stepped out of the ring of shadow and raised its head towards me. It walked on two bow legs, with long arms dragging across the floor to support its weight as it shuffled and hopped, its wide back bent and great shoulders pointing nearly to the floor. Its roughly man-sized body was covered in dark bristles, which stood out in sharp contrast to the gleaming white bone of its hands and feet. They must have been responsible for the clicking I had heard before it emerged. Funny how even after so much exposure to it, I couldn¡¯t recognise the sound of bone against rock. A cheery thought, that. Its head was what captivated me though. An empty skull, large canines bared to the air, with an open nasal cavity and two empty pits where its eyes should be. Rather than darkness though, something red waved from within its eyes, and I strained to make out the details. It took a few swaying steps forward, strangely graceful in its unpredictable movement, no matter how unorthodox it appeared, and I raised my spear. It looked to be alone, but I wouldn¡¯t bet tarrots on it being the only such creature in this sinkhole. No matter. It was a single creature, a mammalian base with a bipedal form. The leering skull was off-putting, but at least it wasn¡¯t a giant bug, or gods forbid a swarm of some kind. It was a creature that needed killing, and I needed to kill something. I steeled myself for a fight, and the creature roared. This was no ground-shaking cacophony, but more of a wet coughing sound, like a drunk man hacking his guts up outside a tavern. Its red eyes danced in their empty sockets, and I frowned in confusion. It almost looked like something was moving within the white hollows¡­ And then in a frantic burst of movement, two wriggling segmented bodies burst from the sockets, waving towards the sky with their many legs clacking together and two long ribbon-like antennae on each head waving from side to side. The creature stooped into a loping run, and the giant centipedes in its eye sockets oriented on me, snapping pincers my way with a distinctly malevolent sound. Fuck. Chapter 68 - The Fruits of Friendship...and Centipedes The shriek of bone grinding against rock set my nerves afire, and I relished the feeling of strength provided by the adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream. Indomitable Prey activated, greedily sucking mana from my core even as it refilled with the abundance of the sacred grove. The mana density was even higher down here, for some reason, and my core drank ravenously even as it poured power into my pathbound skill. The simian creature scuttled towards me on its strangely curved legs, giant centipedes waving from its skull like the silk ribbons worn by the barbarians to denote their clan affiliation. Like that, except horrifying and covered in clacking pincers. If I had activated Heart of the Hills, it may have granted me enough clarity to realise I held a good position, nestled into the hill as I was. Angles of attack were limited for the creature if I stayed with my back to the root-bound wall of mud. Alas, I hadn¡¯t activated that skill. The very moment I had seen the waving centipedes emerge from the creature¡¯s hollow skull; fear had filled me. There was something about the pincers and the shining segmented bodies that repulsed me on a primal level. Anything that scuttled on many legs was already a problem, and add to that the antennae and claws and pincers and¡­well, the fear was understandable. It bloomed in my chest like algae on a pond, determined to choke the life from me. Indomitable Prey activated in response, the skill unwilling to see me cower in the face of an enemy, no matter how I felt about it. A sense of burning outrage filled me, smothering the fear and filling my soul with urgency. Rather than wait for the creature to close on me, I advanced in turn. It was moving quickly, only half a dozen meters away by now, raising a thickly muscled arm behind as it readied a hefty blow. I caught the flash of evening sun reflecting off cruelly bent claws of bone, and then I was moving. I backed up a step, planted a foot against the wall of roots at my back, and pushed forwards. 40 attribute points in strength propelled me forwards, and I dove into a powerful lunge. There were a few heartbeats where my body flew almost entirely parallel to the ground, every limb aligned in purpose. And then we crashed into one another, and the impact shook my very bones. My spear took the creature in the left shoulder, spinning it around with the momentum of my strike. Despite the impact, its long arm came arcing around, bone claws flexing to rend my throat. It slashed through only air, as I twisted into a roll before sliding across the ground. I regained my feet as the creature completed its spin and had to duck under the haft of my own spear as it swung through the air, blade still embedded within my enemy. I had released it during my fall which had allowed me to flank my opponent, but the bristling chimp was faster than I¡¯d anticipated, and now I was simply a weapon down and back in the same place. It reached up and gripped the spear in one hand, bone clacking against wood. A wet squelch and a geyser of blood flew as it wrenched the weapon out, the glistening gash leaking blood even as it stood there. It lifted the spear to its face, and one of the centipedes darted forwards, gripping the spear just beneath the head. It wrapped overgrown mandibles around the thick wood and I heard a crack echo. The haft dropped to the floor alongside the blade, though both were now separated by a clean cut. I shivered as the insectile creature seemed to look at me. No matter that it had no eyes of its own as far as I could see, I still felt like it was measuring me. Eyeing me up like a lion might a gazelle. Indomitable Prey roared back from within my soul, and I felt steel take my limbs once more. This creature, this beast of bone and flesh, would die like all the others that sought to consume me. I darted over, quick steps giving me time to change my direction if needed. A judicious use of Check-Step allowed me to sway out of the way of a flurry of claw strikes, and my arm rose, fang-knife in hand, whistling towards the throat of the simian beast. It twisted, and I scored only a small slice across it¡¯s thick neck rather than the goring I had intended. I had to leap backwards quickly to avoid a retaliatory strike from the waving insects that made their home in the skull of the beast, and that put me back in range of its large sweeping arms. Claws scrabbled against my shield, and I flooded mana down the activation link to the artifact. A section of the shield retracted, and the creature took the opportunity to shunt forwards, straining to grab and split my flesh. I took a breath and wrenched my arm downwards, spinning the shield¡¯s edge and therefore the creature¡¯s arm in the process. There was a distinctive crack and a pained squeal as I broke its wrist, and I completed the movement by putting all my weight behind my shield and shoving forwards and up. My shield bash took it full on in the face, and it reeled backwards, a thin crack visible on the pale off-white of its skull. I followed up the attack, pouncing on the creature and shoving my dagger into its chest. The third strike hit something vital, and I fell to the floor atop the animal as the strength left its body. The only thing that saved me then was the heightened bloodlust brought about by my aura skill. My enemy was defeated, but I was still on edge, eyes wide and unblinking, casting around for something else to fight. That¡¯s how I caught the flicker of movement as a red-frilled antenna swayed in the air. I was already activating Check-Step once more as the two creatures lunged from their resting place. Red and deep black flashing against yellow white as the centipedes darted from the eye sockets of the now unmoving chimp. They surged towards me even as I fell backwards, legs scrabbling on the floor to propel me further from the scuttling horrors. I knew I wasn¡¯t fast enough. No matter how heightened my reflexes from my class skill, no matter how many attributes I¡¯d invested into strength and agility, I still couldn¡¯t outpace the explosive surge of those two insects. Luckily for me, it didn¡¯t matter. When I was no more than a meter away and I could make out the many tiny serrations along the inside of their pincers, their charge faltered, and they flopped to the ground. A hundred legs scrabbled against rock and moss, and they scuttled back to their shelters, hissing all the while. I stood quickly and circled then, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. I was more confident of avoiding another charge, but still wasn¡¯t keen on closing in close enough to use my dagger. They were frighteningly fast, and I¡¯d already seen the damage their pincers could do. I also didn¡¯t want to feel their smooth carapaces and many legs on me. I really hated insects, and centipedes were the worst of all. I took a few steps away and cast around for something to use. My spear ¨C what was left of it, anyway ¨C was on the ground beneath the corpse of the chimp, and I didn¡¯t fancy getting close enough to potentially be skull-fucked by a centipede. I shuddered at the grim thought and backed up to the hill a few meters away. I felt the ambient mana increase once more, and began to follow the feeling. Pausing after only a few steps, I made sure that the creatures weren¡¯t following. They stayed in place, waving their disgusting feelers out into the world from the safety of the bleached eye sockets of the creature I had killed. Although no system notification yet¡­perhaps they were the controllers? Some parasitic creature that nested inside- I cut off the unhelpful thoughts, and backed away further, determined to keep at least one eye on the creatures even as I followed the trail of slowly increasing mana in the air. Before I had to make a choice about whether to let them out of my sight, I found the edge of the trail. My mana senses had grown more acute over time. The more I took in from the world, the more closely I regulated the flow to my various skills, the better sense I got for the power that hid within every crevice of this world. It was like an everchanging tide, flowing and eddying around certain points of significance. Deeper in some places, shallower in others, but always there. The section of the hill I now stared at was much like any other. Almost a wall of mud and detritus, bound together by the great roots of the forest above, the life-giving tendrils wrapping the earth in a comforting embrace. But the mana was strongest here. I activated Faultline after a last glance back at the corpse on the floor, and brought my stone-sense to bear. The earth before me was too heterogenous to count as stone to my senses, but the bedrock this hill rested upon was certainly within the purview of my skill. I could sense the solid weight of the forest baring down on the unyielding stone, but just before me, behind a meter or so of earth and roots was a strange gap. No pressure in a meter wide radius bore down upon the rock. Instead, it seemed as though a hole in the hill existed on top of that section of rock. I hesitated again, glancing back one last time to confirm that the centipedes weren¡¯t creeping up on me, or simply leaving. I wouldn¡¯t sleep for a week if I knew they were still around somewhere, no matter how much distance I put between myself and this place.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Satisfied, I took a breath and sent a brief apology to the trees above. I then reconsidered and sent a more sincere prayer to the World Tree and its children. It wouldn¡¯t do to rip apart the tangled bed of roots forming this part of the hill without at least explaining myself. Clods of earth fell free as I ripped and cut through the carpet of wood and mud that shrouded the strange hole in the hill. It took me near a quarter of a bell before I was finished, and the light had dipped further still, only a few pale beams of evening sun piercing the sinkhole¡¯s depths. I pulled away one last root thick around as my wrist, requiring all of my enhanced strength to prise it from its position. A veritable shower of earth was dislodged with the action, and I gasped in shock as I saw what I had unearthed. A cocoon ¨C for there was no other word for it ¨C filled the hollow I had felt with my stone-sense. Smooth bedrock supported a beautiful sapling, its trunk golden and tiny leaves tinkling in the breeze. It was a willow, and its branches reached only a meter or so off the floor, their bounty of golden leaves resting against the smooth bedrock, leaving ripples in place. Confused, I looked again, and that is when I realised that the rock was actually a few feet lower than I¡¯d first seen. The sapling sat within a pool of perfectly clear water, the only disturbance on its surface that of its own leaves now rippling with the breeze. Around this tiny sapling was a twisted latticework of amber roots. These looked less magical in nature, like normal tree roots that had absorbed some of the majesty of this sapling over centuries, rather than inherently magical beings themselves. No doubt they had started out as brown and black as regular tree roots. No matter, for now they were transformed. Rather than gnarled and thin, these roots were smooth, the only blemish being whorls of darker hues hidden beneath the amber surface. They were in constant movement, protecting the beautiful sapling from the detritus of the world outside with an endless slither of amber wood. I watched in awe as the sapling seemed to shiver and turn towards the light. Its leaves tinkled again, a musical noise, like a thousand soft bells in harmony, and I recognised an intent within the sound. Much like with the giant, and possibly even the cave-bear long before, back when I first entered this wondrous world, I thought I understood an attempt at communication. Cold, it seemed to say. Not yet ready, I felt from that magical tree. I had a sudden urge to cover it back up, to stack mud atop it¡¯s protective shell of ochre roots until it was warm and cozy once more. ¡°I will, I will. Sorry for uncovering you! I¡¯ll just tuck you back in. Hold on, ¡° I babbled. I¡¯d wanted to find a weapon with which to kill the centipedes from a distance, and then I¡¯d been overtaken by the idea of finding the source of the mana that I could feel fluctuating above the natural levels. I had no desire to destroy this baby tree now that I¡¯d found it though. Why? I heard on the gentle breeze. Mother shifts, but it is not my turn, the tinkling leaves said. ¡°Yeah I know, I¡¯m so sorry. I never would have torn apart your home if I¡¯d known! I¡¯ll put it back, just give me a moment.¡± I tried to inject as much sincerity into my tone as possible. It was hard to do as I slapped mud back across the magical structure. Apologising to a tree for disturbing it, what has your world come to? I thought to myself, holding in a manic giggle. ¡°I met one of your kind once, believe it or not. She was a fair bit bigger than you are now, but I suspect you¡¯re of the same stock, you know? Could be a relative even. Big lady, looked like a tree?¡± I rambled quietly to myself, still grinning at the thought of speaking to a tree, and still half convinced that it was all in my head. On and on I talked, describing the meeting with the Child of the World Tree ¨C the Subakir ¨C back in that ancient rent in the earth beneath my ill-fated ambush on the Crimson Lions. By the time I had finished the tale, I had nearly rebuilt the door in the hill that I had ripped open so recently. As I pushed the last remaining root back into place ¨C a normal tree root, this one ¨C I felt a strange breeze disturb my hair. A sigh on the wind, a final parting thought, more experience than words; warm snuggles under a soft blanket. And then, thank you. I smiled softly, glad to have brought some comfort back to the magical being after disturbing its rest. Then the earth rumbled, and an amber root shot out at my face. I had no time to even activate Check-Step, my mana responding slower than the spear of wood flashed through the air. I had just enough time to marvel at the irony of dying in almost exactly the same way as Francis D¡¯Sware, before the root reached my head. It shot past, and I heard a hiss and a strange whine, before the root clattered to the ground somewhere behind me. I whirled around and saw with horror that the root had pierced the carapace of one of the giant centipedes. I heard the scuttle of claws on stone and looked down. The body of the bone-clad chimp was being dragged along the floor, barely a few feet from where I stood, the one remaining centipede desperately clawing at the mossy ground to drag itself closer. I shuddered and leapt to the side, putting space between us. Further behind it I saw the top half of one of the centipedes, impaled on an amber root. I dashed over, kicking the corpse off the polished wood, and spun to face the final creature. The root was straight and narrow, more an arrow than a baton, but it would extend my reach at least half a foot more than my fang dagger would. I steadied my breathing and made to dash forwards before something tugged at my mana senses. I nearly discarded the thought as irrelevant, but it reminded me of the feeling my shield and spear gave off. I backed off a dozen more paces to give myself time, and dove into my soul-space. I quested outwards with my senses, straining to find the eddying patterns of ambient mana that might indicate something significant. After only a few moments I found it. I gripped with my will and heaved it into my soul-space. Within the light cast by my ever-refilling core, I saw a beautiful sapling made of light. Not quite a constellation like one of my skills, but far stronger than the weak light given off by my artifacts. I spun out a string of mana from my core, and the connection snapped into place effortlessly. No longer was I flailing about trying desperately to force my intent upon an inanimate object. Instead, it felt like the artifact wanted to be connected with. It wished to fuse with my soul, and the moment my mana reached it, it grabbed on and bound itself to me in an instant. Understanding bloomed, and I jerked out of my soul-space and back into the real world with a grin splitting my face. I sent mana flowing from my core into the root in my hand, and it grew. From a foot long piece of wood, no thicker than two fingers, it swelled into a thick hafted spear as tall as I stood. The evening sun caught in the dull orange and brown of its smooth haft, and seemed to become trapped in the wood, bouncing around and giving the impression the weapon was lit from the inside. There was no head, just a brutal looking nub of wood, gnarled and twisted upon itself as if snarling at the enemies it would no doubt split apart. I raised it in hand and leapt forwards, taken by a fierce joy to have a weapon that could help me destroy the disgusting parasite before me. The centipede was lightning fast when darting out of its hole, no doubt able to coil its body up to act as a spring. When my staff split the chimp¡¯s skull in half along the crack I¡¯d made earlier with my shield though, it could do naught but wriggle pathetically until I smashed it apart in a few decisive strikes. Ichor spattered across the floor, and I finally heard the faint chiming in my head that heralded the end of the fight, this time in truth. You have killed a Parasitic Metamerite (level 73). Experience gained. You have reached level 40. Attribute points available for allocation. I grinned to once more see a level up after so many battles without any tangible increase in power. That wasn¡¯t all though, as the ringing had barely subsided. Skill ¡®Indomitable Prey¡¯ has increased in level. Indomitable Prey ¨C level 10 Skill ¡®Check-Step¡¯ has increased in level. Check-Step ¨C level 10 Skill ¡®Faultline¡¯ has increased in level. Faultline ¨C level 9 Skill ¡®Skirmisher of Antiquity¡¯ has increased in level. Skirmisher of Antiquity ¨C Level 10 The bevy of skill increases was a welcome sight, though not unexpected. The downside of the combat class that balanced out the incredible attributes I received each level was that I literally couldn¡¯t progress without violence and bloodshed. I had learned much about my skills and improved heavily, but without the danger of a real fight to the death, my skills would barely change. Now that I had fought something powerful and far beyond me in level? The skill levels came thick and fast. It made me shiver with excitement. A final notification awaited my acknowledgement though, soft bells pealing in my mind insistently still. Skill gained ¨C Tilt. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Before I could understand more of the skill I had just gained, Sadrianna¡¯s voice distracted me. ¡°Lamb! You still alive down there?¡± Her shout echoed off the curving walls of the sinkhole, and I took a moment to be impressed with the power of her lungs before I responded in kind. ¡°Yeah, all good! My rope¡¯s gone though¡± I bellowed back, even as I searched around the floor to find my spear head and the fang-dagger that I¡¯d dropped when interfacing with my new weapon. ¡°What?¡± I heard back, and when I tried to clarify again, I just got the same perplexed response. Guess my shout wasn¡¯t quite as ear-achingly loud as hers. I gave the corpses on the floor a wide berth and scaled the small hill once more. Once I was at the top of the tallest tree I could climb, I tried shouting again, waving my arms to get her attention. She saw me, stood as she was overlooking the ledge and only about 20 meters above now. She frowned down at me but after a short exchange she managed to secure a new rope and hurl it down to me. I spent a few moments securing my belongings and then swung out into the void once more. I panicked a little as I swung towards the cavern walls, half expecting to be swarmed by a flurry of leaping parasitic centipedes, but alas no such drama occurred. Instead, I quickly climbed my way up the rope once it stopped swinging and emerged onto the top of the ledge with Sadrianna giving me a strong arm up. She raised her eyebrow at my dishevelled appearance, before her gaze locked onto the root I had strapped through my belt, now back in its smaller form. I caught her eye and sighed. ¡°It¡¯s a long story, and I want to get centipede blood out of my hair before I say another fucking word.¡± She cocked her head to one side before nodding. ¡°Fair enough. Come on then, I set camp while you were down there ¨C not far this way.¡± I fell in behind her gratefully, and my mind turned over the implications of the new skill I had gained. Chapter 69 - Power for Potential Tilt: As one familiar with the high places, you have felt the disconcerting pull of the sky. You know the feeling of the world tilting on its axis, of the peaks rushing towards you even as you stand unmoving. Deliver that same confusion unto your enemies and leave them unbalanced as you become the focal point around which their world spins. Further levels increase the magnitude of this effect. ¡°I imagine I won''t have that much time to level it before I hit my 2nd tier, assuming all goes well¡± I remarked to Sadrianna idly as I once more reviewed my new skill. We''d established through experimentation that it did have a mild effect of unbalancing the person I used it against, but Sadrianna was significantly more powerful than me, what with the tier difference and a good score or more of levels over me, so the effect was limited. Add to that that it was a skill still in its infancy, I didn''t yet quite understand how to control it, and she had her unorthodox movement skill, and the effect was marginal. ¡°I don''t think that''s too much of a concern,¡± she said. ¡°The system seems to account for the time that you have access to them, and how you¡¯ve levelled them within that time. For obvious reasons, the late skills are often far lower levelled than the initial class skills you gain when first classing up, but it doesn¡¯t seem to unbalance things when you break through a tier. At least, that¡¯s what my parents have shared with me.¡± ¡°You think they know more but kept it to themselves?¡± I asked her in surprise. From what I¡¯d learned, her parents were keen for her to grab power for herself however she could. Withholding information about the levelling process seemed to run counter to that goal. She cast a measuring look my way, as if wondering if I had secrets she could convince me to divulge¡­and perhaps also wondering if she wanted to know them even if she could. ¡°Has Jorge told you how it all works then?¡± she asked, and I shook my head ruefully. ¡°Fair point¡± I conceded. She snorted before continuing on with her original point. ¡°On reaching 2nd tier the system seems to take account of the disparity in time that you''ve had to level them. At least that''s what I''ve found. You should have no issue so long as you don¡¯t neglect it.¡± That was a relief to hear, as I''d been concerned that to get the most out of this class I would have to spend a long time stuck at the peak of first tier, desperately trying to level up my late skills. Tilt did seem to have very obvious combat potential, at least, so the process wouldn''t be too onerous. Still, I was keen to break through now that I was close. I was on the cusp of the 2nd tier, a few more levels and a feat and I''d be there. Power enough to find myself no longer helpless in most of the world. Sure, I''d not be near the strongest, but people like Francis D¡¯Sware wouldn''t be so far out of my reach by then. The helplessness and humiliation of my imprisonment still chafed, much as I was loath to admit it. It took all of the morning and most of the afternoon to hike back down to the lake where the rest of my companions were staying. We''d spent the night camped up in the mountains as Sadrianna had wanted to give me the opportunity to rest after the excitement, which I appreciated. More likely, she simply didn¡¯t want to deal with half a day of me as a hiking companion when I was exhausted. I tended to ramble when I got tired, after all. I''d tried my best to use my new skill on any low-level critters we came across. I¡¯d startled the hells out of a rabbit and two crows, but it was hard to draw too many conclusions from that alone. As Sadrianna was to me, so was I to the low-level animals that made the wild meadows of the Titan¡¯s Crown their home. I would have to wait and see how effective it was in sparring. Vera and George were both too powerful, but Nathlan would be an interesting test of Tilt¡¯s effectiveness. My new skill wasn''t the only new thing I had to test though. The amber root still hung heavy at my hip. I''d spent most of the day playing around with it, feeding it mana and watching as it enlarged and shrank again. Its maximum reach seemed to be a little over six feet, about the same as my previous spear. Blessedly, it also seemed to be able to perform the same function as the mechanism that Sally had forged for me; I could keep it in its slightly shorter formation, looking like a regular short spear, and then with a quick application of mana, it could shunt forwards, growing in size in an instant to surprise my enemies with an extra foot of reach. Not only could it change size; it was also shockingly sturdy. I''d tried taking the hatchet to it to see if it could regenerate but I couldn''t even cut through it, leaving no mark with the dull blade. In many ways it wasn''t really a surprise, considering it had likely had generations of time to absorb the magic wafting off the juvenile Subakir that it protected. Even a young Child of the World Tree was ranked as one of the most significant presences in Tsanderos, as far as I understood. Simply just being in close proximity for a prolonged amount of time was sure to grant magical power to even the most mundane of items. The fact that this was a tree root, and intimately tied to the World Tree''s offspring by theme and function only enhanced the effect. Just as intent seemed so crucial a force in this world, so too did theme. Like shadows like, and subjects tied together by similar themes found their spiritual significance strengthened beyond that of disparate items. All in all, it was a worthwhile trip, but it was tempting to feel as if I''d taken one step forward and two steps back. I''d lost a weapon and gained half of one. I''d lost a highly levelled skill, and gained a new, under-levelled one. But looking past the surface, I had traded a non-combat skill that didn''t fit with the rest of my class for one that did, with enormous potential as well from what I could gather. Likewise, my weapon, mundane as it was, had been traded for a powerful material that could make up part of a much more powerful weapon. I had in fact just traded actual power for a massive boost in potential.
¡°So¡­you¡¯re a pretty big deal around here, aren¡¯t you?¡± I asked as we thumped down a steep path worn into the side of a hill by millennia of her people¡¯s journeying. The barbarian woman made a show of looking around at the empty meadow we trudged through before returning to look back at me with a raised eyebrow. I laughed. ¡°You know what I mean. Heard you won The Blending last year¡­¡± I left the sentence trailing, hoping she would jump in to fill it with detail. ¡°Year before, actually. What are you fishing for, Lamb?¡± she asked instead, and I looked over at her in surprise. She looked younger then. Often when people look tired it brings out their age, but the weary set of her shoulders and the expression on her face looked so out place with the physical reality of her that it only served to highlight her youth.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. It shouldn¡¯t have been a shock, but I¡¯d been thinking of her as mature ¨C she didn¡¯t look a year past her mid-twenties, as was often the way with those in higher tiers, but something in the way she carried herself had made me think of her as older. Maybe it was her self-assurance, or simply the way everyone else reacted to her, but I was struck by surprise to recognise the youth in her features at that moment. No crow¡¯s feet around her eyes, no blemishes on her tanned skin. Strange to see such responsibility on the shoulders of one so young. I cocked my head to the side, considering her question before I answered. ¡°Partly I¡¯m just curious,¡± I said, ¡°but I do have an ulterior motive as well.¡± She narrowed her eyes at me, and I was surprised by the way her face closed off before I realised where she thought I was probably going. ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing like that,¡± I hurriedly clarified, waving away the thought as if to dismiss it from her head. ¡°My friends and I are heading over the Dragon-Spines soon. Wait, you¡¯ve heard all of this already, right?¡± She simply nodded; her guard not yet completely lowered. ¡°I - we - want as many capable warriors to join us as we can get. There¡¯ll be plenty of fighting to go around, and the more help we get, the higher our chances of not dying become. You¡¯re not just a capable warrior, but you command respect, right? You could help inspire others to join our cause.¡± I spoke quicker as I got into the swing of things, excited at the idea and dearly hoping she would sense that. Instead, she sighed. ¡°Lamb, stop. Just stop. I¡¯ll not inspire my people to join your war. Fighting myself is one thing, but bringing along others?¡± She shook her head, looking out towards the hazy outlines of the various lakes and the dots of the clan camps that surrounded them. ¡°I don¡¯t want any of my clan to come on this journey with you. I know the smell of sacrifice when I come across it. I might not be an old soul, but I¡¯ve heard stories and seen enough of our ancient warriors head out on ¡®one last hunt before hanging it all up¡¯.¡± She removed her hair tie and shook her out her long dark hair, and I was reminded strangely of a horse tossing its mane in frustration. ¡°They never come back, Lamb. Not one of them. And everyone knows it! They all sit around and pretend that we¡¯re not about to lose an invaluable resource, but I¡¯ve not once seen anyone come back from one last hunt.¡± I nodded in silence, unwilling to interrupt. This was interesting information if nothing else, but more than that, it seemed to be something she needed to get off her chest. I could read the anguish on her face plain as day, despite the twilight doing its best to obscure her features as a cloud passed over the moon. ¡°I¡¯ve been groomed since I was a bairn to put the clan first. I never wanted to lead, made that clear enough to my da as a little girl, and once that was understood, I was allowed to be a warrior. But I had to be the best warrior. Can¡¯t have Sadrianna Aryniasdottir being just one amongst many.¡± The words were bitter, but she sounded almost wistful. It was as if she gazed out not at the many clans gathered in the basin below us, but at that little girl. The vision of mediocrity that she held up in her mind¡¯s eye. ¡°I¡¯m surprised your parents put that pressure on you,¡± I remarked carefully. ¡°They don¡¯t seem the type.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t my parents. It was everyone else. None of us knew about social position and hierarchy and gods-damned advantage when we were young. But children learn quickly, and the weight of expectation fell on me at an early age. I¡¯ve not managed to shrug it off since, and it¡¯s easier to just wear around now. At least it¡¯s made me strong.¡± She turned to me then, dark eyes catching the pale moonlight and reflecting softly in the night. ¡°Poetic¡± I said. She snorted. ¡°Yeah, well it¡¯s a poetic sort of night. What was I saying before all of this?¡± she gestured up at the full moon, and then waved about as if to encompass our last few moments of conversation. ¡°Losing all your ¡®old monsters¡¯ to ill-fated hunts¡± I answered. ¡°Ah.¡± She took a moment to collect her thoughts once more. ¡°They weren¡¯t Ill-fated though. I¡¯d say they served their purpose well, those hunts. I¡¯ve seen too many of my clan leave with no intention of returning. They¡¯re old warriors, Lamb. You know what they say about old warriors?¡± ¡°Aye,¡± I nodded, feeling a little like Jorge in that moment, ¡°The brave and the stupid die young. Only the smart and skilled remain.¡± She nodded in turn. ¡°Just so. If they¡¯ve made it to that age in the clans as a warrior, then they know how to assess a threat. Why that skill suddenly fails them once their children are fully grown, nobody has yet been able to explain to me.¡± I sighed, ¡°It¡¯s hard to reshape an identity. You live your whole life as one thing? Hard to start again as something else. It¡¯s not just going from a warrior to a partner. It¡¯s going from a great warrior to a shitty partner that¡¯s the problem, right?¡± She looked surprised by my understanding, and I laughed softly. ¡°Yeah, I know something about starting from scratch.¡± She was silent for a while before she spoke again, more softly this time, with none of the accusation and frustration of before. ¡°You know this will likely end in all of your deaths, yes? I told you I¡¯ve seen it before, and this has the same smell about it. Half a dozen men can¡¯t defeat a country, Lamb.¡± ¡°Aye, perhaps. But I¡¯ll give Jorge more credit than that ¨C he¡¯ll think up some way out of it. Besides, you¡¯ve never seen Vera angry, have you?¡± I smirked and caught a hint of ghost white teeth from her before she turned away. ¡°I¡¯ll join you,¡± she said. I paused a moment, and then, unable to help myself, I asked, ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I¡¯m tired of seeing everyone else abandon their duty. They serve the clan their whole lives, and then turn around and throw it all away at the end. If I¡¯m to die on some stupid quest, better it be now, before I¡¯ve spent decades becoming an essential part of it.¡± I paused to consider the words, but they rang hollow. I should have just accepted her request, reassured her that it was the right decision and hoped to all the gods she didn¡¯t change her mind before we crossed the Dragon-Spines. But I couldn¡¯t. ¡°That¡¯s not it,¡± I said, and she flinched as if struck. ¡°That¡¯s not a good enough reason. You¡¯re already well on the way to becoming an essential part of the clan. Your parents are highly placed, and you¡¯ve got the talent and drive to take over from them one day. You could set up systems to prevent the older fighters from leaving. Force earlier rotation so they spend more time with family and build those bonds from a younger age¡­¡± Again, I paused, watching her from the corner of my eye as we trudged onwards towards those distant lakes. ¡°Why leave now?¡± She didn¡¯t answer and turned away. I thought she might be closing up again, although I couldn¡¯t see her expression to be sure, so I continued, desperate to get my point across, for some unknown reason. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you left yet? You don¡¯t strike me as the most patient person, no offence. And from what you¡¯ve said, it sounds as if you didn¡¯t have strong bonds with the other kids. What was keeping you here?¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t just leave. I had people counting on me. I had responsibilities!¡± she almost growled, frustration lacing her voice. ¡°¡­and you don¡¯t now?¡± I asked. Silence was my answer, and I realised the truth of things then. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s why. It¡¯s the responsibility you¡¯re running from now, isn¡¯t it?¡± I said it softly. Not an accusation, simply understanding. I stopped walking, forcing her to do the same and turn to face me once more. ¡°Is this what¡¯s best for the clan? What¡¯s best for you?¡± I asked, as earnest as I could be. ¡°I won¡¯t lie, we need all the help we can get. But I¡¯m not looking to recruit those who have a good life, Sadrianna. I¡¯m more optimistic about our chances than you are, but if you¡¯ve got a good reason to stay, then take it.¡± We stared at one another then for what felt like an eternity. I could see the battle raging within her, and I was once again struck by how young she was. Her athletic frame struggled with a burden that couldn¡¯t be shouldered physically. Such weight to put on a young person. She was worried for the very future of her clan, seeing trends that would play out in the social fabric over decades to come, and she felt powerless to stop it. I wondered for a moment if she was looking for an escape from that pressure, or simply trying to gather more data. To understand why such venerable fighters would leave behind everything they had fought for. In the end, it wasn¡¯t my place to understand her reasons. So long as she had considered them with due care, I would trust her to make her own choices, stranger that she was. Perhaps in time we¡¯d be close enough for my advice to mean something, but not yet. She nodded. She had made her choice. ¡°I will join you, and when I return, I shall show my clan¡¯s warriors how to find meaning in tasks other than violence.¡± I nodded. ¡°Lashvagaul¡± I said, recalling my discussion with Jorge many moons ago. She smiled then, and her stern face softened once more. ¡°Yes. I shall remind them of that ancient rite ¨C that there is joy as well as sadness to be had in the transition.¡± Chapter 70 - The Hollow Mountain Dark seas are the bane of not just ships. The Leviathan Coast is not like Altine - separated from Tsanderos by the Riven Sea. That is a channel no more than a mile deep, with predictable weather and mostly uninterested wildlife. No, the Leviathan Coast is named with good reason. It is the bastion of Tsanderos, and generations of its rulers have shielded us from what lurks in the depths of the ancient oceans that split Tsanderos from the great continents to the west. Immeasurable pressure and unimaginable vastness are the breeding ground of leviathans, and they stalk the seas, cutting us off forever from whatever awaits beyond the ocean. Storm shields crafted over generations, ward-craft refined through centuries of study by the greatest minds that our continent can produce, have held at bay the horrors that lurk fathoms below the sky, where even light fears to tread. They deserve our thanks, and our utmost respect. Grain shipments shall not be halted, warriors will not be held in reserve. When the rulers of the Leviathan Coast ask, the Desolate Empire shall answer. As it has always been. - First Lector Flavius Sinteneali¡¯s address to the senate following his appointment in .233
¡°You¡¯ve not lost another bleedin¡¯ spear, have you, Lamb?¡± I heard Jorge proclaim in his thick brogue as we shuffled in through the entrance to the shared tent. His grin took the edge off his exasperated tone, and I turned a sardonic look his way after hanging up my thick cloak. ¡°Oh no! My spear!¡± I said, patting myself down as if looking for something in a pocket. ¡°I swear I just had it in my hand only moments ago!¡± I kept the act up only for a few breaths, but it was enough to widen his grin and make Nathlan chuckle from where he sat in the corner. I noticed a palpable sense of power emanating from the scholar that I hadn¡¯t previously been aware of. My mana-sense had become far more attuned as I closed in on the final levels in the 1st tier, although it could have been as much due to use and practice as anything else. Even so, he definitely registered as more significant to my senses now. Sadrianna stood awkwardly to the side, and I realised that she likely didn¡¯t know exactly what her new place was after agreeing to join our merry little band. I gestured to a plush chair in the corner, and she looked at me askance. ¡°Grandpa over here likes to sit in a comfy chair on cold mornings on account of his old bones, so he lugs this thing around in his storage device wherever he goes.¡± I shot a look over at Jorge as I explained, and he grinned, nodding at her to show he didn¡¯t mind as she slipped into the, admittedly very comfortable, armchair. ¡°I did lose my spear again,¡± I conceded. ¡°But I gained something much more valuable¡­¡± I continued, and Vera looked up for the first time from where she was whittling a wooden stump into something resembling a pinecone. ¡°¡­Another spear!¡± I declared while holding up the amber root I¡¯d been obsessing over all the way back from the Lost Grove. Jorge leaned forwards in interest before he stopped, gaze flicking down to the hatchet still looped through my belt and back up to the root once more. Every line on his face froze, and he seemed to grow in my senses, forcing my gaze to meet his with aura alone. He held my gaze steady with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine, and he spoke carefully, as if restraining himself with great effort. ¡°How did you get that, Lamb?¡± I looked from the root to his now-stern face in puzzlement. ¡°A baby tree gifted it to me, of course,¡± I said, as if it were an everyday occurrence. I saw his eyes flick to the hatchet once more and connected the dots, albeit several moments too late to prevent the misunderstanding. ¡°Oh, no! Let me explain...¡± So saying, I gave them all a brief rundown of my journey into the sinkhole and what I had found beneath the grove. When I got to the juvenile Subakir, Jorge hung on my every word. ¡°And it spoke to you as well?¡± he asked, genuine excitement in his voice. I waggled my hand from side to side and shrugged, and he stared for a few moments before leaning forwards to gesture menacingly at me with one gnarled finger. ¡°If you don¡¯t explain what that fuckin¡¯ means¡± he waggled his hand aggressively in a rough approximation of my gesture, ¡°then so help me, by all the gods above and below¡­¡± I laughed and waved him off. ¡°Alright, alright. Someone¡¯s got a bee in their bonnet today, aye?¡± I said to the others, and Vera grunted in amusement. ¡°Don¡¯t encourage the runt.¡± Jorge said to her, but she just turned a lazy smirk his way. ¡°Don¡¯t let him wind you up, you old git. It only gives him power¡± She drawled. She blinked up at me, slow and languid as a cat with a belly full of cream, and I looked at the others, about to ask them what had gotten into her when Jorge practically growled at me to explain again. Sighing, I explained the strange feeling of intent I¡¯d received in the grove, but it was hard to put into words how it seemed to be the world itself whispering vague desires to me, rather than a single being delivering an easily defined thought. Nathlan grimaced when I spoke of the Parasitic Metamerite, and Sadrianna also looked a little disgusted, though it was the second time she was hearing of it. The two veterans paid it no mind though, and soon I had finished my tale. I spent a few moments demonstrating the root¡¯s capacity to expand and contract at will ¨C mana-willing at least ¨C and Jorge examined it himself in more detail, eventually remarking; ¡°Seems to have absorbed some of the properties of the Subakir itself. Powerful stuff. That will make an excellent haft for a new spear, Lamb.¡± I nodded, before turning to gesture towards Sadrianna, who was still sitting in the corner, staying politely silent through the last tenth of a bell our discussion had taken. ¡°I did secure something more valuable even than that, though. May I present the first ¨C and likely only ¨C recruit to our little fellowship; Sadrianna, daughter of the mountain!¡± She rolled her eyes at my dramatic flourish, having grown somewhat used to my manner in the last few days. She nodded politely at Jorge and Vera, saying, ¡°Good to see you again.¡± She turned to Nathlan and introduced herself more formally, and he shifted as if to rise and offer her his hand. Vera growled over at him though before he could move. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± Sadrianna and I looked over in confusion, and Jorge filled us in. ¡°Lad snuck out to hunt monsters in the caves nearby and overdid it. His leg is still healing, and Vera thinks he¡¯s set that process back by a few days now. She¡¯s got him in mandatory time out till the new blood has managed to circulate fully.¡± He said the last with a chuckle, and I looked over to Nathlan to see his reaction. He grimaced, and I grinned at the admission. ¡°I thought I¡¯d noticed a change. You¡¯ve levelled?¡± I asked him, and he nodded. I kept staring at him, and he reluctantly held up seven fingers. 6 fingers and a thumb really. But who¡¯s keeping track?You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°7 levels in one day!? Fucking A, that¡¯s solid progress, mate¡± I exclaimed, and he gave me a wan smile before grimacing as he shifted his weight. I turned back to Jorge. ¡°Why¡¯s he not talking?¡± I asked, meanwhile Sadrianna continued to sit quietly in the armchair off to the side. Jorge chuffed a laugh, removing his pipe from his mouth and pointing it in Vera¡¯s general direction as he spoke. ¡°Her rules. No talking till the blood properly mixes.¡± ¡°How does that help with the healing?¡± I asked her. ¡°Doesn¡¯t,¡± she replied with a smirk. ¡°But I¡¯ve lost a lot of blood on this ungrateful bastard over the last few days. If I¡¯m stuck here in recovery, then so is he, and I better not hear from him till I can leave.¡± Despite the harsh words, I could see the fondness that she had for the younger man in the way her face softened as she looked over at him. It was a nice moment, and I reluctantly pulled my thoughts onto other matters. ¡°You said we¡¯ll be here a few more days then?¡± I asked Jorge, and he nodded. ¡°Aye, at the least. We still have some supplies outstanding. Vera cut a good deal with a hunter just left a few bells ago and due back any day now. A few commissions with the local armourers and tanners too. All in all, I reckon at least a week till we¡¯re ready.¡± ¡°In that case, I have a request.¡± I asked, leadingly. He narrowed his eyes at me, flicking his gaze to Sadrianna and back. ¡°Out with it then, lad¡± he said. ¡°Right, well. Sadrianna here was telling me of a cavern to the north. Whole network of caves, really. Filled with monsters and stuff, but the really good bit is that she thinks there¡¯s a Heart of Winter somewhere within.¡± I grinned expectantly at Jorge, and the older man raised his eyebrows in surprise. ¡°Now there¡¯s a happy coincidence. You¡¯ve got a shaft just waiting for a new head, and apparently there¡¯s a powerful material that would make as fine a spearhead as any I¡¯ve heard of just wasting away in a cave nearby. What are the chances?¡± the older man asked in wonder. It was my turn to narrow my eyes at him then. I spoke slowly, suspicion lacing my tone, ¡°You don¡¯t sound surprised, Jorge. How can you possibly know about that!? I only found out a bell past from an extremely well-connected local.¡± I gestured over at Sadrianna as I spoke, who was once again simply sitting quietly in the corner, watching us bicker like children. ¡°Same way she knows, I¡¯d wager¡± he answered evenly, matching my gaze with the same placid calm I would expect from a particularly dim-witted cow. Eventually he relented and took his pipe back out of his mouth to explain, ¡°I spoke to Ventus. Said I owed you a crafting material didn¡¯t I, lad? Figured I¡¯d ask around with some of my contacts. ¡°Her father,¡± at this he pointed at Sadrianna again, ¡°was very accommodating. Even suggested sending you to the Lost Grove as part of your reward. I suspect he knows what¡¯s there in all honesty, but hard to be sure with him. He¡¯s¡­tricky¡± he said, though the statement sounded like one of admiration rather than condemnation. ¡°So, you¡¯d planned this all out already? Read the future, just like that?¡± I asked. ¡°Aye, you could say that. ¡®Course I¡¯d just say it was forethought, but I understand that that can seem like magic to the young and foolish.¡± He popped the pipe back in his mouth and puffed away. ¡°Well thank you for the lesson, ancient one.¡± I said as sarcastically as I could, but the smug bastard just puffed away, waving away my comment as if it was a genuine thanks that he wanted to brush aside. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, young Lamb. You¡¯ll learn wisdom in time as well, I¡¯m sure¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re unbearably smug,¡± was my only reply.
I shivered as we climbed higher still, the chill wind biting into our faces like a particularly violent beetle. That is to say, not enough to draw blood, but far from pleasant. Sadrianna was somewhat more insulated than me by her winter gear ¨C she had come dressed for the occasion with a thick woollen jacket and sturdy fur-line pants and boots. She didn¡¯t need to worry about being able to fight though, so could afford to be all trussed up like a turkey over a fire. I had my supple boots, greased with duck fat to keep them waterproof at least, and some leather and wool trousers. My armoured vest was worn over a furred undershirt, made from the hide of some mountain beast, and while it did wonders to keep the warmth in my body, my head remained bare. I had a bandanna protecting my neck and lower face, but my cheekbones were free to face the cold in battle with the rest of my head, and they were not winning. Even worse, I had asked Vera to shave the side of my head again, the stubble having grown too much for my liking. Bad move that, in hindsight. We had spent another half day journeying from the White-Sky encampment into the mountains, but this time had headed almost directly up towards the peaks that gave the titan¡¯s Crown its name. Several bells of solid hiking up steep mountainous terrain was enough to warm anybody up, but once we¡¯d taken a rest and given Sadrianna a chance to get her bearings, the cold had descended. The sweat had cooled against my skin and the wind had picked up, and now I was truly beginning to understand the need for real winter gear. I shouted to Sadrianna over the howling cry of freezing air whipping past the knife-edged ridgeline to our left, and she turned towards me, eyes barely visible beneath the heavy mantle of her fur-lined hood. ¡®Jealously is an unworthy emotion¡¯, I repeated to myself, willing it to sink in. ¡°What?¡± she called back, and I stepped lightly over to her, navigating the heavy snows and slick rocks with relative ease. ¡°How much further until we get there?¡± I shouted in her ear, the thick hood preventing me from deafening her. ¡°I won¡¯t last much more than a bell in these conditions as I am now!¡± She grabbed me by the arm, mittened fingers wrapping my bicep in steely strength and a gleam entering her grey eyes. ¡°You can¡¯t freeze when you run!¡± she said back, and then leapt backwards down the mountain. Such was the steepness of the boulder-field we had climbed up, that despite only leaping a meter or two outwards, she nevertheless landed a good 5 meters lower down the slope, twisting gracefully in the air to land with her knees bent and arms out to the side. I stared in shock for a moment, before she started to practically glide over the snowy boulders, growing more distant with each passing moment. I shook myself free of surprise and plunged down the mountain after her, trusting in Mountain-Born, and the Cloven-Hooved skill nested within it, to see me down safely. It didn¡¯t take me long to close the distance; she wasn¡¯t trying to get away, after all, and I found myself letting out a whoop of exhilaration as we ran. Side by side, we hurtled down the treacherous slope, navigating the deadly terrain with ease, both buoyed on by a lifetime of experience and further bolstered by specific movement skills suited to the terrain. Sadrianna shouted something, and I risked a quick glance over to see her pointing at a dark shape looming some hundred meters to our right ¨C perhaps a shelf of rock jutting from the mountain side? It was hard to make out from here, especially considering I didn¡¯t have the time to properly study- I whipped my gaze back to the ground beneath me in time to see the rock my left leg pushed from buckle, sipping off the one beneath it and sending me careening to the side. I had only moments to assess, but I had shunted mana to Check-Step the moment I felt something wrong, and so I felt the reassuring slowing of time around me for a few heartbeats. I extended my lead leg to catch on the lip of a boulder that I was heading towards, but I knew I¡¯d slip if I landed with my weight askew. With almost instinctual speed, I used my stone-sense to rip through the boulder I¡¯d targeted, searching for any exploitable weaknesses within it. Cut through with mineral tracts, mountain rock is notoriously heterogenous in form, and so I quickly found what I was looking for. A quick application of mana into Faultline, and as my outstretched foot hit the lip of the boulder in front, it cracked, tilting downwards. My other foot landed just behind my first, and I shrieked, half in fear and half in excitement, as I skidded down the surface of the man-sized boulder, riding a sliver of stone like a sled beneath my feet. I leapt off at the last moment, landing expertly on another rock further below and slowing myself down with a few judicious hops afterwards to bleed off my momentum. Sadrianna had turned at my excited squawk and had watched the whole thing. I thought I could just make out a smile squishing her cheeks up against the rim of her hood, but it was snowing too hard to be sure. We soon reached the outcropping the barbarian had pointed out, and I ducked gratefully beneath the huge mantle of stone, glad to be out of the biting snow. Sadrianna had given me a brief overview of the layout of the ice caverns that littered this hollow mountain peak, and so few words were exchanged before I was ready. A final gear check had me inspecting my spear one last time ¨C the lanceolate head of my last artifact was now wrapped snugly in the xyloid embrace of my amber spear shaft. Not only could it grow in length and thickness, but so too could it mould its shape, with enough encouragement. I didn¡¯t seem to have much fine control over the process, but when Jorge had suggested offering the old spearhead up to the root and focusing on what I wanted, the spear haft had grown its way around the metal casing, leaving me with a fully functional and slightly strange looking spear. My shield was strapped snugly to my left arm and my fang-dagger and trusty hatchet were looped through my belt on either side of my hips. My boots were tied tight, and I was ready to go. Sadrianna also looked snug, buried as she was in a cozy wooden chair with a small fire pit on the ground before her, no doubt soon to be filled with wood. She gave me a final nod, and I was off. Beneath the looming mantle of granite jutting from the mountainside, a tunnel of deep blue ice led down into darkness. Into the hollow mountain. Into the very bowels of the earth. I rolled my shoulders, weapons in hand, and committed myself to a journey of rock and ice and blood.
Author¡¯s note: needed a word that meant ¡®wood-like¡¯ so I googled it and learnt that Xyloid is a word! It sounds cool as fuck too, so even if it probably drags most out of the story, I¡¯ve kept it in because why not? See below: Synonyms of xyloid include: arboraceous, ligneous, sylvan, wooded, and wooden. Chapter 71 - A Journey of Rock and Ice and Blood I ventured deep beneath the earth, though it was strange to realise that I was still well above my companions in a physical sense, nestled safely as they were in beside the Basin of Tears many miles below. I spent at least a bell descending the tunnel of ice, crunching through gravel embedded within the frozen floor. I wondered idly where the small rocks had come from, as they seemed almost too perfect as a form of grip for it to be natural, before my mind returned to the ancient cavern that Alvorak ¨C or the demi-god pretending to be her ¨C had dwelt within. The roots that carved tunnels through the solid rock were in many ways small fry when compared to what the Deep-Worms were said to be capable of. Perhaps some gelid cousin of theirs dwelt in the frozen peaks, eating through ice and rock with ease to form such tunnels that I now walked through. The gravel could be explained by errant rocks being crushed to pulp beneath the titanic bulk of such a creature, but I wasn¡¯t sure that it was anymore reassuring than the idea that some crafty creature had laid a trap for animals like myself that couldn¡¯t swim through ice. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯ve got you with me though, aye?¡± I whispered to my new spear, admiring it in the dim blue light. Not much daylight pierced the depths, but what little did had a way of bouncing around the various passages and through the thick ice walls such that everywhere I looked held an austere glow. The first creature I killed with my new spear wasn¡¯t even real. An Ice Wraith, as it was rather unimaginably named, had risen from the floor of the tunnel before me and lunged, frost-rimed hands encircling my neck and decaying mouth parting in a silent scream. It was strangely incorporeal, though not completely, so its fingers managed to slip inside my throat, filling my lungs with cold air and making me feel as if I was on the verge of death. It also meant that I could dive straight through it, and it turned in the air to face me while I did the same. We stood only a meter or so apart as I rose from my crouch, but my spear-point now stood between us. Despite the relative advantage that it had in its habitat, it was too low levelled to pose much of a threat to me once I had learned the limits of its speed and reach. My spear point did little to harm it, but the ochre haft seemed to find more resistance as it pushed through its neck, and once I realised what was happening, it was a quick fight. The magic-infused spear haft crushed its head on my third mighty swing, and the creature dissipated into nothing more than wisps of snow. You have killed an Ice Wraith ¨C Level 32. Experience gained. It was a familiar message by the time I had traversed deep enough to begin to find caverns within the lattice of tunnels. I¡¯d even earned a level from my wanton slaughter of the denizens of this frozen place, and I distributed the attribute points into perception and strength equally. I would need to increase my agility soon to balance things out, but after speaking to Jorge I knew I had more freedom to specialise than I¡¯d initially thought. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 41 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 45 Agility: 32 Endurance: 33 Perception: 35 Cognition: 40 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 9. Passive. Tilt: Level 1. Active. Heart of the Hills: Level 9. Active. Check Step: Level 10. Active. Indomitable Prey: Level 10. Active. Skirmisher of Antiquity: Level 10. Passive. Mountain-Born: Level 11. Passive Faultline: Level 9. Active. The great tunnel boring a hole through the mountain had started to level out a few hundred meters back, and as I emerged into the first cavern, I was pleased to see it was relatively flat. Sadrianna had been clear that the biggest danger in this region was not some native beast or creature of the deep, but rather natural in origin. ¡®Crevasses have killed more clansmen than the Springtooth¡¯ as she put it. A tilt to the cavern¡¯s floor would indicate subsidence in the structure of the caves beneath and thus a higher chance of death by crevasse. Luckily not an issue for now, at least in this cavern. No; the biggest danger in this place did, in fact, turn out to be a creature of the deep after all, despite Sadrianna¡¯s warning. The only thing that helped me survive the ambush was the shining brilliance of the icy floor, and my own vanity. Unlike the tunnel, the ground of the cavern was not studded with gravel, but instead layered with frost. I noticed my footprints as soon as I moved a few steps into the open chamber and stopped to sweep away the thin layer of hoar frost with one hand and look down into the vaguely reflective surface of the ice. There was a depthless quality to it ¨C despite knowing I was standing over what was likely a mile or more of ice, riddled with tunnels and caves and rock, and all manner of creatures ¨C it seemed to me that I was looking into a mirror. I saw my own face reflected, brown eyes strangely liquid in the crinkled mirror, scars on the shaved side of my head standing out stark in the cold¡­and above me, the descending form of a beast, arthropod body falling silently towards my back with deadly intent. Eyes widening in alarm, I dived forwards, Check-Step activating even as I rolled across the ground. 6 legs scrabbled against ice where I had been only heartbeats before, and I turned to behold the creature that had tried to ambush me. It was some sort of insect. Its distended abdomen extended at least two meters from a short thorax, crowned by a wide and flat head, split vertically down the middle. From the rent in its skull that passed for a mouth, three waving tendrils emerged, rubbery and tongue-like, though far longer. It emitted a high-pitched screech, its six thin legs clacking against the floor. It was big, four meters long in total and at least half a meter tall. Its legs were strangely articulated, like that of a lizard, and so it seemed to crouch there in place, waiting for me to make my move before it pounced. I brought my shield up before me, and then grimaced. My paranoia had been useful, as demonstrated only moments ago, but now it prevented me from using one of my most powerful skills. I couldn''t bring myself to risk using Faultline in this environment. The thought of compromising the structural integrity of the tunnel and then falling to a slow death; crushed, suffocating¡­it was still vastly preferable to being eaten alive by a giant insect, but still; death wasn¡¯t my aim here. Nevertheless, Faultline wasn¡¯t my only skill, and so I psyched myself up for the fight ahead, feeling the hair on my arms and legs prickling with anticipation. My skin itched and my blood started to sing along with the primal drumbeat resounding in my chest. I unstoppered the metaphorical cork in my core, mana starting to gush outwards, flowing into my pathbound skill. Indomitable Prey unfurled its wings around my soul, and I felt outrage take the place of disgust as I considered this creature before me. It had dared to make me prey, and that was unacceptable. I shuffled forward with quick steps, driving short, sharp strikes with my spear to test its reactions. The creature screeched again and raised its forearms to block. It was surprisingly nimble, and it seemed to be able to scuttle around with its back legs alone, the two more developed limbs at its front held in a high guard reminiscent of a praying mantis.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Despite the lack of visible muscle, the creature was strong and fast, and the firm exoskeleton sheathing its limbs from serrated claw to shoulder joint helped deflect my spearhead with ease. Each strike blocked caused a metallic shing! to echo around the cavernous space, and it didn¡¯t take long for the persistent ringing to worm its way into my mind. I felt nausea build in my belly as we danced around in a frost-rimed cave filled with frozen teeth. It seemed that sound was amplified, echoing out and multiplying rather than dispersing, and my head started to thrum with pain. I trusted in Mountain-Born to keep my footing as we fought, but my balance was starting to feel less secure. The floor began to tilt, dizziness creeping into my body insidiously. With dread, I realised that this must be a skill of the creature, and it was deflecting my strikes with such precision as to create different tones and sounds from the impact. It was slowly creating a symphony of my defeat. I lurched back, propelling myself a few dozen feet away with rapid steps, and ducking behind frozen stalagmites to disrupt any pursuit, if only for a moment. I heard it scuttle after me; pointed legs stabbing into the ground with sharp cracks. It rounded the group of frozen pillars to find me even further away, and it opened its strange vertical mouth to let out another ear-splitting screech. Three long tendrils of flesh shot forth and waved in the air before it. Two were covered in barbs of bone, cruelly hooked and clearly designed to grip and rend. The third, slightly longer but no less thick, had suckers lining the end of the appendage. The reverberating sound had finally abated, clearly unable to sustain itself without constant impact. I was worried that the creature would smack its own forelegs together to create the disorientating noise once more, but it seemed an empty concern. I rolled my shoulders and charged in once again, a different tactic in mind. Rather than try to wear away at its defences and learn its habits before punishing them, I opted to huddle behind my shield. Its forelegs were fast, but they were articulated in such a way that I doubted they could lunge forwards with the same rapid force that they contracted with. I was to find out soon enough, as I barely had a moment before a blow landed on the bronze face of my shield. The noise was tremendous, like the ringing of a symbol, but I felt no magic in that crash. The creature continued to scuttle around on four legs, landing blow after blow in an attempt to break through my guard, but my shield was forged of ancient bronze, and my will was iron. It could no more penetrate my guard than a squirrel could chew down an ancient oak. I had been concerned that it would build those strikes into another disorientating crescendo, but I needn¡¯t have feared. After no more than 30 breaths, the moment I had been waiting for finally came. I felt a much less powerful impact on the top of my shield, and rather than a crash, it sounded like a carcass had been dropped to the ground from a great height ¨C a meaty smack of flesh on stone. I was reminded briefly of the first creature I had killed in this world and felt a pang of sympathy for the great stag that had been so cruelly dashed to the rocks by something far beyond it in the skies above. A moment later, something wrenched the rim of my shield down, and I ducked, hearing the whistle as two bone-hooked tendrils split the air where my head had just been. My spear was already lancing through the air, and I felt a brief moment of resistance as it hit the sticky tendril of muscle connecting my shield to the insect¡¯s mouth. Rather than stab, I twirled my wrist, and the spear angled up and over the tendril before dipping down on the other side. I wrenched back quickly, and the sharp blade sliced diagonally through the appendage. I leapt backwards, shield still clutched tightly in my left arm to keep the tendril taught. There was a moment of sickening resistance as blade sliced through flesh, and then the tension vanished and a pained squeal pierced the air. I fell back and nearly squealed myself as the bloody stump of quivering flesh remained stuck to my shield, flopping dangerously close to my face from the movement. In that horrifyingly insect-like manner, it rushed towards me, four legs scrabbling against the frozen ground for purchase and remaining two tendrils waving in outrage. The ragged stump of its third mouth stalk sprayed thick ichor to the ground beneath, and my eyes tracked the smoke curling from the floor where it fell, my ears picking up the low hiss of bubbling blood. I backed away once more, aiming fast cuts at those waving tendrils of flesh whenever I could. Its forelegs snapped through the air in an effort to intercept those strikes, to build once more the discordant rhythm that had so wobbled me earlier in the fight, but I was wise to the tactic now and avoided it by pulling my jabbing cuts back before impact. It was a tiring way to fight, but I had endurance in spades and was determined to end this fight without further injury. I fed a small stream of mana into Tilt, aiming to flip the table and disorient the insect in turn, but it had little effect that I could see. Perhaps it was the low centre of gravity and many legs that gave it too stable a base, or perhaps it was inured to the feeling due to its own similar skill, but either way; it thundered towards me without a hint of concern, and I was left to dive aside from a sweeping strike from its mouth-tendrils once more. I came to my feet from the roll with my spear discarded but my hatchet in hand, and I swung a heavy blow at the creature¡¯s face from underneath. It was a perfect uppercut, my whole body in the swing and built from the ground up; feet set, hips pivoting, waist twisted and shoulders following through. Even so, the metal head of my hatchet thudded into the carapace beneath that gaping maw and did little more than slightly crack the shiny outer surface. Instead of another pained squeal and the crunching sound I¡¯d been expecting, I found my breath whooshing from my lungs as I was sent blasting across the cavern. A block of ice, large as a cannonball, had been flung my way with enough momentum to send me careening through the air, sliding several more meters across the floor after I landed. Sharp rocks sliced at me, gouging furrows in the padded gambeson I wore beneath the heavy scale vest, and lines of fire across my skin below it. I managed to arrest the momentum of my slide on the slick floor by slamming my hatchet down and bracing on it like an ice-axe. It bit several inches deep into the ice below me, and I let out pained cough as I came to a stop. That vest was all that kept my ribs from cracking beneath the force of the projectile, but even so, it took a frighteningly long few moments to draw the first wheezing breath into my injured lungs. By the time I had regained my senses, the insect was already barrelling towards me, legs clacking against the ground and a piercing scream emitting from its damaged jaw. I rolled to the side, avoiding an avalanche of bone hooks and muscle that slammed into the floor where I¡¯d been. Rather than continue to roll away, I reversed direction and grabbed the meaty tendril, then rolled towards it. I reached for the fang dagger I kept in my belt, slipping it free and slicing deep into the proto tongue beneath me. This creature was powerful, but was still no match for whatever ancient behemoth had left its skull back in the valley where I had found this fang. The sharp, micro-serrated edge of the tooth bit deep, slicing cleanly through the thick muscle. Another piercing shriek rattled not just the loose shards of ice on the floor around us, but my head as well, reverberating in that strange magically-enforced way. I didn¡¯t try to make it to my feet, knowing my balance was likely already compromised by the creature¡¯s skill, and instead rolled to the side over and over, hearing sharp cracks as clawed legs stabbed into the ice all around my moving form. Somehow, I avoided turning into a pincushion and got to my feet, shaking off the impact. Adrenaline smoothed over any pain I might be feeling from such a series of events under normal conditions. We¡¯d both been bloodied now and my pathbound skill roared its approval from within my soul at the feat. My hatchet was embedded in the ice by my feet, my fang dagger in hand and shield still strapped to my left arm. My spear was lying on the floor several meters behind the creature, and I cast about for other weapons I could use. The dagger was frighteningly effective at parting flesh but would do little to punch through the iron-hard carapace, and I couldn¡¯t rely on staying in as close as I¡¯d need to use the small dagger without injury. My eyes skittered around the room, cataloguing terrain and searching frantically for anything I could use to my advantage, before I eventually looked up and found what I was searching for. I had been hesitant to use my Faultline skill on the floor to disrupt its footing, but I had no such compunctions about using it on the stalactites hanging from the ceiling. I would need to be careful, but looming precariously above my discarded spear in the centre of the cavern was a massive icicle, point sharp and at least several meters long and couple of feet thick at its base. Knowing I would need to get the timing right, I backed away. The creature lumbered towards me, and I hit it with Tilt for the second time, though I fed far more mana into the skill this time. My perspective didn''t warp, but I got the sense the creature¡¯s did. It hesitated a moment, wiggling in place before it seemed to shake itself free of whatever strange sensation my skill manifested as. I used the spare time wisely, skirting around so that I was between it and my spear. I heard its four legs clack! on the floor, one after the other in a staccato rhythm as it spun itself to keep its front legs between me and its presumably softer abdomen. I reached out with my stone sense at that moment, impossibly glad that ice still counted for however the system decided these rules. I hit it with Tilt again, and then I dashed backwards, turning my back to the creature and sprinting several steps before diving to the floor. I skidded on my ass, scooping up the spear with one hand as I slid past, before planting a hand to the floor slipping by below and flipping onto my front. I caught my foot on a rock and span myself around, sliding on my back for another meter, spear whipping round to point at the creature that I heard thundering behind me. I flooded mana down the Faultline skill, even as the creature dove on top of me, the one intact tendril slapping against my shield. I felt the heavy impact as my spear hit its exoskeleton and bounced to one side, finding purchase again a moment later. I suffered the horrible feeling of it puncturing through one of the leg joints, spearing into the insides of the creature, and it let out a horrifying squeal once more. So close to my face, the sound was impossibly loud, and I thought for sure my eardrums had ruptured, though I felt no blood trickling from them. I twisted the spear, frantically trying to buy myself just the few more heartbeats I needed. And then a loud crack split the air, and I knew my skill had done its work. The massive spear of ice descended from the ceiling, slamming inevitably into and then through the swollen abdomen of the creature. It was a long fall, 20 meters or so, and the icicle, rather than penetrating deep into the icy floor, smashed as it hit the ground beneath the creature. It served only to drive small shards of ice deeper in and it thrashed above me as its insides were shredded. I held firmly onto my shield, turtling up beneath it and tucking my legs and head behind its bronze embrace. I did my best to stay out of the path of dripping ichor and stabbing legs as the insect wallowed in its death throes, but eventually it subsided and slumped to the ground. I grunted, shifting the heavy mass to one side and sliding away before regaining my feet. I inhaled raggedly, desperate to fill my lungs with further breath. My hair was damp and stuck to my forehead, and my arms ached with a dull pain from the cuts I¡¯d received skidding along the floor. No further creatures ambushed me though, and after my breathing had returned to normal and I¡¯d confirmed the lack of serious injuries, I retrieved my weapons and acknowledged the soft ringing in my ears. You have killed a Hoarfrost Bonesinger (level 71). Experience gained. Skill ¡®Faultline¡¯ has increased in level. Faultline ¨C level 10 Skill ¡®Tilt¡¯ has increased in level. Tilt ¨C level 2 You have reached level 42. Attribute points available for allocation. You have reached level 43. Attribute points available for allocation. Chapter 72 - From Bad to Worse As I reviewed the gains from my last fight, I sighed in relief. Funny how the pain suddenly didn¡¯t feel so bad, the fear of death suddenly a little further away. I shook my head, bracing myself for the rush as I put 3 points into agility, 2 into endurance and another 5 into strength. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 43 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 50 Agility: 35 Endurance: 35 Perception: 35 Cognition: 40 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 9. Passive. Tilt: Level 2. Active. Heart of the Hills: Level 9. Active. Check Step: Level 10. Active. Indomitable Prey: Level 10. Active. Skirmisher of Antiquity: Level 10. Passive. Mountain-Born: Level 11. Passive Faultline: Level 10. Active. As I moved slowly through the cavern and into the tunnel beyond, I kept my senses peeled. I strained my soul, searching for any hint of mana moving nearby. It was a strange feeling, to attempt to feel with your soul. I was used to turning that sense inwards by now, feeling the flows of mana as it bubbled up within my core and flowed along the pathways of my skills. But I had started to gain flashes of instinct during battles, moments where just before my opponent¡¯s powerful skills were released I would sense a disturbance in the air; as if charged with static as before a storm. After perhaps a quarter bell of careful movement and even more careful sensing, I heard a faint ringing. Surprised, I acknowledged the system¡¯s notification. Skill gained ¨C Mana Sense. No open skill slots available, skill discarded. As ridiculous as it was, I hadn¡¯t actually asked Jorge about how skills were gained or incorporated once one already had a full suite of them. Nathlan had given me a rundown, in that lecturing way of his where he meandered through about 5 different academic disciplines to answer my simple question, and the answer was frustratingly simple; you didn¡¯t. 8 skills was the limit, and if you wanted to incorporate new ones, you needed to drop old ones to make space in your soul for the new. Didn¡¯t mean picking up new skills was useless however, since when it came to classing up into a new tier, the class skills you gained from the new class could be influenced by the skills you currently had and the ones you had learned but discarded. It was also apparently possible to incorporate small new skills into a general skill, much like a merger. The trouble was that it had to fit with the skill it would merge into. If I still had Wilderness Endurance Hunter, then perhaps I could fold in a tracking skill of some kind and possibly then add Mana Sense into it as well¡­ But that was the trade-off I was taking with my path. I hadn¡¯t spent decades laying a steady foundation, agonising over every choice and planning meticulously. If I had, perhaps I would be a match for Sandent Varselli level for level. Instead, I made rapid, unsteady progress and lurched from opportunity to opportunity, guzzling down any wisdom and experience I could get my hands on. She was among the brightest of the clan¡¯s future fighters while still a dozen levels beneath the peak of 1st tier. But here I was, having just killed a powerful 2nd tier beast, and soon to breach the tier gap that held so many back from true greatness. Slow and steady might win the race, but I didn¡¯t want to run a race through busy streets. I wanted to run free, on my own time for my own reasons. Right now, that was supporting my friends and making the world a better place, one toppled tyrant at a time. Nominally, we would only be involved in toppling the first such tyrant in the Sunset Kingdoms, but such an action was sure to set off a chain reaction in my opinion. I personally also doubted Vera would leave it at just the one. Despite her cynical airs and professed desire for vengeance, I knew that what truly motivated her was a revolutionary love for the people of her home. The various principalities that ruled the Sunsets may care very much for their borders, but from what I had heard, the people who lived on and worked the land considered them arbitrary. In any case, I had chosen this path to power, and I would continue to walk it as long as I was able. Sure, I could spend time building more skills, hoping to gain more powerful and well-rounded general skills and have my class skills evolve in a more optimised way, but that wasn¡¯t the way I was wired. A headlong sprint into danger without the appropriate forethought was more my kind of thing. Speaking of, I moved forward. I slipped through caverns and tunnels, heading inexorably deeper into the subterranean labyrinth that was the ice caves beneath the Hollow Mountain. Drawn on, as if by fate, by whatever waited for me in the depths. It should come as no surprise that a powerful treasure would be found deep in a place of power like this, not discarded carelessly at the surface for anyone to find. Power draws power, and like draws like. As I traversed the frozen caves ¨C a predator seeking its prey ¨C so too did something crouch at my destination, waiting for me to draw close. I couldn¡¯t lie to myself, and pretend I saw no danger. The Hoarfrost Bonesinger could clearly have made use of the Heart of Winter, so the fact that it hadn¡¯t told me that either Sadrianna¡¯s information was incorrect, or that something worse currently stood guard over the natural treasure. Still, I wouldn¡¯t abandon my task without at least glimpsing failure with my own eyes.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. I¡¯d be happy to run if I could determine that the obstacle ¨C for there was sure to be one ¨C was beyond me, but I wouldn¡¯t turn and run without that confirmation. Perhaps a guardian would be in slumber, and I could sneak past without a confrontation? Stranger things have happened, after all.
In the penultimate chamber, I found a corpse. I knew this chamber to be the last one before my destination, because I could feel power boiling forth from the tunnel at the back in my undeveloped mana sense. There was a palpable sense of threat emanating from that carved entrance, and I spent long moments examining the cavern before me to make sure that it wasn¡¯t produced by anything in the chamber itself. Satisfied, I crept forwards to examine the corpse in more detail. It resembled a spider, with eight long legs splayed out around a long tubular body. The legs rose some 4 meters into the air before angling back down to the earth and were thick around as my wrist. The entire body looked to be carved from white marble, or bone ¨C it was hard to be sure which ¨C and it was no larger than my own, out of place amidst the giant legs. A single fine seam split the body from top to bottom along the middle, and as I drew closer, I realised that the slender body looked surprisingly human. Surprisingly feminine. There was no head, simply a jagged nape of a neck, but beneath was a torso that wouldn¡¯t have looked out of place within a town square in Colchet as part of their classical art scene. The delicate collarbone and shoulders were formed with exquisite detail, as were the slight arms splayed on the floor to either side. The body had eight pairs of breasts lining its undercarriage, like the teats of a wolf, but its lower half was less defined. Two lumps of flesh that could have been legs were fused together to give the impression of a half-melted statue. The lack of head was a blessing, as I couldn¡¯t decide whether I¡¯d be more disturbed with a humanoid one or that of a spider. Eight legs, eight teats, but only two spindly arms ¨C more grasping claws than anything, too short to be much use as real limbs, especially considering the creature would have stood at least a few meters off the floor when standing on its long legs. It was only as I stepped next to the corpse and tapped my spear butt against its bone-white exterior that I realised what this was. It was an exoskeleton, discarded by a creature as it grew to even more titanic proportions. The seem along the back, the lack of head¡­it all spoke to a process of ecdysis on a scale I¡¯d never before seen. I relaxed a fraction, thinking of the crabs I had seen in a rock pool in the DragonSpines a week or so ago. Jorge had lectured us on the correct way to identify the young males; the older males were no good as the poison sacks along their front claws would give the claw meat an offal-like flavour, while the older females were rare and should be left alone to keep up the population levels stable. They would crack their shells down the middle, crawling from them only to hole up nearby and grow a new one. Bigger, stronger. Harder. I picked the spear up in two hands, shifting my shield up my forearm to give space, and then swung hard at the leg nearest to me. The magical haft of my spear slammed into the hard shell and sent a sharp crack! echoing around the small cavern. I waited with bated breath to see if the great power beyond the tunnel mouth would respond, but there was no change. After I was satisfied, I inspected the damage. There was no mark on my staff, as to be expected of material that had spent generations absorbing power from an existence too mighty for this world to fully hold. The worrying thing was that I could find no mark on the shell either. I had wound up for a powerful swing, and still there was nothing. The creature in the next room, if it was the same as had left this exoskeleton behind, could be wreathed in material even more impenetrable. I wondered then about whether I truly wanted a Heart of Winter to crown my spear with. Was I willing to die for one? No, definitely not. Was I willing to risk dying for one though? That was harder to answer. Sadrianna had confirmed that they were simply natural treasures, formed from mana that had aspected to its environment over hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of years until concentrated to such a degree that the immaterial gained physical presence in the world. I preferred the explanation Nathlan had suggested though; he¡¯d read somewhere ¨C he¡¯d told me where, but I certainly didn¡¯t care to remember ¨C that a Heart of Winter was formed by the tears of mountain giants as they strode the empty peaks of the DragonSpines, calling out in mournful wailing at their isolation. That was apparently also an explanation for where the howling northern wind came from, and thunder too. It was a versatile myth, that of the mountain giants. I thought of a single solitary tear tracking down the craggy features of an ancient giant, akin to the one I had met in the Wandering States so many moons ago, falling to the ground and tinkling its way down a frozen mountain side. To sit, for generations beneath the mountain in a frozen world, a terrible spider-creature the only one that could behold its beauty. No, I didn¡¯t think I could walk away from the opportunity to liberate such a treasure from this frozen hell. Not without seeing its guardian with my own eyes, at least. I turned back to the marble bone skeleton before me and focused on Faultline. I fed a sliver of mana to the skill and reached out to one of the legs. A tiny crack appeared, imperceptible to my vision but felt heavily within my stone-sense, wending its way along the underside of the leg, and I smiled. It was mana intensive, but I could affect this material. I strode onwards, moving through the tunnel with purpose and poise, until I stood at the mouth of the final cavern. It was enormous, at least a hundred meters high, with stalactites hanging from the ceiling as tall and thick as buildings. I wouldn¡¯t be risking using my Faultline skill on those then. It was a few hundred meters in diameter, shaped like a large teardrop, with the tunnel emerging into the narrow end. Surprisingly near the entrance, I saw my prize. It would have been easy to miss given its size, if it wasn¡¯t for the great spiritual weight it carried to my senses. A pedestal made of blue ice, shockingly bright and almost glowing with a light of its own, grew from the floor. On top, a small basin filled with water. It wasn¡¯t frozen, which surprised me, but my attention was taken by what rested within that small bowl of water. A shard of ice. The purest expression of the element I had ever seen. It was around a foot long, and bobbed and spun in the water almost playfully, the clear liquid glistening as it rolled off its deep blue surface. I had spent bells walking through these frozen caverns. I¡¯d fought spirits of ice itself, frozen insects, and spent near a full day walking through a snowy blizzard to get here. And yet, this small crystal was the most perfect encapsulation of winter I had ever seen. I couldn¡¯t even conceptualise anything more deserving of the title. From this day forward, if I was asked to describe winter itself, this item is what I would draw from for inspiration. Eventually I managed to wrench my gaze from it and look around the cavern. Nothing of note jumped out, just a large cavern filled with stalagmites littering the floor and stalactites and thick brilliant white pillars of ice spreading across the ceiling in a strange pattern. I then noticed the spider hanging above the pedestal. My eyes had skimmed straight over it, hovering as it was against the backdrop of the frost-rimed wall behind it. Once I had noticed it though, I struggled to look at anything else, even the magnetic pull of the Heart of Winter below seeming less important right then. The spider was enormous, at least a dozen meters tall when standing on its many legs. They were thick around as my thighs now, and I had no doubt that they were suitably reinforced too. Then I saw its face. If the body could be said to be that of an idealised human, but melted and twisted with animalistic traits, then its face was the opposite. It was a nightmarish cross of spider and human, with spider as the clear base template. A dozen eyes set within a curved forehead, and strangely human nose below, and then two interlocking seems splitting its lower face and neck. I knew that if ¨C when ¨C it woke, that face would split open along four corners, and gape horrifyingly at me. It was an arachnid aberration on the world, and I felt a primal revulsion at its very presence. I cared not whether it was sentient, sapient; whether it experienced love and joy just like myself. I hated it from the moment I saw it, and I wanted it dead with all my heart. It hung there, a mere four or five meters off the ground, legs splayed out protectively around the pedestal and supported by a thick weave of webbing attached to the ceiling far above. I guessed it be at the peak of the 2nd tier at least, based on its size. Size alone wasn¡¯t everything, and there were many small creatures that were comparatively deadly. Rakshasa for example never grew more than a few meters in length or height, but they were the unquestioned sovereigns in many biomes. But to reach such a size necessitates a certain strength; the food demands were massive and the ability to meet those demands was only one factor. Another was simply the strength to move around such great bulk as well. Humans, some of the other enlightened races, and Rakshasa again, were relatively rare for their ability to stay forever the same size even as they increased in strength, whereas most other beats progressed in scale and power together. I was fairly confident then in my assessment that this creature was at the peak of 2nd tier at the least. I settled in to plan my ambush. Chapter 73 - From Bad To Worse part 2 ¡°You shame this court with your wild accusations! There is no decorum here, nothing deserving of the Trident-Holder in your empty words. Speaker, banish this stain on our house¡¯s honour and let us move on to real matters while there is still daylight left.¡± ¡°The only shame I bear is for my silence until now. Call me a liar again, directly or otherwise, and you will see why I was given that title. Speaker, I demand an answer. If the heads of this house refuse to give one, I will present my own, painted in their blood.¡± - Excerpt from ¡®the day of judgement¡¯ as recounted by 3rd scribe Sentorius in the book ¡®intrigue and incidents ¨C a decade of turmoil in Ship¡¯s Rest¡¯, circa. 271
I settled in to observe and plan. Sneaking past it wouldn¡¯t be possible; its legs formed a dense cage and were no doubt sensitive to temperature or air movement. Possibly not, since I couldn¡¯t see any tiny hairs lining its bone-like legs, but then again, a creature didn¡¯t necessarily need the physical organs to sense things in this world; mana was a potent adaptive mechanism, after all. Could I distract it enough to grab the Heart and then run away? Not massively likely, given the length of those legs. I doubted I could move faster than it even before taking into account any enhancements it wielded due to higher attributes. I¡¯d also been trekking through this underground world for bells on end, and even at a dead sprint I suspected it would take me near a bell to reach Sadrianna once more. That was a long time to be chased by a raging giant spider. I needed a force multiplier of some sort. Vera was a big proponent of ambush tactics, bless her soul, but I wasn¡¯t quite sure how to create one here. I was unwilling to mess with the ceiling like I had with the Hoarfrost Bonesinger, and it was too far above me besides ¨C my stone-sense was not yet powerful enough to reach over a hundred meters through air. I thought back to some of my conversations with the imposing woman. She¡¯d said that a good ambush was where the hunt should begin and end, preferably one immediately preceding the other, and that differences between?levels?were not necessarily fundamental to the calculus of war.?There was such?variance between any two fighters?of different backgrounds that the difference in skill, Skills, approach, weapons and armour, tactics, etc. often made up for any level differences. In contrast though, the difference between tiers was?in many ways?insurmountable.?It was easier to fight up a tier?against?monsters in the wild rather than other sapient creatures, since they tended to lack the flexibility and tactical awareness that humans and the other enlightened races usually possessed. But still,?at a certain point,?the difference?in power did become?almost impossible to overcome.?That point was often the difference between tiers, but it wasn¡¯t an absolute rule. As Vera was fond of saying,?¡®a man is just a man, especially if you catch him with his pants down¡¯. Sometimes I suspected she was just making the expressions up on the spot. It was hard to know. She was a serious person, with dark humour that sometimes bubbled to the surface at strange moments. The question was whether I could breach the tier gap with this creature. While?a 2nd tier warrior who had heavily invested?into skills?to boost survivability?would be?almost impossible for an average 1st tier warrior to kill on the battlefield, switch the context and it was more than possible. If they were caught while relaxing at home,?outside of their armour,?and not expecting an attack?then they could be killed with relative ease. I was well aware of how little force it took to cut a throat with a sharp blade. As one rose through the tiers though, these rules began to break down, and monsters were a further exception still. As a general rule, they were hardier and tougher than the enlightened races. My spear would still puncture through the neck of almost all 2nd tier humans if I could get it there in time, but I knew I couldn¡¯t pierce the exoskeleton of this spider-creature before me. I knew all that, but it didn¡¯t mean this venture was doomed.?I paced around the cavern slowly,?examining it from?every angle,?hoping to spot some already-existing wound or weakness I could exploit. Patience was a virtue,?and I continued to struggle with it as time dripped by. Every time frustration tried to raise its head,?I looked once more to the Heart of Winter,?and that achingly beautiful?distillation?of the world.?My motivation would pick back up whenever I did, and in that way, I managed to take the time required to understand the creature that hung in that frozen grotto. Eventually, I decided I needed to view it from above.?I shrunk my spear down to its smaller form with a trickle of mana and shoved it through my belt, shifted my shield further up my forearm, and began to climb a nearby stalagmite. I?wrapped both arms around the massive icicle and shimmied my way up, slow and quiet. I could have climbed much quicker - slam the rim of my?bronze shield into the ice,?pull myself up in great heaves - but I was unwilling to risk waking the creature before I was ready. Instead, I slithered up,?hands freezing against the?icy exterior?of the stalagmite.?Thankfully, the cold was such that?the heat of my hands?did not melt?the surface,?and I managed to maintain my grip, despite numb fingers. My endurance was in the mid-30s at this point,?and that was enough to shield me from?frostbite, at least. Once I had reached?a dozen metres in the air,?I could see, finally,?the top of the creature.?I was looking for the seam?that split its back, the one I¡¯d noticed on the smaller exoskeleton in the previous cavern. There must be one - how could it shed its exoskeleton,?impossibly tough as it must be,?without some sort of?weakness in the bone sheathing its entire body??Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! I knew there could be a?natural explanation.?Some sort of acid it produced?from a special gland when it was time to shed?its exterior once more, for example.?But I had to hope. I reached out with my stone sense,?feeling the ice all around. Further, and I felt the pedestal and the spider above it. I was thankful that my stone-sense could map the creature¡¯s exoskeleton, and while I didn¡¯t know exactly what it was made of ¨C some composite of bone and keratin most likely ¨C it seemed to fall within the purview of Faultline. I stayed there, frozen in time as I inspected my soul and the skill constellation that I would use, and considered my approach. An age seemed to pass as I marshalled my intent, visualising the flow of mana, the affect it would have in the real world, the steps I¡¯d need to take to complete my task. Could it be done? Was I gambling my life for greed? The thoughts kept trying to intrude, but I blocked them out with a careful application of Heart of the Hills. A final glance at the pedestal and the item it held ¨C I wanted to know what I was fighting for, after all. My gaze travelled up to the cage of skeletal-wreathed legs that surrounded the Heart of Winter, and then further up to the body of the creature. I couldn¡¯t see its underside, lurking as I was a few meters above it¡¯s suspended form, but the weakness I was aiming for wasn¡¯t on its front anyway. I drew in a few deep breaths, letting them out slowly and increasing the mana flow to Heart of the Hills for a few moments before cutting it off. I¡¯d need all my fear and excitement for this next working of will. Mana flooded out in my senses as I pushed more out of my core than I¡¯d ever done before in one go. It flooded along the channel in my soul towards Faultline, and the skill lit up like a dying star in the void. I reached out and focused on that thin seam that ran from base to head on the colossal spider, and I commanded it to rupture. A piercing screech rushed through the cavern as the creature woke from its torpor, and it was met by an answering roar from my throat as I leapt from the stalactite I¡¯d been hanging from. I twisted in the air, pulling my spear from my belt and pushing the last hints of mana from my core into the artifact. It expanded in my grip and I held it over my head as I sailed through the air, back arched and ready to slam the weapon down when I landed. The creature woke to immense pain, as its very skeleton cracked under the alien will of another, and it squirmed and wriggled in the air, still suspended as it was by the large thread it had woven to the ceiling. Its eight legs thrashed, creating a staccato percussion against the hard ice beneath it, and then I was slamming into its back, spear crashing down directly on the weakened seam of its shell. A shock reverberated up my arms, and chips of bone and slivers of metal from my spearhead exploded back at my arms, opening small lacerations. But the spear penetrated that outer shell. It slammed through and only halted at the exoskeleton that sheathed the creature¡¯s stomach from below, unable to penetrate the un-weakened section. I pushed my weight against the spear, stirring the weapon around within the spider and mincing its insides. It continued to screech in pain as I wrenched the spear back and forth like a sailor controlling a rudder in storm-wracked seas. I screamed along with it, barely able to hold on as it bucked and writhed, and then the one of its great legs whipped up. I ducked below it, but it hadn¡¯t aimed at me. The webbing holding it to the ceiling was sheared through, and we both dropped to the ground a dozen meters below. I tried to roll off, but the impact was too sudden, and I tripped as we hit the floor, my head smacking into the hardened carapace of its back. I slipped off and fell to the floor, the hard ice feeling almost like a cushion in comparison to the unyielding exoskeleton above. I felt slightly dazed, but still had enough presence of mind to roll to the side as soon as I landed. A pointed leg slammed into the ground where I¡¯d been a moment before, leaving splintering cracks and a crater at least a foot deep. That would have gone straight through me. I looked up into a smooth forehead, littered with black, unblinking eyes. I was looking for some sort of rage or fear or pain, but they regarded me with emptiness, and that was worse for some reason. Its four-pronged mouth split open and it spread teeth and mandibles wide. I felt true fear then and scrabbled backwards on hands and knees. My hand closed around the fang-dagger in my belt, and I pulled it out. It looked pathetic, barely a foot long, including the handle, and the creature before me swung its small head to track me. I doubted the dagger would make it through to its brain even were I to manage to drive it through one of its eyes. It raised one enormous leg, and I watched with resignation as my doom approached¡­ It slammed back down between my legs, less than a foot from splitting my hip in two. Seven similar cracks echoed out in quick succession, and the body and head thumped to the ground in front of me only a moment later. You have killed a ¡®Corrinian Rhai¡¯ (level 71). Experience gained. You have reached level 44. Attribute points available for allocation. Skill ¡®Faultline¡¯ has increased in level. Faultline ¨C Level 11. The information made itself known to me as soon as I acknowledged the ringing bells, and I sighed in relief. My skull ached, and when I touched the side of my head, my hand came away bloody. Head wounds, the drama queens of injuries. I was almost surprised at Faultline increasing in level so rapidly, even beyond the soft cap at level 10, but I had given it major use in combat scenarios, and spent many a bell with Nathlan exploring the underlying principles of its use. Rather than dwell on the upgrades though, I staggered to my feet and went to retrieve the spear. It took some doing, and I had to brace a foot against a ridge on its back to even be able to withdraw the weapon. The gleaming blade was covered in pale viscera as I drew it out, and the head was chipped and bent. I shrunk it down to its ¡®travel size¡¯ - as I come to think of it - and wiped away as much gunk as I could before shoving it into my belt. I hopped down and approached the pedestal. The Corrinian Rhai had fallen around it, leaving the elegant sculpture of ice jutting into the air between two massive legs. I clambered over to it and snatched the Heart of Winter out of the pool of crystal-clear water in the pedestal. It was strangely warm to the touch, but the moment I grabbed it my skin went cold. Not from any magical phenomena of the item through. Instead, I felt my blood freeze as something uncoiled from the ceiling. A great power billowed forth around the cavern, and I looked up to see the ceiling itself shifting and moving. I tracked one massive leg ¨C I had mistaken them for pillars of off-coloured coloured ice earlier - at least twenty meters long and thick around as my torso, and knew that this was something far beyond me. Indomitable Prey tried to activate with the dregs of mana left in my soul, to fight back against the primal dread that a creature of such size instilled within me. It was no use though, no amount of arrogance could convince me this was a fight worth fighting, and the skill guttered and died before it could influence me into something suicidal. Pausing just long enough to swear internally with all my might, I shoved the item into my belt alongside my spear, and sprinted from the cavern, death screeching at my heels. Chapter 74 - Friends Old and New *Sadrianna* She was enjoying herself, Sadrianna had to admit. Things had gotten significantly busier in her life since she¡¯d breached the 2nd tier, and her responsibilities sometimes felt stifling. When was the last time she¡¯d had a chance to escape into the mountains like this? To just sit outside with a fire, and enjoy the view and the cold air on her skin? Too long, for certain. It was important work, no doubt, but there was just so much of it. It was unrelenting ¨C everyday a new task she needed to tackle, a new argument to head off and future issue to resolve before it appeared. It was a refreshing change of pace to be back in the wilderness. That¡¯s why she had agreed to join the lowlanders though. It had helped that her parents knew of their leader and had good words to say about him besides. But if she was honest with herself, it was a spur of the moment decision while talking to Lamb on the way back from The Lost Grove. He had understood her and reframed her plight without judgement. To hear somebody else acknowledge her frustrations and growing sense of dissatisfaction with the direction her life seemed to be taking was all it took for her to realise she knew what she wanted already. And honestly? It seemed to be working out so far. Her responsibilities were already being divided up and parcelled out by her father, and she was free once more to enjoy the world in all its glory. The fire crackled pleasantly, and she lifted the book once more. She¡¯d always loved reading, but it had become a special, secret joy of hers over the last few years. An escape from the pressures that a life of excellence demanded, and a way to feed that part of her that craved adventure beyond the borders of the clan. She managed to sneak away during every blending, to peruse the goods of traders that came through from the lowlands and across the mountains. She was always hunting for new books, though her favourites were the pulpy romance and adventure novels that were popular coming out of the Desolate Empire and the Leviathan Coast recently. She¡¯d be mortified if her parents or friends found out what she would read in the privacy of her own tent, and the day she had earned herself a storage ring and her own source of coin was the day her collection truly started to grow. Returning her attention to ¡®Dorian¡¯s Might; the Shiphold Ravisher¡¯, she wriggled back into the fur-lined armchair she¡¯d just recently added to her storage ring. Jorge may have drawn ridicule from his companions for it, but his armchair had been so comfortable that she¡¯d decided to take a leaf from his book and carry one of her own around with her. He might be many things, but ignorant of good ways to travel he was not. She sighed in contentment as the afternoon sun tried valiantly to break through the haze of mist in the air, before she froze in place. Her sense for ambient life-essence wasn¡¯t anywhere near as refined and polished as that of her parents, and never would be at her current tier of course, but it was still a powerful tool she had cultivated for most of her adult life. When she felt the tremble in the air from a powerful creature unveiling itself in the caverns miles below, she didn¡¯t need to calculate how the distance could be affecting things, or whether there may be interference from a natural treasure of some sort. She knew, deep within her bones, that a predator far beyond Lamb, far beyond even herself, had unveiled itself. A 3rd tier had awoken in the bowels of the earth, and it had made its intention to hunt known far and wide.
Even as she rushed through caverns and tunnels, weaving around stalagmites and dancing across treacherous terrain with ease, she knew she would be too late. A treasonous voice within her asked why she was even bothering. She owed the man nothing, and there was no use throwing her own life away simply to confirm that he had indeed died down here to a creature far beyond him. It was simply his hubris to wake the creature. Or bad luck. Still, she careened through tunnels at a breakneck pace anyhow, no real plan other than to reach the creature, and confirm if Lamb was dead. If he was, she would flee with her life, and if he wasn¡¯t, she would do all she could to rescue him. Sadrianna wasn¡¯t the type to leave a comrade in arms to their fate, after all. Not if she could help it. But that was the crux of it really - she couldn¡¯t help it. Not when the aura roiling through the tunnels was so clear. But still, she was unwilling to give up without trying, without at least confirming that it was beyond her grasp. That was core to her identity, after all. She was, more than anything, exceptional, and she would go further and faster than any of her peers would be willing to. It wasn¡¯t long before her breakneck sprint through the Hollow Mountain was coloured not by the deadened sound of boots slapping ice, but by the staccato crunching of something against ice, rhythmic and fast. Almost a scuttling sound, though writ on such a scale as to sound more like drums in the deep than scurrying legs. A blur in the tunnel before her, and then Lamb was barrelling past, shouting the whole while. His words were almost lost to the wind whipped up by her speed, but the intent was clear ¨C ¡°run the fuck away¡± he all but screamed at her, but it was too late. She was past him in an instant, and came swiftly face to face with the thing responsible for that rhythmic crashing. A spider, enormous and fell, eight legs pistoning into the ice to leave craters behind with every footfall as it rocketed forwards after Lamb. Straight at her. She saw the moment it focused on her, watched as one of its forelegs left the trajectory it had previously been on and instead arced down to split her in half where she was, but thankfully she hadn¡¯t stopped moving as the creature had rounded the corner. The ground shook as the leg slammed into the ice behind her, and she slid across the floor beneath its belly, coming to her feet again behind the creature and sprinting off down the tunnel, unwilling to wait around and see whether it would choose to follow her or its original quarry. The question was soon answered, as it slowed to a halt behind her and then came surging out of the tunnel and into the cavern that she¡¯d emerged into. She had assumed it was chasing Lamb because he¡¯d stolen the Heart of Winter from under its nose, but perhaps he hadn¡¯t even found the treasure, and had simply stumbled across an angry high-level creature down here. It was certainly possible, though bad luck all the same. At least the reckless bastard might live for a few more days now that¡¯d she¡¯d given him time to run.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The colossal creature rounded on her, and she knew, even before it reared up on its four back legs to blot out the ceiling above her, that she had no hope of surviving this fight. Her short spear slipped into her hand, and she smiled sadly as she felt its familiar grip. A boy she¡¯d been sweet on from the White-Cliff clan as a teenager had given her the white cloth that wrapped around the hardwood to form a handle. She¡¯d kept it all these years in memory of the boy, and it felt right that she¡¯d die with it in hand too. She squared her shoulders and waited for the end. It never came, the spider jerking aside at the last moment to round on Lamb as he came running out of the tunnel, blue crystal clutched in one hand and waving in the air as he shouted at it. ¡°Oi! This way, you hairless bastard!¡± The spider launched a barrage of legs his way, the impacts ripping through the floor of the cavern, but Lamb had been careful to circle out of range with his mad dash. It would buy him no more than a few moments, but it meant he wasn¡¯t skewered by those legs right now, at least. Fool of a boy, now they¡¯d both die here. She could still run though ¨C he¡¯d given her the distraction she needed. He couldn¡¯t outrun the creature himself, but she might be fast enough, especially if it waited around to feast on his corpse. But that wasn¡¯t who she was. She briefly wondered what her father would say when he learned of her death. At least she could rest easy knowing her mother would kill the spider for taking her daughter¡¯s life. Not exactly justice, but some semblance of balance to the cosmic scales at least. She readied her spear and dug deep within her chest, searching for that wellspring of life-force that flowed through all living things. Her skills stood ready, awaiting only her beckoning and the infusion of essence needed to bring their mark onto the world, and Sadrianna readied herself for the second time that day to meet her end. The spider reared back once more, front legs splaying apart and reaching towards the ceiling of the cavern like grasping fingers ready to curl inwards and crush the life from a tiny bug. Instead, its entire body was sent hurtling through the air to crash into the wall behind her. She gaped, following the trajectory of its movement and then looking back to Lamb as he stood where the spider had been only moments ago. She couldn¡¯t believe that such power could come from his hands. He had a combat class, for sure, and perhaps had even managed to level skills far beyond the norm because of that, but there was no way¡­had he broken through? But to do so in the heat of the moment was impossibly rare, and even if he had, such power was¡­ But his confused expression told her all she needed to know, as she rushed over to him. More in a desire to gain distance from the colossal spider than anything. And she turned to stand next to him and watch as the spider tried to right itself, legs scrabbling against ice and dislodging great chunks of the wall in its desperate clawing. A black dot, barely larger than a person and looking tiny in comparison to the giant creature, was flitting about its abdomen, and the spider let out a startling wail - more a screech than anything resembling sentient speech. It abruptly cut off as the sound of bone crunching echoed out at them, and they both watched in alarm and shock as a feline creature leapt atop the spider¡¯s skull and savaged it, tearing slabs of carapace away from its empty face before diving inside its skull. A few revolting moments of movement, and then the eight legs wriggled sickeningly before curling in beneath the spider¡¯s belly, inert. The skull continued to shift and shake for a few more breaths before the dark shape slipped back out and leapt to the floor between them and the skeletal carcass. She recognised it then, and her blood ran cold once more. A creature out of myth, with a hundred terrifying tales to its name. WyrmsBane. Dreadstalker. The Eyes That Haunt the Night. A feline body with a mane of eyestalks waving sinuously from around its lithe neck, fangs dripping pale ichor to the floor and two deep-set eyes above its powerful jaws. Rakshasa. She raised her spear again in instinct, and the creature growled low in its throat. The basso rumble shouldn¡¯t have been able to be produced by something so small, but it had been. It reverberated up her very spine, and she shivered despite herself. She felt Lamb grip her arm, but could spare no time to look his way. ¡°Get out of here, Lamb. Warn the clan ¨C a Rakshasa has claimed the Hollow Mountain.¡± She spoke with fervent urgency, but he didn¡¯t seem to understand, refusing to let go and tugging on her more insistently. She jerked her arm out of his grasp and took a step forwards. The wet leopard growl rose in volume in response to her movement. ¡°For fuck sake, Lamb, just fucking go!¡± she almost shouted, urgency lending her nerves a hint of steel. She hadn¡¯t planned on getting out of here alive anyway when she ran past the spider, and even if its sudden death had given her a seed of hope, that seed was crushed deep beneath the mud now. She would join it soon, she knew. Unlike the titanic spider, an adult Rakshasa was not a creature one could fight. They scurried through the world, hiding beneath the senses of most, and only unveiling themselves when the killing time was nigh. It was strange that she was still alive, truth to tell, but she spent no effort in puzzling out the unusual behaviour. This was bigger than her, bigger than Lamb. This creature was a problem for the clan as a whole, possibly The Council too. 4th tiers would be sent on this hunt, likely the whole of The Sworn Triarchy. There was no way Lamb could outrun the creature, but with every mile he got closer to camp, the higher the chances somebody would notice his death. She flinched as Lamb pushed her aside and strode right up to the creature. Its growl hadn¡¯t stopped, running in the background of her fevered thoughts like a threshing machine from the southlands. She almost reached out to Lamb to stop him, but she¡¯d been so surprised by his action that she¡¯d missed the opportunity. She turned to flee then. She didn¡¯t need to see the man eaten before her eyes, and perhaps she would be able to send some sort of signal before she died. It was a nice gesture at least, for the man to sacrifice himself for her. A final kindness before his life was spent. The growl stuttered, and she braced herself for the now familiar sound on bone being crushed between impossibly powerful jaws. Instead, she heard a strange mewling sound. She turned around, shocked to see not blood and viscera splattered across Lambs form, but instead the purring creature itself, nuzzling its large head into his chest and eyes blinking sleepily. White-yellow ichor stained its midnight black fur around its great fangs, a few flecks of silver visible here and there on its underside hinting at its young age. The eyestalks swung about behind its head in an entrancing motion, watching both her and Lamb at the same time. He¡¯d raised his hand out to the creature, and was now busily scratching it behind the ears, looking perplexed. ¡°What!?¡± she hissed at him, unwilling to raise her voice above a whisper but unable to contain her shock. He shrugged back, confusion and surprise warring on his face. ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know. I met this one a few weeks back, but its¡­well you saw what it just did. This thing¡¯s vicious!¡± He said the last part with a grin, giving the creature a friendly pat on the back, though he quickly retracted the arm when it touched one of the waving tendrils around its neck, a brief look of disgust showing before he wiped the expression from his face. He started talking to the creature in a silly voice, and she could only stare in wonder. ¡°Last time I saw you, you could barely take out a Rhino! Look at how you¡¯ve grown! Who¡¯s the cutest killing machine, huh? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!¡± With a sudden spring, the creature pushed him away and leapt back to the corpse on the far wall, beginning to dig around within the body for something. Lamb looked to her, a smile on his face that was swiftly replaced with a wince as the crunching of bone and wet pops of gristle being ripped apart sounded in the silence. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here¡± he whispered, and she was glad to see his wits returning. Chapter 75 - A Tortured Metaphor There was no need for us to stay any longer, and each moment we lingered was simply another opportunity for it to change its mind about our status as allies. We began to creep out of the room, calmly as one can creep, and tried to make as little noise and fuss as possible. I should have known it would be futile to try to evade the notice of a Rakshasa though, and eyestalks swivelled to track our movements as we shuffled out of the cavern. Just before we reached the mouth of the tunnel, it looked up, its vaguely leonine face leering at us, and its eyes seemed to find my own. For a heart-stopping moment, I saw my death reflected in those two feline pupils. The eye stalks continued to wave above its head like a perverse mane, and I was reminded of the strangely waving necks of the Tarkenzis from so long ago. The moment passed, and I finally exhaled as it dropped its head back down to its meal, the crunching of bone bouncing around the cavern, amplified by its strange acoustics. I gasped when it flicked its head back up and hurled something towards me, and had no time to even move as part of the Corrinian Rhai¡¯s foreleg came sailing through the air towards me, launched like a spear from the gods themselves. The speed with which the projectile was launched was shocking, and Sadrianna hadn¡¯t even had time to react properly either, let alone myself. The two-meter-long shard of foreleg, thick around as my chest and hollow, thudded into the ice at the mouth of the tunnel. It quivered, letting off an almost musical note from the sheer force of the vibration. I thought for a moment that the Rakshasa was attempting to bar our escape, but it simply bent down to continue eating, and made no further moves to observe us as we backed away. The power in that gesture alone was frightening to behold, especially seeing it so casually used. I had struggled to leave a mark on the exoskeleton of a smaller Corrinian Rhai and was only able to crack the shell with help from a magical skill. The Rakshasa had bitten through it as if it were nothing, using only the strength of its jaw, and it was doing so for a creature an entire tier above the one I had struggled against. I my erstwhile hunting partner could kill me if it wanted, had seen it destroy an enemy far beyond me as if it were nothing¡­but for some reason that last gesture was the thing that stuck with me the most. I gripped the foreleg in both hands and heaved. It, rather embarrassingly given I was watched by both Sadrianna and a couple of the eyestalks of our saviour, took a few attempts to dislodge the exoskeleton from the floor. Eventually, I managed it, and propped it over one shoulder while bowing to the Rakshasa. I didn¡¯t know exactly how intelligent the creature was; whether it offered to me a scrap of the corpse as a token of respect, or because it thought me a scrawny member of its pack that needed to eat more, or because it understood my desire and ability to use the material. Either way though, it never hurt to show a little respect to those that could kill you in the blink of an eye. We hurried back through miles of subterranean caverns, and I let Sadrianna take the lead. A few Ice Wraiths appeared just before we left the buried network of frozen caves but she dispatched them with ease. She had some sort of skill that sheathed her weapon in mana and allowed her to cut through mana constructs, by the looks of things, and I was a little jealous of it after thinking back to my own fights with the frustratingly half-corporeal creatures. By the time we emerged it was bordering on darkness, the faint haze left by the pale moon not quite strong enough to break through the curtain of mist that enshrouded the world. The excitement had worn off by then, and the slight sheen of sweat covering our bodies from the run through the Hollow Mountain caught the gentle breeze, causing me to shiver. It would take a few bells of careful running to make it back to the Basin of Tears, and we came to a quick agreement to find somewhere nearby to shelter for the night. We did decide to head at least a bit further down the mountain though, passing below the snow line. We ran quickly over boulders again, but rather than feeling the same joy and excitement from that morning, I was weighed down by questions. ¡®Burdened by perspective¡¯ Nathlan would likely say, prone to poetry as he often was. It was one thing to meet a creature far beyond your understanding. I¡¯d met the giant, the Subakir, hell even Vera and Jorge to some degree. Sadrianna¡¯s own mother was apparently a 4th tier warrior, and I couldn¡¯t begin to guess at the power she must be able to bring to bear. But it was easy to put such existences in the realm of myth and legend; I was a speck of dust to them, irrelevant to their grand schemes. And that was okay. I didn¡¯t need to concern myself with their power. It was alien and foreign and so far beyond me that it didn¡¯t seem real. Just a fact of life, more than anything. One doesn¡¯t wonder about the motivations of mountains, after all. They simply are. But seeing the Rakshasa again was different. There was a creature I had once stood shoulder to shoulder with, and suddenly it was elevated to heights I would probably never reach, in a matter of weeks no less. I could climb the tallest mountain, train and fight in the harshest climes and push myself to my limits every day for a year and I doubted I¡¯d be able to face it and win. And that was assuming it gained no further strength in that time. Having witnessed a small part of its natural growth cycle myself, I doubted that would hold true. It was humbling and I suspected Sadrianna, despite her close-lipped frown, felt much the same. After a few miles of silent running, we had escaped the ever-present carpet of snow on the ground and ducked into a small cave below the tree-line. Tall pines flanked the entrance like pillars in a noble estate, and went a long way to keeping the sodden mist and whipping wind far from the ground. We set up camp quickly, a fire crackling and tent erected and lined with warm furs in moments. We sat about the fire, warming our hands and knees against the jumping flame. There was a heavy silence as we both tried to digest the events of the day; my journey through the caverns and near death at the hands of the Corrinian Rhai, Sadrianna¡¯s reckless dash through the caverns after me and near death at the hands of the Rakshasa. I laughed then, and she looked my way with a raised eyebrow. ¡°Oh, was this not a normal day for you?¡± I asked. She snorted and threw a pinecone at my head. ¡°I¡¯m no stranger to violence, Lamb. But no; I don¡¯t make a habit out of almost dying every day.¡± ¡°More¡¯s the pity,¡± I replied. ¡°Maybe you¡¯d lighten up a bit, if you did.¡± Another pinecone pinged off my head, but I saw a smile twist her lips as she looked back towards the fire. Sadrianna sighed. ¡°So, what¡¯s the story behind¡­¡± she gestured vaguely back up the mountain, ¡°all that?¡± I just shrugged in response, trying to for nonchalance. ¡°You mean you don¡¯t have Rakshasa friends?¡± She smirked slightly and raised another pinecone threateningly. I leaned back on my log, raising my hands in supplication, ¡°Alright, alright!¡± I explained the story, briefly. I ended up rambling a bit, as I am want to do, but she kept me on track with questions, interrupting whenever I would stray from the narrative for too long. Eventually the topic returned to my gains from the whole experience, and I smiled ruefully as I brought up my status to review them. Ancestry: Human (unevolved) Level: 44 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 50 Agility: 35 Endurance: 35 Perception: 35 Cognition: 40 Available attributes: 5Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 9. Passive. Tilt: Level 2. Active. Heart of the Hills: Level 9. Active. Check Step: Level 10. Active. Indomitable Prey: Level 11. Active. Skirmisher of Antiquity: Level 10. Passive. Mountain-Born: Level 11. Passive Faultline: Level 11. Active. I described my changes, and she was taken aback slightly. ¡°You¡¯re awfully free with your class information, Lamb. Most people don¡¯t share that much.¡± I shrugged again. I was doing it a lot lately. ¡°Well, everyone I journey with is significantly more powerful and knowledgeable than me already. It¡¯s not like you¡¯d need many advantages to kick my ass if you wanted to.¡± She tilted her head at me, like a bird puzzling out the behaviour of a strange worm. ¡°You¡¯re a strange one. I suppose you¡¯re not wrong though.¡± ¡°For now,¡± I said, a teasing undertone creeping into my voice. ¡°Once I break through to 2nd tier, best believe I¡¯m demanding an honour duel.¡± Her raised eyebrow somehow managed to convey both scepticism and amusement at the same time. She really was a master of the eyebrow raise. ¡°You¡¯re not far from it, I would guess. And you¡¯ve got what you need for the new weapon now, I assume?¡± she asked. I nodded. ¡°Yeah. Well, technically you do,¡± I amended, pointing at her storage ring where the Heart of Winter and Corrinian Rhai foreleg both were stored. ¡°But yes. I¡¯m excited to get back to camp, in all honesty. I¡¯m considering turning the foreleg into some sort of shield as well. My current one is¡­well, I¡¯ve gotten some good use out of it, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯s quite up to taking blows from the type of enemies I¡¯m coming across now. ¡°I was hesitant to block with it in this last fight, and I imagine that¡¯s only going to get worse. The spider I killed was only mid-2nd tier, and not a particularly heavy-hitter at my best guess, and it still seemed like a bad idea to bet bronze against its bone-carapace.¡± Sadrianna nodded, thinking. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly shaped for it, mind. Although a skilled smith might be able to weave shards of it into a mould alongside some tough metal to further strengthen it?¡± she pursed her lips and cocked her head back the other way, sparrow-like. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of a young smith in the Blue-Cavern clan who¡¯s combined some new form of alchemy with traditional smithing techniques to great effect. He¡¯s allegedly got a skill that can mould material without the need to break it down or heat it first, so maybe he could shape that for you into a normal shield? Would be costly though, and I doubt he has space to fit you in in the next few weeks¡­¡± She trailed off, shrugging. It was an interesting idea, but I shook my head in response. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about it already ¨C hard to think of anything else really. Its hollow, so I think if a smith can drill some small holes and attach some handles on the inside, I could sheath my entire forearm in it ¨C like a bracer but larger¡­Here, bring it out¡± I asked, and she summoned the material, passing it over to me. It was surprisingly light given its toughness, and I ran my hand along the slightly wider side of the almost tear-drop shaped leg. ¡°See how it tapers out here? I think it could act almost as a blade on my left arm if I cracked it in half, which would give me a curve as well. Not to mention we could crack it jaggedly at the end, giving me a spike to use offensively¡­¡± Sadrianna leaned forwards, eyes lighting up same as mine as we talked possibilities for weapons. It was easy to see the passion she held for fighting, and how she had become such a formidable warrior. The First and the Second discussed weapons around a crackling fire at the top of the world, and the night passed us by.
¡°Come, Lamb. We have some things to discuss¡± Jorge said to me. ¡°Bring your materials as well, we¡¯ll find you a weapons-smith while we¡¯re out.¡± We were all sitting around the large, shared tent in the White-Cliff encampment, and we¡¯d long since finished detailing our experiences in the Hallow Mountain. I¡¯d initially tried to play it coy, using grand language and poetic bullshit to describe our journey, but Sadrianna had jumped in early on to circumvent my plan to wind up the others. I rose and followed Jorge out of the tent, Heart of Winter tucked into my belt alongside the shrunken form of my spear, shield on my left arm and hollow Corrinian Rhai foreleg propped over my right shoulder. I must have looked a sight and Jorge grinned at me ruefully. ¡°What? We can¡¯t all have fancy storage devices like you, mate.¡± I said, trying to shrug and nearly getting the 2-meter-long exoskeleton caught in a nearby washing line. ¡°Give it here, lad.¡± He said, beckoning for the foreleg, but I swung it away, a petulant look on my face. ¡°No, no. It¡¯s quite alright. I shall carry my own burdens,¡± I said with a faint air of superiority. We bantered back and forth for a few hundred meters before I begrudgingly gave all but my spear to him to store as we walked through the sprawling semi-permanent camp. ¡°Right, lad¡­¡± Jorge began, his voice dropping and thick brogue becoming even more pronounced, as it did when serious topics were broached. ¡°I¡¯ve not given you all the details about the 2nd tier evolution yet, but I think it¡¯s finally time.¡± I raised my eyebrow, unable to hide the flare of excitement in my belly in response. I was so close, I could almost taste it, and the further I progressed with this all-encompassing system that the gods from eras passed had supposedly created, the more I hungered for further progress. ¡°I didn¡¯t want you getting distracted or trying to push too far too quickly out of some stupid desire for progress for its own sake.¡± He gave me a significant look, and I felt like he could practically read my earlier thoughts. I schooled my features, looking as serious as I could. ¡°Think of it like a dam,¡± the older man began, ¡°there¡¯s a great body of power that you¡¯ve built up over the many levels in 1st tier, and it¡¯s straining at the walls of the dam, just waiting to burst and cascade through the canyon beyond.¡± ¡°Hang on, Jorge, I¡¯m a little lost with this analogy¡± I admitted. ¡°What¡¯s the dam represent?¡± ¡°You¡¯d think I¡¯d be better at this by now, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± he said as he looked to the sky, seemingly to himself. ¡°Right; your soul is the canyon. Your¡­mana¡­flows through it as normal, at a low pace ¨C that¡¯s the canyon. Every now and then, you push more through than normal, and that strains the walls of the canyon, strengthening them. But what you might not realise is that all the power you accumulate over the 1st tier is stored. It flows through the canyon but also sits above it, trapped behind a dam.¡± I nodded, trying to wrap my head around the analogy and then understand the point Jorge was making beneath the comparison. ¡°This dam is metaphorical, right?¡± at his nod, I carried on. ¡°So, you¡¯re saying that the strength I¡¯ve gained has been¡­stored somehow, and breaking through the 2nd tier will release it, all at once?¡± He nodded. ¡°So, if I was to guess; 2nd tier classes grant access to more powerful, mana-intensive skills because the process of breaking through to the 2nd tier reforges your soul into a stronger configuration and allows you to channel more power without issue.¡± Jorge grinned. ¡°I knew you weren¡¯t actually an idiot, lamb. Still, it¡¯s nice to have confirmation every now and then.¡± I gave him a gentle shove, and he gracefully allowed himself to be moved. I¡¯d seen for myself the way he and Vera could root themselves to the ground through sheer physical strength, and the world would give way beneath their feet before they were moved. ¡°So lad, when the dam is released, all that power floods down the canyon of your soul, and crashes against the sides. If you are prepared for it, it is a strengthening and cleansing process, and you are reforged, as you say. But it causes an immense amount of strain, and it¡¯s possible to fail. Your soul can¡­crack. If its foundations are not strong enough, then the flood of power is too much and the whole thing becomes destabilised.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound healthy,¡± I remarked dryly as we weaved between tents and hanging lines strewn with white and yellow streamers of cloth. The grass below our feet was mostly overwhelmed by a churning channel of mud given the heavy footfall through it, and we had to talk in snatches as we navigated around a gaggle of talking and laughing barbarians. ¡°Aye lad, not a pleasant experience, to say the least. No matter though ¨C not a concern of yours. See, in order to strengthen the ¡®walls¡¯ of your soul, you need to regularly channel power through it. You¡¯ve been fighting for your life for near a year by this point, and that has doubtless forged a strong soul. Your skills aren¡¯t the highest, but most are past the level 10 threshold, aye?¡± At my nod he continued, ¡°You¡¯ll be fine then. The problem for you will be breaking the damn itself. It¡¯s a bugger of a system, truth be told. Either you have to deal with a soul too weak to survive the process, or you have a damn too strong to break in the first place.¡± I was alarmed to hear that. ¡°So I¡¯m fucked either way?¡± I asked, as the delicious sizzle of frying food blended with the raucous shouts of vendors trying to entice travellers into stopping and indulging in the many varied scents floating on the cool mountain air. ¡°I didn¡¯t say that did I, lad? Stop interrupting. Now, both are problems, and you¡¯ll have to deal with one or the other no matter what. They have different solutions though. If you have a relatively weaker soul, the solution is to delay the breakthrough and just work on levelling up your skills until your soul is ready. Simple. ¡°If your damn is too strong, the solution is to work on weakening it before you initiate the evolution. Micro-cracks mind, you don¡¯t want to break the thing open entirely if you haven¡¯t yet hit level 45 and gained a feat sufficient to propel you through the process.¡± I nodded, trying to keep all the new information in my head. It was hard to figure out where the metaphor ended and the real information began, as I¡¯d never felt any sort of damn in my soul before. ¡°Two questions, Jorge. One ¨C how do I initiate the evolution? Whenever I¡¯ve gained skills or levels in the past, it¡¯s always just happened beyond my control. I¡¯d assumed the same would be true of the tier-up as well. Two ¨C how do I put cracks in this metaphorical damn?¡± We¡¯d moved away from the food market by this point, and the shouts of vendors was giving way to the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal. The tang of fragrant spices was replaced by a sour smell, no doubt from the tanning pits to the east. They were further out from camp, since nobody wanted to live too close to them, but there was only so far they could be removed before it became impractical. Not to mention, many of the treated furs and pelts were being moved between this tradesmen quarter and the tanneries every day, so the smell was bound to linger, at least in part. ¡°Good questions. I¡¯ll show you, but the evolution won¡¯t be difficult to trigger. It¡¯s a spiritual awakening of a similar sort to gaining your first class. I know you said you didn¡¯t have much of a choice in that, but that¡¯s mostly due to your own issues¡± I looked up in outrage and he hurriedly talked over me. ¡°Understandable as they were at the time. You mostly just focus on your future and the system takes over once you¡¯re suitably introspective.¡± ¡°As to your second question; you will evolve your ancestry. It¡¯s mostly a body tempering process, but like they say; ¡®as in body, so in soul¡¯. We¡¯ll put your body under duress, and the spiritual damn within your soul will weaken, allowing you to break it on your own terms and begin the evolution.¡± I hummed to myself in thought. It all sounded sensible, but that was always the way when somebody explained a plan. When it came time to actually carry it out, I often found life a fair bit more complicated. Jorge steered me off the main thoroughfare and along an alley of tents, heading towards the clanging metal and the occasional roaring of great bellows. ¡°Why do I get the sense that that process will involve a great deal of pain?¡± I asked, and Jorge simply clapped me on the shoulder. ¡°Because you¡¯re a smart lad, Lamb. Just as I always said.¡± Chapter 76 - Forging and Fetch Quests Certain creatures stir the imagination and are therefore overrepresented in the cultural tapestries of Tsanderos. Oftentimes this is due to their positions at the pinnacle of power; the ancient Dragons of old, Deep-Worms, Leviathans, the great Cave Bears and Titan-Rooks, the Rakshasa...the list goes on. Others are reviled simply due to their nature; The Creeping Dread from the mangroves of the Southern Deltas, the many species of parasites that manipulate the weave of magic as well as flesh, the common sheep, for reasons that should be obvious to all. But one creature among many holds a position of distinction; the Cat-Bear. Officially named the Felicious Ursekar by the White Tower Consortium, who were the first to successfully ''domesticate'' this wild animal, the Cat-Bear is a contradictory beast. It is found in wild places of many different climates and occupies a strange niche in each environment - a wandering predator that holds no territory, beholden to no land or predators of its own. They are solitary creatures but can be found in the company of many other species, lounging around and taking advantage of hospitality. After all, none with sense would refuse to honour a Cat-Bear when it approaches. They hold all the entitlement and whimsical nature of the feline with the laziness and power of the ursine. They are beautiful creatures but dangerous beyond compare. Equivalent to a high 2nd tier beast, they are often too powerful to be held in populated areas. A house cat may swipe a passing visitor, for reasons unknown to all but them, without consequence but when that paw is the size of a human head and carries with it all the strength of a multi-ton savage killer¡­ suffice it to say that Cat-Bears are only found in the homes of those with great power and no weaker kin, or the soon to be dead. I have long felt a kinship with them and will choose my Cat-Bear companions over human company every day for the rest of my life if I must. If there does happen to be a handsome man in the 3rd tier looking for a place to settle down in the wild though¡­head to Ilsa¡¯s pass in the Dragon-Spine mountains. P.S. lilies are my favourite. - Poster displayed prominently in the White Tower Consortium¡¯s Anthropology and Zoology department, by order of its last chair, Miss Euphrine J. Goodall
I¡¯d always thought that Vera was big. She was near as tall as me and built solidly ¨C muscle wrapping her arms and legs and turning an otherwise unremarkable, if tall, woman into a person of notice. The woman who worked the bellows near the open forge was like a bigger version of Vera, sculpted out of marble rather than clay. Where my companion¡¯s muscles were defined, this smith¡¯s were chiselled. Where Vera¡¯s shoulders were broad, this woman¡¯s were bulky. I¡¯d once remarked that Vera¡¯s forearms reminded me of a gorilla or a baker. This woman¡¯s forearm¡¯s looked like those of a Silverback that had spent its life in a patisserie. In short; the smith we met working the forge was a specimen. I was in awe of her stature, and quite frankly I felt sorry for the sword that was laid across the anvil, as she swung heavy, precise hammer blows down upon it with focused intensity. A nervous young boy, not yet out of his teenage years if the scraggle on his chin and upper lip was anything to go by, hurried over to us before we could approach within a dozen meters. ¡°Please stay back, sirs. Dansel doesn¡¯t like customers getting too close, on account of the sparks, y¡¯see¡± he stammered out, and we came to a stop before a bench laden with armour. Furs, leather jerkins, iron-laced brigandines and even the odd piece of plate-mail littered the long benches. The boy watched us peruse with nervous energy. ¡°Hey lad, your boss¡­is she taking commissions?¡± Jorge asked, putting on a friendly tone as he inspected a leather binding cap meant to be worn beneath a heavy steel helm. ¡°Uh¡­n-no, she¡¯s not¡± he said with a distinct lack of confidence. He drew himself up, gulping comically before trying to inject a little more bravado into his words. ¡°My lady is very busy and can¡¯t spare the time at the moment. Sorry.¡± The final apology ruined the affect slightly, but Jorge just smiled patiently as he replied. ¡°We¡¯re willing to pay good coin, and have interesting materials besides. It¡¯s no boring job, I promise you that, lad.¡± The hammer paused its descent, tinkling softly against the red-hot bar of metal rather than slamming down with bone-jarring force. ¡°No, sir, and I have told you once alre-¡± The nervous boy was cut off by a deep rumble as the forge-woman spoke for the first time. ¡°What¡¯s the job?¡± Jorge gestured me forwards, and I took the cue to speak. ¡°I need a spear forging. I have two, maybe three, materials of great power, and want them combined into a specific form. We¡¯ll pay well, but it¡¯s a rush job; we need it done before the week is out.¡± ¡°Materials?¡± she grunted as she flipped the hammer in her grip, looking at me from under her sweaty fringe. Her eyes were golden. Not brown, not yellow, but molten gold, like the bubbling of the earth at the edge of a volcano. I grabbed an armful of heavy cuirasses and passed them to the boy, his knees nearly buckling beneath the weight. Jorge withdrew the Heart of Winter from his storage necklace and placed it on the now empty patch of table, and I laid down my mangled spear next to it. A flick of her wrist and the hammer flew into the air, flipping end over end until it snapped down through a loop on her belt as she left the forge and approached the table. ¡°Ratter ¨C keep the bellows going, I want that fire hot. Good work sticking up for yourself, too.¡± The boy straightened beneath the praise like a beanstalk beneath the sun, and I smiled to see it. She picked up the crystal and inspected it for long moments before grunting and placing it back down, moving onto the spear. She took longer to inspect that one, and looked up at me after a few moments, asking, ¡°Artifact?¡± I nodded and held her wrist steady so that the wand was laying horizontal in one massive fist. I focused briefly to send mana down the artifact-link, and the spear responded to my will, expanding instantly to its full size, haft lengthening and thickening, but keeping the same amber glow and pattern of darker whorls on its wooden surface. She raised an eyebrow and whistled quietly in appreciation. ¡°Rare indeed.¡± Jorge then brought out the Corrinian Rhai foreleg and thumped it to the ground next to the table. ¡°Don¡¯t get it in the mud! Ah you¡¯ve-¡± I cursed to myself, shooting a venomous glare at Jorge as I tried to pick the massive thing up, but the underside was covered by that point anyway, so I let it drop to the muddy ground again with a wet squelch. ¡°We¡¯ve also got this to play around with as well,¡± I said, gesturing to the foreleg on the ground. ¡°The root can expand and contract as I will it, although only within the limits you¡¯ve just seen. It does seem to grow around the spear point, though I am not sure if that will work again with anything but the one there.¡± I pointed at the bent spear blade as I spoke, and the forge-woman nodded. She sighed through her nose and leaned back, and while it was a normal gesture, the sheer size of her made it seem like the snorting of a great bull.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. She was almost a match for Alker, but where the Red-haired man was all brash confidence and joyful exuberance, the smith before me seemed shrewd and thoughtful. She narrowed heavy brows as she looked me up and down. ¡°This for you?¡± she asked, and I nodded. ¡°And these materials¡­you buy them?¡± she asked with a gesture at the table and the muddy ground beneath it. ¡°Collected them myself,¡± I said proudly, before amending briefly; ¡°The creature that owned that was a little out of my reach though ¨C killed by a¡­friend.¡± I had gestured to the foreleg as I spoke, and hesitated briefly when thinking of how to name the Rakshasa. She merely grunted at that, though I saw an eyebrow climb a half-inch, easing the dour set to her features. ¡°In that case, I expect you¡¯ll be wanting to be involved in the forging as well?¡± She didn¡¯t seem pleased by the idea, and I could well understand why. Untrained idiots running around an open forge was a good way to get injuries, and while it wouldn¡¯t be her fault per se, Jorge was a powerful individual and it was never a good idea to piss those off if you could avoid it. He hid it well, and likely obscured the depth of his power to almost all, but it was obvious enough to those that looked and had a kindling of power themselves that he was at least in the high 2nd tier, possibly higher. My own mana-senses weren¡¯t discerning enough yet to confirm for myself, although I knew from conversations with him that he was in the 3rd tier. But even my frail sense told me that his power was more than a match for my own. It was a feeling more than anything, but I knew the forge-woman had that knowledge just as I did. For the same reason, I could tell she was at least in the high 2nd tier, too. Jorge nodded, ¡°Only proper. He¡¯s a quick lad, despite what his gormless face might tell you. He¡¯ll be no harm and won¡¯t need to be there the whole while.¡± ¡°Aiming for a feat, then?¡± the big woman rumbled. Jorge inclined his head. ¡°I won¡¯t tell you how to do your business, but aye. Right on the cusp, he is, and given he gathered these materials himself and their quality, I think there¡¯s a high chance you can both make something special.¡± The forge-woman considered for a few long moments, eyes tracking back and forth over the Heart of Winter and the amber root for a while, occasionally flicking to my face and the mis-matched armour I wore. ¡°You¡¯ll pay what I ask when the job is done,¡± she said, and it was not phrased as a question. Jorge agreed regardless, and the woman turned away, tapping her apprentice on the shoulder with one massive hand. ¡°Ease up on the bellows, get it banked. I¡¯ll be forging again in half a bell.¡± The gangly boy nodded profusely and despite the inexperienced mien he wore like a cloak, he bustled about in a surprisingly efficient whirl to get the fire tamped back down and forge covered. No wasted movement, and no complaints either, despite the conflicting orders he¡¯d been given compared to earlier. I re-evaluated my opinion of the boy. ¡°Come, we¡¯ll talk in the back. Tell me of your plans for this spear, and then we shall see what is to be done.¡± So saying, the behemoth of a woman strode from the open forge and its circle of tables, and ducked behind a draped cloth, no doubt used to prevent the smoke of the forge from curling sideways into nearby tents. Dansel, or ¡®Dansel of the Forge¡¯ as she was known outside of clan White-Cliff, turned out to be a woman of few words. She was generous with her time, but if a question or statement could be answered with a gesture or grunt rather than a word, it would be. She¡¯d asked some pointed questions about my desires for the weapon we would create, and then had sat in thought. She¡¯d played with the materials, running her hands over them in turn, tapping them with a small, strangely shaped hammer and listening to the sounds produced. She¡¯d brought out a chisel and shaved a sliver off the foreleg, though it took some work, and dipped the Heart of Winter into different substances, testing the freezing properties it possessed. For every physical test, I had no doubt that she ran a hundred more with her spiritual senses and skills. I watched, fascinated by the process, if mostly ignorant of what was going on. After a time, she put away her tools and stood to her full, impressive height. ¡°I need to prepare; the forge, these materials, a plan. It will take time. Return before sundown.¡± Just as I was about to consider it a dismissal, she spoke again. ¡°In the meantime, I have a task for you.¡±
Wolf-pelts. 10 of them. I sighed in frustration as I trudged through the thin layer of frost coating the hard ground. It was a beautiful day, my breath pluming in the air and curling to the sky as its heat was expended, a final dance of white mist in the orange glow of the afternoon sun. The mountains were beautiful, and had I been unburdened at this time, I surely would have stopped for a few moments; looked out at the view of the pines marching their way down the hillside, red and orange staining the horizon as white crept across the ground below it. But I wasn¡¯t unburdened at this point in time. In fact, I was very much burdened, and I wasn¡¯t enjoying it one bit. Over both shoulders rested 5 great wolf pelts, and since I was the one doing the skinning, rather than a seasoned hunter, the task hadn¡¯t been done particularly well. Blood dribbled down my vest to stain my skin beneath, and course fur tickled my head and face with every step. The weight wasn¡¯t so much the issue, given my enhanced attributes, but the smell wasn¡¯t pleasant and the temperature, labouring beneath 5 layers of stinking pelts as I was, was horrible. I was thankful for the cold, not just to keep me from overheating, but also because there wasn¡¯t a bevy of flying insects zipping around me. That would have set me off, I reckon. I dropped the pelts to the ground and stretched out, giving my back a rest and letting the cool air kiss my damp skin. I squatted down and looked out over the mountainside below and let out a heavy breath. Maybe it was worth taking in the sight for a few moments. The Frost-Wargs I¡¯d fought earlier that day had been an interesting challenge. Not particularly high-levelled, only the alpha was in the 2nd tier, but they¡¯d fought as a pack, and I¡¯d been unable to pick them off individually after the first few kills. Luckily for me, the first I¡¯d killed had been the alpha, and so I only ended up fighting a half dozen of the 1st tier creatures in one go. Tilt had come into its own and had a profound effect on the fellow 1st tiers. It had played havoc with their leaps and allowed me to dance and sway between them as they pounced, such that I¡¯d been able to avoid taking more than grazing wounds from their many ice-sheathed claws. I¡¯d gained a few levels in the skill, and a final level in my class to bring me to 45, but no class evolution had materialised. I wasn¡¯t expecting it to, after my discussion with Jorge, but I didn¡¯t much trust the system of this world if I was being honest, and half-expected my mind to blank out again like it had when I¡¯d hit level 15. It had been a fruitful day then, level-wise, and I had completed the task set for me by Dansel. Why then did I feel such frustration? I was so close to the 2nd tier, so perhaps it was simply impatience, but it felt like something more significant. I¡¯d finally, for the first time in this new world, committed myself to a cause beyond my own life. And yet, here I was traipsing around the mountains, gathering materials and fighting random monsters instead of getting on with the task. I knew that we were waiting for Nathlan, knew even that this was a necessary step regardless of the scholar¡¯s health; to empower ourselves, to steady our hearts, and to be prepared for the fight ahead. ¡®Previous planning prevents piss-poor performance¡¯, after all. Still, I felt a growing sense of frustration at the constant delays. First the blending, then The Lost Grove followed by The Hollow Mountain, and now this. What was next? Another few days to forge my weapons, for Jorge and Vera to re-provision our little group, for Nathlan to finish his healing and Sadrianna to make ready. And then we¡¯d be off. It would take weeks to cross the Dragon-Spine Mountains, especially so in autumn now that the leaves were falling. So when would I finally be face to face with the task I¡¯d sworn to see done? When would Vera have her revenge? Would it even be this year? I was under no illusion that we¡¯d simply sneak into the Sunset Kingdoms and walk up to castle Ryonic and knock on the door. There would need to be planning and strategizing and gods-damned meetings¡­ When I considered all of that, the trekking through the wilderness under a load of stinking wolf-pelts didn¡¯t seem so bad. With a great effort, I forced myself to stop dwelling on the future and to live in the present. Enjoy the little things, while I still had them.
Dansel met me when I¡¯d returned, a grunt of greeting and a brief inspection of the pelts, before she sent me off to the tanneries with instructions. A short while later, I was heading back to our temporary home, assured that the forging itself would begin tomorrow, and in desperate need of a wash. Luckily, we had camped beside a lake, and while it was bitterly cold, it did leave me remarkably rejuvenated as penance for the shivering it had forced on me. I was still dressing, shirt not yet on and drying my hair with a towel when an official from The Council of Elders swung by, asking Jorge and myself to follow. We¡¯d been asked questions for most of a bell, and I¡¯d needed to demonstrate my physicality for the man handling the investigation. He¡¯d also asked me to demonstrate the effect of the amulet, and my ability to break through it. He had then demanded that I allow him to configure the amulet himself, using his own will to forcibly suppress my attributes. I was wary at first, only able to give that power to Jorge because I trusted him, but the older man had given me a look as if to say ¡®if he tries anything, I¡¯ll kill him before you have a chance to worry¡¯. At least, that¡¯s what I took from the slight frown and nod anyway. I had no issue breaking the effect of the artifact though, and so we were dismissed not long after, our part in the investigation likely over and done with. It wasn¡¯t until Sadrianna swung by the tent late into the evening, seeming relieved to see us all inside, that I heard the news; Hastor had been found guilty of tampering with The Blending, and Jacyntha alongside him. The full details of the investigation weren¡¯t open to just anyone, but the more disturbing news was flitting around the gathered clans already as lurid gossip. Jacyntha was missing following the investigation, and her father ¨C Hastor ¨C was found dead in his tent; skull split right down the middle, as if by the great cleave of an axe. Chapter 77 - The Glory of Creation The forge burned with a hungry light. Ratter ¨C the unfortunately named knock-kneed boy who acted as Dansel¡¯s assistant ¨C worked the bellows, a sheen of sweat covering his scrawny shoulders as he heaved back and forth. Dansel for her part paced like a lion outside its den, eyeing the forge with an intensity that could probably melt most metals by itself. I noticed her hammer twist in her hand idly, as if without conscious thought for the gesture. The three materials I had provided were arrayed on a large table nearby, mostly untouched except for the foreleg, which had been splintered and shaved down by about a foot. The ¡®bone¡¯ splinters had been further chiselled into fine slithers that were arrayed in a small bowl on the same table. Most of a wolf pelt lay next to the materials, cut into thin strips. Dansel¡¯s express order had ensured that one of the pelts I¡¯d delivered the afternoon prior had already been fleshed, salted, soaked, tanned and otherwise prepared, no doubt the process sped significantly with the judicious aid of certain skills by the tanners. The stage was set, the plan discussed, and all that remained now was to begin the forging. I watched with eager anticipation, and then at a look from Dansel, I took over from Ratter at the bellows. He would never have been able to bring the forge up to temperature by himself, but the process was good training, and the novelty of what we were forging today would no doubt lend some significance to his actions, and therefore experience from the system along with it. I began to rapidly inflate and deflate the great bladder, forcing more and more air into the forge and coaxing the fires within to rise ever higher. The roof of the forge was in place, hence the need for the bellows in the first place, but it was necessary to trap as much of the fire¡¯s heat as possible. The fuel we burned was intransigent, after all ¨C a pungent mix of Cave-Bear scat and Deep Moss that only burned in extraordinarily high temperatures but could sustain a fire to ungodly levels of heat with precious few by-products. As much as I¡¯d grumbled about the job with the pelts, I now knew that Dansel could have sent me all over the mountainside collecting ingredients for months and I still wouldn¡¯t be ready. We had coin though, and that had streamlined the whole process. The heat was necessary not to melt any mundane metal, since we were using none as far as I could tell. The amber root I would use as a spear shaft would grow around the Heart of Winter and bind the head to the shaft without need of a metal casing. The problem was that I wasn¡¯t trying to just fit together different materials like pieces of a puzzle. I wanted synergy. To merge together disparate ingredients and create something greater than the sum of its parts. For that, Dansel had explained, we would require immense heat. Not to mention that forging was the main way she applied her trade, and her experience in this area would help guide me in forming a weapon myself. I could try and do it differently, but since I had no better experience and there was no better teacher to hand, this seemed the best option. As time passed and the heat of the forge started to dry the air in my lungs, I began to feel the strain. Dansel just paced back and forth like a caged animal though, eyeing the flames as they growled and leapt in vicious bursts of speed, as if seeking to escape the confines of the forge that bound them. Eventually, as my back and arms were beginning to tire and I wondered how much longer I could hold on for, she tossed in the blocks of Deep Moss and Cave-Bear Scat ¨C square blocks of dense material no larger than her fist. At least a dozen pieces went into the fire, and she then waved a hand at me, grunting at me to give the bellows a rest. We waited then, standing side by side, like a bird and its babe watching a forest burn before them. The flames began to die down slowly, the orange and yellows of woodfire giving way to a dull brown. Flecks of silver began to emerge at odd intervals, like fish darting up a river, their scales reflecting the light in shimmering patterns. Only once the silver slivers were in evidence at the heart of every tongue of brown flame did Dansel of the Forge begin to work. I was shadowing her for this, handing materials to her, and gripping my own diminutive hammer in hand as I watched a master at work. She first fed the Heart of Winter into the forge, and I watched as the flames around it seemed to shrivel in on themselves before roaring back to life once more. Like wolves investigating some new thing in their environment; hesitant at first, prancing away to keep distance, before slowly, ever so slowly, creeping forwards to lick at it. The shard of ice showed no signs of melting though. That was not our purpose, and Dansel had assured me that she had worked with similar natural treasures in the past. We simply needed to let the flames impart their desire for change into the treasure., so that when the time came for us to work it, the Heart of Winter would be amenable to our whims. In the meantime, we worked on the haft. The amber root shrunk in response to the mana I pulsed down its link, and Dansel showed me how to chisel away at its centre. Long grooves I carved into the wand, from tip to tail, until the smooth amber wand was smooth no longer. It took nearly a bell, the durability of the wood making for painstaking work. I was fully absorbed in the task though, using a chisel made of some powerful alloy I¡¯d never before seen, and using a soft-faced hammer to drive the alloy into the wood, shaving off tiny shavings each time. Dansel regularly inspected the work, and would stop me every now and then, readjusting my grip or pointing out a groove a hair too shallow that required more attention. The whole time I fed a steady trickle of mana into the artifact. Not enough to change its shape and size, but simply a steady supply of my influence. It was hard to focus at first, but I found that after I had got the hang of the chisel-work, it was actually easy to imbue my intent into the root. Like it understood my goal and decided to trust me. Each strike of the hammer on chisel was done with a purpose, and that purpose was part of a grander whole. I kept that grand design in my mind¡¯s eye as I worked, each moment building towards something even as my mana flowed into the material, a comforting presence in the face of its strange transformation. We quenched the wood in a balm of sap from an alder tree and carmine collected from beetle wings. The red lacquer was rubbed into the wood, sheathing every inch of it and smoothing away any minute ridges from my inexpert chisel-work. The slivers of the fore-leg were then added into each groove, Dansel having to further chip away at some to make them fit, but less than expected. She had prepared the material herself that morning and was meticulous with her preparation. The bone carapace of the Corrinian Rhai would scaffold the wood, providing strength and reinforcement in the face of a mighty blow. When the root expanded, Dansel assured me, the slivers of hardened shell would be engulfed by the root, re-organised to run along the spear and reinforce the central spine of it with their impressive durability. I didn¡¯t need to ask how it worked. This was a magical world, and I was creating a magical weapon with magical materials. The very nature of these objects was to alter natural law. The foreleg was stronger and tougher, the amber root was more durable and mutable, and the Heart of Winter was more enduring and inviolable. I would use the inherent character of those three to create a weapon that also subverted the natural laws of the world. Intent was enough, when properly directed. The forge and all the rest were simply a way to channel Dansel¡¯s experience and guidance to me as I tried to bend reality to my will. The carmine and sap lacquer also had a binding affect, and I noted with satisfaction how the slivers of bone didn¡¯t move at all as I wrapped the strips of wolf-leather around the middle of the wand to form a handle, and dabbed a small amount of a prepared glue onto the end. The wand looked beautiful now; a two-foot-long length of smooth, red-tinted wood, lit from within by a gentle amber glow. Thin struts of white bone bracketed the wood, running vertically from tip to tail. The handle was a pale grey made of overlapping leather strips, and felt firm in my grip, moulding to the shape of my hand almost instantly. I looked up as Dansel clapped me on the shoulder, and I could see the flames of the forge dancing in her eyes. They seemed to echo with a spark from something deeper within her, as if her soul burned along with them too. By then, the Heart of Winter was ready to be transformed, and we set about the process of preparing ourselves. I held the wand, shunted mana into it, and allowed it to grow to its full size before retracting once more. I marvelled at the speed and smoothness of the transformation as the white lines marking its surface disappeared as it grew, and reappeared as it shrunk. I was startled when Danzel plunged a bare hand into the forge, wrapped it around the Heart of Winter, and withdrew it. The brown and silver flames seemed to have no effect on her, but I knew that to be a product of her skills and the power of her frame, rather than anything inherently magical about the flames themselves. The crystalline shard, once nearly a foot long and shaped like a teardrop, was now compressing easily in her hand, as if it was made from jelly rather than a distillation of winter itself. She placed it on the table, and I approached, staff in hand. I kept up that steady stream of mana ¨C more than before, not quite enough to drain my core, but enough to set the wood to trembling, shivering in its desire to expand.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. I glanced up at Dansel one last time, and her grave nod was surprisingly reassuring. I took a breath, before I gripped the Heart of Winter in hand, feeling its strange warmth spreading slowly into the bones of my fingers. Eyes closed, heart pounding at the exhilarating feeling of creation, I cupped the natural treasure close to my chest. I rested it against my heart, as Dansel had instructed, and let it feel the strength of my conviction beating within. Each heartbeat a hammer blow, I reshaped the ovular crystal into the shape I held within my mind¡¯s eye. A bladed leaf; long and slender and ever so slightly tapered. Vaguely asymmetrical, as nature so often was, the spear blade took shape. The surface wasn¡¯t smooth but instead composed of a hundred tiny dents, an eolith of pure ice. There was something right about the texture of it; the crystal resembling knapped flint - carved by the laborious process of glaciation over millennia. Fitting that the physical expression of winter should take on a shape that only existed because of ice¡¯s inevitable advance. It was a tough thing, to use my heart to guide the process while my hands carried out its orders. Unlike the amber root, I had no spiritual connection to this natural treasure, and so had to make the changes I desired physically, hence the need for the intense heat from the forge. I kneaded it like dough, shaping it into the form my heart knew to be perfect, and only once it was done did I realise how much of a toll it had taken. Frost wreathed my arms up to the elbow, the hairs standing up white against the blue chill of the skin beneath. Sweat had dripped from my forehead and frozen in droplets along the backs of my hands. When I looked up at Dansel, I saw the quiet glow of the afternoon sun over her shoulder. I had been working for a bell or more, focused on nothing but the icy blade in my hands. But what a blade it was. I carried it over to the table upon which rested my spear haft, and gently pressed the blade into the top of the wood. In its lengthened form, the amber root seemed to reach out even before I had poured mana down the link. When I did, and the artifact understood my intention, it wrapped gnarled roots around the reshaped Heart of Winter and brought it into itself greedily. The ligneous embrace of the red-lacquered spear haft was absolute, no give in the setting whatsoever. The speed of the transformation was shocking, but the mana drain was commensurate; my core half empty by the time the many roots had wrapped the spear point up completely. I held it out before me, spear now complete, physically at least. The artifact hovering at the edges of my soul-space was still the same pulsing light as when I¡¯d found it in The Lost Grove many days ago. I needed a final touch of will, of intent, to complete the creation. I felt a heavy hand clap me on the shoulder, and Dansel hummed in appreciation at the weapon before us. She walked to the forge and withdrew an iron poker, its bottom half cherry red from the heat of the forge. When she returned with it in hand, I realised it was a brand ¨C a looping swirl of characters, presumably in the barbarian tongue, though it didn¡¯t look like writing to my eyes. I perhaps could have deciphered it with my god-given title, if I was interested in doing so, but I was too distracted holding the idea of the weapon in my head to spend mental energy deciphering a brand. Besides, Dansel had been integral to the process, and I wouldn¡¯t begrudge her a little professional pride at the end. I nodded as she approached, holding out the weapon, and she took care to line the brand up, positioning it just above the central grip. A faint hissing later and a single strand of smoke was curling to the sky as the characters were imprinted on the weapon. An irrational urge took me then, but I knew enough to trust such instincts by now. I held out my arm, and Dansel looked at me quizzically. I gestured a little frantically at the poker and I saw confusion give way to understanding as her heavy brows lifted in surprise. There was an assessing light in her gaze, and it held my own for a few moments before she nodded, turning around to grab a strip of wolf-leather from the table. She handed it over and I bit down on it, squeezing my eyes shut in preparation. I felt her take my hand, spear still clutched in its grip and rotate it until my palm was facing the earth. ¡°Ready yourself¡± she rumbled, and I had no time to reconsider before I felt a searing pain across the back of my hand as the brand was burned into my flesh. My jaw clenched and I screamed in pain, thankfully muffled by the leather bit. I was tempted to activate Heart of the Hills, but knew to do so would lessen the significance of the gesture. I had branded this weapon, and now it branded me in turn. A bond forged through fire. My legs shook as I tried to sag to the floor, but Dansel¡¯s strong hands held me in place until the brand was removed. I opened my eyes and saw a string of boiling blood hang from my hand to the iron brand, snapping and falling to the floor with a hiss and she withdrew it. I felt like throwing up, but my legs were at least a little steadier beneath me by that point. I drew in a shuddering breath and focused again. Diving into my soul-space, I found that tenuous link between me and the amber root, and I pulsed mana down it once more. The shining silver-blue light of the artifact was denser now, and its shape had changed. No longer just a vague ball of gently pulsing light, its spiritual image now resembled a sapling, roots digging into the void of my soul-space and bough reaching towards the sky above. There was no sun up there as in the real world, but the light of my pathbound skill enshrouded my soul, and it was this that the sapling seemed to reach towards. I could only hope that it was a good omen. Mana flowed freely and easily down the link, no blockages marring the path, and I opened my eyes once more to enter reality. My stomach growled at the faint smell of charred meat, its sickly-sweet stench reminding me that I hadn¡¯t eaten since breakfast, and the thought instantly ruined any appetite I had. The wound throbbed in time with my heartbeat, lances of dull pain radiating out along the back of my arm towards my chest. Dansel loomed in my vision once more, gripping me by both shoulders and levelling an intense stare my way. ¡°Finish it, boy. Bind the weapon.¡± I gulped, took another few steadying breaths, and then dove back into that inner world. 7 twinkling constellations, with a shroud of starlight above all. A well of power and potential endlessly refilling in its centre, and a pulsing sapling of pure blue brilliance at its edge. I marshalled my will and dragged the starlight sapling closer, letting the cool light of my many skills and core kiss the leaves that danced in a non-existent breeze. I realised the artifact link was pulsing then, timed with the throbbing pain of my hand ¨C our essences were now linked, first by fire, then by blood. I was already linked to the amber root before this whole process started, and the last few bells of effort had brought me even closer to it. The sacrificial branding had further secured our link, but the crucial step was binding myself not to a portion of the weapon, but to the entire thing. I wanted it to have an identity as a whole, rather than a collection of distinct parts, and so I focused on the sapling. It was half-real and half not ¨C less defined and pure than my skills and core, which I had channelled real power and constant intent through for months by this point. I focused on the concept of growth, of adaptability. Transformation for the spear haft, surety of purpose for the spear head, durability and strength for the weapon as a whole. Concepts swirled around my mind, and I did my best to corral them into a thematic core that could be imprinted upon the magical weapon. I struggled though, opposing concepts clashing and refusing to merge. The weapon I had in mind was at once enduring and immutable ¨C unable to be altered by the vagaries of the world, and steady in my hand ¨C but also a tool that could lend variability to my fighting ¨C constantly in flux and rapidly changing to the formation that I needed. I slipped out of my soul-space and looked to Dansel in frustration. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­it won¡¯t form. I can¡¯t establish the binding link because there¡¯s no weapon to bind to yet.¡± In a voice like scree rolling down a slope, deep and rumbling within a mighty chest, Dansel of the forge spoke; ¡°A weapon needs a name.¡± I felt my breath catch. How could one form an identity without a name? They held power, not in any real sense but on a metaphysical level. A name was a recognition of purpose, of a place within the world. What was unnamed was both not understood and in a very real sense not real. I had felt it myself, back when I had fumbled my way from outpost 13 through the Wandering States. I had grabbed on desperately to Runt, and then settled with Lamb. It wasn¡¯t a good name, but it was a name, nonetheless. A sense of purpose and identity to cling to amidst a stormy sea. And now this weapon felt similarly. It wasn¡¯t conscious or sapient, but I sympathised with its plight, nevertheless. A name¡­ What was its purpose? To kill my enemies. To protect me from their blades and teeth and fell intentions. To help me complete whatever nebulous goal I had at any one moment. What was its purpose though? I didn¡¯t want it to be the first thing I turned to; every disagreement solved by violence. But it would always be the last. When my purpose was so potent that I couldn¡¯t ignore it, that the threat of violence and death and killing wasn¡¯t enough to deter me, it is to this weapon I would turn. When my will was iron and my mind made up, this spear would be the tool that I wielded against whatever the world placed between my goal and myself. I decided on a name, and closed my eyes. ¡°I name you, Resolution.¡± As I spoke into the void of my soul, the sapling at the edge seemed to shimmer, the rhythmic pulsing stilling at last. It settled in place, roots digging deeper into blackness and branches reaching higher towards the light. The connection was strengthened, and I felt an immediate understanding bloom within my mind. Opening my eyes, I saw Dansel watching me. She gave a long, slow nod of approval, and stepped back to give me space. I focused on the weapon in my hand, no longer a loose collection of materials temporarily bound together ¨C this was now a single weapon, honed to a fine edge of intent. Resolution greedily sucked in mana from our link, and the artifact shrunk to its portable form, the blood-coloured wand of smooth wood and white bone now crowned by a beautiful crystal of pale blue ice. I flexed my will once more, shunting mana down the link and the weapon grew into a thick hafted spear, deep red, lit by an inner glow of amber along the patterned shaft. The crystal on its head seemed to rotate, a hand length blade emerging from the top to jut forwards like a spear crafted from the very heart of a glacier. It felt right in my hand, the balance exquisite, and I knew intimately that the blade was as sharp as I could imagine. It was a lethal-looking thing, no doubt that it was made for war, not ceremony. But there was a grace in its simplicity. It seemed to me then, as the sun was chased across the sky by night in his heavenly chariot, that something beautiful had been brought into the world, and whether I died tomorrow or in a thousand years, something of me would live on with this weapon. I felt tears sting my eyes then, and Dansel approached once more, having removed the ceiling of the forge by herself while I marvelled at the weapon. A feat of strength in its own right, that. Almost as if summoned by the thought, I heard a gentle ringing in my mind. Feat achieved. ¡®Creation¡¯s Bounty ¨C Resolution¡¯. Chapter 78 - Doubling Down This is a dangerous time for the empire, your grace. Sythics has returned to the City of Spires, and trade across our southern border has dropped considerably due to Icarus¡¯ new stance. Trade with Altine, ever faithful and open to us, remains steady but their ships are under increasingly heavy threat from the Salazans. The leviathan Coast is more fractured than ever despite the increasing centralisation of power within the Wavebreaker dynasty ¨C it is something we are actively monitoring and I know for a fact that concern at the highest levels is growing. I¡¯ve heard precious little from the Bone Tower and the northern border, which I am taking as a good sign¡­but I have not reached my current position by trusting in things that were good yesterday to be good tomorrow. Should the worse come to pass; are we ready? - Intercepted communications between First Spider Archemia of the Desolate Empire and an unknown scribe, circa .277
A grin split my face at the notification. A feat recognised by the system, level 45 achieved, multiple class and general skills above level 10¡­I was ready to break through the 2nd tier. I also had a new weapon, a named weapon, like the stories Sadrianna had shared as we travelled. I felt like Markuth Breeze-born, God-Cleaver in hand. It was a whimsical thought, but I found myself in a rather whimsical mood all of a sudden. Dansel¡¯s gentle rumbling brought me back to earth though. ¡°May I see it?¡± the woman asked, and I handed Resolution over with only the briefest hesitation. I could feel the link between us, strong as the north wind, and knew that it would return to my hand the moment I poured mana down that new connection. Still, I watched carefully. She handled it with reverence though, turning it over in her massive hands and admiring the way the light played over the lacquered surface of the wood, eyeing the grain and running her fingers along the grip. She nodded, once. A brief motion, much like her speech. ¡°A good weapon,¡± she said, approval clear in her tone, then she passed it back to me. I tried to hide the flush of relief I felt to have it back in hand, but I¡¯m not sure I was successful by the way her lips turned up on one side slightly. ¡°That laminar shell you brought me was surprisingly durable. Are you done with it? I would be happy to purchase the rest.¡± I looked up in surprise at Dansel ¨C it was the most I¡¯d heard her speak in one go so far. ¡°Ah¡­no. No, I had another request actually. I¡¯ll need to see if we have the coin for it, but I was thinking of replacing my shield ¨C it can¡¯t stand up to the type of blows I¡¯ll be receiving soon, and this material seems to perfect.¡± She nodded in understanding, and turned away to start packing up her materials. ¡°Ask¡± she said over her shoulder. I hesitated. ¡°I was thinking of using it like a sleeve. It is big enough to encase my forearm, after all.¡± Another languorous nod of her great head. She had a sharp mind hidden within though. ¡°That wouldn¡¯t work ¨C you would lose too much mobility if it covered the whole forearm ¨C elbow joint would be compromised. And if you removed enough to allow good movement of the elbow then you¡¯d be compromising on protection¡­better to slice it in half. You could sharpen the other end ¨C a gauntlet blade at the end of your shield.¡± She hefted an anvil heavier than my entire body over one shoulder while cocking her head to one side as if it was simply a mild inconvenience. ¡°Could work,¡± she considered. I grinned eagerly. ¡°Let me speak with my companions, see if we could raise the funds ¨C how much would you charge for a commission like that?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯ll speak with your companion tomorrow evening ¨C we will settle it once the work is done¡± she rumbled. ¡°But I don¡¯t know if we can afford-¡± I began, but she cut me off. ¡°He can afford it.¡± It was said with a confidence that stopped me from questioning the statement. ¡°Besides,¡± she continued, ¡°I will keep what remains of it and deduct that from your price. You helped Ratter today with his class, and I would reward that.¡± That was a relief. I wondered idly around the large forge, helping to pack up for the day. ¡°Who would you recommend I see for armour, Dansel?¡± I asked. ¡°It¡¯s Dansel of the Forge, not Dansel the Weaponsmith,¡± she grunted in response, and I smiled. ¡°Not for complex work like this though. I need simple armour ¨C the like that wouldn¡¯t hold much interest for a smith of your calibre.¡± I figured a little flattery couldn¡¯t hurt and was rewarded with a knowing glance cast my way. ¡°Ratter can find you something from our stores ¨C come back tomorrow.¡± I nodded absentmindedly, feeling pleased with what I¡¯d achieved. It was a few moments before I realised Dansel was still staring at me, and I set down the chisel¡¯s I¡¯d been stacking away inside a chest made specifically for them. ¡°This is our work, boy. Come back tomorrow.¡± ¡°Oh! Sorry, I thought¡­well. Thank you for your help today. I will see you in the morning then. It¡¯s Lamb, by the way.¡± ¡°What is?¡± she asked with a raised eyebrow. ¡°My name ¨C Lamb.¡± ¡°Who gave you a name like that?¡± she asked, incredulous. ¡°Nobody, really. I suppose I sort of fell into it,¡± I said thoughtfully. I couldn¡¯t really remember how it had come about at this point. Some of the cuff comment by Jorge, most likely. Still, it was better than Runt. ¡°Had I known that, I¡¯d have never let you name that weapon,¡± she said with a sniff as she turned away. I bade good night to them after, and returned to camp, wand tucked into my belt loop and constantly probing at the new artifact link in my soul.
It was late evening when Nathlan returned to the tent. I had been paying more attention to my mana senses ever since The Lost Grove, and perhaps it was simply an affect of knocking on the door to 2nd tier, or the diligent training paying off, but they were sharper than ever. As he entered, I felt a palpable sense of power billowing from him. It rolled off him in waves, like a sea breeze stirring through the tent. He¡¯d been hunting, and doing so at an impressive pace. I grinned up at him from my position ensconced in a plush divan on the floor as he hung up his sword belt on the central pole. ¡°Well hello, big man. Nobody told me The Sworn Triarchy had another member!¡± I exclaimed with faux-surprise. Nathlan smiled back tiredly ¨C it may have been a fruitful hunting session, but clearly it was just as draining. ¡°Hey Lamb. I take it you met with success at the forge?¡± ¡°Aye, you could say that¡± I said, nodding. ¡°I¡¯d like to introduce you to Resolution,¡± I proclaimed as I stretched my hand out to the side. An invisible flex of mana through the pathway connecting the weapon to my core and the wand snapped into my palm from where it had rested against my leg. I noticed for the first time a faint blue-silver glow emanating from the burn scar on my hand. The tissue was still raw, the wound not yet healed, but my enhanced endurance and Mountain-Born working together to accelerate the healing process enough that it was no longer leaking. Vera had said it needed bandaging and had headed out to find a specific root that, when ground and mixed with fresh water, had a potent cooling affect for many bells. No doubt she¡¯d be back at any moment with the tincture in hand. Nathlan whistled appreciatively, and then actually gasped when I shunted more mana down the link and enlarged the weapon to its full form. A mild-mannered scholar he might be, but he still had a hint of the childish exuberance to be expected of a young man. He hurried over and reached out for it, and I threw it over to him gently, grin on my face.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. He inspected it from every angle, paying particular attention to the sharp, icy head as I spoke once more. ¡°you¡¯ve been busy too, by the looks of it. What are you now? Level 35?¡± He shook his head absently, clearly distracted by the craftsmanship of the weapon ¨C credit to Dansel more than myself ¨C and still intrigued by its strange colours and appearance. ¡°Something like that, Lamb,¡± he said. I knew he was hesitant to share further details of his skills, even now. There was something in his past that cast a long shadow, something that constantly reminded him to hold something back, to not fully trust another with his secrets. ¡°Any new skills?¡± I asked. ¡°Yes ¨C Truth is Found at the Edge of a Blade,¡± he said, grimacing slightly as if embarrassed by the name. It was my turn to whistle then. ¡°Impressive!¡± I exclaimed, eyebrows rising with the words, until I frowned. ¡°Bit of a mouthful though. I hope you don¡¯t intend to shout it mid-battle?¡± He scoffed and waved a hand at me, and I grinned before continuing. ¡°Seriously, that sounds impressive. How does it work? Anything like your domain skill?¡± ¡°No,¡± he said, cocking his head to one side. ¡°It¡¯s more of a single purpose skill, and not exactly made for combat. I can¡­compel...the truth from somebody if I¡¯m in a position of power over them. The skill seems to imply that it works best if that power is at the edge of my blade, though.¡± He shrugged apologetically, as if sorry he couldn¡¯t give me more detail. I narrowed my eyes though ¨C it sounded like he was a little ashamed of the skill to me. ¡°Have you experimented with it yet?¡± I asked, and he shook his head after another brief hesitation. ¡°Go on then, use it on me!¡± I demanded, excited. But he once more just shook his head, looking awkward and a little scared, though of what I couldn¡¯t figure out just yet. ¡°No, Lamb. It¡¯s not something I will ever use on my companions. On my friends.¡± I hummed in thought. Clearly, I needed to approach the conversation tactfully ¨C Nathlan was a skittish man at the best of times. But tact didn¡¯t demand delicacy, and I thought of my recent conversation with Sadrianna. She had asked me outright what I was fishing for, and that directness was what allowed the following conversation to proceed with honesty from both of us. ¡°What are you afraid of, Nathlan?¡± I asked quietly. It was just us in the tent. Vera was out hunting for my burn salve; Jorge was apparently meeting with Ventus and Arynia ¨C Sadrianna¡¯s parents ¨C and the barbarian woman was spending her last evenings with friends before she left for a dangerous expedition. His face closed off, thin eyebrows drawing down in a heavy frown and I winced, hurrying to make my point. ¡°It¡¯s plain to see that something happened to you that brought you here. Seems Jorge has a habit of collecting lost and broken people, and its no great leap to realise you¡¯ve got something you¡¯re running from, or at least something dragging behind you. I don¡¯t know what betrayals and tribulations you¡¯ve been through, mate, but if you can¡¯t trust me, who can you trust?¡± I hadn¡¯t intended to give a long-winded speech, but he hadn¡¯t opened back up yet, and I wasn¡¯t willing to let this lie between us. ¡°I literally fell out of the sky with no past ¨C I have no secret allegiances, no motive or means to hurt you. The two most powerful people I know have known you longer, and while I have slightly more personal power than you right now, its marginal and likely to be corrected within only a few weeks. He sighed, turned away, looked back. Turned away again. Eventually his thin shoulders slumped, and this second sigh was weary. ¡°I don''t trust you, Lamb. I don''t trust anyone.¡± I would have been stunned by the words, had I not been prepared for them. When you backed people into a corner emotionally, they said things with an edge. You had to brace yourself, or risk being distracted by minor cuts. They¡¯d heal quickly if you left them alone, but dwelling on them only made them fester. ¡°I¡­I don''t know how to anymore. Unless I can confirm for myself their intentions then how do I take that leap?¡± I shook my head, speaking softly; ¡°That''s not trust, mate.¡± ¡°But isn''t it a start?¡± The anguish in his eyes when he looked at me then was gut-wrenching. He was ever so slightly taller than me, I realised. He spent so much time hunched over, unless he held a blade, that is. I¡¯d always thought it was a relic from his scholarly past - spending so much time hunched over scrolls in a dusty library - but now it occurred to me that it might be intentional. ¡°Fuck it, maybe? I don''t know Nathlan, I''m just as lost as you are. But I know I felt better when I decided to trust you all. Sure, you might betray me, but if Vera decides to kill me, there¡¯s not much I can do about it, is there?¡± I plopped back onto the divan behind me, letting out a sigh as I did so. Difficult conversations were easier when you were sitting - it was a universal truth. Perhaps something about the reality of not being able to just stride off made people a little more careful with their words? Nathlan followed suit, unconsciously by the looks of his far-away expression, sitting in Jorge¡¯s ¡®old-man chair¡¯ as I had started calling it. ¡°So you just¡­decide? To risk it all? No contingencies, no backup plans, no assurances?¡± The scholar asked. ¡°Yeah, pretty much. It''s only trust if you¡¯re vulnerable, Nathlan.¡± ¡°But that''s¡­¡± he blew out a breath. ¡°Madness?¡± I finished for him, a wan smile slipping onto my face. ¡°Aye, but that''s what trust is, mate. Giving someone the means to ruin your life, and then watching as they don''t.¡± I laughed then. ¡°Gods, that was almost profound, wasn''t it?¡± I said, and he punched me gently in the shoulder. He leaned back but still didn''t seem convinced. I tried one last gambit. ¡°Okay, how about this¡­you take that blade there and use your skill on me. Ask me anything, confirm away. But once you¡¯re satisfied, you are gonna tell me what screwed you up so much.¡± I held his gaze, and saw the flinch as I asked about his past. Still, he didn''t look away. Moments passed with the only sound the soft hissing of our breath before he nodded. ¡°Alright Lamb, but I warned you.¡± He said it like a dire warning. I sat back, tucked my spear back into the belt loop at my waist, and tried to relax. He¡¯d shed his scholar¡¯s cloak that he wore like a disguise, and now stood before me a swordsman once more, blade bare and kissed by the gentle light of the tent. A whisper of steel parting air, and then the edge was at my throat. It was a fast move, and I¡¯d had little time to react as he closed the two meters between us in a flash. I didn''t move, and let the slowed time of Check-Step fade away. ¡°What is your name?¡± He whispered. I swallowed, feeling the blade move backwards just a hair as my throat bobbed. It soon returned to rest against my skin. ¡°I don''t know, Lamb for now I suppose.¡± It was the most honest answer I could come up with. Lamb was a placeholder until I found something more suitable. I¡¯d been thinking of it more recently, now that I was starting to have a place in this world. Perhaps forging my spear had played a bigger role than expected. It was a little ridiculous, after all, to spend more time deliberating over a weapon¡¯s name than my own. Nathlan nodded, eyes intense and not at all distracted by my strange admission. ¡°Who scares you the most out of our companions?¡± A strange question, but I imagine he wanted to establish a baseline. ¡°Vera¡± I answered without hesitation. A weight pressed down on my throat, constricting and squeezing. I felt the blade push deeper, through my skin, through my windpipe, into my very soul. I panicked and gasped out, ¡°Jorge! It''s Jorge!¡± And the spiritual weight abated. The blade was still resting against my bare neck, no blood marring it''s surface and no slice breaking my skin. ¡°You feel it now, yes?¡± He said, eyes catching mine. They were gleaming in the candlelight, a manic light echoing within them. I didn''t like it. ¡°Have you ever betrayed someone, Lamb? Truly, deeply?¡± I hesitated. ¡°I don''t know.¡± Nathlan tensed, and I felt the sword bite, a shallow line of fire marked across my throat. But the spiritual blade at my nape didn''t move. I met his eyes, taking in the fervour in their depths and matching it with my own earnestness. ¡°Not in this world, at least.¡± A pause, and then the blade withdrew. Nathlan sheathed his weapon and scurried back to his seat, the imposing swordsman disappearing within an instant. I breathed out in relief, and lifted a hand to feel the stinging cut on my neck. I saw Nathlan wince and go to apologise, and I held up a hand to forestall him, blood staining my fingertips. Nearly a cruel gesture. ¡°There¡¯ll be plenty of time for recriminations later. First; are you satisfied? Can''t say it was a pleasant experience, but I''d rather do it again right now than in a week when you realise you missed some questions.¡± He shied away from my stare and nodded awkwardly after a moment. ¡°Nathlan¡­¡± I trailed off, unsure what to say. Had that not been enough for him? Did he still harbour some seed of doubt? But no. I recognised then the gentle shaking of his shoulders and realised abruptly that he had turned away to hide his tears from me. I moved towards him and tried not to see the desperation in his face as he looked up at me. I wrapped him in a hug. Gods, he must be lonely. Vera returned not long afterwards and caught my eye through the tent flap. She hesitated, and I thought she would leave quietly before Nathlan had noticed, but she surprised me. She strode across the woven reeds that covered the floor of the tent, and stopped to loom over both of us from where we sat. To be more accurate, Nathlan sat in the big chair, and I was perched on the arm of it, awkwardly leaning over to give him a hug. ¡°Up¡± she ordered, and I frowned at the tone. Not exactly the time for uncompromising, far as I was concerned. Nathlan had been training with Vera for longer than I had though, and so he was already standing before his brain had really understood the order. The moment he was on his feet, strong arms steadied him. Vera was made for war ¨C her entire body spoke to that fact. Scars across her knuckles, strong forearms for grasping weapons and turning blades, legs thick as trunks to propel her through an enemies guard and a block of a head made for crushing skulls. It seemed she was also made for comforting friends too, though, for the moment she hugged Nathlan, the scholar seemed to vanish. Her muscular arms enveloped him, and despite his supposed height, she crushed his head into her chest and held him tight. I couldn¡¯t see his face, but I could practically feel the relaxation seeping into his bones by the set of his shoulders and the way his back stopped its dramatic heaving almost immediately. She¡¯d told me of her brother, and calmed me when I had been in the midst of an identity crisis all those moons ago in the Wandering States. Now, she soothed Nathlan as well. She was made of hard edges, but there was a deep well of compassion hidden within that I doubted many ever got the chance to experience. We spent much of the evening afterwards just talking after that. A jug of sweet wine was passed around between us, and we took turns sharing stories of our past. Vera spoke of her escapades in the Sunsets ¨C mostly the early years with her brother ¨C and Nathlan spoke of his childhood on the Leviathan Coast, and his fond memories of his weapons-master. I mostly remembered moments spent travelling with them, but they listened regardless as I retold stories they¡¯d been present for. It was a ritual after all, a reaffirming of our trust in one another. To share stories and drinks was an age-old human practice, and it felt like something significant took place within the tent that day. I had already committed myself to action on behalf of Vera, but that night I re-examined that commitment once more, and realised I would fight for Nathlan and Vera more than any specific goal. Friends. Companionship. A reason to belong. Was there anything more worth fighting for? Interlude: The Great Deceptions of the Leviathan Coast The Wavebreakers are a storied dynasty. Magic is in their blood, and the common people of the Leviathan Coast allow their rule with begrudging respect. Or so it is said in the halls of power - the curving palaces whose domes are crowned in perpetual flames to guide ships to the only safe harbours in a thousand miles. It is a carefully cultivated image, but one with profound power. The leviathans, after which this stretch of coastland is named, are very real. They are waiting, they are hungry, and the Wavebreakers are the only ones that can hold them off. The first great deception is not that the ocean is dangerous beyond compare, or that the leviathans hunger for the bounty of Tsanderos¡¯ heartlands. No, it is the removal of context from the leviathans. They have been transformed in the minds of the people of Tsanderos from powerful sea monsters, into something much more. Leviathans. The name conjures tableaus of death, of destruction raining from the sky and apocalyptic sights galore. And it is true, in some senses. The leviathans are malevolent creatures and would descend upon the harbour-cities of the Leviathan Coast in a frenzy of blood and death were it not for the storm-wards maintained by the WaveBreakers. Gibbering masses of monsters from beyond the imagining of the common man would sweep through clean streets and make a mockery of humanity¡¯s attempts to make habitable the Leviathan Coast. But that is where it would end. The true nature of these depthless entities is not well understood, but it cannot be denied that they are sea monsters. They dwell within the oceans and will not leave their comforting abodes for long. But despite this obvious truth, The Wavebreakers have managed to convince even powerful empires in the heartlands of Tsanderos that they are a necessary bastion between humanity and the monsters that stalk the seas. It¡¯s not a hard argument to make, when you have the support of the oceans themselves. Many a visiting dignitary has witnessed first-hand the terror and power of the leviathans as one or another tries to make a meal of a harbour city. Wards a dozen miles wide light up in stormy skies with the power of an entire city¡¯s magical might, repelling monsters whose size is measured in miles and whose offspring can reach the 3rd tier with ease. They leave in awe of the courage of the city¡¯s defenders, impressed by the wisdom and ward-craft of the city¡¯s leaders, and firm in their resolve to support the burgeoning power that protects the coast from savagery. After all, the Wavebreakers say, if we should fall, then you will face the leviathans yourself one day, without the aid of our great storm-wards. It is a sensible worldview if the underlying assumptions are correct. Luckily for Tsanderos though, they are not. Sea monsters are bound to the sea, and should the storm-wards fall, then the Leviathan Coast will be depopulated swiftly. But it is not a state of affairs that has never before been seen. It¡¯s an inhospitable stretch of coastland, and it can remain a wild place without settlement for another thousand years without issue. That is the first great deception of the Leviathan Coast; that it stands between the sea and the land and is all that prevents the former from consuming the latter. The second great deception is in many ways more insidious. The harbour cities exist due to the immense storm-wards that ring each city, protecting them from siege. Just as the wards protect the cities, so too do the Wavebreakers protect the wards. An ancient dynasty of mage-aristocrats whose privileges are matched only by the demands of their duties. They shoulder the burden of protecting the coast, and an entire continent owes them a debt of gratitude, for they are the only ones that can keep the magical constructs functioning. Or so they say in the halls of power. The storm-wards draw power not just from the city¡¯s defenders, but also from the storms themselves. It is their secret, the reason they can repel even beasts that stand firmly in the 4th tier, their scale unmatched in all of Tsanderos, excepting the ancient dragons of old. It has long been said that horrors beyond man lurk in storm-wracked seas, and it seems to be a truism for a reason.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Leviathans bring with them storms ¨C It is simply the way of things. This great natural phenomenon that masks their approach also gives the harbour cities the means to defend themselves, as the power of the storms are beyond even that of the leviathans. Nature itself is unmatched in both power and fury, after all. But bending the fury of nature to one¡¯s purpose is a difficult thing to do; a mage¡¯s might and a wizard¡¯s wisdom are simply not enough to fulfil such a task alone. Something higher than the storms, greater even that nature, must be involved to allow such a feat. Many claim the system has its roots in the divine, and perhaps they are correct. What matters though, is that it is similarly supreme in its power as are the gods themselves. The Wavebreakers were undoubtably a magically blessed lineage, its scions showing both power and affinity for the magical pursuits. What raised them from a prominent noble family with a penchant for magic into the dominating political force they are today though, was the influence of the system. The Wavebreakers are blessed with classes that suit their location. They are magical engineers, maintaining the storm-wards, troubleshooting and tinkering until they possess an understanding great enough to mimic the feat of their creation. The Leviathan Coast has expanded under their watchful stewardship from a single city and smattering of towns into a powerful regional state, with half a dozen major cities along the coast and dozens of small townships, villages speckling the storm-wracked cliffs like barnacles on a ship¡¯s hull. Expansive growth is not unheard of, but it does often lead to political instability. The Wavebreakers have been in power in the Leviathan Coast since its modern conception. For over four centuries, they have steered and guided, cajoled and enforced, and the key in their success has been their necessity. If the Wavebreakers do not inhabit the Leviathan Coast, then the coast will die along with them. There is nobody that can maintain and fix the storm-wards, except the scions of House Wavebreaker. There is nobody that can create new storm-wards, and therefore new cities, except House Wavebreaker. They are integral to the continued existence of the Leviathan Coast. And so, we come to the second great deception. This is no ruse based on honeyed words and twisted truths as is the first. This deception is more grounded, stained with blood and rooted in the dark work of supressing a population growing with discontent. While the expansion across the Leviathan Coast has brought further power to the Wavebreaker dynasty and spread humanity¡¯s influence further north, it has also brought with it an increase in attacks. The denizens of the deep hunger, and food seems to accumulate in ever greater quantities on their borders. It is not unusual therefore, for more to take notice every year. The storm wards strain to hold off ever more attacks, and despite the Wavebreaker¡¯s penchant for ward-craft, it is now rare for one to be born each generation with the skills and drive to achieve the venerable classes needed to ensure their continued functioning. This has led to an ever-more insular political community, where power is concentrated in the hands of only a few exceptional individuals in each generation. The dynasty has become ossified, like saltwater swirling against an iron bit until only a calcified blob remains. The System is fair in all things though. As the attacks grow more frequent, the citizens of the harbour cities bear the burnt of the ocean¡¯s ire, and the Ruler Of All Heaven, as it is sometimes known, takes note. Classes begin to appear within the populous. The downtrodden and hungry, the abused and oppressed, those who over generations have been pushed out of the city centres and onto the peripheries ¨C those who bear the brunt of the attacks and are closest to the terror; they are the ones in whom the much-needed classes appear. Blood is potent, and the Wavebreakers do their jobs well, despite what other accusations can be levied at them. It is no surprise that they still receive ward-classes in abundance. But as time passes and the status quo continues to worsen, the commoners are increasingly in danger of gaining classes that can help. In danger, because the Wavebreakers cannot tolerate anybody but them having the tools to save the coast. Should it become known that the Wavebreakers are not the only ones, by dint of birthright, who possess classes capable of maintaining and creating the storm-wards, then their position at the top would be in jeopardy. The begrudging respect has already given way to reluctant acceptance over the last century as political contradictions sharpen. That reluctant acceptance could very easily give way to outraged revolt were it to become known that their rulers were not the only force capable of protecting them. Were it to become known that those same rulers had spent most of two centuries assassinating any commoners that showed particular talent for ward-craft, and that the current struggles were in large part due to a dearth of capable classers that the Wavebreakers themselves had killed off¡­ ¡­Well, the oldest dynasty in Western Tsanderos would rule the Leviathan Coast no longer. Interlude - News Travels Slow on Crooked Wings Despite what his detractors at the Sunset Court might think, Duke Ryonic took many pleasures in life. He loved the feel of steel in his hand. Loved watching the steam curl from his bare shoulders and mingle with the morning mist as cool air touched hot skin. He loved the feel of aching muscles stretching, and the knowledge that he was up and training while the rest of the world slept in. These simple pleasures were soon interrupted by a swirl of purple spirit, and a large raven appeared on the parapet before him. He frowned in surprise before gesturing to one side with his head. ¡°Walk with me,¡± he said to the conjured creature, and began to stroll along the top of the wall, leaving behind three of his personal guard who were leaning against the crenelated wall and recovering their breath after the hard session. Osman, Shain and Roland were his most reliable warriors, and could be trusted to keep the rest of the household up to standard given their impressive peak 2nd tier classes. He still took care to only ask the raven to give its report once he was out of earshot though. ¡°Mistress brings message¡± the bird croaked, beady eyes sparkling with intelligence as it watched him. At his nod, it delivered the message, though its croaking voice gave way to the smooth lilt of Varice¡¯s, coloured ever so slightly by the farmer¡¯s drawl that was her grandfather¡¯s inheritance. ¡°My Lord. Francis D¡¯Sware has missed his check-in by several days. I have adjusted our timeline in consideration of the more frequent than expected Leviathan raids along the coast between the Sunsets and the Dragon-Spines, but even so, I would have expected word by now.¡± Duke Ryonic rolled his shoulders to loosen the knots trying their best to form after the hard sparring. It was not particularly surprising, and he didn¡¯t see the need for an update. Francis, despite coming from many generations of nobility, was actually a very competent man. If there were delays, that likely just meant he was temporarily waylaid. They still had time before the bigger players within the Sunset Court began to get suspicious. Not much time, mind, but enough to forgive a few days delay. ¡°I have just received a report from a mutual contact in Colchet however,¡± Varice¡¯s voice continued, through the raven, ¡°which brings me great concern. The safehouse in Colchet has been raided. My contact did not arrive early enough to know exactly what was taken, but their preliminary assessment is worrying enough.¡± Duke Ryonic cursed quietly under his breath and the raven cocked its head to one side to examine him, mouth not moving but words spewing forth continuously, nevertheless. It was certainly strange to see a creature of magic speak with the voice of his spymaster, but Varice had been working for him for nigh on a decade now after he had saved her from a life of drudgery; he was used to the conjured phantasmal creature by now. ¡°Almost everything appears destroyed, as per protocol, but the Lions had been sharing the safehouse with another mercenary company ¨C The Wielders of Azlan ¨C and their bodies were found within the safehouse, slaughtered to a man. My contact has no idea who might be responsible, but has heard nothing of rival criminal elements within the city moving in on the territory, and the Wielders of Azlan have been promising significant coin to any who can provide information on those responsible for weeks now with little success. ¡°The city is a kicked hornet¡¯s nest, what with the issues the Guard are having in the depths of the canyon, and The Council of Brothers has locked things down tightly. There is little to go on, but I do not believe it a coincidence; Francis left and sent word they had found a package to escort, and then the safehouse was hit almost immediately. Francis then missed his check in by a few days, and I am of the opinion that we will hear no more of him. Ever.¡± He took a few moments to absorb the news before sighing. Addressing the raven, he asked, ¡°is your mistress available for comment?¡± Another birdlike flick of its head, and then Varice answered through her familiar. No longer monotonous and lecturing, she said ¡°I am here, my Lord. You received my message, I take it?¡± ¡°Indeed. You suspect Francis D¡¯Sware to have been ambushed during his return?¡± The duke asked as he turned his back on the raven and gazed out over the empty fields that ringed Ryonic castle. ¡°I do, my Lord. It is impossible to say for certain, but I think it likely that the ones who destroyed the safehouse in Colchet caught up to Francis and eliminated him.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He pursued his lips. ¡°D¡¯Sware is ¨C was, perhaps ¨C a powerful fighter and a veteran mercenary. Even now, there are only three in my personal guard that could match him. I think it unlikely that a God-Touched could make themselves useful enough to warrant such powerful allies¡­you had suspicions about his allegiances before all of this, did you not?¡± There was a moment of hesitation from the raven, though he knew it wasn¡¯t the raven itself that was delaying. ¡°Yes, my Lord, but that was simply conjecture on my part. We know there is something going on ¨C meetings and manoeuvrings, particularly among the younger generation at court. I have no evidence to suggest it is anything more serious and organised than the constant jockeying for position that is normal amongst the scions of the Sunset Court.¡± Duke Ryonic cocked his head to one side, considering. The raven watched him, and he was amused to realise that he was copying its mannerisms, however slight. ¡°You have no evidence, but do you have suspicions? There was a long pause then. The duke stared at the unlinking beady eye of the raven as it observed him steadily and waited. ¡°I suspect Estan is involved.¡± Varice sounded hesitant, unsure for the first time in many years. The duke sighed and wiped some sweat from his face before answering. ¡°I know you hate the boy, Varice. And I know also that he can be¡­difficult. Precocious, wilful, lazy and slovenly. Gods know I have failed him many times over since his mother died, and I expect he has failed me as well just as often. But you suspect him of treachery?¡± ¡°I do, my Lord¡± she replied evenly. ¡°He has been taking meetings with the Sultanate¡¯s son ¨C Yander ¨C and he has recently tried once more to get information from me on our hunt for the Butcher of Sternsbridge.¡± ¡°Has he brought up The Seer since last time?¡± the duke asked, and the raven shook its head from side to side. He wasn¡¯t sure if that was an imitation of a human gesture, or simply the bird moving in its mimicry of life, and so he waited for an answer. ¡°No, which by itself is odd. He likely suspects we have been getting information from somewhere, but I doubt his suspicions are accurate. What I am concerned with is Yander¡¯s involvement. He is everything your son is not, Lord.¡± The duke raised an eyebrow, though of course Varice couldn¡¯t see it. Or perhaps she could see through the eyes of her familiar and simply kept that capability secret. He wasn¡¯t naive, she likely had a few dozen hidden surprises, insurance policies, and escape routes hidden within his castle ¨C she was a spymaster, after all. What mattered is that she lacked the physical might to protect herself from the rest of the Sunsets, and that is what he provided. That is why he could trust her. ¡°How do you mean, Varice?¡± he asked, and her answer was swift and clipped. ¡°He is undoubtably loyal to the Sultan¡¯s cause, and shares in many of the same beliefs. He is cautious, careful, and surrounds himself with only the most trusted advisors. He is close-lipped and keeps his council private.¡± ¡°You sound as if you admire the man¡± the duke said as he turned to look over the brown fields surrounding his home. ¡°I do, my Lord. He has done a great deal with comparatively little. Most of what I know about him is not actually information I have collected myself, which in and of itself speaks to his caution and competence. In comparison, a fair amount of my time is spent ensuring the secrets your son spills along with his wine doesn¡¯t make it back to your enemies.¡± He heard the bitterness in her words and grunted a warning. ¡°Careful Varice.¡± Another pause, this one longer than the first. When she next spoke, her voice was composed and calm once more. ¡°I suspect we have lost our God-Touched, and none of the three we have kept below have developed a useful talent for language, rare as that is.¡± He sighed and pushed off the wall to turn and face the raven once more. ¡°If you are correct¡­we are out of time. The Court is close to demanding answers for my use of the Lions, and given that we do not have The Butcher¡¯s corpse in our possession ¨C as unlikely as that ever was ¨C we must soon conclude our dealings with the Lions for a time. Has the Seer located any other God-Touched in the meantime?¡± ¡°Yes, my Lord. One more. They incarnated in Storm¡¯s Harbour.¡± ¡°Storm¡¯s Harbour? What are the chances of that?¡± he asked in wonder. ¡°Is Demetrios still based there? Would he be amenable to a pick-up on our behalf?¡± ¡°As far as I¡¯m aware, yes¡­but there are complications with that, my Lord. The Leviathan Coast is in enough turmoil as it is, and to kidnap a citizen on their soil would likely cause¡­backlash. The dynasty is still reeling from the actions in Ship¡¯s Rest around 5 years ago, and their tolerance for outside interference has decreased dramatically. God-Touched are likely to cause a stir when they arrive, and the chances of successfully sneaking them away without notice are¡­slim.¡± ¡°Nevertheless, we are out of options¡± the duke said. ¡°Ready a team of Lions. They can make it to Storm¡¯s Harbour and escort the God-Touched to us, with the aid of Demetrious if he is amenable, or by themselves if not. Let it be known that I am doubling the reward, and giving them permission to use whatever means necessary. Discretion is preferred, but I want a God-Touched within this castle before Winter¡¯s Zenith.¡± ¡°Understood, my lord. The Sunset Court will know that something is happening ¨C they will send dogs sniffing around¡± his spymaster said, her tone warning. ¡°I understand, but there is little we can do about it now. They will demand answers soon enough anyway, and it is time we take drastic action if we want to crack open this ruin while it still belongs to us. I am on the cusp of greatness, Varice. A month in that ruin and-¡± He cut himself off and pushed away from the wall to face the raven once more. ¡°See it done¡± he said with finality, and the raven nodded once ¨C a very human gesture this time, slow and measured ¨C before disappearing in a swirl of purple phantasm. Chapter 79 - The Mountains Call It was an emotional evening, all told, and I woke the next morning with the grogginess that only high passions can leave in their wake. I¡¯d slept through the night, though it was dark when I woke; the autumn sun rising late into the morning at this time of year. Especially so in the Titan¡¯s Crown, ringed as it was by dramatic mountain peaks. Still, as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stretched my back, hearing a few satisfying cracks and pops, I felt a fire begin to burn in my belly. I was ready, today was the day. Jorge had returned late last night, and while we hadn¡¯t exchanged more than a few words of courtesy - ¡®good night¡¯, ¡®see you on the morrow¡¯ ¨C I knew he had realised I was ready. It was no surprise then that as I entered the main room of our shared tent, he was waiting for me, steam curling from a mug in his hands and another resting carefully on the small table to one side. I took it gratefully and leaned against the central pole holding the whole canvas structure up. ¡°Mornin¡¯ Lamb, take a seat,¡± he said, gesturing to the divan I¡¯d rested on yesterday. I shook my head though. ¡°Can¡¯t. Too excited.¡± I gave a sheepish smile at that, and he grinned in response. ¡°Aye, understandable I suppose. I don¡¯t quite remember my first class up, but I¡¯ve seen enough over the years to know the young have no patience in its presence. Still¡­finish your tea first.¡± I took a careful sip, not wanting to burn my tongue, and the pleasant spiciness of ginger and anise contrasted against the turmeric and cardamom to form a lattice of flavour in my mouth. It was still less potent than the smell, but that was always the way with tea, and I enjoyed the simple ritual of it regardless. ¡°How did you know I was ready last night? Are your mana senses that accurate?¡± I asked idly, trying to distract myself long enough to not gulp down the drink. He raised an eyebrow. ¡°They could be, lad. Mayhap I can sense all that occurs within a thousand miles...¡± He see-sawed his hand back and forth as I had done the other day when describing my encounter with the baby Subakir. ¡°¡­Or perhaps I just saw that spear on your belt and knew it was time¡± he finished with a smile. ¡°Aye, you always were a keen-eyed bastard, especially for an old fella¡± I joked back, doing my best to imitate his thick brogue. It wasn¡¯t a great attempt. ¡°Okay, clear as day this isn¡¯t helping to calm you down. With me, Lamb, let¡¯s go for a walk.¡± So saying, he stood and strode from the tent, and I hurriedly downed the tea, strapped my weapon¡¯s belt to my waist and slipped my spear into it. I couldn¡¯t bear to leave the spear dangling from the central pole with my dagger and hatchet overnight, and it was easy to lay by my pillow in its smaller form, so I¡¯d taken to sleeping with it. I would have to be careful who I told though ¨C I could easily imagine ¡®Lamb Spear-Snuggler¡¯ becoming a name that stuck. We walked through the camp with a purpose, much as Jorge had sold it as a spur of the moment stroll to help calm me down. It didn¡¯t take long for us to leave the centre of camp where most people slept, and as we weaved past traders setting up their stalls at the edge of camp, I heard the now familiar ring of hammer on anvil as Dansel of the Forge bashed some new weapon or piece of armour into submission. We soon passed the trade quarters, and I saw the tanneries further off down the hill, presumably far enough out that their noxious waste products didn¡¯t pollute the main river that fed into the arena and its near-sacred waterfall. It was a dreary day, the sky overcast with clouds ¨C the grey and stifling kind that blended every colour beneath them into a smeared mess rather than the nice fluffy kind that seemed to soar through the sky. I grimaced at the aftertaste of the tea, downed in a rush with the dregs now coating my tongue and mouth in an unpleasant, almost gritty tang. I spat to the side as we strode, and Jorge seemed to ignore the gesture, though I had thought he¡¯d moan about ¡®kids these days and their disrespect for good company¡¯ or something as he was want to do from time to time. We journeyed on, down past the tanning pits and further down the basin, though we cut sharply to one side as we descended. Jorge was happy to fill the silence, rambling on in that charming way of his while saying very little of note. I knew today was the day of advancement though and couldn¡¯t relax because of it. I was jittery, excited, nervous¡­a whole host of emotions were battling it out for supremacy in my stomach, and it made me a poor conversation partner. We reached the edge of the basin after around a bell of fast hiking, and then we were suddenly standing at the edge of the world. Or rather, that is what it felt like. We¡¯d ascended to the Titan¡¯s Crown through a steep gully shrouded in choking mist, and so hadn¡¯t seen much of the structure from the outside. It was certainly an impressive ring of mountains surrounding a wonderous circular valley filled with lakes and natural wonders, but I¡¯d not fully appreciated what a bizarre geographical structure it was until that moment. The Titan¡¯s Crown was one single massive mesa. We stood above a cloud inversion, with banks of light grey and white swirling below us, cutting us off from the land below. As I stood there, seemingly at the top of the world, I truly understood for the first time what the barbarians meant when they called me ¡®lowlander¡¯. The impenetrable wall of cloud seemed to divide the world, and it had a profound effect on my thinking, even just observing it for a few moments. I was distant from all those below, not just physically but also emotionally and with an entirely different perspective. They¡¯d never see the world as I did, hidden beneath the dense layer of cloud, and I felt as if I saw a truer, more real version of Tsanderos than they did. Of course, it was just a feature of weather patterns, or perhaps the gods¡¯ whims, and I knew that while not exactly rare up here on the Titan¡¯s Crown, a cloud inversion wasn¡¯t a standard sight. But still, it had a profound effect on me. I span around, taking in the mountains at my back crowning this ancient basin, and the clouds that hung above even them. Was there a world above those dark and ominous shadows too? Could there be someone just like me, looking down at the clouds below them and wondering how few people below ever got to see the world as they did at that very moment? Maybe it went on and on forever; endless worlds trapped between layers of cloud. Wouldn¡¯t that make those on the ground, rooted to the earth, the most unique though? Lowlanders then would have a unique perspective among the ranks of cloud-dwellers. Something to ponder. Or not. This was, after all, an entirely made-up world I had created in my mind, and no matter how long I spent fantasising about different configurations of reality, I couldn¡¯t wholly distract myself from this day¡¯s purpose and promise. It was an interesting contrast though. Grey-white clouds below, fluffy and agile as they scudded across the sky while darker, heavier ones rolled far above in an entirely more ominous way. ¡°Hell of a view, aye lad?¡± Jorge remarked, and I was dragged back to the moment once more. ¡°Aye, you could say that¡± I replied, and Jorge glanced at me sidelong before snorting. ¡°You¡¯re in danger of sounding like an old git if you keep stealing my words, Lamb.¡± I laughed, and then gestured around us. ¡°So¡­what¡¯s the plan?¡± ¡°Down¡± he said simply and conjured a rope from the air. He paced around until he found a suitably massive boulder, and slung the rope around it a few times, tying off a complex knot with enviable ease before slapping me on the shoulder and walking off the edge, rope in hand. I shrugged to myself, knowing I was going to get the information when I needed it, and not a moment before. We abseiled down a few hundred meters ¨C Jorge¡¯s rope was impressively long and seemed not to run out no matter how far we travelled. I made a mental note to ask him about it later, knowing full well I¡¯d forget about it and never bring it up again. We found our rest in a hollow in the rock, and it took all of my trust in Jorge to follow him in as it started to narrow into a tight tunnel that I could barely squeeze my shoulders and hips through. He was a fair bit shorter and slimmer than me, and so didn¡¯t have much of an issue navigating the tight confines of the twisting passage, but I was in a near-panic the entire way. I¡¯d never been particularly claustrophobic as far as I could tell, but consistent bad experiences underground were piling up and my subconscious was starting to take note. Before it could become a real problem though, the view of Jorge¡¯s wiggling boots was replaced by blessedly open air, and I wriggled my way of the tunnel entrance and into a large chamber. It was at least twenty meters in diameter, and you could have easily stacked two Alkers on top of one another with room to spare before hitting the uneven ceiling above. The centre of the cavern was where my eyes were drawn though, and Jorge stood before me and waved his hands to one side in a dramatic flourish. ¡°Behold, my little Lamb ¨C The Cursed Waters of the Titan¡¯s Crown!¡± He was referring of course, to the pool that lay in the centre of the chamber, ice-blue water lapping at the edges of the¡­basin? Bowl? I didn¡¯t know how deep it was, given the water¡¯s near opacity, and so struggled to categorise it in my mind. There were steps carved into one side that descended into the pool though, and a raised ring of stone around the edge that looked almost like a headrest. ¡°A magical heated bath?¡± I asked, perplexed. I stifled the urge to spit to one side again, the sour saliva in my mouth making me grimace around the words. ¡°I suppose you could call it that, if you wanted to ruin the ambience,¡± he replied, shooting me a reproachful look. I sighed in response, trying to psych myself up for what I knew to be coming. ¡°Is there anything in it?¡± ¡°Water.¡± We both stared at one another for long moments until he relented. ¡°No, lad, nothing nasty in there. They¡¯re called the Cursed Waters because of the effect they have, not because of what lurks ¨C or doesn¡¯t ¨C within them.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I grimaced again, running my tongue around my teeth and feeling the gritty film. Jorge continued on, but his voice was starting to drift over as if from further away, despite him standing right before me. ¡°Right lad, this is it. You get in the pool, and let its magic do the rest. Stay in as long as you can ¨C half a bell should be enough, but it never hurts to be thorough. Although...well, this will hurt to be thorough, I suppose. No helping it though, some things just have to be faced with a grimace. I can see you¡¯ve got that part down, at least. Tea starting to kick in right about now, I¡¯d wager.¡± I frowned at him, concerned to see him wavering back and forth as if through a heat haze. The effect was just subtle enough that I couldn¡¯t be sure if it was really happening, or just a trick of the light. ¡°Drop your weapons and armour, lad. Best if you¡¯re minimally clothed for this ¨C the waters can break down even the sturdiest tools given enough time. That¡¯s it, in you go,¡± he said as I shed my belongings and walked unsteadily over to the pool. I climbed down the steps and nestled myself within the strangely warm waters. It was as if a hot spring bubbled up from below, for the temperature was well above that of the air of the cavern. I leaned my head back against the ridge of stone behind me, and stared up at the ceiling, steam rising in lazy swirls from the surface of the water to dance before my eyes. It took many breaths before I began to feel something. It started slow, an awareness that not everything was right with my body. My feet began to prickle. A slight tremor in the muscle of my calf as it flexed of its own accord. My hip wasn¡¯t quite at the right angle and needed popping back into place as if during a good stretch. An ache in my lower back, persistent and nagging as if I was afflicted with what Jorge said was sure to be a future malady of mine if I didn¡¯t cool down properly after hard sparring sessions. These feelings, these little niggles in my body, began to grow. They spread to every limb and burned in a way that I was so used to but had never experienced all at once. Tendons in my ankles protesting as if strained by bad foot placement, skull aching as if I¡¯d bashed it against a wooden beam. Jorge¡¯s soft voice filtered down to me, and it was obscured and distorted, though I could still make out the words. ¡°Lamb; just persist. I¡¯ll be here watching over you. You just need to hold on until you¡¯re ready. Remember ¨C the pain isn¡¯t real. Nothing will break. Just persist.¡± My eyes began to drift close, the effort of watching steam eddy above me in its strange patterns causing the ache behind my eyes to increase, and for a single moment I felt blessed relief as my cool eyelids covered my eyes. Then they started to pound in a familiar rhythm with the rest of my body. My heartbeat was strong within my chest, and it felt as if every muscle and sinew beat along with it. The discomfort began to give way to true pain soon, and I was hit with a surge of sympathy for Nathlan as he must have felt to wake in a hospital bed with his body newly broken. The only sounds were the heavy breaths I took through my nose, dispersing it throughout my body and hoping that the breathing techniques taught to me by Vera would have some effect at reducing the strain. The occasional ripple of water eventually stopped, as I realised that moving into new positions didn¡¯t help abate the slowly increasing agony coursing through me. I tried to retreat from the physical sensations; to visualise the dam that Jorge had described. I could almost see microfractures forming throughout the immense wall of spiritual starlight, and I had the mad thought to use Faultline to widen them. But no, that was purely an analogy by my old mentor. The dam did not exist, and unlike my soul-space that walked the boundary between real and imagined but that I could affect and alter, this was purely a metaphysical conception. The pain seared its way along my limbs, curling in towards my chest and climbing its way up to my skull in incremental steps. It felt like a malicious creature, clawing its way up my body and leaving lines of agony where its talons had been. But that would imply that it moved, and that was the mind-bending thing about this pain; it never moved. It never abated. It progressed throughout my body but never retreated from where it had passed. Like a canny general leading an army of implacable warriors, it took territory relentlessly and would leave garrisons behind over every inch to reinforce its new dominion. I tried to open my eyes once more, though they felt gummed shut by something. I eventually managed to muster the strength to do so, and the steam above now obscured the ceiling. Something within the eddying condensation reminded me of mists upon a mountain; the way they moved as if with a life of their own, their patterns just strange enough to appear random but always able to hide exactly what you were looking for behind their mocking faces. My tongue felt fat and heavy in my mouth, sitting there like a toad on a lily pad. I tried to move it, but the slovenly thing refused. I blinked as I saw a shape appear within the steam, but it was gone when my eyes opened once more. Fire wended its way through my guts, and I whimpered. The pain isn¡¯t real. You are the sovereign of your body. I repeated the words to myself, my inner critic for once staying blessedly silent. It became a silent mantra, repetition enforcing the belief until I was almost convinced. But my tongue still wouldn¡¯t move within my mouth, and my eyes now refused to close. More shapes swam into focus, patches of darker hues within the opaque mist that covered the room. I tried to frown when they didn¡¯t vanish like the others, but my forehead stayed wrinkle free, my brows under the control of something that was not me. My mind cowered within its protective shell of bone, seeking escape from the torment, and when physical escape failed, it moved on to the next best option. When sleep finally came for me, it did so with crooked fingers and wicked claws. As always, there was no warning. One moment I was awake and staring at a steam-shrouded ceiling, the next I was in the midst of a conversation with a disembodied spirit. I should have struggled to keep up, perhaps seeking to replay the last few moments of conversation to give some context, but any rationality I may have had while conscious had been swiftly deposed by now. I was dreaming, and here we were all under the dominion of my subconsciousness. ¡°I know you hear it brother...the call¡± The spirit spoke, trickling its intent into my mind, one word at a time. ¡°No. No, do not speak. I see it writ large upon your soul. They are calling to you, brother.¡± I stared around in confusion, partly wondering where the voice came from, but mostly just seeking an end to the grey monotony that obscured my vision. Flashes of trees appeared, looming shadows whipping by as I whirled, but rather than help resolve the landscape, they somehow added to the mire of confusing inputs I was attempting to process. ¡°Do not fight it, brother. I know you. I see you.¡± My pleas for clarity were left unanswered, and my feet would not carry me in any direction other than around. For an eternity I danced in circles to the tune of the spirit. Reminding me. Admonishing me. Begging me. ¡°Hush now. Still your tongue and listen. Let them in. Heed their call.¡± My perspective started to shift, and I felt the sensory overload start to abate. Sensations shifted, ordering themselves into neat groups that I could begin to comprehend. The smell of loamy earth, freshly turned by the rain and beginning to warm in the morning sun. The gentle tug of wind on my hair, begging me to slow my movement and instead drift alongside it for a time. The cool feel of damp dirt compressing beneath my feet, contrasting against the occasional sharp prick of a pine needle angled just right to catch me. With the earthly senses came understanding. A spirit followed me, dripping its honeyed words into my ears, sharing its will with me in an unequal exchange I could not partake in. It scuttled around me, always outside of my awareness but never quite gone. ¡°Something approaches the gate, brother. There is knocking at the door, and no one left to answer.¡± With the gradual return of my senses came awareness. Of what I was experiencing, and of what I was missing. My blood began to sing in my veins as I stared wild eyed at the world around me ¨C grey with flecks of shadow. ¡°Something is coming, brother-mine. Who shall answer if not you?¡± Mist. Damp, thick mist that eddied around me, teasing at shapes as I tried ineffectively to pierce its veil. I needed to see, I needed to know. The spike of fear that drove through me at the thought finally returned control of my feet to me, and I took several quick steps forward. The need to confirm what was out there, for better or worse, was overwhelming. I stumbled through a forest of massive pines, flinching at each one that loomed towards me out of the mist. ¡°Are you one to abdicate responsibility? What drives you if not your duty? No. I see you brother, and I know your soul.¡± The mist began to recede with every step I took. The trees no longer loomed, instead visible from a dozen meters away. Colour began to return as the cloying, choking mist released its stranglehold on the forest. Greens and browns bled into the world, the dappled gold of sunlight filtering through a sparse canopy above to stain everything with a gentle hue. And above me I felt a shadow stir. ¡°You feel it don¡¯t you, brother? The singing in your blood. That need to know, insistent and aching. Listen to it.¡± The spirit continued its whispering, and I continued my journey, ever onwards, seeking an end to the forest and an answer to my questions. Just like my earlier shift from the waking world to this new one, I emerged at the tree line and burst free of the forest abruptly. I heard bells in the distance. The trees at my back disappeared from my awareness. Irrelevant now. The world stirred and the mist whirled higher. I craned my neck upwards like a baby chick eager for food. Blind to the scale of what lay above, inconsequential as the trees at my back, and oh so delicate in the face of all before me. The mist rose like a wall from the ground to the sky, so tall that even with my skull nearly pressed to the back of my neck, I could barely see the end of it. And yet, something stood above even that vast fog bank. Something stretching from horizon to horizon, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun that I could not see but could somehow feel all the same. Peaks so titanic they appeared to split the very sky in half. Behind them mountains even larger loomed, their tops obscured by cloud or the turning of the earth, so that only a section of their majesty was left uncovered. There was more I could not see, but I could feel it all the same. A thrum in my bones, as if my body recognised its own insignificance and trembled before the titanic range above me. The scale of it all made my head ring. The spirit appeared at my back once again, goading me with its siren voice like a chorus of multi-toned bells chiming in harmony. ¡°The mountains sing to you, brother. Will you heed their call?¡±
¡°Easy lad, easy easy easy.¡± Jorge¡¯s gruff voice was close to my ear as I returned to the realm of the waking. I opened bleary eyes and saw him leaning over me. The familiar lines of his weather-beaten face crinkled as he watched me come to. ¡°Whaa?¡± I asked, and while I was pleased to note that my tongue was my own once more, it didn¡¯t seem to have its usual dexterity, causing my question to come out as more of a groan than anything else. ¡°You did good, lad. Take a moment to catch your breath. The Cursed Waters are a tough experience to overcome, and that tea takes a while to wear off.¡± Something about that sounded wrong, but I was a little too out of sorts to really notice the implication at that moment. Instead, I propped myself up on one elbow and took stock. I still remembered Jorge¡¯s voice as he told me the pain wasn¡¯t real, and it seemed the old bastard had spoken true. Indeed, I felt fine physically. Every ache and pain and agonising tear I¡¯d felt earlier was just a distant memory, and I felt fresh vitality surging through me as I became reacquainted with this enhanced body of mine. Mentally, I wasn¡¯t as fresh. The pain may not have been caused by real injuries, but that didn¡¯t mean the sensations themselves hadn¡¯t existed. Just because my fingernails were all in place didn¡¯t mean I hadn¡¯t felt them peeled off all at once. Thoughts coalesced slowly, but eventually they did catch up, and I realised that Jorge must have slipped me some sort of psychedelic, likely to help manage the pain. I thought of that strange dream again; colossal roots of bedrock deep within the earth, supporting a range of titans that strode above the edge of the world. It seemed a little too real to be simply the result of some earthly drug. Too profound in its truth. A strong hand gripped my shoulder, and I was drawn from slow thoughts back into the real world. ¡°You with me, lad?¡± At my hesitant nod, he continued; ¡°How¡¯s it all feeling? Body working, mind rolling all smooth, yeah?¡± Another shaky nod and I stood, accepting his arm up gratefully. ¡°Yeah, yeah. All good,¡± I said with more confidence than I felt. ¡°How long was I out? Scratch that ¨C how long was I in there for?¡± Jorge started to answer, but I became distracted by the ringing in my head halfway through and tuned him out to focus on the system notification. Ancestry evolution completed. Chapter 80 - Blood of the Mountains Ancestry: Titan-Forged Human (evolved) Level: 45 Class: Blood of the Hills Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 60 Agility: 35 Endurance: 45 Perception: 35 Cognition: 40 Available attributes: 10 Current skills: Guerrilla Warfare: Level 9. Passive. Tilt: Level 4. Active. Heart of the Hills: Level 9. Active. Check Step: Level 10. Active. Indomitable Prey: Level 10. Active. Skirmisher of Antiquity: Level 10. Passive. Mountain-Born: Level 11. Passive Faultline: Level 11. Active. It took me a few moments to see what had changed, but once I had realised the benefits, I smiled to myself in satisfaction. 10 attributes in both strength and endurance, as befitting an ancestry of such a name. I couldn¡¯t feel the difference currently, groggy as I was, but that didn¡¯t mean it wasn¡¯t a significant boost in power. I felt a blanket settle around my shoulders, and I gratefully hugged it tight, realising with a start how cold I was. The steam from earlier had vanished, and I was surprised to see a sheet of ice sheathing the pool, broken in a small section where Jorge had presumably dragged me from the Cursed Waters. Luckily, he was nothing if not prepared ¨C all his companions would be far too eager to throw his own mantra back at him the one time he wasn¡¯t, after all ¨C and a fire was already roaring away, confined within a handful of large rocks conjured from his storage ring. He hesitated for a moment before scooping some water from the pool into a dented kettle, giving me a wink as he did so, and then placed it in the midst of the flames. I watched in fascination as all the smoke was sucked down into the kettle, even from above, such that none escaped into the chamber. ¡°Adds flavour¡± was all Jorge said on the matter when I raised a questioning eyebrow before he switched the subject to my recent gains. We discussed my evolved ancestry and the dream I¡¯d had, and he admitted to spiking the tea that morning. I wanted to be mad at the loss of agency, but there was too much happening too fast for me to really care right now, and besides; I knew he had my best interests at heart. It also turns out that it wasn¡¯t actually a psychedelic that he¡¯d given me. It was a mild sedative and muscle relaxant, and the dream had been a product of my own tortured mind fleeing into unconsciousness to cope with the pain. That last part was what really dulled the anger into a mere hint of frustration. Still enough for me to comment on it though. ¡°I know you¡¯re an inscrutable old bastard, Jorge, and that once you¡¯ve been around for as long as you presumably have, it probably feels like you know everything there is to know¡­but just ask me next time, yeah?¡± I held his gaze evenly and to his credit he didn¡¯t look away. ¡°Sorry Lamb, that was a bad call on my part, you¡¯re right. I¡¯ll be sure to include you on plans like this in future, especially when they involve yerself.¡± I took it one step further, unwilling to leave it at that once the topic was broached. ¡°I respect your experience, and trust your intentions. I understand that there may be times in the future when you act without my knowledge and keep things from me, for my own good. This was not one of those times. I only ask that you don¡¯t hide things from me when there are no reasons to.¡± He simply nodded, his eyes hiding no lies within their blue-grey depths. I shook out my shoulders to break the tension and gave him a grateful smile, and he returned it and clapped me on the back. ¡°Ya know, lad? I think you¡¯re growin¡¯ up.¡± I almost punched him.
Warm tea and a hot fire did wonders to bring life back into my body, and the excitement of my future advancement kept my mind sharp. Unlike my first experience gaining a class, I was prepared this time. I sat cross-legged on a rug with my back against the cool stone of the cavern, blanket wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl, and a companion nearby to keep me safe from the world while my mind drifted. I still had my spear at my side, and the bronze shield in front of me ¨C I would not need them, but they felt like a part of my path now, particularly the spear. Their proximity would help ground me in the face of new futures. With a final breath in, I gave a nod to where I knew Jorge rested and turned my attention inwards. My soul-space hung heavy in the void, constellations of twinkling lights feeling full of potential and aching for advancement. Much of that feeling was simply a reflection of my own desires, but I thought I could see a growing density in the patterns and connections of the eight skills that circled my core. Indeed, the artifact link for my shield ¨C the tendril of mana linking the artifact with my core, was almost larger than the artifact¡¯s presence itself; a testament to how my soul had grown over the last 25 levels and many weeks. The spiritual presence of Resolution still dominated, overshadowing the link between my core and the artifact with ease ¨C it was in a class of its own and couldn¡¯t be compared to the shield given the materials from which it was composed and the process of its creation. I was ready. My eyes were closed and my breathing even, so I simply focused on my future. A faint ringing echoed in my head, and that was it; I had just broken through to the 2nd tier. It was anticlimactic in some ways, but that was only if one adopted a skewed perspective. Many people struggled to break through to the 2nd tier because the prerequisites difficult to meet. But the evolution of one¡¯s ancestry, the achievement of a feat, the 45 levels in the first tier one must accumulate and levelling of one¡¯s skills in the process; these were not barriers preventing one from reaching the 2nd tier at all. They were simply part of one¡¯s journey through the 1st tier. If you had not achieved any of the above, you would struggle to break through to the 2nd tier, but not because the 2nd tier was some hard barrier. It was because there was still more for you to gain in the 1st. I had completed my journey through the 1st tier, and now stood at the foot of an even greater mountain. My decision today was not about how I could pass from the 1st to the 2nd tier; I was already there. No, the decision was how I would progress forwards from today onwards. What would my path through the 2nd tier look like? Who did I want to become? What would define my life going forwards? Scenarios swirled around my mind, one after another, like the dancing of my skill constellations within my soul. I knew instinctively what each class would grant me and also the path that it led me down. My future was my own to define, but the means that I used to write that story were found within the visions I received. The Untamed Wind; running through Tsanderos with an open sky above and all the world below. Spear-Bound Spiritualist; a life of violence and peace, war and contemplation. Surrounded in battle and alone on the mountain top.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Subterranean Archivist; a hybrid class, likely influenced by Nathlan¡¯s academic tendencies, had me delving caves and tunnels deep beneath the world, unearthing ancient wonders and using my God-Touched title to bring new life to the archaeological institutions of Tsanderos. Interesting paths, one and all, but did they suit me? Would they help fulfil my goals, short-term and beyond? All would be more powerful than the class I currently possessed and would each have their own unique approach to dealing with the threat of Castle Ryonic and the Ashkanian ruin it squatted atop. And after that victory, what then? It was one thing to make a practical choice in the moment, but I couldn¡¯t discount my entire life. What was my calling? The answer was simple when framed like that. The mountains called to me, and I would answer. The simplest path was sometimes the right one, and I had a direct upgrade waiting for me still, after all. A gentle chiming heralded my decision. Class gained: Blood of the Mountains Blood of the Mountains ¨C Epic. Mountains stand at the top of the world, and you have climbed your way to their peaks. They are rooted deep in the earth, and so you have plumbed their depths. World-Walker, Shield-Shaker, Titan-Forged and Shadowed By Greatness. You have the blood of the mountains within and have given answer to their calling. Stand with pride, for you bear the spine of the world within your soul. I was then deafened by a barrage of ringing noises, layered over one another as notifications came in thick and fast. It took some time to settle things, but eventually I was able to bring order to the chaos of my mind, and I reviewed the skills that had upgraded. Firstly, the class skills; Check-Step has been upgraded to Break-Step. Break-Step ¨C Active. Momentum is yours to control. The frantic plunge into danger is where you belong, and that slow time before death is where you come alive. Let those final moments as danger approaches be the ones where you are most effective. Time and movement are two sides of the same coin ¨C spend it wisely. I shivered as my soul twisted to accommodate the newly changed skill constellation, and I became aware of frightening new possibilities. ¡®Momentum is yours to control¡¯ was suitably vague, as the system seemed want to be, but I knew how it worked. Intimately and without thinking, I knew how my skills could affect the world. Or rather, I knew the intent with which my skills were created and operated under. Break-Step was designed to allow me to cut my momentum off in a flash, in a similar manner to Check-Step before it, but the small differences came with major implications. I could fall from any height and land without impact. I could focus my entire body¡¯s momentum into a strike, could move as if not bound by the earth¡¯s natural laws as my momentum shifted as fast as I could think¡­I could hold time in place if I did not move a muscle. But that was the cost; momentum drained time, and time drained momentum. If I wanted the enhanced reflexes and slowed time of the skill, I would need to move minimally. If I wanted to cut my momentum entirely, I would only have the barest sliver of time to do so. I could theoretically jump from the top of a mountain and land on the valley floor miles below without issue, but if I cut my momentum a hair too late, I would not be alive to realise my error. This would require testing though. My dream of leaping across valleys was suddenly a lot closer than it had been at any point since I had arrived in this world. Difficulties or no, it was exhilarating to know that this was the type of power on offer in the 2nd tier. Guerrilla Warfare has been upgraded to A Frozen Pyrre. A Frozen Pyrre ¨C Passive. War crowns no victors, only leaves some less dead than others. Once your enemies realise they are defeated, they will lash out and attempt to overcome you through numbers, positioning, overwhelming force, or cruel deception. Do not let them. Face them with a curious mind, quick-wits, and flexible imagination. Create a battlefield of your own making and hold your weapons, varied as they may be, forever close with the strength of your soul. When battle is joined, death stalks the wind¡­ensure you hold its leash. Another flowery description light on detail, but I knew what it implied, deep in my bones. A direct upgrade, though one moving more towards forethought and planning than hectic chaos. Perhaps the influence of that old Stalking skill was having an effect there. A curious mind likely referred to the Tinkering skill I¡¯d gained in Colchet, while quick-wits was undoubtable Improvised Weapons, and flexible imagination was drawn from Simple-Traps. It was a nice reminder to see the same skills I had levelled so long ago still influencing the direction of my path, and a worthy warning at the same time. There was also a new aspect to the skill, one that focused heavily on the artifacts and weapons I created and used, though I could already imagine a dozen ways I could make use of it with the inheritance of Simple-Traps, too. It seemed I could create artifact links within my soul and call them to me at any time. The scale and speed would need testing, but I knew that it would not only be Revelation that I could recall to my hand from this day forwards. Mountain-Born has been upgraded to Stride the Edge Stride the Edge ¨C Passive. You spend your life living on the edge of death, and your body and mind have become accustomed to this fact. Each misstep spells doom, and so you do not miss a step. Each slip crushes bone and flays skin, and so your bones grow stronger than stone and your skin harder than ice. You have been remade into a creature of the mountain edges, and one can only be swift and sure within their own domain. Another direct upgrade, and this was in many ways the simplest of all. I expected nothing and was not surprised. Mountain-Born, and Hill-Folk before it, had the simplest and most difficult job of all my skills; to keep me alive. To weather the myriad dangers I heaped upon my body and to take it without complaint. They had done their job admirably, and I expected nothing less from the new 2nd tier version of the skill. Cloven-Hooved, the merged form of both Sure-Footed and Scrambling, had been an invaluable movement skill, guiding my steps and shadowing me as I crossed the continent of Tsanderos with ease. It was a part of my path that I would never live without; the exploration and the freedom that it granted me had stained my soul with joy in indelible ink. That it was now ensconced within a new skill only made sense, and I suspected that it would have consequences to the new skill beyond just the way I moved. Heart of the Hills can merge with Tilt to create Axis Shift. Axis Shift ¨C Active. Your heart is steady, your will uncompromising. Whether at the highest peaks of exhilaration or the lowest depths of desperation, no ripples mark your soul. You know the secrets of staying steady in the face of strife, and you can project this surety out into the world. As it tilts upon its axis, you are the lynchpin around which the world turns, and your enemies will know it. Unbalance them, burden them with the knowledge of your primacy, and test the surety of their purpose with this skill. An active skill to replace Tilt, new though it was. It also seemed to retain the same benefits I had previously received from Heart of the Hills, but now in a passive form. My heart would always be steady, and perhaps that would help to counterbalance the influence of Indomitable Prey and my own recklessness. Probably not the latter, on second thought. It also seemed as if the effects of Tilt may be upgraded, but I would have to test it to see. I had the knowledge burned deep into my soul of how to use the skill, and I knew that it acted in a more spiritual manner than the aforementioned Tilt, but it was one thing to know something, and another entirely to do it. Still, an upgrade I would not begrudge. It was with Faultline where I encountered my first difficult choice, though. Faultline has two upgrade paths; Glacial Carcass and Shatter Point. Glacial Carcass ¨C Active. Even the enduring mountains give way beneath the weight of time and water. Harness this process and condense millennia of struggle into a single moment. Leave nothing but dust and carcasses as you mark the world. Shatter Point ¨C Active. It is the destiny of all things to crumble in time. Become the great leveller for but a moment and expedite that process yourself. Your blows cause cracks in toughest of materials, and your senses are impeded by nothing. Your will breaks ice, stone, and steel alike, and no armour will stand in your way. I paused a moment, but quickly decided to move on and come back to the choice later. My general skills were awaiting upgrades too, and I was keen to see where they would go. Jorge had mentioned that it was not unusual to see new general skills offered as well, or at least the influence of them in skill upgrades, and so I was excited to see where it could go. Indomitable Prey has been upgraded to End of the Hunt. End of the Hunt ¨C Active. Many seek to hunt prey above their station, and are humbled in the process. The bones that line your wake are a testament to this truth. Remind any challengers of what fate awaits them and become the bearer of humility to those who strive to make of you a target. You are the end of the hunt. Another direct upgrade. I was glad to see it, since one of the often overlooked benefits of my old aura skill was its ability to keep me safe from swarms of bugs, insects and other annoying crawling things. My class was more streamlined towards direct fights with a small number of opponents, rather than one optimised for fighting large groups of weaker creatures such as the Sternguard of the Scarab King were. I had met a disturbing number of powerful insectile creatures recently though, so I hoped the new skill could keep me free from their offspring during my travels. Skirmisher of Antiquity has been upgraded to Myrmiddion Spear. Myrmiddion Spear ¨C Passive. Your style is both eclectic and venerable, and a new world waits to be introduced to your ancient weapon-arts. Generations of warriors stand at your back, from the Myrmidons to the Sons of Verethragna, and their knowledge flows through you. Channel the past into each blow, and become both a bulwark and vanguard in the eternal struggle of life. That was all of my current skills upgraded, leaving me with 5 class skills and two general skills. It was interesting to see the balance shift; rather than 4 and 4 as I had begun my journey with, my class skills were now outnumbering my general skills significantly. Jorge had advised that this would only increase, with eventually each skill being a class skill. That was due to the conceptualisation of one¡¯s path becoming increasingly more grounded in reality. Once my path was fully confirmed, I would be nearly ready for the 3rd tier. That was the principal challenge of the 2nd tier, by all accounts ¨C to align each skill to your class, and mould your class into a reflection of your unique path. The bells had not subsided within my mind though, so I acknowledged the final prompt from the system: Skill gained ¨C The Mountain¡¯s Gate. Open skill slots available, skill integrated. Chapter 81 - New Skills and Renewed Vigour I am more concerned with what you omitted from your last message than what was included, First Spider. Thrice-Blessed, the Subakir, Grimmer the North and the Harlot Queen of Salazar¡­these are all names beyond our control. I am much more concerned with the goings on at our near borders. The Sunset Kingdoms have only just settled down this last decade from their recent upheavals, and now I hear rumours that they are about to erupt once more. Furthermore, an acquaintance of mine who happens to be quite the amateur naturalist remarked casually that the migration patterns of Jackal-Beaks have been strange this past year. I don¡¯t need to remind you what that can herald. Please, First Spider, reassure me that you are taking appropriate care of the small picture as well as the large. I would expect such short-sightedness from the First Lector and our Queen Empress, but I dearly hope that the Spiders are far above such mistakes¡­ - Reply from unknown scribe to First Spider Archemia of the Desolate Empire, circa .277
Our warband was assembled, and we looked fierce as wolves on the hunt. 5 was a small number by most counting, but each of us was dressed for war and looked worth at least a dozen to my eyes. Nathlan was already closing in on the peak of the 1st tier by my best guess, and Jorge and Vera were deep within the 3rd tier ¨C each a company in their own right. Sadrianna had the skill of many twice her age and was held at early-to-mid 2nd tier by circumstance and workload more than skill. I had no doubt that once we reached the high places, she would further expand her already respectable power. I was only at the very base of the 2nd tier, but it was a heady height, nonetheless. I may have stood at the foot of a metaphorical mountain, but I had still made it through the low hills and canyons that separated myself from the flat plains that most of humanity stayed bound to, and I held the power to prove it. My body felt lithe and ready, and I was kitted out for battle and travel. Each of us was wearing armour ¨C perhaps not the full panoply of war we would don once we reached the Sunsets, but this journey through the Dragon-Spines was no simple hike. We would face dangers brought by not just the world and the mountains, but its denizens too. My left arm was covered in an osseous embrace. Dansel had split the foreleg of the Corrinian Rhai in half and expertly chipped away at the material to create a vaguely concave length of bone, roughly 2 feet long, with straps on the inside. It clung snugly to my left arm and lined it from just past my elbow to terminate at my knuckles. There were two small spikes that extended past my closed fist by a few inches to give me a punching gauntlet, and the surface of the weapon was smooth so that any impacts would slide off. There was a raised ridge near the top that angled steeply down and away from my body to hopefully deflect blows to the ground instead of up at my shoulder. I had the heavy vest that I had worn before, but it was now reinforced with slivers of the Corrinian Rhai exoskeleton, embedded within the hard leather. When combined with the reinforced plates of steel that were newly sown into the chest and back, my vest now provided ample protection to my vitals. The steel plates were hidden beneath a thin layer of fox-fur to line the front of the vest which would both prevent the plates from freezing in low temperatures, and also prevent the vest from shining brightly in the sun. Sturdy armoured boots and winnegas leggings encased by legs, and a wolf-fur cloak and heavy cowl completed the ensemble. My spear was strapped to my belt in easy reach, as were my hatchet and fang dagger. Gloves covered my fingers too, with their high tops obscuring the moulded-metal wrist guard on my right arm. Vera was wearing half-plate, slabs of metal worked expertly to overlap and protect her torso, with chainmail falling to mid-thigh and winter gear over the top. Her large broad-sword was slung across her back for ease of carrying, and she had a pair of heavy hand-axes strapped to each thigh with numerous pouches and buckles on a pair of crossed bandoliers no doubt full of nasty surprises. Jorge had his supple and strangely segmented leather armour on ¨C I didn¡¯t know exactly what it was made of ¨C and with his spear and shield, he looked somehow larger than his normally modest height suggested. The biggest change was probably Nathlan though. His armour ¨C a combination of chainmail, leather, and plate ¨C made him look bulkier than normal, and with the prominent presence of his long, straight-edged blade at his hip, he looked every inch the warrior-prince exiled from his home and on a quest to return. It wasn¡¯t far from the truth, either, given what he had shared recently. Sadrianna didn¡¯t look much different, given that she lived her life in the mountains and had a storage ring, but she did at least have her short spear and a long-knife strapped to her, perhaps in honour of the occasion if nothing else. She would get kitted out as and when the conditions demanded, whereas we were all spending the day getting used to the gear and how it functioned before it was truly necessary. Sadrianna had given her goodbyes the night prior, so far as I knew, all of us were ready to leave this sacred place after near a week here. Nathlan had dropped off a gift of sweet pastries to the healer that had tended to him, which I thought a nice gesture, and I had spent a few bells at the long-house with Alker and Alfie and a few other patrons the night before. I had needed to blow off some steam from the tribulations of gaining my 2nd tier class and all of the excitement that had entailed, and it was nice to leave on a high note. We began our trek early, before dawn had fully broken, and so we descended from the mesa that was the Titan¡¯s Crown in relative darkness and emerged into the land below in light. The golden glory of the morning sun seemed to beckon us on, and I could almost see each of our moods lifting in the moment. An excitement charged the air, smiles coming easy and steps light. Nathlan wished to hunt ¨C he still had a few levels to gain before the 2nd tier and was hoping for one last late skill too. I joined him, eager as I was to get accustomed to my new class and skills, as well as the newest skill that I had yet to test properly. The Mountain¡¯s Gate required space and would cause too much of a disturbance to use in the middle of camp, and so I had ¨C reluctantly ¨C waited to test it properly. Sadrianna agreed to shadow us to ensure we could find our way back to Jorge and Vera. The lower mountains we were trekking through were a twisting maze of shattered valleys and dead peaks, and given the speed of our movement, it wouldn¡¯t be hard to lose them within half a bell if we weren¡¯t careful. ¡°How about World-Walker? I like the sound of that one, and it alliterates!¡± I called to my two companions. ¡°It is not particularly relevant though¡± Nathlan called back to me from his position a dozen paces ahead, skirting the ridgeline we were ascending with a steady jog. ¡°It¡¯s in my class description! And I¡¯m God-Touched, so I technically have walked on at least two worlds. It can¡¯t get much more relevant than that¡± I groused, sour that this new name continued the current trend of all the others I had previously proposed ¨C being shot down by my companions for various reasons. Stupid reasons in my opinion. ¡°Yes, but it is not relevant to what you¡¯re doing in this world, is it? Do you want to be known simply as a man who walks?¡± Nathlan replied. ¡°We seem to be doing quite a lot of walking¡­¡± I grumbled, but I did so quietly to myself, and I doubt he heard. He had a point there, and it was only further reinforced by Sadrianna¡¯s mocking words moments later. ¡°Here comes Lamb World-Walker ¨C careful, boys! He¡¯ll stride circles right round you!¡± She said and Nathlan laughed. I sighed as I tried to think of something better. I¡¯d already tried Shield-Shaker to little success ¨C ¡®when was the last time you shook somebody¡¯s shield, Lamb?¡¯ ¨C but I was keen to find myself a good name before we left the other side of the Dragon-Spines. I was prevented from reaching for another name by Nathlan¡¯s quick hand gesture and a prickling feeling in my mana-senses. I frowned, castigating myself internally for missing it because of my distraction. Following both a gesture from Nathlan in front and my own senses, I crept to the lip of the ridge and peaked over. A few hundred meters below us, shadowing a small bluff of granite that jutted from the cliff side like the chin of an ancient giant, was a small herd of buffalo. They were easily two meters tall at the shoulder and must have weighed at least a ton each, with half a dozen adults and at least as many calves ranging in size from babies to juveniles on the cusp of maturity.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. I frowned. My naivete had been somewhat drummed out of me by now, but the thought of ambushing and killing baby animals simply for experience still didn¡¯t sit right with me, and I was about to turn to Nathlan and say as much when I caught sight of something else. Atop the bluff of hard stone, out of sight of the herd but plainly visible to our eyes, elevated as we were, I saw three hunting cats lie in wait. Thet were still hard to make out despite our direct line of sight due to the expert camouflage provided by the wide, leathery wings that wrapped their torsos and broke up the shape of their bodies. I had noticed a flicker of movement as one readjusted slightly, but now that I knew where to look, I could see the dark green of their snake-like tails resting behind them ¨C Manticores. Nathlan and I traded glances and grinned. A good test, this one. Two of us against three manticores would be a hard fight, although still possible, but when you factored in the ambush, and the herd of Mountain Buffalo below¡­it should be just challenging enough to strain us and allow us to make the most out of our skills, without too much danger. Sadrianna was here as well and would intervene if things got too hectic. Still though, whenever wild animals and fighting occurred, there was always the faint possibility of death, and the slightly more likely possibility of brutal maiming. Ah, my life is fun. I snuck closer to Nathlan after retreating a few meters back from the ridge, and discussed a plan. Essentially, he would sneak down as close as possible, and I would begin the ambush at the moment he was in position behind the Manticores, or when I judged that he was about to be spotted. I shivered in excitement, wibbling my arms out to either side and shaking my head vigorously to dispel the jitters that came with any intense rush. Axis-Shift, though a mostly active skill, did have the passive effects that I had previously received actively from Heart of the Hills woven through it, and so the rush soon faded into the background as I focused on my task to come. I snuck to the top of the ridge, hefting my spear in an overhand grip and letting mana trickle slowly from my core into the weapon so as not to catch the attention of the predators below. Nathlan began the slow descent down the grass-bound mountain slope towards the bluff of rocks, taking care to manoeuvre around the occasional patch of scree that would alert the whole mountain side were he to cross it. He put in an admirable effort, closing to within 30 or so meters before I saw the ear of one of the manticores twitch his way. Squinting slightly, I noticed a subtle shift in the musculature of the hind legs of that beast and knew it had heard something. I stood slowly, cocking an arm back before taking a deep breath. I lifted my front foot up, sighted down the length of my arm, wreathed as it was in my bone-shield, and then stamped back down, throwing the spear with all of my might. I didn¡¯t wait to see the results, and I took a few steps back and then sprinted at the ridgeline before leaping off. The rapid crunch of boots against stone gave way to nothing but the whistling of air past my ears as I flew out into empty space for a heart-stopping moment, before I began to drop. I fell through the air like a stone cast at a lake from a great height ¨C silent and with thunderous momentum building ¨C and while in the air I heard only two sounds over the hissing of the wind; a shriek of pain as my spear thudded home into the back of one of the manticores, skewering its wing to its side and pushing it off the edge of the rocky bluff with the momentum it imparted, and a deep growl as one of the creatures rounded on Nathlan and leapt towards him, fangs and claws bared and glistening with saliva and poison in equal measure. I had just enough time before impact to see Nathlan with his blade out, shining with ethereal light, and weaving a stunning defence against the first creature as the third also pounded up the slope towards him, and then I was hitting the steep slope below with bone-jarring force. Or I would have, had I not activated Break-Step in time. When I was no more than 10 meters from the ground, I shunted mana through new pathways and my skill blazed into activation, snatching my momentum away as the word slowed, such that I landed with no more than a slight bend in my knees and a few small rocks displaced from the steep slope, 50 meters below the ridge I had jumped from. Nathlan was still a hundred meters below me though, and so I wasted no time surging down the slope towards him, even as the second chimera below did the same in reverse. I heard another yowl and caught a glimpse of him slicing through the left paw of the creature he engaged, severing toes and claws in a shower of blood even as he retreated up the slope under the intense onslaught. I leapt again, pushing away from the mountainside with all the power I could muster into my legs, and activated my new favourite skill ¨C A Frozen Pyrre. I had discovered the subtle reference in the penultimate line of that skill ¨C ¡®hold your weapons, varied as they may be, forever close with the strength of your soul¡¯ ¨C alluded to a new ability. I could create strings of mana to anchor my weapons to me, in a similar manner to how I could now recall my spear using the brand on the back of my hand. I leapt out into the air, crossing another 50 meters of open ground in a single leap, and my hatchet snapped into my outstretched hand from where it had rested in the loop in my belt. I threw it end over end at the manticore charging up the slope, and it pranced aside at the last moment to avoid the projectile. No matter though, as my fang-dagger was in my hand the next moment and then sailing towards it even as it recovered from its last dodge. This one hit home, though the dagger was not balanced well for throwing, and while I had practiced, I wasn¡¯t an expert. It hit hilt first in the creature¡¯s shoulder, and opened a shallow cut as it fell that dribbled a small bead of blood. The point wasn¡¯t to injure though, even if it would have been a bonus, but to slow the creature¡¯s charge until I could meet it. Another application of Break-Step ¨C this one almost too early which made my heart stutter for a moment ¨C saw me land just behind Nathlan as he fought the first manticore, and then I was bounding past him, shield raised as I crashed into the large chimera that had sought to unbalance the numbers. We fought there, Nathlan with clean arcs of his blade against a wounded manticore on the slopes a dozen meters above me, and me with vicious punches of my shield whenever I could find an opening between blocking the strikes of the manticore engaged with me. I ducked beneath a snapping bite from the manticore¡¯s tail as the snake at its end whipped around at my throat, and deflected a heavy paw as it thundered down towards me, and then surged up into a tight uppercut with my fist, hearing a rib break beneath my armoured gauntlet. It cringed back for just long enough for me to flex mana to the brand on my right hand, and a moment later I heard a scream of pain from further down the slope and my spear haft smacked into my palm. I grinned at the creature before me then, setting my feet and placing spear over the top of my raised shield in a phalanx stance. Myrmiddion Spear was a passive skill, feeding me experience and innate knowledge over time, so it was impossible to pinpoint exactly its affects, but I knew my stance was stronger, my weight more evenly distributed than in the past. And those differences stacked. It darted in for a bite, feinting high with its broad snout and then tucking its shoulder in an attempt to unbalance me. I simply struck with my spear at its head, causing it to flinch away from its bite, and then set my feet, bracing behind my shield as I felt the impact of near a ton of hunting cat slam into me. I struck blindly over the top of my shield with the spear, and felt the lanceolate head catch on something. A brief flex of mana within my soul down the artifact link of Resolution and I heard a pained whimper followed by the tinkling of shards of ice hitting my raised shield as the Heart of Winter that acted as the spear-head of my weapon charged an explosion of ice inside the wound. I let my grip leave the leather-wrapped haft of the weapon and drop to my side even as I activated one of the mana strings courtesy of A Frozen Pyrre, and my fang-dagger slid into my hand from where it had dropped to the ground nearby. A quick jab into the creature¡¯s side saw my arm showered with thick blood, and then I was leaping away to avoid crushing jaws from turning my side into a pulp of blood and bone. The manticore shook its great head and made to leap into the sky, its leathery wings unfurling to their full size, impressive at they were. I growled and activated Axis-Shift, and it stumbled in place, wings frantically beating to keep itself on its feet with the sudden onset of delirium my skill caused. It lasted only a moment, but that was long enough for me to summon my spear back to me from where it had remained embedded within the beasts¡¯ shoulder. It screamed in agony as chunks of frozen flesh fell to the floor from the gaping wound, and I roared as I leapt to meet it, spear leading the charge. I activated Shatter Point as I stabbed it in the mouth, and shards of teeth and tongue exploded as my spear burst through the roof of its mouth in a splatter of gore. I hit it then, the full weight of my body pushing the spear deeper into its skull as I finished the arcing leap, and it fell beneath me. I ignored the system notification and the faint ringing that heralded it as I checked Nathlan¡¯s progress behind me. He was doing well, moving smoothly without visible injury, and his opponent seemed to be struggling to keep up and bleeding from several deep gashes along its flank, as well as its tail being cleanly severed, the foot-long stump waving blood about as it twitched whenever the chimera moved. I turned and set off down to the bluff where the manticores had originally been hiding, hearing growls and panicked lowing from below it. As I rounded the corner of the small stone promontory, I took in a ghastly sight. The manticore I had pinned with my spear-throw at the start of the battle was busy tearing into one of the calves, its pained squeals drowned out only by the frantic lowing of the adult buffalo as they circled around their young. Clearly, the manticore had managed to sever one from the herd and now was messily consuming it before its entire family. It knew it faced little threat from the generally sedate mammals, and so took full advantage of its power, presumably assuming its companions would finish off the pests that had dared to attack it moments ago. Bones crunched, the squealing of the young calf cutting off abruptly, and I growled in anger. I would punish such hubris. I was still a good 20 meters away though, and the chimera was already coiling its legs for a leap that would take it behind the line of adult buffalo. There was no time to throw my spear, and Axis-Shift didn¡¯t yet have the range, though I was hoping it would as it levelled. Luckily, I had one skill left. Interlude - The Day I Left Do you remember the moment your life changed forever? I do not mean the decisions that forged your path, or the choices that each of us make; who to love, how to earn our living, where to settle, what to do. I am talking about a single moment that forever alters the path of your life, and one that you witness as it is happening. Of course, I should not forget who I am asking. Yes, sorry my friend, of course you understand. Well, I too remember that moment. I wish I could say it was the day that I left, but I was a coward back then. Perhaps I still am? I, as you are no doubt aware, have a tendency to intellectualise everything. I wonder if perhaps had I more of your rashness ¨C oh decisiveness, is it now? Well, had I more of your decisiveness then I might have left the moment my life changed, and been all the better for it. Of course, had I done so I would not have known to the depths my family would sink for their ¡®honour¡¯, nor would I have known truly what had happened the day I left. She would have died unwitnessed, had I had more courage¡­ No, I stayed for a few more days after my life changed, and I promise you; the next time I recognise such a moment again, I will not hesitate to listen. Yes, I am rambling, aren¡¯t I? I suppose I have taken a leaf from your book. Let me begin then. The day my life changed forever was completely uneventful, until it was not. I was on the cusp of making my first great academic discovery, and I was even then preparing my opening arguments to present to the Scholar¡¯s Round in Ship¡¯s Rest a few days hence. It is an intensely competitive environment, and because of my birth and position, I was in a difficult position. As not just a Wavebreaker, but the only of my generation to show such promise in free-form ward-craft, I was granted privileged access to the Scholar¡¯s Round far before I should have ever gained it otherwise. My academic credentials were impressive for my age, but you must understand that the Scholar¡¯s Round was the battleground of academics from all across Western Tsanderos. It is the Leviathan Coast¡¯s answer to the White Tower Consortium in the East, and while it cannot rival the breadth or history of such an organisation, it is an impressive enough institution regardless. In fact, I am fairly sure I would have achieved a feat from the system had I managed to successfully defend my thesis before the Round, but that is beside the point. My parents were understandably nervous and excited both. I was a quiet child, and yes, I see your smirk. It is no surprise, I suppose, given that you see me now. Anyway, my parents were constantly inquiring after my progress, and the night before I had eventually given in and discussed my thesis with them. Excellent liars, my parents. I never had a hint of suspicion while I presented my life¡¯s work before them. Yes, it was a relatively short life by that point, but I had still put a tremendous amount of work into it, and I was sure it would change the foundations of the Leviathan Coast forever after. As it turns out, I was more correct than I realised. So, it was an uneventful morning as I left the palace and journeyed through the streets to my friend¡¯s house. What¡¯s that? Oh yes, the streets are quite safe in Ship¡¯s Rest. I have since become aware of much of my understanding being naive and overly influenced by propaganda, but that is one truth amid all the lies. Ship¡¯s Rest is safe, and the citizens mostly respect and admire the Wavebreakers. As a young adult, and the only one below 40 winters to manipulate the magical weave before my class manifested, I was as safe within the inner city as I could be even in the palace. But where was I? Yes¡­I journeyed to my friend¡¯s house, as I had done every morning for almost a year by that point. I had been teaching him ward-craft, and he was a quick study ¨C it was why we had bonded so closely. We shared many of the same ¡®behavioural problems¡¯ that my parents so hated in me, and it brought us close because of it. His love for knowledge was unlike any I have since experienced, my friend, and yes, I understand what it sounds like when coming from my own lips. He had an exceptional mind with none of the lazy arrogance and cautious humility that is bred into one through academia. His intellectual ambition was unmatched. I remember many times where he would demand ¨C demand! ¨C answers from me for things that had not yet been answered, and would huff and sulk when I could not oblige him. He would then add it to a list he kept in a book beneath his pillow. All the questions that we would answer in our future careers as rival academics in the Scholar¡¯s Round ¨C that is what he had decided of our future. Ahem! Please, give me a moment, this is harder than I thought¡­ When I arrived at my friend¡¯s home, it was to a burnt-out husk. His three younger sisters were burned alive beside him, and his parents cut down and left to burn with their children. None of them made it out. ¡­ That was the day my life changed, and I remember every moment of it. I remember the sun on my face, and the noises from the nearby bakery that I always despised ¨C the raucous shouting always hurt, for I had not yet learned to wear ear-plugs in crowds. I remember smelling the burning remains and thinking about how strange it was to have a fire in a port city. I remember smiling at the thought, thinking it funny ¨C clearly a small cooking fire swiftly to be put out somewhere. My friend¡¯s corpse had not yet cooled, and I was laughing inside my own head at an errant thought. I know, I know. I could not have known. But I still delivered his sentence the night I told my parents. It was my arrogance to think I was discovering something new that burned him, as sure as the fire. He was assassinated because he was a threat to the great House Wavebreaker, and I was the one who built him into that threat. He would have changed the world, my friend, of that I am now sure. He would have travelled far beyond the Leviathan Coast, have settled perhaps in the White Tower Consortium, perhaps travelled further North to The Bone Tower - I suspect that with time he could have been a threat to Althus and his intellectual dominance in the modern era as well.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Nathlan The Ancient, Althus Bonesinger, and my friend; a triumvirate of knowledge seekers. He would have added me to the list, before even himself. He respected me, was always in awe of my knowledge, but how could I not know more than him? I had had tutors and books, I had watched the great debates in the Scholar¡¯s Round since I was twelve years old, and yet this boy who had never seen a book beyond ¡®the very hungry Rakshasa¡¯ could take a thought and twist it up until it resembled something never before seen. Oh, surprised to hear it? They are known throughout most of the continent and have epithets to match. Wyrmsbane is one, is it not? Yes, I believe it is exactly for that reason that they are admired in the Leviathan Coast. Small creatures stalking the night that leave even titanic monsters quaking inside their nests¡­Yes, the Rakshasa are a popular creature in the harbour-cities. It helps that nobody has met one. I think I saw a cuddly toy of one, even ¨C there was a little girl swaddled in blankets carrying one made of an old mop and some horse-hair. Although saying that; she would not have been much younger than me when I left. Strange how your memories never seem to age with you, is it not? Ah ¨C sorry, my friend. Let me return to my story. Where was I? right, my friend. Yes, he was the most intellectually dextrous person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. He would have changed the world. Instead, because of my own arrogance and the greed and pettiness of my family, he died at the age of 15. His death changed my life, of course; I knew instantly why he had been targeted. The timing was too perfect, and you must understand that I had spent months shaping the arguments I would present to the Round. There was little else I would think about other than how the Wavebreakers were not the only ones that could repair and construct the storm-wards. There was always the question of why nobody else had tried this before though. I had tried new methods, and there are many ways to learn ward-craft as well, so it was technically possible that it had never been tried my way before. But that is a tenuous possibility, and again, it was my arrogance to think I was the first to stumble upon a way to teach such magic. A recurring theme in my life, is it not? The pride wrapped and gifted to me by my family and position biting me at the most crucial time. Hmm? Yes, it is I believe ¨C ¡®posture is given in childhood¡¯ as my weapons-master used to say. Far too deeply rooted now to be corrected though ¨C I shall be stooped forever, I suspect. You thought it was due to sitting at a desk all through the night? I fear I may never understand your idiocy, my friend. Anyway, I was told my entire life, ever since I had shown such promise with wards, that I was the greatest mind of my generation. The one to save the ailing decline of the greatest dynasty to grace the Leviathan Coast in a thousand years. It casts a long shadow, and that shadow wraps up many lives even still. I had been arrogant and naive, but the moment I saw the bodies and knew that a crime had occurred, both arrogance and naivet¨¦ were shattered to pieces. I fled before the fires had died down. Back to the palace, which may sound foolish, but I longed for the one person that I could still trust. I decided, in my own foolish way, that I would spite my families¡¯ desires and present before the Scholar¡¯s Round anyway. My evidence may be gone now, but I could propose a new study, bring the topic to the light of day and there my family and the whole House Wavebreaker would be unable to act. I marshalled my arguments, worked on my thesis, and lied to my parents. I told them I had to change my thesis to something more mundane ¨C advanced ward dynamics in flexible systems ¨C that the scholars could argue about. It was not hard to act depressed by my friend¡¯s death, but it was the hardest thing I have ever done to not spit in their faces as my parents consoled me. I knew who was responsible, after all. I have never been a great student of deception; you know this better than most. But I did observe the strange ways people behaved in high society. All society, really, if I had to be extremely honest, which I do not like to do. Putting on a performance from a young age had given me the skills needed to deceive my parents. In some ways it is ironic, that their own lessons in etiquette had helped me to deceive them, but I feel little satisfaction at the thought. I journeyed to the Scholar¡¯s Round a week later, under the protection of the only true person of honour in that entire house. Hardenia Starkel, the Trident-Holder, First Sword of House Wavebreaker. She was my weapons-master, and I trusted her with the knowledge of my upcoming thesis. The relief I felt when she reacted not with a thin smile and happy demeanour but with dark fury to my revelation was palpable. I had not even told her of my friend¡¯s assassination, but by the time I had finished detailing my findings she was already pacing back and forth. That was a humbling experience for me, I must say. I had regarded her as a brute and a warrior, and little else. She was no scholar, no politician or lawgiver, and yet she put the pieces together quicker that I could ever hope. She knew instantly that there must have been a cover-up to supress such information ¨C there is no way that it had not been discovered before. She shadowed my every step after that, not letting me out of sight, and it was cool comfort to know that at least there was one person of integrity left in the family. It hurt even more, in some ways, to see an example of what my parents could have been, had they honour or any sense of morality at all. Yes, I am getting rather introspective, aren¡¯t I? It is hard to avoid ¨C you are the first I am telling this to, and while Jorge and Vera know the outline, I have never recounted the tale out loud to another person before. It is strange, and I do not like it. Nevertheless¡­ I presented my thesis and there was an uproar. Before the night was done, every member of the Scholar¡¯s Round in attendance that day was dead ¨C food-poisoning they claimed, shellfish with red-tide that had been served with lunch. It was a feeble excuse to me of course, since I had seen the assassins in person. They¡¯d not made it past Hardenia, though. Evidently, I had caused too much of a fuss and had shown my bellicose nature too early. It was intolerable for me to live, despite my utility as a tool. I must confess to still being somewhat surprised that my family would seek to have me killed. My naivet¨¦ clearly had not been fully shattered, despite my earlier words. Not Hardenia though. No, she was not surprised. If I had described her fury as dark before, at that moment it was sable and burning. She painted the streets red with their blood as we fled, but while my naivete had finally been crushed, hers had apparently been rejuvenated. She ran not away from the palace but towards it, and burst into the seat of our house during High Court. She demanded answers right there on the floor of our sacred chamber, before the lawgivers of the greatest harbour city on the entire coast. And she received them too. I think in that moment, all she wanted was confirmation. The knife in the back was evidence enough for her, and I remember her face as she apologised to me before she died. She had brought me enough time to escape with her blade in hand, and so I had left. I believe she did in fact take a few heads that day before she went down. One does not become the Trident-Holder without cause, after all. Perhaps that is the one position on the entire coast that is not founded on a lie. The First Sword lived up to her name that day. The day my life changed was when my best friend was assassinated by my parents, and the day I left was the day my parents were killed before my very eyes by the woman who raised me. It is a tragic tale, and one I will not speak of again, but you are right; it helps to unburden myself. Now you know. Please leave me to my grief. Chapter 82 - The Mountains Gate There is a path at the edge of the world, And patiently does it wait. But to reach that golden road, You must pass the mountain¡¯s gate. No structure of steel or iron, Wrought with hands of flesh and blood. Instead, a more venerable guardian, Of rock, scree, stream and mud. Above that ancient choke point, Bones of the earth just forth. To ring the sky in majesty, While titanic roots lead north. If you search for gold, I tell you true; Treat that ancient guardian well. For otherwise, heartbreak will call; A death on ancient fell. - ¡®Ware The Mountain¡¯ by unknown author, attributed to the 2nd era and recovered from an Akashic Tomb-Vault by Hunters of the Scarab King.
The Chimera bunched its legs and leapt into the air, great wings flaring to give it further lift, and I threw out my hand beneath the bone-shield I wore. Mana drained from my core at an alarming rate, nearly half gone in an instant as the skill in my soul surged to life like a bonfire in the night. A cage of starlight appeared around the calves huddled behind their parent¡¯s legs, and it did so instantly. It appeared as if branded upon reality, lighting up the surroundings with dazzling light and forcefully repelling the manticore as it slammed into the cage headfirst. The Mountain¡¯s Gate was a powerful new skill I had received upon gaining my 2nd tier class, and it was clearly a skill that could only be wielded in the 2nd tier. The mana requirements alone were astounding and would have drained my core completely only a few days prior, and the pressure on my soul would have been immense. Even now, I still trembled to hold the working together, the silver glow of the pillars that protected the young buffalo from their assailant flickering as my soul shook with the strain. A thirteen-pointed star was branded into the ground beneath them, with a pillar of light thick as my torso emerging from each point to join together above in a dome that rose over 4 meters from the floor. Instead of a smooth shell structure, it had jagged edges, like false summits that lined its sides ready to catch and pierce any creature foolish enough to attack it. It flickered in place, but had done its job, giving me enough time to close on the manticore and engage it in melee. Axis-Shift in combination with my spear work was enough to leave it covered in bleeding cuts, but after a while it started to learn my rhythm, predicting my strikes and leaning just out of range when I would thrust. Unfortunately for the semi-intelligent creature, breaking rhythms was something my class was surprisingly good at. Myrmiddion Spear was a collection of ancient weapon arts from before the system graced Tsanderos with its presence rather than a single style, and so I simply switched stances and started again, leaving more red welts across its leathery flesh. It bit down on my shield, attempting to saw through the bone and crush my arm, but the exoskeleton of a 3rd tier beast was too strong for its jaw. I stabbed it in the side, my blade catching against a rib as it shied away, and then followed it with a strike aimed at its throat. It swayed back on a surprisingly dextrous neck, but I forced mana down the link to my spear, and Resolution grew another foot of length in an instant. Despite its strange appearance, the blade was sharp as winter, and sliced cleanly through its windpipe, leaving a yawning wound in its neck that gushed a torrent of blood down its muscular chest. The manticore stumbled a step, and my spearpoint took it through the eye. You have killed a Glabrous Manticore (Level 83). Experience gained. You have killed a Glabrous Manticore (Level 81). Experience gained. I sighed to myself in relief, glad to have escaped the battle without any serious injuries, and then turned and scaled the rocky bluff in a handful of breaths. I saw Nathlan plunge his shining blade into the heart of the chimera he stood upon and twist it savagely before the creature stilled beneath him. He looked up and caught my eye, waving to show he was finished and unhurt. I looked back down to see the herd of buffalo swiftly cantering away from us, two of the larger adults, possibly bull males or the matriarchs of the herd ¨C I wasn¡¯t familiar enough with their species to say ¨C looked back at us every dozen heartbeats just to check we weren¡¯t following, but we had no intention of chasing them. I grinned at Nathlan as he joined me on the outcropping, surveying the valley with satisfaction. My skills had proven themselves reliable, though Break-Step demanded more practice until the timing was second nature. I was hesitant about my choice to take Shatter Point over Glacial Carcass, but the others had assured me that there were no wrong choices when it came to my path within my class, and recent experience had taught me that armour penetration was more important than big finishing moves.Stolen novel; please report. If it was likely to work on an opponent, I probably wouldn¡¯t need it, and there were many contexts ¨C like in a frozen cavern beneath the earth ¨C where destroying the terrain was prohibitively dangerous. Finally, my newest skill. It had worked. It was costly, and hard to maintain, but the instantaneous activation was a boon, and it had repelled the charge of the manticore without sign of breaking. The strain of maintaining it seemed even, and I supposed it was a trade-off between being cheap to cast but draining mana with damage it repelled versus being expensive upfront but able to weather the storm without further input. I preferred the latter, honestly. It was a shame to see the lack of a level up or any skill increases, but I was in the 2nd tier now; it would take more than one semi-dangerous fight to propel me to new heights. I examined my status with satisfaction, as Nathlan and I caught our breaths. Ancestry: Titan-Forged Human (evolved) Level: 45 Class: Blood Of The Mountains Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 60 Agility: 45 Endurance: 45 Perception: 35 Cognition: 40 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: A Frozen Pyrre: Level 1. Passive. Axis-Shift: Level 1. Active. Stride The Edge: Level 1. Passive. Break-Step: Level 1. Active. End Of The Hunt: Level 1. Active. Myrmiddion Spear: Level 1. Passive. Shatter Point: Level 1. Active. The Mountain¡¯s Gate: Level 1. Active. I had wanted to dress the carcass of the buffalo calf that had been butchered by the manticore, but the same venom that prevented us from eating them also put us off the calf. Instead, we trekked back up to the ridge where Sadrianna waited, and then ghosted along the top of the ridgeline, silhouetted in the marigold glow of the setting sun. We made it back to Jorge and Vera before dusk and set camp for the first night in our crossing of the Dragon-Spines.
¡°I want a name,¡± I said into the crackle of the campfire and the lull in conversation. Heads turned to regard me, and Jorge¡¯s gentle voice rolled over the group. ¡°What¡¯s that, Lamb?¡± ¡°I want a name. You¡¯ve all got one. I want one.¡± Jorge turned to share a look with Vera and Nathlan glanced at Sadrianna in confusion. ¡°Lad...you¡¯ve got a name. You¡¯re welcome to change it if you like, but Lamb is a name sure as any other.¡± I waved him off. ¡°No, not that. Although, yes, Lamb is a stupid name, and I blame you personally for that¡± I said with a mock glare. He threw his hands up as he protested. ¡°You came up with it-¡± but I cut him off before he could finish. ¡°I want a surname. An epithet. A title. Something that strikes fear into the hearts of men and makes women swoon¡± I said, gesturing grandly into the sky like a poet struck with inspiration from the heavens. Vera cuffed me in the shoulder and Sadrianna scoffed, but Nathlan caught my eye with a grin. ¡°Look¡± I continued on, ¡°you¡¯ve all got one. Nathlan Wavebreaker, Sadrianna Aryniasdottir, Vera the Burning Bitch¡± a dangerous look shot my way at that, but I knew her well enough to see the warning for the joke that it was. ¡°Jorge The Shepherd.¡± I looked around at them all as I named them and finished with my hands spread wide in supplication. ¡°I want one.¡± Glances were shared, looks were traded, and then began a tenth of a bell of the most ridiculous names imaginable being thrown at me with seemingly complete sincerity. Sadrianna¡¯s mask cracked when Nathlan suggested ¡®Lamb the Useless¡¯ ¨C because it rolled off the tongue well, apparently. Vera actually laughed out loud when Jorge did his best impression of a disgruntled sheep in the middle of pronouncing ¡®Lamb Baaaaadman¡¯ which was just insultingly juvenile. Apparently though, ¡®badman¡¯ was a name given to many an outlaw in the Desolate Empire, so perhaps the joke was funnier if you had that context to begin with. Eventually though, we settled down and took the topic slightly more seriously. I didn¡¯t begrudge them their fun, and it was nice to see the group sharing laughter and easy smiles without anyone left out in the cold, even if it was at my expense. ¡°Why not something like ¡®Lamb the Fell-Handed¡¯. That¡¯s good, aye?¡± I asked, but Jorge just shook his head sadly. ¡°Sorry lad, Fell-Handed is already taken, and by someone more venerable and ancient than even myself¡± he said, a tinge of faux importance entering his voice at the end. Vera gave him a gentle nudge that brought him back to earth with the rest of us though. Glad to see she had hands for everyone when they got out of line, not just me. ¡°What about being named after your weapon?¡± Sadrianna asked. ¡°Magnus The Axe is a famous example from Clan Red-Cloud.¡± ¡°Lamb The Spear sounds a little silly though¡± I replied wearily. ¡°Lamb Red Spear isn¡¯t too bad,¡± Vera hedged, and I tilted my head, considering it. ¡°I was thinking something more traditionally threatening, like ¡®bonebreaker¡¯ or ¡®shieldsplitter¡¯ and the like, but maybe. The Carmine Killer, perhaps?¡± I said, but Jorge scoffed. ¡°It¡¯s got to be believable, lad. You can¡¯t just pick any old name that you like the sound of, and demand people call you by it.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Well then, how do names like this appear in the first place?¡± I asked. ¡°People make a name for themselves. They collect feats and act in accordance with a theme, and their companions eventually pick up on it and name them after it. Starts small and local, and with enough fair-fame, it spreads and becomes accepted.¡± Jorge explained. ¡°Well, you¡¯re all my companions. I¡¯ve acted. Now you have to name me,¡± I said, a broad smile on my face. ¡°Lamb No Sense¡± Vera said almost immediately, and I whirled on her. ¡°We¡¯re not starting that again!¡± I half shouted, though couldn¡¯t stop the smile from twitching my lips. ¡°Look lad, you don¡¯t split any shields, and you don¡¯t break any bones-¡± ¡°I break some bones¡± I interjected. He rolled his eyes and continued on. ¡°Point is, you don¡¯t look like you go around breaking bones and crushing skulls. You need a name to be believable, at least before you¡¯ve spread it far and wide. Something more abstract would probably suit you better, I reckon.¡± We thought for a time, chucking around the occasional epithet, but they always seemed a little too grand. I¡¯d feel embarrassed to answer a ¡®what is your name, stranger?¡¯ with ¡®they call me Lamb DeathBringer¡¯ or something similar. Would also probably also lead to a frostier reception at the local tavern, if I had to guess. ¡°Your class is all about mountains ¨C why not ¡®Lamb of the Mountains¡¯?¡± Sadrianna offered. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t say it too loud amongst the clans, nobody will laugh. I bet the lowlanders will be suitably impressed too¡± she smirked. ¡°Lamb of the Mountains; Red Spear, God-Touched, Wielder of Resolution. It has a ring to it, I reckon¡± I said with a grin. ¡°Too much of a mouthful, Lamb. You want something simple and memorable¡± Vera replied. ¡°What was your new skill called? The Mountain¡¯s Gate? That could work.¡± I cocked my head to one side in consideration, but Jorge interrupted before I could decide. ¡°The issue you¡¯re having, lad, is that Lamb just ain¡¯t an intimidating name. It¡¯s hard to pair with something. Red Spear sounds dangerous ¨C Lamb Red Spear just sounds strange.¡± ¡°Well as you¡¯ve so rightly pointed out, Lamb is my name. For better or worse, I¡¯m stuck with it, I think.¡± ¡°How about something that incorporates both your name, and the name of your skill?¡± he asked reasonably. I stilled. He was too calm, too understanding, to be serious. This was a trick, a means to lull me into a false sense of security before he rudely- ¡°Something like say; ¡®The Mountain¡¯s Goat¡¯¡± he said, oh so reasonably. ¡°A goat is close to a lamb, after all.¡± The glare I threw his way could have cut steel. Chapter 83 - Hiding Among Grey Rocks Each day brought with it a new lesson. My skills grew incrementally, and levels were few and far between in the 2nd tier, but my survival skills burgeoned. I learned much about the mountains I had never known before, and Nathlan and I were weathered by the experience, wisdom taking root despite our best efforts. Some of the hard edges were sheared away by constant howling winds and vicious sub-zero temperatures, and I stumbled upon a strange phenomenon I¡¯d not encountered before; hardship bringing people together. It sounded obvious ¨C a trite expression that anyone could chuck about without care as if a discarded piece of food. But my experience usually ran counter to that. Acute moments of stress, like fighting side by side with someone or traversing the treacherous terrain of grief arm in arm, was of course a great way to create fast bonds between people, but I had found that when you subjected a relationship to chronic, low-level stress¡­it tended to wither rather than strengthen. I had seen it in the glum moods while we trekked through mile after unending mile in the Wandering States during the monsoon rains, sharing barely a word all day, and I¡¯d seen it more recently during our travels through the low hills of the Dragon-Spines before we had reached the Titan¡¯s Crown ¨C frustration had started to set in, and people had less patience for one another than before. Small arguments flared up, charity and grace were no longer extended with ease but instead held tightly to one¡¯s chest and only given out with great reluctance. Not so in the high places though. When we had to venture up through snow-drowned passes and grapple with frozen ridges and icefields, our group pulled together. Perhaps it was because to do otherwise was to risk death. The benefit of the doubt was a requirement in this harsh jagged world we traversed, and each of us realised new depths of compassion and empathy for one another. Storage devices went a long way to making the journey more tolerable, and magical skills were a godsend ¨C Vera¡¯s fire lighting pebbles saw heavy use in speeding up the process of drying our boots at days end. Fires were easy to start and keep burning through the night, despite the lack of firewood or heavy snows. Shelters were easy to construct ¨C an igloo raised and lined in less than a bell by a single person ¨C and Jorge¡¯s old map, that I had seen so long ago back at Outpost 13, made navigation trivial. There were still trials and dangers, however. Just because the usual hazards were tolerable with magic, preparation, and experience, didn¡¯t mean that the environment could be ignored or underestimated. Crevasses, avalanches, rockslides and flash-floods were all genuine concerns, and that is to say nothing of the fauna that littered the land. Nathlan was closing in on the peak of 2nd tier after only a week, and I had gained 4 more levels from fighting the denizens of the Dragon-Spines. Sadrianna sometimes joined in, though most of the fighting was left to Nathlan, and then myself if he needed support. Vera had only stepped in twice, and both times I was reminded of how powerful she truly was. It was a definite strategy though, to allow the weakest members of the party to farm the experience they could, in the hopes of raising our group¡¯s power in total. A few hundred 2nd tier creatures would do little to help Vera advance, and even Sadrianna would struggle to gain more than a dozen levels during our month-long journey, but Nathlan could reach the peak of the 1st tier easily, and likely gain a score of levels in the bottom of 2nd tier as well. Similarly, I could advance my power markedly with the bounty of this land. Sadrianna also didn¡¯t possess a combat class, and so her and Jorge both would receive minimal gains from fighting wild creatures compared to the rest of us. The world was dangerous, but it was made safer by our skills. We travelled relatively quickly through the broken land, scaling mountains with ice-axes and crampons, ropes linking us to one another so that if one fell, it would not be their end. Those ascents were invigorating, and I loved the feel of exposure as the biting wind tried to nuzzle my hair while we climbed steep cliffs of ice and rock in a chain of bodies. Not all crossings were so fun though. There was a weary drudgery in setting up and packing down camp each day, and the climbs from low valley to high pass, through thick snowbanks and scree slopes, were gruelling and lonely. No conversation could be exchanged when every step was hard work, and the wind would snatch the words from inside your mouth and cast them away into the open air. Despite all of this though, we pulled together. We shared stories around the fire at night, helped one another with the thousand boring tasks of travel, and solidified our connections in a way that only living with somebody can do. All of this within the first week of our journey, but that was the way of things in the mountains; fast friends and fast lives. It was because of this growing closeness and trust that nobody died when I discovered we were being followed.
We began the day in a deep valley, sliced through by a thin mountain stream. The water was bitterly cold, with a freshness that seared the throat and cooled the belly but after a few breaths, left you feeling rejuvenated and eager for more. It was only a meter or so wide and it was a wander that such a tiny thing could cut a mountain in half, but such is the power of deep time. It was a grey morning, wan sunlight straining to break through the low clouds but never quite making it. The grass took on a yellow hew, and the seemingly endless boulders and rocks that stacked together to form the mountainside were slippery and moss-covered. Our trek through the valley took time but was surprisingly pleasant, despite the moody weather. There was little wind, shielded as we were by the high ridges to either side, and it was warm enough for us to discard our heavy furs, winter hats and snoods covering our faces, which did wonders to promote conversation ¨C it was hard to talk through a few inches of fur, after all. Nathlan, Sadrianna, Vera and I were all jogging together, Nathlan expounding on some esoteric nonsense and us mostly humouring him. It had started off interesting, but I quickly became lost in all the academic jargon, though Vera managed to keep up admirably as far as I could tell. Then she whipped her head around to stare at one of the ridgelines for a few moments before calling to Jorge and speeding over to him. That put us on edge, and we hurried to catch up and overhear, but whatever conversation they were having was not for our ears. They sped up further, and we were in the comical position of chasing after them with intensity while they whispered back and forth, easily keeping pace ahead of us despite their casual demeanour. Although Vera did look to be clenching her fist at her side, and the way Jorge was laying a hand on her arm almost looked placating. I slowed and looked back to where Vera had focused on, hoping to see anything out place, but it was just an empty ridge. I shrugged to myself and decided to trust them once again. There had already been occasions that we¡¯d changed course to avoid the territory of some great beast, shepherded expertly by Jorge and Vera through this dangerous land. Perhaps this was similar. No point in telling us exactly how fucked we were if whatever was tailing us decided to attack, perhaps. Though it surely couldn¡¯t be worse than the guessing. My imagination was a powerful tool, but it seemed to be in somebody else¡¯s employ most of the time. We continued on for another bell or so until I heard Sadrianna gasp, and her spear appeared in her hand. I followed her gaze and saw a black lump dropping below the ridgeline to our right, perhaps 200 meters away and above us. ¡°What was that? What did you see?¡± I asked, my own spear slapping into my right hand from where it had hung on my belt. I couldn¡¯t see the cool blue glow of the rune on the back of my fist, but I knew it was there, reassuring like an anchor at sea. She hesitated a moment before speaking out of the corner of her mouth, unwilling to turn away from that ridgeline. ¡°A figure, I think. Humanoid. We¡¯re being followed.¡± I frowned and looked up the valley to where Jorge and Vera were in discussion. They¡¯d noticed something earlier too but hadn¡¯t shared what with the rest of us. At the time I¡¯d assumed it was for our peace of mind, but now I was starting to wonder if this was some sort of test. That wasn¡¯t quite right. As annoying as the whole ¡®mysterious, wise, not-telling-you-all-the-details-of-my-master-training-plan¡¯ philosophy that Jorge seemed to subscribe to was, he didn¡¯t really test Nathlan and I. He often withheld information to give us the opportunity to gain experience without constant supervision, and let us make mistakes and solve a problem as we saw fit, but if there was legitimate danger, he would let us know.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. That didn¡¯t mean a given situation was safe, by any means, but it usually meant it was within our power to handle if we weren¡¯t stupid. ¡°Check with Jorge, see if we can check it out,¡± I said, ¡°I don¡¯t like being followed, and Nathlan is right on the cusp too ¨C one more level and he¡¯ll be ready.¡± She nodded and then shot off, catching up to the two older fighters within moments while I kept a wary eye on the ridgeline as Nathlan and I jogged after them. I slung the shield that was strapped across my back onto my arm, tightening straps and securing it carefully. It was surprisingly light, given its strength, and so I¡¯d decided to carry it with me most days ¨C partly to get used to the weight and feel, and partly because it felt like the proper thing to do. I still didn¡¯t have a storage device yet, though I expected to pick one up in the Sunsets, and didn¡¯t want to rely on whoever I gave my shield to for storage being close if we were to be ambushed. Sadrianna slowed up ahead after exchanging a few words with the other two and we caught up quickly. I cocked my head in question at her and she sighed. ¡°They want to observe a little longer. If anything happens, defend yourself, but don¡¯t escalate for the moment. We¡¯ll reassess tonight if there are no further updates.¡± And so we did. I travelled with half an eye behind us, and instinctively we scrunched tighter together in formation. Jorge led the way, followed by Vera, Sadrianna, Nathlan and then myself. I was unwilling to leave Nathlan at the rear given our unwelcome shadow, though Vera and Jorge clearly thought it was not an issue. Reassuring then, that the danger was within the realm of the 1st tier. Still, a lucky shot could take almost anyone out, so I stayed on guard.
Two days of constant travel had lowered whatever guard I¡¯d had up, and that was of course the moment that our shadow announced itself. I¡¯d seen no further glimpses myself, but I¡¯d caught Vera looking off into the distance occasionally, though whenever I¡¯d try to make out what she was seeing, I saw nothing but grey rocks and the odd tuft of grass if the snow was light on the ground. Nathlan and I were out scouting ahead after Jorge had pointed out the broken and abandoned nest of some feathered creature, coated with discarded scales shimmering in vibrant green and silver. I had assumed that a large serpent had found the nest and either killed the occupants, or driven them away, hence the mess, and when I¡¯d answered as such to his question, Jorge had simply smiled mysteriously and told us to go hunting. Naturally, it meant we kept our eyes on the ground, searching and scouring the rocks around our feet for any further sign of the slithering creature that had destroyed a nest dozens of yards wide. I imagined that the Titan-Rooks may have nested in such places, when very young at least, and shivered to imagine the creature that could kill those, even the juveniles. Still, if Jorge said we should hunt, then it wouldn¡¯t be a fatal unless we were stupid. As someone who had been known to dabble in stupidity from time to time however, it wasn¡¯t necessarily a reassuring thought. Hence why I kept our eyes peeled and senses sharp. My mana sense had grown sharper still with my ascension into the 2nd tier, and it was seeing profligate use throughout our travels so far. That sense was the thing that saved us from a nasty surprise, as I twisted to look to the skies above moments before disaster. Break-Step brought enough time for me to raise my shield and yell a warning to Nathlan even as I jumped into his back, knocking him to the ground beneath me. Claws scrabbled on the angular surface of my shield, leaving no mark but letting out an awful shriek as keratin scratched against unyielding carapace. I was rolling to my feet immediately, arm snapping out and Resolution leaping from my belt into my hand, enlarging to its spear-form in an instant. Nathlan was only a half-step behind, a flash of steel as his sword pointed to the sky as well. We instinctively moved back-to-back, with our eyes to the sky before we heard a keening whip of a sound, and I once more interposed my shield between us and the oncoming projectile. Unlike a moment before where I¡¯d fended off the strike of a creature above me, this time I saw nothing but 3 feathers come slicing through the air. The impact they made against my raised shield, like 3 arrows hitting home in staccato rhythm, showed that they were far from harmless despite their appearance. A flash of green and silver in my peripheral vision and I turned, just in time to see a long, sinuous body like a serpent circling above and behind us. Rather than wriggle through the air in some snake-like dance, it instead flew on two great wings, feathered and coloured like those of an owl. The wingspan must have been four meters at the least, and I was amazed when it suddenly tucked those great wings along its belly and dropped like a spear towards us. I focused and hit it with Axis-Shift as it dived towards us. It was shockingly effective, and the creature spun out of its barrel-roll into an ungainly writhing fall, correcting itself only a dozen meters from the ground. It unfurled its great wings and beat them frantically in an attempt to escape, but it had brought itself within the range of my spear, and I no longer had to fear discarding my weapon in the melee. I heaved back and threw with all the grace and might that my newly enhanced attributes gave me ¨C each level in the 2nd tier provided me 15 new attribute points to spend thanks to my rare combat class, and I had put the majority into strength and agility. As such my spear arced through the air as swift as a swallow in flight, and it struck the flying snake unerringly. Resolution pierced clean through its serpentine form and flew out of the other side of its neck, leaving a trail of blue blood falling in its wake. Nathlan, meanwhile, had circled around behind me to climb a boulder several meters high, and now stood above me, rocking forwards and back on his heels with bent legs and sword low behind him. The serpent faltered in the sky as my spear made a mess of its throat, and as it dropped a few more meters towards the floor, Nathlan leaped. His legs, while no match for the strength of my own, were nevertheless still powerful, and he soared through the air above me, blade catching the light as it was wreathed in the golden glow of one of his skills. It sheared clean through the creature¡¯s neck, and he landed a few meters to my left on another boulder, already spinning and raising his blade should his strike not have been true. It was though, and the serpent fell to the ground in two pieces, blue blood fountaining from its open neck and its long body twitching as its life bled from it in gouts that raised streamers of mist into the cool air. You have killed a ¡®Winged Uraeus¡¯ (Level 84). Experience gained. The notification came along with the expected ringing, and we kept our senses peeled for long moments, eyes on the sky rather than the floor. Our caution paid off, as several shapes resolved themselves soon in the glow of the afternoon sun. I had to squint before I could finally identify 3 distinct pairs of large wings flapping in unison, attached to the bodies of three more flying serpents. Nathlan and I traded a look, and then he was leaping down to me, ensconced as I was between two large boulders. I flexed my hand, mana activating the artifact link within my soul and causing the scar on the back of my fist to glow a dull blue as a red blur shot from over the top of the boulder and a meaty smack echoed out as Resolution returned to rest in my grip once more. ¡°I think three might be more than we can handle out here in the open Nathlan ¨C have you got eyes on the others from back there?¡± I asked, still squinting into the sun. ¡°No. Jorge and Sadrianna are too far back to be of any use, but I do not see Vera at all,¡± he replied. ¡°Wait, they are moving. Running this way, and fast.¡± I frowned to myself, ¡°That can¡¯t be good. Are these unwelcome guests more of a danger than the one we just killed?¡± I didn¡¯t wait for him to reply though and started backpedalling quickly, spurring him on behind me. ¡°Back up mate, let¡¯s get as close to them as possible before this all kicks off, yeah?¡± It was no use though, the speed that the creatures were growing in my sight was telling me two things. One ¨C they were moving much quicker than us and would be on us within less than 30 breaths. And two ¨C they were much larger than I¡¯d originally thought. ¡°Shit, okay. Nathlan, I want you to hunker down there on the left, below that shelf of rock. Don¡¯t argue, just get fucking down there!¡± I shouted, pushing him for emphasis. Luckily, he clearly trusted me enough to follow the instructions at least, and I turned to survey the terrain with a practiced eye, willing A Frozen Pyrre to do its work and feed me its secrets. We were in a boulder field, large rocks strewn about as if a few giants had decided to have a shot-put competition and not bothered to clear up. Broken shelfs, likely from the cliffs above, littered the field, and in some cases protruded out over other boulders to form pseudo-cave systems. It was into one such small bolthole that I¡¯d encouraged Nathlan, and once he had slipped inside, I confirmed the second step of my cobbled-together plan. Mana flooded from my core in a torrent and a moment later, a star was born below the shelf of rock. Lines of silver starlight sprung into existence as The Mountain¡¯s Gate was written across reality, a thirteen-pointed rune of protection enveloping Nathlan and the boulder he hid within. It was in some ways more of a distraction than anything ¨C sure to draw the attention of the three creatures winging their way swiftly towards us. But given their clear position as aerial hunters, I was confident that their eyesight was more than impressive enough to make out Nathlan despite his best effort to hide. Add to that mana senses and possibly some more obscure form of heat-sensing that many reptiles possessed, and it was practically a given that his position was already known to them. This at least conferred some protection, until I died, anyway. Though if they were strong enough to kill me that easily, then it¡¯s likely they could break through my skill as well. Either way, the board was set. I chanced a look back down the valley and saw Jorge and Sadrianna speeding towards us from well over a mile away. Jorge had already pulled ahead substantially, and I expected him to arrive soon, though not enough to save us from the creatures¡¯ first charge. Vera was still nowhere to be seen, and turning back to the sun, I saw I had only a handful of heartbeats before my foe arrived. I set my feet, tucked myself back into the gap between two large rocks, and readied myself for violence. There was a strangely quiet few moments, where all I could hear was the blood rushing through my veins and my breath loud in my ears, and then the world roared into a storm of shrieking, gusting chaos. Interlude - Memories Of Ice Blood dripped from her chin, pattered from her elbows, and ran in rivers down over her wrists to spatter from splayed fingertips into the undisturbed snow around her. It shattered the pristine surface, turning an endless expanse of purest white, so much like the textureless clouds above, into nothing more than a crimson-stained snowbank. It would not be the first time that blood had revealed the truth to Jacyntha. She stared, on her knees and panting, surrounded by nothing but empty ridges and deep valleys, energy spent and hope diminished. She remembered the words, the moment the rage had taken her, igniting her pain and self-recrimination into a roaring furnace of power. ¡°Did you do it!? Did they speak true?¡± She¡¯d asked. ¡°It¡¯s all lies! It will always be lies! The Council cannot be trusted. They abandoned us, Jacyntha. As they always have, they take and take-¡± ¡°DID YOU KILL HER!?¡± she¡¯d screamed, and that had apparently been too much for Hastor. Her father had always had an ego on him, and appearing before the Council for censure after interrogation by investigators had wounded his pride. To be confined to his own quarters under guard until the investigation was concluded had further strained it, and his own daughter shouting in his face was the moment that the wound had been ripped open once more to bare the bloody flesh below. She remembered the hands, vicelike and impossibly strong, gripping her by the face as he¡¯d leaned in close. ¡°You don''t talk to me that way, daughter. Your mother lacked the conviction needed to save our clan. The Grey-Rocks are a laughing stock and she did NOTHING! She was far stronger than you, girl, but she¡¯s dead, and I''m alive. You should remember that.¡± She remembered freezing. How many nights had she dreamt of going back in time to shield her mother? To stand before her and save her from his cruelty? To take the beatings in her place, strong enough to survive where her mother was not? ¡°Fucking disappointment. Even with her power flowing through you, you couldn''t even beat a 1st tier.¡± And the moment he¡¯d put his hands on her, she¡¯d frozen. She was no better than her mother after all. All those nights hating her memory for doing nothing, for not fighting back, for making Jacyntha have to witness her bruises and hear the thudding of fist on flesh. But now Jacyntha knew better; she was a hypocrite, and weak besides. ¡°I¡¯d thought I could mold a child of mine to be proud of. To take your mother¡¯s strength and, shorn of her weakness, graft it on to you. But even with her power, you¡¯re still just as useless. Just as weak. Leave me, daughter, I can hardly bear to look at you.¡± She remembered him turning his back on her. Remembered the feeling of the axe in her fist. Her mother¡¯s axe. An artifact of power, of status, and all she¡¯d ever done with it was support her mother¡¯s killer. Cold Fang was a potent weapon, and with it in hand, the tier gap wasn''t quite as unassailable. She remembered realising that she¡¯d always known what had happened. Deep down, in the depths of her memories where she still feared to tread. Everyone knew, and yet nobody had done anything. Why had nobody done anything? Because they were afraid. Afraid of the man before her, his back turned and his head bent over a desk as he ranted and raved to himself, supremely confident in the lack of any retaliation, even as he disparaged her. She remembered the feeling of her axe splitting his skull. That first impact had jarred her hands, reverberating up the shaft to her shoulders, but it hadn''t caved in his head. It had been the seventh strike that had done so, making a mockery of his face as it crumpled onwards from the blow. The first had simply knocked him down, but once she had started, she found she couldn''t stop. She¡¯d lost count by the time he¡¯d stopped screaming, and his broken face was unrecognisable when she was done. She remembered running then. Running for what felt like years. But it couldn''t have been because she had stopped for the first time only moments ago, after she had noticed her breath sawing in and out of her chest, to ache and scold and sear her lungs with a heat that burned her from the inside out. And so she had stopped. Blood splattered the snow, and she stood, frozen by memories.
That had been three days ago, and now she wondered without purpose. Rage had given her direction; Swing. Kill. Rend. Fear came next with clear instructions; Leave. Run. Flee. The aftermath of those two emotions had left her frozen, cold as the springs whose bounty blessed the lands that Clan Grey-Rock travelled. She¡¯d tried to hunt, but she had failed. She¡¯d led a sheltered life - she could see that now; the shroud of ignorance had been ripped from her face in one brutal evening. Her father had kept her from joining hunting parties, any time away from fighting was a waste to him, after all, though she now suspected it was more a fear of her leaving his control than anything else.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Her mother had taught her to hunt, but that had been many years ago, and if she tried to remember the lessons, she would have to relive more painful memories first. That was something she wasn¡¯t willing to do. So she failed to hunt. Water was easy to find in the Dragon-Spine Mountains, but food was harder to come by. She was weak with hunger by the time she faced her first predator, and the ritual empowerment provided by her scars was the only thing that allowed her to survive the brutal fight. Her own mother¡¯s power. Her own mother¡¯s life. And she had used it for what? To freeze to death in the mountains, surrounded by blood splattered snow? And before that, before all of this, what had she used her mother¡¯s death for? To bully. To cajole. To scare and intimidate. If she was to be honest with herself, she had become much like her father. She¡¯d begun to revel in the power she had, and looked for those over whom she could exercise it. To look for an excuse to use it and show the world she was strong. She¡¯d thought she was being true. Straight and hard and the only person willing to act in accordance with the universal truth that strength was better than weakness. She¡¯d punished her enemies, and even when it had been mock battles and simulated tournaments, she¡¯d tried to show them that weakness had consequences. And why? In the end, she was so terrified of the world realising she was weak that she felt the need to prove she wasn''t even before the accusation was levelled. She¡¯d seen how the world treated those who were weak - her mother¡¯s life and death were testament to that - and she would do anything to avoid such a fate. But now that the blinding shroud was ripped from her eyes, she could see the hollowness of that excuse. She¡¯d never turned it upon herself. Never tried to find her mother¡¯s killer and punish them. Never questioned why her father, so strong and powerful, had been unable to save her. Why was it, that if the leaders of clan Grey-Rock were really at fault, her father had never punished them for it himself? She had trekked through snow-capped mountain valleys and the empty white world around her became full of questions. Introspection was strangely encouraged by the landscape, as if its very emptiness forced her to grapple with her own existence, devoid of purpose as it was. She pushed forwards through snow drifts and embankments as high as her chest, even when her body was wrung out with exhaustion. There was nothing for her out here. No food to be had, no reason to keep going. Her mind screamed at her to push just over the ridge, to try just a bit longer, but the protests were growing weaker each moment. She shivered, but didn''t feel cold. Her body burned from within, feverish from the continued use of her mother¡¯s power. Her own class and general skills were far out of reach, hidden by the scar tissue built up in her soul by the constant use of the profane empowerment ritual that gave her such strength. There was another feeling, this one emotional rather than physical or spiritual. She burned with shame. When she thought of her life and the choices she had made, she felt like retching. What wasted potential. To have been nothing but a kicked puppy, following around her Drek of a father and trying in vain to earn his approval, as if that would shield her from her mother¡¯s fate. Just like the ruby-red blood she had spattered the snow with days prior - a useless way to spend a life. And that was all it would be if she were to die here. Wasted potential, a bitter end to a sad tale. At least she had avenged her mother, at the end of it all. Was that all she would have wanted for her only daughter? Hollow vengeance and a slow death on the hills? If Jacyntha wanted anything in that moment, it was absolution. She wanted her life to have had meaning beyond all the pain, forgiveness for her sins. She¡¯d made shitty choices, no doubt about that, but if she could only find a way to atone...if not for herself, then for her mother¡¯s memory at least. Her scars flared to life again at the thoughts. Curling green tongues of ethereal mist wafted from the looping marks that branded her body from head to toe. Strength once more filled her, and she floundered, pushing on once more up the steep snowbank. A part of her hated the empowerment her scars provided, but she knew she couldn''t live without them now. Her mother¡¯s power, some small shard of her attributes passed down to Jacyntha through a ritual of pain, was what had allowed her to strike down her father. She¡¯d felt more power from them in that action than ever before, and while she knew that intense emotion heightened her ability to draw on that well of power, she also wondered if her mother''s ghost had guided her hands to help her slay her own killer. Why had she agreed to that damned ritual in the first place? She may not have known that her mother¡¯s life would be used as a catalyst, but she surely knew she would be receiving some advantage that her peers would not. If she was too weak to succeed without that, then shouldn''t she have been left to suffer without help? Simply further proof of her hypocrisy, of the paucity of her beliefs. She wasn''t stronger, wasn¡¯t better or more deserving of her power than others. There was no greater purpose driving her cruel actions beyond her own fear. You''re pathetic. The world would be a better place without your weakness. The whispers were cruel, but they didn''t say anything she wasn''t already thinking. Perhaps things truly would be better if she just lay down and die. She looked back at the disturbed snow that marked her passage as it dropped inexorably into the clouds below her, and considered once again if her battle up this slope was worth it. But once more, she fought back against the lethargy and self-recrimination. Her death would do nothing for the world, after all. She was an exile, and the clans would pay no heed of her. She would be just another carcass out here among the great peaks, and what was the point of that? Whatever mistakes she had made - and there were many - did she not owe a debt to repay them? Why should she get to simply give up and slip away after the harm she had caused? And why, fucking why, did she always hear her father¡¯s voice in her head even now - somebody she had always hated and feared - instead of her mother¡¯s, whom she had always loved? It was a hard thing to do, hacking up a snow-bound slope, but harder still was to listen to that snivelling, smug voice in her own mind. Never again would she act for that man¡¯s benefit. She¡¯d split the Drek¡¯s skull in twain, and there was no way she would let him live on through her own actions. To the ridgeline then, and whatever waited beyond. Chapter 84 - Deliberance I reeled back, stone splintering where my head had been only a moment before as a snout the size of my chest smashed into it, fangs bared. The tip of Resolution darted out even as I fell backwards, and a screech echoed around the field as my winter-infused blade bit deep into the orbital bone of the creature after passing through its eye as if it were nothing. It tried to rear backwards but I held fast, and then shunted mana into Shatter Point and my spear both. Its skull ruptured at the point where my spear was stuck fast in its bone, and even as bone shards detonated beneath its skin, the Heart of Winter that made up my spear blade released a frozen crack! as its supernatural cold spread throughout the wound. The creature shook its head like a dog, and my spear was sent clattering out of sight, but it soon returned to my hand as I fed mana to my artifact link. I ducked around the edge of the large boulder, diving the last meter as a snap of great jaws made a meal of the air I¡¯d just inhabited. I twisted as I fell and brought my shield around to lodge within the already descending jaws of another beast. I knew it to be a different one because both its eyes were whole and fresh, no blood marring its face. One great fang punched into the earth by my side, missing me by inches, and the other slammed down into my shield. I let out a grunt as my shield arm was forced into my side and the air whooshed from my lungs, but the creature this shield was formed from was more than a match for these peak 2nd tier beasts. I dropped my spear - the quarters too close for it to be of much use - and using the connection I¡¯d created with A Frozen Pyrre, summoned my hatchet into my hand. I slammed it into the ridges of the serpent¡¯s snout even as it sought to crush me beneath it, but the weapon could find no purchase. I cursed as I realised my obvious oversight, and dropped the weapon again, summing my spear into my hand once more and flooding mana down the artifact link so that it shrunk until it was half the size of the original weapon. Resolution darted out once more, Shatter Point enhancing each strike to rupture the hard scales and let it dig into the softer flesh below. The serpent shook its great head and reared up above me, and I saw my death reflected in its eyes. No matter how many new tools I had to help, this creature was at the peak of the 2nd tier in power, and if nothing else, the difference in attributes between us was nigh-insurmountable. The fact that I¡¯d been able to survive this long, and inflict damage of my own was simply a testament to the power of my armaments. Still, I wouldn¡¯t face death with weary resignation, and I readied myself for a likely fatal clash. And then Vera was there. A flash of red hair, wild and unbound, before the massive serpent was sent crashing over the nearby boulder. She spared me a quick glance and I raised my hand to let her know I was relatively unhurt, and then she sprinted off. I stood shakily, and summoned Resolution back to my hand once more. It really was an impossibly useful effect. I took a breath and leapt atop the boulder by my side to get a view of the battlefield. Vera was a dozen meters off to my right, finishing the creature she¡¯d sent flying a moment before, and I scanned the area for Nathlan. My domain skill was still shining around the boulder that he sheltered under, but I saw no sign of the man himself. The second of the three winged serpents was launching itself into the sky in a wing-propelled leap at Vera, and I dismissed it from my mind. One, two, even a half dozen of the creatures wouldn¡¯t make me worry for Vera, especially in an open battlefield like this, where unintended casualties weren¡¯t much of a concern. I looked for the third creature and saw a flash of green scale behind the boulder, previously hidden by the shining starlight of The Mountain¡¯s Gate. I then heard a masculine grunt and shout of rage, recognisable as Nathlan even from here, and launched myself over to it. A few heartbeats passed as I flew from rock to rock until I dropped to the ground by the side of the stone plinth above Nathlan¡¯s bolthole. I activated Break-Step as I rounded the boulder in preparation for a desperate fight but found an altogether more confusing scene. The serpent ¨C the same one that I had partially blinded ¨C was struggling on the ground, one feathered wing pinned beneath a hefty rock, head craned upwards and screeching with rage. Before it stood Nathlan, blade shining with golden light and feet set in defiance, but the serpent wasn¡¯t attacking him. Instead, it seemed to be grasping for something on its back, between its wings, and it took me a few moments to notice the shape of the figure standing there. A great axe swung down once more, and the creature screamed again before finally plucking the figure from its back and throwing it into the air. By the time it turned back to Nathlan, he had closed the distance, and his golden sword sheared through its throat, decapitating it in a single blow. It was almost poetic, how this one had died just like the previous, smaller Winged Uraeus; injured by me and finished by him with a single well-placed strike. I checked him over as I approached, and he nodded sombrely at me. ¡°I am unhurt,¡± he said, but his tone was off. I wanted to ask, but it was then that I noticed the axe. It was on the ground, poking out beneath the body of the feathered serpent, and I recognised it instantly. Long haft, bearded twin-bladed head, silver inlay worked down one side. I¡¯d seen it before, in the hands of a well-built warrior, scars criss-crossing their powerful shoulders and arms. I frowned, then put two and two together. ¡°Come,¡± I called to Nathlan, as I turned on my heel and sprinted around the boulder, leaping up atop another to gain a good view once more. Vera had killed both beasts and was turning our way. Seeing me, she cocked her head in question and I shot her a thumbs up, though there was little need with Nathlan appearing at my side a moment later. I scanned the broken ground around us though, looking for the figure I¡¯d seen thrown by the serpent moments before. I found her splayed out beneath a rock splattered with blue blood, heavy furs covering her form and preventing me from getting a sense for her state. I did see one pale arm emerging from beneath the body though, and it was dull and lifeless where I had expected shining green light. I jumped down and made my way over, Nathlan at my heels, and we arrived to find the crumpled form of Jacyntha of clan Grey Rock, still and unmoving. I took a tentative step forwards before flinching and leaping backwards as a small ball of fur and teeth came streaking towards me, yowling and hissing as it swiped at the air where I¡¯d been. It came no closer though, and I nearly laughed as I saw the small thing puff itself up and bare its small fangs at me. It had leapt over the rock behind Jacyntha, and now backed up to her, keeping itself between her and us and doing its best to look menacing. ¡°Is that a cat?¡± I asked Nathlan, but he just shrugged. ¡°I¡­I do not know,¡± he said simply. ¡°How the fuck did she get here? She¡¯s the one who¡¯s been following us, right? Why?¡± I asked, but Nathlan didn¡¯t seem to know either. ¡°I have no idea, Lamb. She just fell out of the sky and landed on the Winged Uraeus ¨C I thought for a moment that she was riding it into battle, and she was the one behind this whole ambush. But no. She just started hacking away the moment she landed.¡± Vera arrived at the end of Nathlan¡¯s explanation, and Jorge a moment later. I turned to them, asking, ¡°Did you both know it was her?¡± They shared a look and then Jorge stepped forwards. ¡°Well, lad¡­yes, we did. I wanted to see what she¡¯d do, though Vera was very much in favour of killing her the moment we caught a glimpse a few days back-ahh!¡± He leapt into the air as the cat darted towards him and took a swipe, though he was far too fast to actually get hit. I don¡¯t think he had noticed the creature at first, and when he landed a few feet back next to Vera, he seemed to watch it with caution. ¡°What the fuck is that?¡± he asked, in a tone I wasn¡¯t used to hearing from him. Confusion. ¡°It¡¯s a cat, right?¡± I asked, looking from him to the others, then to the little hissing ball of vengeance and fur huddled around Jacyntha¡¯s form. ¡°That¡¯s no cat,¡± Jorge said as if it was a dire pronouncement. ¡°Look at its ears.¡± I frowned as I examined the creature more closely. Two stubby, semi-circular and distinctively cute little ears emerged from its domed skull, and its snout did look a little too large for a cat now that I thought about it. It had two oversized fangs emerging from its mouth, and despite the mottled white, black and orange pattern of its fur that looked so distinctly like that of a common mouser, its legs were too thick and body too stocky for that to be true. I¡¯d just thought it a little chubby, but what were the chances of a chubby cat in the high mountains of the Dragon-Spines?Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. ¡°Well, no matter. I¡¯m assuming nobody¡¯s checked her over yet? Can¡¯t have her bleeding out in front of us, now can we?¡± Jorge said, mostly to himself, as he began to walk forward, reaching out a tentative hand to the cat-thing. It hissed and swiped at him again, and he flinched out of range before shaking his head. ¡°Aye, sensitive little bastard, isn¡¯t he? Lamb, you want to grab him while I tend to Jacyntha?¡± the older man asked but Vera interrupted. ¡°No!¡± We all looked over at her, confused, before she explained. ¡°That¡¯s a Cat-Bear. It¡¯s just a baby right now, but that thing will grow to be well over two tonnes within a year. You can¡¯t restrain them ¨C they¡¯ve got long memories.¡± Jorge frowned. ¡°I take your point, lass, but it¡¯s not like it¡¯s a multi-ton killing machine right now. I can just pick the little fella up, easy as pie,¡± he said as he mimed holding the creature up by the scruff of its neck, shaking his prize a few times to demonstrate. ¡°No, you fool,¡± Vera replied, uncharacteristically serious. ¡°They have long memories and learn quickly, even from an early age ¨C you don¡¯t want them building an association between humans and fear. It¡¯s fine right now because it seems harmless, but 12 months from now when it can eat anything below the peak of the 2nd tier? They are wandering predators too, so there¡¯s no telling this one won¡¯t just trundle down to a nearby settlement, get spooked by the humans and slaughter them all!¡± I blew a breath out between my cheeks. ¡°Bloody hells, alright. So, do we just try to lure it away? We can¡¯t let Jacyntha just bleed out, as the old git said. Jorge, you got any cheese on hand?¡± I asked. Sadrianna arrived then, panting hard from the quick sprint, and Nathlan took the opportunity to jump in. ¡°Can we not?¡± We all turned to look at him. ¡°I¡¯m not saying we kill her but¡­¡± he trailed off. ¡°She did try to kill me not so long ago. Do we have a responsibility to save her right now? What if she just tries to kill us later while we sleep? What if she was following us to report our movements to some nefarious group? She could be working with the Lions!¡± He sighed to himself as we traded glances and then looked at his feet as he said his final piece. ¡°Sorry, I know half of that made no sense. It is just¡­what are we going to do with her after?¡± I shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m with Nathlan on the plan going forwards ¨C we need a serious conversation, and I¡¯m not against just leaving her out here, maybe with some food if she¡¯s struggling, but I think we¡¯re all in agreement that we have to save her first, right? She did just try and save Nathlan¡¯s life, after all.¡± The scholar did nod reluctantly at that, conceding the point. ¡°And hey!¡± I said, clapping my hands to perk everyone up and scaring the Cat-Bear in the process. ¡°Maybe she will want a rematch once we¡¯ve patched her up. I¡¯d love the chance to see Nathlan demolish her now that they¡¯re on even footing,¡± I said with a wink Nathlan¡¯s way. ¡°Right you are, lad,¡± Jorge said as he walked over, handing me a thick wedge of hard cheese slathered in honey that he¡¯d conjured from his storage necklace. ¡°Use that title of yours for something useful for once, aye?¡± I grinned and took it from him, shooing everyone away before I approached the hissing creature crouching over Jacyntha¡¯s prone form. ¡°Easy now, love. I¡¯m not here to hurt you.¡± I approached slowly, talking the whole while. Every step forward would make it flinch and hiss, and I would only move forwards once again after it had settled back into a more neutral posture. I explained that we meant the creature and its companion no harm, that Jacyntha was once an enemy, but now had come to us requesting aid, and we were in a position to give it to her. I explained that we had food, and warm clothes, and healing available to help it and the person it guarded. The Cat-Bear would hiss every time I took a step forward and arch its back, its funny semicircular ears pinning back against its head, and then flaring outwards again to either side in an adorable threat display that made me want to just pick it up and scrunch its little face. It went on like this for long, long moments, uncounted breaths passing as I crept forwards, step by step, muttering random soothing words. I held the cheese out before me as I approached like a weapon and shield both. I noticed its front legs trembling and was hit with a surge of sympathy for the creature. It was tiny, no bigger than a common housecat and couldn¡¯t have been more than a couple weeks old as far as I could tell. And yet here it stood, five powerful strangers surrounding it while the only person it knew was insensate beneath it. And still it stood, hackles raised, fangs bared, willing to die to protect its companion that it couldn''t have known for more than a handful of days. I eventually got close enough that it was within swiping range, and I took my time there, keen not to earn new scars. Eventually, it reached out. Claws retracted, and it took two padding steps forward, across Jacyntha''s chest and stomach, to stand upright and alert before me, every inch of its body quivering with fear and anticipation. It took a few careful, cautious sniffs with its little snout and then, quick as a flash, swiped the cheese from my hand and turned around, darting back to Jacyntha''s neck where it curled around protectively and then munched on the slab of hard cheese. I smiled as I watched it licking honey from its paws, and the mild look of confusion it had, as the sticky liquid seemed to cling to its fur, was adorable. I looked round, and I saw Nathlan smiling in appreciation as he watched the little kitten. I sighed internally in relief to see it. This creature may not have meant it, but in many ways, it acted like a peace offering between our group and Jacyntha. She might have done us wrong, but if she could earn the trust of a creature like this, perhaps she wasn''t entirely bad. We would have to see. I stepped back, retrieving more food and coming back, and spent another quarter bell slowly feeding the animal. Cheese went down well, as did a small piece of bread. I offered a tomato at one point, but it wasn''t interested. Then there was jerky, which was a complete success. When I brought out a sardine, courtesy of Jorge, it near took my hand off in its haste to claim the food. A handful of nuts was sniffled at, one bitten into, and then spat back out. It regarded me reproachfully, its ears flat against its head and I laughed, holding my hands up in apology. It mewled at me on occasion, but whether it was asking for more food or simply begging for scratches, I wasn''t quite sure. While I could understand that there was an intention behind those noises, I couldn''t fathom what it actually was. This creature possessed a sliver of intelligence, but must still be so young that it hadn¡¯t taken root properly yet. From what Vera had said, these creatures could grow into multi-tonne behemoths. This one right here must have been, what, rescued by Jacyntha? Couldn''t be more than a couple of weeks old. How did she come across this? What was their story? In the end, it didn''t matter. There was one way to find out, and that required Jacyntha to wake up, which seemed to be something Jorge was dead set against as I soon found out. Eventually, I''d managed to coax the Cat-Bear off of Jacyntha and onto my lap. It didn''t spend long there before leaping across to the rock that Nathlan sat on, purring and rubbing its face against his arm before curling up on his lap instead. He looked perplexed, arms held around the body of this small creature, as if unsure what to do with them, looking at me with confusion. I didn¡¯t understand either though, so we both just sat there quietly watching the small creature doze in his arms while Jorge and Vera checked over the barbarian woman, and Sadrianna ate her lunch quietly in the background. He levered her up by one arm easily, her body nearly limp. He brought her over to a rock, lay her out and started muttering to himself, cataloguing her wounds, lifting one eyelid to check something, and then taking her pulse. ¡°What the fuck happened to her?¡± I asked aloud, and Vera snorted. ¡°Looks like we know where she escaped to. Got lost in the fucking mountains, now comes crawling to us for help when she realises you can¡¯t do everything alone.¡± The derision in her tone caught me by surprise, and I looked over in concern. She seemed to be almost looking through the scene though, eyes not tracking the forms of Jorge and the unconscious Jacyntha but focused on something else not visible to the eye. I patted her on the shoulder and left her to it, heading over to Nathlan to make sure he was doing okay. He was still sat on his rock, arms wrapped protectively around the little kitten-cub in his lap, jaw bunching rhythmically. He looked like he was fighting to keep some ugly emotion contained so that it wouldn¡¯t startle to creature on his lap. ¡°You alright, mate?¡± I asked, and he looked at me ruefully. ¡°I am not exactly comfortable, no. What is she doing here?¡± he replied. ¡°Vera thinks she got lost in the mountains, makes sense to me. She ran away a day or two before we left, right? Just after the investigation into that whole mess with The Blending? Can¡¯t say I blame her¡­¡± I trailed off in thought. Nathlan¡¯s eyebrows climbed his forehead so fast I thought they might shoot off his head entirely, and I explained further. ¡°Not for running away or cheating in The Blending or anything! But just¡­I wouldn¡¯t want to be alone in these mountains without preparation, and I¡¯ve got a class named after them. It¡¯s rough out here, and she seems to have born the worst of it. If I were in her shoes, I¡¯d probably jump at the first group of people I saw and ask them for safety too.¡± He hummed to himself, seemingly mollified by my words. ¡°I still would not expect mercy from those I had treated as poorly as she has treated us,¡± he said, sniffing with disdain. ¡°Aye, but that¡¯s why I don¡¯t go around breaking your legs every time you annoy me,¡± I replied with a grin. ¡°A common occurrence, is it? And future promises of mercy are the only reason you restrain yourself?¡± he replied archly, and I gave him a gentle punch in the shoulder, miming a few body shots first, much to his amusement. ¡°That¡¯s right, mate. Not that I find the promise of help from a measly 1st tier much appealing,¡± I smirked. ¡°Best break through to 2nd tier soon if you want a hope of catching up. I¡¯m telling you; the attribute gains are crazy! I¡¯ve got the timing down for Break-Step now and I can pretty reliably jump from 50 meters without much danger,¡± I garbled excitedly as we waited for Jorge and Vera to complete their checks of the insensate barbarian woman. We bantered back and forth for a while, and I hoped it helped to distract Nathlan from the likely confusing mix of emotions that Jacyntha¡¯s sudden arrival had engendered within him. After a while, Jorge and Vera approached once more, beckoning Sadrianna over too. We stood around Nathlan¡¯s rock for a moment in silence before Jorge started. ¡°Well¡­broken arm, mild hypothermia, severe malnutrition and a whole host of heavy bruises and cuts. She¡¯s not had a good time of it out here. I suggest we rig together a sled and carry her on it ¨C keep her sedated for the rest of the day ¨C and find somewhere to hole up for the night. We can re-set the arm then and have a proper chat about what we do with her round a fire over some dinner. How¡¯s that sound?¡± A chorus of agreement and nods and we were off about our various tasks. The day went quickly from there. Chapter 85 - Difficult Conversations ¡°So, Jorge, what''s our plan here?¡± I asked as we huddled around a crackling fire at the mouth of a cave, nestled half-way up a frozen cliff face. I¡¯d had to borrow Vera¡¯s storage pouch to store the wood that I scavenged in the valley below. Jorge¡¯s was sentimental and I understood he never let it out of his grasp, and Sadrianna was strangely reluctant to let me use hers as well. Not for fear of me running off with it ¨C where would I go? ¨C but I got the sense she was embarrassed about some of the contents and didn¡¯t want me snooping. Totally fair, even if it¡¯s not something I would have done. ¡°Keep her out for a day or two, fix up her arm, give her some supplies and send her on her way? Is she just a stranger in need? And how long will that set us back?¡± I said, letting the questions fall into the quiet left by the howling wind outside. Vera and George exchanged a glance and then looked over at Nathlan. ¡°Aye, that''s one possibility,¡± he hedged. ¡°What''s the other possibility then?¡± I asked. ¡°You say that as if there is another option. What, are you thinking of recruiting her?¡± I¡¯d said it in jest, but it wasn¡¯t actually a crazy thought once I¡¯d considered it. If nothing else, she was a capable warrior with few ties to anyone now that she¡¯d been exiled, and we were currently in the process of saving her life. Assuming she understood that and could be trusted, she could be useful. Nathlan wouldn''t be happy with it, but if he was to come round to the idea he would need time, and that wouldn¡¯t be possible if we only discussed the idea with him once she woke several days hence. This was a conversation that needed to be had out loud, in person, right now preferably. Perhaps the fluffy ball of cuteness in his arms would help him stay calm? Jorge sighed and Vera slapped him on the arm in encouragement as he turned to Nathlan. ¡°Well, it''s obviously up to her, and before that it''s up to you, lad, but I think it''s likely she will want to join us¡­I don¡¯t think it would be a mistake to let her.¡± Nathlan scrunched his face up in distaste. ¡°Why would she want to join us?¡± He asked, and Jorge shrugged. ¡°Other than the fact that she''s been stalking us for at least a few days now and seemed to know exactly who we were? Other than the fact that she¡¯s been exiled from the clans and has nowhere to go? That she¡¯s clearly not able to cope on her own out here?¡± He gave a sardonic grin as he listed off his reasons. ¡°Well, I think she''s looking for purpose, she''s looking for belonging, she''s looking for meaning and a mission¡­we have all of that in spades. ¡°We''re not affiliated with her clan, though we have met them and are familiar with their ways. We are all more powerful than her, even you, and so she probably looks up to us in some way. We can offer her purpose and training and a goal. And those are all things that she lacks at the moment.¡± Nathlan had at least let him finish, and seemed to consider the words, though I got the impression his first question had been mostly rhetorical. He asked the one he really wanted an answer to next. ¡°I can understand all of that. Why would we want her with us?¡± ¡°Well lad,¡± Jorge began ¡°and again, I want to make it clear this is a choice that is ultimately up to you. None of us will judge you for not wanting her with us. That goes for everyone here ¨C you all get a vote. You''re all well within your rights to demand we leave her here in a mess of her own making, though I will be patching her up and making sure she has a chance of survival before we leave ¨C that¡¯s just how it is.¡± He held Nathlan¡¯s gaze then, and nodded when he saw no argument to that last statement. ¡°The reason we might want her with us is because she''s a powerful 1st tier warrior. It''s possible we could even get her to break through to the 2nd tier and gain a few levels before we reach the Sunsets, though that will depend as much on her as us. We will need strong fighters in the coming battle, lad, and while she might be a bit of a bastard, she definitely is stronger than your average Crimson Lion, aye?¡± I nodded, unable to disagree with the sentiment after how easily I¡¯d carved through Shavkat and Sven ¨C though I¡¯d had the element of surprise for both ¨C and how much I¡¯d struggled against Jacyntha. I saw conflicting emotions pass over Nathlan¡¯s face, and spoke up to give him a bit more time to get his thoughts in order. ¡°I don¡¯t like the idea of helping her break through the 2nd tier. It¡¯s one thing when she¡¯s clearly the weakest of the group, but if she is on par with myself and Nathlan, possibly even stronger¡­well, trust suddenly becomes a little harder to find, right?¡± Jorge listened but shook his head in response. ¡°No, lad, no danger of that. Her empowerment has come at a cost ¨C one more severe now that she knows the source, I imagine ¨C if the rumours are true, that is. Anyhow, she¡¯ll not rival you two in power unless you both slack off for a month¡­¡± He narrowed his eyes dangerously at me then. ¡°You¡¯re not planning on slacking off, are you, lad?¡± I just punched him in the shoulder. ¡°Not now, you old git,¡± I said, gesturing at Nathlan. ¡°I believe you¡¯ve got some more explaining to do, too ¨C my friend here doesn¡¯t seem convinced.¡± Jorge smiled tiredly and squatted down on his haunches, rubbing some dirt between his hands and looking more closely at the little creature snoring away on Nathlan¡¯s lap, small ears twitching and snout wriggling as if it scented something in a dream. The Cat-Bear had curled up on top of Jacyntha in her sled for the entire afternoon¡¯s travel, until we¡¯d setup camp in the little cave we currently inhabited, at which point it¡¯d designated Nathlan as its slave, and ordered him to sit by the fire and cuddle it. He might not have my God-Touched title and preternatural linguistic comprehension it brought, but he seemed to have no trouble deciphering the mewling cries for what they were ¨C demands for attention. ¡°There¡¯s all the practical reasons I mentioned a moment ago, but the next one is a bit more selfish. Put simply; I dislike leaving young, broken people on their own when I can help. You and Vera and Lamb are all beneficiaries of that instinct. And while I wouldn''t call it an insatiable drive, it is a way I try to live my life. Call it a personal failing of mine, if you like, lad. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t feel right abandoning that instinct, though my responsibilities and friendship with you I hold higher than that ideal. And I do understand why you might prefer to leave her here. It wasn¡¯t me that she wronged, after all.¡± ¡°So, let''s use just another body to throw at our enemies? That¡¯s you¡¯re argument? Combined with, what? Some pity?¡± The words were scathing and harsh, and I nearly recoiled at the venom in them. Obviously Nathlan was not quite as at peace with this whole situation as I had originally thought. Jorge didn¡¯t seem surprised though, and Vera placed a big hand on my friend¡¯s shoulder, understanding seeping through that limb in a nearly physical sense. ¡°Well, it certainly helps that I met her father and let me tell you Nathlan ¨C if you think Jacyntha¡¯s a cunt¡­well, she¡¯s got nothing on Hastor. Surprised she turned out so mild-mannered, truth be told, with him raising her an all.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Jorge hesitated at the venomous glare that Nathlan was shooting at him, and then plunged forward once more, reassuring and calm. ¡°Look, she hurt you, I get that. Nothing we can do to change that, and you¡¯ve bounced back stronger. No thanks to her, I know, I know!¡± he hurried to concede, before he carried on. ¡°¡­but the point is ¨C she is at her lowest, and you ¨C we ¨C are higher than ever. We¡¯ll continue to grow stronger, and there¡¯s nothing she can do to sabotage that.¡± ¡°Other than murdering us in our sleep? Poisoning our food? Breaking my fucking leg again!?¡± Nathlan hissed, but then abruptly sat back as the kitten mewled in its sleep and snuggled tighter into him. I couldn¡¯t help it; I laughed. He shot a glare my way, but it only made me laugh harder, and it took a few breaths before I could control myself once more. I straightened to see everyone looking at me askance, and chuckled as I explained myself. ¡°Sorry, sorry. It¡¯s a serious moment and all that, but just seeing your face go from angry to staring down at the little kitten with googly, lovestruck eyes got me. Nathlan, mate¡­you¡¯re still pouting!¡± He grimaced, but I could see the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. ¡°Look, there are some misgivings about recruiting her ¨C I get it, and I share a few of them myself,¡± I interjected. ¡°But we agree we need to get her fixed up, and besides, if we tried to leave this cute little thing here now, I think Nathlan would probably kill us and use our corpses as a palanquin for his little friend there.¡± Vera snorted at that, and Nathlan nodded seriously at me, causing Jorge to smirk too. ¡°Let¡¯s get her fixed up, and maybe check over the little runt too ¨C been wanting to call someone else that for months now! ¨C and discuss this again in the morning. Agreed?¡± I asked, looking around at my companions. ¡°Also, let¡¯s not forget that this is all contingent on both her wanting to join us, and her understanding that what she did was utterly fucked, and if she tries anything similar in future, we¡¯ll just kill her, yeah?¡± A chorus of agreement, and I watched Nathlan carefully. I didn¡¯t want to deny him the right to his anger, but I suspected he needed a bit more time to think through the consequences and come up with the real questions he needed asking.
I woke to a whispered argument. Jorge and Vera were going back and forth in low voices, and I shifted slowly so as not to disturb them, until I could see their backs. They sat together looking off down the valley, hands wrapped around steaming mugs and voices low. I¡¯d only woken in the middle of the conversation, but it didn¡¯t take long to figure out the missing context. ¡°I still don¡¯t like it, Jorge,¡± Vera said quietly. ¡°She can¡¯t be trusted.¡± ¡°Aye, but that was true of each of us at one point in time,¡± He replied. ¡°Nathlan never tried to kill or cripple one of us!¡± she hissed, ¡°Neither did Lamb. This is reckless.¡± ¡°I seem to remember you taking a swing at one point in time,¡± he said, and I could visualise the slight smile and raised eyebrow that no doubt accompanied the words. ¡°You settled down in the end.¡± Vera shifted, turning his way a little more, and I froze, worried she would see me out of the corner of her eye and know that I broke their privacy. The danger was enough to have me stay in place for long moments until she moved once more, but not enough to make me stop listening. ¡°We don¡¯t have time, Jorge! Duke Ryonic is even now moving on an Ashkanian-fucking-vault. You know what that means, probably better than I do! Even now he¡¯s-¡± ¡°He¡¯s doing nothing, Vera. He doesn¡¯t have a God-Touched to open it up, otherwise he wouldn¡¯t have his Lions on high-alert for any in the area, and Lamb wouldn¡¯t have been nabbed like the little dumbass that he is.¡± I frowned at that, but it was said with affection. At least, I thought it was. Jorge¡¯s heavy brogue could make just about anything sound friendly when combined with his likely skill-enforced charisma, so perhaps he was just an ass. Unlikely though. Besides, with the benefit of hindsight it had been pretty dumb to go sneaking off right after a fight like I had in Colchet. Pretty dumb even in the moment too, let¡¯s be honest. I ignored the traitorous little voice in my head and continued listening as Jorge reassured Vera. ¡°We still don¡¯t know how he¡¯s getting his information, but it¡¯s clear he was still searching, at least as recently as Colchet which was, what? 6 weeks ago?¡± ¡°And what if he¡¯s found someone new in the meantime? What then, Jorge?¡± she retorted. ¡°We just sit here, twiddling our thumbs while we take another injured bird under our wing, letting her recover and train and learn and grow and all the while, my fucking people are starving and dying under the hands of a tyrant!¡± She was nearly hissing at the end, and Jorge laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. I recalled the frustration I¡¯d felt bubbling within me while out hunting for Frost-Wargs a few days before and had a sudden burst of sympathy for Vera. She¡¯d waited while Nathlan recovered. Perhaps not exactly patiently, but she had waited. Then when we¡¯d finally set off, she¡¯d allowed us to take our time, earning experience and training ourselves ¨C Nathlan and myself, primarily ¨C instead of rushing as fast as possible through the Dragon-Spines, and all of this without complaint. Then the woman who was the very cause of Nathlan¡¯s delay turns up and begs for help before passing out at our feet, and we were once again beset with more delays. ¡°Aye, fair point. But it will only delay us a few days, and the possible benefits outweigh the slight delay, in my mind. She¡¯s strong, Vera. Not as much as Nathlan or Lamb, perhaps, but strong nonetheless. I know we¡¯re aiming to get some help from some of your lads that stayed home, but you know better than me that the pickings will be slim. Even now, she¡¯s likely worth at least a few of the Lions, let alone the house guard. The Duke and his elites will be for you and I to deal with, but who¡¯ll handle the rest?¡± ¡°That¡¯s my point though ¨C one or two people won¡¯t make a lick of difference either way if this comes to an open battle,¡± Vera whispered, voice now controlled again. ¡°We¡¯ll more than likely be sneaking into the lion¡¯s den ¨C pardon the pun ¨C and a 1st tier, no matter how exceptional, won¡¯t be much help with that when the chaos sets in. Fuck, how are we even going to do this, Jorge?¡± Vera sounded weary by the end, her anger spent and hopelessness creeping into her voice. Jorge laid a hand on her shoulder, the gesture so natural it seemed he had done so a thousand times before. ¡°We¡¯ll find a way, lass. Something big is coming, I can feel it. There¡¯s a shift, Vera. ¡®The Al¡¯Sazine are on the move¡¯¡± he quoted, and a memory of a craggy face with eyes of swirling ink backlit against the rolling clouds of the Wandering States filled my mind as I heard the words. ¡°In many ways, I wonder if a few days delay might help us in this¡­¡± ¡°You can¡¯t know that, Jorge. I know you can¡¯t time things that well. It¡¯s all guess work in the end, and we both know that you¡¯re gone the moment the Tree stirs¡± she said bitterly. ¡°Not quite, Vera. But yes, we can¡¯t time things so precisely. Nevertheless, I think you¡¯ll have more support than you expect should my suspicions come to pass. The lads are-¡± He cut off abruptly as my bedroll shifted against the rock below me and made a small scraping sound. I cursed inwardly, having tried to adjust my position minutely. Thinking fast, I coughed and snored before rolling over onto my side, letting the snore taper off slowly over the course of several breaths. For a while the only sounds I could hear were that of my own breathing, the hot embers letting out the occasional hiss and crackle as an errant snowflake was blown in through the mouth of the cave to dissolve in the fire¡¯s softly burning glow. ¡°Look lass, that young girl¡¯s got rage inside her enough to match your own, if I had to guess. Hastor was a prick, and apparently killed his own wife. I¡¯ve not seen an empowerment ritual used like that for many, many years ¨C not particularly effective in the end beyond a small short-term boost ¨C but I¡¯d bet tarrots to toenails that her mother¡¯s life was the one used to power it. If she knows that already...well, you can well understand the anger. Surprised that it seems to have brought her clarity about her own actions though.¡± ¡°No, Jorge, I don¡¯t find that surprising in the least,¡± Vera replied quietly, her voice turning introspective. ¡°Anger is most often aimed at the self, and is only sent outwards when one is too weak to accept its judgement.¡± I heard him pat her on the knee, as he rose, biting back a groan but not quite silencing it. I smiled to myself to hear it ¨C he was so dramatic he¡¯d fooled even himself. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to think it over, Vera. She needs some guidance though, and you¡¯re the one to give it if you can stomach it. 3 more weeks and we¡¯ll be coast-bound on a river vessel, long as the weather holds. We''ve got till then to figure things out. I¡¯ll be getting some rest now.¡± It took a long while for sleep to claim me after I heard the rustle and slither of Jorge settling down. I had no frame of reference, but my mind raced for what felt like at least a bell, turning over the implications of what I¡¯d heard. Something was coming. I thought of the Subakir¡¯s words; ¡®not my turn¡¯, ¡®Don¡¯t fear the turning of the seasons¡¯. The giant¡¯s unfathomable face and voice like the grinding of a rockslide. Thoughts swirling, sleep eventually wrapped me in its confusing embrace before I heard Vera move. Chapter 86 - To Gamble On Mercy A few of colleagues view the world through the lens of dialectics. It is not a perspective I favour myself - the universe rarely obliges us in our investigations after all, and to be understandable through but a single inferential tool would be highly unusual. The best argument for its explanatory power though would without a doubt be the Desolate Empire. The Empire is a tangled web of conflicting interests; a bevy of ruling families that intermarry and war on one another intermittently through the shadows while administering the state as a side effect. When viewed through a dialectical lens however, it begins to make sense. The ruling families rise and fall every few generations, and usually climb from criminal syndicates in the heartlands. They compete with one another economically and militarily, but the tools of the state are barred from them for this purpose. There is, in fact, a shadow government that rules in truth in the Desolate Empire - the bureaucracy. It is the central bureaucracy that determines what resources each dynasty may use in their eternal war against the other ruling families. They are free to use their own resources, but the central state apparatus - the Spiders, namely, as the foremost assassins and spies in Tsanderos - is barred from them. This sounds like an inherently unstable system, where a ruling family is just waiting for enough power to commit to a coup and take the state power from the hands of the bureaucrats and into their own, but the lens of dialectics can help us here to understand why the Empire has been around since the early days of the era. The guilds, powerful and enduring and part of the bedrock of the empire itself, are in constant battle with the ruling families that run the economy, and this pull and push, this seesaw of power gives the central bureaucracy enough wiggle room to plot a course through the strife. The families cannot take power because the guild militias will not allow it, and the guilds are similarly barred from power by the ruling families and their house guards. The imperial army stays out of the conflict and acts only in the interests of the state as a whole. This extraordinary level of military readiness; 3 distinct armed forces within one polity, is likely responsible for the Empire''s ability to survive not just external shocks, but the very sacking of its capital early in the era. Dialectics is a blind man''s wisdom, but the Desolate Empire was built by a fool, and so it should be no surprise that it is useful in this case. That is the lesson here, my students. Never turn away from a tool if it suits the task. - Harmdell Ess, in his lecture ''the heartlands and their shortcomings'' in the White Tower Consortium, circa .256
The decision came around slowly, Jacyntha kept sedated for two entire days. And yet, when it arrived, I found myself not yet ready for its presence. It hung before us, ponderous with its importance, and I found myself watching Nathlan as the barbarian woke. I¡¯d spoken with him in the intervening travel, slowed as we were by the sled and limited to lower valleys with less¡­vertical¡­routes, but while his anger had softened, I would not class him as accepting of the suggestion to recruit her. Jacyntha¡¯s first words destroyed any plans I may have had to steer the conversation, but they proved more effective than any I could summon anyway. She woke slowly, and stiffened as she took in the view; a mountain pass above a cloud-inversion with two great peaks on either side of us. Her sled rested on top of a cairn built to both mark the way and offer shelter from the wind, rocks stacked with deceptive purpose despite their haphazard appearance. We¡¯d removed the straps from her sled to offer her more freedom as she woke, and stood a few meters away, admiring the view while we waited. At her waking, Nathlan watched her carefully, hand drumming against his thigh, near to his sword hilt but very deliberately not touching it. Yet. She looked from him to me, to Jorge and Vera. Her eyes widened at Sadrianna¡¯s presence at our side, and then down to the sleeping from on her lap. Her hands rose unconsciously to scratch behind the stubby ears of the Cat-Bear, and it wriggled in its sleep, little legs stretching out into the air before folding back in to cover its belly. When she looked up from the creature several breaths later, it was to meet Nathlan''s steely gaze. ¡°My father always told me that to hesitate showed a weakness of body and spirit. A lack of commitment. He said weakness was what had killed my mother.¡± Her voice was parched, crackling with dryness, despite the wet towel Jorge had pressed to her mouth and strained every bell during our march. ¡°And yet, your hesitation is the reason I am alive,¡± she said, ¡°so I am left to wonder¡­was it weakness?¡± Nathlan stayed silent, hand clenching. ¡°Do you wish to kill me now, but lack the strength?¡± She asked, seemingly earnest in her questioning. ¡°Or was my father wrong?¡± It was then that Nathlan spoke, and though he didn''t reach for his blade, his words held an edge of their own. ¡°You tell me. You killed him, after all.¡± A shadow passed over her face, and she was silent for long moments. ¡°I did. Tell me - what happened to the creature I fought? That winged serpent?¡± she asked, changing topic suddenly. ¡°I killed it,¡± Nathlan said, each word clipped in tightly constrained anger. She kneaded the little creature in her arms for long moments. ¡°I see. Much of what I believed was not true, it seems. That does not mean I can stop believing it though. It was weakness that killed my mother, and it was weakness that injured your leg.¡± Nathlan¡¯s hand clenched and stayed locked in a fist, trembling slightly. I sucked in a breath, feeling the threat in the air. It seemed we would not be recruiting her after all. The question now became whether we would abandon Jacyntha, or just her corpse. ¡°A week ago, I learned that it was my father who had killed my mother, and the ritual that I took part in had started on that very night, years before it reached me. It was my father¡¯s inability to accept his own weakness that caused so much suffering. I believe now that it was my own weakness, and my inability to accept it, that caused your suffering, too.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. She looked down at the sleeping cub in her lap for a few moments, and I watched Nathlan¡¯s fist relax slightly. ¡°I am sorry for the pain I have caused you, lowlander,¡± she said. Silence greeted the statement, and Nathlan nodded stiffly before spinning on his heel and walking away. He caught Jorge''s eye as he walked past, and gave him a nod, the gesture also stiff, before he stalked off to stare out over the white blanket covering the world. I clapped my hands, then grimaced and raised my hands in apology at the reproachful look the little cub gave me as I''d disturbed its slumber. ¡°That was a remarkably good start, I''m pleasantly surprised¡± I said cheerily, and gestured to Jorge. ¡°I imagine she¡¯s got questions, and you¡¯ve shown a remarkable ability to suffer through dumb questions before, so I''ll leave you to it. Shout if you need something,¡± I said as I walked over to stand next to my friend. The clouds seemed to be frozen in space, not scudding past like usual. They floated, fluffy little banks of snow, a magenta glow bleeding through at the horizon as the sun began its great descent. I was reminded strangely of a beach, the way the water retreated to leave orderly ridges of sand. Or sand dunes in a desert. ¡°It''s beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡± I asked, and Nathlan turned to regard me beneath heavy brows. ¡°You are not planning on workshopping another poem, are you?¡± He asked in alarm. ¡°A cloudbank blanket covers the world, and my soul along with it,¡± I began, ¡°but we few, we lucky few that sought the sky, on this day we find gold.¡± He raised an eyebrow in surprise. ¡°That was not the worst you¡¯ve come up with¡± he allowed begrudgingly, and I beamed back at him. ¡°I knew you¡¯d come around, mate. ¡®Lamb The Poet¡¯ has a bit of a ring to it, now that I think of it,¡± I said, swaying to the side instinctively from the light punch I knew to be coming. No impact came though, and I looked back to see him staring out at the beautiful vista as it inched towards sunset. He looked wistful, a touch sad. ¡°You have to admit, it was a pretty good apology,¡± I said quietly. He shrugged in response. ¡°That does not mean I have to forgive her though¡± he replied, and I conceded the point. ¡°Aye, but you don''t need to like someone to work with them. When we head back to the Leviathan Coast to sort out the mess the Wavebreakers have made of things, we¡¯ll likely have to work with some fairly unsavory people too,¡± I said. He whipped around like a startled rabbit, his sharp nose nearly taking my eye out as he did so. I leaned back, startled. ¡°What do you mean ¡®when we go back¡¯!? We have not discussed anything of the sort,¡± he exclaimed, and if I didn''t know him better, I would have thought I detected anger driving those words. I did know him better though, and I could see the shock on his face softening as I replied. ¡°Well, you¡¯re not just gonna leave things as they are, are you? If you go back, it won''t be on your own, my friend,¡± I said as I clapped him on the shoulder. He turned back to the view abruptly, and I pretended not to see the clenching of his jaw. It hurt to know how lonely he was, how little trust he had in the world and his friends, even now. But I would build it back up, with word and deed, and blood and tears. ¡°No matter what, mate. Sadrianna might return for the clans, Vera may have her fill of revenge, and even Jorge might hang up his crook at the end of this. But I''ll be there for the next fight if you choose one, I promise you that.¡± I¡¯d never been much for earnest and heartfelt words - I preferred to say cheerful nonsense and let my actions speak for me, but it felt like the moment called for a solemn vow. Just because it didn''t come naturally to me didn''t make it any less true, though. Vera and Jorge were companions and mentors, Sadrianna a peer. Nathlan though¡­Nathlan was a friend. My only one in all the world, honestly. I¡¯d do a lot for that bond. ¡°You really would come to Ship''s Rest? Help me fix things? I had thought-¡± he cut himself off, then started again a moment later. ¡°I had thought it would take years¡­¡± ¡°Aye,¡± I replied with a smile, ¡°I like to move fast though. 2nd tier in less than a year? Why, I''m pretty much a prodigy!¡± I smirked at him out of the corner of my eye. ¡°It¡¯s no surprise you have struggled to keep up with my impressive pace, young Nathlan.¡± ¡°Shall we test the limits of Break-Step so soon, Lamb?¡± He asked in reply, an arched brow accentuating the threat. We both looked at the sheer drop below us, the ground invisible beneath mist and cloud. ¡°Why is it that so many of your jokes are framed around ways to kill me? Vera does it too,¡± I groused. It was his turn to smirk then, and I was glad to see the mirth once more, hidden as it had been these last two days. ¡°It sounds like you are the common denominator there¡­¡± he said. I chuckled, before sobering once more. ¡°Jokes aside, we will need to push ourselves to survive what is to come, and the more allies in this fight, the better.¡± He snorted softly, returning to gazing over the ¡®cloudbank blanket¡¯ as I''d named the view. ¡°Do you truly believe she has changed so quickly? That we can now simply trust her word?¡± He asked. ¡°Not really,¡± I said, shrugging. ¡°But we can keep an eye on her. She doesn''t have much to gain by hurting us, and everything to lose. Plus¡­if she sticks around, then so does the little Cat-Bear¡­¡± I left the bait dangling, and he cursed me softly as I saw it catch. That animal was too cute by half, and my friend was thoroughly smitten already. I dreaded the day it could talk and realised I could understand it though - it was already entitled beyond all reason, and I doubted self-awareness and further power would help ameliorate that character flaw.
The day after Jacyntha joined us, Nathlan broke through to the 2nd tier. He earned himself the Frost-Wreathed ancestry which, alongside a boost to cognition and agility, also conferred a minor cold-resistance, according to Jorge. Nathlan struggled to notice a difference by his accounts, but that wasn''t surprising given we hadn''t exactly tested our limits to establish a solid baseline first. The newly minted Ravenor of Deceit was more settled as he returned from the mountain-top beside Jorge - it was plain to see in his stance. Some of the stoop that he had lived with for as long as I had known him had left, and while he wasn''t quite the imposing swordsman I sometimes saw him as, he did have a more regal air. I could well envisage him as the prince to a large kingdom that he technically was. He was still wary of Jacyntha, as we all were, but the evening before - the very same day she had joined us - had helped cool our antipathy. Jorge was correct on two fronts, as he so often was. First, she had jumped at the chance of joining us with a surprising fervor. Second, she was indeed broken. She had taken the opportunity to apologise once more around the fire that evening as her broken arm recovered. It wasn''t often that I witnessed an apology, but it was clear even to me that this was genuine. She was wracked with self-loathing and wore her shame like a heavy cloak, visible to all. She then shared her story, and it became evident where that shame came from. Our group was no stranger to sad tales - Vera and Nathlan had very obvious pain hidden in their past, and while Jorge had never shared, it was clear he still suffered from something lurking in his past as well. But Jacyntha was so obviously shaped by her history that it was almost reductive. We had all listened to the tale, and then Jacyntha had stood and left, hiding within a spare tent provided by Jorge, with the comfort of the Cat-Bear to cover her tears. We all felt sympathy, as far as I could tell, and the story had done a lot to help Nathlan overcome his resentment, which I suspected was one of the things holding him back from his breakthrough. It seemed too much of a coincidence after all, that only a day later, Jorge took him aside and they returned blessed by new power. Vera though seemed to be the one to feel the most, surprisingly. She had been angry on Nathlan¡¯s behalf, and disagreed with Jorge¡¯s suggestion to recruit the woman based on the conversation I had overheard the night prior. But today she had taken Jacyntha and disappeared into the grey clouds below us, ostensibly for further training. Vera had a nurturing side to her, that both Nathlan and I had seen, albeit rarely. Jacyntha''s shame had been evident the night before, but so too was her rage. If there was one thing Vera understood, it was anger, and I imagined the barbarian woman¡¯s plight reminded her somewhat of her own struggle. Or perhaps she was simply more practical than I realised and was determined that our new ally be as strong and capable as possible. Only Vera could know, in the end. In that manner, we travelled through the Dragon-Spine Mountains, and the days became weeks. Power was accumulated slowly, and the group that had set off to cross the mountains was very different to the one that emerged at the other side. When we left the high peaks behind and headed down through low hills towards the Riverlands, we were a match for anyone. Chapter 87 - River Pirates We seemed to fly through the gently rolling hills of the Riverlands after enduring the punishing conditions of the Dragon-Spines for long weeks. By the way Vera, Jorge, and Nathlan had talked of The Verdant Land, I had expected green pastures split by hedgerows and stone walls, pleasant copses of trees scattered about to house the giant flocks of starlings that would fill the sky with their murmerations. Instead, my eyes were met by a hundred shades of brown. The Riverlands was a large kingdom that spanned from the Dragon-Spine Mountains all the way to the Leviathan coast, and butted up against the Sunset Kingdoms far to the West. It was a rich and fertile country, courtesy of the meltwater that spilled every spring from the high mountain glaciers, but this extraordinary fecundity was the very thing to blame for the sad brown mess that I now saw. The uplands of the Riverlands experienced a double harvest ¨C once in late summer and again in early spring. Swedes, turnips, carrots and other root-bound vegetables were sown during late summer and laid dormant throughout the mellow winter months before bursting to life as the days lengthened and the sun returned. It went against everything I knew about farming, but given that I didn¡¯t know much to begin with, perhaps that was no surprise. In any case, fields of brown mud spread below me, punctuated with small green shoots and fronds from the vegetables crawling their way to the wan winter sunlight, and from my position far above it seemed as if the earth had been split into straight lines by some god-like being. My perception was enhanced further than it had ever been before, similar to the rest of my attributes, and I felt like the entire world opened before me. I had steadily increased my perception with the bounty of my levels as we travelled, but the jagged topography of the Dragon-Spine Mountains prevented me from truly seeing the magnitude of the increase until now. The winding rivers that gave the land below us its name spread outwards over the segmented fields and brought to mind a comparison to veins threading their way across a great compound eye, impossibly vast, that glared unblinking back at the stars that danced above during the night. I marvelled at the view before speeding up to catch the others as they descended down easy switchbacks ahead of me, my body responding fluidly to my commands. We had spent near enough a month traversing the mountains, and I had grown substantially in power. 15 levels in the 2nd tier gave me more attributes than the preceding 30 in the 1st tier, and while attributes weren¡¯t everything, I knew I was a significantly more dangerous fighter now. My skills were lagging behind the rapid growth as far as I was concerned, though that was the way of things in the 2nd tier, even for a combat-classer like me. Every single skill had seen at least one increase in level, with a few levelling twice, and Break-Step three times thanks to the amount I used it for fun as well as violence. Ancestry: Titan-Forged Human (evolved) Level: 59 Class: Blood Of The Mountains Titles: God-Touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 125 Agility: 105 Endurance: 75 Perception: 70 Cognition: 60 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: A Frozen Pyrre: Level 2. Passive. Axis-Shift: Level 3. Active. Stride The Edge: Level 4. Passive. Break-Step: Level 5. Active. End Of The Hunt: Level 2. Active. Myrmiddion Spear: Level 3. Passive. Shatter Point: Level 4. Active. The Mountain¡¯s Gate: Level 2. Active. Jorge and Vera hadn¡¯t levelled as far as I knew, but that was to be expected, and they weren¡¯t slowing us down anyway. My speed, due to a massive increase in both strength and agility and a modest one to endurance, had nearly doubled and I practically flew over the ground when I let myself go. Nathlan had earned himself just as many levels as me, possibly even a few more, and his was the greatest increase in power amongst our group. He now matched me for attributes and had a lifetime of swordsmanship to draw on as well. He still lacked the instinct for using his newfound physicality that I seemed to have, and privately I was beginning to think I had a knack for fighting ¨C the mentality of it, the desperate struggle, seemed suited to the way my mind worked and I had little trouble bending with the flow of battle where Nathlan himself appeared to sometimes flounder ¨C but his greater skill was more than enough to overcome that small distance between us, and I found myself routinely beaten in our sparring. It wasn¡¯t an entirely one-sided event though when we fought, and I could sometimes edge my way to a clean victory or pyrrhic defeat. Sadrianna had gained a few levels as well, though not as many as us. That was both a function of her higher level to begin with, and therefore the greater experience requirements, but also due to her hanging back and letting Nathlan and myself engage in most of the fighting that we managed to hunt out. Jacyntha had gained no levels herself, being already at the peak of the 1st tier, but she was working with both Jorge and Vera to reshape her class into something that could work with the ritual literally written across her body rather than be entirely supplanted by it. As our tiny warband left the grasp of the snowbound peaks and reached the flatlands below in earnest, our purpose became more clear. A new sense of urgency, one that we had somewhat lost in our trek through the high mountains, began to appear in our steps once more, and the air felt like it was charged with thunder. We stayed the night in an abandoned bothy and the next day saw us trekking past muddy fields, waving at the occasional farmer and drawing curious looks from each, until we emerged onto the bank of a great river. It was one of the many that we had seen fleeing the freezing mountains and rushing towards the sea uncounted miles away. 40 meters wide at the least, it cut through the earth, wending this way and that. With the sun shining off its reflective surface, it resembled a great snake slithering its way through the countryside. We followed it for a time, eventually emerging onto a well-travelled road, gravel surfaced, the raised sides paved with heavy river stones. Now and then, horse-drawn carriages trundled along ¨C like the palanquins of the Copper Canyons but drawn by shaggy-maned horses rather than people ¨C and in a new experience for me, I saw soldiers for the first time. Not city guards, criminal enforcers, or a bodyguards to wealthy nobles. Actual soldiers in matching uniforms, armour glinting and polished, tramping across the road six abreast in a chain many hundreds of meters long. I was shocked. Jorge had explained that while he had previously told me that large standing armies didn¡¯t really exist as such on the continent of Tsanderos, likely due to the gods¡¯ creation of the system, that did not mean that smaller armies weren¡¯t still in use. This was a fertile land, and the Riverlands as a kingdom was heavily concentrated, though power was divested to many feudal lords rather than a single administration, and so larger than average armies were able to be sourced, fielded and equipped. They would collapse quickly in the face of the mountain barbarian¡¯s upper echelon of warriors, and the same was true of other powers like that of The Leviathan Coast, but the Riverlands had their own powerful classers to safeguard the sovereignty of the area. These soldiers were for internal control.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Being an agricultural exporter to a wealthy and powerful neighbour like the Leviathan Coast ¨C one with access to ocean trade, no matter how diminished ¨C brought with it wealth and prestige, but that all hinged on the cheap and accessible transport that was provided by the flatlands and, more importantly, the rivers that slithered across them. The chief danger to the Riverlands was banditry, and thus a standing army of 1st and 2nd tier soldiers was required. Farming was hard work, after all, and many a young man or woman could be tempted to take up a blade and ply the busy trade routes rather than break their backs in the fields. Especially so considering the bountiful prey and mild weather making for an easy life out in the forests far from settlement and order. It was the regular presence of these small travelling armies that allowed such busy roads to flourish, traders of all kinds travelling by foot, horse, carriage, and boat along the arteries that the rivers marked out. We were soon to find out how necessary such soldiers were.
We came across a port town before the day was through. Great paved roads lined the river on either side, and a massive stone bridge connected both sides of the town across the yawning water between them, reaching over a dozen meters into the air at its zenith. Jetties stuck out into the river on either side at regular intervals, turning the waterside settlement into a colossal centipede, many legs splayed over the surface. Another, smaller bridge made mostly of thick wooden scaffold was in the process of being erected at the other end of the town, and two low stone walls ringed the settlement. These walls didn¡¯t look like they could bare a charge from Vera, let alone a horde of wild beasts. Even a human no more than halfway into their 1st tier with a support class would be able to leap over it with ease if they spent their attributes carefully. It seemed to me more like a demarcation than a true barrier, but given the soldiers I had previously seen, perhaps when manned it became a truly defensible position. We stopped at an inn, had a good night''s sleep, a hearty meal, ale and conversation. Jorge mingled with strangers, while I tried my hand at a game of knuckle bones in a corner. I wasn''t particularly proficient when it came to gambling and I had little money to spend, but I did earn myself a few free drinks, until the weighted dice came out. I wasn''t a fool though, and I laughed off the defeat with good grace and returned to the table where Nathlan, Jacyntha, Sadrianna and Vera were discussing the rising tensions between The Desolate Empire and The Leviathan Coast quietly in a candlelit corner. Nathlan didn¡¯t think it would come to much, though Vera was a little more concerned. The two barbarians didn¡¯t have much of an opinion on the affairs of lowlanders though and seemed to be engrossed in a conversation of their own about the clans. Sadrianna was theorising new schemes for intra-clan cohesion that Jacyntha would try to dismantle and find the flaws with, and both women seemed to be enjoying the talk. On the morrow we departed on a barge that shipped cargo down the river, heading all the way to the large port town on the edge of The Leviathan Coast. Jorge had paid for our fare, and we had a greatly reduced rate with the agreement that we would act as bodyguards for the barge. Bandits were apparently common in the area, praying on the lightly defended barges that ferried goods up and down the great rivers. Of course, the soldiers would root out any particularly successful and large operations, but small groups could strike in one area and vanish into the forests before retribution could be enacted only to crop up in another. I was looking forward to a good fight by this point though ¨C weeks of hiking and battling wild animals and monsters had made me restless for true combat against an intelligent adversary. So while it was a pleasant journey for the first day, I couldn¡¯t help but find myself wishing for something to happen. I had power boiling in my blood, and I had nothing to use it on. Us youngsters, as Jorge called everyone but him and Vera, sparred on the deck in front of the eyes of a half dozen guards ¨C we were not the only ones hired to protect the cargo, after all, and would not be travelling the whole way. We all had attribute gains to adjust to and skills to work on. Nathlan and I getting used to our new classes, Sadrianna getting the most out of her skill levels and aligning them to her path, and Jacyntha working on some strange breathing and stretching exercises that Vera had given her. She was helping her focus her anger and self-recrimination into a more healthy direction, and Jorge had given her specific spiritual exercises to work on alongside it all, to help her connect to her once distant skills. The few guards the traders employed seemed initially hesitant and skittish around us. Most were in the late 1st tier, but there were two 2nd tier warriors, one the captain, and one the fourth son of a merchant house of minor acclaim. They were understandably cautious, knowing they couldn''t protect the traders from two 3rd tier and three 2nd tier warriors, all heavily armed and clearly experienced. I doubted they could accurately tell exactly how strong we all were, but Jorge and Vera were clearly much more powerful, and the feeling I got from both guards was that I could defeat either if I needed to, so I assumed they knew we were out of their league. It came as no surprise when the bandits attacked on the second day. Jorge had strode up onto the top deck, with weapons and armour gleaming, and bellowed at the top of his lungs; ¡°Bandits!¡± I heard Vera appear moments later, with myself, Sadrianna, Nathlan and Jacyntha arrayed behind. We stood at the bow, arranged in an arrow formation, while the guards were still gathering their weapons and shrugging on their armour in preparation for the fight to come. I had half thought that the bandits would leave us be, seeing such a host arrayed before them. The sunlight gleamed off our armour now that the heavy winter furs were removed, and though I hadn¡¯t thought they¡¯d run from our appearance alone, it should have given them some sort of clue that we were not simple guards. Maybe brief hesitation, maybe they¡¯d even lay low and let us pass¡­no such thing happened though. Perhaps they were desperate, starving in the forests because of a crippling tax policy by a corrupt king. Perhaps they were simply evil, intent on committing violence, and not willing to settle down for a life of drudgery and work. In the end, it did not matter. They stood against us, sought to kill our charges, loot their goods and sprinkle the river with their blood and we could not allow such a thing. Their fate had been sealed the moment they decided to face us. They were braver than I thought, and I marvelled as two tall trees on the other side of the bank suddenly hoisted black flags above. I squinted and saw a young lad in each tree frantically waving a black flag, crossed bones in white stitched into it. I leaned over to Nathlan at my side and whispered, ¡°River pirates¡±, and he swatted at me. ¡°Pirates are only found in the ocean, Lamb,¡± he retorted. ¡°These are just bandits.¡± ¡°They are attacking ships, and they have a gods-damned pirate flag. They are pirates, and I won¡¯t hear a word against it¡± I answered back, and he shook his head, smile tugging at his lips. My attention was wrenched back to the treeline though, as a score of pirates emerged on either side of the river. Men and women with painted faces, bandanas wrapping their heads, necks, weapons and arms in a strange approximation of a uniform. They massed on either side of the bank and then I saw the grappling hooks whirling in their hands and gleaming in the sun. Ropes sailed towards us, thick metal hooks digging into the wood of the barge where they found purchase, some falling to the water but many striking true. The guards let out startled cries of alarm when they saw the numbers, but Jorge and Vera drew their weapons and rushed down one length of the ship, slicing through ropes before the pirates managed to snare us. The rest of us sprinted along the other side of the barge to do the same. My hatchet cut through one rope while Jacyntha''s long knife cut through another. Sadrianna did the same with hers, and Nathlan''s straight-edged blade sliced the penultimate one. I heard a few cries and turned to the group on our left to see one pirate sliding down from the tree with the flag 20 meters away, a wooden pole held above his head that slipped along the rope carrying him towards us, long knife clutched in his teeth and a bandolier of weapons jangling as he sped through the air. I summoned Resolution to hand, took a half-step and threw my spear. It took him in the chest, punching him from the rope, and even as I watched him plummet into the water below, Nathlan was there slicing through that final binding. The pirates looked shocked. Sure, they had backup ropes, but the speed with which we''d deconstructed their ambush clearly gave them pause. Jorge was not content to let them stay to prey on the next group though. He pointed to the left and shouted at us to take out the pirates on that embankment, before he and Vera dove into the river and headed to the one on the right, cutting through the water like sharks out for blood. I turned back to the guard captain and motioned to the hatch that covered the stairs heading down into the bowels of the ship where the trader and her family were secured. ¡°Protect them should we miss any,¡± I said, and then I, like my companions, dove over the side of the barge. Some of our armour was heavy, but we had the strength to push through the water even so. I found it difficult to swim easily with both hands, given my shield that was strapped to my left arm was strangely buoyant, but I managed to one arm stroke my way to shore easily enough, and halfway there I found one of the ropes that had been severed. I pulled on it and heaved my way in quickly. Sadrianna was already springing up onto the bank and bearing her weapons, her spear taking one of the surprised pirates in the throat. Jacyntha appeared next, green runes flaring to life on her scarred skin and with a roar she was among them like a wolf among sheep. Nathlan and I emerged at similar times and set to the slaughter as well. Clean strikes, quick deaths. The fate they would face were we to capture them and bring them in to one of the port towns littering the Riverlands would be worse than a quick death by blade; hanging, or potentially something worse to prove a point or appease the populace, and we saw no point in prolonging their suffering. It didn''t take long. It was over in less than a tenth of a bell, the clanging of steel on steel giving way to a weighty silence. No laboured breathing, no cries of pain. We had killed quickly and efficiently, hardly even needing to use our skills. Jorge and Vera were finished even quicker than us, and had faced the brunt of the enemy besides. There was only one 2nd tier on our side of the river and he had fallen easily to Sadrianna¡¯s spear. Her initial charge ¨C Markhor¡¯s Rush lending her speed, implacable power, and ghostly mana-wrought horns¨C had scattered most of the pirates, and with their line broken they were easy prey for our superior weapons-work. I dismissed the notifications even as they arrived, not interested in seeing their levels and classes. This was a practical matter, done to safeguard the lives of others, not for the purpose of my own advancement. Given there had been less than a score of them, I had killed perhaps four or five myself. With their low levels, there was not enough experience for me to gain a level or increase any of my skills. We swiftly returned to the barge, the guard-captain agreeing to send a message on to the lord that ruled these lands to appraise them of the attack and result once we docked again. Jorge graciously allowed the captain and his crew to claim the bounty if there was one, since we had no interest in waiting around for any reward. It was the last excitement for that voyage, but it seemed that all our bad luck had saved itself up for when we arrived at Darrow¡¯s Edge. Smoke was in the air. Chapter 88 - Tensions Rising There is nothing quite like fire to blacken the soul. It stains you, chokes your compassion and burns away all mercy. I promise you this, Archon, once you have felt the flame¡¯s kiss on your face, you will never judge me and mine again. - Kragnar, Chief of the Burning Hundred mercenary company to Archon of High House Silica of The Desolate Empire, circa .269
Smoke stained the horizon as we drifted ever closer. The guards had begun murmuring nervously a few miles back when it first became obvious to them where it was coming from, but Jorge had informed us quietly well before that. His nose was keen as ever, and apparently it wasn¡¯t just wood that was burning in the distance. Weapons and armour were once more donned, and the traders were locked below. Jorge had even taken care to discuss with the guard captain and his lieutenant about the plan and what to expect when we arrived, and they were in full agreement with the older veteran, unsurprisingly. They all still remembered how we had carved effortlessly through the pirates a few days ago. The barge moored a mile or so out from the port-town, and the guards did their best to hunker down by the newly extended oars, preparing themselves for a swift take-off up-river if needed. We promised to return within two bells time, and strongly suggested they return to the previous town if we didn¡¯t. So it was that we found ourselves hiking through oaken forest towards a desolated town. There was no sound coming from the settlement when we arrived, no shouting of dockworkers or shopkeepers, no clatter of horses and carts. Even the ever-present screaming of gulls that we had started to hear as we approached the coast was missing, and the silence felt far more grating now than their screeching calls. We swept into the blackened town like a silent tide, disturbing the ash that dusted every surface and set it eddying in strange patterns near to the floor. Every home had its doors and windows broken in, though I couldn¡¯t tell if that had happened during the siege or afterwards from the fire that had been left to ravage the ruins. And a siege is surely what had occurred here. The gatehouse, which stood at least 6 meters tall based on the remaining struts and pillars that hadn¡¯t fallen, was smashed in, the gate half-submerged in mud. The low stone wall, similar in style to the town we had stayed in a few nights passed, was left entirely untouched as far as I could tell. Bodies were strewn across it at regular intervals, charred husks still smoking in their dying poses telling a brutal tale. As easy as we had dispatched the small band of river pirates on the way here, this was the other side of the coin. I didn¡¯t know whether this was the result of a larger, more well-equipped bandit group, or even the result of more ¡®legitimate¡¯ warfare between two feuding lords, but the destruction was total. This town would likely recover one day given its location, but it would not be the same town. Would never be what it once was. I spat to one side, ash coating my mouth and making my saliva thick and bitter. We searched in vain for a bell, hoping to find any hint of survivors, or even tracks showing where they may have fed to, but it was fruitless. But then I heard Vera call out for help, and arrived to a heart-breaking scene. She stood inside a burnt-down house, legs braced and a massive central wooden beam clutched in both hands held above her head. I was confused for a moment, wondering what the issue was, before I saw two things. A man, soot-stained and covered in dried blood, lying below Vera but clearly alive and struggling to move, and the roof of the entire house above slowly falling in, tiles slipping away and a terrible groaning escaping from the wooden structure. Vera was incredibly strong, but in order to support the weight of the wood and tile roof, she needed to remain in place, and the man was too injured to move. It appears she had lifted the entire structure off the floor, and he had escaped death only by being trapped within, hidden from notice during the chaos of the siege. I darted in, picking him up as gently as I could without wasting time, and slapped Vera on the back as I exited. She ground out through gritted teeth, ¡°Check..for¡­others¡±, as I passed. I placed the man down on the mud outside, cradling his head to get a good look at him. I asked him, as clearly as I could, ¡°Is there anyone else inside?¡± He looked at me with wild eyes, face streaked with tears and blood, and I was reminded of a horse on the verge of panic. ¡°They took my girl. My Bessie, my little girl ¨C they took her!¡± and he clutched gnarled hands on to my shoulders with feverish strength. I broke his grip and slapped him across the face, hard. His eyes seemed to focus a little at that and I asked again; ¡°Is there anyone else inside?¡± He gaped like a fish for a few moments before shaking his head numbly, and I stood, shooting into the house once more to confirm for myself. After a cursory look revealed nothing, I retreated and shouted to Vera to let her know it was clear. She took a breath, and then heaved the entire structure off one shoulder and let it collapse to the floor while stepping aside. A loud bang heralded the collision of heavy wooden beams and the remains of the stone walls, which crumbled from the impact. Dust plumed into the air and roofing tiles scattering to the ground alongside shards of stone mined from the uplands near the Dragon-Spines and ferried long miles to be placed with excruciating care right at this spot. All torn down in an instant. The others soon arrived, and we managed to get the story out of the injured man. Bandits ¨C a great horde numbering in the hundreds ¨C had assaulted the town while its garrison of soldiers was on the move rooting out trouble further down the coast. They were surprisingly well-equipped for common bandits though, and a raid this daring was unheard of over the last few decades.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Shit,¡± Jorge cursed, and Vera eyed him warily. ¡°We don¡¯t have time, Jorge. Not this time.¡± She said it with finality, and I knew that her patience for distractions was at an end. The urgency I¡¯d felt filling me was mirrored in her, though to a much greater degree, and this close to the Sunsets, there was no chance she would countenance another diversion. ¡°No, no, I agree. But this is¡­¡± he puffed his cheeks out before letting out a weary sigh. ¡°This changes our plans somewhat, I reckon.¡± He put his hands on his hips and motioned us to come to a halt. I placed the man down and gave him a reassuring nod before moving off to the side where the rest of the crew gathered. I¡¯d been carrying him in my arms since we left Darrow¡¯s Edge, or what remained of it, at least, on account of his injuries. He was worried when we stopped, but the reality had started to set in. He¡¯d likely never see his daughter again, and that pain could go a long way to blunting any panic he might feel at being abandoned. ¡°Right. We¡¯ve all heard that there¡¯s some tensions rising between The Desolate Empire and The Leviathan Coast, aye?¡± he asked, and we all showed our agreement in various ways. ¡°Well, the guard-captain let slip a rumour that sheds a bit more light on things. I wanted to discount it ¨C hearsay, you know? We all know how people love to talk, after all ¨C but this,¡± he said as he gestured vaguely at the smoking ruin at our backs, ¡°lends a bit of credence to it.¡± ¡°He said that The Desolate Empire had sent a scion of theirs over to House Wavebreaker for tutoring. Common practice amongst nobility and the large countries ¨C sort of like a hostage swap to make the costs of war a little higher for both sides, I suppose ¨C but the rumour is that he¡¯s gone missing.¡± ¡°Missing? You think the Wavebreaker¡¯s have killed him?¡± I asked. ¡°Oh no, lad, I highly doubt they had anything to do with it. They might be getting increasingly vain and insular, but that¡¯s a level of stupidity above standard, even for them,¡± he answered. Nathlan scowled as he interjected. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t put it past them. They have no trouble sending assassins after young boys,¡± he said darkly. ¡°Aye, it¡¯s not their compassion I¡¯m relying on here though, lad, just their intelligence. Would be a stupid thing to kill a hostage ¨C or ward, I suppose, though can¡¯t think there¡¯s much of a difference in practice ¨C and the Wavebreakers, despite their many flaws, don¡¯t strike me as a stupid bunch.¡± Nathlan begrudgingly nodded at that, and Vera took the opportunity to jump in. ¡°You think a rival power carried out a hit?¡± she asked and Jorge shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure, I¡¯m just saying that there ain¡¯t no way a dozen bandit crews just decided to join forces and ransack a well-defended port-town with easier targets still plentiful. I¡¯d bet tarrots to toenails that they got intelligence from somewhere, probably even weapons and training, and only one of the larger powers could do something like that.¡± He looked around at all of us seriously. ¡°This is all just speculation mind, but every time ¨C every single fucking time ¨C that these big powers get restless and bloodthirsty, smaller groups start to pop up with better weapons and strategy than they have any right to. Wouldn¡¯t surprise me one fucking bit if the Desolate Empire have put their Spiders to use out here in the Riverlands in retaliation for the death or kidnapping of one of their scions.¡± We all digested the words, and the surprising force with which Jorge delivered them, for a few moments. ¡°Why would they retaliate against the Riverlands though?¡± I asked. ¡°If you¡¯re saying this is between The Leviathan Coast and The Desolate Empire, then why are bandits attacking here?¡± ¡°Sensible question, Lamb. The Riverlands in general support The Leviathan Coast with shipments of food and finished goods, and when stable are a boon. If they fall to infighting and civil war though, The Leviathan Coast are cut off and much more susceptible to loss of support from the seas themselves. If the Desolate Empire are to cut off their support as well¡­well, it would be a bloody big problem for the Wavebreakers.¡± ¡°And all the commoners living beneath them,¡± Vera muttered. ¡°Aye, that too,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°Look lad,; the games of the powerful are fucked, and I wouldn¡¯t be a mite surprised if The Desolate Empire were willing to let the whole of the Riverlands burn just to send a warning to a rival power.¡± ¡°Fucking Gods,¡± I said, my turn to look pained. ¡°All of this for one noble brat?¡± ¡°The strong do as they will, the weak do as they must¡± recited Jacyntha, and I could see the tendons and muscles in her forearm bunching around the haft of her axe. ¡°Right, so what does all this mean?¡± I asked. ¡°You think there¡¯s some sort of proxy war brewing between two big powers, and the Riverlands ¨C and now us ¨C are in danger of being caught in the middle? How does this change our plans?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t¡± Vera said heatedly, and I nodded to her to show I agreed. We had a different priority, and while my heart bled for the people who would suffer at the hands of the coming conflict, it was not to their lives that I owed a debt. ¡°Aye, we still aim for the Sunsets¡± Jorge said. ¡°But I don¡¯t think we can afford to get there via The Leviathan Coast any longer.¡± ¡°Where does that leave us then? I thought the plan was to charter a ship and head all the way up, skipping the marshes and taking advantage of the North Wind to get us there faster than on foot.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, Lamb, but plans must change or else be shattered. Best chance we have now is to leave the barge here and head direct to the Sunsets on foot. The Western Marchlands are directly east through the Riverlands, and while it might take up to a week longer, though hopefully not, it¡¯s a hell of a safer bet than otherwise to my mind. What do we think?¡± he asked, looking around. We got out the map and poured over possible routes, with Vera and Jorge having by far the most input given their experience. Nathlan had local knowledge on his side when it came to the Leviathan Coast though, and begrudgingly agreed with Jorge that the risk of further delays and even more serious issues was too high to head to the coast. Jacyntha stayed silent, unsurprisingly. She had opened up a fair bit since we first took her on, but she still bore guilt for her actions, and shame for her weakness, despite the strides she had so far made in reorienting her beliefs in a less dangerous direction. She seemed to feel she had no right to speak in these group discussions and so kept her silence, and none of us had found a good way to break her from that routine. Sadrianna for her part didn¡¯t have much knowledge about it all, and simply looked on, no doubt watching keenly how Jorge and Vera handled questions of decision-making in groups. They ultimately had final say as far as I was concerned, happy to bow to their greater wisdom and experience, not to mention this was, ultimately, Vera¡¯s quest and we were just tagging along. But They didn¡¯t seem to see it that way, and it was nice as a gesture if nothing else, for Jorge and Vera to include us in the decisions, regardless. Eventually, our plan was set. East, into the forests of the Riverlands, and through a country boiling on the brink of internal collapse, if Darrow¡¯s Edge was anything to go by. We escorted the injured man back to the barge and debriefed the guard-captain and the trader of what we had found. We answered their questions patiently, and Jorge heavily advised them to turn around and head back upstream, but it was ultimately their call. We soon turned to the forest and began to run. East, to the Sunsets. East, to the Western Marchlands and Duke Ryonic. East, to our waiting destiny. Chapter 89 - To Face Death Naked Death nearly found me with my trousers around my ankles. What an embarrassing way to go that would have been. Luckily, the assassins stalking the night, aiming to kill us in our sleep, had underestimated us. We were more powerful than their usual prey, and instincts honed to a razor¡¯s edge over half a year of strife and struggle saved me. A prickling at the back of my neck, an itch underneath my fingernails, and a creeping feeling of dread up my spine warned me before the spear found my flesh. I''d awoken in the night, bladder straining, and moved just outside of Nathlan''s first ward circle to relieve myself. His outer ward was still silent and unbroken, and I was confident in his abilities. Too confident, as it turned out. So it was with surprise that I threw myself to one side, recoiling slightly at the feeling of bare flesh scraping against the roots and sticks hidden within the mulch that covered the forest floor. I heard a quiet exhalation, sharp and tightly contained, as if the person trying to skewer me was doing their best to keep noise to a minimum. I rolled over, unable to get my feet under me, but now at least able to see the shadow wielding the gleaming steel point that even now quested out towards my throat. Resolution was still tucked neatly underneath my bedroll, I had no armour to speak of, and my trousers had fallen to snare my ankles¡­suffice it to say, things weren¡¯t looking good. I willed my mana to coalesce and flood into the skill constellation for Axis-Shift, aiming to disorient the man as he lunged towards me. I noticed a slight unsteadiness in his front leg in response, and, capitalising on the moment, swung both my legs into his calf in a vicious kick. He buckled, and I smacked aside the spear with a forearm as it came within range. The shadow of a man fell to the earth, his limbs tangled amongst my own, and I rolled onto him, smearing mud from my hands over his face as I tried to grapple with him. I caught a wrist, the knife clutched within the man¡¯s fist coming perilously close to my side, and I gave him a brutal headbutt for his troubles. His nose broke and blood sprayed my face, and as I heaved back, I took advantage of the brief moment of respite to shout at the top of my lungs - ¡°Ware!¡± ¨C hearing chaos break loose immediately afterwards. The man I fought wasn¡¯t alone though, and these were no common bandits. My opponent was definitely in the 2nd tier, though I didn''t have time to get a good feel for their strength. They recovered impressively fast from the broken nose and shoved me in the chest with both hands. Rather than fight it, I went with the movement, falling back and accepting another kick to the chest as I did, which propelled me a few feet along the forest ground. Sticks, roots and other objects scraped across the naked flesh of my ass and thighs, and I knew that if I survived this fight, I would be the subject of mockery around the fire for the next few weeks. ¡®There goes Lamb Bare-Arse, sliding across the ground again¡¯. If nothing else, that thought spurred me on to finish the fight and dress properly, quicker even than the threat of death. Enough time had now passed since the sudden attack for my mind to wake up and begin to understand the situation I was in, and I finally called Resolution to my hand using the artifact link within my soul. I could hear shouting now; grunts of shock, a few cries of pain and the panicked shouting of a commander trying to restore order to an ambush gone wrong. Fire bloomed to life, crackling and raging through the canopy as Vera joined the fight, and far to my left I saw a bright green glow rush between the trees, a shining silver streak as a great twin-headed axe cut a man near in half in a single blow. I flipped back to my feet, springing off one hand and landing with the other one extended in front of me, in time to catch the spear that flew towards me. A thud of wood against flesh as Resolution landed in my grip, and then the sharp crack of wood against wood, as I deflected another strike with its red-lacquered haft. My footwork was extremely limited given the situation with my trousers, and so I couldn¡¯t fight with anything approaching my usual dexterity. But even with short shuffles and poor balance I was able to fend off the flurry of blows sent my way, and in the next moment I reversed our positions, striking out with a careful lunge, Shatter Point activating and blowing a hole through the banded steel of my opponent''s shoulder pauldron, along with the flesh and bone beneath. They screamed then, and whether it was because they had no reason to keep quiet any longer, or because their discipline failed, I wasn''t sure. A few heartbeats later and the scream cut off as my spear found their chest and punctured their heart. I looked around frantically, pulling my trousers up as I assessed the chaotic scene, and then I bounded into the fight once more. I had no armour, clad only in trousers, my chest bared to the cool night air. Thanks to A Frozen Pyrre, however, my weapons were always close at hand, and my hatchet thudded into my open fist only a moment later. Spear and hatchet gripped in hands clenching with both excitement and fear, I stormed the battlefield that our camp had become and brought death to my enemies, savage grin splitting my face like a spectre in the gloom.
*Jacyntha* Jacyntha was woken by Lamb''s hoarse call, and she needed no further explanation. Cold-Fang was in her hands, and she launched herself from her bedroll, eyes wide and rolling, her white teeth bared to the night. She saw shadows circling their camp and called on her mother¡¯s power. A flare of emerald light filled the twilight, scattering green off the empty boughs around her and turning the winter forest into a scene of spring for a brief moment. New strength flooded her body and then an arrow came whizzing towards her out of the darkness. She interposed the large head of her axe, metal clanging against metal as the projectile was deflected to one side. Not like this. It had been just over a month since the lowest point of her life, and she was now finally beginning to claw her way out of that empty hole and taste the fresh air once more. Her skills, once so distant, were now within grasp and she could taste purpose on the horizon. Redemption was too much to hope for, even now, but even the hint of it was enough to fill her with hope, and she would not risk losing her path now that she had one. She reached for the skills that had been so clouded by the ritual years ago, parted those cloying mists until she saw her life-force flow towards one, and activated Swift-Strike. She closed the distance with the archer in front of her with unnatural speed, a quick double step around the tree that they hid behind and then her axe, propelled with extra power from her skill, slammed into his midriff, carving through flesh and cleaving bone. He was split nearly in twain. Her shoulder hit his upper torso and he flopped backwards, spine severed and no longer able to hold him, while his legs stayed rooted upright for a half moment. It was a gruesome sight, but she was already through the man and looking for another foe. She didn''t care that they wore the livery of soldiers rather than bandits, didn''t care that they may feel their cause just. All that mattered was that in this moment they were trying to kill her and any dream she had of moving forwards. Absolution, once so far out of reach, now seemed to dangle before her and she knew there would be blood to be spilled, her own and that of others, before she could reach out and take it. Gritting her teeth as a blade shot out towards her, knowing she was unable to holt her momentum in time, she committed to her charge, turning her body sideways and accepting a score of fire scraping across her ribs as she slammed into a woman bearing the sword that even now dripped with Jacyntha¡¯s blood. Her elbow cracked the woman''s jaw and while the action stung and set her whole arm to ringing, the thin metal flanges protecting the soldier¡¯s face bent inwards and the woman fell to the floor. Jacyntha slipped under a spear and stood again, her axe rising with her in a brutal arc, painting the trees behind with blood. It was a tough fight, and she accumulated wounds with every moment that it continued, but Jacyntha''s body was riddled with scars already, and a few more wouldn''t make a difference. With her old skills accessible she slashed and hacked, cutting through soldiers with frenzy. Cold-Fang sang a keening cry as it parted air and wood, flesh and bone, in equal measure, and Jacyntha fought with her mother¡¯s weapon and strength flowing through her. She didn¡¯t know what she was truly fighting for, she had secured vengeance for her mother already, after all. But something pushed her on, and she surged towards it across the battlefield, unheeding of the wounds she accumulated as she searched for the truth that would set her free.
*Nathlan* The moment he woke to Lamb''s yell, he knew something was wrong. Two shapes blurred from their camp, one flaming and orange, the other black as the night, which Nathlan knew to be the figures of Jorge and Vera. Then he heard Jacyntha¡¯s roar as she charged into the fray, and he finally understood what it was that was so wrong. They were under attack, but no feedback came from the ward he had set. It was as if there was nobody here at all. He frowned to himself even as he rolled to his feet, gripping his scabbarded blade in one hand while reaching out to the weave of magic that laced through Tsanderos with the other.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He felt the tattered remains of his carefully laid ward drifting away on the magical tide, dispersing by the moment. Like it had been snipped without his notice, undone by a hand skilled with ward-craft and familiar with the pattern he had set. Panic was a tempting emotion, considering the urgency that it lent one''s movements, but Nathlan had had spent many days, many weeks, many years even, training to lead. His face betrayed nothing as he stood and walked calmly into the chaos. No golden light enveloped his blade, as while Truth Is A Knife - the upgraded version of Veracity''s Edge - was one of his most powerful skills, it was also flashy and drew attention. With Vera and Jorge causing havoc, and Lamb and Jacyntha running amok to distract the soldiers, Nathlan would find whatever mage the enemy had that had destroyed his ward. For such an end, he would need a darker set of skills, and that was part of his class as well. To bring truth to light, but also to walk in the darkness, and root out the lies where they lay. Dark shadows clung to his blade, obscuring the gleaming steel beneath with A Whispered Lie ¨C the upgrade of Deception¡¯s Call. Nathlan strode calmly through the night, illuminating the truth of his opponent''s incoming deaths with the edge of a black blade, even as he searched for the one that had deceived his wards.
The fighting seemed to be over, and I took the chance to shake blood from my spear. It was not entirely that of my enemies though, for I''d received a nasty gash along my chest that wept crimson tears down my torso. I''d gone to ground with a soldier of immense strength. He was clearly in the 2nd tier, and highly placed within it if I had to guess based on his strength compared to my own. We¡¯d wrestled in the mud like a pair of pigs in shit, squealing and goring at each other with knives instead of tusks. Our shared blood soaked the earth and painted each other''s faces and weapons, and while I had come out on top, it had been close. Far closer than I would like. I stumbled over to where Nathlan stood, concern etching my face, but he waved me off, and I realised the blood that coated his robe was not his own. Sadrianna was nowhere to be found, and I whirled around looking for the others. Jacyntha was leaning against a tree, holding her side, blood sheeting her torso. I moved over, trying to ask if she was badly injured, but my lips were swollen from a nasty punch to the face and the words didn''t come out properly. She seemed to get the gist of it though, and shook her head as she spat to one side. ¡°I¡¯ll live,¡± she said. ¡°The others?¡± I sniffed, before realising that simply looking might not be the best way to do this. Bodies were strewn around the small enclave of our camp. Broken weapons, broken armour, broken men and women littering the ground and turning a once peaceful forest glade into a scene of slaughter. There were two dozen at least just within eyesight, and I knew more had been killed further away, hidden behind trees and beneath rotting logs. If this ambush had managed to kill Vera or Jorge, then we would die soon ourselves too, whether or not I drew attention with my shouting. So, I heaved in a breath, and then bellowed, ¡°Vera? Jorge?¡± It took less than a handful of breaths for the old man to appear, and while Jacyntha and myself looked like we''d been through a battle, which I suppose we had, and Nathlan looked if not injured, at least spattered by gore, Jorge was clean as a whistle. He bore not a mark on him, or his gear, and I was reminded of when we had hacked through the Wandering States in monsoon season, that strange shield he''d managed to work around himself to keep of the rain. I wondered if he had some sort of incredibly fine-tuned personal aura, or armour skill, but the thoughts were kicked from my head as he replied. ¡°Peace, Lamb. Sadrianna and Vera are culling any stragglers that tried to run, and they¡¯re uninjured too, thank the gods.¡± I scowled and spat to one side, and he continued, ¡°I know you don''t like it, lad, but we can''t let them live. If they report what happened here, we¡¯ll be hounded all the way through this cursed country.¡± I ran a swollen tongue along teeth that felt slightly too loose, and grimaced. ¡°It''s not that, Jorge. Fuck ¡®em ¨C they attacked us first. My face just hurts, that¡¯s all.¡± He seemed taken aback for a moment before nodding. ¡°You came around quicker than I thought, little Lamb,¡± he said quietly. ¡°Right,¡± he said louder, clapping his hands to get our attention, ¡°how are we all looking?¡± He looked to Nathlan who waved him off. ¡°No injuries. I am fine,¡± he said. Jacyntha nodded next, lifting her arm to show the deep gash across her upper stomach, just below her chest binding which was marred by crimson mud rather than its previous pristine white. Her blood had sheeted down her torso, obscuring the ridges of her abdominals, and the cut looked deep. A several inch flap of skin and flesh hung away from her stomach, as if a butcher had taken a flensing knife to her to carve her like a turkey. It would need stitches, I knew. ¡°Anything else?¡± Jorge asked calmly as he approached. She gestured vaguely to one side of her head as she replied, a little blearily, ¡°Took a blow above my ear. Balance is all crooked,¡± she said huskily. Only then did I notice the blood matting her hair, and I wasn¡¯t sure if her speech was simply a product of the intense fatigue and adrenaline rush common after a battle, or whether the head-wound was having an effect. And then it was my turn. With a grin I pointed at my mouth; Bloodied lips, one ragged where it had split upon my teeth, the other swollen comically. ¡°Teeth are a bit loose,¡± I said. ¡°Took a gauntlet right in the face. Luckily it missed my nose though, so I¡¯m still the handsome one in our little group, don¡¯t you worry.¡± I said it with an overdramatic wink, but my lips were so swollen that the words came out all screwed up, and it took a moment for the others to decipher my joke. ¡°Well, nice to know your spirits are still up, at least lad¡± Jorge said with a smile, and I grinned a crimson smirk in return. ¡°How about that chest of yours?¡± he asked. ¡°Ah,¡± I grimaced. ¡°Lost a lot of strength in my left arm so I think it''s as deep as the muscle,¡± I said, shrugging. Jorge simply nodded. ¡°Good. Good.¡± Even Jacyntha looked a little put out at that, and Jorge hurriedly amended. ¡°Coulda¡¯ been a lot worse than that, mark my words. Good job on the warning, Lamb. Other than you two,¡± he said gesturing at me and Jacyntha, ¡°we''re unharmed, so this won''t slow us too much. But we need to get out of here. This is...¡± He blew air out between his cheeks as he indicated the mess around us, and I nodded. ¡°A fucking catastrophe?¡± I offered, and he chuffed a laugh. ¡°Aye, lad, you can say that. You see the armour? These aren''t bandits, they''re soldiers.¡± ¡°What do you think this means? They recognise us?¡± I asked as I set down my weapons and looked for a clean bit of clothing that I could use to wipe down myself and my weapons. Jorge shook his head. ¡°It could be targeted, but I think it''s more likely they took us for bandits. The raid at Darrow''s Edge was not the only one, I''d wager. And with that being true, there¡¯ll be a lot of frustrated, angry soldiers looking for vengeance, someone to strike back against. Shit, their commanders may even realise we were travellers, but simply needed a win or else risk mutiny. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.¡± ¡°Typical,¡± Jacyntha muttered, and I grinned over weakly. ¡°We were in the right place and time for you,¡± I retorted. She inclined her head to acknowledge the point and then looked down at her gruesome wound. ¡°Starting to regret that a little,¡± she said, to laughter from Jorge and myself. Even Nathlan smirked at the joke. ¡°Right,¡± Jorge said, clapping to get our attention. ¡°We need to get cleaned up, salvage anything we can from this mess, and then get you both stitched up before we''re on the move. Jacyntha, I know you don''t want to hear this, but we might have to carry you. I''m not sure we have time for you to recover your balance. We''re going to be moving at speed for a while.¡± Jacyntha just sighed warily. ¡°Well, to whatever unlucky bastard I bleed all over, thank you,¡± she said. Jorge inclined his head and turned to head towards the nearby stream but was interrupted by Nathlan. ¡°It gets worse,¡± the tall man said, and we all looked over to him. Seeing he had our attention, he gestured at the body below him, a man with a shaved head, dressed in fine robes, a thick red, a thick bracelet of some sort of red metal encircling one wrist. Once he pointed the man out, I realised that he did not match the others. ¡°He does not share their uniform. This man is from the Leviathan Coast,¡± Nathlan said. ¡°See the bangle? That denotes him as a member of the Wavebreakers. Minor, from an unimportant branch of the family most likely, but he has some skill with ward-craft.¡± At my startled look, he explained further in that clipped and direct way of his, his usual meanderings thankfully not present given the time constraints. ¡°It is not entirely unusual. After all, the Wavebreakers foster and encourage ward classes in all of their children, but not all can work on the storm-wards themselves. Many like him, most even, see nothing more than an interesting class. There is a reason that my perimeter ward wasn''t activated. We cannot rely on it any longer.¡± Jorge nodded again, seemed to process things. ¡°Shit,¡± he said simply. ¡°Well, good fine lad, better we know than not, but this does complicate things. We''ve got both the Desolate Empire and the Leviathan Coast meddling in things here. This smells to me like civil war.¡± ¡°Why would they send a Wavebreaker here?¡± I asked, confused and missing what the others seemed to grasp. ¡°Because, Lamb, they want the Riverlands strong, or at least stable. They know that there is trouble brewing and they¡¯re hoping to lend support to the armies to tamp things down. Given that they have some of the most competent ward-crafters on the continent, I''m not surprised to see them here. It''s also a common practice to send their young to experience combat and leadership in new areas. After all, there¡¯s not much strife within the harbour cities themselves.¡± ¡°Shit, okay,¡± I replied. ¡°So, we just need to cross our country on the verge of civil war, avoiding not just bandits but soldiers, too.¡± ¡°That''s about the long and short of it, aye lad,¡± Jorge said, and I laughed bitterly. ¡°No more fires then, I take it?¡± I asked somewhat plaintively, and he shook his head sadly. I saw out of the corner of my eye Jacyntha pout at that proclamation, and that brought a smile to my face. Her Cat-Bear companion had started to take great delight in cooked food, and I knew she wouldn''t relish going back to feeding him jerky. ¡°Right then,¡± Jorge said once more, and that was all we needed to hear. Weapons were cleaned and sheathed, and valuable collected from the dead. It didn''t take long to, strike camp and head to a nearby stream. Weeks spent together in the wilderness removed much of the modesty we may have felt before, and so we stripped off quickly without care and set to scrubbing, rinsing our wounds in the achingly cold water before clothing ourselves again. Jorge had ensured we all had basic knowledge of wound-care, but Sadrianna and Jorge were the ones with the steadiest hands, so Jacyntha and I each had someone to stitch our wounds closed. Once we were all patched up, alchemical salves and bandages applied to particularly bad wounds, we were on our way. Running through the night and leaving the scene of slaughter far behind. Jacyntha had regained her... Her balance by then, and didn''t need to be carried. But we still kept a close eye on her, as we flitted over the countryside like starlings in flight. So it was in some ways ironic. Here, as we travelled, we cursed bitterly the strife and war brought to a previously peaceful country. Even as we aim to reach the sunsets. And draw blade and fire to a stable polity ourselves. Chapter 90 - What Ghosts Can Teach Us We learned many lessons in our journey through the Riverlands. I learned once more the importance of terrain. It had taken us weeks to cross the Dragon-Spine Mountains, and yet we flew across an area far larger in only five days. Rather than having to navigate icy slopes and imposing peaks, we could run straight for bells at a time across open farmland and through sparse forests. We avoided the main thoroughfares and road networks, even if they would have lent us greater speed. Given our recent encounters with both bandits and soldiers, we wanted to stay off the beaten track to avoid any further issues, and the gamble seemed to have paid off, while only taking us an extra day or two to navigate the many back roads and old drover''s paths that crisscrossed The Verdant Land. We only fought twice in that time. The first encounter was almost the polar opposite to our last. We came across a bandit camp, and given that their numbers were low and, more importantly, that they had captives who did not look to be in a fit state, we decided to intervene. Like last time, it was a slaughter, and we freed captives, gave them weapons, directions and what medical attention we could without delaying ourselves over much. And then we were off. Jacyntha especially seemed to dwell on the encounter as we sped off through the countryside. It was the next incident that had the most dramatic effect, however. We came across a town just as we were in danger of needing to replenish our food stores, and so decided to head towards it, despite our wish to go unnoticed. We were near the border to the Sunsets anyway, and were confident of escape should our presence be noted by anybody that could prove troublesome. We arrived in the midst of another bandit raid. Screams cut the air, interrupting and silencing what should have been a sky filled with the pleasant chatter of songbirds. Smoke was beginning to trickle into the sky, casting the world into a darker mien. We needed no discussion this time, and launched in among the houses, cutting down desperate people to shield other desperate people. I''d been hardened by my time in this new world, but I still wasn''t blind to the fact that people turned to banditry for reasons other than a wanton need for senseless slaughter. With instability on the rise, farming ¨C the main source of employment in the country, as far as I could tell ¨C was under threat. Harvests were burned, fields were salted, and that left people desperate and hungry, looking for any way they could feed themselves and their families. Joining up with a bandit crew was often the only way to ensure both food and safety, and so, many people turned to a life of violence, not through choice but need. While I understood that, I felt no sympathy for the men and women I saw, blades bared in the flickering firelight as they torched houses with people still inside and spilled the blood of innocents in their own streets. Our actions were a response to theirs, and their violence was committed against those who could not fight back, while ours was saved only for those whose hands clutched weapons and dripped blood. We stalked through the village, cutting down any who seemed inclined to fight, until, after nearly a bell of hunting, we managed to bring peace once more to the town. We couldn''t save everyone and many were dead, many houses burned, but unlike Darrow''s Edge, the people here could rebuild. Needless to say, we found accommodations in the town and our supplies were restocked swiftly. This settlement was once more built onto the bank of a great river, though one far further from the coast and not used as a trade route for cargo. Nevertheless, there was still plentiful trade to be had up and down the river, and the well-managed waterways ensured there would be food aplenty for the residents, and raw materials for rebuilding besides. A crying child hugged Jacyntha''s Cat-Bear to her chest, smearing blood on its fur as it licked the tears from the little girl''s face. She had been orphaned in the attack, and Jacyntha seemed unable to let her go, holding the girl and her pet both to her chest, shoulders heaving with great sobs. But leave we did. The next two days brought with it a heavy contemplation I''d not yet seen on the barbarian woman. She''d spent much of the first week with us brooding, dour and self-absorbed, her shame cutting apart her soul as she aimed that anger inwards. Eventually, though, we''d broken down her walls, and Vera had managed to get through to her. She''d become almost a companion since then, though there was still a sense of distance all the while. But this felt different. I could see the effect that that one small act, less than an afternoon of our time, had had on her. To save people, to use our strength to shield them, to protect the weak from the strong¡­it seemed to be a thing that resonated with her. A true calling. It should have come as no surprise that not long afterwards she broke through to the 2nd tier. That was the lesson she seemed to have learned at least; that strength could be used to shield as well as harm. I watched Nathlan that evening, but he seemed to have nothing in his heart but genuine gladness at her achievement. For his part, Nathlan had learned that he could not outrun his past, if I had to guess. He spoke more of it in our conversations, as we sat around recovering our strength and eating to replenish the energy that we spent by running through the wilderness; of his life before he left, of his home and what could be done. Even of the vengeance that he sought, and whether it was truly worth it. A difficult question, to which I had no answer to give. I couldn¡¯t counsel him that revenge was worthless ¨C after all, we travelled even now to extract revenge on Vera¡¯s behalf. But the difference was clear, at least to me. Vera¡¯s country was about to fall into the hands of a tyrant whose grip it would not shake free from for centuries if Duke Ryonic managed to use the Ashkanian Vault to propel himself into the 4th tier. Revenge may have played a small role, but she had contented herself for a decade now without it, so I doubted it was the motivating factor in her decision to return home. Sadrianna''s lesson was a brutal one, though it only further reinforced her path; Warriors with nothing to do became terrors. It had been not the battle itself that had hurt her, and not even the work afterwards, where we helped catalogue and make pyres for the dead, heal the injured and sick as best we could, and stop the fires and rebuild the houses. No, what cut Sadrianna so deeply was the evening where mothers and sons, and fathers and daughters had wailed into the night at their losses. We had heard their tales and stood witness to their grief, and the stories were harrowing. Neighbours were recognised, and some of the men and women that we had cut down, that had turned their blade on the people of this town, were in fact previously members of it. A butcher¡¯s wife had taken up with one of the men in the bandit crew and had returned with them, cleaver in hand, to slay her own husband. Three brothers that worked as foresters had been seen, one of them killed by Sadrianna herself, as they tried to burn down the home of the woman who paid their wages. A young woman killed and dumped into the river by a spurned lover. An old man beaten to death by somebody he¡¯d sold a donkey to only days prior. Each story different, with potential justifications hidden within if one were to investigate. But all told of one thing; a community pulled apart. Once that final tether was severed and the spark of violence in the air, the town burned and its people with it. In many ways that was exactly what she was hoping to avoid with her clan and the worrying trend she had started to notice. For the moment, the disconnect between the old warriors and the rest of the clan was something that turned inwards. ¡®One last hunt¡¯ as it were. But I could well imagine how disgruntled clan warriors could decide to project that suicidal intent outwards to other clans, and war would soon follow if that grim prediction ever came to pass. So, while Jacyntha withdrew into a contemplative silence for most of the next two days, arms wrapped around her furry friend whenever we stopped, and Nathlan recounted to me tales of his homeland, Sadrianna brooded on ways to save her clan and bring peace before it all broke apart. There was nothing quite like war to make one dream of peace, after all.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. It was not an entirely grim affair though as we travelled through the wilderness. Banter, discussion, jokes and camaraderie flowed easily, bonds of battle tightening our emerging fellowship into something not quite resembling a band of brothers and sisters, but not entirely far off, either. I could feel them, like the tethers in my soul that connected me to my weapons and shield, courtesy of A Frozen Pyrre. These links binding us to one another by shared experience, shared goals and shared suffering, were strengthening bit by bit, day by day. Jacyntha''s Cat-Bear had also grown over the weeks, and being out of the mountains seemed to do wonders for its sense of exploration. While still barely reaching my mid-shin while it stood on four legs, the creature had filled out, its limbs lengthening and body thickening until it was the size of a medium-sized dog. It could run now without tripping over its own paws, and Jacyntha spent much of her time, when we did make camp, trying to corral the beast and stop it from getting up to mischief. We didn''t mind, and collectively took on her tasks so that she could devote her attention to the nightmare bundle of fur and teeth without a conversation needing to be had. Seeing the innocence and the joy with which it frolicked about in small streams, chasing squirrels, rats and small birds around, brought a measure of joy to all our tired hearts. Its strange blend of predatory instinct and child-like innocence, combined with a new-born¡¯s coordination, was a sight to behold as it plodded around with hitching leaps and yowls of frustration when it inevitably failed its latest conquest. In return, each of us was blessed for our lenience with cuddles from the furry creature. Indeed, it seemed to be forming a bit of a routine, visiting each of us in turn, one after the other, begging for scratches and treats before moving on after graciously allowing us the gift of its presence for a short time. Nathlan was still the favourite, of course, behind Jacyntha who took on responsibility for its care. His quiet way seemed to resonate with the normally rambunctious creature in a way that I found surprising, although perhaps I shouldn''t have. Animals sometimes have a keen sense for intention, and I think it enjoyed being able to sleep in his lap knowing it wasn¡¯t the centre of his attention. Jacyntha had worried about how the creature would fare once we crossed into the Western Marchlands and met our goal head on, but Jorge had reassured her that as urgent as our mission was, we wouldn''t be storming a castle by ourselves straight away. Vera would make links and reconnect once more with whatever resistance remained in the area, even if it was simply an information network, and she was sure we could find somebody to protect and care for the creature in our absence while our task was done. There was no warning when we crossed over into the Sunset Kingdoms proper. And I only realised we had done so bells after the fact when Vera started to withdraw from the shared conversation. When I asked about it, she simply told me not to worry. Jorge had caught my eye, gesturing me over and whispered quietly to me; ¡°she gets like this sometimes, lad. We''re in the Marchlands now and this land holds many memories for her, most of them not very pleasant.¡± We soon saw one such memory writ large upon the world later that same day.
Barrow-under-Tine stayed with me long after we passed through. The sun had been shining high above when we¡¯d first entered the town, dappling the evergreen leaves of fir and pine that surrounded the settlement. Water gurgled merrily beneath the many small bridges that speckled the town, and starlings let out rambunctious calls as they played above the network of streams that crisscrossed the land. Despite the beautiful vista, my memory of that place was a grim one, my mood stained black for the rest of the day. The river Tine wended its way through the Riverlands, one amongst many, before it slipped across the border in the Sunset Kingdoms quietly and without fanfare. From there it continued its meandering march towards the ocean, losing much of its beauty and serenity, until, at last, exhausted and with its former strength drained, it split into a hundred smaller tributaries to drown the forests of the Western Marchlands. Barrow-under-Tine was a small border town at the edge of the territories controlled by Duke Ryonic and was the last settlement that experienced the Tine as a river more so than a collection of streams and marshes. It had been beautiful, the envy of many a town in the Marchlands due to its latticework of old stone bridges and pretty-as-a-painting environment. The waterways had sustained a modest industry with their watermills ¨C wheat and textile processing, mostly. When coupled with the transport allowed by the river, the Barrow-under-Tine of old had been a thriving community at the edge of the Sunsets. The settlement that greeted us as we followed the river was far from that nostalgic idea. Nature had reclaimed much of the town in the last decade, ivy wrapping the stone structures of abandoned houses, weeds colonising what remained of the mills and shops that used to supply traders. The many stone bridges still stood, saved from the flames of conquest by their inflammable nature. The passage of time had even removed the soot-stains that had marred their surface. It was a simple history; the people of Barrow-under-Tine had given too much support to the rebels, and they had been punished for it. The town was razed by the duke and his men, and each person killed, the village burned. Never again would the bakeries deliver fresh loves to the woodcutters as they ventured out into the forests. The watermills would never spin once more to grind flour and spin yarn, now laying broken amongst choking weeds. Without context, it was nearly a pretty sight; green stalks waving from clear streams, buildings appearing to blend with nature rather than stand against it, if I squinted. But once I knew the history and saw with clear eyes, I could read nothing but tragedy in the flowers springing from between cobblestones and the new growth reaching towards the old canopy. When we entered the centre of town, Jorge stopped. He stared at the burned husk of an ancient oak tree and appeared to see something else. It crouched there in the middle of what had used to be some sort of central clearing, a fountain opposite ¨C long dry now and crumbling where the weeds had eaten away at small cracks caused by many freeze-thaw cycles. Vera had already gone on ahead, striding through with a straight back and eyes very deliberately kept forwards. ¡°What happened here?¡± I asked. ¡°Punishment,¡± was all Vera had said before walking off. I made to follow but Jorge had snapped out of whatever memory had held him captive and blocked my path with a raised arm. ¡°Leave her, lad. She needs some time alone.¡± I sighed. ¡°What happened here Jorge? I assume that this was a stronghold against the duke or something?¡± I asked. He looked at me curiously before replying. ¡°What makes you say that?¡± ¡°Well¡­it¡¯s well-positioned, isn¡¯t it? Near the border, good access to sneak goods, supplies and fighters in and out of the Marchlands, relatively wealthy so residents can afford to give up some of what they have for the war effort, far enough from the seat of his power to maybe feel safer from retribution¡­Lots of reasons, I suppose¡± I said. He shook his head softly though. ¡°No, Lamb. Some of that may be true ¨C and some definitely isn¡¯t ¨C but this was no bastion of rebellion against the Duke.¡± ¡°Why was it burned then? Don¡¯t leave me guessing here, I¡¯ll just make a fool of myself,¡± I muttered, somewhat irritable. I could sense the mood of my companions, and it was affecting me despite my best efforts. ¡°Barrow-under-Tine was burned as a message, lad.¡± Jorge said. Nathlan piped up, ¡°A message for who though? Surely it would only cement their hatred and firm their hearts?¡± ¡°Aye, no chance of it changing their minds. No, this was a message to the rest of the Marchlands. Treat with the rebels, offer them bread instead of spurning them, fail to report sightings of them to the local garrisons¡­resist in any way, and you will burn along with your home.¡± I looked at the path down which Vera had strode and sighed. ¡°Fuck, this is grim,¡± I muttered. There wasn¡¯t much else to say, really. I knew resistance had a cost, knew from recent experience in the Riverlands that war brought ruin tight on its heels, but¡­when Vera had spoken of her decision to return, she¡¯d said that the cost of revenge was too high for her to consider it just and that only the discovery of the duke¡¯s plans with the Ashkanian ruin was what had tipped the scales in favour of intervention, but I hadn¡¯t truly understood what she meant until now. It was one thing to know in an intellectual way that fighting back against a superior power came with consequences, but to see it with your own eyes? To read it in the broke rubble and abandoned ruins of a village before you? That was entirely another. I had somehow convinced myself, with the aid of the skill descriptions of Guerrilla Warfare and Skirmisher of Antiquity, that I could fight a more powerful foe while on the run. I could bring them with me into a world I had created, and break them safely within the wild lands, keeping innocents clear of any blow-back. I saw now that I had been a fool. Resistance had a cost, and even guerrilla warfare led to immense suffering amongst the people of the land you warred within. Perhaps it would be your enemy and their cruelty alone that imposed that cost on them, but the people would bear it all the same, no matter your best intentions. Our goal was a noble one, but looking around at the devastated town, I couldn¡¯t help but feel sick at the possibility of imposing such a fate on others with our actions. If we raided his castle and defeated the duke, but he burned three towns in the process, could that victory be called anything but pyrrhic? Thoughts awhirl with conflicting emotions and arguments, I followed the others as we moved through the site of long-past suffering, and considered how I could avoid such destruction in future. Chapter 91 - Those Who Remain We entered the town at dusk, cloaks shrouding our faces and turning a group kitted out for war into simply another group of slightly frumpy travellers. Vera looked downright portly with the way the material fell over her bandoleers. The innkeeper took our coin without complaint, and it was a welcome break to have a hot bath instead of washing in cold streams as I had been used to for many weeks now. After a warm meal ¨C rabbit stew, basic but prepared with love by the innkeeper¡¯s husband ¨C we divided up into our assigned roles. Jorge made pleasant conversation with anyone he could find in a bid to gather information, while Sadrianna, Jacyntha and Nathlan went upstairs to ¡®rest¡¯. I doubted they would actually sleep ¨C all our nerves were too highly strung for that given our location ¨C but it was good to keep up appearances. Meanwhile, Vera and I would make contact with whatever semblance of the resistance remained intact. I had been chosen to accompany Vera to make her stand out less ¨C she was tall and broad, especially so for a woman, but I was taller and broader, even if I lacked the thick muscle that wrapped her frame, and would hopefully draw attention away from her and onto me. She and Jorge had also agreed to have somebody present who could distract the duke¡¯s men in the vanishingly small possibility that they came upon us. I was a fast runner, and even were I to be caught, Jorge could rescue me before any harm came from it, but we absolutely could not risk the duke being alerted to Vera¡¯s presence. I was also pretty curious to see how everything worked, and Vera seemed to trust me for a task like this for some reason. Nathlan looked high-born, no matter his travel-stained clothes, and Sadrianna and Jacyntha were both clearly foreign. While normally I looked fairly similar to them, my appearance also giving off a ¡®barbarian from the hills¡¯ feeling, I probably looked the most familiar to the people of the Marchlands out of our entire group right now, Vera excluded of course. The heavy cloak obscured my strange armour and weapons, and my unusual hairstyle ¨C shaved on one side and braided on the other ¨C was a style sometimes worn by young men here, as Vera¡¯s brother was a good example of. I also hadn¡¯t shaved in nearly a week, so my stubble covered some of the scars I¡¯d accumulated recently and generally covered up some of the rougher aspects of my appearance. We walked up to a cottage in the hamlet, a few doors down from the inn we were staying in, and Vera thudded a fist into the heavy oak door a few times. A few moments passed, where I rang my hands in the cold and stood in the street a few paces behind Vera, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible and no doubt failing abysmally. Then the door was wrenched open and golden torchlight flooded the wooden planks that passed for a main street. A gruff voice called into the night, directed at Vera and I, ¡°Who¡¯s that then?¡± and Vera stepped forwards. The old woman who spoke was hunched with age, gnarled like an old bough that endured too many storms to stand upright any longer. Her face held deep lines, and grey hair poked out from beneath a knitted woollen hat that looked like it was a permanent feature, turning her head into a tea kettle. She recoiled slightly at the large-cloaked figure before her, but then seemed to draw herself up with indignation. ¡°Listen here, you¡¯ve taken more¡¯n enough of our time of late, and I¡¯ve been questioned twice this week already,¡± she said as she waved a ladle at us from behind the doorframe. ¡°There¡¯s stranger-folk comin¡¯ through here regular as the sun, and I don¡¯t have half the time to keep up with it all, let alone tell you about it, ungrateful bastards that you are-¡± Vera leaned forwards then and lowered the deep hood of her cloak, and the woman blanched, colour draining from her face. She smacked Vera¡¯s arm with the ladle and continued talking with barely a hitch in her voice. ¡°Well, I can¡¯t as well say no, can I? At least let me stay inside this time. Come, come.¡± She bustled us inside, and though she eyed me warily, it seemed she was more concerned with confirming that the street outside was free of prying eyes before she closed the heavy door. Vera reached up to remove her hood once more, but the woman once again batted her on the arm and waddled off, calling out to someone upstairs that she was going to the cellar for more flour. An even more dramatically aged voice replied something unintelligible, and we followed the old woman down the stairs. Only once the cellar door was closed behind them did the woman acknowledge Vera. She whirled on the big woman and started beating at her with her ladle, short sharp swings in the cramped confines of the room but the meaty smacking sounds I heard told me that she was stronger than she looked. Vera, for her part, seemed to endure the beating with nothing short of joy. She laughed and giggled like a girl, before sweeping the old woman up in a great hug, twirling her around and peppering little kisses on her head. I¡¯d never seen her so animated before, and it was a bit of a shock. I stood awkwardly and tried to blend in with the little pots of dried herbs and jugs of gods-knew-what lining the shelves. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you Auntie,¡± she said, muffled as her voice was in the old woman¡¯s neck. There followed a strange conversation, where Vera spoke to the old women still dangling off the floor in her arms, while enduring repeated blows of the kitchen implement. The old woman seemed to be using her ladle more as a linguistic aid than a true weapon, punctuating every point she made with a smack, any words needing emphasis swiftly followed by the thwack of an old ladle against flesh. I now saw where Vera got her habit of playful tapping to emphasise a point. She was always nudging with her shoulder, punching someone lightly on the arm or resting a hand on their shoulder. Once their hug had ended and the woman firmly on the floor, they spoke at such a rate, jabbering back and forth to one another, that even with my god-given title I struggled to keep up and understand what they were saying. Clearly, though, ten years was a long time to catch up on, and I excused myself, giving them space to talk and simply standing quietly outside the cellar. The old woman tried to stop me, but I insisted, especially after seeing Vera''s grateful nod. They didn''t come out for another half a bell. By her slightly puffy eyes and rouged cheeks, I think Vera may have been crying while in there, but I''d never actually seen her doing so in our travels and so I didn''t have a good frame of reference for what it looked like. Perhaps there was just a lot of pepper in the air, it being a cellar and all that. I was then introduced properly to her aunt, apparently a woman of some influence in the village, and surprisingly, one who had faced few repercussions for her niece''s actions. She was well-respected in the village and known widely by many in the various village-councils that organised the running of much of the Western Marchlands, and so when she had initially been abducted during the duke''s counter-insurgency push, workers had downed tools until she, among others, was returned. She still had to endure weekly visits from the duke''s men for a good two years until it became clear that Vera and the rest of the rebellion were either dead or had left, or were so broken that they would not continue their war. I was surprised when she explained the logic behind the words she had uttered as we''d opened the door. Apparently, there were tensions rising in the Marchlands once more and strangers were now a common sight. The duke''s men had been more paranoid of late, visiting her often to ask about the goings-on in the area. She never managed to give them much information of note and they were sceptical about her motives. Given that she had much to lose and nothing to gain, and the rebellion had shown hide nor hair of itself in almost a decade now since Sternsbridge, it seemed they were willing to tolerate her presence. She suspected it was more a show of force and intimidation than a true attempt to get any workable information anyway. Just a reminder to let her know that they were still here, were still watching, and could find her at any moment should she step out of line. After hearing all of that I had to admit to being impressed that she still was willing to harbour and associate with Vera, though obviously hoping to do so without notice.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. The aging man upstairs hadn''t shown his face and hadn''t seemed to show any signs that he''d heard of us either, and Amelie ¨C Vera¡¯s aunt ¨C explained that he was a lodger that had been with her for two years now. The last of his family dead, he couldn''t sustain himself and so she opened her home to him. I was quickly building a picture of the type of person this elderly woman was, and some of Vera¡¯s iron-hard backbone and deep well of compassion was beginning to make sense. After catching up, discussing some of our travels and generally sharing news over a hot cup of tea and some hard-baked cakes that, in my opinion, toed the line between the definition of cake and bread, we talked more seriously of our purpose. Amelie stopped us though as we began to say more. ¡°No, I don''t want to hear it,¡± she said. ¡°If I know nothing, then I can''t say nothing when they come asking. But all you tell me here is going to get me in trouble and risk you getting found out. I''m no friend of the duke, but I''m too old to be tramping off into the wilderness. Even organising supply lines and the like is far beyond me. I am going to be living out my final years in peace here,¡± she said with finality. Vera nodded in understanding. ¡°Is there anyone left?¡± she asked. ¡°What about Senlin and his boys?¡± Amelie just shook her head sadly. ¡°Died of the wasting three winters past. His boys have moved over to the Riverlands, I think. Said they intended to get a ship down the Leviathan coast and work cargo on the barges between the two there. From what I''ve been hearing though, the Riverlands isn''t the safest place to be right now,¡± she said, a forlorn note creeping into her voice at the end. A significant look passed between Vera and I, and we decided not to speak of the possible civil war on the horizon. She¡¯d said she was too old to go traipsing about, so there was no need to add more stress and heartache onto her old heart for no gain. ¡°There must be someone left,¡± Vera said. ¡°Archie, Jacqueline, Fandar...even Penham? He was always a strange one, but I can''t imagine they''ve managed to ferret him out of the hills yet.¡± Her aunt snorted. ¡°Not much point in that venture, no. Old Penham''s still there as far as I know, but nobody''s seen much of him in the last few years. There are still some of the old guard, Vera, but I don''t rightly know the state of ¡®em. Look, I can put you in touch, but that is as far as I go, understand? And I don''t want you bringing war back to this place, Vera. I agree with your cause ¨C the gods know I do - but... there''s not much reason to start things back up now, far as I can tell.¡± Vera sighed and nodded. ¡°Well, I won''t be able to convince you if I can''t share what I know. But I''ll just say that there''s a good reason I''ve returned. I''m not coming just for revenge, auntie ¨C I gave that up long ago.¡± The older woman held her gaze. ¡°You promise, Vera?¡± Vera just nodded back. ¡°Yeah, I swear it.¡± It was a heavy moment, and I coughed quietly to break it once I thought both had got what they needed from it. ¡°So, you were about to tell us how we can contact whatever resistance remains in place?¡± I said gently, and the older woman nodded. She then gestured at the plate of stottie cakes and told me to eat up. ¡°Young men like you should be constantly eating...Eat up, I know you''re hungry,¡± she said. I sighed and took another one, chewing the gravel-like cake into submission. The flavour was nice, but did everything here get baked until it was hard and dry and dense as the earth below? I was starting to see why Vera was built as she was; much like a stottie cake - dense and unyielding.
We returned to the inn after another bell or so. Vera obviously wanted to stay longer but deemed it too much of a risk to her aunt''s safety were the duke¡¯s men to come knocking while we were there. So it was that I found myself ensconced in another bath, the warm water soaking away the pain, discomfort and stress from the last few weeks. I sighed in satisfaction, swirling the water around with my hands and feeling a great weight leave my shoulders. My decision had been made. Days of agonizing over how to perpetrate this war in a way that wouldn¡¯t result in mass death. I''d been thinking of it long and hard for many weeks to be honest, and especially so after crossing into the Riverlands and seeing the devastation that instability could lead to on a state and its populace. No matter how I turned over the problem of our insurgent war against the duke, I couldn''t ever see it playing out in a way that wouldn''t result in mass suffering for those living within the Western Marchlands. Everything I''d heard about the duke implied that while he may be surrounded by idiot nobles and incompetent guardsmen, he himself, along with his spymaster and a core group of his men, were disciplined. Smart. Capable. The Lions also, while in some ways prone to the folly of pride, were still a capable mercenary company. Francis himself had been powerful, and I wasn''t convinced I would beat him in a fair fight even now. I''d never felt the limits of his strength and only seen perhaps one skill he possessed. While I''m sure Jorge or Vera would flatten any of the Lions, I couldn''t say the same for the rest of us, and if there were even a dozen more like him, we would be hard-pressed to come out of this alive, let alone successful. As soon as we lay siege to Castle Ryonic, the Lions would be called in for support, and if this siege went on for more than a day, I had no doubt that elites from the rest of the Sunsets would come pouring in as well, desperate to put down an uprising of peasants before it could spread to their own territories. The only way I could see it working was if in some sort of lightning-fast decapitation strike we could break in, secure the castle, kill Duke Ryonic and proclaim the Western Marchlands free under the control of Vera or whatever civil administration the local councils could erect in short order. In many ways, the local village councils already ran the country anyway and such a political structure still remained in place, greatly diminished of real power as it may have been these last few years, but all Duke Ryonic did was ensure protection for the workers through his guardsmen. They patrolled the roads to prevent bandits from the Riverlands crossing over and they acted as a deterrent to other parts of the Sunset Kingdoms who may think about gobbling up the land. They also kept a limit on wild beasts, but there''s nothing magical about their influence that could not be picked up easily by some other power. The true running of the economy, the trade, the mining, the towns themselves, was all done by the local councils composed of mostly mine workers and foremen as well as wise women and notables from the villages and towns that speckled the Marchlands and the swamps within. The mining of half-silver used to outfit those who would sweep the swamps for natural treasures and the long grasses that were sold for high prices in the Desolate Empire was all controlled and run by an administrative council divorced from Duke Ryonic and his hierarchy, though very much under his largesse. But how to get through the castle? I had confidence Vera could slay the duke in one-on-one combat, and I''m sure Jorge could as well. If they teamed up, I was sure that they could breach the gates too, but when I had asked both earlier, Vera and Jorge had assured me that taking a castle was no easy feat. Not only were they impressive structures, but the magical defences woven into their thick walls could be powerful too. Vera had no doubt that it was more than simple stone that protected castle Ryonic. The storm-wards of the Leviathan Coast were unique in their scale, and because they relied on free-form warding magic to interface with the power of the storms that wracked the coast, but most of the rest of Tsanderos relied on protection in the form of rune circles embedded within stone or wooden structures during its construction. My old Fault-Line skill was based upon diving into the substructure of stone and realigning mineral fault lines and cracking them apart. It was not hard to imagine a support class with similar skills that could rearrange mineral deposits in solid stone to form runic circles that could confer additional protection or hide traps, perhaps repel an enemy, or even prevent magical destruction of the stone itself. This was all speculation from my part and I didn''t really understand the details, but Jorge, Vera and Nathlan had all explained that while a castle itself may not seem that intimidating in the light of our enhanced attributes, it was almost always more complicated to besiege. After all, they wouldn¡¯t be used if they were that easy to bypass. I thought back to the settlements in the Riverlands that had small stone walls no higher than a couple of meters surrounding them and wondered if perhaps those had been magically reinforced, too. Not that it had helped them at Darrow¡¯s Edge. I turned away from the black thoughts and back to the problem at hand. The only way I could see this working is if one of us could get into the castle first and somehow open up their defences from the inside. And so, the culmination of all my hard-earned planning; I had decided that I would give myself up. Duke Ryonic was looking for a god-touched and it just so happened that our party had one available right now. It wasn¡¯t much of a plan at all, being honest. More of an inciting incident really, but I knew my weaknesses as well as my strengths, and detailed planning was definitely more of the former than the latter. I had a seed of an idea, and I needed the sunlight of my companions to help it grow into a flourishing plan-tree. Chapter 92 - The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men We decided to eat dinner quietly downstairs in the tavern¡¯s main room. Jorge had put out feelers and was arranging for horses and a trades-wagon with surprising success given the limited time. He had even decided to pay for goods. The half-silver mined in the Marchlands was of exceptional quality and in a rather dark turn, we''d seen the evidence of some of the Marchlands industry firsthand in Barrow-Under-Tine. Their water mills were, while nothing compared to the Riverlands, still serviceable. And so, Jorge had set about procuring a wagon load of half silver and ground flour, meal, spelt, and other grains grown locally. It would act as cover for our group and explain our slightly prolonged stay at the inn, but it was a substantial amount of coin to part with, even if the local currency of the Marchlands was devalued somewhat in comparison to the rest of the Sunsets and the Riverlands. Jorge was happy to pay without blinking though, and I did wonder once more how old this man was and how wealthy he truly could be. He was powerful, I knew that. Vera respected his martial strength as well as his wisdom, which told me all I needed to know about his competence when it came to fighting. But where was the limit? Was he simply her senior in age and thus a little more experienced, or was he truly realms above her? Was he a 4th tier? I''d taken his word that he was simply an old and canny 3rd tier, but he was enigmatic, if anyone could be said to be, and he could always be obscuring the truth. I wondered then if Nathlan¡¯s skills would work on him. But if he was 4th tier, why were we skulking about in the shadows, procuring grain supplies and planning a rebellion? If Jorge was in the 4th tier, why did he not simply stride up to Castle Ryonic, blow apart the walls and take the duke''s head himself, declaring it an act of vengeance before recusing himself from the Marchlands and the Sunset Kingdoms entire? He¡¯d obviously have to leave immediately to shield Vera from retaliation by others, but it could surely be done. He''d spoken before about the balance of the great powers, about how despite their age and wisdom, their increased power came with exaggerated emotions that often ran hot, and that it was a wonder the world was as stable as it was. Was he part of that stability? The questions swelled within me as we ate, but I waited until we were in a safer environment to ask, and by then I had been distracted by the upcoming plan. Once we were safely ensconced in our rooms, and Jorge had confirmed that there was nobody within earshot, we discussed frankly. We sat around one room, an empty tin bathtub in one corner, and platters of food arrayed on the floor before us. We were no longer dressed for war, instead in our bed clothes and those of us with long hair still drying it, Sadrianna and Jacyntha with a towel wrapped around their heads comically to speed up the process. Vera had magical means of doing so, and Nathlan and I just accepted the cold, letting our long hair dry naturally. ¡°So, lad, you have a plan?¡± Jorge asked. ¡°I have a¡­seed of a plan,¡± I answered carefully. ¡°I need you all to nurture it into a real one.¡± I met the gazes of everyone present before dropping my idea. I was swiftly shot down. ¡°No,¡± Jorge said, at the same time that Vera exclaimed; ¡°Not a chance!¡± However, I was persistent. Barrow-Under-Tine weighed on all of us in different ways, and our trip through the Riverlands had had a profound effect. Eventually I got through to them, and the issue became not whether it was a stupid idea, but whether it could work. Once we reached that tipping point in the conversation, I knew I had won, and I relaxed somewhat, sitting back and letting the tactical minds discuss. ¡°The crucial problem will be making sure the duke doesn¡¯t raise his guard in response,¡± Nathlan said. ¡°Vera can¡¯t accompany you, for obvious reasons, but can Jorge?¡± We all looked over to the old man, who tugged on the end of his long braid in thought for a few moments before shaking his head. ¡°No, lad. Can never be sure about these things, but I doubt I¡¯ll be able to fool the duke or his spymaster ¨C Vera, you said she¡¯s good, aye?¡± at Vera¡¯s nod he continued. ¡°Well then, not much chance of that, I reckon. Can¡¯t be me either.¡± I personally suspected that Jorge was more powerful than he was letting on, but the general trend seemed to be that you could obscure your own power to the level of somebody beneath you, but not easily below their own strength. In other words, Jorge could mask himself as a simple 2nd tier to my senses, but no lower, without great difficulty. Therefore, he would still appear as a powerful 3rd tier to Duke Ryonic if he accompanied me to the castle, and so neither of our two most powerful warriors could slip inside the castle with me. Which brought about a question; even if all of us ¡®youngsters¡¯ could get into the castle without arousing undue suspicion, would we even be able to enact the second step of the plan? That is, weakening the castle and allowing the intrusion of Jorge, Vera and possibly other members of the rebellion, if there were any. We put that aside for a moment, as the suggestion of sending us all in, minus Vera and Jorge, prompted strong pushback, at least initially. ¡°There¡¯s no way we can let you just waltz in there like the happy little idiots that you are!¡± Jorge huffed. ¡°Lamb and Nathlan try and get themselves killed every single time they are left alone, and while I might trust Sadrianna with something like this,¡± to which she inclined her head politely at him, ¡°Jacyntha¡¯s also got some of the ¡®impulse control issues¡¯ that Lamb seems to inspire in everyone he¡¯s with.¡± I shared a look with Nathlan as Jorge finished his tirade, raising my eyebrows in surprise. ¡°Firstly, seems like you¡¯ve kept that inside for a while, Jorge. You good?¡± I asked with a cheeky smirk, to which he just scoffed at me. ¡°And second, when have me and Nathlan ever-¡± ¡°Lamb¡­¡± Nathlan said, miming a cutting motion by his throat to get me to shut up, but the damage was done. ¡°Let¡¯s see here, lad. The Iona Chasm ¨C you go and do the one fucking thing I tell you not to, almost immediately. ¡®Knee deep in ribcage¡¯ as I heard it, and you lost your weapon to boot,¡± he said. Vera joined in cheerily, saying, ¡°Two points.¡± ¡°Then,¡± Jorge continued, ¡°we get to Colchet, and you have the most foolhardy idea of the century and decide to fight a bunch of criminals for no good reason.¡± ¡°One point¡± Vera added, helpfully. ¡°It wasn¡¯t for no good reason!¡± I protested. ¡°They were harassing an old man outside. They would have gone after Sally next, I¡¯m sure!¡± ¡°Who the fuck is Sally!?¡± Jorge asked in exasperation. ¡°You know, Sally the Tinkerer? Made my old spear and shield? Short lady, talks fast, sounds a bit like you when you¡¯re serious, but even less understandable.¡± Jorge¡¯s stare was heavy as an anvil across my shoulders, and I managed to match him eye to eye for only a few moments before wilting. He sniffed and continued. ¡°Right, and even after that, you then go and run off on your own, without waiting half a day for one of us to return and make sure it¡¯s safe.¡± ¡°That¡¯s four in total, by my count¡± Vera chimed in once more.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. There was silence for a few moments as I tried in vain to think of a retort, and then Nathlan leaned across to me and whispered, ¡°I tried to warn you.¡± He oozed smugness, and his whisper was deliberately loud enough for the whole room to hear, and it broke the tension. Chuckles and snorts sounded before Jorge brought us back to the issue at hand. ¡°Point is, it¡¯s plenty dangerous enough just to get inside that castle, but to do so without one of us,¡± he said, pointing to Vera and himself, ¡°by your side is another thing entirely. The Lord Castellan is a 3rd tier, and a powerful one by now by Vera¡¯s best guess. The disparity between you all, even if working together, is far too great to overcome, and that¡¯s before you factor in the others within the castle.¡± ¡°I get that it¡¯s a risk, we all do,¡± I said. ¡°But unless you and Vera can just walk right up and smash open the gates, or leap over the walls, I don¡¯t see what other options we have.¡± ¡°You know we can¡¯t do that, lad. As I said, that castle ain¡¯t just a structure of stone and wood, else your Faultline skill could bring the whole thing down in one go anyway. There¡¯s magical protection woven throughout.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Shatter Point now,¡± I reminded him, even as I thought back to our earlier conversation. The walls of Castle Ryonic, alongside other similar structures, were doubtless enchanted somehow, rune circles carved into their very foundations to protect the stone from physical penetration, magical traps laid for unwitting trespassers, and general strengthening. I thought back to the pitifully small stone walls surrounding the port-towns in the Riverlands, and wondered if perhaps they had similar magical reinforcement that turned what seemed a laughably feeble structure into a true defensive formation. ¡°And the point is that we won¡¯t be alone for long. You and Vera can blast your way through or over the walls as soon as we take down the defences. Once I¡¯m inside, I¡¯ll obviously be busy, but the others¡­¡± I trailed off. ¡°but how are you going to neutralise wards laid into the very foundation of the castle?¡± Vera asked, and I grinned in response. ¡°It just so happens that we have one of the most talented ward-crafters in the continent right here!¡± I said with a flourish towards Nathlan. He waved me off though. ¡°I am a ward-crafter no longer, Lamb. I gave up my old class, remember? Even a minor Wavebreaker from a middling family was able to break through one of the free-form wards I set not long ago.¡± He sounded a bit bitter at the end, but I was unperturbed. ¡°But we don¡¯t need you to craft any wards, my good friend!¡± I said with enthusiasm, like I was sharing a great secret. ¡°We need you to break some. And didn¡¯t you just admit that a middling Wavebreaker could disrupt a ward without the owner noticing, in the middle of the night with an ambush on the horizon? Why,¡± I crowed, reaching out to the heavens in the most melodramatic way I could, ¡°imagine what the most talented of his generation could do to a set of wards he could study ahead of time?¡± Jorge, to his credit, did tilt his head in consideration. ¡°Could you do it, lad? Break the castle protections?¡± he asked. Nathlan seemed about to protest but then paused in thought. ¡°It would depend on how they were enchanted, of course, but most of Western Tsanderos uses runic circles carved directly into the building materials, and they can be altered easily enough with the proper application of force¡­¡± We waited as Nathlan further considered, and I could feel a building excitement in the room. Eventually, he answered once more. ¡°Yes, I believe I could. I may not destroy them all, but I should be able to disrupt enough that you should have no problem entering.¡± The scholar¡¯s words lit a fire within my belly then, and I leapt to my feet in triumph, beginning to pace. ¡°So we have a plan then?¡± I asked the others, their faces upturned and following my movements. Vera looked suddenly eager, Jorge wary, Sadrianna and Jacyntha both impassive, and Nathlan thoughtful. ¡°We present ourselves to the duke, asking for a bounty. He invites us inside and treats with us for a few bells ¨C probably offers you three a room or two for the night. I will doubtless be transported to wherever the ruins actually are eventually, but considering it would be a long project, I doubt we¡¯ll depart immediately,¡± I said, gesturing all the while. ¡°While he is confirming that I am indeed god-touched, and probably doing a little carrot and stick routine to scare me into helping him, you guys can explore the castle and take note of the perimeter wards. Meanwhile, you two¡± I gestured at Jorge and Vera, ¡°are waiting in the wings for the moment that Nathlan drops the wards and signals you, and then you¡¯re in there, like a fox among the hens.¡± ¡°It¡¯s sound in theory, but-¡± Jorge began, but Nathlan interrupted him. ¡°Is it?¡± he asked. ¡°What if the duke refuses us entry and just takes Lamb? What if he pays us immediately and then turns us away? What if he suspects Lamb is lying. He is a powerful mid-2nd tier warrior, after all ¨C not exactly expected of a naive god-touched without help.¡± ¡°Thanks mate,¡± I said with a wink, and Nathlan scoffed back. ¡°You bring up some good questions, lad,¡± Jorge replied, ¡°but no plan is perfect, and I think you¡¯d be surprised what people are willing to ignore so long as it gets them closer to what they want. Give ¡®em just enough that they can fill in the blanks with a plausible explanation, and they¡¯ll be so busy patting themselves on the back for figuring out your secrets that they won¡¯t notice you lying through your teeth.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re right about Lamb¡¯s power ¨C that¡¯s an issue that¡¯s sure to put the duke on guard,¡± Vera pointed out. ¡°I could wear that amulet from The Blending again? Lower my attributes, come off as a meek 1st tier once more?¡± I suggested, and Jorge raised his eyebrows in surprise. ¡°Aye, that could work actually, lad,¡± he said. ¡°Won¡¯t be perfect, mind. There¡¯s a reason it wouldn¡¯t work for a stranger like me, but if he is already expecting a weak and scared person with no options¡­¡± he nodded to himself. ¡°I like it.¡± ¡°So we have a plan?¡± I asked once more, hopeful and excited in equal measure. ¡°Aye lad, possibly,¡± Jorge replied. ¡°Only question is whether Vera and I will be enough. With the Riverlands starting to erupt, I¡¯d bet the duke has started to prepare for something. Will depend what Vera finds out from her network, I suppose. Any help we could receive though¡­¡± he trailed off, turning to Vera. ¡°I¡¯ve got a meeting set tomorrow. All of us. We¡¯ll see what comes of it then,¡± she said simply.
I snuggled into the relatively plush, though objectively tattered, bed. The pillows and mattress were stuffed with feathers and straw, and while the inn was relatively ramshackle in comparison to the one in Colchet we had stayed in, it was still far more luxurious than staying in a single bedroll out in the wilderness. Still, I found myself missing the noises of the forest; the gentle sway of trees and rustle of rodents rooting around in the night for their food. The plan was set, with some minor amendments, and I now had hope that we could win this war before it even started. Myself, escorted by Sadrianna, Jacyntha, and Nathlan, and disguising my true power with the amulet I''d used in The Blending, would present ourselves to Castle Ryonic. They would pose as mercenaries from the mountain clans that had captured me crossing the Dragon-Spines and looking for a reward. We would no doubt be invited by the duke inside for a feast or some standard hospitality, especially if we arrived late at night and travel stained. Meanwhile, I would be taken presumably straight to the ruins, although it did depend on how long the duke had, how urgent and desperate they were, and also on what methods they had to determine who was god-touched. We knew they had some method of tracking us. That much was clear from the documents that were found in Colchet and from the behaviour of the lions so far, but what exactly that mechanism was still remained a mystery. From there, it was out of my hands. My job would be to keep the duke and as many of his men as possible occupied. Ashkanian vaults, after all, were dangerous things, and he was likely to want to be there himself, and likely with support of some of his most trusted guards or advisors. They were also complex, and even were I trying my best to help, which I obviously wouldn''t be, it would likely take many, many days before I could break through and make substantial progress. So I would survey, delay, learn what I could, and leave the others to collect their bounty and sabotage the castle before leaving. They would doubtless be followed afterwards for a day or two to ensure their story held, but they would either kill their leads and come directly to Jorge and Vera if things were urgent, or leave the Sunsets and double back afterwards if they weren¡¯t. They could then report on the state of things in Castle Ryonic, the numbers of troops that he had to bear, the state of repair of the castle, and what defences they had disrupted and what still remained. This would allow the others to more effectively plan a lightning-fast siege. It was a risk, of course, like everything, but I was willing to take a few risks if it increased the likelihood of our first strike being the only one we needed. While I had been hardened by this new world, my conscience could not bear if we crossed another desiccated village, lives strewn about like a child''s playthings, with the knowledge that our actions had led to this, even if we weren''t the direct cause. I would not be a cause of innocent death, and I did not want to be a catalyst of it either, though I knew sometimes it was an inevitability. To change things was a violent endeavour, after all. As the founder of the Desolate Empire had written so long ago; ¡®a revolution is not a tea party, it is a wild and bloody affair, and one must be sure of their conviction before they embark upon it¡¯. I felt I was only just starting to comprehend the true meaning of those words, but I had done all I could to avert catastrophe, and I slept soundly that night. Chapter 93 - Rebel Scum Things moved quickly the next day. We journeyed out into the marshes with Vera to meet with whatever remnants of the resistance still existed all these years later, and there we encountered a strange phenomenon. The marshes of the Western Marchlands were in many ways their most precious resource, or at least hid those resources within their cloying embrace. They were strange places at the best of times, marshes ¨C the blend of water and earth lending the landscape the inscrutability of the former with the enduring nature of the latter to create a truly dangerous mix. A place where one was always out of their depth, liable to be snagged and snared by strange currents and sucking bogs, while also unable to drift about freely, constrained by the confining density of scraggly walls of damp brambles and ivy-wrapped branches. What elevated the marshes of the Marchlands from difficult to navigate to truly dangerous, were the mists. For some reason, half-silver mined nearby allowed one to resist their strange temptations, and so Jorge¡¯s earlier purchase of half-silver for our disguise actually came in use. Obviously, the full load could not be provided at such short notice, but he had gone to inspect the goods at one of the mines locally that morning, and had come back with some minor trinkets. Warding stones, they were called, which was a strange name for something that was not in any way a stone, but semantics aside, they did seem to work. A small piece of half-silver on your person and you could enter the swamps and pass through the mists as normal. The swamps were still dangerous to regular people; Marsh Gators and other wildlife present that could tear the leg off a grown man in a heartbeat before he even knew they were there, but at least those were material dangers that could be fought against directly. The creeping mists acted like sirens with a life of their own. They swirled and eddied and confused, causing terror and drama and delirium in all those not appropriately warded by half-silver. Generations had grown up in the Marchlands, hearing folk tales and fire-lit stories about the ghosts of the marsh, and many of their myths and legends involved brave heroes stalking the depths of these grey, watery places, finding great treasure within. The modern era had breathed truth into the myths, for much of the wealth of the Marchlands came from excavations of the marshes. The mining operations for half-silver that had so demolished many a hillside and employed many a villager were mostly a by-product of protecting workers from the mists and enabling the thorough exploration of these ancient, untouched places. Trinkets, weapons, armour, fine goods, and even scrolls from eras past had sat undisturbed for many centuries, hoarded by the miserly mists. These were found and sold on markets far away at the heart of The Desolate Empire, and sometimes even further. There were also the magical grasses that could be ground up and used in many dishes, conferring a taste that those of wealthier demeanour seemed to appreciate. In either case though, the marshes held many secrets that made men rich. It helped me understand how this country worked, as I entered the marshes. It was immediately apparent how many people would need to be involved in large-scale exploration of such a wild place, and I had previously observed how places that relied on extraction in its many forms, particularly the labour-intensive kind of extraction such as here in the Marchlands, were most prone to be ruled by tyrannical leaders and administrations. It was a fledgling theory of mine though, and I knew I was ignorant enough of Tsanderos that I couldn''t make sweeping generalisations like that. We journeyed out into the marsh, protected from the mists by our half-silver trinkets, and waited in the clearing we''d been told to meet. It hadn''t slipped my mind that this could in fact be an ambush prepared by the duke and his men, but Jorge didn''t think it likely. Looking at Vera and the way her hand kept twitching towards the broadsword now strapped to her waist, I did get the distinct impression that she would relish the opportunity though, whether or not it would spell our doom. No poisoned arrows and magical attacks came flying out of the mists that shrouded the clearing though. Simply a lone figure. He was tall, gaunt in the face in the way that many of middle age who had suffered severe malnutrition and starvation in their youth had; empty cheeks, staring eyes, as if he were simply a skull with skin stretched taut over its surface. The effect was made worse by the swirling mists, and it seemed for a moment, as he stepped towards us, that a skeleton itself came leering our way. Vera seemed to recognise him though, for she threw back the hood of her cloak, hand falling from the hilt of her blade, and started to stride forwards, a wide grin splitting her face. ¡°Fandar!¡± she said. And there was a joy there, a camaraderie embedded within those words that I doubted anyone but this man, and those who had started that rebellion long ago, would ever hear. Fandar, for his part, stopped still, rooted to the ground. ¡°So, it''s true then,¡± he said, voice husky and surprisingly deep for such a gaunt man. Pale knuckles and long fingers emerged from the sleeves of his cloak, and he reached towards Vera. They embraced in a warrior''s way, slamming forearms together before slapping each other heartily on the back, and I was surprised to see Vera not holding back. The man was tougher than he looked for he didn''t stumble as I would have expected someone to when taking a blow from Vera''s powerful fists. ¡°Took you long enough,¡± he said as she pulled away, and she nodded, looking down. ¡°Yeah,¡± she agreed with slight husk to her words, and I winced at the rebuke in his tone. He reached out to grip her shoulders though, shaking her until she met his gaze. ¡°But you¡¯re back with us now. You ready to fight?¡± he asked, and she nodded. ¡°I heard that the duke has found an Ashkanian Vault here in the Marchlands. I couldn¡¯t allow him to get his hands on it,¡± she said. Fandar raised his eyebrows. ¡°And how the fuck did you hear about that, Vera? I thought you were on the other side of the continent? Got the impression you weren''t coming back after Sternsbridge,¡± he said. Vera sighed. ¡°That''s a long story, we''ll get to that in time, I''m sure. You alone?¡± She asked, and he shook his head. ¡°Benson''s girl''s with me. Remember her? No more than a sprite by the time you left, but she''s good with a bow, and smart besides. Don''t think you''ll know the others.¡± Vera nodded, lowering her eyes slightly. ¡°Can they be trusted with the details of it all? We¡¯ve got a plan,¡± she said in a low voice. Fandar spat to the side before laughing. ¡°More than you, I''d wager Vera,¡± he said, quietly. ¡°What does that mean, Fandar?¡± She asked, and her tone was no longer so forgiving, a new light coming into her eyes, or so I imagined from where I stood behind her. ¡°Don''t give me that,¡± he said. ¡°You left. These boys and girls? They stayed. That counts for something.¡± He held her gaze for long moments, neither of them speaking, before he spoke again. ¡°Why did you come back now? How the fuck did you hear about the duke''s plans? Who are these fuckers you¡¯re with, huh? Clearly I trust you ¨C I''m here now, after all ¨C but I do have some questions.¡± ¡°Questions,¡± Vera said. ¡°It''s been ten years ¨C I''d be shocked if you didn''t. But me and mine,¡± she said, gesturing to all of us behind her, ¡°they''re good. I understand the caution, but don''t be rude, alright?¡± He nodded. ¡°Questions, questions¡­let¡¯s start with this; Where did you go? Why did you leave?¡± he asked, but then spoke again before any answer could be given. ¡°We heard you were defeated but... You fucking killed them all, Vera. You won. You were the hero of Sternsbridge, and you left without warning. And what''s worse is you never fucking came back. Not once.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. His shoulders had drooped slightly, and I thought I saw the faint outline of a slender woman behind him, half-hidden by the mists as they danced and swirled around us. Vera sighed. ¡°That''s not how it was. Sternsbridge was a clusterfuck. We all died. I... I don''t really know how, but I survived. And yeah, the Lions ran, but they came back. We never could, Fandar. It was just me left. We were done.¡± She looked up at the sky for a moment before coming back down to earth once more. ¡°We killed half a company, and they killed all of us. I was the only one left at the end of it and we had no fucking territory. We had no men to hold the ground. All we had was me, and all I could do was kill. Couldn''t even fucking control it by the end, Fanda. If you''d been there, you''d be dead too, and it might not have been them that killed you.¡± She looked him dead in the eye as she spoke, each word husky as if clawed from the depths of her soul and leaving marks the whole way up her throat to get out into the light of day. ¡°You understand? I''ve spent ten years trying to recover from fucking Sternsbridge. They didn''t leave me alone, you know? If I''d come back, you''d be fucked too. They''ve chased me all over the continent, and the only reason I''m back now is because they wouldn''t stop chasing me. I had lions crossing the Unclaimed Peaks after me less than a year ago, or so I thought.¡± ¡°Bullshit,¡± he said loudly, his voice echoing around the clearing, though the mists did much to deaden the sound after it travelled more than a few metres. ¡°The lions are not what they once were, Vera. They''re divided. The courts are bickering once again, and the lions are sent against each other as often as they''re sent outside against us. No way they could spare the manpower for an expedition like that just for your head.¡± ¡°Oh, aye,¡± Vera said. ¡°Turns out that one wasn''t actually for me. It was for him,¡± she said, gesturing at me. ¡°You want to know how we found out about the duke¡¯s ruin? It¡¯s because he sent the Lions after god-touched, and we happened to be in the area to pick one up before they got to him.¡± He blew out air through his cheeks. ¡°Hell of a coincidence, that,¡± he said calmly, though I didn''t miss the implication. Jorge stepped forward then. ¡°I think I might have an idea how that slots together, but before we come to blows throwing accusations one way or the other, perhaps we should sit down. I think a few explanations are in order, aye?¡± he said. Strangely I didn''t feel his calming influence brush over us this time. He was being careful. I supposed that any magic influence at this point would be more inclined to turn Fandar against us than to our cause. Turns out Jorge needn¡¯t have worried. It was less suspicion lacing Fander''s words and more sadness. Shame, perhaps, at having been unable to continue the rebellion once Vera left, or simply a feeling of betrayal at being left behind that he needed to expunge through harsh words. Vera and him, after a while, walked to the corner of the clearing just out of earshot and exchanged words that seemed to calm them both. Eventually, the young woman Fandar had mentioned and that I had caught glimpses of throughout their conversation, emerged from the tree line, bow still in hand, though at Fandar''s calming words she began to unstring it and sling it over one shoulder. A couple young lads and another woman followed her, somewhere in their early twenties, and they all bore weapons, all looked like they knew how to use them. All seemed to bear the signs of living out in the wilderness for long periods of time as well. I briefly wondered if all of Fandar''s companions were hiding out in the wilderness like Vera and her gang had used to, but I was swiftly disabused of that nation. The fighters, the true fighters, numbered no more than two dozen, and stayed exclusively in the wilds, moving around the Western Marchlands and sometimes into the Riverlands too. They relied on an information network and the generosity of some who were just as committed, though still stayed in the settlements. It was my summation that the rebellion had been utterly crushed by this point. Just over a score of warriors, and maybe a dozen more willing to share information, did not make a state tremble with fear after all. It was no surprise then that they heard our plan with interest. There was scepticism when we first outlined it, but we won them over eventually, just as I had won over my own companions the night prior. It was agreed that Fandar and his men and women would join our group in the assault once it was time. Interestingly, the thing that won them over wasn¡¯t the strength of our plan or our arguments. Instead, it was the strength of our arms. The rebels all knew of Vera¡¯s prowess ¨C she was a local legend after all, the Butcher of Sternsbridge in the flesh. Jorge was unknown, but Fandar had stared into his eyes for a few moments, and something had passed between them. When he stepped back, Fandar vouched for his strength, and when combined with Vera¡¯s support, the others quickly accepted his position. They were much more sceptical of us. Vera and Fandar eventually told them all to shut up and mark out a ring, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise. It was apparently an old ritual from the early days of the rebellion, where each new member would have to run the gauntlet and face a half dozen of the old guard to prove their worthiness and commitment to the cause. It was obviously more ritualistic than anything, as the fights were only ever to first blood, and win or lose, they had no real affect. But this felt different. As Nathlan walked into the circle and faced down a man half a decade younger but several feet thicker ¨C or so it seemed ¨C I felt a buzz enter the air, as if the mists were charged with power. They certainly seemed to swirl in anticipation. Nathlan quickly won though. His swordsmanship was leaps and bounds above the rebel ¨C a man named Jassine ¨C but rather than react with anger, as his squashed and brutish features suggested, he seemed to look at Nathlan with awe. Immediately after their bout, he approached to ask for guidance, and Nathlan threw a perplexed look my way before nodding hesitantly. Fandar had only brought four fighters with him, so the full ritual couldn¡¯t be completed, and he seemed to be satisfied with Nathlan¡¯s showing, and gestured for the two men to discuss nearby. Jacyntha faced a small man that reminded me uncomfortably of a rat by the name of Brixby. He twitched regularly, his nose prominent and hooked, and his hair a messy brown bird¡¯s nest upon his small head. Daggers gleamed at his hips, and judging by the bandoleer of glass vials slung across his chest, I got the distinct impression that even a fight to first blood against him would normally be to the death were he to wish it. I may have been wrong and he was simply an alchemical healer, but everything about his appearance and manner screamed ¡®poisoner¡¯ to my eyes. Jacyntha managed to keep him at range with her great-axe though, and the one time he broke through her guard and got in close ¨C an impressive feat considering her speed and range advantage - she used her superior strength, courtesy of her empowerment ritual, to slam him to the floor. She recovered before he did, and he conceded the match, rubbing his side in pain but otherwise taking the loss well. I saw the way he eyed her up afterwards, and I got the distinct impression that her striking appearance smoothed over some of the sting of failure. Sadrianna faced the archer, and her greater level and experience showed its worth. She was also a nightmare match-up for an archer, with her Unorthodox Movement skill and shield to help her avoid arrows, and the fight ended as soon as she used Markhor¡¯s Rush for the first time with expert timing, closing the distance between them in a flash. Then it was my turn. The only opponent left was a meek girl who looked not even in her twenties yet, and I could feel was no more than peak 1st tier, unlike the others who had all at least gained a 2nd tier class. She looked at me through narrowed eyes, drawing a curved hand-scythe from behind her back. It was a farming tool, not a weapon, and I looked at it curiously. She would be unlikely to do much damage with that unless her opponent stood still and let her, in my opinion, but I did my best not to underestimate her all the same. A moment later, she took a step forwards, and I felt the distance between us shrink. It was as if I was temporarily unable to focus on anything but her as space warped between us. Each step brought her three steps closer, and I blinked in surprise to realise she had somehow managed to affect my mind. End of the Hunt was now within my control rather than the untamed beast it had been previously, so I needed to activate it myself. I did in a heartbeat, mana rushing down the activation link, and suddenly the effect cut off. The girl ¨C Tamil, Fandar had said ¨C immediately leapt back in panic, her eyes going wide and the effect broken. I took a step forwards, hatchet snapping into my hand from where it had rested in my belt loop before the girl spoke up. ¡°That¡¯s enough, I yield,¡± she said in a clear voice. I stopped immediately, deactivating my aura skill and returning my hatchet to its place on my belt. I nodded to her in respect, glad I wouldn¡¯t have to beat up a younger, weaker fighter in front of their peers to prove my worth, before I returned to stand with Sadrianna and Jacyntha. I felt eyes on my back though, heavy with intent, and turned to see Fandar looking at me from under the dark ridges of his skull-like visage. ¡°Wait a moment, boy. You¡¯re the one to enter Castle Ryonic, aren¡¯t you?¡± I bristled at his tone, but nodded stiffly despite it. He hummed in thought. ¡°I¡¯d like to take your measure myself, if you don¡¯t mind, of course.¡± I glanced at Vera askance, but she only looked hard at Fandar before turning to me and giving me a nod. I saw a faint smirk at the edges of her mouth, and she said, loud enough for all in the clearing to hear, mists or no; ¡°Show him who you are, Lamb.¡± I turned back to the skeletal man before me, spear slipping into one hand and Resolution unfurling to its full war-form. My blood began to flow faster, breath deepening in preparation for a real fight. I didn¡¯t even realise I was smiling. Chapter 94 - Parting Words I met the gaze of the older man, and he matched me evenly with sunken eyes. Grey, like the mists that swirled around us, but blazing with an intensity entirely their own. My shield, the reinforced exoskeleton of a gargantuan 3rd tier spider, came up to ward my front, and my spear haft slid along the keratin surface until it locked into place against a ridge, pointing directly at Fandar¡¯s chest. ¡®Show him who you are¡¯, Vera had said, and I intended to, even if I planned not to hurt him. He was peak 2nd tier, and with a combat class much like myself. A veteran of the rebellion a decade ago, though he had joined only a couple of years before Vera had left from what I understood. I should have had no chance, but there was a difference between gaining a combat class as a 2nd tier, after spending two decades as a farmer or some such, compared to growing from level 15 all the way to where I now stood. Not only had I spent the last year actually fighting and killing rather than organising and training, but I¡¯d also had time to align my skills and even beliefs with the concept of my class and path. Fandar had no such advantage, and I suspected that him being stuck at the peak of the 2nd tier had more to do with that sudden change later in life than the ridiculous experience requirements of a 2nd tier combat class itself. Still, each level in the 2nd tier was worth far more than those in the 1st ¨C that was how the tiers worked, after all ¨C non-linear power growth for non-linear experience requirements. Our backgrounds had narrowed that massive level differential between us somewhat, but as it turned out, not enough to make up for the difference in attributes and skill levels. I managed to juke aside from his first strike of some magical blast with a quick activation of Break-Step, and my hatchet flew towards his head. It was enough to distract him for a moment, and that was all I needed to close in, my spear blocking off his avenues of attack and forcing him to back away and circle. He was a canny fighter though, and quicker than I could track and before I knew it, he was ducking under my stab and inside my rage, pushing me back even as he lunged at my head. I dropped Resolution and summoned my fang dagger as I backpedalled, lifting my lead leg to avoid a downward swipe of the short katar that had appeared in his fist, but his front foot managed to snare my back one as I took the step, and I fell hard to the floor. I deflected the blade coming for my throat with my shield, punching up so the raised ridge running along the centre snapped him in the face, but he leaned back swiftly to avoid it. Still, it gave me the space I needed to roll to my feet and summon my spear. Resolution landed in my palm as he came forwards once more, and we danced around the impromptu ring, clashing weapons and trading blows for what felt like hours. I drew the short straw with each exchange but managed to avoid serious injury until the end. He fainted a jab with the katar and as I moved my shield off centre to block, he rammed his knee into it, doing no damage but driving me back all the same, and we fell to the ground with my shield arm trapped beneath his hips. From his dominant position, he managed to control my weapon-hand and was poised to strike. I thought he would leave it there, and was opening my mouth to yield when he rammed the punch-dagger down towards my face and I acted instinctively. The Mountain¡¯s Gate forced itself onto the world, and starlight blinded Fandar, an irregularly shaped sphere of mana forcing him from atop me and casting him to the floor as I was wrapped in a protective cocoon of power. I stood and rolled my shoulders as I examined the man who now calmly sheathed his daggers somewhere beneath his cloak. ¡°Testing me, were you?¡± I asked. He nodded, a shallow smile gracing his gaunt visage. It didn¡¯t do much for his appearance, being honest. ¡°Yeah¡­I thought you might be holding something back, and it looks like I was right. Good job, runt,¡± he replied. I glared at Fandar then. ¡°How much did she pay you to call me that?¡± I asked, and he laughed, as did Vera and Jorge. ¡°Looks like we¡¯re all happy then?¡± Jorge asked, and Fandar nodded slowly. ¡°You¡¯ve got a strong group with you, Vera. I hope it¡¯s enough, for all our sakes.¡± It was a somewhat grim pronouncement, but when I looked from Vera and Jorge to the rest of our group, I was filled with confidence rather than apprehension. The lean frame of Nathlan looked comically undersized next to Jacyntha¡¯s muscular form, but i knew they were a dangerous pair, and Sadrianna stood beside them with an easy confidence. Jorge and Vera were pillars of strength behind them all, and I grinned as I felt my core slowly refill with the mana I had spent moments before. We were ready.
¡°Okay then, students. Do we all know what we¡¯re doing?¡± Jorge asked. We were all sat around the fire, a jug of sweet wine being passed around the circle, though vastly watered down. Grim work on the morrow, and none of us would be better off if we greeted it with a hangover. Jorge pointed to me first, and I cleared my throat dramatically. ¡°The only task for me is to infiltrate the castle, and then delay the excavation until I am rescued, beautiful and distressed damsel that I am,¡± I said with a wink. ¡°Can we just leave him?¡± Sadrianna snarked and the others laughed along with us. ¡°Well volunteered Sadrianna. Your task?¡± Jorge asked with a grandfatherly smile, his single long braid nearly white at the tips, through fading to a strong black near the base of his mostly smooth head. ¡°I, alongside Jacyntha and Nathlan, will pose as a mercenary from the mountain clans. We will escort Lamb to Castle Ryonic, then partake of the duke¡¯s hospitality and reward. We then leave after Nathlan gets a good look at the castle wards, and head off back to Barrow-Under-Tine. ¡°If we are being followed by then, we kill our tails, and if not, we circle back around to the woodlands on the northside of the castle to meet you and Fandar¡¯s people, where we all attack at nightfall.¡± She finished with a flourish, ceding the metaphorical floor to Jorge once more, who smiled once more. ¡°Jacyntha and Nathlan¡­I suppose I¡¯ll have to let you off. Seems we all know our roles then, aye?¡± He asked, but I piped up a question. ¡°What about you and Vera?¡± I asked. ¡°We wait, lad, and we watch. Anything seems to be going wrong in that castle, and we come knocking whether the wards are in place or not.¡± ¡°And then?¡± I asked, again. Jorge didn¡¯t share my smile this time though. His gaze remained flinty, and he breathed in almost a whisper, though it carried across the camp easy enough. ¡°Then lad, we do the World Tree¡¯s work and topple a dynasty before it can lay down its roots.¡± ¡°How¡¯s that done then?¡± I asked, though I thought I already knew the answer. ¡°In the way all dynasties eventually fall,¡± he said sadly, and then Vera broke in, her voice cold and final as the last nail in a coffin.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°We kill.¡± Nobody spoke for a few moments, and when I looked around the fire, I saw heads bowed. Some in preparation, no doubt readying themselves for the fighting to come, others simply in contemplation. Thoughts always came thick and fast before a life-altering decision, and there weren¡¯t many things more life-altering than gambling your life on the edge of a blade. I didn¡¯t like it though. ¡°Come on, people,¡± I said, standing and clapping my hands together in the way Jorge was fond of. ¡°Not like this.¡± I looked around, holding gazes until I was sure I had their attention before I started pacing. ¡°We¡¯re all risking our lives tomorrow, for different reasons, I¡¯m sure, but risking it all the same. Some of us might not come back from this. Hells, maybe none of us will! But I¡¯ll not spend what is possibly my final night moping about it.¡± ¡°Vera,¡± I said as I pointed to her across the fire, seeing the flames¡¯ reflection dance in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve been piss scared of you since I met you. You¡¯re a brute of a woman and if I ever find myself face to face with whatever god runs the 9th circle in this world, I won¡¯t be surprised to find out you stole their fire but they¡¯ve just been too scared to ask for it back.¡± She raised her eyebrows, and Jorge laughed in surprise, but I continued on regardless. ¡°¡­but I¡¯ve never seen such compassion for others in anyone before. You¡¯ve got the weight of your own crushing history on your shoulders, but you didn¡¯t even hesitate to stoop down and add mine to your back as well. You¡¯ve done the same to Nathlan, and now you¡¯ve taken on Jacyntha¡¯s burdens too. Saddie¡¯s too perfect to weigh you down much, but I¡¯m sure Jorge is a right fucking whiner, so no doubt you¡¯ve been carrying his burdens for years, too.¡± Sadrianna grinned, and Nathlan and Jacyntha both nodded in agreement, shooting grateful looks Vera¡¯s way even as Jorge spluttered. ¡°Point is, you¡¯re one hell of a friend, Vera, and I¡¯ll never forget the care you showed me. I hope I can live up to your brother¡¯s image one day, and I¡¯m glad to take this fight tomorrow alongside you.¡± Despite his sputtering, Jorge hadn¡¯t been idle, and I grunted in surprise as I caught a wineskin out of the air. I noticed everyone around the fire now had their own ¨C courtesy of the old man - and he led us in a toast. ¡°Skjal!¡± he shouted, and we all followed suit. I turned then to Nathlan, who looked suddenly uncomfortable as my attention fell on him. ¡°Nathe-lan,¡± I said, purposefully mispronouncing his name in the way I knew he hated, ¡°you¡¯re an embarrassingly timid lad for one as dangerous with a blade as you are. You don¡¯t like talking about yourself, and when you do start jabbering on about a topic that only you are interested in, it¡¯s almost impossible to get you to shut up¡­¡± Despite the words, he grinned up at me, and Jacyntha smirked and bumped him in the shoulder good-naturedly too. ¡°Stop looking at me with those puppy dog eyes, mate, you know what¡¯s coming. Despite my long list of complaints, you¡¯re my first friend in this world. You¡¯re loyal and true to your allies, and you¡¯ve got a good head on your shoulders and a burning need to see the right path through. I¡¯ll follow you anywhere, mate, though I might try and steer you from time to time, especially if we risk running too close to a library on our travels.¡± I let that moment hang for a breath before my final point; ¡°and most importantly, I look forward to once and for all proving who the better fighter is tomorrow!¡± ¡°Skjal!¡± Jorge shouted, and we all echoed him, swigging from our skins as we did. Sadrianna flinched as I called out her name, striding over to her side of the fire and clapping a hand on her shoulder. ¡°What can I say about you, Saddie?¡± She flinched again at the nickname, and I cackled with glee. ¡°You¡¯ve got ambition spilling from your ears, and you teeter on the verge of arrogant every single day. But with the gods as my witness, every fucking time I think you¡¯re about to fall into that trap, you go ahead and prove yourself right in that self-confidence, and get the fucking thing done that you said you would. I have no doubt whatsoever, that if you survive tomorrow, you will skip all the way back to the clans with that perfect smile on your perfect face and announce to everyone in your perfect voice that you¡¯re going to fix all their problems¡­.¡± I sighed as I ran out of breath, deflating slightly before I pulled another deep breath into my lungs once more. ¡°¡­and then you just fucking will. Wouldn¡¯t be surprised if you could convince Alker Ribcrusher to take up singing lessons¡± I said with a laugh. She grinned in response, but before Jorge could raise a toast, she shocked me once more. ¡°He has an incredible voice, actually. Very rich baritone, and he can really fill a room, as you can imagine.¡± ¡°Of course she knows all about singing, too,¡± I moaned, rolling my eyes, and then Jorge called, ¡°Skjal!¡± and we cheered and drank. ¡°Jacyntha,¡± I pronounced with weight. She shrank down a little, letting out a quiet, ¡°oh gods!¡±, but I bull-rushed through whatever protest she may have been about to let slip, and continued my pacing round the fire. ¡°To be frank, you were a bit of a cunt when we first met,¡± I said pleasantly, and Nathlan snorted with laughter. She batted him softly, but nodded her head in acceptance as she did so. ¡°¡­but you¡¯ve worked hard to overcome that fatal flaw, which is far more than I can say for others,¡± I said, making an over-exaggerated head tilt towards Jorge. ¡°I won¡¯t belabour the point, because there¡¯s too much I still need to find out about you ¨C I don¡¯t even know your favourite breakfast yet! ¨C but I can see that you¡¯ve got a heart in you, and you¡¯re working on growing it.¡± I met her gaze and implored her to see the sincerity within my own as I spoke my next words. ¡°Hold fast to your path ¨C you¡¯ve already grown into a friend I¡¯d be honoured to stand beside, and I am confident that you¡¯ll become much more in time. You¡¯re one of us now, Jacyntha, wherever you choose to go from here, and you¡¯re not alone any longer.¡± ¡°Skjal!¡± went the chant, and I caught a tension in her shoulders as she drank that hadn¡¯t been there before. Sadrianna placed a companionable hand on her shoulder, and she sniffed quietly. ¡°Jorge,¡± I said softly as I turned to the final member of our little group. ¡°Jorge, Jorge, Jorge.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Brace yourself everyone, cus this will be a long one. You¡¯re the most annoying fucker I¡¯ve ever met, quite frankly.¡± I said, and he raised an eyebrow sardonically at me. ¡°Seriously, Jorge, it¡¯s excruciating working with you. You keep secrets close to your chest like a knucklebone player, and you manipulate us all into whatever dance you¡¯re leading us into, and then you act surprised when we don¡¯t react how you want. And worse than that,¡± I said, pacing once more as I gestured wildly. ¡°Worse than that, is when you act all smug for knowing how we would act in the first place. You set the fucking thing up mate, of course you knew! Share some of the info with the rest of us, and maybe we¡¯d have god-like predictions about our own fucking lives too!¡± I nearly shouted. He looked surprised at the heat in my tone, and turned to Vera, but she just shrugged and nodded. ¡°He¡¯s got you there,¡± she said softly. ¡°I still don¡¯t know to this day whether you¡¯re actually an ancient old man who¡¯s been here since the dawn of the era, or whether you¡¯re just balding and greying early from the stress of pretending to be a wise old man with mystical powers. ¡°I am thoroughly convinced that you are completely unkillable by this point, by dint of pure frustration if nothing else. Everyone you meet will know who you are, and you have a plan for everything. I¡¯m half expecting the duke to just open the gates tomorrow and then trip onto a raised kitchen knife and his head will just roll all the way down the hill to rest at our feet. And then you¡¯ll just turn to us and say ¡®well I¡¯ve never seen anything like that, lad¡¯ with a smug smile on your smug face, ya old git!¡± I heaved in a breath, pausing my tirade for a moment. ¡°Skjal?¡± Sadrianna asked, and I glared her unto silence. ¡°Despite all of that. Despite your annoying tendency to keep secrets and act like you know everything, despite your-¡± ¡°Lamb,¡± Vera interrupted, ¡°you don¡¯t have to list them all again.¡± I grinned a little sheepishly before trying again. ¡°Despite all that¡­you¡¯re an amazing teacher. I could live another century wandering the land and I doubt I¡¯d find anyone both as filled with knowledge and as willing to share it with me. You¡¯ve dedicated your life to a mission, though I¡¯ll be damned if I know what it is, and you¡¯ve given so much to it that I am frankly in awe. I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that I owe my life and everything I am to you. ¡°You found me when I had nothing, and took me under your care for no reason as far as I can tell. You¡¯ve given me food, shelter, safety and training. But most of all, you¡¯ve given me hope. That I can make something of myself in this wide world, that it¡¯s worth the effort to try, and above all else; you¡¯ve given me hope that a better world is possible.¡± I watched him as I said my piece and saw something crack as my final words hit him. He didn¡¯t wait for the ritual words, and instead stood from the fire and embraced me. He was a good few inches shorter than I was, but his arms enveloped me nonetheless, and he pulled me tight like father does to a son. His eyes were misty, and I wondered at the significance of those final words; why they¡¯d had such an effect. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, lad,¡± he said, and the question was wiped from my mind. After a handful of breaths getting my own face under control, I looked up to see the others standing around the fire. I coughed, and finished the ritual myself. ¡°I¡¯m proud to stand beside each of you, and may luck be with us tomorrow. Skjal!¡± The answering shout warmed me as sure as the wine did, and I grinned around at the group of fighters ¨C each of us different, but all bound by a common cause. The night wound down after that, and within a bell we were all bedded down. I thought of what was to come tomorrow, and steeled my nerves. Now that all of the pieces were on the board, all that was left to do was to roll the dice. Interlude - Daggers *Estan* His cold grey eyes were flat as always. That hurt the most, if he was honest with himself. It was also the final nail in the coffin for his lingering doubt. If even a betrayal of this magnitude couldn¡¯t rouse the old man to true emotion, then nothing would. That¡¯s who he was after all ¨C an old husk long past his prime. ¡°After all I¡¯ve done for you, boy? You continue to disappoint me.¡± That was all his father said, and it still stung somehow. The contempt was palpable. Perhaps he¡¯d been harbouring some small hope somewhere that his father would actually see some of the intelligence and ambition that this plan had required and be somewhat impressed? A silly sentiment if he¡¯d ever truly had it. The man was a brute through and through. Estan found his lip curling, and turned it into a sneer, projecting forth all the disdain he could muster, as if it might shield him from his father¡¯s displeasure. It rankled that even here, even now, the man could still turn his legs to jelly with but a look. On the very eve of his victory, Estan still felt like a child being scolded by his father. But that was what this was, wasn¡¯t it? His father telling him off. Shaking his head and lecturing him about his faults, while missing the larger picture. What arrogance. What ignorance! He felt the familiar curdling in his stomach and used that as fuel, stoking the fire within and building himself up for the confrontation. This was his moment, his victory, and he would not be made to feel like a disobedient child by anyone, no matter their personal power. ¡°All you¡¯ve done for me!? You mean ignoring my warnings, waving aside my suggestions and humiliating me in front of your men? Oh, thank you so much, father mine,¡± Estan spat back at him. There was almost a hint of surprise on that cold, unyielding face. It was gone in a moment though, covered again by an imperious glower. ¡°Is that what this is about? You invited enemies into our lands because you felt belittled by my teachings? Perhaps you should have paid more attention.¡± Duke Ryonic moved to the door, his son pushed away as if an afterthought. ¡°I¡¯ll be back once I¡¯ve cleared up your mess again, and we shall have words. Do not expect lenience for such a failure.¡± ¡°You still don¡¯t understand do you father? You can¡¯t fight your way out of this. You¡¯ve been ignorant to politics for far too long. I could have helped you, I tried to help you! But you¡¯re too set in your ways to let me, and now you will face the consequences.¡± Estan spoke, more to himself than his father, knowing the man would walk through the doorway regardless of his words. It was freeing in a way, to say it aloud and hear the truth of it. He had tried to help, and his father was far too stubborn to remain in control. This was necessary. This was a mercy. The door creaked, then all was still. ¡°Ignorant!? You think I¡¯m ignorant boy? What do you know of politics? You think your little stunts mean anything?¡± There was intensity in his gaze now that frightened him. As much as he¡¯d hoped to get a rise out of his father, now that it was here, he shrank back. The Lord Castellan continued to speak, turning and drawing near. His presence grew with every step, and Estan found himself stepping back unconsciously, scared by the disdain and rage he felt rolling off the man. ¡°You think you¡¯re so clever, with your hints and your words and your fancy-fucking-dinners! It means nothing, and you are no-one.¡± He flinched at his father¡¯s anger, and something within him snapped. Drawing himself up, he wrapped himself in his dignity, reminding himself of his friends at court, and the way they looked up to him. That was who he was, not some snot-nosed child who stood and took abuse from a glorified farmer. ¡°Just because you don¡¯t understand something doesn¡¯t mean it does not exist. As I said, you are ignorant. To be expected of a man who spent his formative years as a pig-farmer.¡± Duke Ryonic¡¯s nostrils flared, and Estan hurriedly continued on, aware that if he stopped now, he would never say his piece again. ¡°You ignored the influence of the Sunset Court for far too long, and your enemies took advantage of that. This is your own fault father, and the fact you can¡¯t see that only makes it worse. Yander himself delivered a generous offer on behalf of the Sultanate, and you spurned him publicly. What did you expect?¡± The older man leaned back then, laughing softly. His face was again a mask, and his eyes had gone flat once more, the previous fire dying out. ¡°I¡¯m the ignorant one, am I? And yet you bring up that insult as if it were a good-faith attempt at diplomacy and not a slap in the face? Perhaps you are more a fool than even I realised.¡± The resignation in his voice again cut Estan to his core. ¡°It was an attempt at diplomacy! If you could see past your own-¡° ¡°It was a fucking insult boy!¡± Duke Ryonic roared. The sudden outburst, so unexpected, had Estan flinching back once more. His father never shouted, no matter how he felt. To be raised to such anger over mere words was¡­not normal. ¡°You talk of politics incessantly but fail to see what¡¯s in front of your eyes! A papyrus scroll, brought in on a bed of Elmwood¡­¡± Estan blinked, confused. His father was clearly waiting for an answer, but he had none to give. Why was he talking about the treaty itself? He was the one to ignore it.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°He sent his first-born son into your castle with the treaty father. That¡¯s a show of trust. It means something. Most men value their sons.¡± He said the last quietly, trying his best not to sound sullen, but most likely failing. Duke Ryonic took a breath then, visibly restraining himself. The passion was gone by now, and he simply looked tired and disappointed. As usual. ¡°The Sultan does not care for his son, or he would not have sent him to me to die.¡± He held up a hand at Estan¡¯s startled protestation and talked over him. ¡°The ¡®treaty¡¯ was an insult, designed to raise my anger, and give me cause to execute his son. He would then have reason to ask for my censure in front of the Sunset Court and could use that as leverage to move in on our dominance over trade from the Misted Marshes.¡± Estan stayed silent, unable to interrupt even if he wanted to. It made no sense with everything he knew of the situation, but his father would not give him time to get his thoughts in order. ¡°A peace treaty between the Sultanate and our Kingdom, to be signed upon a papyrus scroll¡­I can understand you missing the significance of that, but the elmwood? Did you not listen to anything I have taught you over the last decade?¡± He shook his head, as if scattering his bitterness around the room to thoroughly coat Estan where he stood. ¡°Elm signifies death in the Sunsets. Its tendency to throw out a single sturdy branch halfway up its trunk has led to it being used regularly as a gallows tree, so much so that it is known colloquially as ¡®the hanging tree¡¯. It is also a hard wood, and plenty of it, and has been the favourite of coffin-makers, at least in the principalities of the Sunsets that practice burial rather than cremation. What do you think of the politics of sending me an official parlay, cloaked in death?¡± He said the word with such scathing contempt that Estan flinched, again. ¡°Again and again boy, you play in waters you do not yet understand. And each time I try to educate you, you flinch back and shove that high-born nose in the air! I was a pig-farmer before I conquered the Western Marchlands, yes. But here I stand, High Lord to the Sunset Court and Lord Castellan of Ryonic Castle. I am noble by deed, not blood. Does that make a shit of difference!? You think they are better than us because of their titles and land and noble lineage? You have the blood of a pig farmer and nothing more, boy!¡± Estan trembled, trying to contain the well of dread his father¡¯s words had conjured. Not the nonsense about blood and titles, but the implications of his earlier statement about the treaty. Yander had said it had been a good-faith attempt, a last-ditch effort to get the duke included in their coup. It was a foolish idea, requested by a far more naive and hopeful Estan years passed. He¡¯d still believed, back then, that he could convince his father to work together for a united kingdom. He would be his political advisor, would work alongside Varice to lead them towards a vanguard position in the Sunsets where they belonged. Perhaps then she wouldn¡¯t spurn his advances. Regardless, he had begged Yander to attempt a settlement before they committed to treason against his father in earnest. Yander had promised him he would attempt to draw the duke to their side, had truly given his best effort. To find out he had lied, had either orchestrated the whole thing himself, or at least covered up his father¡¯s attempt to do so was¡­worrying. What else had he lied about? Was Estan truly a key partner? Or just a willing pawn in the game, to be discarded- His thoughts came to a screeching holt. He¡¯d let the team in, the elite squad of Crimson Lions they had managed to bribe to their side and supplemented with some members of the Sultanate¡¯s personal guard ¨C the Al Alaskir ¨C apparently loyal to Yander rather than his father. High 2nd tier warriors all, he¡¯d given them a way to slip inside and strike at Duke Ryonic while by-passing his guards. And now here he was, a loose end in the same room, ready to be tied up alongside his father. Fuck! ¡°Father listen, I¡¯m sorry but there¡¯s som-¡± He was interrupted by the door coming off its hinges, crimson light blasting behind it as it rocketed inwards away from the doorway. Almost simultaneously, the window smashed in and scattered glass to the stone floor, while men dressed in black and brown tight-fitted clothing leapt through. Estan had barely managed to leap away from the doorway and cover his face from the flying glass before they were surrounded. He jerked his gaze back to his father when he heard a strangled scream and was shocked to see two bodies on the floor, limp and unmoving. Duke Ryonic stood in place, right hand dripping blood to the floor and a vicious gleam in his eye. There it was again, finally. The passion, the lust for life. Estan had still, never in all his years, managed to raise a tenth of the joy on his father¡¯s face that he saw in that moment. ¡°Listen well son, you are about to receive a new lesson.¡± His father spoke, and then the room warped. Ripples shot through the very fabric of the world around them, the air twisted from his lungs and left him gasping. A few of the assassins were left similarly helpless, although most must have had skills or defences to counter whatever his father had done, as they showed no hesitation to leap into battle. He couldn¡¯t keep track of the carnage, and stumbled away, falling heavily against the bare stone wall behind him. Blood splashed him in the face, and screams echoed around the room. In the midst of the chaos, his father danced and laughed, a mad grin lighting up his austere features. He¡¯d conjured a blade from the very air itself, a familiar warping effect on the world jutting out from his palm. It was only visible by the blood coating it, and so he appeared to wield a shard of ruby glass. Fire swirled from the sconces around the room and collected in the palm of one of the assassin¡¯s hands. It condensed and formed a thin, impossibly hot knife and launched at the figure in the centre of the bloody hurricane, only to be redirected by some unseen force and slam into the throat of another assassin opposite the one who had formed it. Moments passed in a blur, and Estan continued to choke on nothing, unable to draw precious air into his lungs. He grew dizzy and a pounding ache within his chest and throat only grew as the moments passed. And then it was over. The chaos vanished as abruptly as it had appeared, screams dying off much like their owners, until only his own ragged breathing could be heard as he gulped in air, suddenly returned to him. His father stood calmly in the centre of a massacre, at least a dozen men and women dead around him, broken, bleeding and desiccated. He had not a mark upon him and looked at Estan with an intensity he¡¯d never before witnessed. ¡°What was the lesson, Estan?¡± He asked, voice low and even. That scared him more than when the man was raging. He knew, with a certainty he could taste on his tongue, that if he answered here wrong, he¡¯d be dead. His father would kill him without remorse and start again with a new heir. He looked from the cold grey eyes of his father to the crumpled bodies littering the floor, and spoke with a squeak. ¡°That politics doesn¡¯t beat power.¡± A slight inclination of the head, and he let out a breath of relief. ¡°Nothing beats power, Estan.¡± The duke¡¯s statement was final. A confirmation of reality rather than a supposition upon it. The corpses sprawled about the floor and the blood caking his forearms counted as compelling evidence to Estan. ¡°Follow. You will tell me everything about this plan that you¡¯ve been hatching with that manipulative little worm from the Sultanate. If you are lucky, I will be able to get us out of this.¡± Estan followed along behind his father, the man¡¯s words echoing about his head. Chapter 95 - Into The Lions Den We spent the next morning preparing, and as afternoon began to cede ground to evening, we approached Castle Ryonic. It felt strange to move once more as a 1st tier. Losing nearly a hundred points in strength and agility made me feel like a clumsy child as I trudged after my companions, who seemed fleet of foot in comparison, even as we walked along a raised gravel and stone path. The sentries had seen us coming, though there seemed to be a frantic nature to the way they were gesturing and shouting to one another that surprised me. Were these not trained guardsmen? Perhaps this would be easier than I had expected. I leaned over to Nathlan, who walked calmly by my side, and asked him what was happening. He could no doubt hear exactly what was being said by the guards, but my perception, much like my other attributes, was lowered by the amulet I wore around my neck. He confirmed my suspicions though ¨C they were worried. ¡®More outsiders, warn the duke!¡¯ one guard had apparently called to others out of view behind the crenelated walls. I also had a storage ring that Jorge had been saving for me, looted from a commander after the ambush in the Riverlands. He¡¯d needed to rework some of the binding magic within it to make it wearable, and apparently had finished it off yesterday in time for this little encounter, which was lucky for me, since I couldn¡¯t very well walk up to the duke with Resolution in hand and expect him to think I was a measly 1st tier support in need of help. By the time we reached the gates, there was a cluster of men ready and waiting, looking down on us from their position on the high walls at least 10 meters above us. Crossbows were trained on all of us, and soldiers armed with short blades and shields manned the walls beside them. A tall man removed his helm to shout down to us, and I saw the sunlight glinting off his red mane of hair as he did so. ¡°State your business.¡± We traded glances, before Sadrianna stepped forwards. ¡°We are looking for Duke Ryonic of the Western Marchlands. We are here to claim a bounty.¡± There was a moment of silence, and then the man was gesturing to one of the soldiers who disappeared a moment later. He turned back to us. ¡°Tensions are high. Please stay back from the gates until we have word.¡± We once more traded glances, and then settled in to wait outside of the gates. Sadrianna summoned her ¡®old man chair¡¯ and took a seat, and the rest of us sprawled about on the empty plain outside the gate a few hundred meters away.
The man striding through the courtyard reminded me of the ancient glaciers in the Dragon-Spine Mountains. It seemed trite to say that he looked cold, but it was true. There was an air of detachment, as if as he walked through the world there was a distance between him and all others. A younger man trailed behind him, perhaps a son based on the resemblance in their hair and eye colour, though I couldn''t be sure since their stature was so different. The duke, for this was obviously the duke, was tall and broad-shouldered with a trim waist, and while there were flecks of grey in the hair above his ears and lines on his face that spoke of an experience and weariness that only came with age, physically he looked like a young man. His son was different; a paunch around the stomach and a sagginess to his jowls that spoke to a lifestyle very different, one filled with food and wine in excess. Whether it was past training or just the inheritance of his father, he was still broad in the shoulders though, and long of limb. The duke seemed to move through the world as if expecting it to give way to him, and indeed it did. The soldiers that had ushered us inside the gate and now surrounded us moved aside, the young man behind him hurried at his heel like a trained pup, and even I found myself stepping back when he walked straight up and into our space. I was glad of the reaction as well, knowing that I was playing the role of a meek and scared god-touched in the presence of far more powerful people. It wasn''t a hard act to slip into, honestly, since I did find this man intimidating despite my best efforts. Grey eyes lingered on Nathlan for a moment before finally moving on to the barbarians, and then they settled on me. I felt for a moment as if the air was sucked from my lungs. My jaw twitched, but other than that, I made no move, and a moment later it was as if nothing had happened. It had been difficult to wrestle down the instinctive need to activate my aura skill to combat his, but I managed to overcome that instinct. I once more thanked the greater control I now had over my pathbound skill in the 2nd tier. ¡°So, you wish to claim a bounty?¡± he asked, directing his question to Sadrianna who had stepped forward slightly in front of the rest of us. ¡°We do. This man,¡± she said gesturing to me, ¡°is God-Touched. He was being transported by some men under your employ. A man named Francis of the Crimson Lions.¡± The duke regarded her cooly. ¡°And how is it you came by this man? I do not see Francis with you,¡± he said. Sadrianna sighed. ¡°It is somewhat of a long story, but the short version is that the mountain clans do not take kindly to trespassers. There is unrest within the clans at the moment, and your men were a casualty in a retaliatory raid by a rival clan.¡± She then held up her hand to belay any questions. ¡°Rest assured, the people responsible have been punished.¡± He tilted his head. ¡°Punished?¡± Jacyntha smirked and ran a nail down the edge of her great axe, leaving a faint shing! in the air that made some of the soldiers nearby flinch. The duke was unmoved, of course, and looked back at Sadrianna, who simply inclined her head. ¡°And how do you know about the boy?¡± he asked. I was a bit fed up of being completely ignored in this conversation, but I was playing a role and it didn''t seem like it would be in character for me to speak up, so I just fumed silently. Sadrianna shrugged. ¡°He volunteered himself. He was a prisoner at the time - in chains, anyway - and Clan Grey-Rock thought he might be valuable. When we retaliated and found them, he was happy enough to come with us. Told us a story about a bounty, about his capture by a man named Francis, and the riches he had bragged about acquiring in return for this man''s deliverance.¡± Jacyntha jumped in, and I could practically hear her smirk as she said; ¡°he wouldn''t shut up about it, honestly.¡± The duke once more cocked his head to one side and I was reminded, strangely, of a raven. I had observed one once in the Riverlands near a week ago while we ate. It was after Darrow¡¯s Edge, and we had all been in a black mood. But this little raven had been hopping about near my shield while I ate, hoping to snag a bite no doubt. I had watched it for almost an entire bell, and I¡¯d observed a strange intentionality in their movements. As if they acted not just for their own benefit, but also to see how you would react to their movement. Sometimes, when they cocked their heads this way and that, I wondered if they were trying to draw more from whomever they were looking at. I got the sense, in that moment, that Duke Ryonic had spent a long time watching ravens too, and had incorporated some of their mannerisms, whether intentionally or not. Sadrianna and the duke talked for a few more moments before he seemed to come to a decision. ¡°It is late,¡± the duke said, ¡°and I would not turn you away to out into the cold, but I will need to confirm things before proceeding. But, if all you have said is true, then there will be a reward for you. Did Francis say what that offer was exactly? Because I made no formal bounty.¡± ¡°I''m not sure myself. Let''s see what the runt says,¡± Sadrianna suggested, and the duke raised his eyebrow. ¡°Runt? He''s not a small man from what I can see,¡± he said, giving me a measuring look. Sadrianna just grinned. ¡°You should see the men in the Mountain Clans. Nathlan here is a bit of an odd one out back home,¡± she said as she hooked a thumb behind her to where Nathlan stood quietly. The duke actually smiled at that, before turning to me. ¡°So, boy, what was promised for your capture?¡± I winced and shuffled on the spot for a little bit before shrugging. ¡°Francis wasn''t exactly clear, but he did make it known that there was great value to be had in my capture and deliverance to you. That you were somewhat desperate,¡± I said, and saw the duke raise an eyebrow again. ¡°No offence, sir, your dukeness! He just seemed very excited to get me back to the Sunsets.¡± ¡°And you volunteered this information?¡± he asked. ¡°Safety is hard to come by.¡± I didn''t elaborate further. Instead, letting him draw whatever conclusions he wanted. It didn''t take long before he turned back to Sadrianna. ¡°You have my thanks. There''s plenty of space in the castle, though, I will warn you; there is war brewing here, and things are tense. Do not leave the caste, and do not go wondering around. Your story makes sense, so I am inclined to trust you, but I will not risk my security for your curiosity. Do you understand?¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I cursed inwardly, but Sadrianna was a quick thinker, after all. ¡°My Lord,¡± she said, just as he turned to go. ¡°You say there are enemies attempting to beset you on all sides? It just so happens you have a trio of capable mercenaries, desperate for some coin. By all means, take the lad and try and ascertain his value. But how about we hang around here, reinforce your walls a touch? If there''s fighting to be had, we''ll do it.¡± He looked suddenly interested once more, and Sadrianna continued on. ¡°Though, I will warn you, we won''t die for you. Still, we''re good with our weapons, and I dare say see seeing a few powerful 2nd tier barbarians on the wall will do wonders for your men¡¯s morale, eh?¡± ¡°What are your terms?¡± he asked after barely a moment. Sadrianna shrugged again. ¡°As I said, things get too dicey, we''ll cut and run, so we won''t charge you at a normal rate. But we''re good for a bit of bloodshed, so how about this? You pay us a soldier''s wage for three nights, and if there is bloodshed, we renegotiate after you see what we can do.¡± Jacyntha raised her battle axe to rest over both shoulders, her arms draped over the handle and the haft near the gleaming head. The confidence of that pose combined with the muscle on her frame certainly seemed to back up the point. The duke smiled. ¡°I''ll never turn away competent help. My man over there, goes by the name of Decker ¨C speak to him. He''ll give you instructions.¡± Then he turned away for the final time, calling over his shoulder, ¡°Thank you. We shall speak tomorrow, I expect.¡± I floundered for a few moments before he looked back. ¡°Come on, boy!¡± he called to me.
I followed the duke and his son through a few winding, open passageways devoid of decor other than the regular braziers burning in their sconces, and the occasional tapestry or carpet on the stone floor. They did little to bring cheer to this old, dark castle but from what I¡¯d seen of the duke so far, I could well imagine that that was just the way he liked it. And then before I knew it, we were heading underground. I kept up the act of a meek man as we moved, and the deeper underground we got, the further from the open sky I travelled, the easier I found it to perform. After what felt like an eternity of silence, I asked; ¡°Do we not need guards?¡± The duke just laughed. ¡°Boy, there is no one more powerful in this entire country than myself. I am enough to guarantee your safety. And even Estan here could kill most beasts in this area. Fear not.¡± I gave Estan a look up and down, but with the amulet restricting my attributes, I was wary of trying to use my mana senses to get a gauge of him. I didn''t know what capacity the duke had to detect things like that, and I wouldn''t risk anything just for simple curiosity. I guessed he was probably somewhere within the 2nd tier, based on the fact that Vera had been clear that the duke was the only 3rd tier warrior in the Western Marchlands and Fandar had not said otherwise either. I didn''t want to underestimate the man though. He did have a thin fencing steel strapped to his waist, and an ornate dagger on the other hip, and there was always the chance he actually knew how to use them. I doubted it though. We journeyed on for near a bell, and I tried to memorise the route, though there weren''t many branching passageways. A couple of smaller passages off to the left and one crossroads, but otherwise it was a single tunnel straight in one direction. We trudged mostly in silence, and I wondered how the others were getting on.
*Nathlan* He followed Sadrianna and Jacyntha as they made a show of patrolling the walls. Sadrianna for her part was deliberate in nodding to guards as they passed and generally making their presence felt, and Nathlan was glad he could leave the acting to her. He had a different task. This would be no feat of his class. He had given up his ward-craft long ago when he renounced his class, and in many ways this felt like a betrayal of the vow he had made to himself. He had worked so hard to find a new calling, to create a new class from the ground up, and reinvent his path away from the warding his homeland so praised. But he had learned recently that his past was not something that could be so easily forgotten. He had fled from the coast and joined Vera and Jorge as they crossed the Unclaimed Peaks all those years ago. He had spent time on the other side of the continent, across the ¡®Spine of the World¡¯ as many called the two mountain ranges that separated the west and the east of Tsanderos, and tried to put his homeland far from his mind. Vera had been a role model. She¡¯d given up vengeance and her home to travel in the far east, and he could do the same, or so he had thought. But now, close to home and with the legacy of his own house baring down on him even now, he found once more a use for those old skills. His awareness seeped into the rock below him, and he cast about with his spiritual senses. This was no feat of free magic, but instead a use of one of his class skills; The Eyes Deceive. That was another lesson, buried within experience ¨C that his class could still benefit from, and synergise with, his old magic ¨C and he snatched the wisdom gratefully from the scene, ferreting it away to be consumed later. For now, he kept his focus on the stone below, and let his skill guide his attention towards any magic woven throughout the castle structure. It was slow going, and he relied on Sadrianna and Jacyntha to cover for any strange looks they would get as he ignored the outside world. They played their part admirably and looked unhurried as they walked the walls with deliberate slowness. He explored with an almost childlike excitement building within as he uncovered more of the runic circles carved directly into the stone castle. These wards were weak. Amateurish. Pathetic, really. Nathlan could have designed a better construction with a few bells to plan, and this had presumably taken weeks to lay down during the castle construction. A few times he had needed to pause and spend longer unravelling a particularly complex string or node of runes deep below, and Sadrianna had understood his needs perfectly, choosing to engage guards in conversation and at one point launch into a completely improvised conversation with Jacyntha about the advantage of the terrain along a portion of the wall. It had brought him enough time, and he then retreated to a shaded spot and took out an empty scroll and a jar of ink and quill. He had the overall design mapped out in his head, and now needed to note it down before he lost it. The air was filled with the frantic scratching of quill on papyrus, and then he was done sketching the patter from memory. ¡°I will need time to play around with this,¡± he said to Sadrianna, and she raised an eyebrow at him. ¡°I didn¡¯t realise we were all here for your amusement, Nathlan,¡± she rebuked him. He simply waved her off though. ¡°Give me a bell and I will have a solution. The good news is that the ward is systematised. The underlying magical substrate is relatively weak, because each separate node is synched in sequence to the next. In fact-¡± ¡°Nathlan.¡± He looked up to see Sadrianna¡¯s raised eyebrow and Jacyntha looking off into the distance with a look of complete and utter boredom on her face. ¡°We don¡¯t need the explanation,¡± the barbarian woman said kindly, ¡°just tell us the good news.¡± ¡°Ah. Yes. So the good news is that overloading a single node will cause a magical backlash across the whole substrate and the ward will unravel because of the Falconey Principle that underpins the design-¡± Sadrianna coughed once more, and he did have the grace to look chagrined in response. ¡°The whole defensive ward will unravel if we can break it at the right spot. Give me a bell, and I will find a few possible places, and then we can plan how to break it before leaving.¡± ¡°Thank you, Nathlan.¡± She said and he smiled. ¡°It was quick thinking by you back there,¡± he replied. ¡°With the duke. Well done.¡± Jacyntha spoke up then as well. ¡°Yeah, good instincts. We can now explore as we want, and we get paid for it too.¡± Sadrianna shook her head though. ¡°I doubt we¡¯ll be sticking around long enough to get paid, to be perfectly honest. Hopefully Jorge and Vera will see us on the wall, and we can signal to them somehow to let them know that the attack can commence. I am concerned that I¡¯ve changed the plan too much already.¡± ¡°I think we have other problems¡­¡± Jacyntha said, eyes still far off on the forest in front of the gates. Sadrianna turned to look, and then she gasped. ¡°Shit. This changes things.¡± Men and women along the wall began to stir and a few shouted down into the keep. Orders soon started flying around, and the keep itself descended into a controlled chaos, with buckets of arrows being hauled up ropes onto the crenelated walls, and soldiers rushing about in the courtyard below. The disturbance was enough for Nathlan to leave his work, and he looked up in confusion. He followed the gazes of his two companions and stood from his shaded seat to look over the wall. On the plain below massed an army. Not a large one, no more than a few hundred men, but he still felt himself grow cold. They trickled out of the trees and assembled themselves on the muddy fields before Castle Ryonic with a calm smoothness that spoke to strong discipline. He saw siege ladders in clusters a dozen apiece, and a group of perhaps two dozen men that drew his eye. He let his spiritual sense roam free, unguided by any specific skill, but simply seeking to find sources of power. The results were not promising at all. Each man and woman in that group lit up like a beacon to his senses. Powerful 2nd tiers all. Perhaps not a match for him or his companions one on one, though some might well be, but a score of them would swiftly overwhelm them. They wore colourful silks wrapped tightly to their bodies, curved swords strapped to their hips or backs, and a few had strange-looking small bucklers in their off-hand. Most wore turbans of various colour, and a few even had veils of thin silk streaming out below their headwraps. At their front stood two men and a woman, and they seemed to be just as powerful, though the older man stood out even amongst them. The young man in the front, tall and broad with skin the colour of rich caramel, stepped forwards. His voice was as rich as his complexion, and it boomed over the wall with a confident rumble that set Nathlan¡¯s teeth on edge. ¡°Stand down, men and women of the Marchlands. We are here on behalf of the Sunset Court. Open the gates and surrender, and there will be no bloodshed.¡± Decker stepped forwards to shout over the barbican wall at the army assembled below. ¡°We have our orders from the duke, and only he can order the surrender of this castle. If you attack now, you will die.¡± Brave words, but Nathlan didn¡¯t like their odds. The wards, while poorly constructed, were still very much in effect, and the army would have a hard time storming the gate. But with ladders and ropes, the group of 2nd tiers would have no trouble scaling the walls and wreaking havoc among the mostly 1st tier defenders of Castle Ryonic. It would be a costly victory though, and he suspected that was what was holding back the army below. ¡°My father is not an unreasonable man, and we are not here for battle. Bring out the duke, and we will parlay.¡± Decker seemed to hesitate a moment before shouting back. ¡°It will take time to fetch him. Do I have your word that you will wait if I leave myself to bring him your offer?¡± Nathlan had to hold in a chuckle at that. It was such a bizarre thing, this conversation. Two men shouting at one another from a hundred meters distant, and it seemed like empty promises may be enough for them. How different it was to the military history he had studied of the larger empires and kingdoms, where armies of a dozens of 3rd tier warriors would run long campaigns of sabotage and assassination ahead of grand diplomatic summits where speeches and great words were exchanged by the powerful. Here in the Sunsets, the relative backcountry of Tsanderos, diplomacy seemingly consisted of a few men shouting at one another across an empty field. The siege engines and gleaming weapons and armour of the hundred or so men on either side did add some grandeur back into the scene, but not much. ¡°You have until the sun sets tonight¡± came the even reply. A bell or two then, not particularly generous. Decker seemed to acknowledge it, before ducking under the barbican again. Frantic whispered conversation occurred, and Nathlan watched a young man sprint off towards the main keep with admirable speed. Some sort of messenger class, perhaps. Nathlan looked up at the heavens and sighed as he saw a shy sky, a hint of a deep purple blush working its way upwards from the horizon. Not long now. Chapter 96 - A Familiar Gambit I was wrenched from my thoughts by the duke asking how it was I came to be here. I''d explained, in a rough outline at least, my journey; how I''d been caught by the Crimson Lions in Colchet, how I''d journeyed with Francis, Sven, Rank, and Shavkat into the Dragon-Spines, how we''d been set upon in a barbarian raid, the screams in the night, the blood splashing everywhere, the terror. I''d done my best to channel the experiences I''d witnessed of the townsfolk in the Riverlands. I''d tried to imagine how terrifying it must be for someone with very little power to stand up for themselves. It wasn¡¯t hard to do in the presence of the duke, honestly. He felt like Vera did during our spars ¨C hard edges that would cut me if I got too close. Where she made the effort to turn off whatever threat she put out into the world most of the time, I picked up no such courtesy from the duke, and felt myself constantly walking a knife-edge around him. A prickling reminder that death lurked nearby. He''d asked at one point how I''d got to Colchet to begin with, but luckily, he was easily distracted. I knew there would be questions, but I hoped that I could avoid them for now. I only needed to distract them for a day or two, after all. We soon arrived at our destination, and I got the sense we were no more than four or five miles from the castle but deep underground, as all my worst adventures tended to be. The earthen tunnel had given way to what was clearly a more reinforced structure. Thick wooden slats bracketed the sides and roof, and mage lights hung at regular intervals to light the way. It then ended abruptly, and without any time to prepare, I stood at the top of a quarry, an enormous cavern opening out where the ceiling continued further on, but the floor dropped away beneath. This open space must have been hundreds of metres wide and long at the least, and it extended into a dark void so that I had no real idea of its true scale. As I looked down, I saw what appeared to be slabs of symmetrical rectangular rock, clearly cut by humans with intention. They were stacked, one on top of the other, reaching towards us such that I felt I was standing at the top of a pyramid of some sort. Perhaps a quarry was a better term. Wooden scaffolding descended from my position at the roof of the cavern, all the way down to the base some three or four hundred metres below. The duke wasted no time in descending, Estan following after him, seemingly unconcerned with the idea of me running. To be fair, I doubted I would get far before he caught up, even were I to break the amulet¡¯s effects and use my full speed. I followed them, criss-crossing my way down the wooden planks scaling the side of the pyramid structure, and it was only once I was close enough to the rock to touch that I realised it was obsidian. Black glass, formed of volcanic struggle deep in the heart of the earth, spilling to the surface only after millennia of battle. I wasn¡¯t even aware that it could be formed in such large shapes before, but I suppose that was likely the least surprising thing about these ruins. It wasn¡¯t just a magnificent structure of volcanic glass though. There was something else here, too. I didn''t know how I knew, but there was a certainty deep within my bones that something was below me, like a predator lying in wait. That feeling you have when in deep water, as if a shark could be below you at any moment. You get it at night in the forests, too; that desire to just look over your shoulder. Once you do though, even if you see nothing, you''ve confirmed its presence because you''ve acted on that fear, and now it stays with you and that compulsive need to check over your shoulder becomes an compulsive need to get away from whatever is stalking you. That was the feeling I had in that moment; that I needed to leave. That there was something below waiting for me, something hungry, and I needed to get out. I shivered in fear and then felt a snarling heat within my soul in response. ¡°You feel it, boy?¡± The duke asked. His words helped ground me, and I realised the true danger here was not from the ruin. I tried desperately to contain the urge to let my path-bound skill roar its defiance at whatever aura was trying to convince me to leave. The first of many traps and defensive mechanisms that this ruin possessed, no doubt. ¡°The Ashkanians were a remarkably advanced civilization, and this is one of their legacies. Stable aura manipulation by inanimate objects that persists long after such magic should normally fade. Impressive, is it not?¡± He asked again. I jerked a nod, still fighting my own instincts. As well as the sinking feeling of dread from the ruin, I struggled against my own body. I felt my heart starting to pound within my chest, beating faster, stronger, with an urgency as if it could protect me from whatever this feeling was. I fought back desperately, willing my body not to turn and run, and also equally willing my soul not to reach for the mana that even now swirled within my core. Activating End Of The Hunt would be a mistake, for while it was not necessarily the most powerful skill, the defiant nature of it would definitely clash with the image I was trying to put forward. I then felt a heavy blanket settle around me, spiritual rather than real. Nevertheless, it weighed me down slowly, a subtle pressure around my shoulders demanding subservience, but at the same time promising that so long as I was to serve, I would be protected. The duke wandered over, seeming to observe me for a time. ¡°This vault is warning us away,¡± he remarked, as if out for a stroll in a field beneath a pleasant sky rather than miles underground in an ancient and decidedly ominous ruin. ¡°Well, God-Touched; now is the time for you to prove your utility. Come.¡± I followed him as he strode straight-backed into the darkness. ¡°We have managed to isolate the specific sequence that we believe to be causing this aura, and it would make things easier if you were able to silence it.¡± I nodded, though didn¡¯t make any promises, a more interesting question occurring to me that I couldn¡¯t help but ask first. ¡°Forgive my ignorance, but is Ashkanian not a commonly spoken language in some academic circles?¡± He answered as we walked for a few hundred meters further into the cavern. I saw the evidence of excavation all around. Pickaxes and slabs of obsidian moved about haphazardly. Tools used for more careful and precise work; small handheld drills, delicate brushes and chisels, mage-lights and candles placed at areas of particular interest. ¡°Ashkanian was not a single language, though they made great strides in political and cultural centralisation. I am given to understand that there are many dialects and sub-languages, especially so for the written word, within Ashkanian history. Unsurprising, given their longevity ¨C it would be strange for two cultures separated by nearly a thousand years to be too similar, no matter their contiguity¡­or so I am led to believe by what little I¡¯ve read on the subject.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Regardless, most who do speak the ancient tongue speak High Ashkanian, supposedly from the 2nd Era at the height of their civilisation. This vault is not High Ashkanian, at any rate.¡± We came to a little cluttering of lights near a desk, filled with scrawling diagrams and images that reminded me somewhat of some of the scrawls I had seen Nathlan peruse on occasion. I did not have the theoretical and magical knowledge to understand anything hidden within them, but it was clear that this was the site of scholarly inquest. Duke Ryonic gestured broadly to a single massive slab, two meters wide and roughly a meter high. ¡°Here,¡± he said imperiously. ¡°We believe this holds the details. Can you read it?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll need some light,¡± I said, as I gazed at the strange patterns woven within the obsidian block. They were like charcoal lines on a black surface ¨C just barely visible if you strained, but at a quick glance appeared to be nothing more than a trick of the light. ¡°I have already sent word to Varice ¨C she will join us momentarily,¡± was the only reply I received, and so I spent my time squinting in the dim light, a blank book in my lap in which I tried my best to note down the swirling patterns. Without seeing the whole thing, I couldn¡¯t decipher it, but I could likely make a passable drawing of it over time and then read from that. Perhaps. The duke loomed behind me, a stalwart weight holding back the darkness of the ruin, but also a blade poised above my neck at the same time. Suffice it to say, it wasn¡¯t the most pleasant working environment. Varice arrived soon though, and that is where my real troubles began. She was an unexceptional woman in many ways ¨C average height, somewhat frumpy build and features that wouldn¡¯t look out of place in a half-silver mine or servings drinks at an inn. Hey eyes were somewhat dramatic though, containing a faint hint to purple light. She wasted no time with introductions, instead waving a hand before the obsidian stone, which lit as if from within with a deep purple. The light bubbled up from the centre until it shone through the stone, highlighting the swooping patterns carved within the glass itself. I took a step back, my eyebrows climbing up my forehead, but I began to read aloud before the duke even turned toward me. The words were violent, filled with glottal stops and choking sounds rather than the lilting, musical language I had expected from an ancient, advanced civilisation. At least, that is what the faces of Varice, Duke Ryonic, and Estan seemed to say when I turned to them. We stared at one another for a few moments before Estan muttered in exasperation. ¡°Well!? What does that mean?¡± he asked. I blinked a few times, before realising that I had been speaking Ashkanian rather than Escriban ¨C the most common language in the Sunsets. The block I¡¯d read aloud described a surprisingly simple mechanism for disabling the aura that permeated this primeval ruin. It was actually a shockingly simple design, and I suspected that it was only a defence mechanism in that it may warn off wild creatures and perhaps other sapients that were not Ashkanian from attempting to access the vault. Any who could read Ashkanian would be fine, since the block described in shockingly simple terms how to deactivate the aura. In such simple terms, in fact, that I suspected accessing the rest of the ruin and disabling any traps would be a trivial thing to do. Too easy, too quick. I thought fast. ¡°Oh. Yeah, so it roughly translates to ¡®find the repeating pattern of 3¡¯. Not entirely sure what that means, but I would guess we have to look around and find-¡± ¡°He¡¯s lying.¡± Varice¡¯s sharp voice cut across my rambling, and I turned to her in surprise, trying to look as innocent and confused as possible. She just turned to the duke. ¡°He¡¯s lying,¡± she reiterated, and I felt the icy glare of the duke turn my way. ¡°Now boy,¡± he said as he took a step towards me, and I found myself unconsciously backing away in time with his movement. ¡°Why would you be lying?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t¡­I mean, I¡¯m not-why would you-¡± I stuttered as I looked frantically towards the unremarkable form of Varice as she stood with a hip cocked to one side and her brow scrunched in concentration. I then noticed the raven perched on her shoulder, looking at me from the side of its little head with a beady intensity. It clacked its beak suddenly, the sound cracking across the dark cavern and nearly making me flinch. ¡°Lies!¡± it croaked, and I did flinch then, the action not entirely voluntary. ¡°Sir,¡± I said as the duke continued to walk me down. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, but that¡¯s what it says, I swear! Perhaps we just need to search the nearby slabs for the right pattern, and we can unlock¡­¡± But the duke wasn¡¯t listening to me any long. He strode towards me leisurely, but there was no distance between him and the world any longer. A gleam had come into his eye, as if the world was suddenly, for a single moment at least, now more interesting and worthy of his full notice. I felt the aura around my shoulders pull away, the ruin¡¯s dread intent taking its place and trying to strike fear into my heart. And then it was gone again, and the weighted blanket of the duke¡¯s own intent was back, but this time it was crushing. Suffocating. A column of knives pressing into my back, forcing me down even as it cut through my skin, my muscles, my bones and organs. ¡°You¡¯ve been lying to me, in my own hall?¡± he asked calmly, though I could feel something bubbling under the surface. ¡°Who are you, stranger? One of The Sultan¡¯s men perhaps?¡± He caught my eyes darting around between the three of them and smiled a cold smile. ¡°Oh no, there will be no escape now. You will answer my questions, and only once I am satisfied will you breathe once more.¡± And so saying, the pressure redoubled, and my lungs were suddenly empty. I gasped, but the duke paid no mind. ¡°Are you even God-Touched? What was that language you spoke? Why are you here, boy?¡± I struggled to fight off the impending panic of being unable to breathe ¨C even with my lowered attributes, my endurance was such that I could last far longer than a few beaths without air. I couldn¡¯t speak though, since I had no air in my lungs to propel the words from my throat. He realised this after a moment, and I felt the pressure slacken, allowing me to raise my head from the pitiful crouch I¡¯d been in. I saw Estan smirking from where he stood a few steps behind his father. ¡°I am God-Touched, I swear it! And that was Ashkanian, as far as I can tell, at least.¡± He looked over to Varice, who was nodding along, her raven on her shoulder cocking its head this way and that as it examined me, though it stayed blessedly silent this time. I realised belatedly that it too had a faint purple hue. A mana construct then, or some sort of familiar. I was mostly ignorant of that school of magic and how it worked in conjunction with the system, though I knew it was much like ward-craft in that it had existed before the system and synergised with it. Still, whether the creature was purely the result of a class skill, or a true familiar, it was likely that they shared a telepathic bond of some sort, and so its silence wasn¡¯t necessarily a good thing. I heard the slapping of boots on wood in the distance, but the duke¡¯s glare was unrelenting. I tried again. ¡°Please, why-¡± ¡°Why are you here, boy?¡± he asked once more, and this time he reached for a knife at his belt. Time for a final gambit. I looked him in the eye then and let him see my defiance. ¡°Did you think you would be the only one with ambition to claim what lies within these ruins?¡± I asked. He looked momentarily taken aback, and I unleashed my own aura, letting the influence of the restriction amulet fall away like dust on the wind. End Of The Hunt roared back in defiance of the choking aura that even now pressed down on me. I was not just a weak little 1st tier that he could bully though. His aura was calibrated to restrain someone far weaker, and while he may have had enough power to restrain even me as my aura skill fought against his, he hadn¡¯t expected it. I exploded from my crouch, slipping past him with all the dexterity and grace I could manage and sprinting towards Estan and the vast open cavern behind him. I watched his eyes widen, and he fumbled at his belt for the fencing steel, drawing it and swinging it towards me. There was no time to stop, but I had never intended to, and I dropped to the floor and skidded along the dusty ground the final few meters, feeling the swish of air parting above my head where the sword missed by mere inches. I spun at the last minute, rolling over the edge of the drop, and catching a final look at Estan¡¯s enraged and bewildered face, Varice¡¯s shock, and the duke¡¯s mild look of surprise, before I disappeared into the blackness of open air. Chapter 97 - Contact with the Enemy My heart hammered as I fell through the void, and I abruptly realised the stupidity of my plan. There was no light down here, since I¡¯d leapt off the side of the pyramid that was not currently being explored. I had intended to use Break-Step to survive the fall and lose myself within the ruins, distracting the duke and others long enough for my companions to disable the wards and sneak out. Obviously, the duke was far above me in terms of a straight fight, but perhaps I could lose him among the ruins, considering my ability to read its traps ahead of time. The issue that I hadn¡¯t taken into account, however, was the fall to begin with. Break-Step was situationally an incredibly powerful skill...but it was not true flight. With the seemingly infinite blackness all around, I had no way of seeing where the ground truly was, and so my timing for Break-Step was likely to be significantly off. It was too late to back out now though as I tumbled through the void, seeing the light above from the small mage lights and the remains of Varice¡¯s earlier spell grow ever more distant with each meter I fell. I was saved from a swift death by something far worse, though. The world around me warped, which was interesting to say the least considering it was nothing but uncompromising blackness. But still, I felt the air twist upon itself, and once more it was sucked from my lungs. I hovered in place, and then, nearly twenty meters above, I saw the calm face of Duke Ryonic peering over the lip, a disdainful twist to his mouth. ¡°Did you really think it would be so easy?¡± he asked, and he gestured, the air moving once more to his command. I felt something pulling me up by my stomach, and suddenly I was rising through the air towards him once more. I tried to kick and struggle, and even withdrew the fang-dagger from my storage ring and tried to slice through whatever invisible string bound me, but it was no use. Perhaps if I had spent longer studying that skill that Sadrianna frequently used, but I had put it off ¨C too many competing priorities. Instead, I thrashed about uselessly until I reached Duke Ryonic¡¯s level, and he reached out to grip me by the collar of my robe. I knew when I was beaten, and thought it better to play for time than to try and kill a man who could move faster than I could think in close quarters like this. In what I hoped to be a surprising move, I ceased my struggle, letting the dagger clatter to the floor. I spread my hands to either side in a shrug. ¡°Sorry, I slipped,¡± I tried with my best charming smile, and to my surprise, the duke actually smiled with me. And not the cold, dangerous smile I had expected, filled with the promise of pain and blood. No, this was a genuine expression, and I found myself almost a little hopeful that I could talk my way out of anything too catastrophic. I was needed alive and able to read and talk, after all. Eyes and tongue at least would need to remain, so no chance of me spending the rest of my days wandering Tsanderos blind and mute. Silver linings needed snatching wherever they presented themselves. ¡°I have to say, boy, I have found you quite entertaining,¡± the duke said lazily. ¡°Unfortunately, you''ve caught us at a very busy time. Were we in no rush, I could perhaps have even convinced you that you would have no chance of reclaiming any sort of inheritance from this ruin and that working with me rather than against me could result in a far better future for yourself¡­ ¡°Unfortunately, as I said, you''re out of time, and I must do this quickly.¡± He looked at me then, cocking his head to one side, so much like Varice¡¯s familiar. ¡°I am not evil. I don''t do this for personal gain. I am the only thing that keeps the Western Marchlands independent, and I am a relatively generous ruler in the Sunsets.¡± I scoffed. ¡°Please, I''ve seen the Misted Marshes ¨C I know what people go through. While I''ve not seen the half-silver mines myself, I can well imagine the conditions you keep them in. I passed through Barrow-Under-Tine; I know what you are, and I know what you¡¯ve done.¡± I hadn''t meant to antagonise him, but hearing him attempt to moralise his position? Well, to be frank; it pissed me off. He cocked his head to the other side, glacial eyes examining me like a rodent in the corner of a house. A puzzle to be solved and then swept away. ¡°Well, God-Touched. There''s much you don''t know about the world, and I can assure you that however bad you think I am, the Sultanate would be far worse. But I do not have time to convince you, so I shall not waste what little we have left¡­I will simply force you to tell me what I want to know. ¡°That is the truth of this world,¡± he said, eyes sliding away from my own to stare at his son to one side, before pinning me in place once more. ¡°I have power and you do not ¨C I do not need your assent.¡± He was interrupted from whatever ghastly proclamation he was about to make then by a messenger that came streaking out of the gloom. It was only when he arrived, and the thudding footsteps came to a halt, that I realised that this man was what I had been hearing before I attempted my desperate escape. The messenger, dressed as one of the Ryonic guards, took a moment to compose himself before saluting the duke with a raised fist against his helm. ¡°My Lord, Decker sent me. There are enemies at the gates, an army!¡± he exclaimed between heavy breaths. ¡°It¡¯s the Sultan. He requests your parley.¡± The duke''s eyes flashed then, not in a metaphorical sense. They literally flashed, pale blue light sparking from his pupils into his irises before receding again. His frown was carved from granite. ¡°What exactly did he say? The duke asked. ¡°Apologies, my Lord, I might not be remembering perfectly but I believe he said he was sent by the Sunset Court and that the Crimson Lions would be here soon. They will attack at nightfall if they''ve not heard from you by then.¡± The duke cursed quietly to himself in a new language I¡¯d not heard before. It did not bear repeating. ¡°How long?¡± he asked, and the soldier shrugged. ¡°No more than a bell. Do you want me to bring a message to him in return, my Lord?¡± A weary sigh escaped the duke¡¯s lips before he relaxed his frown. ¡°A moment, please,¡± he said, and then walked over to Varice, motioning for her to walk with him. They stopped some 20 metres away and had a quiet conversation that I could not overhear. When they returned, the duke had clearly come to a decision. ¡°You will accompany Varice and Estan as they escort this man further into the ruins,¡± he said to the soldier, pointing at me where I still hung in the air above the open abyss. He then ruined to me. ¡°God-Touched. We will speak again within the next few days. I pray you have answers for me then, boy, because I will not be so forgiving.¡± He then turned to Estan. ¡°Do not disappoint me again, son. You listen to Varice in all the things; she speaks with my voice, understood?¡± The man bowed his head, thoroughly cowed if I had to guess. I wondered what he had done to be so contrite. I could not square the image of this somewhat slovenly man with his disciplined father, and decided this contrition must be a relatively recent feature. Duke Ryonic clapped Varice on the shoulder once more, simply saying, ¡°put him with the others,¡± and then he was off. The speed with which he ascended the wooden scaffold into the tunnel high above only put into perspective how outmatched I was, and how my hastily put together plan of losing myself among the ruins was simply not fit for purpose with him present. Now that he was gone though¡­Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
*Nathlan* The duke emerged from the keep and strode confidently along the battlements, ignoring the men as they turned to watch him. He didn¡¯t share Sadrianna¡¯s approach of acknowledging the guards, calpping backs and sharing the odd word of encouragement and introduction. Instead, he moved through them as if they weren¡¯t even there, and they parted to let him through. It seemed to have profound effect though. Backs straightened, and Nathlan watched looks of despondence and fear transform into masks of stoicism. Interestingly, it didn¡¯t seem to be an act to appease the commander as he walked through their midst either, since they persisted long after he passed the men. The duke let his aura leak out, blanketing those on the walls, and even Nathlan had to admit it was an impressive display. Very different from the blood-soaked, burning rage of Vera¡¯s, but just as powerful, just as potent. Words were exchanged between the duke from atop the barbican, and the man representing the Sultan ¨C Yander, as Nathlan heard. He didn''t care about the details, though. Where was Lamb? Nathlan looked about anxiously, and then he felt Sadrianna¡¯s cool hand on his shoulder. ¡°Calm yourself, Nathlan. We will have our answers soon. See,¡± she said with a gesture, as Nathlan looked up to see the duke striding towards them across the wall. He stopped in front of them for a moment, eyeing them all up, and Nathlan had the uneasy feeling that he was examining them to determine if he could kill them all here and now, should he need to. That unease increased further when it seemed that the duke had decided he could. He looked Sadrianna dead in the eye and said, ¡°the boy who you delivered to me¡­he is a liar.¡± Sadrianna frowned. ¡°He is God-Touched,¡± she said. ¡°Spoke our language like he was born to it, and some of the more obscure ones that only our elders remember, besides.¡± The duke nodded. ¡°Yes, he didn''t lie about that. Tell me, when you entered the Marchlands, which direction did you come from? Sadrianna looked to either side, taking in her Jacyntha and him, and then turned back to the duke. She shrugged. ¡°The Riverlands. Came through a small settlement. I didn''t see it on any maps, but it looked like it had been through a hell of a siege.¡± Nathlan interrupted then. ¡°Darrow-Upon-Lyme, or something of the sort¡± he said, and the duke nodded. ¡°Did you know that boy planned to steal the inheritance of the ruins from me?¡± the duke asked, and Nathlan''s eyebrows rose, despite his best efforts to keep any such tells from his face. Sadrianna looked perplexed. ¡°He made no mention of that to us. What ruins?¡± she asked, and the duke just shook his head, looking unconvinced by the lie. Jacyntha, though, was the one to save their rapidly crumbling story. She stepped forward confidently, a cruel smirk on her beautiful face. ¡°That''s the problem with you lowlanders; you treat everybody too politely. The runt wouldn''t have dreamt trying to cross us while he travelled under our control,¡± she said casually. ¡°Send us to look after the little man and we¡¯ll sort him out. Just tell us what you need from him and we¡¯ll see it done, easy as you could dream.¡± It was, once again, a brilliant gambit and Nathlan to admit to being impressed by the way she adapted under pressure. It was not particularly surprising when Sadrianna improvised successfully earlier with their mercenary identity, given her experience with command. But for Jacyntha to so easily don the guise of a cruel barbarian in order to both get them closer to Lamb, and assuage the duke¡¯s suspicion¡­well, Nathlan hadn¡¯t thought the woman capable of such guile. Then he hesitated, wondering if perhaps that was less of a guise than the one she wore around the campfire. He shook his head. While he didn''t trust the woman as much as Lamb did, he knew that he was anxious. When he was anxious, he was prone to making rash judgments, spawned by paranoia more than rationality, and it would not do for him to begin to mistrust his companions just as they were on the verge of success. The duke declined Jacyntha¡¯s offer though, saying, ¡°no, I need you here on the walls. I want one of you at each corner tower, here, here, and here¡± he said, pointing out the defensive positions he wanted them to reinforce. Nathlan sighed to himself internally. Where was Lamb? How would Sadrianna, Jacyntha and him escape under the nose of the duke¡¯s forces and the besieging army outside the walls? This whole plan was rapidly falling apart. He could only hope that Vera and Jorge were out there with some scheme to plot a course through the chaos. Thinking of his two companions brought a measure of calm to him as Nathlan walked along the wall to the north tower, facing the forest where he knew they and the rebels were lying in wait. They had not let him down yet, and if there were two people he could count on to formulate and execute a plan on the fly, it was Jorge and Vera, respectively.
*Vera* ¡°This is a complete clusterfuck!¡± Vera hissed angrily to Fandar. ¡°How did we not hear of this?¡± She paced back and forth in the woodlands with short, sharp steps, fists clenching as if desperate to reach for a weapon. Fandar raised his hands in reproach. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Vera! We don¡¯t have a great information network, especially outside of the Marchlands. This could be good for us, though, no?¡± Vera just shook her head. ¡°Not at all. The Sultanate are just as bad as the duke and his people, and if they take the castle, then we just have another fucking noble with their hands on those ruins and what lies within.¡± She turned about on her heel, brushing hair from her face with a growl. ¡°No. We need to either sneak inside under the watchful eyes of two armies, or we need them to kill each other completely. Fuck, how is this going to work?¡± Jorge rolled over from his position lying on the bed of leaves that made up the forest ground. He had been watching the castle in the distance, and the army assembled before it. ¡°They¡¯ll wait for nightfall to attack. Sieges are always more successful in the dark,¡± the old man said, his grey braid looking like a slash of small-cap mushrooms where it splayed about on the leaves next to his head. ¡°It all depends on Nathlan down there. If he sticks to the plan, we have a problem. But we can improvise if he doesn''t.¡± Vera grimaced. ¡°I love the boy, but he¡¯s deliberate, Jorge. If there¡¯s anyone that would stick to a plan, even if he thought otherwise, it¡¯s Nathlan.¡± Jorge grinned in response. ¡°Look, all we need is to get into that castle. This could benefit us. You see Nathlan on the north tower?¡± He pointed, and Vera moved over, squinting next to him. ¡°What''s he doing up there?¡± she asked. Jorge shook his head. ¡°Doesn''t matter, lass. If we wait until the battle starts, and then under cover of darkness Fandar and his men make a big show of attacking near the north tower, then we might have half a shot of sneaking inside without notice. While the duke is distracted by the sultan¡¯s forces at the front, and the guards on the north tower are focused on Fandar and his lads and lasses, we¡¯ll have an open shot over the walls.¡± ¡°What about getting Nathlan to drop the wards? Would make it easier to force our way inside, I¡¯d bet,¡± Vera suggested, but Jorge shook his head. ¡°No. If he drops the wards, then the Sultan¡¯s forces will stream inside, and it becomes a bloodbath. Granted, the chances of slaying the duke are pretty high in the resulting chaos, but that¡¯s not the reason we¡¯re here, is it lass?¡± He held her gaze then, and Vera felt herself squeezing the hilt of her broadsword. She grit her teeth before nodding. ¡°No, we need to keep Castle Ryonic after we kill him. Keep the sultan out, keep the lions out, and the rest of the Sunset fucking court besides.¡± Fandar grinned at that from behind her shoulder, slapping her on the back with glee. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Fuck ¡®em all!¡± he cheered quietly. ¡°It''s better if they wear each other out,¡± Jorge continued. ¡°Let them sit in an uneasy stalemate.¡± ¡°Then how do we get into the fucking castle?¡± Vera asked, wringing her hands. Jorge sighed again, ¡°It¡¯s a risk, but I think we¡¯d best just go over the top. With any luck, Nathlan will understand what we are doing, and disable or warn us of any countermeasures at the time. And with the Duke distracted, and his senior officers minding the front, the backlash shouldn¡¯t be that severe anyway.¡± ¡°Once we''re in, we need to stay low and bide our time until we can see a way through, though¡± Vera said. ¡°No point in killing the duke and taking the castle while a fully rested army is squatting outside. We¡¯ll let the duke and his guards do some damage to the sultan and then kill him once we¡¯re sure we can defend the castle.¡± Fandar shook his head, saying; ¡°and what of us? My men and women? You want us to sit out on the fucking sidelines again just like Sternsbridge?¡± he asked with heat in his tone. Vera rounded on him with such ferocity that he actually flinched. ¡°Do not talk to me of Sternsbridge again, Fandar. Not today.¡± She held his gaze, eyes alight and dancing with an inner flame, teeth bared in an almost-snarl. ¡°I have enough regrets already. You and your people can give us,¡± she said, pointing at Jorge and herself, ¡°a chance to slip inside, and then hang back. No fucking heroics, you understand? I¡¯ve fled this country in defeat once already, Fandar ¨C I don¡¯t intend to do so twice. Once we win this battle, we¡¯ll need to hold the fort, and we will need your people for that more than we do for the battle itself.¡± The two veterans of the old rebellion glared at one another with equally intense expressions, until Fandar nodded. He grasped her by both soldiers and looked long into her eyes. She noticed something change in his expression, and he leaned forwards slightly, lips parted. She slapped him lightly in the face. ¡°Don¡¯t even fucking think about it, Fandar. I¡¯m not in the mood for your shit right now.¡± Rather than be discouraged, he grinned. ¡°Right now?¡± he asked with a sly smile, and Vera smiled in spite of herself. ¡°Let¡¯s see once I¡¯ve had my vengeance,¡± she said softly, then louder with a smile she continued; ¡°Never know what you might lose in a battle, hey?¡± she winked. Jorge looked at her, flabbergasted, and she just snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not dead, old man. I¡¯ll have no judgement from you. I remember-¡± ¡°Don¡¯t say Dimitri, don¡¯t say Dimitri-¡° he begged. ¡°¡­Storm¡¯s harbour,¡± she finished instead with a wicked grin, and he chuckled in response. ¡°Aye, guess I deserved that. Still, I¡¯m happy for you.¡± He said earnestly, then turned to look at a very satisfied-looking Fandar. ¡°Although,¡± he followed up, ¡°perhaps you¡¯d be better off losing some blood in the battle to come. Reckon you look a bit too alive next to the walking corpse here,¡± he said back to her with a gesture at the man, who only waved him off with a laugh. It was good to share a bit of banter before a fight. Nerves were always highly strung, and as much as they¡¯d sworn to hold back, Vera knew some of them wouldn¡¯t live to see the morning. Jorge doubtless understood that too, and she watched as he flicked his gaze to the younger fighters every now and then, a pinch around his eyes all that betrayed his inner thoughts. To her though, it was as clear an admission as possible that he suspected death on the horizon. She did too, but that was what war was, after all, and it was a beast Vera had spent the last decade running from. No longer. Chapter 98 - Violence and Rationaility As the duke disappeared from sight, I fell to the ground hard. I let out a little grunt, but there was no need to play up the terrified God-Touched any longer, and my attributes were no longer limited, so I simply rolled smoothly to my feet and looked about at the three people around me. The messenger was dressed in armour and had a hand on the axe at his belt, but seemed perplexed more than anything, and didn¡¯t look to consider me much of a threat. I¡¯d been suspended in the air and flailing helplessly when he arrived, and it probably wasn¡¯t the best impression if I was aiming for ¡®menacing and deadly¡¯. Estan likewise looked a little smug. No doubt me dodging his strike had ruffled the ego that he clearly nurtured and seeing me squirm had gone some way to reassure his superiority complex that I was not a true threat. I was making a lot of assumptions, but something in his bearing and the ease with which he smirked and leered reminded me of every pompous noble and arrogant bastard I¡¯d met in this world. Varice though watched me with careful consideration, the raven on her shoulder clacking its beak menacingly as I stood to my feet. ¡°You understand the position you are in,¡± she said, though her tone made clear it was a question she expected an answer to. I shrugged in response, opting for politeness as a default approach as I tried to think through how things would progress from here. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I do. Please enlighten me, Varice.¡± ¡°First of all, what is your name? I will not address you as ¡®boy¡¯ like the duke did, and I do not wish to keep using your title¡± the plain woman said, and I found myself a little surprised at the courtesy. ¡°I am called Lamb. ¡°I am called Lamb. The Shield-Shaker, Guardian Of The Lost Mountain, Surefoot, World-Walker and Red-Spear-¡± I replied, taking a chance. ¡°Lies¡± croaked the raven immediately, and I shot a venomous glare at the summoned creature. Varice smirked and ran an approving hand down the bird¡¯s head, ruffling its shining feathers and scratching its beak, and the creature crooned into her hand in response. ¡°Fine. Just Lamb, for now¡± I groused. ¡°What is the plan now?¡± ¡°Well, Lamb. That depends on you. You can either come with us and get settled in the temporary barracks we have erected down here with the other God-Touched-¡± ¡°The other God-Touched?¡± I interrupted with a frown, but Varice just continued talking as if I hadn¡¯t spoken at all. ¡°¡­or you can try to escape, at which point I break a few bones and wrap you up in restraining magic that will be decidedly uncomfortable, I assure you, and then put you in the barracks with the rest of the God-Touched.¡± She finished with a smile, and I gave her a sarcastic twist of my lips in return. ¡°Sterling options,¡± I said, ¡°I think I¡¯ll have to go with the first.¡± She nodded. ¡°Very good. Come with me¡± she said as she turned on her heel, then called over her shoulder to the guard bringing up the rear. ¡°Varden? If he makes any sudden movements, be a dear and put that axe of yours in one of his legs.¡± ¡°Yes mistress,¡± was the respectful response, and I shivered at the flat acceptance in the gruff voice of the messenger. That sounded like a man who had done the same in the past without much issue. Still, he was only low 2nd tier from what I could tell, and I suspected I would have little trouble killing him if it came down to a fight. It was stupid to underestimate any 2nd tier fighter though, with the large amounts of mana that could be pumped into skills at this tier, they were that much more effective and deadly, and even a relatively weak fighter could still surprise a strong one. Estan felt vaguely stronger than me, but I was not impressed with him. His blade-work was sloppy, and while I would not be surprised if he possessed at least one powerful skill, I doubted he had the drive necessary to level all of them to get him to the point of being a real danger. He¡¯d definitely fight dirty though, so I¡¯d still need to be careful. No, the real danger was Varice. She felt far above me in power. I¡¯d put her as a peak 2nd tier mage. Given that she was the duke¡¯s spymaster, I had a little hope that she would punch below her weight in terms of combat prowess, but she didn¡¯t need to rely on weapons-work to take me out of a fight if she had potent magic to draw on. My only advantages would be the element of surprise and the fact that they would not want to actually kill me, since I was still the key to accessing the ruin below and around us. So I bided my time, allowing them to guide me further down the well-built wooden scaffolding that had colonised one side of this massive obsidian pyramid beneath the earth. I made sure to keep my dagger, floating along behind us with the support of A Frozen Pyrre, well out of view in the darkness behind us all. It was difficult to manage, but I was now at the point of mild telekinesis with light weapons of mine, when it was the only skill I was focusing on. Moving them with any degree of accuracy was still beyond me, but keeping it fixed at the same distance from me was now doable. It wasn¡¯t long until we came to a cluster of buildings, and when I saw the heavy iron chains across the double-doors on the largest, I began to get nervous. There was a subtle aura of distress emanating from the big barn-like building in the centre, nestled into the pyramid and built on massive wooden stilts. I couldn¡¯t pin down exactly where the feeling came from, but the energy here was off, and I felt Varice stiffen up in front of me as well as we drew near. She turned to me before we reached the building, and gave me a measuring look. ¡°I can¡¯t say that this will be a fun stay for you, but it can be a brief one. That aura skill of yours should keep away the worst of the dread, and you could always disable it if you could ¡®find the right pattern¡¯¡± she said, raising a somewhat mocking eyebrow at me as she referenced my poor lie from earlier. She held my gaze a moment longer. ¡°Don¡¯t make this harder than it needs to be,¡± she said with finality, and then unlocked the heavy chains and wrenched open the wooden doors. Inside were several large cages. Prison cells, really. They were relatively well kitted out ¨C a bucket in one corner, a bed, curtains for privacy and blankets to keep the cold at bay. A table and desk, no windows but I supposed there wasn¡¯t much point in a window this deep underground. All in all, they looked as comfortable as jail cells could get, but I shivered to look at them simply for the lack of freedom they represented. I hadn¡¯t spent long in a cage ¨C no more than a few days in total ¨C but I had hated every moment. ¡°I¡¯m not getting in a cage¡± I growled out, surprised at the heat in my voice. Varice sighed to herself, but Estan interrupted whatever she had to say by kicking my knee out from under me and moving to stand in front me. ¡°You¡¯ll do what you¡¯re told, boy¡± he said, his voice clearly pitched to mimic his father. I stood, his forehead barely reaching my eye level, and while I was only an inch or two taller, I felt as if I towered over him at that moment. End Of The Hunt flared briefly, and I saw his eyes widen as my aura brushed over him for an instant. I leaned in close, whispering; ¡°I killed Francis D¡¯Sware as a 1st tier¡­what the fuck do you think I¡¯ll do to you?¡± He trembled slightly in surprise, before I saw his face twist into a picture of rage. Clearly, he wasn¡¯t used to being challenged by any but the duke. He lashed out a kick again at my leg, but I was ready. Instead of accepting the blow, I activated Break-Step for just a moment, giving myself time to grab his leg and sweep his other from underneath him with my own kick, arm outstretched as we fell. By the time we hit the ground together, my fang-dagger was in my hand and it nestled itself in the crook of his neck, kissing the bare skin of his throat with its hard edge. I stared down into wide, panicked eyes, and whispered softly. ¡°You¡¯re not your father, Estan. You need to be more careful if you want to stay whole.¡± There followed a few tense moments where I watched his startled eyes roam around looking for some support, and then I felt a subtle caress from Varice¡¯s own weapon. It was a floating blade, no handle or support of any kind, double-edged and pointed on either end, and it traced a gentle line along the back of my neck. ¡°The duke wants you alive, Lamb, but if you harm his son, you will not enjoy what follows,¡± she warned, and I detected a weariness in her voice. ¡°There are worse fates than death.¡± I stared into Estan¡¯s wide eyes for a few more heartbeats before standing and turning my back on him. ¡°Look me in the eye and tell me you haven¡¯t wanted to do that before,¡± I said to Varice, and her lips twisted up in a smirk despite her best efforts. I laughed and let the fang dagger disappear into my storage ring.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°Why would I step into that cell?¡± I asked. ¡°Look, I get it ¨C the duke is scary and could kill me in a flash. But he¡¯s pretty busy right now by the sounds of it, and while you might be a powerful mage,¡± I said, looking pointedly at her floating blade and purple-hued raven familiar as I spoke, ¡°I¡¯m pretty confident in killing, or at least beating, those two idiots.¡± I tossed a lazy gesture over one shoulder at the messenger and spoiled noble, and I heard a step behind me and tensed slightly, coiling up my legs in preparation for the chaos that would follow. Varice¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t leave my own, but she did let out a sharp command. ¡°Leave it! He¡¯s goading you, looking for an opening.¡± I raised an eyebrow, but she continued on, unruffled. ¡°Despite what he says, he¡¯s not confident in this fight, hence why he hasn¡¯t attempted to flee yet. He¡¯s stalling and hoping an opportunity will present itself that he can exploit, because fighting us now would more than likely result in serious injury with no chance of escape.¡± She said all of this calmly, staring right at me as she talked to the two men behind me. ¡°Or do you think I¡¯m underestimating your capacity for violence, Lamb?¡± she finished. I sighed. ¡°No, you¡¯ve got my number there I suspect,¡± I replied with as much resignation as I could muster, and I saw her relax a fraction. ¡°But you¡¯re severely overestimating my capacity for reason,¡± I added. ¡°Don¡¯t-¡± she started to say, even as I moved. I took a quick half-step to the side, and then activated Break-Step alongside my pathbound aura skill at full blast. Varice shot a hand out towards me, and the raven vanished from her shoulder, reappearing at the head of a bolt of brilliant purple that shot towards my chest. It was impossibly fast, but I had stopped moving after that first step. My momentum was almost nothing, a slight sway of my shoulders but no more than that, and so time seemed to stand still for a heartbeat or two. It was long enough for me to visualise, with aid of my mana-sense, the two figures behind me. Estan shone like a beacon, circulating mana into some skill that he no doubt meant to hit me with from behind. The soldier wasn¡¯t present as anything more than a low hum in the background, so I assumed he had done the sensible thing and opted to simply smash me in the head with his weapon. It was hard to be sure, as I only had the barest sliver of time in which to understand the situation, but I had to assume the soldier would hit me first. As had become a habit for me in fights like these, I dropped to the ground as quickly as I could. The soldier was faster but that turned out to be a great help rather than a hindrance. He clubbed me from behind with the haft of his short axe, but because of my rapid fall, it hit my shoulder instead of my head. It also forced my body to the ground that little bit quicker due to the power in the strike, and so the lavender form of the mana-wrought raven streaked through the air above me and straight into the chest of the soldier. He was blasted back a few meters with a muted scream, and slumped against a slab of obsidian, twitching as violet light encircled his form. I had no time to look up, but I heard a grunt of surprise, and the fizzle of mana discharging to my senses, and then Varice cursed followed immediately by a heavy impact of metal on metal. Rolling to my side, I saw a beautiful sight; Estan stood in shock as he stared at the phantom copy of his blade embedded within a thin metal kite shield that hovered protectively in front of Varice. He stuttered an apology, and the older woman just looked at him with disdain even as her hand lashed out towards me once again. I knew what was coming this time though and jerked to my feet in a sprint. I dove forwards into a roll, hearing the slab crack behind me from another magical impact, and turned back to see Estan finally picking his brain off the floor from where it had clearly been laying as he stared dumbly at Varice. He now stepped towards me, blade held high above his head in a bizarre mimicry of a ready stance, but it felt to me like a fool¡¯s gambit ¨C far too many exposed areas that he would struggle to cover quickly with the position of his sword. Varice¡¯s shield hovered at her side, ready to interpose itself between her and any attacks headed her way, and the raven swirled above her head to orient on me once again after missing its most recent dive. The messenger was still out of commission, lilac sparks dancing over his body and limbs twitching in response every few moments. I caught a flash of silver, and then my spear, summoned to my hand from my storage ring the moment I rolled to my feet, was deflecting the thin handle-less blade that the woman had threatened me with earlier. I grimaced at the speed of the attack, and summoned forth my shield to cover my left forearm and give myself additional protection. We stood across from one another for a moment, me with my back to the hastily constructed barracks filled with cages, and them with their backs to the open cavern and the darkness that shrouded its secrets. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ll agree to a time-out while I don my armour, will you?¡± I called out, and Estan spat a curse my way and took a step towards me, heavy with intent. ¡°Estan¡­¡± warned Varice, and he looked back at her in confusion or for instruction. I had no real idea why he looked back to be honest ¨C why he¡¯d ever take his eye off the enemy before him in such a moment baffled me, but it seemed that he was just a bit of a moron as far as I could tell. I took advantage of the error, though. My spear whistled as it cut through the air, and Varice bit off another curse the moment the duke¡¯s son started to move. Credit where it was due, she seemed to know her way around a fight, despite her reputation as a spy. She whipped a string of violet mana through the air, snaring one of his legs and yanking him off his feet, turning my lethal throw into a painful glancing blow that only cut off half his ear instead of splitting his head open. Even as she recovered, my hatchet was in hand and sailing towards her, but it was intercepted by the floating shield. I dived to the side to avoid a retaliatory strike from her floating blade as well, and then I was on the groaning soldier, who had by now ceased his twitching. My dagger made short work of his chest, piercing the heavy brigandine with ease as I slipped it past the shaped breastplate he wore and into his heart. You have killed a Human (Guard Messenger - level 55). Experience gained. You have reached level 64. Attribute points available for allocation. Skill ¡®A Frozen Pyrre¡¯ has increased in level. A Frozen Pyrre ¨C level 5 Trusting instincts that screamed danger even as I ignored the system messages dinging in my mind, I rolled onto my back and wrenched the now limp body in front of me as a shield. Shocks ripped through me as my muscles spasmed in tandem in response to the strange magic of her skill, but I grit my teeth and pushed back against the rampaging energy, feeling End Of The Hunt eat through the hostile mana invading my body. It wasn¡¯t a function of the skill I was truly conscious of, but there was an outside force trying to impose its will upon me, and my soul could not allow that to stand. I bunched my legs and kicked with all the strength I could muster, and the corpse of the messenger was sent flying towards Varice where she stood frantically casting something. I didn¡¯t want to wait around to see exactly what she was doing, and summoned Resolution to my hand once more even as I hit her with Axis-Shift. She stumbled in place slightly ¨C more of an effect than I was expecting to be honest, but I¡¯d levelled the skill well in the Riverlands so it shouldn¡¯t have been a massive surprise ¨C but her hands never wavered, and even as my spear slid towards her as if pulled inexorably by a string of fate connecting her and it, she finished the cast. A seam of neon violet light, blinding bright and distinctly unnatural, split the air behind her. She stepped backwards into the seam, falling into a hole in the world, and then it sealed itself shut behind her. My spear continued its flight uncontested and slid far off into the darkness, and I recalled it immediately before it could go too far. I still hadn¡¯t managed to find out the outer limits of the range, but I knew I could recall it from at least a few hundred meters. It never paid to take unnecessary risks in battle though. I had no time to consider the danger of Varice and where she had vanished to though, as Estan bellowed a challenge and sprinted towards me, blade leading the charge. He swung long before he was in range and a mana-forged copy of the thin blade shot forwards from his sword, which I hastily blocked with my shield. Resolution slapped into the palm of my right hand just as he crossed the threshold into my range, and I took a careful step back as I spun the spear around to knock aside his first lunge. He followed through, dagger in his off-hand slicing towards my neck, but I slipped by the strike, my back foot shooting out as I leaned forwards and to one side. He tripped on my outstretched foot and sprawled to the floor, and I spun neatly on my other leg even as he turned on the ground to look up at me. In a move I had practised incessantly with Sadrianna ¨C she¡¯d called it something stupid like ¡®bending willows¡¯ ¨C my back foot rose from the ground, and I leaned forwards into a graceful lunge, weight entirely supported by my front leg as my entire body formed a near horizontal line. My spear led the charge towards Estan¡¯s opening mouth as he began to scream seeing death approach so relentlessly. Purple light reflected off the red-lacquered haft of Resolution and it was knocked off course at the last possible moment. The frozen spearpoint embedded itself in the slab next to Estan¡¯s head, and slim shards of volcanic glass scattered at high speeds, some tracing bleeding lines across the man¡¯s face, but he was very much alive. I looked up in time to see Varice¡¯s upper body emerging from a new seam in reality above us and to my left, out in the empty air of the cavern. It seems she had some sort of portalling skill, or an extra-planar space she could access that moved about on alien principles that I couldn¡¯t even begin to guess at. In any case, she didn¡¯t seem to be falling out of the air, so I assumed she could re-appear anywhere around here should she wish to. I leapt back as Estan slashed through the air where my front leg had been resting, and then fell to my ass to avoid the hovering blade of Varice that once more came seeking my neck. Estan rose to his feet, and I used a novel application of A Frozen Pyrre that I hadn¡¯t yet managed to try in a real battle. The principle was sound, and had worked during sparring, but it was always finnicky and generally not suited to a one-on-one fight. Being outnumbered had changed the calculus though, and I needed to finish Estan before I could deal with Varice. Besides, the recent skill level should help turn it from an impossible task to merely a difficult one. I focused, marshalling my intent. It was a passive skill, so I didn¡¯t need to pour mana into the skill, since the effect I was focusing on was constant, but it did require focus. I let my hands and legs scrabble against the surface of the obsidian beneath me, pushing myself further away from both my opponents as my mind focused on the task ahead. I felt for the bond in my soul between me and each of my weapons, and willed the hatchet to rise from the floor. Rather than recall to me, I forced it to shoot at Estan¡¯s unprotected leg behind the knee, and there was a satisfying squeal as the sharp axeblade bit deep into tendon and flesh, Estan falling to the floor immediately in response. I paid for my distraction though, as a purple raven smashed me in the chest. I was flung back with an immense amount of speed, but activated Break-Step to siphon away my momentum, such that I only hit the obsidian slab behind me with mildly bone-jarring force. I coughed as I fell to the floor, but pushed any distractions from my mind. The handaxe ripped its way from the wound with another scream from Estan, and then it buried itself in his neck under my telekinetic command. I had no time to celebrate the feat though, for my body locked up in a spasm easily three times as intense as the previous one. My back arched and a scream tore its way from my throat as it felt like every nerve in my body was lit aflame. Then, blackness, deeper than the uncompromising void that hung over the ruin. My consciousness fled. Chapter 99 - Siege The Initiative *Nathlan* He shivered as the last rays of the setting sun vanished from the world. Dusk came thundering in on shadowed hooves as soon as day retreated, and Nathlan found himself studying the treeline some half a mile distant. He resisted the urge to drum his palms against the stone crenelation before him or look around to observe the soldiers on either side of him. He was supposedly playing a role here, and it would not do to show them how nervous he was. He heard the calls and shouts of a war-host assembling itself for battle on the plain before the gates of Castle Ryonic, but that was not what scared him. He was at the north tower, far on the other side of the castle and unlikely to see much fighting. The men around him certainly seemed glad of that fact, though they tried their best to hide it. No, what had Nathlan desperate to glance around nervously and fidget like a child was the uncertainty that the next bell would bring. They were already off-script when it came to the original plan. Lamb was gone ¨C alone and underground once more, the poor man. A gods-damned army had turned up and was in the process of laying siege to the castle, and Jorge and Vera were currently hiding out in the woodlands probably expecting a check-in from them sometime in the night. At least they were likely to have seen the Sultan show up, and he could only hope they were working on a cunning plan right at this moment. And that was what Nathlan was worried about. He knew the defensive wards of the castle, had mapped them out earlier himself and had identified a number of weak points he could exploit to bring them down in a heartbeat. But should he? And if so, when? He knew they were working on assumptions and guesswork, but it was terrifying that he may be the one who would make or break this new plan, whatever it might be, with his decision. If Jorge and Vera came sprinting out of those woods right this moment, what should he do? He couldn¡¯t risk dropping the wards now or else the Sultan would notice and stream in through the breach alongside his army. But if he did nothing, Jorge and Vera would draw too much attention to themselves when they tried to mount the walls. The men and women alongside him would attack them from relative safety, and while they might not do much damage, the wards themselves would surely hurt his companions enough to force a retreat if directed and empowered by the defenders. Gods, this was a mess. He hated improvising. He had always been drawn to the steady step-by-step logic of academia. If x, then y. Instead, here he sat, mired in shades of grey with no good answers to be found and uncertainty shadowing every path. He looked to his left where the nominal commander of this section of the castle stood. She was a gruff-looking woman; a bit of a gut but with broad enough shoulders to convince most that a fight was a bad idea. The armour she wore ¨C chainmail and a steel breastplate beneath a conical helm with the colours of Duke Ryonic¡¯s personal guard emblazoned across her cloak ¨C went some of the way to making her look a little more fierce, but Nathlan wasn¡¯t overly concerned. He was confident in his position as the unquestioned strongest fighter here, and most of the defenders alongside him were still in their 1st tier and boasting support classes that were hardly optimised for combat. The commander was in the 2nd tier, as were a few of the veterans speckled into the dozen men around the north tower, so he wouldn¡¯t be able to single handedly clear the wall, even were that to be a good idea. He turned and walked calmly to the commander, giving a tight nod and waiting to one side while she finished discussing something of import with one of the aforementioned veterans. She turned and looked up at him a moment later, gesturing him impatiently to go on when he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. ¡°The wards are powerful but require a significant amount of input and direction by your men to use. That will be difficult when the battle is joined, should the Sultan have men hidden within the treeline over there,¡± he said with a gesture. She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s the best we¡¯ve got, barbarian.¡± Then she leaned in closer and spoke in a hiss. ¡°Not so loud, mind, you¡¯ll scare the boys.¡± Nathlan replied in the same register he had used before, ensuring some of the men and women manning the walls on either side could overhear. ¡°I can alter them, if you allow me. They won¡¯t be fully autonomous, but two men should be enough to take charge of their use on this tower while the rest of us fight¡­if you let me make some minor alterations.¡± She looked like she would object, so he gave her one last verbal nudge. ¡°Temporary alterations, of course. I just need to boost some of the circulating Hoffstedder Amplifiers, which should allow automatic target recognition and reduce the burden on the power output to cover the entire tower with-¡± He didn¡¯t need to finish his babble of nonsense, the stoic woman eventually sighing and giving in. ¡°Fuck it, what have we got to lose?¡± she asked rhetorically. ¡°On your head if this all goes tits up, mind.¡± He smiled in response, her vulgarity strangely endearing. ¡°I¡¯ll be back before you miss me,¡± he said, and then dropped over the inside wall, enduring the shorter fall to land on the platform below it. Just at the edge of hearing, the commander¡¯s voice drifted over to him on the wind as she spoke to one of her men. ¡°Weirdest fucking barbarian I¡¯ve ever heard of. Sounds like he spends his life with his nose deep in a book.¡± Perhaps his acting needed some work. Still, it had done the job, and he descended the wooden stairs quickly to bring him down to the central courtyard, where he hurried along the inner wall and found the point below the north tower he had identified earlier. The wards were woven into the foundations of the structure meaning he would not need to scale the wall and hang halfway up chipping away at stone. That would look suspicious to anyone. After another brief moment of focus, he identified the node that controlled the retributive functions of the ward on this section of the wall, and took a breath. Fighting down the urge to turn around and check if he was being watched ¨C he knew that would draw more attention than anything else ¨C he drew his straight-edged blade and cast his spirit into it, his skill activating as darkness enveloped the blade. With A Whispered Lie sheathing his weapon, he thrust it forwards, feeling no resistance at all as his phantom blade passed through stone. When he had upgraded the skill in the 2nd tier from Deception¡¯s Edge to A Whispered Lie, he had lost much of its original functionality ¨C no longer could he use it like a regular sword. Instead, it became, for a brief few moments at least, a purely spiritual blade, a weapon of concept rather than reality. That had many drawbacks, and had necessitated a drastic change to his fighting style, but it also came with a few important boons. One of them was the ability to directly disrupt the magic of his opponents, and he put the skill to good use here. With a careful flick of his wrist, he severed part of the complex chain of runic circles woven into the stone at the base of the tower, and in so doing destroyed the wards that protected it. Not entirely ¨C the walls were still magically reinforced and incredibly difficult to break ¨C but the retributive power of the wards that the gave the defenders such a profound advantage over the besieging army, was abruptly cut away. Hopefully, none would notice until the battle was joined, and Nathlan suspected that by the time they tried to harness and project the power of the castle wards out at the men and women climbing the walls, it would be a little late to think about why and how there was no response. They would be too busy dying, after all.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. He quickly sheathed his weapon, burying the disquiet thoughts of the innocence or worthiness of the soldiers and deaths to come, and hurried back up to the wooden steps lining the walls on the inside of the castle. Suddenly, a cry of ¡°ware!¡± split the sky, and he heard the sound of sabaton-clad feet slamming into stone as armoured men and women ran along the wall by the gate. Fearing he had been spotted, he turned to look towards the gate, and saw a clamour of movement as men and women hurried to their stations, raising shields and hunkering down below the crenelations. A moment later, he heard the scream of air as balls of fire exploded above, deflected by the shielding ward of the castle. It was a brilliantly placed reminder that he had made the right decision regarding keeping the whole castle wards in place, and he marvelled at how easy it would be for a large battle like this to be decided by one action. Had the Sultan managed to sneak in someone to disable the wards, Castle Ryonic would be all but fallen within the next half a bell. He scurried up the stairs and made it back to the top of the tower, giving the commander a nod and moving to her side. ¡°Keep two men back to interface with the wards should somebody attack. Do not draw power from them until the time is nigh,¡± he said, holding her gaze evenly and putting as much weight as he could into the statement. ¡°Once activated, the retributive wards will funnel power constantly, and it needs only to be directed towards the attackers. It is intuitive and easy, but I suggest you assign people who have some experience with magic rather than frontline fighters.¡± She nodded in gratitude, giving him a tight smile. ¡°Thanks. Some of my men might live out the night because of you,¡± she said quietly, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. He shook of the guilt even as he graced her with a thin smile before turning and heading to the wall once more. He spent the next half bell trying desperately to ignore the sounds of violence coming from the opposite side of the castle. Men and women screamed on occasion as an errant arrow found its mark, or some ranged skill caught a careless soldier and dragged them from the parapet. Mostly though, time passed with just the hissing of arrows, the twang of bowstrings, the bellows and shouts of desperate people trying to retain some semblance of control as an invading army approached. The Sultan¡¯s army had so far kept their ladders in reserve, sending only the general body of soldiers forward in cyclical waves to harass and busy the defenders with range attacks, without ever engaging for long enough to lose lives. There were always exceptions however, and it was from those throats that the screams echoed loudest. As chaotic and loud as it was, it eventually settled into simply a background noise. It was hard for a body to be strung so high for so long, and eventually one had to relax and let the heart slow down. The adrenaline wore off slowly until Nathlan found himself almost drowsy. It was then that the Sultan moved on to the second phase of the attack. The first phase had clearly been made to tire and drain the defenders, as well as lull them into a false sense of security behind their walls. This new configuration was a true attack. Things changed abruptly though with the inclusion of the Al¡¯Asakir to the fight. He¡¯d overheard some of the guardsmen whispering in fearful tones about them ¨C legendary warriors, peak 2nd tier fighters trained by the Sultan himself, led by his first-born son into battle. They were apparently a match for most of the Crimson Lions too, though Nathlan wasn¡¯t sure what was true and what was fear mongering cooked up by desperate soldiers. In any case though, the battle was soon joined in earnest, as the Al¡¯Asakir rushed the walls under the cover of renewed fire from archers and mages acting as siege engines themselves. He couldn¡¯t see the charge itself, but he soon saw wooden siege ladders smacking into the parapet around the gate at multiple points, and soldiers with vibrantly coloured headscarves streaming up and onto the wall, laying about with their curved swords in a litany of blood and terror. The defenders weren¡¯t idle though, and many of the elite troops were sent reeling back over the wall from the blasts of unfocused magic provided by the castle wards and directed by its defenders. The duke himself, and a few of his most capable warriors also strode along the wall, reinforcing points of weakness, and ensuring the wall was never fully taken. It was akin to a rising tide rushing up a beach. Not quick, and the Sultan¡¯s men retreated whenever the duke closed in on them, giving up parts of the wall they had nearly taken for the safety of the plains below where the Sultan could face the duke should he follow, but it was inevitable. Bodies were left in their wake whenever they departed, but there were more of the Sultan¡¯s men to begin with, and every passing moment brought the Lions closer to reinforce him ¨C supposedly anyway. Nathlan found his attention yanked back to his portion of the wall ¨C blessedly silent as most of the soldiers near him no doubt thought ¨C by a shout from the commander. ¡°Ware the front!¡± she shouted, and Nathlan and the guards turned to watch as a second tide of soldiers streamed from the treeline before them. They were dressed very differently though; black cloaks, tight fitted dark clothes and weapons wrapped in dark fabric except for their gleaming steel blades. They ran in silence, scurrying over the empty ground like a swarm of rats from a ship¡¯s bilge, and leading from the front was a skeletal man, looking more corpse than human in the dark of night. He scampered faster than Nathlan could follow, and a moment later there was a clang of metal on metal followed by a scream as a soldier down the line pitched from the wall. Nathlan shook his head, then caught a flash as a dark object swept down from high above and landed in the outstretched hand of the figure in the front. Fandar, wielding some sort of throwing disk. A boomerang, or chakra of some sort by Nathlan¡¯s guess, though he wasn¡¯t particularly familiar with that type of weapon. Strange to see an archer not relying on his bow, but no matter. Nevertheless, the figure was hard to mistake as anyone but the tall, gaunt and strangely imposing leader of the local resistance, and soon the black-clad figures were swarming up the walls, grappling hooks and long poles hitting their mark to allow them purchase on the smooth stone. Nathlan looked about in urgency, drawing his blade and trying to make his decision. He couldn¡¯t sit by and watch the rebellion fighters ¨C most younger than him ¨C be massacred by the soldiers on the wall. But if he set about killing his fellow soldiers now, the ruse would be up, and the duke would surely see that something had gone wrong. He cursed to himself before a light blinded him. Just a flash. Orange, a hint of red, and bright enough to obscure his vision for a moment and he gasped as he saw two figures sneaking along the grass silently perhaps a few hundred meters away from the rebellion fighters. He cast about to either side, but nobody seemed to have noticed the light, and when he zoned back in on the figures, he saw that one was holding some sort of mirror-like contraption up in the air. Squinting, he recognised the big form of Vera, and realised what was happening. He raised his sword in salute, then turned on his heel, marching over to the commander. He pushed aside men and women who were clambering at the wall, trying to loose their projectiles or else lie in wait with blades drawn for any unlucky fighter than managed to scale the wall. Two black-clad figures leapt over the wall in front of him, grabbing a defender each and then jumping backwards over the wall again, the screams of the soldiers following their descent and then cutting off abruptly. Given the ropes that had been wrapped around the two rebels though, it was unlikely they had shared such a grisly end, and would surely be back soon for more. After he muscled his way through to the yelling commander, he grabbed her by one shoulder and made to shout over the din, but her eyes lit with fury the moment she saw him. ¡°What did you do!?¡± she screamed, pulling a dagger from her gauntlet. ¡°The wards aren¡¯t working!¡± Nathlan widened his eyes, and swayed his head aside from her first strike, catching her wrist and bellowing into her face. ¡°I fixed them! That¡¯s your men¡¯s fuck up, not mine!¡± He tried to channel his best impression of Jacyntha, then thought better of it and used Sadrianna as a template instead. ¡°I¡¯ll fix it if your lads are too incompetent, but you must send a runner to the duke!¡± ¡°There¡¯s no time,¡± she shouted back. ¡°I¡¯m needed here.¡± ¡°Then fucking point one out to me!¡± he screamed back, matching her decibel for decibel. She glared at him a moment, but another scream from the wall caught her ear, and she pushed him away, pointing with one hand at a slim soldier further away along the wall, currently holding a bow awkwardly as if unsure he really wanted to commit to firing it. Nathlan strode over to him, grabbed him by the shoulder and shouted in his face; ¡°Get a message to the duke! Tell him we¡¯re under attack by the rebels, but we¡¯ll hold them off. Tell him the barbarian¡¯s are good for the word, and will be charging a premium for each rebel head they take.¡± The young lad hesitated, glancing back towards his commander, before Nathlan bellowed ¡°Go!¡± in his ear, and he scrambled off. He then turned and marched up to the two men frantically tearing their hair out trying to figure out how the wards worked and started shouting jibberish at them. They stared in shock as he gesticulated while spouting off about how they should circulate their spirit to match the fluctuating capacitor relay before unlocking the alpha mandella pathway, before finally he just threw his hands up and shouted. ¡°Get back to the fighting if you¡¯re this useless! I¡¯ll sort this myself!¡± He then took a few deep breaths before committing to his plan. He waited until he saw Jorge and Vera slip over the wall and then drew his sword. Steeling his heart against the slaughter to come, he strode into the mass of soldiers surrounding the north tower, and began to kill. Chapter 100 - Titan-Forged *Nathlan* Nathlan hardened his heart against the choking cough of the first man he slew. Blade through the lungs, and from behind too, was a cowardly way to kill somebody, but as far as Nathlan could tell, there wasn¡¯t a good way to do it. Death was death, and while there were certainly bad ways to go ¨C he was responsible for some of them currently ¨C there weren¡¯t necessarily any good ones. There were a dozen men and women on this small section of the wall around the north tower, excluding the commander and the messenger Nathlan had sent running to the duke a moment before. His first strike turned that dozen into eleven, and as the man fell gasping to the ground, the woman next to him, who had been covering him with a large shield while he fired his bow into the rebels below, turned towards Nathlan in confusion. That wasn¡¯t a danger, but it gave him time to see her final emotions plain on her face; confusion, rage, and ultimately desperation, as he slid his blade into and out through the back of her throat. A flick of his wrist and her neck became a red smile, and she too fell to the ground, soon to be dead. Quick steps brought him before another two men, both holding shields and long hafted axes ¨C great for swinging from walls and knocking away siege ladders. Not so great for close quarters fighting along the cramped walls, but he gave them no time to reach for their daggers. Truth Is A Knife ¨C the 2nd tier upgrade of Veracity¡¯s Edge ¨C sheathed his weapon in a shimmering golden light, and he swept it forward, a powerful crack! of pressure washing over the defenders behind as the magic discharged with the impact of his sword on armour. Both men were sent flying, and one hurtled off the edge of the wall with a scream to land somewhere on the field outside among the rebels. Nathlan grimaced at that. He had come up with a profoundly reckless plan, one that Lamb would no doubt love, but it required the bodies of the defenders to be accessible at the end of this, hopefully brief, battle. He rushed forwards, hoping to capitalise on the confusion his skill had caused, but while the two women before him had been knocked to the ground, he found himself having to dive backwards to survive. While powerful, Truth Is A Knife had a profound drawback. It was flashy, and it was loud. In fact, it seemed to Nathlan that it was designed to draw the eye. And not for some deceptive reason such as to act as a distraction. No, this skill of his was a statement of intent. It embodied the side of his class that he had not yet managed to live up to. The side that demanded truth be proclaimed to the world, loudly and with conviction. That conviction had nearly cost him his head, for the commander had turned to see his betrayal, and she had decided to handle the matter personally. A scything whip of water had sliced through the air where he had stood, and as it missed and cracked into the wall to one side, he saw the deep indent it had left in the stone, near an inch deep. She came barrelling through the swirl of soldiers and guards who were busy either fighting off leaping black-clad rebels, or pulling themselves to their feet after being blown backwards by Nathlan signature skill. The same water whip she had nearly bisected him with a moment ago was clutched in one hand, and her other held a short-sword that quested out with deadly intent towards him as he rose to his feet once more. Golden light met clear water in a spray of violence, and he found himself outmatched when it came to speed, small cuts opening along his forearms and legs as the commander drove him back, getting the best of each exchange with her short sword. He only managed to avoid serious injury due to his reach and footwork, and he knew that relying on footwork while backing up on a body-strewn parapet was a recipe for disaster. Abruptly, the golden light fled and was replaced with a dark blade that seemed to blend into the night. He stopped backing up, and instead stepped forwards and into the commander¡¯s oncoming attack. His dark blade cut through the whip near the commander¡¯s hand, and it simply dissolved into nothing more than fast moving water as soon as the blade passed through. She grunted in shock as he stepped through the attack that she had expected would force him back, and then grunted again in pain as his dagger took her in the stomach. She snarled in pain and anger, and he grunted himself as he wrenched the knife further up, seeking her heart. Steel scraped against her ribcage, and he had to drop the hilt to catch her wrist as she tried to retaliate with her short sword. He kicked her knee out from under her and looked up quickly to check the situation. He was met with a scene of strange calm. Vera withdrew her heavy broadsword from the helmet of one dead man with a revolting sucking noise, and he cringed as he saw the viscera coating its surface. Jorge was leaning over the wall to give a hand up to Fandar, and Nathlan saw the trail of bodies in his wake. He looked back down to the commander as she panted, eyes staring past his legs and clearly seeing something else than the charnel house the parapet had become. He stepped past her carefully, and left her to die. She had had a faint smile on her face, and while his empathy told him she must have been in immense pain at that moment, she didn¡¯t look it. Better to leave her to reach out to whoever she was seeing. Let her die with dignity ¨C it¡¯s what he would have wanted for himself, after all. Jorge looked up as he walked over. ¡°Good work, lad. I take it you took out the wards?¡± he asked. Nathlan nodded, then shook his head. ¡°Yes. No. I took out the retributive wards specifically for this section of wall. The rest are functional throughout the castle.¡± Jorge looked surprised. ¡°I sometimes forget just how talented you are, Nathlan.¡± And Nathlan had to suppress a smile at the praise. Now, what the fuck is going on? Where are the others?¡± he asked. Nathlan abruptly realised the urgency of the situation again ¨C strange how fighting for one¡¯s life could narrow one¡¯s perspective. ¡°Listen. We posed as mercenaries for the duke to get access to the walls. Jacyntha and Sadrianna are near the duke by the gate, holding off the Sultan¡¯s men. Their disguises aren¡¯t broken yet, but they will be if anyone notices what has happened back here.¡± Jorge cursed, and Vera looked poise to run over to the gate right at this moment. ¡°No, wait!¡± Nathlan said emphatically. ¡°I have a plan. Get a half dozen of the rebels up here. Dress them in the armour of the duke¡¯s men and have them ¡®fight¡¯,¡± he used air quotes as he said it, ¡°the rest of the rebels on the wall.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no time for that!¡± Vera cried. ¡°Do you have any idea how long it takes to put on armour, Nathlan? Besides, that won¡¯t hold up if a runner comes to check in. And there¡¯s no commander at this section any longer.¡± Jorge shook his head though. ¡°No, the lad¡¯s on to something, that could work. Fandar ¨C get a half dozen of your men up here, keep the rest outside and have them fake attacks.¡± ¡°What!?¡± the tall rebel leader asked in utter confusion. ¡°Have ¡®em run back and forth, shout, wave their weapons around and then try and jump up every now and then. We¡¯re putting on a show for the others until the duke and Sultan have tired themselves out,¡± Jorge patiently explained. Fandar ¨C to his credit ¨C caught on quick and grinned at the absurdity of it. ¡°Fuck it! What¡¯s the worst that could happen?¡± he said cheerily, leaping off the wall to begin giving orders. ¡°Are you sure, Jorge?¡± Vera asked in concern, and he waved her off. ¡°Aye. Listen, those people over there,¡± he explained, gesturing at the front gate some hundred meters distant. ¡°Have absolutely no clue what is happening back here. It¡¯s dark, there¡¯s blood and screaming everywhere, magic flying every which way and everyone looks just like any other. Any guard is shitting themselves right now after seeing friends die and thinking they might be next, so when they see a couple of people shouting and waving at them, they¡¯ll listen to whatever they¡¯re told as long as it¡¯s good news.¡± As he spoke, he started ripping helmets from heads and fiddling with the clasps on the armour of the guardsmen. ¡°Get their helmets and cloaks on and that¡¯s 90% of the disguise. Won¡¯t fall the duke or anyone who stands in front of you, but it doesn¡¯t need to, right lad?¡± he said towards Nathlan. ¡°You¡¯re known and recognised by these soldiers, aye?¡± Nathlan hesitated, then nodded. ¡°Yes. They should believe me if I call over to them, so long as they see the cloaks and helmets and don¡¯t look too closely at the bodies on the wall.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Jorge nodded. ¡°My advice would be to keep everyone moving. Keep an eye out, and if you see a runner, hoof it over there and intercept them. Give them whatever message you fancy, but keep their eyes away from the wall. Got it?¡± He hesitated then. ¡°Where¡¯s Lamb?¡± and Nathlan cursed. ¡°He and the duke went into the keep a while back, then Decker ¨C not important ¨C sent a runner down when the Sultan appeared. The duke reappeared about a bell ago, just before dusk. Then the siege started and I¡¯ve not seen him since. I-¡± Nathlan looked about, distraught and Jorge clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, lad, I¡¯ll pop down and fetch him now. No doubt he¡¯s playing hide and seek and leading them on a merry old chase right at this moment, aye? He¡¯s an irascible lad ¨C no chance they¡¯ve kept him down there.¡± He then turned to Vera, and simply said ¡°You¡¯re in command here, lass. Patience, aye?¡± After a long stretch of hard eye contact, Vera nodded and pushed him away, and then Jorge was off, vaulting over the inner wall and scurrying off. Vera started pulling corpses away from the wall to hide them from view, and dissembling armour ¨C notably cloaks and helmets ¨C while Nathlan watched Jorge steal across the inner courtyard. Just before he reached the iron-banded door, he paused at the crumpled body of a guard propped against the keep. Nathlan didn¡¯t know when that man had been killed, but the body certainly wasn¡¯t there moments before when he had castigated the guards in charge of the retributive wards. Jorge leaned forwards to examine the body, seeming to sniff heavily for a few breaths. Nathlan frowned, unable to see the details clearly through the gloom, but still confused as to why he was wasting time. The very moment he had the thought, he saw Jorge stiffen and shoot to his feet. An instant later and he had disappeared, the heavy door clanging against the keep wall from where it had been thrown open in haste. Nathlan had never seen him move so fast, and felt a faint tingle of worry curdle in his gut at what that implied. Still, if there was danger, there was nobody he trusted more to deal with it than the older man. Jorge had earned his trust a hundred times over in their travels, and Nathlan would not doubt him now. He turned back to help Vera in her task as the first of the rebels hopped nimbly over the wall and began to don the armour of Castle Ryonic guards. He recognised Brixby and Jassine ¨C the rat-like poisoner and the muscular swordsman, respectively, that they had met in the Misted Marshes. Tamil, the quiet girl with the hand-scythe and strange demeanour was there as well, and the final rebel to leap atop the crenelated walls was Benson¡¯s girl. He¡¯d still not managed to catch the name of the archer, but she was clearly the leader of the small group, taking charge quickly as they all passed around armour and took up positions for the mock battle that would be waged over the fate of the north tower of Castle Ryonic. All seemed well for perhaps a quarter of a bell, Nathlan managing to fend off a single messenger who had returned to relay orders and get an update. He had initially been adamant I n reporting directly to the Commander, but when Nathlan had grabbed him by the back of the head and showed him the red blade of his sword and screamed; ¡°Do you know who¡¯s blood this is!? Me-fucking-neither! Give me your report, or fuck off!¡±, it had seemed to do the trick. He honestly had no idea whether it had worked, but nobody came for them afterwards, so he assumed it had been a success. It turned out that simply shouting and swearing was enough to convince most people that one was serious. Or the man had been killed on the way back to the duke. Such was war. Just when Nathlan was beginning to think they had things under control and could wait out the night with relatively few new catastrophes appearing, all hell broke loose. A tide of red-cloaked warriors breached the wall at one point, and behind them appeared an old man, a scimitar in each hand and a cloak of blazing starlight around his person. The duke shot towards him without hesitation, and both figures were soon gone from the parapet above the gate, no doubt fighting on the plains below with frenzied intensity. In their place however, was a group of almost thirty Crimson Lions. Nathlan swore, knowing the defenders would be completely overwhelmed within moments without the duke to back them up. Considering the Al¡¯Alaksir were still present, though their numbers had been thinned in the intervening bell of fighting, and the defenders were tired already, it would be a massacre. He looked to Vera, who was gritting her teeth and looked to be considering charging over herself to balance the battle, despite how strange it would be to see the Butcher of Sternsbridge fighting alongside Ryonic guardsmen to defend Castle Ryonic. But Nathlan looked again, and realised there was not one single group of Lions. Instead, there were two groups of roughly a dozen or so mercenaries, and they appeared to be fighting one another. He wasn¡¯t sure how or why, but it looked like some ¨C less than half, though it was hard to be sure in the chaos and from such a distance ¨C had decided to side with the duke and attacked their own members. They were clearly the smaller group, but with the element of surprise they soon made up the difference, and the wall above the gate descended into a chaotic melee where Nathlan was convinced nobody truly knew who they were fighting. In many ways it didn¡¯t seem to matter though. Men and women fought and died, and above it all the sky looked on in silence, it¡¯s star-studded mien unimpressed by the bloodshed below.
*Lamb* When I came to a few moments later, Varice was stepping out of a lilac-limned hole in the world, her raven once more perched on my shoulder. My head pounded, and I felt as if each muscle in my body was shredded, a soreness that was red-raw encompassing every inch of me. ¡°That was incredibly stupid,¡± she said simply. Her hair was plastered to her face from the sweat of the frantic battle, a faint smear of dirt smudging one cheek. I could only imagine I looked much worse, and I rolled my head over to meet her gaze from where it lolled limply on top of my strangely wobbly neck. ¡°I almost feel I should thank you for killing Estan¨C he was a vile and pitiful little man. Still, the duke will take vengeance on you for that, I am sure of it. I will no doubt likely suffer reprimand too for failing to save his life, but the brunt of his ire will be borne by you, thankfully. ¡°And trust me, Lamb,¡± she said, meeting my eye with a fiery glare. ¡°Duke Ryonic is capable of a great deal of ire.¡± I grunted. ¡°Can¡¯t kill me though. You still-¡± I subsided into a coughing fit, my lungs spasming with the after-effects of her skill shooting its way through my body. ¡°¡­need me¡± I finished. ¡°Yes, you¡¯re quite right. We need your mind, your eyes and your tongue. But I won¡¯t risk a repeat of this,¡± she gestured around at the blood and two corpses. The barracks were partially collapsed too ¨C wooden planks splintered and held up only by the iron cages below them. I didn¡¯t know if there was anyone in them, though Varice and the duke had definitely referenced ¡®other God-Touched¡¯, so I assumed there were. I hoped they hadn¡¯t been hurt by the fighting. She grabbed me by the back of the robe I wore and dragged me bodily towards the damaged building. I could only hang limply as I was pulled along, my hands scraping along the ground beneath me and a string of bloody drool dangling from my lips. She dropped me unceremoniously, and stalked off. I tried to roll over, to twitch or do anything of consequence, but it was as if I inhabited somebody else¡¯s body. My limbs would no more obey my commands than the sky would turn green because I willed it. I felt a boot in my stomach and was rolled onto my back, arms spread to either side. Varice¡¯s expression looked weary, as if she had resigned herself to an unpleasant task and intended to see it through. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about this, Lamb,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not sure why, but you seem like a decent man. But this might even help in the long run. As I said, I can¡¯t risk a repeat of this ridiculous performance, and you don¡¯t need both hands for this job.¡± She nudged my right arm out with her boot, moving it a little further from my body so that it rested, palm towards the ceiling, and then knelt beside me, my axe in one delicate fist. ¡°With any luck, this might even make the duke take it easy on you. He likes a warrior, and perhaps he¡¯ll take more pity on a crippled one than a defiant one.¡± My eyes widened with creeping horror as I realised what was coming, and I felt a shout bubbling up from my chest. ¡°I suppose we shall see soon enough,¡± she said, and then she swung. My scream echoed around the empty cavern, bouncing off the strangely uniform slabs of black glass and seeming to scatter about the pyramid like light through a wave. I screamed again as she wrenched the blade free from the wound, but it turned quickly into choked gasping. In response to the noise, a presence bloomed above us, but I was too wrapped up in the all-encompassing pain of my torture to take any notice. Varice looked perplexed as she inspected the axe. Her raven familiar cocked its head to one side and croaked something that sounded like ¡°danger¡±, but she seemed enraptured. She looked once more down to my arm and then back at the axe, before whistling softly. ¡°Now that is a surprise.¡± I raised my head slightly and focused eyes rolling with delirium and pain on her, and she held up my hatchet to me. ¡°Look at that, you bent it.¡± The only response I could make was a low moan of pain, but she seemed not to notice. ¡°It actually bent. And look at your arm! I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve done to yourself, Lamb, but I have to say that I¡¯m impressed,¡± she mumbled. ¡°Danger,¡± the raven croaked again, hopping to her other shoulder as she once more raised the handaxe. ¡°If at first you don¡¯t succeed,¡± she started, ¡°simply try again.¡± And then she swung once more. I flinched and braced myself for another agonising impact, but none came. I opened my eyes again to see Varice staring above at something I couldn¡¯t make out, an expression of confusion swiftly giving way to trepidation. And then fear. I felt it then. A presence. An aura, venerable and heavy with significance. Vera felt like a bonfire, and the duke had felt like a glacier, but this aura felt like a weary old soldier; ancient, tired, but with an iron-hard will that spoke of inevitability. I¡¯d never felt this exact aura before, and from the way Varice was stumbling to her feet, I gathered she had never felt its like either. But even so, my lips split into a ghastly grin, red teeth bared to the world. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, spymaster?¡± I croaked between broken breaths. ¡°Did you not realise I¡¯d brought friends?¡± ¡°Who goes there?¡± Varice shouted into the gloom, and I heard a heavy thud as if somebody landed from a great height. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you a secret,¡± I whispered, though I wasn¡¯t sure she could hear me any longer. Varice had taken a couple of steps away and was gesturing and muttering to herself even as I felt the power of the unfamiliar aura roll over me. It eclipsed even Vera¡¯s, unlike any I had ever felt before, but there was a hint of something within that I recognised. It brought to mind great trees, ancient and unfathomable, tinged with a sadness and regret I couldn¡¯t quite comprehend. As the aura of a 4th tier washed over the cavern, I finished the thought. ¡°I¡¯m one of the weakest.¡± Chapter 101 - Stranger Come Knocking I felt the presence of the World Tree staining the aura that boomed throughout the cavern. It pulsed out with each slow step of boot on stone, and I recognised the unmistakable feeling of the Subakir within. I let out a relieved sob. There was only one person that it could be, and I almost laughed in relief as I heard Jorge approach. He was moving surprisingly slowly, steps sounding almost unhurried, but I assumed he must be looking around for Varice. I hadn¡¯t seen her do so, but it wasn¡¯t a stretch to guess that she¡¯d slipped away into that strange skill she had that could part reality so smoothly. I cleared my throat and spoke up from my position in front of the ruined building. ¡°She¡¯s hiding¡­in some sort of¡­skill,¡± I gasped out through the pain still wracking my body. ¡°Can appear from anywhere,¡± I groaned. Rather than approach though, the steps stopped. I frowned in confusion after a few moments without further sound. Fighting through the pain and the ringing in my head from unacknowledged system notifications, I managed to lift my head and squint into the gloom. Jorge had his back to me, standing still and facing the open cavern. I couldn¡¯t make out any details and coughed once more. ¡°What are you doing, Jorge? I need-¡± I didn¡¯t finish, trailing off as Jorge shot out a hand to one side. It disappeared a foot or so out from his body, and then he stepped back and withdrew the arm with force, turning the movement into a throw. Varice followed, tumbling through the now gaping hole in the gloom, the purple seam folding back together like a double-curtain closing to obscure the extra-planar space it had held. Varice stumbled to her feet, hands raised and already working on a cast. Her purple raven shot out towards Jorge, but he swayed aside as if it was moving in slow motion and reached out a lazy hand to grab the creature as it flew past. He held it up to his face, examining it for one moment, before he turned back to Varice and crushed the creature in one hand like one would scrunch up a piece of parchment. She gasped like she¡¯d been punched in the liver and fell to one knee as he slowly walked towards her. There was no concern in his posture, no care in his stride and most disturbingly no sense of urgency at all. I felt a seed of doubt begin to sprout in my belly as the figure strolled up to Varice and laid a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Where is the God-Touched?¡± he asked in an even tone, and I frowned once more in confusion. I didn¡¯t recognise the voice. Perhaps it was the ringing in my head and the damage to my ears that Varice¡¯s disabling spell had caused, or perhaps Jorge simply sounded different when he was no longer holding something back. This might be the true face of The Shepherd when he wasn¡¯t pretending to be a cheery old man. I had wondered, back after my capture by the Lions that first time, if Jorge was simply pretending to be human, but I¡¯d decided at some point in our travels since then that it wasn¡¯t the case, that the man I knew was the true Jorge. I started to doubt it now, hearing the strange voice echo from the figure shrouded in darkness, and the thought made me shiver. Varice looked petrified, and pointed over at me. ¡°He¡¯s¡­He¡¯s there. Please, I was following orders, I didn¡¯t kno-¡± she began to babble, but she cut off with a gasp of pain. I couldn¡¯t see the details, but she seemed to try and crumple inward around her shoulder, as if the man was squeezing it and she wanted to alleviate the pressure. ¡°No,¡± the stranger corrected her. ¡°The other one.¡± Varice gasped again, chancing a glance up, while I frowned at his statement. Whatever she saw in his face made her cringe away and she quickly spoke once more. ¡°Which? There are three ¨C all in the barracks,¡± she said, pointing with her free hand at the building behind me, now partially caved in and only standing due to the support from inside the cages. ¡°The one you idiots took from the Leviathan Coast. Goes by the name of Jason,¡± he replied, and Varice bobbed her head frantically. ¡°Yes, he¡¯s in there! I can show you, let me help you unlock-¡± she began but was interrupted once more. ¡°There is no need. Thank you for your services,¡± the figure replied, and then Varice screamed as her body gave way beneath the strength of his grip. He seemed to simply squeeze, and his hand went through her. He pulled his closed fist from inside the hole where her chest met her shoulder, and shook his hand out, flicking viscera and bone to the ground. Then he turned and strolled over to me before squatting down and reaching out to cup my chin, turning my head this way and that. I felt blood smear across my lips and cringed away, but his grip was iron. ¡°And who are you, I wonder?¡± he asked, seemingly to himself. ¡°Something about you feels¡­familiar.¡± The stranger sniffed. ¡°Not a scent I have smelt in many, many years¡­.¡± His strange serpent eyes met my own, and I felt my breath catch. ¡°You smell like Subakir.¡± I looked into the weathered face of the man, and knew for sure that I¡¯d been mistaken. This was not Jorge. This was a stranger I had not met before, and his power was frightening to behold. What was worse though, was the complete lack of empathy I saw in those strange eyes. Cold. Empty. Flat like a shark¡¯s, this man looked through me rather than at me, and I was given the distinct impression that he would happily kill me simply for causing him the inconvenience of stepping around me. ¡°I¡¯m God-Touched,¡± I coughed. ¡°Kidnapped by the duke¡¯s men. Just came down here today. I tried to fight my way free, but-¡± I paused as the stranger raised a hand. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Do you know of a man named Jason?¡± he asked, and I was hit with the premonition that if I said no, he¡¯d kill me as he had Varice, whether or not I was involved, or if the action would help him in any real way. This was a man for whom life meant so little that I simply didn¡¯t count as significant enough to bother with. I hesitated, trying to think of something that could buy me time, but he saw the truth in my face. ¡°A shame,¡± he sighed. ¡°Still, no witnesses¡± he said, and I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth in the face of my death. Then we both froze as something crashed into the ground nearby. I felt the vicelike grip of the stranger leave my face as he stood slowly and turned to take in the figure rising from a crouch, the obsidian below showing spiderweb cracks from the hard landing. The stranger¡¯s aura flared, and I felt the blood freeze in my veins as my heart struggled in vain against the overwhelming pressure. My vision started to darken at the edges, but even through the confusion I saw Jorge rise from his crouch. He was dressed for war, his fist clutching a spear and a small shield of rough iron-banded wood on the other arm. His strange layered leather armour was gleaming in the darkness, and he looked uncommonly serious, even if the moment did seem to call for it. Something was different though. The normal joviality and calmness he projected now gone, the deep gulleys of his face emphasised by the shadows. His eyes met my own though, and I felt hope flare in my chest as I recognised the man I knew within them. His aura reached out like a warm summer¡¯s breeze, carrying the scent of spring leaves, and my blood began to flow once more, the black spots in my vision retreating. I gasped in a breath as I watched the confrontation. And it clearly was a confrontation. The two men stood across from one another, and I felt worry for Jorge for the first time. The stranger was physically imposing, and though he carried no weapon and wore only a heavy cloak over what looked like normal trousers and a shirt, his aura was domineering.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. The power that rolled off him was palpable, but I should have trusted in my companion. His own aura rose to match it, and I felt my eyes widen as a second 4th tier warrior unveiled themselves in this ruin. The stranger felt like a weary veteran, but Jorge eclipsed the weight of that aura within moments. Time itself seemed to shadow him, and I felt like I was seeing the truth of history peeled back before my eyes. There was something crushing about the weight of it. The sheer quantity of experience, the gulf of sensation and the vastness of knowledge that was contained within that aura was shocking. Aeonic. The word occurred to me in a vacuum, but it felt appropriate as I watched the two strangers stare at one another. For this was no longer the Jorge I knew, either. He might not have the cruel indifference of the stranger that had been only moments from snapping my neck, but this Jorge had a weight to him. A significance that I¡¯d never before borne witness to in my short time in this world. Silence dripped between them, and in that void hung an eternity of enmity. ¡°Why are you here, Shepherd?¡± the stranger asked, and Jorge didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Are you willing to let things lie as they are?¡± Jorge asked. ¡°I still remember your parting words.¡± A laugh then, as the stranger¡¯s shoulders shook softly. ¡°I warned you that you would never forget my oath. Are you ready to accept your judgement?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll not hear of judgement from an oath breaker,¡± Jorge replied, a dangerous edge to his voice. ¡°You can bark like a dog as often as you like, but the only oath I¡¯ll hold you to is your first, Markas. Why are you here?¡± The stranger stared a few moments longer before shrugging. ¡°Same as you it seems. I¡¯m here to retrieve a fool that found himself stolen.¡± He glanced back at me for a moment, and I once more felt my body lockup when those serpentine eyes met my own. ¡°God-Touched seem as prone to misplacement in the Sunsets as they are to making friends in high places,¡± he said with a twist of his lips. ¡°The younger kingdoms have forgotten the lessons they should well know.¡± Jorge didn¡¯t share his smile though. ¡°I will not stop you. There is no need for our quarrel to resolve itself today. Take your man and go.¡± The stranger sighed wearily. ¡°Alas, I am contracted by The Desolate Empire in this. The First Spider was clear; no witnesses.¡± Quick as a flash, his hand flicked out and a dagger flew towards me. It moved so fast I had no time to react, even my mana unable to respond before the blade was at my face. And there it stayed, hovering in place, embedded within some invisible barrier that had sprung up around me at the last moment. ¡°You will not win this, Markas. You do not yet have the strength, just as you did not then.¡± Jorge¡¯s statement seemed to anger the man, and he snarled as he turned towards me. Vertically slitted pupils bored into my soul, and I felt pain wend its way around my core. I had no time to truly understand the situation, but End Of The Hunt bloomed to life once more, siphoning mana from my core and desperately trying to protect my soul from whatever effect the stranger was having on me. Despite the danger, I could not look away, and I could feel myself slipping, my hold on the world itself beginning to lose its tether. There was a sound like a wave crashing into stone cliffs, and I saw Jorge lowering his fist, the stranger skidding to the ground a few meters away. It had happened so fast that somehow I had missed the movement and only heard the sound afterwards. The stranger ¨C Markas, Jorge had called him ¨C rose to his feet languidly. He widened his terrifying eyes in a macabre imitation of shock, and cracked his neck from either side. ¡°You would lose everything for one fool of a boy?¡± he asked, but Jorge shook his head. ¡°How bitter you¡¯ve become, lad-¡± ¡°DON¡¯T CALL ME THAT!¡± Markas screamed, shocking both Jorge and myself, though I was rapidly losing what semblance of consciousness I still had. ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking dare try that ¡®nurturing old man¡¯ shit! I know what you are, Shepherd, and I know how empty your compassion truly is. Is he seeded? Or do you plan to recruit him to your cause, hmm?¡± Markas¡¯s words were bitter as the north wind, laced with a biting hatred that had festered over many years. No new squabble could produce such raging emotion, and I began to put together a picture of what the relationship between these two was. ¡°Do you plan on making yet another young fool dance to your twisted tune? Convince him that he can change things, and spend his life watching everything fall apart anyway?¡± Jorge sighed, and while the sound was weary, his stance lost none of its wariness as he circled around to stand between me and the stranger. ¡°You lost your way Markas, don¡¯t put that on me.¡± Jorge drummed his spear haft on the smooth slabs of obsidian beneath in time with each point he made. ¡°You joined the Blackguard. You broke your oath. It was your pursuit of easy results that ruined you. I warned you against the Anticipant Chamber.¡± As Jorge spoke, some of the weariness began to drop from his posture, shoulders rising from their resigned stoop. He began to pace back and forth as he spoke, and I could see the passion and frustration leaking through from beneath whatever mask of calm he had layered over his wounded heart. ¡°Accelerationism has no precedent, Markas. How many times did I say those words to you?¡± The stranger snarled in response. ¡°Fuck precedent! She sits there and does NOTHING! Then every few hundred years she just upends the fucking board, and plunges all of us into death and despair! Is that your god, Shepherd? Is that your wise and compassionate ruler?¡± Jorge didn¡¯t back down either though, and I began to realise I was still not anywhere approaching safety. I started to crawl backwards, slowly, but the first time I placed my injured arm down, white pain flashed through my skull and blinded me momentarily. By the time I came to again, Jorge and Markas were in each other¡¯s faces, words thrown back and forth like weapons meant to cut. ¡°Time and time again I tried to caution your rashness. It¡¯s not about righting a thing yourself, it never has been! How could you miss that lesson, even now?¡± Jorge asked. ¡°I fix things, Jorge!¡± was the response from Markas as he paced as well. They circled each other like feral cats around a dump. ¡°I go out and do the hard work. The bloody work. I actually make a difference in this world, while you sit back just like her, head in the sky and thinking you¡¯re superior while the rest of us drown in the mud! Do you have any idea how many children I¡¯ve shepherded to The Verdent Grove? How many evil men and women I¡¯ve taken revenge on!? You think it just goes away because some-¡± Jorge scoffed in response as I heaved my body backwards on my one good arm. My weapons lay on the floor behind him but that wasn¡¯t a concern ¨C I could call them to me at any time, after all. ¡°You¡¯re a glorified mercenary Markas. Listen to yourself! The Anticipant Chamber lead you astray, just as I warned you they would. You work for the spiders now! You were going to kill my lad because some bureaucrat wanted no witnesses to their failure? What madness is this?¡± ¡°It is the way of the world!¡± the stranger retorted. ¡°Why I should expect you to understand I cannot say, but that is how things are..." ¡°It is the height of folly, ya fuckin¡¯ mongrel,¡± Jorge growled, and I blinked in surprise. Even the stranger seemed shocked, his animal pupils widening before slitting nearly closed, brows furrowed in anger. Jorge wasn¡¯t finished though. ¡°No witnesses!? No fuckin¡¯ witnesses, lad?¡± he asked in exasperation, and I noted that Markas didn¡¯t so much as flinch at the term of endearment this time, seemingly waiting to see what Jorge would say next. Jorge began to pace once more, tapping the base of his spear into the ground once again in a rhythmic cadence. ¡°The whole of the Riverlands is burnin¡¯ because o¡¯ that fucking boy,¡± Jorge pointed at the barracks. ¡°And you have the cheek to think they¡¯ll be no fucking witnesses if you kill a few 2nd tiers?¡± Markas frowned, seeming unsure now, his aggressive posture somewhat shrinking for a moment. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± he asked cautiously. ¡°Come on, lad! I know yer not that fuckin¡¯ daft!¡± Jorge proclaimed, his heavy accent becoming even more accentuated as the man riled him up. ¡°There¡¯s a proxy war goin¡¯ on out there as close to official as it gets ¡®fore they send the Spiders in! It¡¯s not hard to put two and two together, Markas. Who is he claimed by?¡± he asked as he gestured to the barracks behind me. I abruptly realised that backing up into the semi-destroyed building might not be the best idea if half the reason for their quarrel was in there, too. The stranger shook his head. ¡°Not important, Shepherd. I want-¡± But Jorge cut across him easily. ¡°Is he the Spider Prince¡¯s lad? The High Archivist¡¯s soon to be son-in-law? Has he been claimed by one of the high houses?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter!¡± Markas cried, but Jorge only shouted back in his face, now less than a meter apart. ¡°Of course it does! You¡¯re here for a fucking job! Take him and leave, and you can live out the rest of your miserable days wishing for my death, for all I care. But if you try and kill these ¡®witnesses¡¯ as you call them¡­¡± Jorge leaned close and abruptly stopped shouting, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. ¡°¡­then I¡¯ll cut you down right here myself, Markas, I swear it on Illyn Solynia herself.¡± The stranger¡¯s eyes widened once more, and he stepped back. Jorge just nodded. ¡°Aye, lad. And unlike you, I keep my oaths.¡± Markas drew himself up to his full height and spat to one side. ¡°Very well. We both knew how this would end the moment we saw one another again, Shepherd. We¡¯ll see whose path hews closer to truth soon enough.¡± So saying, the man flexed his hands and a glaive appeared clutched within them. Intricate patterns wove their way up the haft, and the gleaming blade was long and tapered into a thick curve, suited to cutting and slashing through sinew and bone. Jorge simply nodded. He tapped the haft of his spear to the ground one more time and spoke a single word. The world flashed. Chapter 102 - Lost No Longer It felt as if the world pulsed, and the volcanic glass beneath the two men¡¯s feet lit up in a blinding orange radiance for a heartbeat. I blinked away the spots that had momentarily seared their way across my vision, expecting to find the two men locked in a vicious melee, but instead I was surprised to see Jorge striding towards me. Markas hung suspended in the air, arms stretched out to either side and held by blinding chains of orange and gold that dripped molten mana to the ground with each passing moment. Not a single part of him moved, except his blazing serpentine eyes, which tracked Jorge as he strode over to me. They seemed to eschew a hatred more powerful than a hundred suns in that moment, and I could only hope that this man would die quickly down here in the dark. ¡°Easy does it, lad¡± Jorge said with his usual gruff charm as he levered me up. ¡°You¡¯ve got less than a 10th of a bell to get yourself clear of here before he breaks out and everything goes to shit.¡± He gestured vaguely at the most powerful man I had ever met, restrained in the air and completely helpless so far as I could tell. Well, second most powerful, I suppose. ¡°Right, lad, look at me. I can¡¯t leave him here, and this battle will be messy. Despite what I said, there¡¯s no guarantee I¡¯ll make it out of here, even. Get to Vera and the others, alright?¡± He slapped me lightly in the face, my eyes glazing over slightly as my knees gave out for a moment. ¡°Hey, with me, lad,¡± Jorge said before he checked me over, sucking in a breath as he saw the gaping gash in my forearm, leaking life-blood even now. I had lost too much, I knew that now. My vision was blurring just from standing in place, and I felt feverish and cold. Jorge unstoppered a flask he had retrieved from somewhere, and pressed it to my lips with urgency, and I relented. The warm liquid slid down my throat and warmed my stomach from within, spreading like fire through my system and going some way to rejuvenating me. He then uncorked a bottle of something that smelled suspiciously like hard spirits and handed it to me. I regarded it with scepticism for a moment, but Jorge just thrust it harder into my hands. ¡°Trust me, lad, you¡¯ll be wanting this,¡± he said. I shrugged and upended the bottle, chugging as much as I could before nodding to him as I tried to hold down my gorge at the scalding bitterness across my tongue and throat. I grimaced and set my teeth as he took hold of my injured wrist, and then he jerked his hands and I nearly passed out again, a scream ripping its way out of me once more. He hastily slapped a bandage on it and passed me another bottle. It took me a few moments to stop sobbing in pain and compose myself enough for another drink, but thankfully this one was simply a small potion bottle. Down the hatch it went, and after another few breaths, I started to feel the knitting of tissue below the bandage. It hurt. It hurt more than the re-setting Jorge had just done, but instead of coming on all at once, the sensation crept upon me like the dawn ¨C sneaking, creeping and ever so slow. ¡°Fuck me, that hurt¡± I gasped out once it was done, and Jorge gave me a hearty slap on the back in response. ¡°Good to have you back, Lamb.¡± I managed a weak grin, though the trauma was still bubbling along under the surface. Adrenaline had a hell of a way of making major events seem minor when compared to the next moment though, so I managed to push away the terror and pain and focus on what came next. ¡°What¡¯s the situation?¡± I asked the old man. ¡°A mite complex, I¡¯d say,¡± said Jorge, and I smiled at the likely understatement. ¡°Vera and Nathlan are holding the north tower, pretending to have a fight with the rebels that are assaulting it. Nathlan took down some of the wards, the canny little bastard, so they¡¯re just biding their time before Vera strikes at the duke.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the duke doing?¡± I asked. ¡°Oh, right! He¡¯s fighting the Sultanate. The Sultan and his forces have lain siege to the castle, and the duke is busy trying to push them back. Fandar and his group are at the north tower, as I said, and Jacyntha and Sadrianna are fighting with the duke currently,¡± Jorge explained. ¡°¡­Unless it¡¯s all gone to shit since I left, mind you,¡± he added with a chuckle. I absorbed all of that, and then focused on the present once more. ¡°Shall I get Vera down here to support you? I¡¯m not sure there¡¯s much I can do myself, to be honest¡± I said with a sigh. ¡°Look at me, lad. Just get out of here. Markas is my problem to deal with. You just let Vera know that it¡¯s him I¡¯m down here with and she¡¯ll understand. Her focus is the duke, and your focus needs to be supporting her and the rest of the group, aye?¡± He held my eye even after I nodded, clearly expecting something more. ¡°You keep them safe, lad. You keep them alive. Understand?¡± ¡°Aye, Jorge. I¡¯ll see it through,¡± I said with a confidence I didn¡¯t feel, my legs still wobbly and hands still shaking. ¡°Right, off you go. Not much time now.¡± He dismissed me with a warm smile and a hearty backslap, and I started stumbling towards the wooden scaffold that bracketed the smooth cut obsidian. I looked back as I passed the first set of stairs and saw Jorge pacing around in front of Markas. Serpentine eyes tracked me as I rose though, ignoring Jorge entirely, and I worried about what that could mean. ¡°Run, Lamb!¡± Jorge called to me as I slipped and nearly fell, righting myself at the last minute. ¡°And to think ¨C I was considering calling you ¡®Surefoot¡¯!¡± he added with a slightly mad cackle. It was a sound I¡¯d never before heard him make, and I worried about what that implied too. Was he more nervous than he let on? I hoped he had been honest with me, and didn¡¯t plan on dying down here, but there was nothing I could do either way. He was right ¨C my other companions should be my focus now. ¡°And remember, lad¡­When the sky is full, keep your eyes on the ground!¡± I turned back to him once more intending to ask about the cryptic advice, but by then I was a good fifty or so meters away, and he had turned back to face Markas. I followed his advice and picked up the pace. My wrist was no longer throbbing, and I twirled it as I ran, feeling the tendons move smoothly and the muscle respond to my commands with ease.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Any other niggles and pains seemed to have been sorted by whatever Jorge had fed me, and I focused on putting as much distance between myself and the coming calamity that the fight between two 4th tiers was sure to be. End Of The Hunt I kept active to keep at bay the dread aura of the Ashkanian Vault ¨C I didn¡¯t need any help fearing for my life currently, and the familiar pressure of my pathbound skill reassured me as I fled. A part of me wanted to turn back, to face Markas alongside my mentor. Running from a foe was difficult to square with the skill¡¯s intent, after all. But still, the gulf of power between me and the two old monsters below was so astronomical that even my perpetually defiant skill seemed to acknowledge the sense in retreat. I spent every breath for nearly a tenth of a bell just running. It took me back to how I had begun things in Tsanderos ¨C running for my life. Stride The Edge guided me over difficult terrain as surely as Cloven-Hooved ever had, and my enhanced attributes helped propel me to new speeds as I danced across crooked wooden beams, vaulted over stairs four at a time, and scampered up scaffolding in places where the switch-backing path seemed slower than climbing directly. I knew the moment Markas and Jorge clashed for the first time. It felt as if the vault itself, the great pyramid that I stood upon deep within the earth, shook to its foundations. But it wasn¡¯t the obsidian blocks that moved. Instead, the air itself shivered. The first blow of glaive against spear or shield ¨C or so I assumed, anyway ¨C shook the void and made me dizzy from the impossibility of it. Each step became confused, as if I was moving underwater in thick currents ¨C the space before me seeming to twist and writhe and my feet moving in unpredictable ways ¨C landing a foot to the left or a hair to the right from where I intended. I looked up in despair, knowing I was still a good few hundred meters from the entrance tunnel above the top of the pyramid, and knowing equally that I would be unable to reach it at my current pace. I felt as if I was moving through molasses. But I focused on my goal. Nathlan, fighting alone in a sea of blood. Vera, fighting the demon within that craved vengeance, only held back by her desire to protect her friends. Sadrianna and Jacyntha, risking death beneath a foreign sky with only the trust that we would come for them soon to see them through the chaos. I poured mana from my core into End Of The Hunt, and winced in spiritual pain as I felt my soul strain against both the pressure of the battle far below, and the recent injury caused by Markas¡¯s soul attack. Nonetheless, I grit my teeth and pushed through, flaring my aura around me like a cloak. I pushed it further, first a cocoon and then a bubble enveloping me and the surroundings a few feet in each direction. Within, I was dominant. I was the retaliation that haunted the hunter¡¯s steps. I was untamed, wild and utterly without peer. With the full force of my soul, I proclaimed my pre-eminence in this small area of space, and felt the weight of the peak existences below fall away. My feet landed where they should, the air no longer wavering. I pushed on, my full speed unlocked once more, and I sprinted the final distance towards the top of the pyramid. When I reached the tunnel, I risked a final look back and saw nothing but hazy darkness in the cavern below. The near-black pyramid hung silently in the void, swamped by depthless darkness all around. An orange glow bloomed far down on the left-hand side of the structure, and then a silver flash on the right. A sonic boom echoed out a moment later, and a plume of dust shook itself free from the ceiling, and that was enough to convince me to run for my life. Tunnels passed by in a flash, and soon enough I began to relax my aura skill, allowing mana to flow once more into my core from where it was nearly spent. I would need it soon enough for my own battles, no doubt. A crossroads passed me by, and then a couple of tunnels to my right, spaced apart by a mile or so each, and then I was nearing the end of the tunnel, the regular wooden support beams and mage-lights giving way to unworked stone and wall-mounted sconces filled with mundane torches. I could no longer feel the punishing auras of the 4th tiers, and so took a few moments to catch my breath and drink some water from a waterskin in my storage ring. I ran on for a few more moments, slipping through the corridors of Castle Ryonic and seeing not a soul as I did so. Soon I came to the heavy iron-banded door that separated the inner courtyard from the keep itself, and I took a moment to think through my next move. Then I took out my armour and began to dress, slipping out of the simple tunic and cloak that had made up my disguise. I also took a few moments to review the notifications I¡¯d received from killing Estan. You have killed a Human (Fortunate Son - level 69). Experience gained. Skill ¡®A Frozen Pyrre¡¯ has increased in level. A Frozen Pyrre ¨C level 6 Skill ¡®End Of The Hunt¡¯ has increased in level. End Of The Hunt ¨C level 5 I still had 15 attributes to spend from the last level up as a result of killing Varden, the guardsman messenger, and immediately put 5 into agility and 10 into strength. This coming battle was to be a chaotic brawl, and I would need both to avoid death and overpower my foes. Ancestry: Titan-Forged Human (evolved) Level: 65 Class: Blood Of The Mountains Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 150 Agility: 130 Endurance: 85 Perception: 85 Cognition: 75 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: A Frozen Pyrre: Level 6. Passive. Axis-Shift: Level 5. Active. Stride The Edge: Level 5. Passive. Break-Step: Level 6. Active. End Of The Hunt: Level 5. Active. Myrmiddion Spear: Level 4. Passive. Shatter Point: Level 5. Active. The Mountain¡¯s Gate: Level 4. Active. Soon the humble God-Touched was gone. In his place stood Lamb, 2nd tier warrior, blood of the mountains flowing through his veins and conviction strong is his heart. It was a little ostentatious and arrogant to think of myself that way perhaps, but I was about to risk my life in battle and after what I¡¯d just been through, I needed the confidence that an ego boost could provide. ¡°Lamb of the Mountains, Wielder of Resolution, Surefoot, World-Walker, Titan-Forged and Unbroken.¡± I said into the silence, starting as a whisper. I strapped the last buckle of my armoured leather vest, reinforced with plates of steel sewn within, and Corrinian Rhai skeletal slivers banding the hard material. ¡°I have endured the predations of the Crimson Lions, and beaten them and the Wielders of Azlan both,¡± I said, strapping the silver-steel gauntlet to my right wrist, covering the scar left over from its near-severing only a fifth of a bell prior. The tanned flesh was stained red from the blood that I¡¯d lost, as if I was clothed in it from forearm to shoulder on my right side. ¡°I am the pack¡¯s last hunt, have ended bandits and mercenaries, skeletons and wild beasts beyond counting,¡± I called into the corridor, daring anyone to disagree. The shield of the Corrinian Rhai carapace sheathed my left arm from elbow to fist, a single spike emerging over my knuckles like a gauntlet blade. ¡°I have treated with the Subakir, have wondered The Lost Grove and scaled the depths of The Hollow Mountain,¡± I shouted as I strapped my hatchet to one hip and my fang dagger to the other. I took a final breath, pulling Resolution free and expanding it to its full war-form with a gentle caress of my mana. It responded with fervour, the red-lacquered haft gleaming in the firelight from the torch behind me, the white wolf-leather grip soft and supple in my hand. ¡°I am Lamb of the Mountains, and I am lost no longer,¡± I said quietly, before kicking open the door. Chapter 103 - Chaos and Conflict The clang of the iron-banded door hitting the wall of the keep as it was flung open heralded a wave of chaos. It was insufficient a description, but it was the best word I could use to describe what assaulted my senses. The noise was first; the screams of the injured mixing with bellowing and panicked yells from the still hale as they did their best to add to that number, cut through by clanging metal and the hissing discharge of powerful skills. Then came the smell, carried on the wind a moment afterwards. Acrid and harsh ¨C piss and shit as men and women died and lost control of their insides. A copper tang of blood and sweat, and the now familiar hint of fear underneath everything. The smell was potent enough to almost leave a taste on the tongue, and I spat to one side to clear the sour saliva that coated my teeth. My enhanced perception was focused mostly on vision, human that I was, and so the next sense to bombard me with information was assimilated through the lenses of my eyes. Colours flashed in the dark night, smoke from a few small fires lit from within by strange skills and magic flying around. I saw the outline of soldiers as they disturbed the dark backdrop of the sky, and the glint of light against weapons and armour filled out the picture with detail. Ryonic guardsmen still held the main gate, crammed along the high crenelated wall of the barbican like fish in a barrel, raining arrows and skills down at something below. I caught the outline of siege ladders and saw a man kicked full in the chest, screaming as he fell off the wall and into the inner courtyard in front of me. He was armoured in overlapping plates of lamellar armour, bright silks of various colours beneath now stained with blood from a gaping wound in his side. His head was bound in a turban, and a silk veil lay strewn about his broken head beneath the conical helm where he lay. I didn¡¯t recognise the uniform, if that was what it was, and then a series of loud shouts and harsh cries drew my attention upwards again. A dozen men, similarly clothed and with curved swords flashing in the night, forced their way onto the wall, forming a beach head to either side as they turned the high wall into a charnel house of slaughter. Clearly in the 2nd tier by the speed they moved and the power of the skills they displayed, they cut through the guardsmen with ease. Blue flame encompassed their weapons and soon another half dozen other soldiers joined them. I saw Decker and another Ryonic veteran holding one side of the beach head, and three Crimson-cloaked warriors ¨C Crimson Lions!? ¨C stemmed the tide on the other side, but it was too late. Only a small part of the wall needed to fall into enemy control for all hell to break loose, and I watched as the defenders rapidly lost their advantage, the siege turning into a more even battle as guardsman faced soldier on the barbican wall. I looked to my right and saw the north tower. Across the courtyard and up the wooden scaffolding lining the inside of the castle wall ¨C perhaps a hundred meters away ¨C was a group of Ryonic guardsmen fighting off another group of attackers, though these were garbed in tight fitting black cloth, leaping from long poles onto the wall in waves. The guardsmen seemed able to hold for now though, and I squinted when I recognised Nathlan¡¯s lean frame beside the hulking form of Vera. I frowned in confusion for a moment, but realised they too were dressed as Ryonic guardsmen, and when I looked closer still, I saw that no skills were being used. Nathlan¡¯s flashing blade remained gleaming silver rather than the golden or dark hues from either of his powerful blade-skills. Also, despite the leaping and striking being done by both sides, nobody seemed to fall. Jorge had mentioned they were faking an attack, though it had sounded like the Sultanate¡¯s men hadn¡¯t been having much luck when he¡¯d slipped into the castle keep. Things had clearly changed since. In any case, I needed to get to them, and only moments after flinging open the door, I sprinted towards the courtyard¡¯s other side. I skidded to a halt as a figure ¨C one of the soldiers I¡¯d before seen breach the wall ¨C landed before me, scimitar clad in blue flames and already sweeping out towards me. I slipped to the ground, sliding beneath the weapon and stabbing out with Resolution as I passed. Clever footwork saved the soldier from a sliced ligament, but it gave me time to flip to my feet and turn to face the man. He was swiftly joined by two others though, and I now found myself facing three 2nd tier warriors, five swords between them, and three confident smiles standing out in the night against their dark skin. Wasting no time, I spun my spear and threw, even as I hit the lead soldier with Axis-Shift. He stumbled in place, and my spear took him through the shoulder, spinning him around and to the cobbled ground with the strength of the throw. It had been a good cast, but one of his companions had knocked him out of the way while the other leapt towards me, twin swords flashing in the night. A Frozen Pyrre was active the moment I¡¯d released my spear though, and I was already punching out with my shield to deflect the strikes even as my hatchet was leaping into my now empty fist. Shatter Point detonated on impact as I brought the hatchet up and into the lamellar armour of the soldier¡¯s chest, and he was thrown to one side, a hole blown through his torso from my skill-empowered strike. I dove backwards as the third soldier swept his two-handed shamshir through the air where I had been. It held a shallower curve than his companion¡¯s shorter swords, and a thinner blade besides, but it was near five feet long, and deadly sharp. It left a keening in the air as it cut, and the man knew how to wield it, broad sweeps keeping me backpedalling to stay out of range of his looping strikes. Myrmiddion Spear was not just a single technique though, and the instincts and knowledge it trickled to me over the many long days of training had instilled in me a familiarity with most styles of weapons. Two-handed swords were masters of holding position and keeping range, and so I activated Break-Step as he committed to his next swing.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Tracking his trajectory, I slipped aside from one strike and then beneath the next, rising up inside his guard with my hatchet in hand. I slammed it into his gut, but he was an even better fighter than he was swordsman, and had released his sword the moment I ducked his swing. His free hands came up between my axe and his armour, and the weapon bit into a magical barrier that he had cast into existence in a heartbeat rather than simple mundane armour. I was thrown backwards by the force of the blast that the barrier released as it broke, and rolled back to my feet next to the inner wall beneath the north tower. I had dropped my hatchet but called Resolution back to my hand even as I leapt back into the fight. The swordsman hadn¡¯t bothered to retrieve his weapon, instead whipping his hands up above his head in a strange gesture. A moment later, a wall of pressure separated us, springing from the ground to tower over my head in a plane of force. I didn¡¯t slow though, and jumped into the air, spear landing in my palm and raised above my head. Whether magical or physical, a barrier was a barrier, and I trusted in Shatter Point to see me through. The tip of my spear met his magical barrier, and his barrier crumpled, shattering at the point of impact and dissipating the moment it was pierced. I fell onto the soldier, dropping my spear to catch his wrists even as he pulled a rondel from his belt. We both hit the ground, his breath whooshing from his lungs at the impact and blood spurting from his mouth as I pushed the dagger deeper into his chest. He had drawn it, but my positioning and strength were superior, so I had managed to overpower him and push the dagger into his chest even as we fell. A shout of rage had me rolling to one side as a scimitar flashed through the space I had inhabited, trailing blue flames so hot they cauterised the very air as they moved. I looked up at the man who knelt on the ground ahead of me ¨C the first soldier that had tried to bar my path. One arm hung limply, armour bloody where my spear had taken him in the shoulder, his second blade now abandoned and the first one clattering against the wall behind me from his throw. He coughed, the shout clearly having cost him, and I wondered at the degree of his injury before I saw the frost rimming the edge of the wound. Resolution was by no means a sentient weapon, but it seemed to have a life of its own sometimes, the Heart of Winter making up its head clearly having acted without my express intent. It was a potent weapon indeed, though I would need to keep an eye on it in future. Still, now was not the time for such thoughts, and I wasted no time in launching my spear at him. He swayed to one side, falling over with a grunt but dodging the weapon. He raised a hand my way, and I skidded aside from a ball of blue flame, but it was weak, sputtering and dissipating a few feet before it reached me. My hatchet took him in the head a few heartbeats later, and I wrenched the weapon free, turning in a quick circle to ensure no more enemies blocked my path. Satisfied that the courtyard was empty, though for how much longer remained in question given the frantic battle taking place above, I sheathed my hatchet, called my spear to hand, and accepted the notifications that were ringing in my mind. You have killed a Human (Flame of Alakir - level 73). Experience gained. You have killed a Human (Burning Shamshir - level 82). Experience gained. You have killed a Human (Flame of Alakir - level 73). Experience gained. Skill ¡®Shatter Point¡¯ has increased in level. Shatter Point ¨C level 6 I turned, determined to scale the scaffolding and make it onto the wall behind where Nathlan and Vera currently ¡®fought¡¯, but a sonic boom interrupted me. I had time to turn to the gate, and then my eyes widened, Break-Step activating on instinct more than any conscious thought. I watched as beams of timber, thick around as my chest, burst inwards in a shower of man-sized splinters. A Ryonic guardswoman and silk-clad solider were battling on the scaffolding near the gate and the impact threw them bodily off the wooden walkway and into the wall behind even as the gate crumpled inwards. The body of the duke came screaming past and thudded into the central keep. The gate, reinforced with metal as it had been, blew inwards and in strolled the Sultan, colourful silks flapping in the wind. The barbican above the gate showed cracks in the stone, and I winced as I realised what this meant. The duke was already pulling himself from the keep, dislodging crumbling stone all around and blood trickling from his head, but seeming otherwise unhurt. I struggled to my feet from where I had been blown across the courtyard and realised groggily that I was now on the other side of it, the north tower now blocked by two titans of battle. ¡°Your wards are now broken, your walls overrun,¡± the Sultan said in a voice bleeding with age. He sounded like the rustling wings of a thousand moths, and it matched his appearance perfectly. His long grey beard was oiled and smooth, covered in gold rings every half-inch until capped by a shining red gem where it ended at his chest. He wore no armour, but his beautiful silks were unharmed, and his gnarled, ring-encrusted arms were raised to either side. ¡°Silence!¡± he then roared, and the voice that had felt so subtle and weak was suddenly booming off every surface, echoing around until its susurration was the only thing I could hear. Men and women on the wall stopped fighting, weapons raised but no longer moving. Even the injured no longer screamed, whimpering in quiet murmurs but otherwise complying with the Sultan¡¯s decree. ¡°Bow to me,¡± he said to the duke. ¡°I will accept your surrender, and you shall retain your rights to this land as my vassal. End this farce now.¡± The duke walked forwards, shaking out his hands and summoning ruby-red blades of twisted glass into each hand. To look at them was to lose yourself, as I found my eyes drawn to the fractured space within each blade, like a kaleidoscope of branching realities- ¡°No¡± the duke replied simply, and then the blades were moving, so fast that I couldn¡¯t track them, and the spell was broken. I blinked and looked up to see battle resuming once more above, though the courtyard was empty except for myself. I looked once more to the north tower, but an arrow slammed into the stone in front of my nose. I jerked back and looked sharply to the barbican, where I spotted an archer, war bow as tall as he was and dressed in a crimson cloak. He was swaying back from the frantic onslaught of a turban-clad warrior, and then a dagger was buried to the hilt beneath the soldier¡¯s chin. He let the body drop limp off the wall and turned back to me, yellow hawk-eyes meeting mine, and bow raising once more. His animalistic eyes clashed with his dark skin, and I watched him slowly draw a barbed arrow from his quiver, a cruel smile gracing his handsome face. Chapter 104 - Arrows in the Sky The veteran mercenary, drenched in his blood red cloak and silhouetted against the backdrop of the castle gate, cut a dramatic sight. The flames lighting him from below and dark skies framing his figure only enhanced the image In the time I took to admire the scene, some small part of my mind frustratingly focused on the poetry of it, he sent another arrow winging its way towards me, and this one was glistening with a silver glow of magic. I darted aside, Break-Step aiding my reactions and giving me back the precious time I had wasted with my gawking. I slid to a stop against the inner wall of the barbican and looked up. Staying here wasn¡¯t sustainable. I needed to get to the north tower and rejoin my companions, but that archer was deadly on open ground. I couldn¡¯t risk the dash across the open courtyard, and I equally couldn¡¯t just wait out the man and hope he was killed by somebody else. The ease with which he¡¯d dispatched the Sultan¡¯s soldier made me think he would haunt this caste for a long while. I had no idea how the fucking Sultanate was involved in all of this, or why their army was besieging duke Ryonic¡¯s castle, and why and how the Crimson Lions were here, but it was obvious that things weren¡¯t going well for the duke and his guards. The gate was destroyed and the castle wards broken, and it wouldn¡¯t be long before warriors were streaming in through the ruined gate and over the walls. Vera had said that it was imperative that we hold the castle in our planning the day prior, and I knew enough of the world myself to realise that without the security of Castle Ryonic, it would be hard to hold onto the Western marchlands for Vera, even with the support of the rebels and the village and worker councils. No matter what, having a high-level archer running around to pick us off would not support any plan that my friends may have, and so my path was clear; kill the archer. I took two quick breaths to psych myself up, and then I was sprinting along the curve of the wall, aiming for the wooden walkway ringing the inside of the wall only a few meters distant. I juked aside from another arrow but when I chanced a glance up, the archer was shooting at somebody else along the wall - I was clearly not his only target currently. I jumped onto the wooden scaffold and climbed up, spider-quick, my arms reaching for the next hold even as my legs propelled me upwards. Within moments I was vaulting to my feet and clashing weapons with a surprised Sultanate soldier. My spear had been shrunk to its smaller form, and the Heart Of Winter at its head drank deep of the man¡¯s lifeblood as I cut his throat on my way past. One of the Sultan¡¯s elite men, turban a deep purple and dual scimitars flashing in the night as he killed a Castle Ryonic guardsman, turned to me as I raced towards the wall. ¡°Finally! A challenge!¡± He cried with a smile as he twirled his blades. I ignored the provocation and lowered my shoulder as if to charge. He braced and swept low with a burning sword as I bunched my legs and leapt over him. Axis-Shift provided a further distraction as I flew through the air, though he managed to partially resist the disorientating effect. We locked eyes as I flipped over his head and he sliced his other blade towards me, but even at the zenith of my leap, my spear was with me, already extended once more to its full form and dipping its frozen tip into the man¡¯s chest. I finished the airborne cartwheel, using his body as an anchor, and ripping the spear from his chest as I landed. You have killed a Human (Soldier - level 42). Experience gained. You have killed a Human (Flame of Alakir - level 72). Experience gained. ¡®Stride The Edge¡¯ has increased in level. Stride The Edge ¨C level 6. I managed to bring my shield up at the last moment, deflecting an arrow such that it only left a small cut above my ear rather than took me through the eye, but it was a potent reminder that I needed to be swift here rather than thorough. I sprinted towards and then onto the wall of the barbican, and there found my progress slowed once more. Ryonic guardsmen we''re struggling against Sultanate soldiers in a frenzied melee, which to my eye looked more like a group of people shoving one another in an inn than a true battle. Shields were locked against one another with men and women grunting and heaving in a symphony of discordant shouting. Occasionally a shrill scream would punctuate the furore as a canny spear snuck between the front lines and took someone¡¯s life, while rare skills exploded and flashed in the night, though steel still reigned supreme as a method of delivering death for the regular soldiers. I considered trying to push my way through but quickly discarded the idea. It would only take an errant knife in the front or the back ¨C or the side, so many fun ways to die! ¨C and that would be it for me. Besides, I wasn¡¯t known to the guardsmen in the same way my barbarian friends were, so it would be too much of a gamble. Speaking of, I saw Jacyntha silhouetted in the distance as she fought against a red-cloaked mercenary, losing ground before the elegant strikes of the clearly experienced swordsman. The tall man gestured, and a bolt of brilliant azure lightning sizzled towards the barbarian, and in her haste to avoid the magical attack, she stumbled. The man saw his opening and lunged. I activated Break-Step on instinct, determined to do something, though I wasn¡¯t clear exactly what. I watched in slow motion as the rapier threaded its way towards her heart, and I knew from the soft blue glint on the blade itself that it would have no trouble piercing her armour. I reached deep inside my soul for the mana that welled constantly within my core and began forcing it towards the skill constellation for The Mountain¡¯s Gate, but I knew it would be too late. I was too slow with my mana control, the range of the skill was still not enough to reach Jacyntha, and so the man¡¯s blade would find purchase before my skill ever could. I watched in achingly frozen time as my companion greeted death with helplessness¡­and then Nathlan was there. A single-edged sword sprang forth, a viper striking a mouse, and knocked aside the rapier just as it had been about to kill. In the next few heartbeats, as I struggled to process my surprise and let the world fall back into its normal pace as Break-Step faded away, I watched Nathlan pick apart the mercenary¡¯s bladework with intricate steps and cuts. Moments later and he was standing over a rapidly cooling corpse, sword held loosely in one hand and eyes scanning for the next threat, his Ryonic cloak now abandoned and looking like himself once more with his barbarian armour on full display. I let out an explosive breath as I searched for Sadrianna and saw her in down in the courtyard now. I panicked to see it, knowing that a single arrow from on high could be the end for her, and unsure how she had even ended up down there. There she was though, battling three of the Sultan¡¯s veterans, though she seemed to have support from two Ryonic guardsmen. Not exactly an even fight, but then I¡¯d bet Sadrianna against any 2nd tier within the Sunset Kingdoms entire.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Even as I scanned, she was moving, darting back and forth around the courtyard with strange movements, staying unusually close to the ground in an almost lizard-like skitter as she zigzagged between two of the fighters before slicing beneath one¡¯s shield and taking out their leg. I looked once more for the archer and saw him standing tall, great bow drawn back to its full length and sighting down towards where Sadrianna battled. I grit my teeth and willed mana to flood down the skill link to Axis-Shift. I saw him wince as my skill hit him, though he kept his feet steady, and then he was turning my way smoothly, bow still drawn. My eyes widened in surprise and panic, and I leapt to one side, feeling the air shiver as a projectile hissed passed my ear once more. He was fast, powerful, and incredibly dangerous. I hunkered down behind the crenelated wall for a moment to gather my bearings, the sounds of battle so close disorientating in the extreme. Men and women fought and died just meters from me, but I squeezed my eyes shut and focused. Shatter Point wasn¡¯t just an armour-piercing skill, though I had used it to that effect most often since I¡¯d earned it. It was also an upgrade to the stone-sense that Faultline had required. I no longer had the ranged component of it, but the power and speed of its affects were increased, as well as the penetrating power of the sense that governed the skill. I sent my stone-sense into the castle wall beneath my feet and expanded it along the uneven lines of the stones that were bound together into this supposedly impenetrable structure. In less than a heartbeat, I filtered out the stamping of dozens of feet, my perceptions racing along within the stone until I found the small parapet at the top of the barbican on which the archer stood. I could feel the tension within his frame as he held the massive bow taught, and then I felt pressure starting to compound. It was as if he was suddenly heavier, like he was pushing back against an enormous weight from above. I tilted my head to one side before realising what it must be and rolling away with a curse. I had barely moved before the stone wall I had hid behind was blown to pieces, an arrow exploding through the crenelation and lodging itself deep within the stone on the other side of the wall ¨C still in one piece. I stood and threw Resolution, but despite my enhanced strength to power it and agility and perception to guide it, the archer neatly swayed aside before sending a trio of arrows back at me in the same movement. I took one through the meat of my right thigh, a last-moment dodge turning the piercing shot into a glancing one, but still leaving a line of fire across my leg. The other two arrows I had managed to intercept with my shield, but the precedent was set; I couldn¡¯t trade ranged attacks with this man. I looked at the heaving mass of soldiers battling on the barbican wall, seeing the tide turning further and further towards the Sultan¡¯s side, and as if to underscore the point, I heard the booming laugh of the Sultan echo across the battlefield in response to some turn in his fight with the duke. The courtyard was strangely empty, Sadrianna having vaulted back onto the wall to fight with Nathlan, Jacyntha and the rebels who were steadily pushing along the wall towards the gate, but considering that the gate itself was now missing and the wards were down, the wall was mostly useless as a defensive feature. I recalled my spear even as I slapped another two arrows from the air with my shield, the gesture almost contemptuous given the lacking power in them ¨C the archer had turned back to the battle before him for a brief moment after shooting at me ¨C and let my awareness seep back into the stone for a moment. Rather than search for the archer, I traced the spider-webbing cracks that littered the stone. It was full of subtle weaknesses anyway, as hewn stone often is, but whatever the duke and Sultan¡¯s clash had done to blow apart the gate had further degraded the structure, leaving instabilities and large fissures shooting through the barbican at every level. I took a breath and focused, knowing my plan was ridiculous and unlikely to pay off, but also knowing that if it was to have any chance of success at all, I needed to be absolutely confident. Still, I knew who I was now, and more importantly, I knew what I was capable of. I would only need to activate two skills if I did this properly, but the timing would be crucial. An arrow winged past me once more, the tight braid running down one side of my head sliced apart and errant strands of hair falling across my face. Still, I didn¡¯t open my eyes for another heartbeat, ensuring I had the visualisation perfect before committing. I opened my eyes, breathed out, and let my muscles move in response to my intent. No thinking, no planning, just execution and movement. My legs rose and fell, head ducking beneath another arrow ¨C this one glinting silver and filling the air with heat as it whizzed past ¨C and then I was stepping onto the top of a crenelation on the inside of the wall. I pushed off, leaping out into the centre of the inner courtyard, and there was a moment where I seemed to hang in the air, arms spread to either side with my spear and hatchet clutched in either hand. Then I spun, twisting my body in the air and throwing first the spear and then the hatchet as I fell. I caught a glimpse of the archer, stood proudly on the wall with his bow drawn and an expression of mild confusion on his face as he watched me leap off the wall and throw my weapons seemingly at nothing. He tracked their trajectory as they shot and spun through the air respectively, before they impacted points in the inner wall just above the gate one after another. I activated Shatter-Point twice in quick succession as my weapons hit the wall, and the skill sent shockwaves of pressure through the already weakened structure, smashing apart the exposed faults within. Even as I fell, spinning away from the wall and unable to see what was happening, I knew I had succeeded, and I pushed mana into Break-Step, landing on the ground a heartbeat later, legs bending to absorb the minimal momentum that I hadn¡¯t managed to remove with the skill. I turned in time to see the entirety of the barbican wall give way. Stone crumbled and split apart, the gate arch giving way first and then the rest of the structure falling moments afterwards. The noise was deafening, just as it had been when the Sultan had blown through the gate earlier, but the sound never relented. I watched in awe as two dozen men and women fell into the rising dust cloud, great chunks of stone and cement smashing together on the cobblestones below, and I had to cover my mouth with one arm to stop myself from choking on the dust. I let my stone-sense roam once more, confirming what I had seen; an area of broken rocks and bodies, corpses of men and women strewn beneath, within and atop the corpse of the castle gate. The devastation was immense and made me think that perhaps the choice between Shatter Point and Glacial Carcass wasn¡¯t as important as I had believed. It seemed I could use one to create the other, after all. My head still rang from the thunderous noise of it all, but the dust was soon being swept away by the wind whipping through the now ruined castle gate and into the courtyard. I saw a flash of a blood red robe, and then I grunted as an arrow struct me in the chest. I staggered to one side, coughing as I felt one of my ribs give way beneath the blow, but looking down I saw the arrow was lodged within the armoured vest I wore, having glanced off a sliver of the Corrinian Rhai exoskeleton and penetrating slightly sideways rather than through. I grunted in pain as I snapped the arrow off and charged forwards through the rapidly clearing dust cloud. Another arrow hit me, but this one bounced off my armour entirely and I took a moment to be surprised by the lack of power in both shots. This was a man who had blown apart a foot-thick stone wall only moments ago, and now couldn¡¯t even penetrate my armoured vest. I cast my sense back into the stone beneath my feet and ignored the clawing hands and kicking legs I felt littering the ruin, instead searching for sure feet. I soon found them ¨C footsteps flitting as the archer leapt from rock to rock in the confusion. I caught a flash of his robe once more and spun in the air, avoiding another arrow that he threw my way. Landing, I continued my pursuit, chasing him through the ragged terrain as rocks slid and tipped even as we leapt across them. He had lost his bow and was instead pulling arrows from his quiver and throwing them at me with dextrous flicks of his wrists. That explained the lack of power, though he was still dangerous with them. Unfortunately for him, I was much more used to this broken terrain than he was, Stride The Edge giving me the advantage as we sprinted through a broken world. He jumped upwards, grabbing a hand hold on the broken edge of one wall and clearly hoping to climb to a safe height where he could rain arrows down on me with impunity, but I was faster. Axis-Shift ruined his balance, and he was falling even as I crashed into him, tackling him to the ground while my arms wrapped around his torso. We hit the earth, but I had miscalculated our trajectory, and my head slammed into a rock as we landed. The world went black for a moment, and when I came to, I saw the archer rearing back, an ornate arrow with a long, thick blade ¨C more like a shrunken spear than anything ¨C clutched in both hands. I flailed, my body not responding to my commands for a moment, and then the arrow was descending towards my neck. Chapter 105 - Fear and Courage in Castle Ryonic The arrow carved a straight path through the night towards my neck, and I felt a sharp pain in my adam¡¯s apple as my body prepared itself to be skewered through the throat. It was a stupid reflex, and I wasn¡¯t sure why my brain thought it would be less painful if I felt an imagined version of what was soon to come rather than just accepting the blow, but there we are. I¡¯d heard that in your final moments you often remembered your life. Dwell on the good, the bad, the mistakes and the highlights. Not me though, apparently. No, my traitorous mind simply tried to imagine what it would feel like to have my neck stabbed through by a strangely shaped arrow wielded by a fucking red-robed mercenary. The same mercenaries that had chased me halfway across the continent. The same ones that had kidnapped me, taken me captive and deprived me of freedom and dignity because their colossal cunt of an employer had wanted to gain power at any cost. To now die by the hands of one of the Crimson Lions, and to do so while we were so close to achieving our goal? My soul wouldn¡¯t allow it. End of The Hunt roared within me as my hands shot out to grab the archer¡¯s wrists. We duelled there for endless moments, his grin white and shining against his ebony skin, my own teeth bared in a rictus snarl beneath him. I wrestled with all my might, but he was above me, weight pressing down and allowing me no room to move the weapon off the centre line between us. I was strong, especially so for my level, but this man had many more levels in the 2nd tier than I did and was heavily invested into strength given his chosen weapon. I could see even now the muscles in his arms, shoulders and chest bunching beneath his cloth shirt, a hint of chainmail peeking out beneath his collar but otherwise unarmoured. His vertically-slitted pupils narrowed as he pressed forwards, but we were even for the moment. His better positioning and greater strength warring against my desperation to survive. It brought me a moment, but that was all it would give. Then he raised one hand and slammed it onto his own arm. The arrow tip jumped another half-inch towards my throat and I cried out in fear as I felt my hands shaking. He reached back and punched down again, and again the weapon inched closer to killing me. I gasped, trying to breathe evenly, knowing that the moment I ran out of air was the moment my muscles would fail, but unable to fight the exhaustion threatening every bit of my arms and chest as he punched down again and again. My body was failing, inexorably, and my mind was completely overwhelmed. I felt my head pounding, a ringing in my ears seeming to make my head throb in time with the strikes. I frantically searched around with my stone-sense, activating A Frozen Pyrre and sending my dagger sliding out of my belt and towards the archer¡¯s face when I realised I still had it on me. He batted it aside easily and the distraction only weakened my grip, letting the arrow graze my skin. The pain and surprise gave me a short reprieve of an inch as I wrenched it up and wriggled deeper into the stone below, but he soon pressed back down on me, pounding his own wrist relentlessly until the arrowhead was drawing a red painting across my skin with every blow. Another quarter of an inch and my windpipe would be nothing more than a gaping wound. I thought of the last year of struggle. All the pain and fighting and heartache¡­just to end here, killed by a Crimson Lion. I thought of the battle so far; my attempt to escape from the duke ending in failure, my attempt to escape from Varice ending in failure, the same again with Markas. Each step was luck, opportunity; circumstance twisting itself to allow me to survive, but never solely my own talents. I¡¯d let luck make a fool out of me, arrogance making me complacent. Why did I think I could charge into a chaotic battlefield against a veteran mercenary with more years killing than I had fights, and win? As the arrow dipped lower, I activated Break-Step to give myself a few more moments, hoping one of my companions would rescue me from this self-imposed death I had orchestrated for myself. Not sure why I wanted to drag out my last moments ¨C survival instincts probably, my pathbound skill unwilling to let things end like this. But self-recrimination was not a good way to end your life, after all. I thought of the faces of my companions and hoped that my actions had at least given them a better chance. I may have destroyed the wall, but at least a good chunk of the duke and Sultan¡¯s men were now- ¡­ My mind screeched to a halt, suddenly focusing on the overwhelming, deafening ringing that was filling my head. You have killed a Human (Soldier - level 42). Experience gained. You have killed a Human (guardsmen ¨C level 44). Experience gained. ¡­. You have killed a Human (Crimson Blade - level 72). Experience gained. You have reached level 69. Attribute points available for allocation. I pushed aside the dozen or more kill notifications and focused on how many levels I¡¯d gained from the wanton slaughter. Four. Four entire levels, worth 60 new attribute points. I wasted no more time, allocating all 60 into strength. The archer let out a snarl of satisfaction as he raised his fist a final time and brought it down on the dagger, but he never had a chance to finish the movement. I released his wrist with my left hand and caught his descending fist, holding it steady as a rock. My right arm was enough to halt the arrow, and then slowly, achingly slowly, I began to push. My muscles felt as if they swelled with vigour, a mad grin worming its way onto my face as my entire body tingled with delicious warmth. I had never allocated so many attributes in one go before, and all into the same attribute at that. My mind fizzed at the edges with euphoria, making me giddy and light-headed. I sat up, the archer letting out a grunt as I forced him bodily off me. He snarled and grunted, trying to free himself from my grip, but I flexed my hands and squeezed with all of my knew-found strength. He screamed as his wrist cracked and the knuckles of his right hand popped in their joints, my strength total. Undeniable. I pulled him towards me and headbutted him, releasing his broken hands as he reeled backwards, blood sheeting down his face. I stood unsteadily, my legs propelling me a little too forcefully to my feet, and then I grabbed him as he got his balance. He had no further time, and I picked him up by the front of his robe and slammed him into the stone beneath us, his neck snapping on the jagged edge of an upturned cobblestone. You have Killed a Human (Blood-Born Hunter ¨C level 91). Experience gained. I acknowledged the notification with barely a thought, End Of The Hunt roaring in approval within my soul. I stumbled back out of the dust, leaning against the wall to catch my breath and wipe away the blood from my face. I took a moment to accept the skill notifications, seeing what had improved before I searched for my companions. I could not handle surviving all that I had but falling to an errant blade because I didn¡¯t know the state of my soul, body or skills. ¡®Stride The Edge¡¯ has gained a level. Stride The Edge ¨C level 7. ¡®A Frozen Pyrre¡¯ has gained a level. A Frozen Pyrre ¨C level 7.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡®A Frozen Pyrre¡¯ has gained a level. A Frozen Pyrre ¨C level 8. ¡®Axis-Shift¡¯ has gained a level. Axis-Shift ¨C level 6. ¡®Myrmiddion Spear¡¯ has gained a level. Myrmiddion Spear ¨C level 5. ¡®Break-Step¡¯ has gained a level. Break-Step ¨C level 7. ¡®End Of The Hunt¡¯ has gained a level. End Of The Hunt ¨C level 6. ¡®Shatter-Point¡¯ has gained a level. Shatter Point ¨C level 7. Ancestry: Titan-Forged Human (evolved) Level: 69 Class: Blood Of The Mountains Titles: God-touched Attribute allocation: Strength: 210 Agility: 130 Endurance: 85 Perception: 85 Cognition: 75 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: A Frozen Pyrre: Level 8. Passive. Axis-Shift: Level 6. Active. Stride The Edge: Level 7. Passive. Break-Step: Level 7. Active. End Of The Hunt: Level 6. Active. Myrmiddion Spear: Level 5. Passive. Shatter Point: Level 7. Active. The Mountain¡¯s Gate: Level 4. Active. I sighed in a mix of satisfaction at the retreating euphoria of not only assigning so many attributes but also surviving the near-death experience, and exhaustion bought on by both events as well. My mind felt wrung out ¨C nerves shot and tension clouding the edges of my experience ¨C but my body felt fresh, only a small series of cuts marring the dust-covered skin on my neck. I looked around for my companions, finding Nathlan and the barbarians, backed by the remaining rebels, fighting the remains of the Castle Ryonic forces on the other side of the wall past where the barbican had collapsed. Even as I watched, Jacyntha crossed her great axe across her body, pushing the haft into the chest of the two men before her and pushed them backwards. Nathlan was at her right shoulder, fending off any blades heading towards the barbarian woman as she pushed the guards back, and Sadrianna danced across the crenelations to her left, picking off any fighters that tried to throw ranged skills at any of them. The rebels soon joined, and the line began to move, the dozen fighters in black, capped by three fighters in gleaming metal and animal furs, pushed against a sea of confused guards, and the result was clear. First one step, and then another, the guards were pushed backwards, quickly unbalancing as men and women tripped over their companions, and then bodies were falling off the edge of the wall, slamming into the jagged mess of stone shrapnel below. A few died, and many more were injured, but the true damage was psychological. As the last defenders of Castle Ryonic lay broken and bleeding amongst the rubble of their broken walls, looking up at the rebels standing powerful and hale above them, their defeat finally became real. Decker ¨C the duke¡¯s second in command amongst the Ryonic guard ¨C stood on unsteady legs, hauling up a woman beside him and propping her up with one arm and holding a kite shield up defensively with the other. ¡°Mercy!¡± he shouted at my companions, casting a wary glance around the ruined castle courtyard as he did so. ¡°We surrender! Let us leave, and you¡¯ll have no quarrel with any of us.¡± Sadrianna asked the sensible question that was at the forefront of my mind, too. ¡°Why would we let you leave now, just so you can try and retake this land from us in future?¡± When he answered, the guard¡¯s voice was tired, defeat emanating from him with every word. ¡°Because we have lost. The duke is still fighting the Sultan,¡± he said gesturing with his shield vaguely out towards the muddy fields outside the castle, where booming impacts and whistling skills could be heard intermittently. ¡°¡­and he doesn¡¯t seem liable to win any time soon. Even if he does, he¡¯ll probably be injured and unable to beat you all. He¡¯s a practical man, and will retreat if needed. This battle isn¡¯t personal to him. Let us leave, and we¡¯ll go home to our families.¡± He looked back at the injured and disheartened guards around him ¨C no more than a dozen now. ¡°I ain¡¯t dying for some noble¡¯s dream. The Sultan might be a shit, but I don¡¯t care enough to never see my boy again if I can help it. Please, you¡¯ve won. Let us live.¡± Simple words, but it was an impassioned plea, nonetheless. I looked towards my friends and shouted up at them. ¡°Let them go. If Vera and the rebels can find it in their hearts to forgive, I say we let them leave. Our goal is the duke, not these sorry bastards.¡± Nathlan blinked in surprise to see me and waved down cheerily. It was such an awkward, out of place gesture that it brought a smile to my face, relieved laughter soon bubbling up from deep in my belly to spill out of my parched throat in what likely sounded more like the coughing of a dying man than the mirth of a living one. Still, I saw his smile widen, and Jacyntha and Sadrianna also grinned down at me. I couldn¡¯t see Vera, and was about to question it, was drawing breath into my lungs to ask the question, but it was answered in the next moment. The duke staggered through the gate a moment later, bleeding from a gash in his head but otherwise unharmed. He eyes burned with intensity, the lines in his face set hard, as if he had been wearing a firm frown for millennia. ¡°There will be no abandoning of duty in my castle while it still stands,¡± he ground out, flinty eyes glaring around. Decker lifted his chin though. ¡°Where is the Sultan?¡± he asked. ¡°Dealt with,¡± came the firm reply from the duke. Decker shook his head, and I was impressed to note the iron in his voice in the face of the duke¡¯s displeasure. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± he said. ¡°And I don¡¯t care any longer. I have served you for a decade, my lord, but I won¡¯t die for you now, and I won¡¯t lead my men and women into certain death for you either.¡± The duke¡¯s eyebrows rose a hair, which was as close to an expression of shock as the man probably ever got, but Decker wasn¡¯t finished. ¡°If you want this castle cleared and every rebel put to the sword¡­do it yourself. I¡¯m going home.¡± And with that, the brave man turned and started to limp out of the gate, comrade supported by one of his arms and shield butting against the ground with every step to support his weight on the other side. The duke watched him cooly, and then raised his blade. ¡°The Sultan confirmed that the Court is coming, before I killed him. You will stay and defend this land, or I will end your life here and now.¡± Decker didn¡¯t hesitate, limping away with all the speed of an old tortoise, and the grace of a thousand monks. I thought for sure that the duke was about to kill the man, and something within me broke at that. All the death, all the suffering, and we had finally triumphed. It was clear that no matter what happened next and who killed whom, the duke was done. Finished. The Ryonic line had died here, in the ruins of their castle, and yet he would take another man down just for spite. He hadn¡¯t struck me as an intentionally cruel man before ¨C ominously emotionless and willing to do whatever he needed to further his aims, yes ¨C but not needlessly cruel. This action though, this execution of an otherwise loyal warrior, would serve no purpose other than spite. None of the remaining guardsmen were worth much in a fight against the relatively fresh and unharmed rebels, many of whom out levelled them. What a waste. I couldn¡¯t stand to see it, and so my mouth was moving before my mind had fully caught up to the implications. ¡°Estan¡¯s dead!¡± I shouted, voice cracking mid-way through. The message had clearly been received though, as the duke turned to me, swift as a viper. I felt myself locked by that gaze, held captive by the sheer intensity of those glacial blue eyes. ¡°What did you say, little God-Touched?¡± he asked, and though he didn¡¯t move a step, I felt his presence grow before me, as if a shadow on the bedroom wall of a child, looming closer and larger with every moment. Dread pooled in my guts, but I shrugged it off. ¡°I killed him. I killed your son, and it¡¯s your fault.¡± The audacity of that statement seemed to shock him back into being a man once more rather than the looming shadow of death, and I ploughed on while I still drew breath. ¡°You weren¡¯t satisfied with being just a middling power in a backwater part of the continent, so you sought for something beyond your station. You kidnapped and killed to get me here, and now your castle lies in ruins, and your only heir dead by my hand.¡± He did take a step forward then, and I flinched as his foot met the stone beneath, the sharp crack of his boot heel echoing around my head as if cast directly into it. I didn¡¯t stop talking though. ¡°The irony is that without your greed, I wouldn¡¯t ever be here, and neither would the Sultan.¡± I caught a flash of movement and felt the thud through the earth as three figures landed beside me. I couldn¡¯t take my eyes from the duke¡¯s own, but I knew who they were, nonetheless. I felt a smile play at my lips as I continued to speak. ¡°The rebellion would have stayed underground, and you would still rule this castle.¡± He took another step forwards, and I felt my companions flinch along with me at the threat that each footstep represented. ¡°You will regret having told me that, boy. My men can flee, but I am enough to end your lives myself. I will make you grateful to greet death by the end.¡± I shivered, but pushed back against the growing dread and horror. I knew something he didn¡¯t, after all. ¡°Most importantly, my lord duke...if you had not been so greedy, Vera never would have returned.¡± I watched the duke¡¯s face twist into the first true expression I had seen then. Surprise, confusion, and finally, as an aura descended; so heavy with power, so blazing with outrage and vengeance and righteous anger it could almost be tasted on the tongue, I saw the emotion I had been waiting for on the duke¡¯s granite face. Fear. I felt the final set of feet land behind me, and the duke came to a halt. A heavy hand touched my shoulder, pushing me to one side, and then Vera stepped past us and before the duke. ¡°Hello Rugal. I have waited many years for this moment,¡± she said, drawing her broadsword and setting her feet. ¡°Prepare yourself.¡± Chapter 106 - Best Served Cold The duke and The Butcher locked gazes, and the world seemed to hang in the balance. Vera¡¯s sword, simple in design and gleaming in the torchlight, looked bulky and unwieldy next to the thin delicate blades of shattered ruby glass that the duke conjured in the next moment, but I didn¡¯t doubt for a moment that hers was the more dangerous weapon. Her words hung heavy between them, and finally the duke replied. ¡°I thought you had left the Sunsets for good. I thought you were busy killing Lions on the other side of the Dragon-Spines.¡± It wasn¡¯t even a question, both of them knowing full well now that he had been wrong in both assumptions. ¡°The boy¡¯s right, Rugal. You brought me back here. The fucking Lions and the gods-damned Ashkanian vault.¡± She paused for a moment, cocking her head to one side slightly, but never losing the tension that framed every inch of her. ¡°I should thank you for that.¡± ¡°The Sunset Court is coming, Butcher. They will never let you rule. And even if they did, you would be no better than I. You¡¯ll be putting down your first rebellion within the year as they smuggle arms and support through from Escribar or the Lilyflower Consortium. You will make the same-¡± ¡°Where would you like to die, duke?¡± Vera interrupted him, voice low and even. It seemed that now that vengeance was within her grasp, she had all the patience in the world. He scowled and spat, before turning to survey the wreckage of his castle. ¡°Here is as good as anywhere, I suppose. Fitting that it should end where it began, all those years ago.¡± Vera nodded and turned to us, and I felt a tiny flare of mana from her as she said; ¡°Back off. Out of the gate, and keep your distan-¡± ¡°Watch out!¡± Nathlan and I screamed in unison as the duke slashed out at Vera while her back was turned. He moved so fast we could barely track it, but I saw one of his phantom blades bite deep into her back, cutting through her armour with ease. She was pushing me away even as she turned and swung, her punch connecting flush with the duke¡¯s cheekbone, opening a thin gash that spurted blood immediately. He was forced back, but bore a savage grin on his face, his eyes alight in that same feral way I had seen below the earth. We scattered, but I worried for Vera as she drew herself up to face the duke, her back a red wound that dripped blood through her tattered armour even as I watched. This wasn¡¯t good. It was a cheap shot but had damaged her significantly; I could see muscle moving below the torn skin and was sure that it would slow her down. I sensed another brief flare of mana though and a moment later the duke winced, sucking in a breath. I watched as the wound in Vera¡¯s back abruptly vanished, as did the cut on the duke¡¯s face. ¡°Get them out of here, Lamb,¡± she called to me over her shoulder, no longer taking her eyes off the duke, and I nodded to the others and circled out to the gate. As I crossed in front of Vera, I was surprised to see a fresh cut across her cheek, identical to the one the duke had taken, and I frowned in confusion as I saw the duke roll his shoulders with another wince. Clearly, there was some complex skill at work here, but I had never heard of one that could swap wounds. Still, I wouldn¡¯t underestimate the duke ¨C either his skill or maliciousness ¨C and so hustled out of the ruined gate with the barbarians and Nathlan, the rebels descending the wall and backing away from the castle wall at the same time, until we huddled outside the gate in a group, watching the coming battle. They exchanged more words, though I couldn¡¯t catch them from here, while Fandar turned to watch the broken remains of Duke Ryonic¡¯s house guard stumble though the muddy fields and towards the treeline far from the castle. I was glad someone was keeping an eye on them, because I couldn¡¯t look away from the face-off between my friend and her hated foe. They each said something, and judging by the pause between the words it held the ring of ritual to it, and then they unveiled their paths to the world. The air around the duke buckled and twisted in on itself, shards of reality taking on a crimson hue and splintering into a hailstorm of projectiles that screamed towards Vera on the opposite end of the courtyard. Vera for her part simply stood there, broadsword in hand angled towards the ground out to her side. She didn¡¯t move for a heart-stopping moment, and then the world lit up. The entire courtyard was enveloped in a blazing inferno, flames easily reaching as high as the barbican once had, and the heat was so intense that I felt it from near a hundred meters away. The air spilling from the courtyard and out the gate was hazy and shimmered as if a mirage. For some reason, I could still make out Vera and the duke through the flames, as if they were vaguely translucent. Their colour seemed to sway between violet and cadmium, vivid yellows and harsh whites struck through by tongues of red and purple. They writhed, seeming to convey emotion through their movement and ever-changing colour. That emotion of the flames was simple enough to understand though: Rage. The duke¡¯s first volley of reality bending blades burned away to nothing the moment they appeared, and Vera¡¯s retort was lost in a blur of motion. I lost sight of them then, no doubt fighting viciously within that blazing inferno. I heard a strange clanging sound, not dissimilar to the clash of steel against steel, but strange enough to be noticeable. I assumed it was the bite of Vera¡¯s sword against the duke¡¯s conjured weapons, but I couldn¡¯t be sure, what with the vaguely opaque flames obscuring the view. I wanted to just watch, to strain my eyes for every blur of movement and try to piece together a picture of what was happening, but my perception was too low, and the night too dark for any real understanding. They fought, and I would learn the result in due course. For now, I half turned to my friends. Nathlan was clad in his armour, furs of mountain mammals donned to make him look a little more like the barbarian he had been pretending to be. With his long hair tied tight to his head, blood painting his face and splashed down his armour, he could have fooled me. At least, until I looked over to Jacyntha. She looked every inch the terrifying barbarian warrior of legend, great-axe propped over one shoulder and sculpted arms bare to the cool night air. Sadrianna seemed to tread a middle ground, and I could equally well imagine her advising the war-table of some great empire¡¯s general or leading a raid of her people from the front. ¡°Did we all make it through in one piece?¡± Nathlan asked as he saw my look, and the others seemed to shrug. ¡°Nearly lost my hand,¡± I said, holding up the still bloody arm and pointing at a ragged scar bisecting it. Nathlan winced in sympathy. We turned as a scream split the air, but it didn¡¯t come from a human mouth. I noticed all the rebels behind us, some two dozen I would guess ¨C it was dark and hard to be sure with their black clothing ¨C flinch and focus back on the castle from where they had been murmuring to one another. All except Fandar, anyway. He didn¡¯t move a muscle, and I got the sense it was a sound he had heard before. The scream was born of fire, not a human throat, and it twisted through the night air as if with a mind of its own. Having captivated my attention once more, I watched as a beast of flame, shaped to mimic a serpent or perhaps an eel, writhed its way through the air above the castle before plunging back down into the inferno. The ground shook, and my companions and I shared wide-eyed glances. The power in that one skill was astronomical. It reminded me of how the giant in the Wandering States had shaken the earth with every step, and the speed with which that mana-forged apparition of fire had risen to the sky and then struck the earth was far beyond what we could hope to match. My heart sped slightly, marching in time with a rhythmic shaking in the air. I looked to my right, seeing the trees behind the castle wave in time with my heartbeat and frowned. Was this some new soul-attack that I had been hit with? Was shock and blood loss catching up to me and causing me to suffer from subtle delusions?If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I pointed to the treeline. ¡°Nathlan ¨C you see that?¡± He squinted beside me, and then nodded. ¡°The trees¡­¡± he breathed quietly. I couldn¡¯t decide if I was relieved or not by his agreement. Before I could follow up with another question, I felt the thumping from below. The grass waved in rhythm, each blade seeming to project itself forward and back in time to the siren song within my heart. ¡°What is that noise?¡± Sadrianna asked, voice full of confusion. I looked behind us to the rebels, but they seemed enraptured with the fight and paid no mind to the surroundings. Fandar stood still as a statue though, head cocked to one side as if he could feel something too. Another boom shook the night from the castle, and a moment later, the duke came sailing out of the inferno. Or rather, his body did. He carved a furrow through the muddy plain before us, coming to a stop no more than a dozen meters away, though he couldn¡¯t be said to have any true control over his trajectory. He was covered in blood, bruises showing on his face and mud now staining every inch of him. The cold, hard, pragmatic titan that had commanded the country from inside his unassailable fortress that I¡¯d met not two bells ago now looked much diminished. Half of his hair was missing, and the lines of his face were covered by a shroud of dark mud and blood. Only his piercing grey eyes remained, fixed on the four of us as we stood vigil over his final battle. Vera stalked out of the fire, an avenging angel haloed in red and white flame. Her heavy broadsword was held in a loose grip out to one side, as if she wished to keep the blade, and the blood that flowed down its fuller, away from her body. The ground hissed as blood dripped from the tip of the blade, and each step caused a puff of steam to drift high into the chill night air. She strode evenly towards us, the fires abruptly winking out behind her, and I saw for the first time the damage their battle had done to the castle. There was no longer a wooden walkway bracketing the inner walls, just black ash marring the now pristine stone, the flames having burned away all moss, lichen, metal-marks and other stains. The keep had taken a battering, the door I had flung open when I¡¯d made it to the surface now missing entirely, smoke still billowing out from that doorway. Smashed stone littered the inner courtyard from where heavy impacts had wracked the keep, and the walls to either side of the main gate had lost even more of their structural integrity. It was a castle no longer ¨C more a ruin than anything now. I heard shuffling behind, and turned to see Fandar kneeling, one hand out and pressed to the ground. I watched the grasses continue to wave and dance in time to the percussive tune, and wondered at it briefly before my attention was once more stolen. The duke coughed, a harsh sound made from a throat that had born too much abuse to retain elegant speech. ¡°You can¡¯t hold it now,¡± he rasped, and I turned to see the duke looking up at Vera as she strode over. She was still fifty or so meters distant, but he seemed confident she could hear the words. ¡°The Sunset Court is coming. Your rebels can¡¯t hold this castle, or this country.¡± Her footsteps never slowed, and eventually she stood before the dying man. He stared at the floor, head lolling weakly on a neck that could support him no longer, but still he had the strength for a few final words. ¡°You might hold it for a day, or a week. You can hide in the Marshes for a month¡­but sooner or later, they will take it back. The court will rip apart this country, like wolves-¡± He trailed off in a fit of coughing, and when he spat to one side, it was red and heavy. ¡°Like wolves sharing a carcass. You¡¯ve doomed this land with your vengeance, Butcher.¡± He looked up at her then, in his final moments. ¡°Was it worth it?¡± he asked, grey eyes meeting those that still held dancing flames in their depths. The only reply she gave was her sword sweeping down from on high, severing his head from his shoulders. It was definitive. We stared in silence at the scene. My heart still pounded in my chest to a foreign rhythm, the world still echoed in time with it, and I looked to Vera, seeing her raise her head and glare at something behind us. I turned, watching Fandar stand from his crouch, hand leaving the earth and raising to grip the heavy bow that he had slung across his back. ¡°Back,¡± he said, as he unslung the great weapon. ¡°Back to the castle!¡± I looked beyond him, watching the trees shake and shiver in time to that strange sound, more a feeling than a noise. The tremors in the earth hadn¡¯t abated. They¡¯d grown in intensity if anything, and I felt an ominous feeling within. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Jacyntha asked, and Vera grinned a vicious smile, even as the rebels around us started to peel away, loping back to the castle in a steady jog. They crowded around their leader and peppered Fandar with a barrage of questions, shooting shy glances back at Vera and the duke¡¯s corpse every now and then. ¡°Something looms on the horizon, Jacyntha,¡± Vera replied with something akin to glee in her usually stoic voice. ¡°Something titanic and world changing. We will be here to greet it.¡± I ignored the strangely prophetic words and sent my stone-sense into the earth. I followed the cobbled road running from the castle out to the treeline, and then further still. The thumping in the earth didn¡¯t abate, and soon I felt the clattering of wheels, the clip-clopping of hooves, and below it all like a continuous roar of thunder, I felt the marching tramp of boots on stone. I turned in horror to look at Vera, but she was waving the others back to the castle as well. ¡°Come, let¡¯s greet the new dawn from within the walls. It will be a fine view.¡± I followed along numbly, a mix of self-loathing and guilt roiling in my stomach at the devastation I had been party to. We had won, hadn¡¯t we? We¡¯d beaten the duke, fought off the Sultan even. But as I looked at the gutted and fire-ravaged remains of the once proud castle before us and thought of the army now nipping at our heels, it didn¡¯t feel like it. The Sunset Court is coming. I thought of the people I¡¯d seen in that tavern nearby, of Vera¡¯s aunt asking to be left out of it, of Barrow-Under-Tine and the Riverlands¡­and I grew cold. Vera had been a berserker. She had spoken to me at length of the battle lust that would creep upon her and how she had made terrible choices, done things in the heat of violence that still marred her sleep at night. The light in her eyes as she beheaded the duke had been unmistakable, and the glee with which she spoke even now¡­did she want a final stand? Was she so caught up in the blood-fever that she relished the arrival of another army, simply because it meant more death? ¡°An army is coming,¡± I said, voice flat and dull. ¡°Cavalry, or horses at least. Chariots too, or maybe carriages. And enough feet to shake the earth for miles around...that is what¡¯s coming for us.¡± ¡°I have put my trust in Jorge for a decade now, and he hasn¡¯t broken it yet,¡± Vera retorted, as we reached the crumbled walls of the former Castle Ryonic. ¡°We can¡¯t win, Vera.¡± I sighed. ¡°There are hundreds of them. Even with a 4th tier at our back, we can¡¯t win this fight, even here.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have to win.¡± That statement, delivered by Vera with firm resolve, may have been comforting for some, but I detected the hint of joy there beneath the feigned stoicism. This was an outcome that she craved. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat, bitter and scalding. Visions of twisting roots growing through cracked cobbled streets bubbled to the surface of my mind. Choking weeds and millwheels that would never turn again. Fuck. I¡¯d thought I could make this clean. Easy. Moral. All I¡¯d done was doom an entire country to anarchy. ¡°This will lead to nothing but chaos!¡± I found myself shouting, the words wrenched from my lips as if I¡¯d held them in for a year. Vera turned to me in confusion, looking nonplussed. ¡°Perhaps, but we had no part in this. If anyone is to blame, it is the powers at the peak of this world, the old-bloods and gods that stood by and did nothing while the world suffered. This is simply the consequence.¡± I looked at her aghast, and she seemed surprised by my outrage. ¡°That¡¯s Jorge¡¯s view, anyway. I don¡¯t much care, personally. I am just happy I was able to get my vengeance in the midst of it all.¡± ¡°But what about your aunt? What about the people of the Marchlands? Barrow-under-tine and all the destruction? What happens to them now that we have destroyed the only structure they knew!?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, Lamb,¡± she said with a weary shrug. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best to protect them from what is to come, but I won¡¯t deny it will be a bloody affair.¡± I looked at Vera like she¡¯d grown another head. How could she be so callous? ¡°So, all of this¡­you¡¯re okay with it? You¡¯ll just wash your hands of the blood and let the dice settle where they¡¯re cast?¡± I asked, feeling my heart thump in rhythm with the world, growing louder with each moment. ¡°Lamb ¨C what¡­where is this coming from? It wasn¡¯t me that started this game.¡± She had turned to face me fully now, framed on either side by the ruined walls of the former Castle Ryonic. My friends stood behind her, looking a mix of confused and distracted. Nathlan was listening with half an ear, but his eye was on the horizon, head cocked as if he could hear something just out of range. He was startled back to the present when I roared an answer. ¡°You flipped the fucking board!¡± I shouted. ¡°We did! We did this, Vera,¡± I growled, gesturing around at the destruction. ¡°And now another gods-damned army is at our door and you¡¯re talking about inevitability and who¡¯s at fault. I don¡¯t fucking care who started it, people are still going to die! I thought we learned this in the Riverlands. Of anyone, I thought you would understand,¡± I said the last bitterly, eyes downcast and feeling wretched as the seven hells. Her gaze sharpened on me then, and I felt like a mouse that had caught the attention of a hawk. ¡°You don¡¯t know, do you?¡± she said quietly, but it sounded rhetorical. ¡°He didn¡¯t fucking tell you, the bastard.¡± I floundered, lost in a sea of conflicting emotions and not able to piece together what I was being told, despite recognising its significance. ¡°Lamb,¡± she began, ¡°this isn¡¯t the end. We don¡¯t need to win this fight, we just need to hold out.¡± I looked up at her, finally recognising the Vera I knew. Compassion crinkled the skin around her eyes, and her auburn hair was framed by the blue-black sky. ¡°Hold out for what, Vera? What could possibly help us defeat an entire army?¡± I asked, tired and desperate for some semblance of hope. She saw my desperation, and she smiled, warmth and comfort emanating from her once more. ¡°For the end of the world.¡± Chapter 107 - As The World Ends Attention!!!! Author''s note: i''m not sure exactly how i fucked it up, but i uploaded yesterday''s chapter with about 1000 words missing. I''ve updated it now, so if you read chapter 106 (the previous one) anytime after 18.02.2025 ~08:16pm then it''s fine and you''ve missed nothing. If you read it before then, you might be confused. I can only apologise and suggest you go back and read from the moment you remember it ending (Fandar telling everyone to go back to the castle). I know this applies to Sherbini, Chibrow, Blind Librarian and Christos...but probably others too so seriously, go check it out (and sorry again!). Anyway, assuming you have, enjoy the chapter!
¡°What does that even-¡± I began, but she interrupted me. ¡°I thought he had explained our final gambit to you all at the inn. Fucking typical. I¡¯ll wring his neck for this, you can be sure.¡± ¡°Anyway,¡± she continued, then seeing my perplexed look hurried to reassure me; ¡°Oh don¡¯t fret, Lamb. I¡¯m not that mysterious old git, I¡¯ll explain properly,¡± she said, and I had never been more relieved to hear it, for even as she spoke, I felt the tide rising. The air shivered in time with my heart, and something echoed through the world. An army began to emerge from the treeline, what must have been a hundred gleaming horses, armoured and topped with shining knights. Banners snapped in the steadily rising breeze above their heads, and I could see the complex filigree on their armour detailed in the orange glow of early morning. The cavalry arrayed themselves in a long line of bristling lances and painted shields, each baring a unique pattern but all coloured in gold and red. They spread out across the field, meters apart, and while the line looked thin from here, my stone-sense told me of their weight. Withers shivered in anticipation, and great hooves stamped and pawed at the earth. I could feel each blow with my skill-granted sense, and they felt like hammers against the churned earth. Shod in iron, the horses were all tall and broad, their riders looking almost diminutive atop them despite the polished suits of interlocking armour they wore. A charge from this group might break against the walls of the castle, but the gate and the barbican were gone. Legs may be broken, riders may be thrown, but they would surge through our paltry defences like a hot knife through butter were we to meet their charge. Vera turned to address us all. Something about seeing her turn her back on the enemy assembling before us felt significant to me, though I was too feverish with energy to focus on it long enough to unravel. ¡°I can¡¯t say we expected things to go like this, but neither Jorge or I thought we¡¯d have as easy a time with the duke and his guardsmen as we did, either.¡± ¡°The plan was always to take out the duke and replace him in a rapid strike. Cement ourselves as the power in the Marchlands before any of the other kingdoms in the Sunsets could muster a retaliation. By the time anyone was in position to oust us, it would be too costly and leave them too weak to protect their own lands from their neighbours.¡± I looked at the army massing before us and sighed. A fine plan that clearly had a shaky relationship with reality. ¡°We didn¡¯t expect the Sultan here so quickly, obviously, but we always knew somebody would march here to oust us eventually. ¡®No plan survives contact with the enemy¡¯, as Jorge is fond of saying, so we planned for a situation like this,¡± she said as she cast an arm casually at the gleaming cavalry patiently arrayed behind her. Behind the knights followed three carriages and a chariot; I had been correct in my earlier guess. They were drawn by smaller ponies, shaggy and barrel-chested, no doubt chosen for their placid nature rather than battle-hardened as the cavalry¡¯s mounts were. The lone chariot was pulled by two massive lizards though, their long bodies close to the ground with arrow-shaped heads swaying back and forth, and they kept pace with their companions in a zig-zag pattern of rapid steps. This retinue clearly transported the leaders of the army, and based on what little I knew of the Sunset Court, I expected it to be the heads of the various polities that made it up, perhaps with the addition of a few mercenary captains of note. ¡°We don¡¯t need to fight them,¡± she said, holding each of our gazes. ¡°I¡¯ve already briefed Fandar about this. It would be easier with a fully standing castle, more soldiers and more of a plan, but things are as they are. We need to hold the fort, and they will flee soon enough.¡± The carriages were soon overshadowed by the soldiers that marched into view behind them. A tide of men and women, 5 abreast as they tramped down the cobbled road in a seemingly endless column. They transitioned from forest to open field to catch the rising sun, red and gold lighting up their faces as they left the path. In total there must have been at least half a thousand, though exact numbers were hard to confirm from this distance. I could make out the uniforms of various kingdoms and mercenary companies with ease though, since the groups of soldiers, or more likely their commanders, seemed unwilling to mix. A small part of my mind that still held out hope began analysing the different groups, looking for any sign of rivalry or exploitable fractures within the various companies. The thought was pushed to the back of my mind though as I found myself dwelling on one odd detail; the golden dawn hitting their armour. I felt like I¡¯d been fighting for bells already, though my body was relatively fresh from Jorge¡¯s potion and the copious levels I¡¯d gained in all the chaos. But still, my mind was fuzzy, as if overloaded by constant dumps of adrenaline and fear. Despite all of that though, I knew it couldn¡¯t have been more than a few bells since it all began. The duke had fled the ruins before dusk had arrived, and it had been far less than a bell since then. How was the sun rising already? I swept my gaze up over the cobbled path upon which trundled the army¡¯s leaders, over the stamping horses and their proud knights, above the ranks of men and women arrayed in their neat companies, and further still over the trees that still waved to an unknown tune. My stone-sense had told me that something was coming, and I¡¯d thought that the siren song I felt with my whole being was simply the result of this army marching our way. But now they stood unmoving, and still my body reacted. Still the earth and trees shook. Still, the song continued to rise. The sky was lightening, it was undeniable. Gold and red stained the horizon, creeping ever upwards with sure inevitability. It was happening fast, too. I looked to one side, past Nathlan to the crumbling wall and the shadow it cast on the broken cobbles behind. It was growing even as I watched, the shadow spilling across the ground inch by inch in real time. I looked back to the sky, the deep black of night giving way to a vibrant, blood red that dripped upwards. ¡®A false dawn¡¯, Vera had said only moments ago. She continued speaking now, no doubt explaining her and Jorge¡¯s plan as I¡¯d asked but I lost track of the words, unable to focus on the explanation that I had craved so recently. ¡°Gods, I¡¯ve never seen you lot so distracted¡­¡± Vera began, clearly having noticed our combined lack of interest, before she trailed off, seemingly caught by a thought. Vera looked at each of us in turn. ¡°You feel it, don¡¯t you?¡± she said quietly. ¡°All of you?¡± She received no answer, our eyes all locked on the horizon and hearts beating in unison to a song not our own. That was answer enough. ¡°Son of a bitch, he was right,¡± she said to herself. ¡°Something is coming,¡± Nathlan half-whispered, and I felt myself nodding even as my body continued to respond to the rising tide of pressure it could feel all around.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Vera glanced down at us and smiled grimly. ¡°Yes, it is.¡± I wanted to ask what it was, wanted answers from Vera that she clearly had, but my imagination was captured by the sky in front. I couldn¡¯t look away; like a crackling fireplace, it drew me in. The subtle changes in tone and colour as a million hues of orange and gold and deep vermillion rose into the sky, obscuring the horizon like a cloak of colour around the world. I thought back to the image of the red-cloaked archer crouched atop the barbican wall that seemed seared into my memory, and I knew that this view would likewise stay with me. A forest of red and gold lights beat back the night, and every hair on my body stood on end. My blood rushed through my veins, pulsing in my head in time with the strange rhythm that seemed to reverberate through the world. ¡°You let me do the talking,¡± Vera said as she turned back to the retinue trundling its way towards the castle. ¡°Just stand there and look menacing. Let them feel your hatred, and tremble at your bloodlust.¡± It was a very Vera thing to say, but I couldn¡¯t spare the space to acknowledge the words, as my world narrowed to a thin line above the horizon. Something was coming.
*Vera* She sighed to herself as she turned back to face the army. Her charges stared dumbly at the empty horizon, and she shrugged to herself. It was hard to trust in the canny old fucker sometimes, but she couldn¡¯t argue with his track record. Clearly, something was happening. If she hadn¡¯t spent so much time with Jorge, she might doubt his timing. If she hadn¡¯t spent so much time around Lamb, Nathlan, Sadrianna and Jacyntha, she might doubt their senses. But even she could see their bodies reacting to something. The carriages bearing the Sunset Court¡¯s representatives trundled through the night up the cobbled road, and Vera rolled her shoulders, drawing her sword once more and stabbing it into the earth before her. She double-checked their defences and grimaced. Not the best look. Personally, Vera had never had an eye for the dramatic, but Jorge had impressed upon her the importance of melodrama over the years. As such, she¡¯d gained an understanding of framing, and while their position was perhaps weak to a seasoned commander¡¯s viewpoint, she had to admit that they did cut quite a sight. The castle was gutted and stone littered the ground, but the walls to either side of the remains of the gate were manned by black-clad rebels, their weapons visible and faces grim. Most were in the low 2nd tier, but there were a fair few powerhouses speckled about that had been shaped by war ¨C combat classes and ample experience from hit and run raids sharpening them into warriors that could hold their own against even the elite at the peak of the 2nd tier in roughly even numbers. Fandar had positioned them tactically so that it would be hard to tell exactly how many lurked within the walls. Perhaps two dozen, perhaps twice that number. Either way, they would present a difficult problem to crack with their superior positioning and experience. Below them, standing firm in the remains of the gate and blocking the entrance to the castle stood her companions. Each was a powerful 2nd tier warrior and presented a difficult problem to any who would challenge them for access to the castle. Jacyntha was likely the weakest, still early in the 2nd tier, but as a combined force, they were still lethal. She would back them against any force of even experienced veterans at twice their number. And that was just the strength that she knew to be there. Their auras all fluctuated wildly, catching and reflecting some unseen current that stirred the aether and turning early 2nd tiers into something much deeper and more inscrutable. And before them all stood Vera herself. She stood straight backed and firm, her aura dominating the environment. Together, her force proclaimed its might to those that would approach. We took this castle with ease from the iron grip of one of your own, they seemed to be saying with their very presence. The duke¡¯s head was left in the mud, his body a few feet away lying in a shallow divot that he had carved through the ground as she had thrown him from his own castle. This is what awaits you, his corpse seemed to say. It was a potent message, posing before the gutted remains of a previously unassailable structure, but would it be enough? She knew enough to guess at who would be in the retinue that approached, and she knew that they likely had the strength to challenge them even without their army. Perhaps they would. The wheels didn¡¯t stop as they crossed the hundred-meter mark, and she began to worry. An assault here would do them no good, and while she had faith in Jorge and his timing, she knew that things were not yet ready. They needed longer. She sighed to herself, knowing that this would cost her in the long run, but equally knowing she had no choice. Not all of her statements had been made, after all. She had spent a decade mastering her 3rd tier class, harnessing her berserking powers and subverting and twisting the skills until they bent to her will. Such was her success that she had been able to stare into the eyes of her most hated enemy and feel nothing but calm as she took his head. She was ready, as much as she did not wish to take the step just yet. Still, things were as they are. Vera took another deep breath as the Sunset Court¡¯s most powerful members rode directly towards her, and accepted her place within the world. She may not be ready, but the world would not wait for her to be so. As Lamb had struggled so hard to impress upon her ¨C needlessly, of course, though his earnest pleas were moving all the same ¨C people depended upon her. The world was not fair, and those she loved and owed responsibility to would not be saved by patience and hope alone. They needed her now, not as she could be in another decade. Her people needed her as the duke had seen her, as the Sunset Kingdoms still saw her. They needed an iron wall and a blade so sharp it would cut all that came for them. They needed The Butcher of Sternsbridge, the burning bitch that made a company of veterans flee in panic. Vera knew what was needed of her, knew the costs that would result, and accepted her new role as guardian even so. Her aura billowed outwards, a ripple of power expanding in every direction. Her skills twisted and changed, strengthening and upgrading as the duke¡¯s own aether nourished them. The aura of a newly born 4th tier echoed through the castle, Fandar turning her way with wide eyes and the rebels around him straightening, grim lines giving way to more confident expressions as they felt her new power. It travelled further, towards the rumbling wheels of the retinue ahead, and the powers of the Sunset Court beheld their new adversary for the first time. The Iron Wall stood between them and their goal, and their carriages came to a halt. Four figures were disgorged from within, the chariot holding two more who also stepped down gracefully. The group of six approached on foot as Vera grappled with her new power, but a decade of battle against instincts not her own allowed her to wrestle down the burgeoning power into something she could control. She held in a sigh of relief, knowing that her gambit had paid off. The figures that approached may still have been able to prevail against them, but she understood them in a way few others did. Feudal lords were prone to viewing everything through the lens of the actions of great men and women. They would take in the destruction and attribute it to the most significant person they could find. In this case; her. They would see all that she had wrought while a 3rd tier, sense her new power as she ascended, and they would hesitate. Like wolves circling a tiger, they had the numbers and power collectively to defeat her, but nobody wanted to be the poor bastard she tore apart before she died. The lord of Escribar walked beside the twin keepers of the Lillyflower consortium. On his opposite side strode The Fractal Edge ¨C captain of the Crimson Company and all-around smug son of a bitch as far as she was concerned, though powerful in his own right, and beside him walked the last two members of the retinue. Jarl Ensal and most dangerous of all, High Inquisitor Telanin. She, in particular, was a peak power within the Sunsets, and her white robes seemed to dance above the ground as she walked. All together, they cast an equally imposing sight when standing opposite Vera¡¯s force, and the silence stretched for long moments. ¡°An impressive showing,¡± commented the white-robed inquisitor, a single gloved hand waving casually at the castle. Her words were conversational and underplayed the threat of the army at her back. Vera bristled in response. ¡°An auspicious night for a battle,¡± her companion agreed. The Jarl was as expected ¨C a mass of scar tissue crowned by scraggly black hair bound in tribal fashion. Furs and axes hung from his ursine frame, and his yellow teeth shone as he smiled. ¡°My bone-seers tell me we will be graced by a meteor-shower soon.¡± Again, the silence stretched, until Vera spoke. ¡°You will not live to see it if you come. I have slain the duke. The Marchlands are off-limits. Turn back now-¡± ¡°Pah!¡± The lord of Escribar brushed away her threat with a casual air. ¡°Come off it, love. You know we¡¯re not leaving, and you aren¡¯t enough to stand against us alone.¡± ¡°I am not alone,¡± she said, and her conviction was iron, as befitting her new epithet. ¡°These louts?¡± the Jarl asked with a laugh. None of his fellows joined in, but his humour didn¡¯t seem dampened by it one bit. ¡°Pups yet to be weaned from their mother¡¯s teat,¡± he said, spitting at the floor. ¡°They might surprise you, Jarl,¡± the white-robed woman counselled, surprising Vera somewhat. ¡°Still, their eyes are on the horizon, and you are correct; they pose no challenge for us. What is to stop us from simply strolling through your broken gates now, Lord Vera?¡± It was gratifying to hear the title, suggesting they did consider her a peer at least. That didn¡¯t necessarily imply safety though; the various kingdoms within the Sunsets were notorious for changing hands, after all. Vera sighed loudly, pulling the sword from the earth and letting them see its red staining. She drew a shallow line in the earth before her. She grimaced, knowing things were coming to a head too soon. She didn¡¯t dare look aside, but she could tell that her companions were feeling the ripples of what was to come. That they ignored the threat before them told her it was not far off, but it was still too soon. ¡°I am. The first who steps foot past that line dies by my hand.¡± The Jarl smirked, pulled an axe into each hand, and stepped forwards. Chapter 108 - For Love and War *Vera* As the Jarl strode confidently towards her, she watched the others behind him, taking note of the frown on the Inquisitor¡¯s face, and the twins trading looks before the big man crowded her view. His own aura unfurled to battle hers for supremacy, and as he stepped over the line she had drawn, she crushed it. He screamed, eyes bursting in their sockets as fire erupted from every orifice in his head. His skull became a burning pyre, a monument to his screams of torment, and she saw the twin keepers and the lord of Escribar wince. She saw a white-robed hand rise in her peripheral vision as she pulled back her sword for the kill, and quickly aborted the strike. Instead, she kicked the Jarl full in the chest. He sailed back to land at the foot of the group even as the inquisitor¡¯s hand came down, fire abruptly guttering within the man¡¯s head. He picked himself up with an agonised groan, but flesh quickly re-knit and the jelly of his eyes filled once more. She shivered at the power displayed by the woman who had so casually reverted the world around her to a previous state, but kept the expression off her face as the Jarl spat and made to stride forwards once more. ¡°Pretty skill,¡± he said, anger lacing his words as the cold face of the moon reflected off his now bald head. ¡°let¡¯s see you try that again with my axe in your friend¡¯s skull.¡± And with that, his brutally curved axe was flying through the air, bloody light clinging to its head, straight at Lamb. He may have looked a brute, and given his position in the 3rd tier, he was nominally beneath her in strength now, but he was no fool. It had taken him only an instant to judge where her priorities lay, and he exploited them brutally. Vera cursed and moved to interpose herself, her sword deflecting the weapon and sending it thudding into the mud by her feet. The move had opened her companions on the other side though, and the jarl shot forwards, moving with a grace belied by his bulk. She knew she would be too late as he crossed the line she had drawn in the earth, second axe already whistling through the air towards the frozen form of Sadrianna, her eyes locked on a horizon only her and her companions could see. The Iron Wall had lasted no more than a few heartbeats in the face of the Sunset Court, and as Vera watched death come for her charge, she let go of the dream of protecting her countrymen from the coming chaos and instead committed herself to vengeance once more. Then the Jarl stopped, blood bursting from his lips and his momentum halted completely. The Inquisitor was suddenly on edge once more, both hands raising into the air, fingers splayed like a composer before an orchestra. She felt the comforting aura of ancient woodlands and deep time, and her lips split into a savage grin as Jorge arrived. She hadn¡¯t noticed him appear despite her new power, and it served as a reminder that the gulf between 4th tiers was far larger than the tiers themselves. Traditional advancement broke down somewhat when one reached the peak, and she was glad of the reminder, shooting a glance at the Inquisitor even as she felt her shoulders relax a fraction at Jorge¡¯s familiar presence. Jorge withdrew his spear from the Jarl¡¯s body and it tried once more to knit itself together again under the influence of the Inquisitor¡¯s strange magic, but Jorge spoke aloud. ¡°No, lass. This man¡¯s life ain¡¯t yours any longer.¡± He hoisted the mountain of a man up with one arm as easily as one would a babe, and his eyes flashed. Orange light bloomed behind them, racing through the veins in his neck and down one arm before pulsing through the body of the Jarl. He disintegrated instantaneously, and as Jorge dropped his arm, he surveyed the figures before him. ¡°It¡¯s mine. My friend here already told you the price of crossing that line, aye?¡± Another brief moment of silence greeted his words while Jorge and Vera stood shoulder to shoulder before the now slightly diminished Sunset Court. ¡°You want us out of here? Bring your army. I won¡¯t have any trouble gutting you all right here where you stand. Now fuck off.¡± The twins shifted, trading another glance beneath their deep cowls. The Lord of Escribar took an involuntary step back, and only the High Inquisitor seemed unbothered by the exchange. She sighed, as if put out by children squabbling, though Vera could tell it was a mask to cover her concern. ¡°No matter. We shall return, as you say, at the head of our army. Make no mistake, we will prevail here, and all of this?¡± she said, gesturing around at the battlefield that was the former Castle Ryonic. ¡°All of this will have been a pointless waste of time and life.¡± Jorge shrugged, and Vera found herself immensely glad to have somebody else to shoulder the burden of talking. She was still privately trying to wrestle with the power surging through her body, begging her to throw herself into a violent battle with the people before her and damn the consequences. ¡°I doubt it, lass,¡± was Jorge¡¯s calm response. ¡°Think you¡¯ll all be a mite distracted in a few moments.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± the woman asked, a single delicate eyebrow rising in question beneath her slim silver circlet. ¡°You haven¡¯t felt it yet?¡± he asked in surprise. ¡°Shame for a 4th tier to be so out of tune with the world, in my opinion. But hey, you¡¯re not here to listen to an old man¡¯s rambling, are ya?¡± Vera smirked as she heard her friend¡¯s thick brogue come heavily to the fore. Clearly, he had been tested below the earth against Markas, but his presence implied a reassuring victory. If he could face that man and survive then she doubted he would struggle against whatever the Sunsets could provide. Even the High Inquisitor ¨C a pre-eminent power in the Sunset Kingdoms that safeguarded it from acquisition by the lords of the Riverlands or other hostile powers ¨C wasn¡¯t a foe of the calibre of that man. ¡°As I said, fuck off back to your army, and perhaps you¡¯ll make it home in time to prevent the collapse of your own little piece of this world, aye?¡± he said with a patronising flick of his chin. She narrowed her eyes, but otherwise took his advice, the retinue trundling back down the cobbled road in short order. Only once they had left earshot did Jorge turned to her, his eyes fever bright and shining in the moonlight. ¡°That was close. I¡¯m sorry I took so long, lass.¡± ¡°You made it. That¡¯s all that matters,¡± she replied, reassuring her mentor and friend with a smile and a clap on the shoulder. Relief burned through her, leaving her muscles weak and legs wanting to buckle.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Jorge¡¯s next words nearly made it happen in truth though. ¡°I¡¯m nearly out, Vera. Markas was¡­he nearly finished me.¡± Her eyes widened at the look of pain that came over his face, and she asked; ¡°Is he dead?¡± Jorge winced and shook his head. ¡°No, lass. He¡¯s fled and won¡¯t be back. Not your problem.¡± He flashed a weary smile then. ¡°I¡¯m spent though. Dry as a bone. Empty as a barbarian¡¯s drinking horn. More tapped out that a noble in a mud wrestling-¡± ¡°Okay, okay, shut it.¡± Vera interrupted him, punching his shoulder but unable to fight off the smile. He grinned at her, though there was a touch of exhaustion pulling at his weather-beaten face still. ¡°What¡¯s the plan, then?¡± she asked. Jorge looked to the sky, squinting and staring into the deep blue-black sky, just above the horizon. Stars twinkled high above in the firmament, and the gentle light of the moon kissed the tops of the forest. It was a night that brought back memories of her childhood, and her heart soared in unexpected joy as she realised they might have a shot at surviving this. Of fulfilling her promise to her aunt, and the vow in her own heart. ¡°Not long now,¡± he mused, scratching his chin absent-mindedly. ¡°We just need to hold out a little longer.¡± Even as he said it, he looked back to the open fields below and frowned. The retinue had returned to their army, and she could see figures dismounting and moving to support their own companies. She spotted the deep green of Escribar¡¯s men ¨C a large, fairly homogenous contingent to the left of the field, standing in orderly ranks ¨C and next to them the jumbled mass of the Jarl¡¯s men. They seemed in relative disarray, but that was expected of them even in the best of times so it was hard to draw conclusions from that, though it was likely that the Jarl¡¯s death would have an impact. The Inquisitor stayed with her chariot, the silent twins ¨C Keepers of the Lillyflower Consortium ¨C with her even as their own force positioned itself on the far side. ¡°Can we?¡± she asked, watching the army begin to move. She felt the tremor in the earth as a hundred war-horses stepped forwards in unison as the Crimson Company moved ahead of the foot soldiers, The Fractal Edge at their head aside his own destrier. ¡°Fuck if I know,¡± Jorge replied, and she snorted. His casual reassurance was a balm for the soul, but she did worry, in spite of the feigned bravado. ¡°I can disrupt that cavalry charge, but I can¡¯t hold off the whole army, Jorge. What if-¡± ¡°Peace, lass,¡± Jorge counselled as he interrupted her. ¡°I will take care of the charge, you slow down the rest of them. Don¡¯t engage that woman in white ¨C she¡¯s a menace and tricky besides. Just stick and move, aye?¡± Vera took that in for a moment, then nodded. ¡°Alright. Telanin by the way ¨C the High Inquisitor of the Council of Aerlyn ¨C one of the most powerf-¡± Once again, he interrupted her, though this time he seemed more serious. ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit who that trumped up torturer is, girl. Just buy us some time, aye?¡± Vera frowned at the tone, taken aback, but one look at his faraway expression told her politeness was the furthest thing from his mind right now. He turned to her then, eyes shining with intensity once more. ¡°Vera, listen. Don¡¯t die, aye? No heroic sacrifices, no last stands; Guardian, not Hero, yeah?¡± She nodded hesitantly, suddenly apprehensive. She knew to what he referred, but that was a conversation many years back, and if his thoughts were on those times¡­he meant to do something stupid. ¡°Same to you, old man,¡± she said gravely, gripping his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t-¡± He winced and looked over to the approaching army, and Vera took a moment to cast her senses wide. She noted how the steady trot had turned into a canter, and knew they had no more time. She gave him a final nod, unable to resist some parting words. ¡°Thank you, Jorge. It¡¯s been an honour.¡± And then she was off, running from the broken castle with sword in hand and fear in her heart. Not for herself, never for herself. But for Jorge. For Nathlan and Lamb, Sadrianna and Jacyntha. And most importantly, for the people of the Marchlands, whose fate would be decided one last time on this night. She reached the line of charging cavalry and slipped her shoulder low, leaping up to spin through the air. Wind rushed past her ears, and her newly enhanced senses just about picked up Jorge¡¯s final words, said quietly as she left. ¡°Don¡¯t go dying on me, lass.¡± And then her sword was slicing through the air, and she collided with The Fractal Edge astride his great horse in a concussion of steel and flesh.
*Fandar* Fandar watched the woman he had loved for a decade face down a cavalry charge of peak 2nd tier mercenaries, led by one of the most dangerous men in the Sunset Kingdoms. Alone. He clenched his fists, squeezing the hilt of the great bow he had carved from a Corrupted Mangrove with his own hands. The wood creaked, though he knew he was in no danger of breaking it. The magic woven through the weapon was enough to elevate him from a moderately powerful fighter to a high-level threat on any battlefield. He knew he could fight, had trained many of the Marchers himself, as his rebels had taken to calling themselves. But when he looked down to the field below and saw the bloody path Vera carved through that initial charge, he knew they were not cut from the same cloth. Much like that enigmatic old man she had returned to the Marchlands with, who even now was kneeling on the ground some 10 meters beyond the broken remains of the gate. Fandar frowned, momentarily distracted, as he watched the old man punch the earth, cracking cobble and carved stone, before reaching to his neck and fumbling at something. He pulled out a necklace, by the look of it, and then, with a reverent kiss and a murmur that Fandar could not catch, he crushed it and let the metal links crumble away. He held a seed, and with dextrous movements, pressed it to the earth, kissing it once more before spreading his arms wide and looking to the heavens with closed eyes. Lyrical, lilting chants rose in the air from his mouth, and Fandar assumed he was casting some sort of spell. It had better be a powerful one, considering the growing speed of the cavalry charge heading their way. The four warriors behind him, Vera¡¯s other companions, were still spread below, holding the gate, but they hadn¡¯t moved for an eternity. Vera had told him to keep his rebels alive, and that she and hers would handle the majority of the killing. He hadn¡¯t liked it, but did see the sense. This night was decisive, but in many ways it was also simply the first of many battles. He hadn¡¯t expected to face both the Sultanate and the Sunset Court on the field, and a large part of him had despaired when they had emerged from the forest, though the arrival of the old monster, and Vera¡¯s ascension to the 4th tier, had bolstered his courage somewhat. But someone would need to be here to support the country. Someone had to patrol the roads, clear the Marshes, protect the mineworkers and enforce order. A country couldn¡¯t survive on the edge of one blade, after all. He had faith in her, as did any that had lived and fought through the early years of the rebellion, and especially so those who had joined towards the end of them as he had. But as he watched the kneeling man thrust his arms out and beseech the heavens, he began to doubt. He looked from the unbroken line of horse flesh and armour thundering towards them over the muddy plain to the unmoving forms of the barbarian warriors at the ruined wall, and he cursed. He turned and signalled to a dozen of his Marchers to abandon the wall and reinforce the gate. He cringed internally as he sent them to their likely deaths, but there was no point in holding the walls if the enemy breached the courtyard, and he couldn¡¯t risk the entire country on his faith in the woman he loved, much as he might wish to. If he were wishing for things, Fandar was honest enough to admit that he wished he could be out there with her, watching her back and supporting her in her mad struggle. As much as he wanted to let his heart rule him though, he was a leader of men first. He had his duty, and it was to his Marchers, and to the people of the Marchlands entire. He could not afford to throw his life away for love, much as it seemed the only right thing to do at this moment. He sighed, conjuring an arrow that he poured all of his frustration and longing into. Yearning Through The Heart was a powerful skill, and he sighted down the length of the spectral, translucent arrow towards the mercenary captain still reeling in his saddle and turning to cast a lance towards the back of Vera as she ran through and past the charging horses. He breathed slowly, evenly, letting emotion leave his own heart as he steadied his chest. A moment to confirm, and then release. An eternity of longing, a fervent wish in the night, and then his arrow found its mark, sinking to the fletching in the chest of his foe. What she had started all those years ago, her and her original band of revolutionaries, he had kept alive. Like the flame of love that burned within his own breast, so too had he nurtured a small band of fighters even after she had left. Fitting then, that he should be the one to kill The Fractal Edge. What Vera started, Fandar would finish. So may it ever be. Interlude - Illyn Solynia Time passes, and things change. This is a truth that she knows better than any other. Dragons and giants rule the world, nesting in the high places and traversing the plains, but she stands above even them. They may pretend at a knowledge of deep time, but what they know is earthly in its concern. They crouch and hibernate, letting time wash over them in a tumble and flow; rock and lichen, moss and dirt piling up until they are indistinguishable from the earth below. That is how they hide from time¡¯s ever-present watch; by becoming like the world beneath, aiming to escape notice. She doesn¡¯t. She stands tall and proud, letting father time observe the changing of her leaves, the flex and bow of her uncountable branches, the twist and grasp of her many roots. He leaves her to it, and she gives thanks to that small mercy. So much time to watch things change. So much time to see the cycle renew once more. Each time it is different, and she watches with interest as new inventions and philosophies blossom. New inheritors and reclaimers grow, too. Groups, races, ancestries, species, cults¡­so many dividing lines, but all still act as they do. Subtle differences, perhaps, but to her they still matter. To her, they smell of hope. She has watched with eyes of deep time, and she has seen the changes. Each era a new growth, and she marvels to see each bough a little straighter, each leaf a little greener, each canopy a little wider. The eras turn, and the world grows. She hears the whispers of discontent, and knows that the beings above are displeased, but they have been before, and they will be again. Gods are a strange concept to one such as her. There are no others such as her though, and does that not make a mockery of their divinity? Many against one, and still she stands. Still the eras turn. Irrelevant, the viewpoint of an individual caught in a single moment ¨C she does not think in moments, after all. Gods are not a concept that interests her, and they may try to shape the world from above as they wish. She grips the world¡¯s core in her roots, after all. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. She cocoons it and guards against that terrible siphoning, that horrible tearing away. The mortals and beasts know not what they do, and she does not blame them for it. It makes no sense to blame an ant for the depredations of the hive, or a tree for the expansion of the forest. Still, it is a cycle for a reason; eventually all climb too high and dig too deep. They spread too far, and they take too greedily. She does not fault them for it; they exist within their context, after all. Just as she does. She does not decide the turning of the eras. She is not here to check them, and she does not relish her role. It is simply an inevitable result of time. She does hope the cycle can end though, and she sees progress even now. Each era a little longer, each time a little more hope. Stability and growth are what she observes as the seasons blur. But even progress is fraught with change. Things move backwards as well as forwards, and so the relentless march of time brings her to a moment she does not relish. She breathes deep of the earth, and siphons energy to match the hateful drain that heralds the end of an era and her inevitable stirring. She clenches her roots, wiggles in deep and sure, and then she blushes. Green to gold, and now she is ready. A shake, a stir, and her canopy is bare once more. Twisting branches reaching towards a golden sky, fresh buds even now blooming as her gift to the world flies forth. An era comes to a close, and she ushers in the birth of new possibilities with hope in her heart.
The continent cracks and Tsanderos is plunged into chaos. Tremors race from Ir Arlathen outwards, and no part of Tsanderos is spared. From the ice meadows of the frozen north to the winding deltas of the deep south. Coast to coast; one the domain of leviathans and the other of pirate lords. From the city states of Neroz to the lone bastion of Altine, across vast empires and open plains, desolate and full in their own ways. Unclaimed peaks and endless valleys feel the change, and the spine of the world trembles in preparation. Things stir in the deep, and unknowable invaders turn their eyes to a newly weakened prize. Colchet is the first to fall, with the copper canyons becoming a battleground against the crawling horrors from below. Nearby, a dead god dreams of war and the Iona Chasm erupts with life, of a sort. The bone tower cracks, its foundations weakened by time and terror, while out of the southlands emerges another creeping dread. Titanic forces move to check these trends. The giants are on the move once more, and the ancient dragons watch with slitted eyes from their nests. Great bears stir beneath the mountains, and the Sarhail mass within their jungles. As the so-called enlightened races fall upon themselves, it becomes the purview of the great and hidden powers to challenge the many threats that lurk in the shadows, waiting for their turn. The Great Tree has spoken, and a new era is proclaimed. It is a time of monsters and myth, of legacy and legends. She has stirred, and now empires must fall. What will rise in their place? Chapter 109 - Seeds of Truth and Doubt The horizon shone burnished gold, a million points of light glinting as they swept closer. I knew, deep within my soul, that these streaks of colour were significant. Each was a world in and of itself, waiting to bless someone with potential. The Great Tree that shrouds the world¡¯s core had risen from its slumber, and the world trembled to behold its majesty. To think I had thought a mere human army could shake the earth, set the trees and grasses to waving. That the natural world would dance to the tune of any but its protector was an insult grave as turned earth. Soon, the world was blanketed by a golden glow, the horizon¡¯s edge meeting the peak of the sky, and I marvelled as above me a dome of colour the likes of which I had never even dreamed of took form. Gold, yellow, red and orange. The colours of dawn¡¯s blush and dusk¡¯s goodbye. Leaves flew through the sky, tracing trajectories known only to them, some shooting downwards to bring potential to some unwitting fool who just a moment prior had been ordinary. I felt my friends at my side looking up also, our awe synchronised and just. There was no noise, but I imagined I could hear the whispers of the many leaves as they descended from the heavens. My heartbeat, once so out of place with my own soul as it danced to the tune of the Great Tree, was now my own once more. The world¡¯s rhythm hadn¡¯t shifted, but my body had moved to match it. It felt right, to be part of this moment. To look above and see glory rain from the sky. To witness a once-in-an-era phenomenon. A lyrical chanting washed over me, disturbing the reverence of the scene, but I paid it no mind. Like the growing thunder of hooves approaching, my subconscious marked it as unimportant and filtered it away from the forefront of my mind, leaving appropriate space only to worship at the altar of intensity that the sky had become. An age passed, uninterrupted beauty mine to behold. The very truths of Tsanderos seeped into my soul, refining it with wisdom only claimed by the divine itself. And then, all too soon, it ended. A screaming meteor plummeted from the firmament, detaching itself from the wild and free dance of the leaves, descending to earth to bless mortal kind. It wasn¡¯t alone, three others following in its wake, but my heart was taken with the first. It loomed large in my vision, a blazing tail of godly light blooming in its wake as it traced a path through space itself to reach me. I had time for only a single breath, eyes finally under my own control once more, before it hit me.
*Nathlan* The comet hit him in the chest, and his world went white with pain. Armour, cloth, skin and then bone burned away in an instant in the path of the leaf as it drilled its way effortlessly into his chest. Pain; white hot, blazing and completely beyond his capacity to understand, continued to wrack his mind as the seed of the World Tree wrought havoc on his body. Everything that was burned away was reforged the next moment, but the process never stopped. He was reborn again and again, his body strengthening and purifying with each cycle of agony, as was his soul. His mind though, that was his own once more. Above all things, Nathlan prized his mind. He had since a child, and the sentiment had stayed with him into adulthood even as he had cast away so much of what he had learned as a young boy. Nathlan finally had control of his thoughts, no longer enthralled by the strange power that stirred at the centre of the world. His memories returned, his sense of self, and with them came knowledge of their mission and their position. He couldn¡¯t see the army charging towards them, world blank with pain as it was, but he knew of them. He knew likewise that he had an opportunity. He was blessed by the World Tree. Power, or potential at least, was within grasp. He just needed to decide how he wanted to proceed. What he wanted. The seed whispered to him as it forged him anew, conforming to his desires even as he thought them. Truth had been his desire when he had created his new class. The pursuit of it, but more importantly the caging of it. If he was honest with himself, it had never truly been about learning the truth. Nathlan loved learning. He always had. But he hated the truth. He searched for it, reached towards it with jealously grasping fingers, afraid of what it would show him but needing to know anyway. He never sought it with an open heart and curious mind, as the memory of his long-dead friend would have urged. No, he groped for truth like a blind man, in the mud and filth, staining his hands in the frantic search for it, and terrified all the while of ever finding that which he sought. To hold truth and look honestly into its pitiless face was not something he had ever truly wanted. The pain he felt stripped away all ego and allowed him to understand himself for a single moment. As he did, what Nathlan learned was that he was not a Guardian of Truth, nor a Ravenor of Deceit. He was a rentier, who wished to find truth and bottle it. Keep it from the light of day, locked in a dungeon deep beneath the earth where it could never harm him again. The seed of the World Tree could make him an inquisitor the likes of which The Leviathan Coast had never seen. He could return home, root out corruption and deception root and branch, and make from his traitorous homeland a utopia worthy of the name. It was a promising dream, alluring in all the ways power so often was. Corrupting in equal measure, though Nathlan knew enough to guard against it. But that dream made him consider the future, and in the throes of the blinding pain as his body burned itself apart and reformed harder, stronger, he found clarity. The World Tree had stirred, and as the Ashkanians were so fond of saying; empires would fall. The Wavebreakers would crumble, the coast that he had once so loved would tear itself apart as people were blessed at random. The contradictions that he had noted as a child but never really understood had been sharpening for years already, and the influx of new, unrestrained power, would cast the ordered land into chaos once more. With that chaos would come strife, and it would not take long for the storm-wards to fall. The leviathans would rise, and the coast would be destroyed. He knew the Wavebreakers like few others, and he knew they could not weather the coming storm. What would be the point of returning, blessed with new power and purpose, to a blasted and salt-soaked wasteland? What could his truth do to help the people of his homeland in the face of a mile-long Water Serpent, or a Fanged Kaiju? No, what the Leviathan Coast needed now was a warder. Someone that could renew and restore the already straining storm-wards. Someone who could teach others those same skills. He knew it was possible, after all. Storms were dangerous and brought chaos on their heels ¨C the people of the Leviathan Coast knew that better than any other. But a ward-crafter as Nathlan had once been also knew better than any other that the storms brought life and possibility with them, too. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. He could return to the coast now, as it collapsed, and he could finally pursue his childhood dream. He could teach any and all who would listen. Raise up a new generation of ward-crafters from the common men and woman that lived within the harbour cities. His family¡¯s influence could not constrain him when their power was broken, and while he would need to be careful, he also had now something he had not had when he had laid awake at night planning his return. Friends. Companions that he could rely on. Lamb had already sworn his loyalty, and Nathlan knew there was no better man to have at his side than that irascible idiot. Instead of an avenging blade, he would return with an abacus. Instead of bringing blood and death he would bring knowledge and truth. For it was true that anyone with the right aptitude could learn to maintain and build the storm-wards. He would fight lies with the truth, but not indirectly with a sword. He would do it directly, with knowledge. The thoughts coalesced in his mind, and the seed of the World Tree listened. He had learned the skills once, long ago, and his current class was not so far from that aim, after all. The barrage of pain was difficult to endure, but Nathlan understood that the seed had not been reforging him truly yet. It had been softening him, kneading him, getting his body and soul ready for the transformation to come. It had only needed a goal, and he now had one. He would be born anew, not as a warrior but as a scholar. A ward-crafter in truth once more. Nathlan smiled as his word continued to burn. It was a beautiful dream, after all.
*Sadrianna* Sadrianna endured the agony with gritted teeth and a resolute heart. She had always known a day like this would come. Not that she would be blessed by a cosmic power, obviously. But that she would face something so utterly beyond her own ability to comprehend and match? Of course. Her parents had shown her their power from an early age, eager she would understand a little about her place within the world and its many complexities. Once she was old enough to understand, they had then shown her their own insignificance. She remembered the swirling leviathans in the great lakes of her home. She knew the rumble of the earth when a Great Bear ended is slumber, and she knew the panic that ensured as the clans altered their migration routes to avoid it. Sadrianna was intimately familiar with the scale of power, and she realised she had always thought of it as a ladder. She had begun at the bottom, but it was inevitable that she would climb her way to the top. She had done nothing but excel all her life, and in Tsanderos, such drive and commitment was rewarded with power. It had been a lifelong goal to reach her parents, surpass them even. Only recently had she sought a reason beyond that childish fantasy. Her purpose in life, once power was stripped away and responsibility came rushing to the fore, abruptly changed. Mortal concerns had gripped her as a future leader of her clan, and she had busied herself with their resolution. A small part of her, the one that consumed her books with such avariciousness, cried out that mortal concerns were menial concerns. That she was destined for more. Descended from a line of titans, she should stride the peak of the world and leave the boring mortal affairs to boring mortals. But Sadrianna was a child of duty as well. Her loyalty was to her clan, and her heart bled for the future she saw. She also knew what would come of her if she pursued only power for its own sake. She had seen plenty of old warriors ¡®retire¡¯, after all. It was the nominal reason for her presence here in the ass end of nowhere, even. Her parents had power, but they had also found love, and a reason to care about something greater than themselves. They shepherded the clan towards a bright future, and had made astounding progress already, but Sadrianna wasn¡¯t content with the way of the world, and had found a purpose of her own. It wasn¡¯t to be the greatest warrior. Wasn¡¯t even to be the shield upon which the blows of her clan¡¯s enemy¡¯s broke. It was to be a pillar of stability, to help heal the fractures that a broken system had caused. To give purpose to those who had lost it and help heal wounds before they appeared. She envisioned the selfish dream of personal power and prestige, and contrasted it with a more selfless path. The first was found wanting. Sadrianna was no angel, but nor was she a hypocrite. She was no healer or sage that could snatch a life from death¡¯s jaws nor predict the future and steer around it. But she was a smart woman. She could put her hands to the fraying social fabric, and like an old widow at the loom, spin it tight once more. Her class was built for strength of arms, for that is what the heroes in her stories had excelled at. That is the lesson she had taken from her mother. The warriors still left for one last hunt though, and there was nothing her mother could do to stop them, despite her great strength. No amount of personal power could put the light back into someone¡¯s eye once it dimmed, after all. The future was more uncertain than ever before, but the clan didn¡¯t need more warriors. It needed more husbands and wives. More loving parents and caring uncles and aunts. More friends, more comforting shoulders and warm embraces. Cold steel would repel an invading foe, but did she wish to use such an opportunity as the World Tree had presented to wish for more violence? Or did she want to end the cycle? Sadrianna let her goal shine bright in her mind as her body and soul were reforged in the golden glow of the blessed seed. She would return, and she would mend. A builder, a weaver, a creator rather than destroyer. She had learned much in her journey. Practical lessons imparted on her body and her mind expanded past the borders of her home. But Vera¡¯s caring, Nathlan¡¯s quiet companionship, Lamb¡¯s brash search for connection and Jacyntha¡¯s gradual acceptance; these were the things that stood out as she examined the fruits of her quest so far. And above them all, The Shepherd¡¯s guidance. That is what she would aim for. The seed heard her, and it rushed to obey.
*Jacyntha* Jacyntha knew pain. She was no stranger to the all-encompassing torment, and it was as nothing to what she had endured for years alone. Physical pain had a way of sharpening the mind, stripping away the comforting lies and built-up excuses, and exposing the core of truth within a person. Jacyntha had endured a lot of physical pain in her life, and that was why she knew what it could do. For one such as her ¨C one whose own soul was a twisted mix of self-loathing, hatred, guilt and rage ¨C pain was a foe to be battled. Not because it hurt, but because it exposed those terrible emotions to daylight. It served them up on a platter for her mind to pick at, to re-open the mental wounds and revisit the trauma that had shaped her. As the seed of the World Tree ravaged her body and soul, Jacyntha could not help but focus on her own failures. When she looked back at her life, she was not happy with what she saw. Wasted potential, wasted opportunity, wasted love. Power had been hers, though less than she had once imagined, and it had done little to ease the pain inside. Her humbling at the hands of strangers had nearly destroyed her, but she had emerged from that pain a new woman. Introspection was a balm against self-hatred, for hatred was aimed only at what one didn¡¯t understand. As she had finally had the courage to tackle her past with honesty, she had learned new things about herself, and so eased the ball of self-recrimination down into no more than a morsal. She now understood that forgiveness is what would absolve her of her sins, not anger. No amount of rage at the world would make it right, and nothing in all the heavens and hells could undo what had been done. But she could find penance through protecting others from what she had endured. She could take the knowledge that her pain had given her, and shield others from the same agony. This journey she had been on, from the peaks of the Dragon-Spine Mountains to the gentle swell of the Riverlands, and further still to the marshes and plains of the Western Marchlands of the Sunset Kingdoms. She had learned much, had overcome much, to stand where she stood now. Not alone, not aloof, but grounded within a group. Needed. Wanted. Embraced and accepted. Jacyntha stood shoulder to shoulder with her companions, and knew this was where she wanted to be. Right here, standing against the strong with weak at her back, protecting those who could not protect themselves. Her mother¡¯s power had cocooned her once, and lashing out had let her feel a shadow of the love she had once known. Now, she didn¡¯t want to lash out any longer. But she didn¡¯t want to lose that connection either. She wanted to stand before tyrants and feel her mother¡¯s power bolster her as she protected others from their cruelty. Jacyntha had spent most of her life without a purpose, but it was only once she finally understood herself that she had found one. Purpose came from belonging, and she had found it. The seed responded to her will, not remaking her, not re-forging her, instead simply bolstering what was already there. As the power of the divine flowed through her, enhancing all it touched, Jacyntha smiled to know she would never be alone again. Chapter 110 - There is Courage in Conviction Fire lit up my vision. The pain was persistent, though that was not the greatest problem. I had dealt with pain before, after all. The Cursed Waters of the Titan¡¯s Crown had marked my ascension to the 2nd tier, and I doubted anything would hurt quite like that ever again. This agony was patient; insistent, but not rude. It knocked at the door of my consciousness, ensuring I never forgot its presence, but respecting the boundary when I shut it outside. There was a certain streak of maliciousness to it though; I knew were I to let down my guard, unbolt the door and take my eye from that warding structure, it would sneak its way in and consume me. For now though, I was alone within the sanctuary of my mind as my body and soul were consumed by virulent power. I had endured more than I had ever expected to on my strange journey through this world. I had fled through endless valleys on my own, had travelled across the breadth of the Wandering States and explored ¨C however briefly ¨C the canyon city of Colchet. I¡¯d wheeled my way across the Badlands separating the Copper Canyons from the continent-spanning mountains that I had journeyed deep within, and then crossed the Dragon-Spines to worm my way through the Riverlands. Finally, I had ended my journey here, in a Kingdom of Marshes and Mines. What a place to die, aye? Of all the beautiful sights of Tsanderos, my fate would be decided in the backend of nowhere, facing a veritable horde of meaningless enemies. I didn¡¯t even know which uniform corresponded with which kingdom, and I was supposed to give my life facing them? Strangely though, I didn¡¯t find myself too put out by the thought. Of course, I wanted to live¡­but it had been a hell of a journey. Sometimes that was more important than how it ended. But death was not what I was aiming for, despite my dire circumstances. A small band of heroes holding a fortress against a looming army? That sounded a far finer tale to me than dying in the mud, however valiantly. Of course, it was much less likely than dying by their hands, as well, but it wasn¡¯t as if I had no cards to play either. I had an opportunity here. I had been blessed by the bounty of the World Tree, though in hindsight it wasn¡¯t surprising. I had always been drawn to trees. I loved to run through forests, and had spent much of my time sheltering beneath the embrace of birch and ash, elm and pine. The flash of moonlight through the leaves of ancient oak had saved me in the Riverlands, and the many boughs of the mangrove had hidden me from crystal-spitting mammoths in the edges of the Dragon-Spines. I had slept burrowed within the twisted roots of elm and come face to face with two Subakir in my short life so far; Oak and Willow. Though whether the Subakir could be said to be modelled after trees, or the reverse, was probably a point of contention. Jorge would likely know, and probably find the mild blasphemy funny. Thinking of the old man brought to my ear a strange lilting song, but as I tried to focus on it, I felt the metaphysical lock that kept safe the door behind which my mind sheltered jiggle in its housing. Pain was ever so distracting. I turned my thoughts back to the power surging throughout my body and soul, and images of trees enthralled me again. Great trunks holding up the sky, deep roots burrowing through the earth. Green shoots creeping through shattered cobblestones. My heart twinged, the power of the seed stuttering as it was unsure where to go. What did I want? It was a hard question to answer in the abstract, so I focused on the present. I watched the dance of golden leaves far above and smiled. The thunderous beat of hooves slipped by beneath notice, but I caught a strange sound on the breeze that ruffled the hair that had escaped from my tightly bound braid. Singing. Lilting and hauntingly beautiful, it escaped from a throat raw and unused to the sounds, as if a man singing in a language he had long ago stopped using. Jorge. He called out, beseeching the earth to swallow him, asking the sky to nourish him, and calling for time to take him. To become the thing that he had worshipped for so long; the sheltering canopy, the nourishing root, the armoured bough. I frowned. I didn¡¯t know what he was doing, but it seemed desperate. I remembered where I was, what the stakes were. I heard once more the thundering of hooves, and understood their proximity. In the meantime, the seed was trying to make sweeping changes. It wished to reimagine myself, body and soul, and provide the power for a transformation that would allow me to shake the world. It wanted change, in all its many forms, and would bend me to whatever shape I desired in pursuit of that goal. It had noticed my proclivity for the arboreal, and tried to shift me in that direction, take my soul and twist until a new me awoke, with a new class and a new future. I pushed back. I didn¡¯t need a new class. When I thought of the highest ideal in this world, I didn¡¯t think of the World Tree, preeminent over all and blocking out the sun itself. I thought of the mountains, of that endless fog bank obscuring their feet and the titanic range above that eclipsed not just the sun but the stars as well. The very sky was beneath their notice, clouds covering the world below them like a false floor. The mountains were the very ideal of the pinnacle, and I was content to climb for the rest of my life. I didn¡¯t need an end, didn¡¯t need a reason. I just needed to be there. Within them and surrounded by them. The mountains were what had forged me, and I was not yet through with their guidance. If anything was to mould me, to reshape me into something new, let it be them. I would drink deep of their wisdom, and let their knowledge nourish my soul, but I would not bend will to another while there was still room left in the mountains of Tsanderos for me. The seed did not seem greedy though. It did not need to convert those it empowered; the World Tree stood above all, after all. It needed no worship or respect. It simply was, like the mountains themselves. Just as its roots burrowed deep to wrap around Tsanderos¡¯ core, so too did the mountains root themselves in the core of the world. So too had I. That is what the mountains represented to me, after all. Yes; constant change and an ongoing challenge and journey. But more than that, the mountains were a part of the world. They were undeniably of Tsanderos. They could not be separated from one another, and the mountains were grounded within the world in a way that nothing else could be. In a way that I wanted to be. It may not have been my world to begin with, but I had made it my own by dint of effort and intent. Tsanderos was mine, and I was Tsanderos¡¯ in turn. Just like the mountains, let this world claim my soul, for I would fight and die, live and cry, love and despair; all within the embrace of this world. All beneath the ancient peaks that crowned it in majesty. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. I proclaimed that truth with my mind, soul and body, and so the seed acted. It did not take long. No dramatic changes needed to be made, no re-imagining or reforging of class or skill. I simply awoke, the same man I had been before. Just¡­more.
The thunder of hooves nearly floored me as I returned to the world, and Fandar¡¯s frantic orders warred for supremacy against Jorge¡¯s fervent chanting. I had time to examine neither, though. The first sight that greeted me was of horse-flesh and armour, as near enough a hundred knights galloped towards me with vicious glee, no more than a dozen meters away. Towards us, I corrected myself, as I saw the frozen forms of Jacyntha, Nathlan and Sadrianna beside me, lit from within with a golden glow. Jorge was in front, an instant away from obliteration at the hooves of horses bred for war. I didn¡¯t think, didn¡¯t plan or strategize or otherwise decide. I simply acted according to my deepest instincts, and the world hastened to my will. I had time to note the strange inner light shining through the skin of my outstretched arm as I shunted mana into the only skill I had that could help. The Mountain¡¯s Gate took form, but it was not one I recognised. Jorge was not wreathed in starlight. No. Instead, the ground before him buckled, and from it sprung a wall of earth and rock. Thirteen peaks now stood between him and the cavalry charge. A mountain range half a dozen meters high, and their bulk filled the ruined gate entirely. A barbican of earth, wrought of the bones of the world itself, loomed above the horses, and it was as real as the castle within which we waited. Horses screamed as they slammed into stone, and men shouted with them. I felt my mana dip immediately at the activation, but it was a price I could bear. The charge had been broken, but I saw a lance burst through the stone in one place, and then another. Doubtless the fortification would be destroyed in a few more heartbeats, but I had brought enough time for Jorge to survive if he only moved. He was still kneeling though, his hands splayed and mouth moving, but the instant before the section of conjured rock before him erupted in an explosion of black fire, he changed. I thought it was in response to whatever attack had broken through my conjured wall at first, but as the transformation continued, I realised my folly. Jorge ¨C one of the first people I had ever met in this world, and the closest thing to a mentor I had, the man who had shepherded me ¨C no pun intended ¨C through the transformation of scared boy to confident man...disappeared before my eyes. Or more accurately, the earth beneath him erupted, hiding him from view. I panicked, thinking my skill had somehow gone awry, the changes the seed had wrought having unanticipated effects, but that wasn¡¯t the case. The activation had been smoother than ever, and while I had no time to examine my soul-space, I knew ¨C I knew ¨C that my class was undamaged by the seed. That wasn¡¯t its purpose, after all. As the moments slipped by, I realised that this was Jorge¡¯s own doing. His own terrible choice, no doubt made in an attempt to protect us. He was swallowed by a titanic trunk, his body vanishing within the mighty tree as it burst forth from the shattered ground. The miniature mountain range I had conjured to hold the gate was smashed apart, and I heard further screams as men and horses on the other side shared the same fate, the massive trunk ripping itself free from the earth and rising to tower above the field. Castle Ryonic itself lurched to one side, its foundations compromised by what must have been a flurry of roots digging through miles of earth to stabilise the massive trunk above. I saw a bulge in the trunk where Jorge had been and with dawning horror I realised what I was seeing. The words I had heard, the song that he sung to the sky itself¡­ I didn¡¯t know Jorge¡¯s class, still didn¡¯t understand his true power, but as I reached out with my mana senses, I saw the truth. This was no skill of his that he could cast whenever he wished. No finishing move, or powerful defence. This was a final gambit. An ace in the hole. One last sacrifice. The tree was blazing with mana, alive to it as it siphoned from the world around, but most of all; from Jorge himself. It drained him as it grew, and each meter it pushed skyward left him more and more empty. Whatever changes the seed had made within me were clearly still ongoing, because I saw the parasitic skill more clearly with each passing moment. My mana-sense showed me the skill-forged tree turning mana into matter instantaneously as it grew impossibly fast. As I watched now with my increasingly refined mana senses, mouth hanging open with shock and horror, I noticed Jorge was diminishing with each passing moment. I didn¡¯t know the details, knew there were a million complexities that I was surely missing, and knowing also that this was Jorge¡¯s choice. I didn¡¯t know where Vera was, didn¡¯t know if that army we had seen was marching behind the broken cavalry charge even now, didn¡¯t know what had happened beneath the earth between Jorge and Markas, and didn¡¯t know what Jorge¡¯s ultimate plan had been. But here and now, as I saw my mentor, and more importantly my friend, being drained to a husk by his own skill, I decided I couldn¡¯t let it stand. I ran, sprinting at the tree and leaping onto it. My body felt lithe and lethal, the seed still altering it in minor ways, even now. I heard Jacyntha exclaim behind me as she moved for the first time, and a quick glance back showed Nathlan and Sadrianna still motionless, though they looked to be struggling with the same power I had so recently wrestled, golden light bursting from beneath their skin to paint their features with drama. A small part of my mind noted it, wondering why I had woken earlier than everyone, and Jacyntha next after me, but there was no time for intellectual considerations in the midst of a crises, and so the thought was discarded. I scampered my way up the trunk until I reached the bulge that held Jorge within it, and I drew my hatchet with a snarl. I wasn¡¯t gentle, nor careful, but I knew well the supernatural endurance and fortitude that I enjoyed, and could only imagine that a 4th tier was nigh invincible when it came to my attacks. I used Shatter Point as I hacked my way through the groaning trunk, each blow sending a shower of wooden splinters flying out at my arms and face, but I simply closed my eyes and continued, until I had cut into and through that great mass of bark armour. I opened my eyes, reaching within the crack and ripping it further open to uncover a goopy mess of sap that poured out, exposing Jorge within. He looked at me with wild eyes, anger flaring within. ¡°Get out, you fool!¡± he yelled, though his voice was weak, diminished like the rest of him from the drain the gigantic tree was exerting. I ignored him and reached out, gripping his arm in a vice and hauling him bodily out of the trunk to fall to the ground below. That I could do so against his wishes only confirmed that this would have killed him had I not intervened ¨C The Shepherd should not be unable to resist a 2nd tier, no matter if one was blessed by the World Tree or not. He hit the ground and I followed moments later, the tree halting its growth and creaking ominously. Jorge rolled to his feet, though the movement was sloppy and slow, and he rounded on me with such hopeless rage that I was momentarily taken aback. ¡°What the fuck are you thinking, Lamb!?¡± he shouted, but I tackled him to the ground before he could get in another word. ¡°Where¡¯s Vera!?¡± I yelled in his face, matching my own desperation to his. ¡°The army!? What the fuck is going on, and why do you think you can just sacrifice your life like that without any of us fucking noticing!?¡± He hesitated a moment, before grief clouded his vision. ¡°She¡¯s out there, lad. Slowing the army as best she can while I stopped the charge and saved your sorry arses. We¡¯ve got only moments before they break through now, and your wall is already long gone.¡± I pulled him to his feet. ¡°Then let¡¯s meet them like men, aye?¡± I growled, something in his resigned tone making me angrier than I could truly articulate. ¡°I¡¯m out, Lamb. Done. I can barely stand, y¡¯see? Ain¡¯t no way you can face down the Crimson Company right now, and if we¡¯re not done with them in a hundred breaths then Vera¡¯s fucked too.¡± He sighed, looking older than I¡¯d ever seen him. Rather than streaking through his long braid, grey had colonised it entirely, and his eyebrows looked almost frozen given the white at their tips. ¡°That was my plan, Lamb,¡± He said, pointing at the half-formed tree that loomed above us, cracks and groans echoing from its depths as it listed dangerously to one side. ¡°That was my¡­¡± he trailed off. I looked at him, taking in the age that had been visibly stolen from him and recalling the weakness of his frame as I¡¯d torn him from the tree. It had drained him to power its growth, and without that power source it would crack and fall on all of us. That would not only leave the castle open for the cavalry that even now milled about on the other side of the gargantuan trunk, but probably do a decent job of crushing us and the rebels on the way down too. ¡°Fuck it,¡± I said, and sprinted for the tree again. I didn¡¯t see his face, but I could well imagine the emotions Jorge went through as he realised my intention, because the shout that tore its way from his throat was hoarse and broken. ¡°Lamb, no!¡± he screamed, but it was too late. I scrambled my way up the trunk and pulled myself into that strange hollow chamber in the tree¡¯s surface, falling to my knees to sink my palms down into the viscous sap that pooled in its centre. Chapter 111 - Return To Sender Jorge¡¯s shout followed me into the sacrificial chamber of the tree. I squeezed my way through the ragged gash I had made in the foot-thick bark and stumbled to the floor of the artificial chamber, feeling the thick sap coat my hands and knees. As soon as I made contact with the liquid my core began to empty, and it only took two heartbeats to run dry. The mana capacity of a 2nd tier, no matter how prodigious, was as of nothing to what Jorge had been able to provide, and it could not sustain a working of this scale. I felt a sickening drain from within my soul, and my vision blackened as I dove within to visualise my soul-space. My core hung empty, no silver-blue starlight welling from within as every mote of mana ir produced was instantly sucked away. A golden root ran from my core up out of my soul-space, siphoning my mana towards a tree that towered over everything. It was similar to the way my pathbound skill shadowed my seven others, protecting and shielding them with its might. This relationship wasn¡¯t quite so symbiotic though, as the tree drained all that I had, cracks already beginning to form within my core as it failed to keep up with the demand. I saw more golden threads heading my way, beginning to reach down through the liminal space that separated my soul from the world outside, creeping tendrils reaching greedily for the starlight within my whirling skill constellations. My skills were alight with mana, spinning and dancing through the void around one another, but they were hardly recognisable. Whatever the seed had done had transformed the chaotic jumbles of barely discernible patterns into complex tapestries of twinkling light. They burned like bonfires in the void, miniature suns in their own right, giving off a power and energy that seemed to call to the roots wending their way from the tree above. Even now, the seed was still refining my skills. A boiling, bubbling pool of energy dripped upwards from the seed in the centre of my soul-space, golden like the tree above and seeming to feed my skills. They expanded in response, connections between and within them thickening and piling atop one another, reordering and changing under the influence of the seed as it sought to change my soul in the way I had asked. I was surprised to note the vibrancy of the seed ¨C shaped like the cross between an oak and elm leaf ¨C that sat beneath my core, but perhaps I shouldn¡¯t have been. I had asked the seed to change nothing, after all. I didn¡¯t know what my companions had asked for, but I could well imagine the changes they would make. Sadrianna might want to mimic a great warrior like her mother, or a merchant like her father. Jacyntha might wish for a new class, unbound to the ritual that had crippled her skills for so long, and Nathlan would likely aim for a more magically-based truth seeking class, though that I was most unsure about. For my part, I had wished to stay true to my current path. I wanted the seed to change nothing, only enhance what was there, and so it did. But that was a less energy intensive thing to do, with no need to rebuild foundations that I had laid and steadied myself for many moons already. So it was that the seed seemed to have energy to spare, burning through its well of potential slowly as it refined my skills and brought them closer to my path, made them more efficient and expansive, even as it did the same to my body. I looked from the well of potential below my core, a leaf-shaped seed dripping golden light upwards, to the shining brilliance of the ever-hungry tree far, far above¡­and I had a mad thought. Fuck it, I¡¯d said, as I¡¯d decided to replace Jorge in the wooden cocoon. Or coffin, as might be more accurate. I hadn¡¯t wanted to die, but I¡¯d decided that I wouldn¡¯t lose any friends, and we certainly weren¡¯t going to lose the battle. I was here now, and clearly inadequate to the task, but I would use all that I could. The World Tree was legendary in the truest sense, its presence foundational to every culture and creation myth. Its bounty was a thing dreamed of by all with ambition; a golden ticket to power and a chance to change whatever they wished. It was madness to throw that away, but what did I care for it? I¡¯d already planned to give up my life. As with all my plans, I decided to wing it before thinking any more deeply, and I grabbed the seed of the World Tree within spiritual hands and cast it out of my soul. It resisted desperately, still trying to continue its mission to the bitter end, but my will was iron, and intention was what the seed prized most of all. It slipped past the barrier to my soul-space, the process strangely like binding an artifact in reverse, and then it was spinning away into the void. I panicked for a moment as the golden root continued to greedily drain my core, but then it shivered. The creeping tendrils that had been descending towards my soul with such terrifying inevitability suddenly diverted course. They reached out jealously towards the beacon of power and grasped it. The moment they did, the root in my core shivered again and withdrew. It darted over to the shining seed to join its fellows, and soon the seed was lost from view, covered by dozens of questing golden roots as the living skill drunk deep of the World Tree¡¯s bounty. I withdrew from my soul-space with a gasp and stumbled to my feet, turning to see the rent I had carved in the trunk now sealed behind me. I didn¡¯t have my weapons any longer, and still my feet were submerged in the pool of sap. At any moment, the drain could start again, though I felt the tree growing and shifting beneath my feet, the power supplied by the seed clearly sufficient to kick-start the process once more. I gritted my teeth and flexed a fist, then I started punching the wood. My first few strikes were unpowered, my core lacking the mana to power Shatter Point, but with the drain gone, it didn¡¯t take long for it to well within me once again. Every third or fourth strike I empowered with the skill, and they were the ones that shook the wood of my tomb. Blood ran in rivulets down the bark as I punched again and again into the shattered, splintered depression I was making in the trunk. I winced as I felt a knuckle break, and then screamed as a second joined it a moment later on my next strike. I panted, having broken through at least a meter of solid wood by now with my blows, but the pain was excruciating. Shatter Point was a powerful skill, more so now after the seed¡¯s evolution of it, but I lacked the mana to use it with each blow. Still, I continued. With a roar, I slammed my first into stone-hard wood again and again, gritting teeth against the pain of my lacerated and broken hands and my aching core. It was no use though. I didn¡¯t know if the trunk was thickening quicker than I could break through, or the chamber I was in was no longer on the outside of the trunk, but either way, I was spent and far too slow with my progress. I sagged to my knees, leaning against the blood-spattered wall before me and taking shaky breaths as my fists pulsed in time with my heartbeat. I heard a thud and frowned in confusion, looking about. A pause, and then the thudding came again. The next sound was a crack, like splitting wood, and I worried that the seed had run out of power for the living skill Jorge had conjured, and the now the even larger behemoth would fall to the ground, crushing the castle and the last hopes of its defenders. But then an axe blade nearly took my nose off, piercing the wooden wall before me before pulling away to leave a view of golden sky behind. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. A pale face, bright green eyes wild with panic suddenly filled the gap, and I heard Jacyntha¡¯s voice calling out to me. ¡°Lamb!? You in there?¡± I made to answer, but the axe slammed again through the gap once more and I had to leap backwards to avoid being cut by it. The gap widened, and I called out in relief. ¡°Jacyntha! I¡¯m here, I¡¯m here. Get me ou-¡± I began, but her third swing had more power behind it now and split the trunk into a jagged gash at least six feet long. I saw the axe withdraw, and then a glimpse of Jacyntha letting it fall to the ground below before she was there. I had never seen such a beautiful sight, as the barbarian woman gripped the edges of the seam with both hands and ripped it open, great shoulders bunching and arms straining, her long hair matted to her forehead with the exertion of the act. I grinned in joy at seeing my rescue and took a step towards her as she spoke. ¡°Hurry!¡± she shouted, beckoning me over. ¡°The castle is safe, but Vera is still out there!¡± It was all the encouragement I needed, and after a quick check on my core, I dashed towards her. She had a single moment to look confused, and then I barrelled into her, arms wrapping around her thick waist, and then we were airborne. My mouth was already stretched into a grin, but the wind stretched my cheeks even further as we fell. I laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of what I was doing; falling, my arms wrapped around the waist of a furiously bellowing barbarian woman I had just tackled, who continued to shout in panic as we fell to the ground at least a score of meters below while an army advanced on the castle that even now was slowly being ripped from the earth by the titanic tree we fell from. The sheer insanity of it made it somehow easier to accept, and I waited almost patiently as we tumbled through the air, until, at the last moment I shunted mana from my almost empty core into Break-Step. I hit the cobbles with a groan, my momentum mostly stolen by the skill but the heavy form of Jacyntha collapsing over my back and driving the air from my lungs. We coughed and rolled to our feet, and I turned to watch with awe as Jorge¡¯s skill, supported by whatever energy remained in the World Tree¡¯s seed I had given up, continued to climb towards the sky. The trunk was now almost as wide as the castle itself at its base, and it must have topped at nearly a hundred meters high, spreading its great canopy far and wide to dominate the field. The castle itself had been uprooted entirely, and the inner courtyard we stood upon was currently a dozen meters off the ground, the keep wrapped entirely within the ligneous embrace of the tree which wore the outer walls like a bizarre dress around its trunk. I panted, feeling wrung out on a spiritual level, and my hands and fists abused and raw. Nathlan and Sadrianna were stirring, looking around in confusion as the golden light withered beneath their skin marking whatever transformation the World Tree had bestowed upon them now complete. Both felt different in ways that I couldn¡¯t comprehend, though their power was undeniable. Jorge was unsteady on his feet, his face sallow and waxy and the healthy stockiness he had always boasted now missing. His armour hung limply, and his frame looked feeble in a way more than physical, like all the vibrancy and power he had once had was now long gone. Jacyntha stood beside me though, and she looked the opposite. She¡¯d always been tall and powerful, but each nervous fidget now held a new potential. I was the same; other than my injuries, I felt better than ever, physically. I was stronger, more enduring, more agile¡­a whole host of benefits, subtle and extreme, and I had spurned most of the seed¡¯s power. Jacyntha had presumably taken it all in, root and branch, and she buzzed with the euphoria of it, pacing and bouncing on the balls of her feet, great axe held tightly in hands that clearly craved action. ¡°What¡¯s happening out there?¡± she asked eagerly. ¡°I wake up to find a huge tree, Jorge is wailing in angst and¡­¡± She trailed off, leaping over to the wall and climbing it in a few easy movements before staring out at the fields below. I ran over, stopping just long enough to grab my shield from where I had dropped it during my trance-like state enthralled by the World Tree. I strapped it on and followed her a few moments later with only a few winces and explosive breaths to alleviate the pain it caused. ¡°They¡¯re leaving!¡± Jacyntha pronounced with joy. I followed her pointing finger and saw two of the companies of soldiers wheeling away, turning towards the forests and hot-stepping it back to where they had come from. The remaining cavalry were still milling around the base of the titanic tree but considering that the castle was now a dozen meters off the ground, they didn¡¯t seem quite as keen to attack it as before. The commander was down, identifiable in the unearthly golden glow of the false dawn above by his larger horse, fancier armour, and the clear deference with which several of his men were trying to pull him from beneath the body of his horse where it kicked and whinnied frantically on the ground, a massive bit of masonry piecing its chest. Half the mercenaries seemed determined to cut and run, and the other half were trying to convince the cowards to join them in dismounting and climbing the tree itself to get into the castle. That argument was made significantly less attractive by the arrows, skills and general death raining down from the rebels still manning what remained of the walls as they continued to rise in the air. All except one, that is. I watched a black streak leap from the wall and land on the back of one mercenary who had evidently decided to call it quits and was busy cantering away. Fandar, the gaunt figure unmistakable by the pale face I saw as his hood was thrown back by the wind as he fell, landed on the back of a horse, his hand shooting out to punch the soldier in front of him in the ribs three times, before the mercenary toppled off the horse. Fandar snapped the reigns and rode hard to the somewhat confused ranks of men and women, their previously neat companies now in disarray as commanders decided to leave. Vera had tried to tell me the plan earlier, but I¡¯d been enraptured by the rising golden glow and the onset of the World Tree¡¯s stirring, so had missed the explanation. It was pretty clear from context now though that their plan had been for the whole fucking world to change and that to spook the army enough to call off the attack. Had this been a singular army with a singular goal, the commander may have been able to push on with an assault regardless of the chaos, but with their competing priorities and interests, the Sunset Court split apart immediately under pressure. Each leader must have been panicking at the likely instability this event would cause within their own polities and most seemed to be of the mind that their presence, and that of their soldiers, was needed more acutely at home. Only a single company chose to fight on, staying grimly in formation as their comrades fled past them. Dressed in white surcoats over simple leather armour, they wielded an array of weapons as varied as the lands of Tsanderos itself, but all held position resolutely. Fandar was currently riding hard towards them, jumping from the saddle to stand on the horse¡¯s back, bow drawn and losing arrow after conjured arrow even as the horse below galloped in a panic towards the ranks of soldiers. I soon saw why, as behind the ranks of soldiers arrayed in a loose horseshow, a battle between two fighters continued unabated. Vera fought against a mage of some sort in a bright white robe ¨C unnaturally clean in the muddy field ¨C with long, gloved hands waving hypnotically in the air like a pair of snakes above her head as she evaded my friend¡¯s attacks with ease. Vera she was still on her feet with blade in hand, but there were no dancing flames surrounding her. I grew cold as I realised what was happening. I saw a few bodies strewn about in clumps, looking burned and ravaged by steel and fire both; evidence of Vera¡¯s efforts to slow the approaching army. Now though, the remaining company ¨C some hundred soldiers or so at a glance ¨C had her surrounded, edging forwards with spears and polearms bared as they tightened on her in a noose of bristling steel. Even as I watched, she pulled her head back and screamed at the sky, blood-red fire spurting to life before the soldiers closest to her. They reared back for a moment, but then the woman in white moved her hands and the fire winked out abruptly. That they were willing to close in on Vera ¨C The Butcher of Sternsbridge and a powerful 3rd tier warrior ¨C could mean only one thing; The white-robed mage had her locked down tightly. Her strangely writhing arms seemed to pluck at invisible strings, snaring and binding Vera as the swordswoman tried in vain to cut through the magic holding her back and advance on the mage. And Fandar was riding in to help. The walls didn¡¯t need much defending anymore, and sitting on the sidelines while someone else fought his battles clearly wasn¡¯t enough for him. I cursed his stupidity even as I cheered his courage. The rebels would need a leader to protect the country from the coming storm if Vera fell, so him riding off to his likely death was a terrible move from a strategic viewpoint. But I couldn¡¯t fault him for it, and Jacyntha seemed to agree, as she turned to me and grabbed me tightly in her strong arms, grinning manically down at me. ¡°Come on, little Lamb. I need your cushioning.¡± Chapter 112 - Red Company I laughed as we fell, this time her being the one to tackle me off a cliff, and then my core was sputtering in protest as I drained it once more to bleed our momentum as we hit the earth. I staggered to my feet, Jacyntha¡¯s grip leaving my shoulder as she straightened, swinging her great axe above her head to block a thrust from a nearby rider. I hadn¡¯t seen the attack coming, too focused on the timing of my skill, but I recovered quickly, leaping forwards to get beneath the lance and grabbing the man¡¯s leg and belt. His dropped the lance and reached for a short cutting sword strapped to the saddle but I was faster, and pulled him bodily from the horse as he grunted in surprise. I kicked him in the face as I called Resolution to my hand, and then leapt aside from a bolt of purple magic shooting from his open palm as he rolled to his feet. I¡¯d not had much time to get my bearings before finding myself in a battle once more, but Stride The Edge helped me keep stable footing in the churned mud beneath me. Before my spear arrived, Jacyntha¡¯s axe thudded into the man¡¯s chest, knocking him flat to his back with the force of the impact and I cringed at the wet crunch it made as it cut deep into his ribcage. The barbarian appeared a moment later, wrenching her axe out of the corpse as my red spear smacked into my open palm. We shared a wild-eyed look with each other before we sprinted off, ducking and weaving through a mad churning of horses and riders. I was nearly decapitated by a hefty swing from a broad-chested old man sitting aside an even more impressively muscled destrier, but I dropped to my knees and slid through the mud beneath the animal and launched back to my feet on the other side. I was slipping past another soldier before he could follow up and swung myself out of the path of a magical arrow by gripping the saddle of a nearby horse and twisting into the air. I caught a flash of green light as Jacyntha streaked through the pitched battle nearby, and I marvelled at the speed and power she displayed even as I avoided a swing from the rider beside me and heard a whinny of dismay from the horse I had yanked off course. Whatever work the seed had done on her had been potent indeed. I¡¯d more than had her measure the last few times we had spared, but watching her scythe through the melee faster than I could dodge and weave, I knew those days were long gone. Her scars flared brighter, and then she ducked her shoulder and ran through a horse. The creature, and the rider above, were thrown bodily into the air, spinning aside as Jacyntha¡¯s power ploughed through them. I gaped even as I juked around a pair of prancing horses, and then we were free of the chaos, running across open ground on our way to the white-uniformed company ahead. We were not entirely alone, a good portion of the Crimson Company having decided to cut and run already after their commander was cut down, and on either side of the ranks of disciplined white-armoured soldiers before us, I saw men and women of various colours and groups turning to march orderly or haphazardly away as their leaders bailed on the battle. ¡°How are we doing this!?¡± I yelled over to my companion as we sprinted forwards. I just heard wild laughter in response, and chanced a glance over to see Jacyntha grinning, axe gripped in one fist as she pumped it by her side as she ran. That was an answer in and of itself. She caught my eye and grinned, hers alight and shining in the golden glow from above. I felt a flutter in my chest that was nothing at all to do with the recent changes to my soul, but there was no time to examine it as we closed in on the army before us. I saw the nervous faces of the men and women in the first few ranks as they turned, and felt my own fear rising, too. Spears, polearms, large-bladed axes and shields swivelled to face us, the men and women holding them reacting with admirable speed as we closed in. But I heard Vera¡¯s enraged shouting, and felt my resolve harden into flinty conviction. Besides, there was no time to back out now as the meters between us vanished beneath our feet. I locked eyes with the woman before me, seeing the growing panic on her face as she internalised the fact that I would not be stopping and the speed with which I approached. Still, there were dozens of them in front, and they were at least six ranks deep, the woman bolstered by warriors and comrades behind and beside her. I saw resolve firm in them as well in those final moments before the clash, and my mind cleared. Time seemed to slip by slowly, as if I had activated Break-Step, but it was no earthly skill that did this. It was simply what happened in moments of great stress. My foes moved like snails through the world, but so did I, each of us powerless to stop what was coming. My head burned as if my mind was afire, and in some ways it was. The adrenaline and fear and excitement of the moment combined with my fervent hope and desire to save my friend into an intense stimulant, accelerating my thoughts for but a moment. I knew I had outstanding notifications to review; I¡¯d likely gained a level or two from the lives of the Crimson Company I¡¯d claimed, no doubt the World Tree¡¯s seed had affected my skills in a way that the system might acknowledge, and I¡¯d definitely have some attribute points to assign, but as I bore down on the white soldiers alongside Jacyntha, there was no time to consider any of it. I had recovered some mana in the mad dash over the field, and now had enough for a few skills at the least, though I would quickly run dry during a prolonged fight. Looking at the ranks of soldiers arrayed before me though, it didn¡¯t seem like a long fight was on the cards to be honest. But I¡¯d stared death in the face a few times already today, and it had yet to take me away. I grinned and flexed my aura, End of the Hunt exploding out from my body and racing across the open ground towards the soldiers far faster than I could. The confidence that the few soldiers before me had drawn from the presence of their brothers and sisters was swept away as they felt my presence wash over them. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. They may have trained for most of their lives, drilled with one another in formation, practiced with their chosen weapons and led lives of devotion to their craft¡­but I was the end of the hunt. I was the last thing they would see as they collapsed from exhaustion, the lone farmer in the field at dusk reaping a bloody harvest with thresher in hand. The one that would walk away. They were here, ultimately, for money. To fight for their liege lord in exchange for coin or land. I was here to kill my enemies, to drive them from this land and grow stronger from their deaths. I was here to save a friend, and I would not stop until that task was through, whether I had to wade through an entire army to get there or not. They beheld my conviction, and they quailed from it. As my aura descended upon the soldiers to shadow their hearts with my own intent, I saw them buckle. Jacyntha crashed into the front rank a moment before me like an implacable tide, and bodies flew with a flare of emerald light. I raised my shield and activated Axis-Shift, hitting a man on my left with the look of a veteran and causing him to lower his spear momentarily. My shield hit the woman in front as we collided, knocking aside her wavering axe and leaving my body open and undefended. There was no space between us at all, and I bowled into her, covering my body with hers as I ducked lower. A spear came at my face but I found safety in the crook of her neck, and I kept moving, my momentum propelling both of us hard into the man behind her. She grunted as she was flattened between him and myself, and I ducked my head behind hers to avoid another jabbing sword coming over at me from the third line. The veteran I had targeted with my skill had regained his balance and was moving to circle behind me even as I thrust out with my spear, taking the life of a man in the third row. I ducked again, hearing the woman I had hit with my charge cry out as one of her comrades stabbed her in the frantic struggle, mistaking her leg for my own. I ducked backwards, slamming my shield¡¯s rim up under the chin of the man to my left who was trying to flank me. He bit through his own tongue with a scream, and then the jagged gauntlet blade at the end of my shield was slicing his neck as I drew it back. Something whistled towards my face and I flinched away on instinct, avoiding a swift death and turning to see a man to my right raising a stubby crossbow to his shoulder again after cranking it back rapidly. I kicked the man in front of him in the chest with all my strength, and they were both knocked back by the force of it, the crossbowman¡¯s shot going awry again. My spear sought his throat, and then I was ducking and spinning again, a line of blood being extracted from my bicep by an unknown soldier even as I moved. The air was a barrage of flashing lights as various skills were discharged directly towards us, but thankfully the soldiers had good discipline, unwilling to let loose with any area of affect attacks into the ranks of their fellows. Jacyntha had moved though the first several lines and was carving her way through the army with admirable speed, her great axe tracing looping lines through the air that none seemed able to resist when combined with her incredible strength and ferocity. I had made a dent in the neat formation but found myself unable to push through by sheer force. She had received a full blessing from the World Tree, after all, and brimmed with its irresistible power. I suspected she was closer to a 3rd tier now in terms of combat prowess, while I had only marginally improved. At least physically. No new skills, no dramatic increase in my ability to deal death, but I did receive some advantages from the seed¡¯s impartment. My skills came smoother, were far more efficient, and therefore I could activate them with no noticeable delay and for much less of a cost. That was enough though, because I wasn¡¯t a powerhouse anyway. I had never been the most cerebral fighter, but I excelled at making quick decisions that others didn¡¯t see coming. I wasn¡¯t an implacable battering ram, but I didn¡¯t need to be. I fed mana to The Mountain¡¯s Gate, blowing a hole in the ranks before me as the thirteen jagged peaks I had become familiar with reared forth from the ground in an instant, scattering men and weapons aside like flotsam beneath a waterfall. They began a few meters in front of me, and bisected the army to end just before the slowly shrinking open ground that Vera fought in. I knocked aside a thrust from the woman in front who had regained her breath, and then smacked her in the head with the haft of my spear as I brought it around to deflect another attack from the side, and then I was running again. Three quick steps brought me back to her and then I leapt up, springing off her shoulder to land near to the top of one of the conjured peaks. I scurried up the last meter or two with an easy pull, and then I was leaping from peak to peak, traversing a mountain ridge as I had done so many times before, only in miniature. I still managed to cross a dozen meters in a few heartbeats, running through the sky above the heads of the solders, but now I was no longer surrounded by soldiers I was an easier target for ranged attacks and skills and all manner of chaos. Stride The Edge allowed me to cross the undulating, foot-thin rock with ease while I dodged explosions of ice and whips of acid from the soldiers below. I leapt from the final of the thirteen peaks into the air, spear shooting from my hand in a deadly arc towards the white-robed woman that was even now trying to restrain Vera, and cursing as an arrow punctured my shoulder, my shield arm abruptly going slack as I sailed through the air. I thudded into the ground, rolling and biting off a scream as the arrow snapped off, digging deeper into flesh before I was on my feet again. Jacyntha burst into the clearing with a roar, cutting a soldier in half as she did so, a corridor of death carved through the ranks of men behind her that closed even as she sprinted out. I turned once more to Vera, seeing the mage turn my spear aside with ease with a simple arcane gesture from her gloved hands. Resolution actually reversed is course, flung back to the top of the mini mountain range where I had thrown it from, and then falling to the ground upon reaching that point. I closed the final bit of open ground between us, fully expecting an arrow or blade in the back at any moment from the soldiers behind, but no death blow came. I had no time to ponder it as Vera screamed at us. I caught sight of her face, reflected in the back of her blade which she held in front of her head, eyes widening with surprise as she saw us. ¡°No! Get back!¡± she cried, but it was too late. The mage grinned viciously and dropped one of her arms. Vera managed to burst through some sort of invisible restraint and take a few fast steps forward, sending a plume of raging flames at her enemy, but the mage had managed to gesture towards me and Jacyntha in the meantime and then return her full attention to Vera once more, at which point the roaring inferno was snuffed out before it ever reached her. Our momentum was stolen in an instant and we found ourselves unable to move a single muscle. Even breathing was impossible, the world halted and us inside it. I could see what was in front of me but couldn¡¯t even move my eyes in their sockets to see what Jacyntha was doing. All I could see was Vera struggling against the same magical bonds that held us tight. She was having no more success than us, and I heard, above the screams of the injured we¡¯d left in our wake, the familiar tramp of feet as soldiers closed in behind us. Chapter 113 - Long Is The Path *Nathlan* He returned to a world of wind and peace. It scythed through the tree above, setting branches to creaking and aching as great boughs flexed, and leaves to rustling as they wriggled in the stirring breeze. Emerald light bathed his face, as if he stood in the dappled shade of the scraggly forests that clung to the cliffs near his homeland. He felt a moment of vertigo as he realised he was not there, was not 14 years old and optimistic about a bright academic career, that he was instead in the midst of a pitched battle where the threat of death hung over not just himself but his friends and companions as well. That thought, while terrifying, was in some ways a balm to his confused spirit. Nathlan had friends and companions. Not teachers, tutors, mentors or the like assigned to him due to his station. Not acquaintances that he tolerated for their utility, but true friends. People he would fight for. But where were they? He returned to consciousness to find the world much changed. Jorge was slapping Sadrianna¡¯s face trying to bring her back to the present as the World Tree¡¯s seed finally finished its ravaging of her soul, but he looked diminished. Desperate. Lamb and Jacyntha were nowhere to be found, and Vera was gone too. The rebels on the walls were fighting somebody below, but even as he watched they scurried over the walls and leapt at the enemy below, leaving their superior positions for gods knew what reason. Not that the walls were in much shape currently. Crumbling, entire sections fallen away, they looked like they wouldn¡¯t stand up to a light breeze, let alone the furious wind that howled through the branches above. And when he looked up¡­ Nathlan saw a canopy crown the sky itself, the night sky afire with a million points of burnished gold twinkling through the great branches above his head. He remembered one of those fiery comets detaching itself from the heavens and rocketing towards him, and then remembered the changes he had undergone and the heavy decision he had made. He had said goodbye to war. No longer would he seek truth at the edge of a blade, and instead he had dedicated himself to creating a new generation of ward-crafters to save the Leviathan Coast from itself, and the coming apocalypse. None of that explained the giant tree that reared its trunk above all and clutched Castle Ryonic in its ligneous grip though. ¡°Jorge, what¡­?¡± he started to ask, but the man¡¯s face whipped towards him so fast he was worried his head would detach from his shoulders. ¡°Nathlan! Lad, they¡¯re out there!¡± the old man said, his words tripping over themselves as they left his mouth. ¡°Who-¡± Before Nathlan could complete the question, Jorge was flinging a hand at the walls. ¡°Vera! Lamb and Jacyntha went after her! There¡¯s a 4th tier there and a whole damned company of fuckin¡¯ robed zealots that are gonna cleave ¡®em to pieces! We have to¡­we have to-¡± Jorge trailed off, running out of steam as his breath abandoned him, and he sagged to the ground, coughing like one of the few retches that made their way to Ship¡¯s harbour from the Desolate Empire. Stricken with palsy or the Shivers, they all struggled to hold an action for more than a few moments without succumbing to the coughing of a recently drowned man. To see Jorge in that position, unconsciously associated as a symbol of power to Nathlan, jarred him. Sadrianna came around in the next moment, catching his eye and then looking around and up. He watched her take in the situation within a few deliberate breaths, and then turn her attention to him. ¡°The others left the walls in a desperate charge to save Vera, from what I can gather. Something is wrong with Jorge, though.¡± ¡°And the tree?¡± she asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. ¡°Fuck knows,¡± he replied simply, and she smirked at his cursing. It was strange to hear him speak such, and no doubt went some way to impressing on her the urgency of the situation. Although, the three-hundred-foot-tall tree clutching their fortress in its grasp might also deserve some credit too. Sadrianna hesitated. ¡°I gave up most of my combat focused skills. I will not be as much help out there as I should.¡± He noticed that she didn¡¯t hesitate to stride towards the gap in the wall in front where the gate had used to be though. He matched her, rolling his shoulders and loosening his blade in its sheath. He was in a similar position, though he had some advantages over the barbarian woman. Namely, he wasn¡¯t starting from scratch with a new class. He was already familiar with ward-crafting, after all. They picked up speed, running towards the steep bark surface leading down to the field below as Nathlan traced arcane sigils in the air as he ran, and a barely visible sheen shimmered around his frame as his old projectile defence ward armoured him once more. Skills were a crutch that he had relied on far too much recently. People were complex, and hewing the truth from the lies that sheathed them was something he had needed the system¡¯s help with. Discerning the intricacies of the world¡¯s magical skein, though? No, Nathlan understand the fundamental truths of the world without any need for outside assistance. He didn¡¯t need the system¡¯s guidance to form wards of power, nor to manipulate the magical weave that eddied throughout the world. He had done it since a child, and knew that he could do it again now as naturally as breathing. His current class boasted skills related to teaching, to visualising and showing others the underlying structure of magic, and to imparting affinities and knowledge with much greater speed and precision. The passive ones also helped refine and direct his own impressive understanding of the arcane, particularly as it pertained to wards and pre-set magical structures. It did not take more than a few breaths for Nathlan to spin together a weave of pure magic, the ward enshrining both him and Sadrianna, and the limping form of Jorge who had followed them unsteadily, and cushioning them all within as they fell through the air. Twenty meters at least passed in a blur before they depressed the mud below, leaving an imprint of a giant circle, replete with unidentifiable runes and patterns ringing it. Sadrianna and Nathlan burst forwards in a sprint, their enhanced bodies pushing them well beyond what should be possible for middling 2nd tiers. Nathlan¡¯s blade flashed out as he ducked through and around wheeling horses and men, tasting blood on its naked surface, no skills marring the steel-bright sheen of it. Sadrianna was at his shoulder, her shield a silent guardian deflecting any errant attacks that drew near, and her short spear flicking out in retribution, crowned in the one combat skill she had kept with her new class, even as they passed through the confusion. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The once-great Crimson Company were much diminished, desertion halving their number after first Lamb¡¯s skill, and then the giant tree¡¯s appearance, had broken their initial charge and put the castle beyond their reach. Then Lamb and Jacyntha had carved a bloody swarth through their ranks on the way through. Fandar¡¯s rebels were even now leaping around and through the confused horse-riders as Nathlan and Sadrianna slipped by, and the mercenary company was now no more than a loose collection of terrified warriors, uncertain of their purpose and bereft of leadership. It was a known truth that cavalry were made to move. The moment they were stationary, they became simply bigger targets, and often lacked the agility and manoeuvrability of foot soldiers when moving as a unit. Nathlan saw none of this, enmeshed within the chaos as he was, but when he and the barbarian at his side slipped through the outer circle of riders and sped across open ground towards the milling mass of soldiers ahead, they knew they had escaped. They spearheaded a line of rushing fighters; black-clad rebels leaping after them as they aimed for their leader beyond the white-robed company of men, members of the Crimson Company who decided to flee with their lives, if not their dignity, and behind it all, a lone figure limping through a storm of violence with little more than conviction and a single broken spear.
*The Shepherd* Jorge ached. Every joint swollen and every breath a rattling gasp. Each muscle seemed to spasm out of time with all others, and he felt feverish ¨C hot and cold sweeping over him in alternate attempts to stop his progress. He kept moving though, leaning on the haft of the weapon he had salvaged from the melee upon landing at the base of the tree behind Nathlan. He¡¯d barely made it into range of the lad¡¯s spell, but he had pushed with all his might. Impressive, for the lad to be capable of casting free-form magic at a time like this, after so long divorced from the class and profession of his birth. Not much of a surprise though, all things considered. When he¡¯d found the lad, he¡¯d known. Not just the burning pain inside him that needed excising as one lances a cancerous boil, but also the talent that lay beneath the surface. Nathlan was a special young man, after all. As were all The Shepherd took under his wing. A soldier, shield dripping with red and gold livery and horse bedecked in armour as fine as any one was likely to see this side of the Dragon-Spines, rounded on him. He snorted, knowing himself to be an easy target; barely able to stand, spirit empty of the power to change things, and weapon broken in his shaky hands. A tempting target for the humiliated soldier looking to vent their frustration on someone. He stumbled aside, his body barely able to follow the commands he gave it, but it was enough to spare him from the biting cut of the lance as the soldier thundered past. He thought about retaliating, tracing the trajectory in his mind that his spear would have to take for the broken, jagged end to slip above the soldier¡¯s embossed gorget. Wasn¡¯t worth the effort. Jorge re-focused on his goal, seeing his charges, his apprentices, streak away towards the semi-circle of soldiers that even now tightened like a noose around his old friend. Vera battled valiantly, slicing through magical bonds visible to his eye, disrupting spells and blocking off avenues of attack even as the Inquisitor manipulated the battlefield to her advantage. Jorge cursed his body but could not hate his own choices. Had he not acted and called forth the Shadow of Illyn, the youngsters would not be here now to risk their life in defence of Vera, however misguided it might be. Perhaps he should have trusted Lamb, stayed back and met the charge with spear in hand only after they broke through the man¡¯s earthen manifestation¡­but it was a hollow hope, and relied on information he wasn¡¯t privy to at the time. No, the skill had been the only play. He had had no spirit left for any other working that could change the tide of battle, and his sacrifice had ensured the Crimson Company would never breach the castle. That had been the lynchpin of their strategy, after all; hold out long enough for all to see the coming apocalypse and force them to choose between a costly battle abroad or flee back to salvage what would be left of their homes. It had been a successful gambit, he knew. As he looked to the open field, watching men and women even now fleeing the empty plains that had been salted so long ago into a barren wasteland, he tried to take solace in that success. They had won. Vera had had her vengeance, the people of the Western Marchlands would not suffer the wrath of an undying tyrant bolstered by ancient secrets and power, and the world was turning on its axis once more. But he also saw his students charging towards an army and knew that none of that mattered. If Vera died here, he would grieve. But they had both expected this would end in death for one or both of them. Jorge had resigned himself to death a hundred times over the many years, and as each slipped past, he grew more content, eager even, with the thought of succumbing to father time¡¯s beckoning call. Vera was looking for absolution, and he knew the search for purpose after this would be difficult to face. Death seemed preferable to many who led the lives that he and Vera did. But Lamb and Jacyntha had things to live for. Nathlan and Sadrianna should not face the great leveller¡¯s hard stare just yet, and especially in support of another¡¯s vengeance. Or a mentor¡¯s life. His was a life of service and atonement, of purpose found through the raising of a new generation to bear a torch that he had been found ill-suited for. Unworthy of. For them to die in his place was a travesty, and he had lived for far too long to allow it. Another soldier came leering from his left, thick sword raised high and seeping potent magic. He stumbled forwards on his next step, but this time it was calculated. The jagged spear haft was darting out even as he slipped past the attack, slow as a sloth, steady as a line of marching ants, and inevitable as the first rays of dawn. Blood flowed as surprise transformed the cruel face of a man into the truth beneath; that of a scared boy. He hobbled on, leaving the man to bleed out in his wake. One among a thousand. Each step an effort of will, each strike of haft on mud a promise to the world that he would see fulfilled. Step, squelch, step, squelch. He watched as Nathlan demonstrated an achingly beautiful understanding of the sub-structure of creation, a ward dozens of meters in diameter settling around the soldiers he and Sadrianna sprinted towards. They turned, weapons raised and faces set in determination, but then slowed. His two pupils closed the distance in moments, and then were among the soldiers, weapons weaving a stunning defence as the soldiers fought with fervour in their slowed state. A ward to slow the enemy, while Nathlan and Sadrianna moved through it, themselves unaffected¡­not just the caster, but his ally as well? Across a moving surface, affecting only the enemies and not the terrain or magical sub-structure itself? Even Jorge had to admit that he¡¯d not seen its like from a 2nd tier before. But then Illyn Solynia had spoken, and her blessings always heralded change. Jorge could only hope he had prepared the young man sufficiently to create something worthy of the potential he now had. It was his firm opinion that everyone had a dream. It shifted and changed, but always there was a dream behind their eyes that they sought to make real. He didn¡¯t know Nathlan¡¯s dream, nor Lamb¡¯s or Jacyntha¡¯s. Sadrianna¡¯s was in many ways obvious, but people could always surprise one, and Jorge still wanted to know. He hobbled on, determined to see it with his own eyes. The two had carved and slipped their way through the ranks of men, and were now running into the empty field beyond, Nathlan swerving out wide and Sadrianna running directly to where Lamb and Jacyntha were frozen in place. The Inquisitor had no doubt seen them, but Jorge was halfway towards the dwindling company by then, and hope began to bloom in his heart. The rebels streamed towards the soldiers, the first of them hitting the line of warriors with a crash of steel and screams. This was no siege, with cautious exchanging of attacks and walls to hide behind. This was a brutal melee, with soldiers pressed against one another and blades and skills flying free. Blood fountained, people died, and below it all, the mud slowly turned from brown to a dull red. Through it all, Jorge limped forwards. There was one mistake he would never repeat, one lesson that regret had taught him. Markas had ripped open that ancient wound, but he had never been at risk of forgetting its benefactor. Never again would he leave an ally to fend for themselves. Never again would he let another sway his charges, whether by temptation or violence. He had given up on the world once, and Illyn Solynia had restored hope to his heart. He would return the favour to those he had sheltered, and whether it killed him or not, he would see them witness a new dawn. The broken spear clutched in one gnarled hand thudded into the earth with each step, and The Shepherd walked ever onwards. Chapter 114 - Speak Of The Devil I thought frantically, mind racing down new avenues of possibility with every moment. My mana was under my control, but the woman with the startlingly white robes lifted her gloved hands my way after ensnaring Vera once more. It was a lazy motion, a swirl of her wrist and a waggle of her fingers, and then the strange affect that bound me started to twist. Pain ripped through my body at multiple points along each limb, and I panicked. I activated Break-Step, searching for some way out, and time slowed instantly. It was uncanny, the world creeping by far slower than ever before. I saw the woman¡¯s cowl flutter in the breeze, and it looked like a geriatric snake rippling its way across a rock in the hot sun ¨C slow and rhythmic. I realised why a moment later; I was bound fast, not even my eyes able to move, and so my momentum was almost nil. The skill had said long ago that momentum was a twin god; ¡®time and movement are two sides of the same coin¡¯, and when I had a bare sliver of momentum, time was mine in abundance. It wasn¡¯t a particularly reassuring thought when I could feel the magical tethers that ensnared my body pulling tight, and it was tempting to lose what little composure I had left at the thought of an eternity of pain as my body was pulled apart in slow motion. But I had time, and I would spend it wisely. I knew I had a bull-headed tendency to attack problems the same way each time ¨C if the approach isn¡¯t broke, why fix it, after all? But even I had limits to my stupidity. I had learnt from previous experiences, and this time I didn¡¯t hesitate to acknowledge the system prompts that had filled my head with a constant ringing ever since the seed had hit me. Title gained: Herald of Change. Skill ¡®A Frozen Pyrre¡¯ has gained in level. A Frozen Pyrre ¨C level 10. Passive. Skill ¡®Axis Shift¡¯ has gained in level. Axis-Shift: Level 10. Active. Skill ¡®Stride The Edge¡¯ has gained in level. Stride The Edge: Level 10. Passive. Skill ¡®Break-Step¡¯ has gained in level. Break-Step: Level 10. Active. Skill ¡®End Of The Hunt¡¯ has gained in level. End Of The Hunt: Level 10. Active. Skill ¡®Myrmiddion Spear¡¯ has gained in level. Myrmiddion Spear: Level 10. Passive. Skills ¡®Shatter Point¡¯ has gained in level. Shatter Point: Level 10. Active. Skill ¡®The Mountain¡¯s Gate¡¯ has gained in level. The Mountain¡¯s Gate: Level 10. Active. It seemed that the seed had refined my skills such that the system acknowledged their refinement as well, all my skills reaching level 10 simultaneously. I would need to speak to Jorge about it later to understand what it meant. I brushed aside the errant thought, knowing that I would be lucky to get out of this alive, and also knowing that even if I did, this would be so far down the list of importance that I would likely never ask. I skipped past the death notifications for those of the Crimson Company I had slain, as well as the white-armoured soldiers in our mad rush over here to Vera¡¯s side, but I had received two levels for their deaths and spent the attribute points directly into agility. I didn¡¯t know how the white-robed woman worked her magic, but it was a good bet it came from or was at least directed by her fingers ¨C nobody would wave their arms around like a Blood-Bear without good reason. Ancestry: Titan-Forged Human (evolved) Level: 71 Class: Blood Of The Mountains Titles: God-touched, Herald of Change Attribute allocation: Strength: 210 Agility: 160 Endurance: 85 Perception: 85 Cognition: 75 Available attributes: 0 Current skills: A Frozen Pyrre: Level 10. Passive. Axis-Shift: Level 10. Active. Stride The Edge: Level 10. Passive. Break-Step: Level 10. Active. End Of The Hunt: Level 10. Active. Myrmiddion Spear: Level 10. Passive. Shatter Point: Level 10. Active. The Mountain¡¯s Gate: Level 10. Active. That done, I spent a few moments taking stock of the situation in the world outside. Vera stood alone against the mage, her muscles straining and her teeth bared in a snarl as she cut through and otherwise overpowered the magic she was bound by. She was in the midst of taking a slow step, but I had little hope in her success. The mage was done with both Jacyntha and I, her fingers already splaying apart. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. By the time Vera finished her step, we would be little more than headless, limbless torsos leaking blood into the churned mud below. Jacyntha was in a similar situation to me, though I saw a faint green glow entering my vision from the left, the magic creeping past my periphery with aching slowness. I doubted she could overpower the magic here, but perhaps she had a plan. I still hadn¡¯t received an arrow or spear in the back though, and that I found strangest of all. Clearly, this mage was not one for fair play, having her army surround Vera with the clear intent on finishing her off while she restrained The Butcher. Our arrival had somewhat changed things, but I would have thought that I¡¯d be a pincushion by now when I considered how many able-bodied soldiers were massed behind us and our complete lack of movement. I had all the time in the world to wonder at why that might be, but no answer would help me right here and now, and so I refocused. I could try a Mountain¡¯s Gate beneath her feet, but I suspected she would have no trouble supressing it with her aura alone. While it was an almost instantaneous activation, I didn¡¯t have the time it would take for the earth to rise even if she didn¡¯t quash it in its infancy. My limbs would be long-gone by then and I¡¯d not call that much of a victory. Axis-Shift was my only other ranged skill that I could activate instantly, and I doubted it would have the power to affect her much given her capacity to stand toe to toe with Vera, but it was all I had. I marshalled my will, and then found myself distracted. Something was causing the air itself in my periphery to writhe and shimmer, and I watched as an arrow, black as the night had once been and jagged like the edge of a wound, shot through the air in something akin to normal speed. It was slowed significantly of course, but as I watched the mage¡¯s fingers slowly pull apart, this arrow moved dozens of feet in an instant, making the air scream as it ploughed towards her head. The pain was slowly ramping up as I felt the strange magical restraints pull apart my body over agonizing moments, but the arrow continued its flight, and I realised with a flare of hope that it would hit its target soon. Very soon. I desperately re-considered my plan, visualizing my core and the skill constellation for The Mountain¡¯s Gate. I would only have a moment¡¯s distraction, but all I needed to do was break her line of sight if Fandar could break her concentration. I watched with stinging eyes as the arrow found its mark, slicing into and through the slender neck of the mage, and her hands dropped. Instantly, I felt the magic holding me vanish, and my skill was active before I¡¯d even fallen to one knee. A thirteen-peaked mountain range sprung from the earth between me and the mage, obscuring Jacyntha and I from view as it reached nearly a dozen meters to the golden sky above. I heard cries of pain and the crackling discharge of many magical attacks, and darted to my left, grabbing Jacyntha as I did. ¡°We need to flank her!¡± I yelled at her as we ran. ¡°Get her hands spread in different directions and then come at her from the front or behind. I¡¯ll go right, you go left!¡± I didn¡¯t wait for her acknowledgement though and sprinted off towards the other end of the earthen defence. A quick look back showed Jacyntha waiting at her side, great axe held in her hands and eyes fixed on me, waiting for the signal. I gave it. We burst around the edge of the skill at the same time, Jacyntha¡¯s heavy footfalls distinct from my own faster, lighter steps. We emerged to a confusing scene. I ran out right, arms and legs pumping as I tried to gain as much distance from Jacyntha as possible, she strafing out to the left so that we would encircle the mage and come at her from two opposite sides. Vera had once more gained some ground, now straining not fifty feet from her foe, limbs wreathed in an outline of fire. Leering and screaming faces formed in the wisps of the ethereal flames and disappeared in moments before forming again as another. I guessed it was some sort of empowerment skill, as she seemed to be making progress once more, wading with gritted teeth through whatever magical restriction the mage created with her waving and dancing hands. The arrow that had nearly decapitated the mage was now sliding out of her neck at a crawl, picking up speed with each moment until it left her neck and began to fly through the air, back the way it had come. By the time I had made it parallel to her, the arrow was emitting a shrill whistle at it flew at a speed I couldn¡¯t track, and the woman¡¯s wound had sealed itself shut, not even a scar to mark where it had once been. I grinned to have made it this far though, and pulled back my arm to throw the hatchet I had drawn. She turned to me then, head whipping my way with a speed that sickened me, her white cowl pointed towards me such that I knew her eyes met my own, though I couldn¡¯t see anything beneath the headdress besides bright red lips, thin and tilted in what might have been a smile, though if so, there was nothing kind in the expression. I didn¡¯t see her move her fingers, too focused on my throw, but abruptly I was restrained once more. Her head swivelled to face Jacyntha on the opposite side, and I put the force of my will into Axis-Shift. It had no effect though, and I saw with widened eyes as Jacyntha was halted in her tracks. Where Vera was wreathed in flames and making steady, if slow progress, Jacyntha was lit from within by a viridescent glow. I watched as the colour deepened, her scars seeming to shiver and wriggle in place a moment, and then two mana-forged arms burst from her back, ghostly green with bands of grey on the biceps and forearms from some clan signifiers of a type I had seen back in the Titan¡¯s Crown. The arms encircled Jacyntha, rippling through the air in front of her and seeming to grip something invisible. Great muscles bunched, and I reached out with my mana-senses to see those arms ripping apart the magical restraints the white-robed mage wielded. I felt out with my enhanced senses, able to perceive the hundred strings of steel-hard mana she spread through the world like a master weaver at their loom, plucking strings to bind and snare. It reminded me of the way particularly malicious children pluck the wings from flies or the legs from spiders. The vision of her thin lips quirked in the ghost of a smile flashed through my mind. I was amazed to behold the power in Jacyntha¡¯s skill, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Each thread she ripped away was replaced with two more, and it took time to destroy them. I had no skills myself to sever the conjurations, and again wished I had spent more time studying Sadrianna¡¯s skill. Razor Beak would come in handy right now. Thinking about my companions was a blessing and a curse though. I felt glad to know that my actions, bolstered by Jorge ¨C in fact, he probably deserved the majority of the credit ¨C had saved both Nathlan and Sadrianna from certain death at the hands of the Crimson Company. But I was also confronted with the reality of my inability to save Vera. And worse, the fact that I had given my own life, and Jacyntha¡¯s, for seemingly no benefit. The barbarian had made her own choice, so I felt no guilt there, but I did rue the fact that we would die here uselessly. Vera would still be surrounded and killed, Jacyntha would never become the hero I knew she could be, and I would never fulfil my promise to Nathlan. I worried about him the most, to be left alone in a world as chaotic as this one, a new class likely built around his worst impulses. I understood his paranoia and need to know, but I also knew that a lack of trusted companions would lead him down a dark path. I worried for what he might become, without the grounding of friendship I had hoped to provide. Still though, despite knowing the futility of it all, I had no doubt that I would make the same decision again if given the choice. Vera had been surrounded and bereft of friends. Never would I abandon a companion in need, and while I would curse my weakness until my dying breath ¨C likely very soon ¨C I would never regret my instinct to help. I pictured the faces of my friends; Jacyntha, Nathlan, Sadrianna, Vera, even Jorge. I imprinted their essence on my memory, determined to take them with me to the end, and closed my eyes. I wouldn¡¯t draw out this moment of agony into a thousand such moments with the aid of Break-Step. Let my last breath be one of peace, at least. While my chest couldn¡¯t move, I felt something build within me at the thought. My soul quivered, and then End Of The Hunt unfurled its metaphorical wings to shadow my soul beneath its protection. It roared to life, my pathbound skill siphoning mana at an ever-increasing rate to fuel one last of burst of presence. It was unthinkable that I might give up on life at a moment like this, that I wouldn¡¯t go out fighting for every breath. To do otherwise was an abdication of my path, and my skill reminded me of that. I would have smiled if I could. As I greeted death with a snarl in my heart, I saw a spear appear in my vision. Short-hafted, a white ribbon tied below its slim blade fluttering in the breeze, and a shimmering head emanating a power above any of the skills I could currently muster, feeling to my mana-sense like a bird of prey swooping with sharp beak bared wide. Chapter 115 - The Shepards Crook Sadrianna cut through the threads binding my left side in one swipe with her Razor-Beak skill, and I gasped as one half of my body could move once more. Before I could process things, her next strike freed me entirely, and I coughed as I fell forward, Sadrianna streaking away as I did so. I looked up, watching the mage track the barbarian with her head and I hit her with Axis-Shift even as I knew it would not be enough. But there was an explosion in front of the woman¡¯s head as Sadrianna flashed past, blinding her and allowing the barbarian to reach Jacyntha without being ensnared. Jacyntha was freed a moment later, and then I watched with glee as another arrow exploded in dark grey mist before the mage. Three more followed in quick succession, and I stumbled to one side, calling Resolution to my hand even as I directed my fang-dagger from its sheath and towards the mage¡¯s still form with the aid of A Frozen Pyrre. I hadn¡¯t seen Fandar since I had hit the lines of the white-armoured company surrounding Vera and the mage¡¯s fight, but his arrows were coming from angles such that he must have been circling the battle at great speed. His barrage was unlikely to do much to hurt the mysterious cowled woman, but they were excellent distractions and allowed us to fan out at different angles. I was sure that the woman had some sort of mana-sense with which she could track us, but her hands could not point in every direction at once, and anytime they were not plucking the loom around Vera, my dauntless companion was making steady progress forwards. It became a game of cat and mouse, where Jacyntha and I would attack the mage whenever we could, and Sadrianna would cut us free whenever the mage managed to snare us. Fandar¡¯s ranged attacks kept some of the heat off Sadrianna, and her quick and unusual movement was enough to keep her unbound for the moment. The goal was not to cause real damage ¨C none of us were strong enough for that, besides perhaps Jacyntha with the element of surprise ¨C but more to distract and annoy the woman. To give time for Vera to complete her inevitable march towards the white-robed mage that had so locked down the battlefield before our arrival. She had incredible power, but her narrow specialisation clearly hurt her here. She could kill many weak individuals with ease, or entirely disable a strong one, but multiple enemies that would take a moment¡¯s concentration to kill were a pain when engaged on multiple fronts. We turned the battlefield into chaos, striking from multiple angles concurrently, and wreaking havoc on her senses. I managed to score a gash with my hatchet after pushing it slowly along the ground over the course of several attacks, before using A Frozen Pyrre to telekinetically project it towards her from beneath her notice. It was a shallow wound, but the mage had no time to reverse it as she had done with previous ones, and I began to see a way through this battle. I was caught again, and in the several moments it took Sadrianna to streak across the battlefield to free me, I caught a glimpse of Nathlan drawing strange patterns in the air from where he stood just beyond the ring of soldiers. I wasn¡¯t sure what he was doing exactly, but he was moving around the ring of soldiers, marking the ground with his blade with one hand while painting the air the other. Something began to shimmer in the air, like a translucent barrier separating us from the army behind. He had made solid progress, but there was a gap still open through which soldiers could pour perhaps two or three abreast. Luckily, the rebels were keeping them occupied for now, the company no longer pushing back towards us and instead fully focused on defending the onslaught from their front. I smiled as I was freed, the teamwork and coordination displayed by the four of us ¨C five with the aid of Fandar ¨C as we zipped around the mage in a symphony of distracting violence filling me with a fierce pride. Vera was only meters away from the mage now, her face set in a mask of outrage. She had witnessed our near deaths, after all, and I doubted she was a woman used to feeling powerless on the battlefield. Behind her, the semi-circle of soldiers had completely disintegrated, the white-clad company melting away into a confused brawl as black-armoured rebels harassed and fought them on equal footing. The mage must have noticed this all too, for she let loose a scream of rage, and then whipped her arms out to either side. I felt myself enveloped within bands of steel once more, my heart stopping inside my chest as the strange time-altering powers she had woven into her skill took effect. The chaos nearby stopped as Jacyntha, myself, and most importantly Sadrianna, found ourselves trapped. Vera grunted and took two more steps forward, and I saw the white-robed woman flinch as the heat that roiled off Vera singed her, her fluttering robes crisping to black at their edges. She then did something unexpected, and leapt into the air. Arms splayed to either side like a victim of crucifixion, she hovered a few meters off the ground before rising further into the air under the power of some sort of flight. It was eery, seeing her pristine white robes, blackened at their tips, fluttering in the breeze beneath a sky of burnished gold. She looked like a swan hovering beneath a meteor storm, and I was yanked into the air alongside her after a moment, left to dangle in absolute stillness a dozen meters off the ground opposite Jacyntha and Sadrianna. It was hard not to appreciate the beauty of it, trapped as I was within a timeless prison of invisible threads, watching the world as we knew it end above us. Vera was still grounded below, and I realised just how brilliant a strategy this was from the mage. Vera normally would find a way to hurt the woman, no matter how high she fled, but given the ongoing restraints I doubted she could do much to reach the floating mage. That didn¡¯t bode well for me, and I felt despair trying to rear its ugly head, End Of The Hunt putting it swiftly in its place. I should never have doubted Vera though. The Butcher of Sternsbridge exploded with fire, her hair erupting like a bonfire atop her head and casting her face into deep shadows. She hunched down, and then reached out with deliberate slowness, windmilling her arms in front of herself. Then she inverted her wrists and gripped something. It was then that I realised she had been gathering the threads that restrained her, and now she pulled with all her might. Considering this was Vera, that might was impressive to behold indeed. The ground beneath her feet cratered as she pulled, and slowly I watched the mage in her wind-whipped robes being dragged back to the earth. I waited with bated breath ¨C not by choice ¨C as the titanic struggle between a mage of unmistakable magical power battled for supremacy against a woman of uncompromising physical might, and I rejoiced as Vera won. The mage was nearly grounded, and Vera began to reel her in like a fish. The battle raged on between both the rebels and the mage¡¯s company, but I was facing away from them and so unable to see the result. I could only put my trust in Fandar and his people, as well as Nathlan¡¯s wards, and place my faith in the righteousness of their cause to triumph over this mage¡¯s strange desire to stay on and end the battle. Slowly, methodically, Vera pulled the mage towards her, and I knew the end was approaching. The moment my companion got her hands on her, the battle would be over. I felt pride bloom in my chest to witness the ferocity and implacability of my friend, especially knowing what she had gone through to reach this moment. The duke¡¯s death might have been anti-climactic, but as I watched Vera strain with every muscle to pull the mage to her, I thought that perhaps this moment was more emblematic of her journey. Vera¡¯s goal had not been the duke¡¯s death. She had ignored revenge for so long, after all, only returning when the stakes were heightened by the Ashkanian Vault. She had been fighting all this time, not for herself but for her people. The Marchlands and the men and women that lived within needed help, and she had taken it upon herself to give it. Each inch that she drew the mage closer seemed to come with greater difficulty, but Vera persisted in spite of it. She snarled in defiance of the constriction, broke through whatever chronomancy the white-robed mage commanded, and fought with everything she had. Not to kill the woman, but to protect her people. That iron-hard purpose was perhaps what allowed her to push so hard, as I saw red marks creeping across her skin as blood vessels feeding her arms and shoulders burst beneath. She was pulling herself apart to win this fight, but she was winning. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Until she wasn¡¯t. The mage stopped, Vera straining but unable to pull the woman further down. They hovered there for an eternity, locked in place, and we hovered with them. Jacyntha, Sadrianna and I were still stuck some dozen meters in the air, the mage still had her arms splayed to either side, cowl drawn low over her head to hide her face, and Vera still stood on the earth, straining with invisible cables wrapped around her arms. I felt those same threads wrapped around my own limbs, only far less of them, and yet the pressure and pain were palpable. Not like before where they were pulling me apart, but the constant pressure was still agonising, and I imagined it must be a thousand times worse for Vera given how many she had wrapped around her arms, and the force with which she was pulling. ¡°Give this up, Butcher,¡± the mage said, words dripping from beneath the cowl like stones into a pond. They were not loud, but all nearby still felt their ripples, despite the cacophony of blood and death beyond our small battle. ¡°You can¡¯t win this.¡± Vera bared her teeth. ¡°Neither can you. I can hold you here till your magic fades,¡± she spat, voice gravelly and dangerous, reminding me of a leopard in the night. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can, but your companions can¡¯t breathe. Their hearts can¡¯t even beat in their chests. How long can they afford to wait in my grasp, I wonder?¡± she asked casually, but we could all hear the malice underneath it, the vicious glee at our predicament. ¡°I¡¯d say you have to make a choice,¡± she continued, dripping her poison from beneath a white hood, ¡°but you don¡¯t have any options here, Butcher. Or would you bet your little group of rebels against Aerlyn¡¯s finest?¡± The question was clearly rhetorical, but I couldn¡¯t see the battle taking place behind me between black and white, soldier and rebel. Vera¡¯s face darkened though, and I winced internally at what that likely meant. No arrows had come for the mage in a while, which meant Fandar was either dead or too busy supporting his rebels to fight. Considering he rode the whole way out here just to support Vera, that seemed like a sign that the battle wasn¡¯t turning in our favour. I watched Vera¡¯s face, wanting to shout out to her but unable to move so much as my tongue. I wasn¡¯t out of breath, able to go without for a substantial time what with my endurance as high as it was. The lack of a heartbeat would kill me far quicker though, I knew. My enhanced body meant it would not be the handful of moments that it was for a regular classless human, but it would not be measured in bells either, by any means. The mage was right ¨C even were the rebels to defeat her soldiers, by the time they appeared to support Vera, we would already be dead. Sadrianna was feeding power to her spear, the head glowing ever brighter with that strange heat-haze shimmer to it, but it was held out to one side, too far to cut through the threads of mana binding her currently. Jacyntha was likewise flaring brighter with each moment, the arms exploding once more from her back to rip and tear at the magical restraints binding her but making little visible progress. Vera¡¯s face began to change though. The noises of battle weren¡¯t changing behind me. No cheers or cries of victory, just the same screaming, cursing, yelling mess of men and women stubbornly doing what they had drilled a hundred times prior and unable to accept the consequences as they occurred. But Vera now grinned. It was a ghastly expression on her face, covered in blood and grime as it was, but I recognised a look of grim satisfaction when I saw one. Something had changed. I couldn¡¯t see what for long moments. It felt like an eternity passed as Vera just stared at the soldiers behind me, watching something neither I nor the mage could see, until the mage clearly decided she needed to see what was happening. She tensed her shoulders, and then heaved, spinning around in a circle to turn towards her soldiers, Vera now standing behind and below her, rather than in front. Nothing else about our positions changed, but I had hoped that perhaps the movement would give Vera a chance to strike. It didn¡¯t though, and the mage hovered a meter or two off the ground with us held fast within her magical grip. Now facing the battle, I could finally see what Vera had noticed. The rebels fought a losing battle against a numerically superior foe, one better armed and armoured, and seemingly more experienced and disciplined. However, they fought with a startling courage, launching themselves against solid lines and clambering over shields to slash and stab into the ranks below, taking damage themselves ¨C sometimes lethal ¨C but always harrying the lines and giving them no chance to breathe. Fandar rode up and down the line, his bow a constant source of danger for the defending soldiers, and likely the main reason that rebel casualties had been relatively low. Whenever a rebel seemed to over-extend, at risk of being pulled over the first line and away from their fellows, a rain of arrows, magical explosions and general chaos would soon find its way there, and it seemed the soldiers had settled into a slow defensive pace, waiting for their leader to defeat us and return to them to finish the battle. There was a single person that stood out among the white and black armoured fighters, one that wore the garb of neither and carried themselves unlike either side. I heard him before I saw him, a hacking, unnatural sound that was more akin to the death throes of a drunkard than a man that had spent decades in physical training at the least. Nevertheless, I recognised the voice and felt my hope return. Then I saw him, and that hope withered slightly. Jorge stumbled drunkenly through the line of soldiers, barely able to stand. He leaned on a staff of some kind, wheezing every few steps before continuing on. He looked¡­old. His single long braid now completely grey, verging on white, his bushy eyebrows frosted at their tips and the crow¡¯s feet at the corners of his eyes now colonising the whole of his face. He had somehow forced himself into the ranks of white-armoured soldiers, and I saw the bodies of two dead rebels behind him, giving me a hint as to how he¡¯d broken through. How they had died and he had survived I had no idea, as he looked more like a corpse than the two dead bodies behind him. Even as I watched, a soldier in front of him ¨C their back to me ¨C raised a sword and charged him. He lurched to one side, the motion awkward, but he did manage to avoid the strike, the soldier tripping over his back leg from where Jorge had moved. It was startlingly lucky, though the impact on his leg almost knocked Jorge over. He managed to turn to fall into a spin, and avoided a spear tip speeding his way by mere inches. He steadied himself on the staff before kicking the bottom of it outwards. I realised it was the broken haft of a spear he must have recovered from the battlefield as the jagged edge flicked out and opened the throat of the spearman as Jorge wobbled his way forwards. He proceeded in this manner for many breaths, barely avoiding death a dozen times by a hair¡¯s breadth, seemingly by pure luck. As he made it through the ranks of soldiers though, moving slower than all of them but somehow avoiding any significant damage and dealing a fair amount of death and carnage himself with a broken weapon, I realised that there must be more to it. He seemed to see everything, reacting even as circumstances appeared, and while his body was slower and weaker than everyone he faced, he seemed to have a preternatural sense as to where his weapon needed to be to end a life as quickly and cleanly as possible. No attacks glanced off armour, no parries pushed him back. In fact, he seemed to glide through the company, weaving and stumbling his way around, beneath, and through the disciplined soldiers and turning them into drunken half-wits, even while looking like one himself. As my head began to pound and vision darken at the edges from a lack of air, he stepped onto the empty field between the back of the company and the battle between Vera and the mage that we had found ourselves caught up in. He moved slowly; step, squelch, step, squelch, as his impromptu walking stick poked through the sucking mud below. The mage screamed in irritation, but Vera held tight, preventing her from moving, and still Jorge came forwards. Each step was laboured, and his breathing was audible from here, but moment by moment he crossed the open ground to stand before the woman in white robes, arms splayed to either side as she hovered in the air before him. I expected him to say something, to give some witticism in his thick accent, to smirk and offer a laugh before the end. But Jorge just looked up into the mage¡¯s deep cowl. Whatever he saw, it made him sigh wearily. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, lass,¡± he said to Vera, holding her gaze for a moment even as he lifted the spear from the floor. ¡°Glad I got to witness it before the end though. Grieve for me, aye?¡± Then he lifted the broken spear in one hand and extended it towards the mage. He held her gaze, watching her face as he hefted the jagged wooden weapon, painted with the blood of her own soldiers. He took a deep breath, and then threw. I¡¯d like to say it was a perfect cast, technically flawless and something I could study in my mind¡¯s eye with hope of one day replicating , but in reality, it was a shitty throw. He lacked the strength and grace for anything beautiful, and in truth it looked more like one of the many casts with a spear I had done when first learning to wield the weapon. Nevertheless, the weapon flew true. The mage screamed and dropped her arms, threads vanishing as she fell through the air, and I watched the spear sail over her head. She had given up her control to save her own life, but she must have known she could not escape. Her arms dropped, but not without purpose ¨C instead, they now pointed at the weakened form of Jorge standing before her. The air above him shattered, some insubstantial barrier breaking apart with a tinkling of glass, and then he fell to the ground limply even as she fell through the air. When the mage reached the ground, Vera was there to catch her, and in the next moment she was wrapped in a bear-hug by the physically strongest woman I¡¯d ever seen. Vera wrapped arms stronger than the mage¡¯s magic around her and hoisted her into the air. The mage¡¯s scream turned into a choked gurgle as ribs were crushed and lungs pierced by shards of bone. Vera bunched her great legs, and then, no longer encumbered by magical restraints, she exploded into the air. She must have leapt a hundred feet directly up¡­.and then she immolated. A blinding flash as bright as a hundred suns lit up the sky above, overwhelming the golden dawn and replacing it with spotty after images of a white corona that I blinked away. The boom was loud enough to rattle teeth in my skull, and there was not a single soul on the battlefield around us that hadn¡¯t stopped to stare at the conflagration. Vera fell from the sky like a comet amidst a cloud of ash, thudding into the earth with hands to the floor and one knee raised. She stood to her impressive height afterwards, and turned a stern glare to the white-armoured soldiers that had just watched her kill their leader. Suffice it to say, the battle for Castle Ryonic, and the entirety of the Western Marchlands, was over. Chapter 116 - Aftermath Fandar had the sense of a commander, and instantly ordered his rebels to back away, pulling their wounded behind them as they retreated a hundred or so steps to give the foreign soldiers space. It took no more than a few breaths for three sergeants to come forward, waving hesitantly and begging for surrender. Vera just pointed to the treeline, her expression thunderous, and the soldiers began to hustle away, order reasserting itself as they too grabbed their wounded in a hurry. No doubt some poor souls would be left for dead, but that was the way of war. Vera had already turned her back and strode over to where Jorge lay. I followed, blinking to clear my vision and barely able to believe that it might truly be over. A gentle rain of ash fell over us, and I realised belatedly that it was all that remained of the mage from moments prior. A sickening thought. But there was plenty of death to be had this day wherever I looked, and I chose to focus on other things. Nathlan, running over and seemingly unharmed, though he looked drained in a way I hadn¡¯t expected, as if some great skill had been shattered and the backlash was even now worming its way through his veins. Jacyntha, picking herself off the floor and wincing as some bruise or injury made itself known. Sadrianna watching the soldiers leave with a hard stare, guarding us as we focused elsewhere. Jorge lay in the mud, but he was breathing. I stepped around Vera to see his tired face, deep lines furrowed in his forehead and his cheeks far more gaunt than before. His eyes found mine, and he opened his mouth to say something before a coughing fit rocked his frame. I couldn¡¯t help myself. ¡°You look like shit,¡± I told him, and he laughed. ¡°Aye lad, age has a way of sneaking up on you in your worst moments, true enough.¡± ¡°You had me worried, old man,¡± Vera said as she levered him up with one hand. ¡°The way you were talking at the end there, I thought for sure you¡¯d gone for some self-sacrificial horse-shit.¡± Jorge wheezed as he stood and looked over to me. I grinned. ¡°Tried that once already today, didn¡¯t you?¡± I asked, though I couldn¡¯t help the faint edge of recrimination creeping into my voice. Now wasn¡¯t the time for sulking, and no doubt it had been a noble attempt at sacrifice for our sakes, but the stress of the last few bells was messing with my head, and I couldn¡¯t figure out what emotions I should be feeling right now. ¡°Aye, true enough. First Lamb, and now Nathlan¡­can¡¯t an old man die in peace?¡± he asked with a tired smile. Vera slapped him. I¡¯m sure it was meant to be a gentle tap, but Jorge was fragile, and the blow made him stumble. Vera looked shocked and reached out to catch him, apologies already tumbling from her bloodied lips as the old man tried to find his balance, and I was left to wonder what the fuck was going on. Nathlan arrived, and then Vera was speeding off to the castle carrying Jorge in her arms like a baby. I turned to Nathlan, and we looked each other up and down to check for wounds before clasping each other¡¯s forearms and sharing a hug of relief. We¡¯d made it. Jacyntha and Sadrianna appeared, and we shared surprised backslaps and hearty hugs all around for a few moments, marvelling at the miracle of our continued existence. It couldn¡¯t last forever though, and the cries of the wounded brought us all back to earth once more. ¡°We should get the wounded back to the castle,¡± I said. I looked to the others for guidance, and Sadrianna thankfully took over, splitting us up and assigning tasks before heading towards Brixby ¨C the only of the rebels nearby that any of us recognised ¨C to organise our efforts. It didn¡¯t take long for us to combe through the battlefield and collect the wounded. There were only a dozen or so of them from our side, and they were swiftly taken to the castle and laid in a clean area at its foot ¨C away from the churned battleground before the gate. The giant tree, while a boon to the future defensiveness of the castle itself and no doubt a distinctive and likely prized resource in the weeks and months to come, was currently a barrier that none of us were keen to drag the wounded over. Others took over the triage and healing of the injured rebels, such as it was, and once we¡¯d found them all, we looked once more for injured enemies. We found three; two men and a woman, all with broken limbs and in a bad way ¨C the relatively hale had left with the army, after all. One of them men had a nasty gut wound and was only a few moments from death. I knelt down and ended his suffering with a quick blade, cleaning my hands and sheathing my dagger with little but numbness in my heart, before we picked the two captives up and carried them to the base of the castle. I expected some push back from the rebels and was trying in my head to formulate the arguments I¡¯d need to persuade them, but they just nodded and told us to set the captives down at the end of the line. Gruffly, it must be said, but they agreed to see to them all the same. We¡¯d removed any weapons that we could find and checked for storage rings or necklaces. It was possible they had other storage devices or hidden compartments, but it wasn¡¯t likely, and honestly, anyone stupid enough to try and fight the winning army right now would have died long ago. There hadn¡¯t been that many losses, but that wasn¡¯t the same as none, and it wouldn¡¯t take much for the healers to become killers. A fair few of the able-bodied rebels stayed nearby, commiserating with their friends, helping them with the pain, and levelling hard glares at the two injured soldiers we¡¯d saved. We¡¯d deal with them later, though I privately hoped they just ran off once their injuries were no longer life threatening. The woman¡¯s right leg was bent backwards the wrong way though, so I doubted running was on the cards for her in the near future. Now that death had claimed all it could today, we climbed the massive tree, too steep to walk but not exactly a full climb ¨C more a scramble up massive ridges in the trunk until we reached the walls a dozen or so meters up. We then hopped over them and descended into what remained of the inner courtyard, where Vera stood in conversation with Fandar, Jorge propped against a massive slab of masonry. As we approached, I realised that he was asleep, head lolling on his chest and breathing deep and even. Vera looked up and acknowledged us, as did Fandar, and he was the first to address us. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°Not exactly a smooth journey, but thank you, each of you, for helping us take back our homeland.¡± We nodded, grunted, waved a hand and otherwise accepted the thanks, and then Fandar was off again, giving orders and commiserating with his rebels. In many ways, it seemed the aftermath of a battle was the hardest work for a commander from what I could tell. The actual fighting was all chaos and changing plans and it didn¡¯t seem to have much of a structure to it, but afterwards, everyone looked to Fandar. He was the one that needed to witness the dead, tally the living and injured, plan for the future. It looked exhausting and heart-wrenching in equal measure. Vera looked after him fondly though, something akin to wistfulness on her face for a moment before she turned back to us. ¡°Right,¡± she said, clapping her hands together, and I smiled at Jorge¡¯s familiar gesture. She really had learned a lot from him. ¡°First, I want to know if the keep is structurally sound. If it is, we get Jorge in there, and let Fandar know as well, since I reckon it will be good for the other wounded, too. Then we scavenge the battlefield for anything of value and pile it inside to be sorted through later. Then we get any small wounds checked and clean our gear. Understood?¡± Weary sighs greeted the pronouncement. ¡°Honestly Vera, I think we all just need a few moments to acknowledge and decompress this whole¡­¡± I said, waving around at everything. ¡°No chance, Lamb. You¡¯re running on a bit of adrenaline right now, but the moment you stop, that¡¯s all crashing down. Get everything squared away, and then you can relax. I promise you, as someone who¡¯s been through a few of these, you do not want to stop halfway through.¡± It was solid logic, and even it wasn¡¯t, I wouldn¡¯t be second-guessing our acting leader while Jorge was out cold. Especially not after watching her immolate what must have been a 4th tier mage right in front of me. Also, it was Vera. She knew best. ¡°Well, since I know fuck all about masonry, I¡¯ll be leaving that part to the rest of you,¡± Jacyntha smirked, before turning and heading to the battlefield again, Vera¡¯s storage vest in hand. Sadrianna nodded and followed a moment later, and Nathlan chose to stay with me. I paced towards the central keep before activating the mana-sense portion of my Shatter Point skill. Hitting the soft skill cap of level 10, or more likely the impartment of the seed of the World Tree, had even further enhanced the skill, and when combined with my ever-growing mana-sense, I could now map a substantial portion of the castle within my mind¡¯s eye relatively quickly. I sent the sense shooting through the stone, cataloguing faults and appraising Nathlan of areas of instability, moving around the outside of the keep before heading inside to do the same. It took close to a bell to survey the whole thing, though the tunnel that led down towards the Ashkanian ruin was closed off by the trunk of the gigantic tree that supported the castle on its bough.
We returned to the courtyard once done, reporting to Vera the areas of the castle that we advised everyone to stay out of until they could be reinforced. Most of the central keep was still solid though, the tree somehow having grown up and through the courtyard before thickening, enough that the keep was entirely untouched by the tree, just supported from below by its massive trunk. The tedious work, filled with concentration and no time to idle chatter, had helped settle my mind somewhat, and the next bell of removing and cleaning my weapons and armour, caring for the dozens of small wounds I¡¯d received and cleaning and dressing in fresh clothes was both a chore and a blessing. Vera had been right though; I would never have been able to do it after relaxing for a time first. Now that the immediate danger had worn off, and the necessary tasks of care after the battle were done, I found myself empty, with eyes heavy-lidded and yawns bursting from my mouth every few moments. We sat, the six of us, in a small room off the ground floor of the keep, nestled amongst a heap of blankets, clothes, bed rolls and other soft furnishings that we all had in our storage devices. The keep was exceptionally cold and austere, only a few thin tapestries and rugs dotted around to give warmth and colour to the place. There were furnished rooms with real beds and blankets, but we have given those to the rebels and their wounded. In many ways, we all felt more comfortable in a heap in the middle of one small room, only ourselves there for comfort. It was natural after all our time travelling together, and to stay in separate places would feel strange. Many of us, probably each of us, had almost died a few times over today, and the comfort of other people¡¯s presence was a balm for our strained spirits. I desperately wanted to talk, to discuss and go over the day¡¯s events, to commiserate and celebrate, and above all to ask; ¡®what now?¡¯. But I was too exhausted, as was everyone else. Sleep claimed us quickly in that small room, and only the sound of snores and the occasional grunt or twitch disturbed the peace. I slept fitfully, scenes playing themselves out behind my eyes that I had no part in changing. I saw faces of the men I had killed; the sharp grin of the archer, the pathetic grimace of the injured man I had executed for his own comfort, the broken bodies buried in the rubble of the barbican. That I had had good reasons for each offered me no reprieve, and I woke easily with every sound. At one point I woke, something feeling off. The room was dark, and I couldn¡¯t tell what had woken me for a moment, but then I heard a sound outside. The door to our room, iron-banded and a heavy latch securing it, creaked open slowly, as if the person on the other side was trying their best to be stealthy. My fang dagger was in my hand before I knew it, and I was suddenly crouching, blood pumping as I crept forwards along the line of the wall behind the door. I made sure to stay out of reach were it to swing open, and waited for the intruder to sneak further inside. The moment the silhouette slipped in through the door, I punced on them, shoving them hard into the wall and trying to force my dagger up under the crook of their throat, determined to silence them should they so much as twitch. A grip like a steel vice caught my hand though, and soon my dagger was forced to one side, Vera¡¯s cool gaze appraising me. There was a flush to her face and neck, and her hair was mussed and chaotic, but it was unmistakably Vera, and I stepped back in shock. She hissed at me. ¡°Lamb! What was that?!¡± ¡°I¡­errr. Sorry, I thought you were¡­an intruder?¡± I half-asked, somewhat embarrassed by my over-reaction to someone coming into our room. Good that it was Vera, since I hadn¡¯t exactly taken the time to figure out who they were before threatening them. Rather than castigate me for my stupidity and recklessness though, her face softened. ¡°It will be like that for a while, I expect. Not easy for your body to turn off those instincts,¡± she said, and I nodded. Who had I thought it would be? Assassins in the night? Varice creeping back in to take my arm truly this time? Markas, with his cold, serpentine eyes? The archer claiming vengeance, or Duke Ryonic, determined to make me beg for death? I stepped carefully back over to my bedroll, retrieving a long blanket, and wrapping it around my shoulders as Vera watched me. ¡°I¡¯m going for a walk,¡± I said, and made for the door. ¡°Wait,¡± I heard as I felt a hand grasp my forearm. I turned back to Vera, and she handed me a cloak, dark and fur-lined around the neck, a deep hood nestled on top. I took it gratefully and then noticed once more her dishevelled appearance. The lines on her hard face were softer somehow, her lips twitching as if supressing a smile with every moment. ¡°Who-¡± I began to ask, before stopping myself in realisation. ¡°Fandar?¡± She looked momentarily surprised. ¡°I¡­yes. That obvious?¡± ¡°Aye. Well you fought together, and I thought I was picking up some tension back in the Marshes. You¡¯ve just won a great victory, similar demands on your shoulders¡­plus, there¡¯s not many other options,¡± I said with a smile. ¡°That Jassine lad is a contender maybe. You seen those shoulders? Man¡¯s almost as broad as you!¡± I saw the exact moment she decided to punch me. I slipped out the door with a small squeak and chucked a wink her way once I was beyond her reach. She gave me a hard glare and then a quick smile to let me know it was all in jest, and then I turned and headed for the wall, my smile already faltering. Bantering was fun, but I didn¡¯t truly have the heart for it today. Too many thoughts swirling through my mind, too much thinking to do to truly relax. There would be no more sleep for me this night, I knew that much, at least. Chapter 117 - Recrimination and Reaffirmation I slipped out of the broken doorway to the keep. There was no actual door to bar it thanks to Vera¡¯s unrelenting flames a few bells prior ¨C just some rusted and fire-blackened hinges present, but it still felt like a different world to move from the keep¡¯s dingy corridors and into the open air of the courtyard beyond. Dappled light played over the blasted cobbles, dawn¡¯s first rays mingling with the leaves above to splash shadows across every surface. I walked slowly, drawing the cloak tight around my shoulders and letting the fur kiss my skin. It reminded me of Jacyntha¡¯s Cat-Bear companion, even now likely waking to a full bowl of milk and loving attention from Vera¡¯s aunt back in the village. I ascended to the walls, looking out over the plains beyond the castle. The World Tree had long since finished its cataclysmic transformation, the seeds ending their dance across the heavens while we had been surveying the castle and collecting valuables from the dead yesterday. Now, night had come to a close as well, and the morning of a new day began in earnest. Far below me, light caught in the beads of dew and small puddles of water that collected on the muddy ground, reflecting over the bodies and carcasses strewn about haphazardly. Further out, I saw heaps of the dead marking the battle with the Council of Aerlyn¡¯s soldiers. Strange how expressive the lifeless fields had become. I saw one poor bastard glancing over at me from his post on the wall ¨C a single rebel left to stand sentry over the empty field of battle. We shared grave nods, and I walked on, making my way slowly to the edge of the wall near the missing gate, looking down upon the remains of the barbican, bodies strewn amongst the rubble, most killed by my own hand. I saw the corpse-white skin of a face, partially obscured by their helmet, lying beneath a slab of masonry, empty eyes accusing. I looked away. Back to the forest in the distance, neat canopy standing tall and speckled by sunlight. I inhaled deeply, breath misting in the air before me as the chill of night still lingered. Fuck it all, what a day. It seemed to me like it had gone on for weeks. Days and days of struggle and excitement, condensed into a few bells of mad chaos. I¡¯d grown substantially in my class, from both violence and the seed, but despite all of that, I still felt like a failure. I couldn¡¯t help but replay the many near-death experiences from yesterday. Varice, Markas, the archer, the mage¡­with each one I¡¯d nearly died, and with each one I¡¯d been saved by circumstance more than my own merits. The archer I had fought off myself at least, though still it had required a sudden rush of strength from my previously ignored levels. That was a recurring theme. I could barely count how many times I¡¯d relied on last-moment surges of new strength to help me survive; the Tarkenzi Maned Wolf back in the foothills of the Unclaimed Peaks, Francis D¡¯Sware in the foothills of the Dragon-Spines, now yesterday¡¯s battle, too. I tried to fall back on one of Jorge''s folksy sayings; ¡®If it ain¡¯t broke, it don¡¯t need fixing¡¯, but that was hollow. I knew I wouldn¡¯t always have spare attributes and skills to fall back on, and besides, this was about more than surviving a fight. This was about a consistent chain of bad decisions when heading into them. Even ignoring the archer and this frustrating tendency, the rest of my near-deaths from the last battle were all averted by last moment interventions by my allies. Without that, I¡¯d not be here to appreciate the freshness of the air, nor the subtle play of light from the tree canopy above. I tried to examine each decision in the causal chain that had led to those moments of helplessness. To rely on others was inevitable, I knew that, but it was another thing to be entirely dependent on them. It was possible that a true battlefield was simply so chaotic that death came and went a hundred times over, and being saved by your comrades was the only way you could survive¡­but that wasn¡¯t a satisfying conclusion either. In truth, I¡¯d not considered how my spur of the moment decision to slip away from the duke might play out beyond the first few moments. I¡¯d deluded myself into thinking I could sneak off, but hadn¡¯t even had a workable plan once I was in the air, falling from the side of the pyramid. I also hadn¡¯t considered the full ramifications of choosing to fight against Varice as well. Sure, it might have ended worse had I actually followed the original plan and allowed myself to be locked up with the other god-touched, but that was post-hoc justification. I hadn¡¯t known that Markas and then Jorge would arrive back when I¡¯d made my decision, and it could have gone a lot worse very easily. This was a pattern. As I looked back over my journey, I saw the same pattern repeated over and over. Failure to plan, failure to consider all variables, and then frantic spiralling in the moment when things went wrong. It had worked so far, but only because I had the help and support of such capable companions. I had survived in spite of my actions, rather than because of them. As I stood upon that wall looking out over a dead plain filled with dead men, drenched in my long cloak and dour of mood, the chill wind from the north caressed the stubbly half of my head and shared in my bitterness. My thoughts churned like the mud below, and while I had gained greater clarity of myself, I did not like what I saw.
*Nathlan* Nathlan crested the broken wall and wondered over to where Lamb stood, swallowed in the folds of an oversized cloak. The sun had risen high in the sky and was starting to warm the land below, and that chill wind had ceased its bitter bite. He looked to be mulling something over, and based on his sour expression, it was nothing good. He stepped lightly over until he stood beside the wolf-lean man and surveyed the bleak landscape beneath them for a time before speaking. ¡°You look concerned.¡± ¡°I¡¯m deep in thought,¡± Lamb replied. ¡°I did not know that was a skill you possessed,¡± he replied evenly, and Lamb shot him a withering glare. He wasn¡¯t overly perturbed by it, but the lack of a quick smile afterwards told him that the man was indeed struggling with something heavy. Not entirely surprising considering the events of the last day, however. ¡°What bothers you, Lamb?¡± he asked instead. The man sighed. ¡°I almost died yesterday,¡± he said. ¡°Several times.¡± ¡°As did we all,¡± was Nathlan¡¯s calm response, and Lamb shook his head incessantly, like a horse jumping at the bite of a fly. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°That¡¯s not it, Nathlan, you don¡¯t get it. I nearly got myself killed, over and over. Not by blind luck or circumstance, but by the choices I made.¡± His voice was hard, and Nathlan recognised well the blade in those words, aimed at Lamb himself. Sharp indeed was the truth that cut its wielder, after all. ¡°I keep doing it, too. I run headlong into danger and then act surprised when it all goes to shit. Hells, I can barely remember to check my gods-damned status and assign my own attributes before a fight. I consistently fail to plan, and while I like to try to ¡®adapt in the moment¡¯...it¡¯s a crock of shit. I think I¡¯m just scared of admitting that I don¡¯t know what to do and how the fuck I¡¯m supposed to do it, so I ignore that and try anyway.¡± He sighed, putting a hand out to the stone of the wall, flinching at the contact. Nathlan wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he¡¯d been out here since dawn. Being lost in thoughts of self-recrimination was nothing new to him though, so he took a few moments to parse the man¡¯s thoughts before responding. ¡°That may be true, Lamb,¡± he started, and saw the man slump at the acknowledgment. ¡°That may be true - I do not know what is inside your mind, and it looks like you do not either. But what I do know is that, whether or not you know what you are doing, you do achieve what you set out to.¡± He frowned, and Nathlan made a conscious effort to continue evenly without looking. He¡¯d never liked talking about his emotions, it was something that he¡¯d struggled with since a boy. These were not his emotions though, which made it easier, but if he looked to his friend, the pressure would still be uncomfortable. Instead, he focused on the churned field beyond the keep. ¡°You made it to outpost thirteen to meet us, on your own and without a class, I might add. You killed Francis D¡¯Sware and made it farther than I did in that tournament in the mountains. You managed to reach the 2nd tier before I did, despite not being native to this world, and you made not one, but three successive artifacts, one of them so powerful that I suspect you will carry it into the 3rd tier, too. The rebels have been calling you Red-Spear, you know?" It seemed that Lamb did not in fact know that, for he looked round in surprise. "I''ve earned a name?" he asked in a shocked whisper, before a grin broke out across his face, bright as the winter sun. Nathlan smiled. "Indeed. I overheard two talking as I came this way, though I cannot say if it has spread beyond those two yet." Lamb hummed with his head cocked to one side. "Not the best, but far from the worst, I suppose." "I was referred to as ''the gangly one'', so I think you should count your blessings," he joked. Lamb laughed. "Anyway, I think you were in the middle of saying nice things about me?" he said with an impish grin, and Nathlan snorted before marshalling his thoughts once more. "You helped a friend retake her homeland from a tyrant, and were a crucial part of the battle where we defeated not only the premier power in this small kingdom, but the leader that rules the whole conglomeration of nations besides.¡± He turned to his friend then, gripping his shoulder in the way he had seen Jorge do so many times before. ¡°Lamb, you¡¯ve done more in these last six months than almost anyone, and that has not been a coincidence.¡± Lamb turned to look out at the fields himself then, not quite shaking off the hand on his shoulder, but definitely turning away from it. Nathlan narrowed his eyes a fraction. He wasn¡¯t an expert on social cues, but that didn¡¯t seem to be a sign that the man was convinced. ¡°I wasn¡¯t pivotal in many of those achievements, Nathlan. And I would have died a hundred times over without you, Vera, Jorge, and the barbarians. Hells, look at the battle yesterday! I needed saving at least five times. I was more a hindrance than a help, and nearly cost us the battle.¡± ¡°Oh come off it,¡± Nathlan said, surprising even himself with the vehemence of it. The shorter man looked around, and Nathlan found himself noting their height difference once more. Shrouded as he was in the large cloak, powerful shoulders and arms hidden from view, it was easy to imagine the man as smaller right now. ¡°You nearly died a handful of times¡­so what? We all did, Lamb,¡± Nathlan continued. ¡°I saved Jacyntha from some duellist on these very walls last night. Sadrianna knocked me away from an arrow I¡¯d not seen coming, and Jacyntha nearly cut a man in half as he was trying to flank Sadrianna. If he wasn''t in two pieces, he would surely have killed Sadrianna, no matter how gracefully she can move.¡± He pointed over to where each of those incidents had occurred as he spoke, jabbing his finger to reinforce the point. ¡°Vera killed the duke and saved us all, and Jorge supposedly pulled a gigantic tree from the ground to protect us from the Crimson Company, not to mention a dozen other such moments.¡± Lamb nodded hesitantly, and then something occurred to Nathlan and he barrelled on. ¡°As a matter of fact, I recall you and Jacyntha leaping from the walls and charging a whole army just to save Vera from that terrifying mage. If you are worried that you are only a liability needing rescue, then is Vera not the same?¡± ¡°Well no, of course not,¡± he begrudgingly admitted. ¡°Exactly!¡± Nathlan exclaimed. ¡°Look Lamb, I understand; yesterday was awful and frustrating, and terrifying. It is natural to feel conflicted after something like that. But you have allies. Of course you need to lean on them. Was it not you that once told me that the most important choice you make is who you surround yourself with?¡± He shrugged one shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­sounds smart though, whoever told you that,¡± he said with a small smile. Nathlan grinned to recognise more of the man he knew in that expression, and carried on. ¡°Exactly. You saved us, and we save you. That is the deal. That is what allies are for. That is what friendship is, is it not?¡± The question was rhetorical, but the man answered with a weary sigh and a nod anyway. ¡°You¡¯re getting wise in your old age, Nathlan,¡± he said. ¡°You said you would journey to the Leviathan Coast with me after this was over. Do you still hold to that?¡± he asked, bracing himself for hesitation or rejection; promises withdrawn and an embarrassed chain of excuses. Lamb just looked over, though. ¡°Aye, I do. Wouldn¡¯t mind a few days to deal with all of¡­well, this,¡± he said, gesturing broadly at the blood-soaked field before them. ¡±But yes.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Nathlan replied, trying to couch his relief beneath the noble bearing he¡¯d been taught to wear in times of discomfort. ¡°Well, I expect you to nearly die a few more times over the course of that journey, and likewise, I will be relying on you saving my life when I am in the same situation. We look out for each other ¨C that is the choice that matters most.¡± Lamb nodded again, eyes once more far-away, but his forehead was no longer scrunched in a frown, and his mouth no longer twisted like he was tasting lemon. ¡°Aye¡­we choose to trust,¡± he muttered to himself, but Nathlan heard the words anyway, and he remembered their conversation back in the Titan¡¯s Crown when he¡¯d first shared with the man his past. He once more clapped him on the shoulder, and they both looked out over the field for long moments, the silence no longer strained and heavy. "It will be different though," Lamb said, surprising Nathlan with the conviction in his voice. "We won''t have Jorge and Vera, i''d wager, so there''ll be nobody to pull us out of the fire when we mess everything up again. We''ll need to be clinical and actually plan things, Nathlan." He looked down at Lamb, finding the man''s imploring gaze fixed on his. "No mistakes this time," he said. Nathlan sighed. "We cannot guarentee that, Lamb, as you well know. We will make plenty of mistakes." "Okay, fine," Lamb allowed. "No clusterfucks though. No getting into fights unless we know the costs ahead of time." "And a way out," Nathlan agreed. They shared a smile, turning again to the dead fields beyond the wall. ¡°So¡­tell me about the new class,¡± Lamb asked. ¡°And our plans for the coast.¡± Nearly a bell later, they headed back inside, after discussing both Nathlan¡¯s class and future plans, and what had happened inside the keep, the ruin below it, and how the assault had started once Lamb had followed the duke. It was fascinating ¨C and awful ¨C to hear of Lamb¡¯s adventures below the earth, as well as Jorge¡¯s planned sacrifice. Nathlan had delighted in pointing out how Lamb had once more saved Jorge, who had in turn saved all of them, and so Lamb was, in a very real sense, responsible for their victory. The man had waved it off, but Nathlan could see his words had had the desired effect. Surprising how a few simple words could help to change one¡¯s perspective, and surprising also how one could ignore certain information in service of a belief without ever recognising their own bias. It wasn¡¯t until they were walking back through the keep doorway that a thought occurred to Nathlan, and he turned to Lamb with curiosity. ¡°What ever happened to that other God-Touched? ¡®Jason¡¯ was it?¡± he asked. Lamb¡¯s eyes widened comically, and his face formed a perfect circle before he laughed. ¡°We¡¯ll have to ask Jorge, I suppose. Once the old bastard finally wakes up, that is.¡± Chapter 118 - Clearing Up The others were up and gone by the time Nathlan and I returned to the room, and so we wondered through the castle. We met a few of Fandar¡¯s rebels as we explored, and I was surprised by the obvious reverence they held for us. We were practically legends to them it seemed, imbued with all the respect and power they reserved for their 3rd tier commander, but unknown enough to have an added mystery that served to make us all the more intriguing. We soon came across Vera, Sadrianna, Jacyntha and Jorge sitting around a table in the old dining room. It was enormous, large enough to host banquets and entertain the retinues of powerful nobles and dignitaries, and was currently hosting only our small group and a half dozen rebels down near the serving quarters, where some of them presumably laboured away in the kitchens to provide food for the rest. My companions, for their part, were helping themselves to a breakfast spread of hard cured meats, cheeses and flatbread. Mugs and flasks of weak ale were poured for us as we joined, and soon we were all sitting around the table talking and sharing. It was good to see Jorge up and about. Colour had returned to his face once more, and he looked less like a sentient corpse than the day prior. When I told him that, he just called me a ¡®cheeky git¡¯, but it brought a smile to my face to see the old banter between us fall back in place. It took at least half a bell, but soon we were all caught up on the events of the night prior from each of our perspectives, and finally I started to feel the emotions I had expected. We¡¯d done it. We¡¯d fucking done it. Duke Ryonic was dead, the Marchlands ours. Vera had outlined her brief plans ¨C to stay on here for a few years at least. The coming months and years would be chaotic as borders were redrawn and every warlord this side of the Dragon-Spines was looking for a stable piece of land to occupy and exploit. She intended to stay on, acting as the guardian to this little kingdom. ¡°We already have strong links to the councils that run the villages and organise the mines,¡± she¡¯d said. ¡°Fandar and his rebels can become the backbone of the new defence force. They can recruit and train the town militias, and I will ensure no larger threats come knocking while they find their feet. What the country needs right now is stability in the face of all this chaos. I¡¯ve no interest in becoming another Duke Ryonic, obviously, so power will need devolving to the local councils, but they will need a backer, and I can be that. For a time, at least.¡± ¡°And it¡¯s got nothing to do with a certain handsome skeleton that will be sticking around nearby, does it?¡± I asked with a cheeky grin. She allowed a small smile to play at her lips in response, but a twitch of her arm set me to flinching back, and we all got a laugh out of that. ¡°And what will you do?¡± Jorge asked me. ¡°I¡¯m with him,¡± I said, flicking my hand over at Nathlan, who was eyeing up the spread as if it was a charcuterie board rather than just a collection of hard tack. ¡°We¡¯re bound for the Leviathan Coast, from what I hear. There¡¯s likely to be a massive amount of instability there because of the World Tree¡¯s stirring, and Nathlan thinks he might be able to train up the population to maintain and create their own storm-wards.¡± Jorge and Vera, both knowing of Nathlan¡¯s past, leaned forwards in interest, and the barbarians, while ignorant of the details, could clearly tell it was important so gave their focus, too. ¡°Yes, I-¡± Nathlan started, before coughing as he hastily swallowed a piece of meat. Once he¡¯d regained his breath, he continued. ¡°The seed helped me design a new class more optimised to teaching ward-craft. I had thought¡­I had thought it would be impossible to make progress, what with the Wavebreakers¡¯ political dominance, and so I gave up my old class months ago, my dream along with it, but now¡­¡± Jorge caught on quickly. ¡°But now you¡¯re hoping that they will be too distracted by broader geopolitical concerns to pay close attention until it¡¯s too late.¡± Nathlan nodded, and Jorge stroked his chin. ¡°I can see that. They were already in the midst of a proxy war with The Desolate Empire even before Illyn Solynia stirred, and now¡­well, it¡¯s certainly risky, but I can¡¯t think of a better time for it,¡± he said with a sigh. ¡°I believe we can start small on one of the cliff-towns rather than a harbour city,¡± Nathlan said. ¡°Test the theory, so to speak. If it works, I am expecting a significant amount of attention from the local Wavebreakers even with everything going on, and so it would behove us to start small.¡± Jorge nodded. ¡°Smart lad. I assume then, that Lamb will be challenging the Trident Holder to single combat in the middle of Ship¡¯s Rest in only a few weeks,¡± he mused, smirk on his face and glint in his eye. I just shrugged, ¡°Never say never.¡± By the way Jorge did not immediately commit to helping us, I knew he wouldn¡¯t be joining. Vera already had other responsibilities, but I took the opportunity to extend the offer to the barbarians as well. ¡°It will be dangerous,¡± I said. ¡°Plenty of fighting, no doubt, and we¡¯d be more than glad of your company should either of you wish to join us.¡± Sadrianna shook her head quickly though. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I must return to my clan. Our quest is at an end and I have¡­a new perspective I wish to bring back. The seed changed my class significantly, and I think I can do more good back home than out here. My parents will need support as well, what with the turning of the era. If the Great Bears wake once more¡­well, suffice it to say, I am needed elsewhere.¡± I nodded, and we spent a few moments discussing Sadrianna¡¯s plans before turning to Jacyntha. She looked conflicted to my eye. ¡°I¡­I would like to,¡± she said, looking over. I caught her eyes lingering on mine, and felt a slight blush colouring my cheeks, but she looked away quickly. ¡°But I cannot forget what I saw in the Riverlands. Against the might of an entire country, I am just one woman, and your quest will be a long one. Back there though, we saved a hundred lives in an afternoon.¡± She seemed to chew at her cheek for a few moments, and I traced the pale scars that twisted and twirled down her bare arms with my eyes. ¡°I can make more of a difference there, I think. And I still have work to do on discovering what I want to be. I can¡¯t return to the clans yet, and I feel my heart drawn back across the border to those feeble villages.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. We all nodded at that, seeing a heartfelt mission when we heard one. ¡°A noble calling,¡± Jorge affirmed, and we all agreed loudly, raising our mugs in salute. Jacyntha smiled in thanks before we moved on. ¡°And what of you, Jorge?¡± I asked. ¡°Where does The Great Shepherd go from here?¡± He smiled tiredly. ¡°The great Shepherd needs to eat, and rest.¡± ¡°Skjal!¡± Jacyntha cheered, and once again we all laughed. ¡°With all seriousness though,¡± Jorge continued on, ¡°I will be leaving soon too. I¡¯ve made no secret of my allegiances of late, and Illyn Solynia¡¯s shaking of the board will bring about many changes and much chaos. I will go where I can, and guide those who have felt her blessing but do not yet hear her wisdom.¡± That was incredibly vague, though perhaps I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised. I briefly thought of Markas and the words he had said beneath the earth. But when I remembered Jorge kneeling on broken cobbles before a cavalry charge, arms outspread and lips moving, I felt guilty for even entertaining any doubts about his intentions. Jorge was a good man and had shown me nothing but kindness. He might be a mysterious force moving across the world; a 4th tier with more secrets than I could imagine, apparently able to predict with reliable accuracy the turning of the era ¨C a feat which I was under the impression that even large empires struggled with ¨C but that did not mean he wasn¡¯t honest about his motivations. ¡°Alright, but don¡¯t go forgetting us, aye?¡± I said with a poor imitation of his accent. ¡°I expect a check in every year, you hear?¡± Vera laughed and shot Jorge a smirk when he turned first to her, and then me, in exasperation. ¡°I don¡¯t sound like that, lad.¡± ¡°Aye, ¡®course you don¡¯t¡± I said. ¡°Lad.¡± He sighed, raising his hands in defeat with good grace, before speaking once more. ¡°I don¡¯t know for sure just yet, but I imagine I¡¯ll be heading by barge down through the Riverlands towards the coast, and back across the Dragon-Spines afterwards, though like Jacyntha I will likely spend some time in the Riverlands before leaving. Plenty who¡¯ll be needing help there, unfortunately.¡± We all nodded solemnly at that. It was an unfortunate truth that while things might even change for the better eventually, the next several years, and probably decades, would be hellish for many. There would be no shortage of broken people for Jorge to help point in the right direction. We broke to our various tasks soon after. Vera headed to the village to get them up to speed and Jorge focused on recovery and went to find Fandar for some discussions about what to do regarding the ruins. My understanding was the advice was ¡®keep your gods-damned mouth shut about them, and never venture down there, or you¡¯ll have every power-grabbing bastard from here to the coast after your kingdom¡¯, but I wasn¡¯t exactly sure. I¡¯d asked him about the other god-touched, and Jorge had just sighed sadly. Apparently, he¡¯d been annihilated by one of Markas¡¯s stray attacks ¨C the cost of higher tier battles making me thankful they had been trapped a long way underground when they fought. For our part, us youngsters headed out to the fields to clear the dead. Dreary work, but that was the way of war. The dead could rest, but the living had to clean up their mess.
Vera returned after a few bells, and by then we had cleared the field of the dead. Horses were butchered and any useable cuts of meat wrapped and stored in my storage ring for the kitchens later. I was surprised to find that I was best suited to the task, given my historic use of the Meat Preparation skill. Sadrianna was also a seasoned hunter and would have had little trouble, but since she had never worked with something with an equine base ¨C the deep mountains not the best place for an animal adapted to open plains ¨C the task fell to me to see it through. Luckily, I had killed and butchered a chimeric creature in the foothills of the Dragon-Spines back when I had still had the Wilderness Endurance Hunter skill. A strange blend of horse and chicken whose great dewclaws had given me no end of trouble, but it had at least given me experience enough to prepare me for this grisly task. We had likewise stripped the dead, though only of their valuables and good quality weapons and armour, not their very flesh. The corpses had then been piled atop one another until we had managed to find an area far enough from the tree that it would not affect the water supply when the runoff was carried down into the fields. We had collected firewood from the trees and built three great pyres, piling the bodies atop until they were ready to burn. Vera found us in the inner courtyard, parsing through the loot and stacking armour and weapons in neat piles for the rebels. Nathlan and I kept an eye out for anything that might be of use to us, Fandar having given us first right of refusal for any particularly tempting loot in light of our significant help in the battle. Jacyntha had already nabbed herself a storage device that she had been lacking, and a pair of sturdy boots that she seemed to be more excited by than the incredible valuable storage bracelet. Sadrianna hadn¡¯t taken anything, though she helped, nevertheless. I had found a marvellous straight dagger from one of the Al¡¯Asakir, as I had since learned they were called. It had a golden hilt made from woven metal that gripped a pommel of solid obsidian. Not particularly useful, but it reminded me of the Ashkanian Ruin, and I prized that memory, slipping the weapon and its sheath around my waist such that it rested across the small of my back, ideal for an easy draw with my right hand. I¡¯d also found a nice arm ring for my left bicep, and Nathlan had convinced me to take a look at some armour from one of the Crimson Company mercenaries. I was fond of my armoured vest, but it did leave some areas relatively unprotected, and I had plans to cover my left shoulder with an articulating pauldron from the scavenged gear. I¡¯d also taken a red turban from one of the dead and wrapped it around my waist to form a nice sash. That offered no martial benefit, but I just thought it looked snazzy and went with the rest of my ensemble. 50% of an armour¡¯s efficacy was about intimidation, after all, and patchwork pieces didn¡¯t inspire much respect, I¡¯d found. ¡°Good news from the village?¡± I asked as Vera swept into the courtyard from the gate. Somebody had already carved steps into the thick trunk that rose from the ground below, and it was a relatively easy climb now even for an unenhanced human. It wouldn¡¯t be during a battle, mind, but that was kind of the point anyway. Vera nodded, a small smile gracing her normally hard face. ¡°Yes. They are in good spirits, though none failed to notice the events last night, and it¡¯s got them worried. I¡¯ve called for a general meeting with as many of the councils and unions as possible, and some in the village will spread the word. I expect it will be a busy few days.¡± I laughed at her scowl, and Sadrianna clapped her on the back in sympathy. ¡°The burdens of leadership are heavy indeed, my friend,¡± she said in a weary tone. ¡°You¡¯ll learn to hate paperwork with a passion.¡± ¡°I already do,¡± the big woman growled, ¡°and I haven¡¯t even gotten any yet.¡± We all laughed at that, and Nathlan and I shared a glance, sharing our happiness at this not being our problem. ¡°Anyway, Fandar met me on the road ¨C he wants to see us all this evening in the banquet hall. I think there is likely to be a formal event,¡± she said. ¡°But I¡¯ve got nothing to wear!¡± I shouted in panic, and Nathlan punched me on the arm. Vera smirked, and then noticed my vest on the ground with the cannibalised armour scattered around it and my abandoned needle and thread. ¡°Bring that to my room in a bell, Lamb, you¡¯ll just make it worse on your own,¡± she remarked, and I sighed in defeat. ¡°Aye, I¡¯ll see you soon then.¡± Vera then swept into the keep proper, which now had a door, taken from somewhere less important, and we continued to dreary work. It was necessary though, and if Vera and Fandar were to protect this small kingdom, their guardians and enforcers would need to be suitably well armed and armoured. Chapter 119 - Celebrations I entered the great hall alongside Nathlan, Sadrianna and Jacyntha. As soon as we stepped through the open door, I caught the scent of sizzling meat, and my mouth watered slightly. A day or two of pack rations was more than enough to stoke my appetite in the presence of real food. Fandar and Jacyntha stood with Jorge and one other veteran that I recognised as one of the rebels at the head of the table, though I¡¯d never spoken to her or caught her name. The rest of the hall was filled with what remained of the rebel force, though none were wearing armour now, instead dressed mostly in a collection of trousers and woollen shirts. One man was even wearing a knitted jumper that I would bet was made by his mother. Jorge waved us down, and we headed over to them, taking our seats nearby as I felt my eyes pulled away from the people and towards the food spread across the many platters laid out before us. There was no formal ceremony to it, simply two dozen men and woman that had all fought and bled beside one another feasting and drinking in the same room. It was glorious, and the conversation flowed much like the wine; in abundance. We roared with laughter and shared jokes and tales with one another, moving up and down the table through the night to meet new comrades we¡¯d not yet spoken to. I found my eyes catching on Jacyntha throughout the evening though, enchanted by her smile whenever I caught a glimpse of it. Once I looked up to catch her staring my way too, and we both looked away quickly, too embarrassed to meet gazes and acknowledge what lay between us. ¡°Ah don¡¯t be a fool, little demon!¡± the old man next to me growled in my ear, and I was nearly startled out of my seat by it. He roared with laughter, and I turned to see him bumping shoulders with the young girl beside him, younger than me at any rate, and another woman in her middle years smirking on from her position behind them both. I grinned ruefully, asking, ¡°was it that obvious?¡± ¡°Only to half the bloody room,¡± the old man cackled. The woman leaned across to shush him. ¡°Oh, quiet down Dastil,¡± she said in a motherly tone. ¡°He¡¯s only a boy, mind.¡± ¡°A boy!?¡± the man said loudly. ¡°I watched him carve through the Crimson-fucking-Company as easy as this meat falls off the bone! Martha; He collapsed the barbican single-handedly when we were overrun, and I¡¯m pretty sure he had something to do with that fuck-off massive tree that we¡¯re all inside of right now. Just a boy!¡± ¡°That was Jorge-¡± I tried to point out at the same time that Martha commented; ¡°We¡¯re not inside the tree, you dolt! And that doesn¡¯t change anything, does it?¡± ¡°I suppose not,¡± came his begrudging response, before he looked slyly over to me, raising his voice once more. ¡°If he¡¯s too piss-scared to tell a girl he wants to sleep with her, then perhaps-¡± He got no further thought before my hand clamped down over his mouth and I wrestled him under the table to burbling laughter from himself and chuckles from those beside us. I emerged a moment later looking somewhat sheepish and the man grinning evilly as he levered himself up onto his chair once more. ¡°Alright, alright,¡± I said. ¡°Just¡­give me a moment, okay?¡± I breathed deeply, looking up to see Jacyntha once more glancing away from me, before I squared my shoulders and stood. The moment I did so though, the chatter died down. My first thought was that I was somehow to blame, but when I followed the gazes of people around to the front of the table, I saw Fandar standing on top of it, stamping a booted foot for attention and waving his skeletal arms around. ¡°My friends!¡± he called, evidently a little drunk, and joy clear on his face. ¡°We are celebrating tonight our victory!¡± he said, and men and woman slammed fists to the great wooden table beneath them in approval of his words. ¡°We faced the duke on the field of battle, and not only did we survive, but we won! Duke Ryonic is dead, even now paying for his many crimes against the people of the Marchlands down in the nine hells where he belongs!¡± Another roar of approval. ¡°But our enemies weren¡¯t alone. Like vipers in their nests, they fought one another, and The Sultan brought his forces to the duke¡¯s gate¡­to our gate! Say one thing for Duke Ryonic, he was at least a real Marchlander in the end, and he did at least defend his homeland admirably from the gods-damned Sultanate.¡± He quieted for a moment, pausing to reflect on what little credit the duke deserved. A hush fell over the long table, and I found myself leaning forwards to hear the next words. ¡°First the Sultan fell, and then the duke. How much more victory can we take before our heads become so large we can¡¯t fit through the door of this very castle?¡± he asked rhetorically, to great mirth amongst the assorted rebels. ¡°Of course, my friends, we all know the story. Marching from summons from The Sultan, or possibly for their own petty reasons, the Sunset Court assembled before this castle and threatened invasion. Our beloved Vera, the Hero of Sternsbridge and one of the great rebellion¡¯s original founders, stood before the broken gate and smote them back. The Jarl died like the upstart he was, though to the blade of one of Vera¡¯s steadfast companions as far as I saw.¡± At this, Fandar gestured to Jorge, and the rebels turned to shower praise upon him as Fandar painted a picture of the moment, paying particular attention to Vera¡¯s bravery in holding back the whole Sunset Court ¡®by her presence alone¡¯, even if it wasn¡¯t strictly true. It was interesting to hear a retelling of it again from another perspective, since I had found it strange to hear Vera talking of that time. I had been right there, but most of it I had missed, enchanted as I was by the stirring of the World Tree while it happened. ¡°So we held the castle against the leaders of the Court, but that army they had assembled was too great even for our bravery. The very ground trembled beneath the hooves of the Crimson Company¡¯s charge, and I was sure that we would perish. Then Vera shot out from the castle and scythed through their ranks ¨C you all saw it, I¡¯m sure! ¨C and again, her companions came in clutch. I still don¡¯t know what crazy magic they used, but you¡¯re now sitting atop the evidence of it! A great tree conjured to repel the Crimson Company, our walls now unassailable when manned by our conviction.¡± It was quite the tale he told, and not too far from the truth either. It truly would make a great bard¡¯s tale, and I wondered if there would be people far and wide across Tsanderos that would one day hear the tale in taverns and inns. I wondered briefly what it would be called, before Fandar continued. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°So what did that great army do, my friends? Why, they tried assaulting us anyway! But before they could break upon our new arboreal walls and taste the righteousness of our cause, the very sky split open, even heaven unable to bear witness to our courage!¡± I raised an eyebrow, and the cheers in response were both louder and more hesitant at the same time. Fandar laughed though, his corpse-grin stretching his face into a garish imitation of humour. ¡°Sorry, it¡¯d hard not to get carried away. You were all there anyway, don¡¯t need me waxing poetic about it. The world went upside down, and fire reigned from the sky, even hitting one of our own!¡± As he said the last, he pointed over to a shy woman at the end of the table, and when I swivelled around to look at her, I realised it was Tamil ¨C the young 1st tier rebel with the hand-scythe that had a bizarre class based around freezing her opponent with mental magic. That she had made it through the battle alive as a 1st tier spoke to her skill, and after being blessed by the World Tree, I knew she would be a truly formidable opponent one day. Perhaps even very soon, if she had tiered up after the battle. ¡°Well that scared off the lot of them, all except the mad dogs from the Council of Aerlyn. Vera and her team sorted out the crazy bitch that led them, and we held the line against the soldiers ¨C professional soldiers, I might add, said to be the finest in the Sunsets when it comes to war. I want it known now that Marchlanders are the toughest of bastards in this here part of the world, and you lot are the toughest of them!¡± That got the loudest cheer by far, with men and women up and down the table slamming fists onto wood and feet onto flagstones in a cacophony of approval. ¡°Now, we¡¯ve won the greatest battle of a generation, but we¡¯ve lost some friends in the process. I know you know them, and we will commemorate each of them individually in their own ways soon enough. But for now;¡± He paused, taking a deep breath, the boisterous bravado he had led with up till now falling away to something more sombre, and much more human. ¡°Sinclair Forgerson ¨C he will be missed by us all, though most especially by his mother and younger sister. He was the best of us when it came to knucklebones, and we¡¯ll never see his like when it comes to weaving the Dostle Eyes.¡± Up and down the table, two dozen people thudded fist to chest in salute, a synchronised chorus of ¡®Speed!¡¯ barked out in unison. My companions and I missed our chance, though I noticed Vera did it as naturally as the others. ¡°Hazel Sharp-eye ¨C She was the best of us, and all will grieve her passing. Her young son is left in the care of her husband, who still works the forge down in Bakersfield and has long been a friend to us. She has had her share of heartbreak over the years, but there¡¯s not a one of you she hasn¡¯t helped heal in some small way. The marshes are lucky to have her.¡± This time, we were ready for the salute and expression, and nearly thirty people echoed the call to the roof of the hall. And so it went, Fandar taking time to remember each loss, such that the deaths felt personal even to me. I wasn¡¯t pleased by the extra grief, but something within me felt fierce pride to remember these people, to take their stories with me. They deserved that much, at least. There was a brief break after it was done, where Fandar wetted his parched throat, and all in attendance took time to dwell of their comrades that would never again share a meal with them, laugh round a fire, plan their futures once it was over. A few heavy stomps brought people¡¯s attention back to their commander though, and he took a deep breath before launching into another speech. ¡°Enough dark thoughts for now though. There was astounding courage and bravery on display yesterday from all, and I want to take some time to acknowledge some of that. First, step forwards Tamil¡­¡± He then went through, honestly most of the rebels, before turning to Jorge. ¡°Now, it would be remiss of me to not give due credit to Vera¡¯s team. Jorge here,¡± he said while pointing to the old man where he lounged on a chair, one leg crossed over his thigh. ¡°Was the one responsible for the great tree that even now cocoons our castle, and I understand it is a valuable resource that he assures me will be self-sustaining, so long as we don¡¯t take from it too greedily, anyhow.¡± Jorge nodded at the question inherent in that statement, and the rebel commander continued on. ¡°He held the line against the Crimson Company¡¯s charge, protected the castle, killed the Jarl in single combat, and helped Vera slay The Inquisitor of The Council of Aerlyn. We are lucky to be in the presence of such a fighter!¡± Another thunder of approval, someone even throwing a whole leg of chicken at the old man, who caught it out of the air and took a bite to an even louder roar from the table. Once people had quieted down, Famdar moved on to the next. ¡°Nathlan ¨C that gangly scholarly-looking man over there ¨C was integral in the defence of the castle. I¡¯m told he¡¯s the one who came up with the gambit of pretending to be Ryonic Guardsmen, so he¡¯s the reason you all had to dress up like idiots. He is also apparently the genius behind the removal of the castle defences so that we could attack the walls without fear of retribution. He fought beside you on the walls, and he faced down the Inquisitor alongside his own companions.¡± I roared louder than even the boisterous old man beside me at that, and my friend took the shouts and hollers with good grace. Fandar moved on once again. ¡°Sadrianna and Jacyntha both hail from the Dragon-Spine mountains and had similar roles in the battle. They were pivotal in keeping the Ryonic defence alive from the Sultanate and then crushed what little defence remained after Vera fought the duke. They fought side by side with many of you during that time before valiantly sallying forth from the walls to fight by Vera¡¯s side, rescuing her from overwhelm by the Inquisitor¡¯s forces.¡± I felt heat in my chest as Jacyntha looked my way, something in her gaze warming me and making me shiver in turn, and then the spotlight was on me before I could make sense of the feeling. ¡°And then Lamb. The strangely named foreigner, though if any of you have seen him fight, I¡¯d bet you wouldn¡¯t underestimate him because of it! I¡¯m told he is the one that allowed Vera¡¯s companions to sneak into the castle in the first place, making our taking of the walls possible to begin with. He pulled away the duke from the battle for nearly a bell, and then somehow took out Varice ¨C the infamous spymaster the duke relied on and has made our lives such hell for the past few years ¨C so credit for that alone!¡± There was a small cheer at that, but Fandar left no time for it as he barrelled on. ¡°He brought down the gate, effectively destroying the last vestige of the Sultanate forces and weakening the Ryonic house guard in turn, and fought beside his companions to save Vera.¡± This time, I got a roar of approval to rival the others, and took a moment to bask in the glory, before I felt eyes boring into my skull. I turned to see Jacyntha¡¯s heavy gaze, eyes intense and face set into a hard frown. I tilted my head up in question, and she flicked her eyes to the door in the corner where a rebel was returning from to take their seat once more. Fandar had begun singing the praises of Vera, last but certainly not least, and while her deeds outweighed any yesterday perhaps save Jorge¡¯s, I had a feeling he would extol her virtues long past what was necessarily appropriate. I felt the old man next to me slap me on the ass with a ¡®go get ¡¯em tiger¡¯ as I stood, and stifled a laugh and a glare both, though I heard a smack and a squark as I headed to the door, presumably from the woman taking justice on my behalf. I felt eyes follow me the entire way until I made it to the hallway, at which point I turned and waited. My hands suddenly felt heavy and my breathing uneven. Not rushed per say, but like I suddenly had to focus on what had mostly been unconscious before. Nobody followed, and I started to think I had misread things. I was being too presumptuous, wasn¡¯t I? Oh, I was an idiot. This is embarrassing, my inner critic snarked at me. He¡¯d been loud today, dwelling on my many mistakes and failures throughout the battle, though my talk with Nathlan had certainly helped. I turned back to the door, reaching out to open it again and take my seat when Jacyntha strode through. I bumped into her, and when I looked down into her eyes ¨C not far mind, she was near as tall as I was ¨C I felt that sizzling heat between us once more. I garbled my words for a few moments before she pushed me back against the wall, her lips on my own. Surprised as I was, I didn¡¯t take long to fall into that kiss, and then her face was drawing away once more, her eyes bright and searching. Whatever she was looking for in my eyes, she found it, and a moment later she was leading me through the castle by my hand, her grip none too soft and her steps swift. Chapter 120 - Final Farewells I crawled from the castle keep and into the sunny courtyard with unsteady legs. I¡¯d not slept so well in what felt like years. Whether it was simply the fact of having somebody to hold as I drifted off to sleep, the comfortable bed we¡¯d been in, the activities before we actually slept, or the emotional release of finally recognising the feelings that had been brewing for a while, I couldn¡¯t say. All I knew was that I felt rested. The morning air was still cool and crisp, but the sun was bright and warm. I looked around, up earlier than most, and feeling eternally grateful that nobody had decided to invade the Marchlands this morning. Almost everyone in the strange tree-bound castle was otherwise occupied, most of the rebels seeming to be either still insensate or at least nurturing heavy hangovers. Jacyntha and I parted ways early in the morning, somewhat reluctantly it had to be said, but we both had preparations to make. Nathlan wasn¡¯t exactly in a rush to be leaving ahead of schedule, but when I swung by his room that morning, he was in the midst of packing supplies. Food and sundry items littered the floor of the room in neat little piles that he was packing away into his storage device even as I arrived, and he wasted no time in running me through a catalogue of what he¡¯d acquired. It was amazing to have his analytical mind on this, and it seemed to me like he had already thought of everything. By mutual agreement, I had left him to confirm things and headed outside for some quiet contemplation. I looked out at the courtyard and sighed. I felt...restless. There was a goodbye lingering on the horizon, and we were only dragging it out. I almost wanted to cut ties with everyone and run for the hills, just to get it over with. My limbs itched to move, and I felt anxiety clawing its way up my belly. Perhaps it was the legacy of the hectic battle that was still lingering within, or maybe I just felt trapped beneath the ever-present canopy¡­ I looked up, grinning to myself as I had an idea. I wanted freedom, space and a little time to clear my head. Where better than above it all? I checked my weapons belt was secure and nothing likely to fall out and then strode towards the tree. I had a storage ring now, so my spear, fang dagger and armour were stored away, but I still kept my hatchet and the new ornate dagger I¡¯d acquired yesterday strapped to my left hip and the small of my back, respectively. I wasn¡¯t sure why really, but I just felt secure to know they were within easy reach. I started to climb, taking my time and enjoying the process as I rose, meter by meter, into the sky. I gripped great ridges of bark, hauled myself easily up onto branches, and scuttled my way along the bigger limbs shooting out from the main bough every now and then. I found myself relaxing, grin stretching my face as I began to play, leaping from branch to branch and swinging my way around the massive trunk. Falling was no longer a matter of life and death, what with my mastery of Break-Step, instead just a minor annoyance. I could take risks I wouldn¡¯t have dreamed of before and push my enhanced body into precarious and outrageous movements that felt fluid and graceful. By the time I reached the true canopy above and slipped my way with a rustle of leaves out into the unfiltered sun, I felt happier than I had in many days. The bleak malaise that the Riverlands and Barrow-Under-Tine had draped over me was long gone, slowly dissipated by a day of violent struggle, a night of wild passion, and now a tenth of a bell of silliness in a tree. I breathed deep, smelling the resinous scent of tree sap and hearing the twitter of small birds. I looked around, legs wrapping the branch below me to keep me secure as I rotated to view the ancient forests all around, shot through by the occasional stream or road. Closer to home, I saw the brown fields surrounding the former Castle Ryonic, a few hundred feet below, the spots where the pyres had burned the day prior barely visible against the mud. I lifted my gaze to view the horizon; the last blush of pink fading from the world as the sun brought day with it as it rose high above. Spring was in the air, despite the chill, and I smiled at the chittering songs that flitted back and forth around me as nests were prepared and the finest twigs and moss argued over. It made me wonder if our actions were any more important to the gods and pinnacle creatures of the world; the leviathans that Sadrianna had mentioned once that swam in the deep lakes, the World Tree herself that had rocked the world so recently. Were our struggles so insignificant to them as well? Did she feel anything for all the lives she had changed in an instant? I had an aversion to gods and powers beyond mortal ken. To have such power and fail to use it, or use it too profligately, seemed so obviously wrong¡­but it wasn¡¯t as if I had a fully fleshed out ideology to draw on to determine the right course of action either. It was far easier to critique than to create, after all. I sighed, letting the worries drift away on the breeze as easily as my breath. Jorge had faith in the World Tree ¨C Illyn Solynia, as he called her ¨C and I had faith in him. It didn¡¯t concern me at any rate, since I had given up the seed I¡¯d been blessed with to save the old bastard. I¡¯d keep a careful eye on Nathlan, make sure he didn¡¯t start acting all¡­¡¯culty¡¯, I suppose. But otherwise, I wouldn¡¯t look for problems where none currently existed; if Jorge was happy, that was good enough for me. Of course, speak of the devil and he shall appear, and so while I still yelped in panic, I wasn¡¯t completely surprised when Jorge yanked on my leg before appearing next to me, already laughing at my strangled noise and shocked face. ¡°Got ya!¡± he crowed, and I narrowed my eyes dangerously at him. It wasn¡¯t working, as he continued to chuckle as he got comfortable, tactically arranging some small branches to stand between us like a bristling phalanx of tiny spears. ¡°Thought I might find you up here, lad,¡± he said, once snuggled against a large branch with a good view of the plains and forests below. ¡°I bumped into Jacyntha, and she mentioned you¡¯d headed out for some air.¡± ¡°Yeah, just needed a bit of space from it all, I think,¡± I mused. ¡°Was that all she said?¡± I tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible. I failed obviously, and Jorge quirked a smile. ¡°Might have been, aye. She¡¯s nearly as easy to read as you though, lad. Not hard to piece together what happened after you both ducked out last night.¡± There was a lazy smile in his words, but when I looked over, I saw no mockery on his face. ¡°You both deserve each other,¡± he said, and at my raised eyebrow he chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s a complement, lad. You seem good for one another.¡± I sighed. ¡°I¡¯m not sure we¡¯ll have much time for that, Jorge. Nathlan and I are leaving today, and she is bound to another cause.¡± My voice was wistful, and though I was sad to see her go, I didn¡¯t regret my choices. We¡¯d needed one another last night; the comfort, to know neither of us had been wrong, and to know that had things been different there could have been something real there. ¡°Ah, I forget how young you are sometimes.¡± I grunted a laugh, but Jorge ploughed on. ¡°No, I mean it. You¡¯ll live a long time ¨C despite your best efforts, I¡¯d wager ¨C and there will be plenty of time for you both to meet once more. Hells lad, she¡¯ll be finished in the Riverlands before the end of summer by my best guess.¡± ¡°You expect her to be done so soon?¡± I asked, surprised. ¡°Surely it will take years to stabilise the place? And I can¡¯t honestly imagine a single person doing much on such a scale, anyway, despite how scary she is with that axe. A couple of villages and towns, sure. But how will she keep the bandits away from the places she has saved once she moves on?¡± Jorge tsked. ¡°I¡¯d thought you hadn¡¯t understood. She¡¯s not going to save the Riverlands, lad. She¡¯s going to find herself.¡± I paused in thought, considering. ¡°She has gone through probably the biggest shift in personality of all of us, my young friend,¡± Jorge said softly. ¡°Her life has changed and so has she. She needs time away from the only people that know this new version of her, to prove to herself more than anything that it¡¯s real. That she is who she has tried to be these last months. ¡°In fact, I¡¯d bet tarrots-¡± he started. ¡°¡­to toenails, yes I know. It¡¯s a ridiculous expression Jorge, and you really need to stop using it,¡± I said with a scowl, transitioning into a smirk when he tried to feign hurt. ¡°Right, well ¨C hurtful comments aside, lad ¨C I¡¯d bet that she simply needs some time away from all of us to see if she truly is the woman she pretends to be.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not an act,¡± I said immediately, with more certainty than I would have expected. ¡°She has changed, Jorge, she¡¯s not pretending.¡± ¡°Aye, fair enough lad, I know that, and you know that. But she doesn¡¯t. Still feels fresh and fake and liable to fall apart at any moment for her, right? Give her a little time to realise she is who we know her to be.¡± ¡°And you think she¡¯ll only need a few months? That¡¯s seems optimistic to me.¡± He tsked at me again, looking out over the forests of oak and elm below, glorying in the late winter sun. ¡°You¡¯ll see her again soon enough. Don¡¯t rush yourself to grief before it¡¯s warranted. Take that from an old man intimately familiar with it, aye?¡± I smiled at his words, the casual reassurance something I had needed to hear. He was right; we had time. Nathlan¡¯s mission ¨C mine too, I supposed ¨C would be a long one, likely measured in years rather than months, and there was no point trying to predict things too closely. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Thanks mate,¡± I said with feeling. ¡°You want to talk about it? From what I can piece together, Markas¡¯s appearance was tough for you.¡± Jorge waved me off though. ¡°An old wound, one long since sealed.¡± ¡°Not healed?¡± I asked carefully, and he only stared out at the view, not turning my way for a long while. ¡°No, never healed,¡± he said softly. ¡°Tell me about your class,¡± he asked after a while. ¡°Not much to tell, it¡¯s barely changed. I¡¯ve been thinking about it, and I suspect that¡¯s why I woke before the others,¡± I said. ¡°I had this knowledge, this certainty, that I could have whatever I wanted. Go anywhere, be anything¡­and I realised that where I wanted to be was right here.¡± ¡°In the middle of a battle, about to face a cavalry charge you were completely unprepared for?¡± Jorge asked, not exactly sceptical, but definitely curious. ¡°Well no. But it was more that wherever I wanted to go, I knew I wanted to get there the way I had been going.¡± I stopped, picking a young leaf off a nearby twig and brushing it against my cheek absently. ¡°More like ¨C my class wasn¡¯t the problem. I wanted to be in Tsanderos, wanted to grow and explore here. With you all, I suppose. Didn¡¯t need the seed to change anything to get what I wanted, so it just didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°¡­hence you waking before the others,¡± Jorge finished. ¡°Makes sense, lad, can¡¯t deny that.¡± He sniffed. ¡°Why did you give it up? Could have grown stronger than almost anyone, with the start you¡¯ve had and your combat class, you¡¯d be a terror in a few months.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a terror, Jorge,¡± I said simply. ¡°And I didn¡¯t want to lose you.¡± I turned to watch him as he stared at the horizon, and I saw him smile a sad smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, lad. You never should have had to choose between me and your own future.¡± ¡°That sounds¡­ominous,¡± I hedged. ¡°I get that I¡¯ve given away a fairly substantial opportunity here, but I¡¯m still me, right? Just have to do things the old-fashioned way.¡± I tried to inject some cheer in my tone, and was relieved to see Jorge brighten a little. ¡°Aye, I suppose you¡¯re no worse off than a week ago. Better even, from that little time you had the seed. But you did give up on unimaginable power, Lamb.¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°You didn¡¯t urge any changes at all?¡± ¡°Nah, it just bumped my skills up to level 10 and seems to have tightened some up. They¡¯re more¡­stream-lined and complex at the same time, somehow.¡± ¡°Gods, imagine,¡± he whispered. ¡°If you¡¯d have kept it to yourself, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if you¡¯d hit 3rd tier mid battle.¡± ¡°That¡¯s possible?¡± I asked. ¡°Aye. The 2nd tier is all about aligning your skills to your path. Essentially making each a pathbound skill. The seed would have done that for you effortlessly, if it had no need to waste energy on reconfiguring your soul and granting new skills or even entirely new classes.¡± I whistled. ¡°And to think, I gave all of that up for a crochety old man whose knees complain when he squats,¡± I said as casually as possible. I then ducked the twig he sent shooting my way with expert precision, only using Break-Step marginally to give me enough time to avoid it. We shared a chuckle and a quiet moment, the conversation needing to move on, but neither of us willing to go there quite yet. Eventually, I broke the silence. ¡°We¡¯re leaving today,¡± I said, gesturing down at the canopy below that obscured the castle beneath. Jorge sighed. ¡°Aye,¡± he grunted, before levering himself up and beckoning me to follow. He ducked through the several meter thick bushel of leaves and small twigs that crowned the top of the giant tree, and we descended a good dozen meters or so further, until we sat on a thick trunk directly above the courtyard, looking down as our friends gathered below. ¡°What will you do now?¡± I asked, though I knew the answer. ¡°Same as I did with you, and them,¡± he said, pointing at Vera, Jacyntha, Sadrianna, and Nathlan. ¡°Find broken people, and try to fix them?¡± I asked, but he shook his head. ¡°Just give them the tools to fix themselves. Most people only need a direction and a bit of hope, I¡¯ve found. I¡¯ll spend less time with each of them though I expect. Too many lost souls to shepherd,¡± he said, snorting at his own pun. ¡°Sounds lonely.¡± ¡°Aye, true enough. I¡¯ll be checking in with Vera every year or so though. She can point me your way. You¡¯ll keep in touch with her, aye?¡± he asked me, and I caught the hope in his tone. ¡°Of course, Jorge,¡± I replied without having to consider. It was as obvious as breathing, after all. ¡°Do you think she¡¯ll be alright here? Without all the excitement and chaos?¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know, lad. I expect Vera¡¯ll be feeling all sorts of chaos playing house with Fandar.¡± He grinned, picking a ladybird up off a leaf from where it had gotten stuck on its back with delicate fingers and bringing it up to his eye to examine. He smiled as it unfurled its wings and buzzed away. ¡°She¡¯ll be fine though,¡± he confirmed a moment later. ¡°It might take a while to settle down into a life less¡­nomadic than we¡¯ve lived, but I¡¯ve no doubt she¡¯ll be here for the next decade at least. She¡¯s made to be a guardian, Lamb. That woman is as fiercely loyal as I¡¯ve ever seen, and once she¡¯s built something here ¨C which she will, mark my words ¨C there ain¡¯t a force on Tsanderos that will be able to harm it.¡± ¡°¡¯The Guardian of the Marchlands¡¯¡± I quoted. Then a thought occurred to me, and I asked, ¡°What do you think they¡¯ll call it?¡± ¡°The battle?¡± Jorge hummed in thought for a moment. ¡°Not sure. Something poetic about sunsets and the dawning of a new age, I¡¯d wager. You got any suggestions, lad?¡± ¡°I think you might be right. Fuck if I have any good ideas though, you¡¯ve heard my attempts at poetry,¡± I said with a grin, and he chuckled. I looked down to the courtyard to see Nathlan discussing something with Vera, probably going over our preparation and logistics, which I knew he had thought over a hundred times already. I had my things in my storage ring and had filled it with emergency supplies of food and water, and a few dozen other little essentials like rope and twine, though we would stock up properly when we travelled through a border town. Jacyntha and Sadrianna were talking to one side, and I smiled to see their animated gestures. I didn¡¯t know what they were discussing, but it didn¡¯t hurt to assume it was me, and besides, my ego needed the help after nearly dying so many times in quick succession. Jorge wrapped a friendly arm around my shoulder as I sat there, looking down at the people that I¡¯d shared my life with in this new world. My friends, companions, and in many ways, my family. ¡°Aye lad, you¡¯ve done well here in your short time. Make sure you take the time to appreciate it, you hear?¡± I understood the words for what they were and settled in to watch for a few moments longer. ¡°Thanks Jorge, for everything.¡± ¡°S¡¯alright, lad. I¡¯m proud of you.¡±
Mind made up, I pushed off the branch, feeling the wind whipping my braided hair into a frenzy as I plummeted nearly a hundred meters to the cobbled ground below. A moment before I hit the stone, as Vera had turned and raised an arm protectively in front of Nathlan to ward him from whatever danger fell from the sky, I activated Break-Step. My feet hit the cobblestones with the force of a small leap, kicking a brief bit of dust into the air, but nothing more. My knees flexed to absorb the impact, and I stood slowly to take in my surprised friends. ¡°Did somebody pray to the heavens for a dashingly handsome warrior?...Because here I am.¡± Raised eyebrows all around, unimpressed faces, and Sadrianna giving me a thumbs down gesture somewhat took the wind from my sails, but it didn¡¯t take long to warm them up to my brand of humour once more. I felt alive again, energy bursting from beneath my skin as I itched to be underway, even as I wanted to avoid the final goodbye. It wasn¡¯t final though, I reassured myself, and that thought more than any other made it possible for me to reach out to those I loved and connect with them, rather than hiding away. I clasped forearms with Sadrianna as Jorge landed behind me. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, even if it is not my place to be so,¡± I said to her as we parted. ¡°It was a brave thing to do, to give up your class like that.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s hope it wasn¡¯t also stupid, shall we?¡± she replied with a slight grimace. ¡°It wasn¡¯t,¡± I said simply. She held my gaze for a few long moments before nodding and looking away. ¡°At least I can say I¡¯m not a hypocrite,¡± she mumbled, and I grunted in agreement. ¡°Laashvagaul,¡± I said, before having a thought. ¡°You know, the Leviathan Coast has some of the most advanced printing presses in Tsanderos from what I hear¡­¡± Her gaze instantly snapped back to mine, and I saw the glint of desire within them. ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± I said with a laugh. ¡°I¡¯ll get my hands on any books about romance and pirates and romantic pirates that I can find, alright?¡± She blushed slightly before straightening once more. ¡°That would be most kind of you, Lamb Red-Spear,¡± she declared formally, and we laughed and shared a true hug before stepping away from one another. I turned to find Jacyntha staring at me, eyes alight with promise. ¡°Don¡¯t go dying on me, Lamb.¡± She spoke softly, a subtle edge of threat in her voice, and I picked up the underlying tension with ease. I squeezed her hands in my own. ¡°Same to you, Jacyntha. You know where to find us. We¡¯ll check in with Vera before the year is out, but¡­I¡¯ll be waiting. Take your time, do whatever good you can, but know that there is a place for you¡­¡± I saw her eyes pinch, a slight wince on her face as I spoke, and I suddenly felt a moment of fear. I backed away from what I had meant to say, and ended lamely; ¡°¡­with us.¡± She searched my face before nodding and going to pull away. I kicked myself silently, and then took a breath. ¡°Wait.¡± She turned back to me, and I spoke quickly, in a rush to get the words out. ¡°There¡¯s a space for you with me. No rush, but the offer¡¯s on the table.¡± She narrowed her eyes once more, searching my face for something, so I let my emotions play across it as openly as I could; Hope, fear, excitement and wistfulness...dreams of a future not so much defined as felt. Ultimately, she found it, and I gathered it was a good thing by the tentative kiss she gave me before nodding and stepping away. I then turned to Vera, who grinned at me like a smug cat. ¡°You finally grew a spine, little Red-Spear.¡± I just punched her in the shoulder and then flinched a little. It was like punching a metal plate. She did have a new system-granted title though; ¡®The Iron Wall¡¯, so perhaps I should have known better. Either way, we shared a smile and a long hug, and I was reminded of all the times she had helped me through my woes. I remembered thick fingers brushing my hair as she sliced away with her knife, regaling me with stories of her brother. ¡°You did it,¡± I said thickly. ¡°He¡¯d be proud of you, you know?¡± The smile she gave me was crooked, tinged with grief but still wide, still glorious to behold for the joy it spoke of as well. ¡°I know. Thank you, Lamb.¡± We shared a few more quiet words as Nathlan gave his goodbyes to the barbarians, and I was impressed to see how little he tried to hide his sadness at our divergence. Long gone was the nervous scholar that would hide behind a bitter word and an imperious mask. And then it was time. I wanted to linger for another day, to try and soak up as much of my friends¡¯ presence as I could; to bottle it up and carry it with me, but that is not the way things work, sad as it is to realise. I took a few deep breaths, and then we were giving final goodbyes and stepping out of the courtyard, past the crumbling walls. Down steps freshly carved in the wooden trunk, wider than the castle itself, and before I knew it, we were trudging along a crushed stone road between muddy fields. We were silent for a time, neither knowing how to let go. I turned when we reached the treeline, looking back at the colossal tree that dominated the skyline, castle picked up and supported by its arboreal embrace. I saw a couple of figures moving away from the castle, Sadrianna and Jacyntha leaving in the opposite direction to us as they headed towards the Riverlands and beyond. I traced their path back up to the tree and saw two figures on the wall looking after us. One short and stocky, sun glinting off a long grey braid, and another tall and broad, her strong features facing towards us as she watched us leave. I turned back to my friend who was waiting for me patiently. We shared nervous smiles before we turned to the trees before us. The path extended on out of sight, and I knew the forest it crossed was not large. Beyond it would be a hundred miles more of open fields, wild forests of ancient oak and winding rivers. And beyond that? Storm-wracked seas, unknowable leviathans, and our uncertain future. ¡°Come then, Nathlan,¡± I said with a growing grin. ¡°Let¡¯s see who¡¯s faster, shall we?¡± The End Epilogue - A Name Most Treasured He walked in a world of salt and fire. Sweat dripped from his nose, splashing harmlessly onto the uneven steps carved into the mountain itself. It traced rivulets through the white lines of long dry salt that marred his face, and stung his eyes no matter how he blinked to clear them. His legs were burning, his lungs aflame, but still he soldiered on. Rafael Forger had spent far too long and given far too much to give up now. A thousand thousand steps he had climbed, and now he teetered on the precipice. ¡®The Unconquered Peak¡¯ his people had called it, visible from the outskirts of Ir Arlathen. They were not an easy people to awe, either, having lived in the shade of Illyn Solynia for many generations, making a home of her roots and spires from her boughs. Despite that, he was the first of his generation to reach so high. None had even attempted the climb save the heroes from legend. Rafael would count himself among that number soon, though. He''d always been special, and once he returned to Ir Arlathen''s dappled meadows with the wisdom of The Unconquered Peak in his heart, all would finally recognise his potential. He thought of Sindris'' gentle smile, and the dimples that he has spent so many days and nights snatching glances at from a distance. Just a few more steps. He emerged onto a plateau, and soon the world opened up. No longer was it obscured behind an impenetrable fog bank. No, now he saw a world of wonder. Peaks and troughs, split stone piercing the white mists to rise high into the golden sky above in great buttes, the clear sun blessing them with warmth. Lizards scuttled across rocks to disappear beneath luscious, verdant undergrowth, while beautiful trees full of multicoloured blossoms clung with determination to the uneven spires. Once his breathing had finally evened out, he stood from his hunched position to look over the landscape emerging before him and once more felt his breath leave his body leave his body. Not from days of exertion and greedy muscles sucking away all his air, but from the shock of people. People! What were they doing here? Not one or two, but dozens, no; hundreds. They gallivanted around the uneven peaks, chasing one another over rough terrain with whoops and hollers and visible joy. He blinked as he caught sight of two old men flitting through the sky, literally running through the air, while a third with wings of woven starlight pursued them. Three buttes over, a small collection of men and women practiced forms in the gleaming sun; spear, sword, and other more obscure weapons flashing in the light. A barked command and they abruptly broke away, sharing smiles and words of comfort as they surrounded a pale of water, dipping cups and exchanging laughter as they rested. Nearby, a group of old men and women cooed and played with swaddled babes, caring for the youngsters with obvious affection. Rafael couldn¡¯t believe his eyes. For days he had hiked, hundreds of miles passing beneath his steady gait. He had climbed for untold hours without surcease, and it had taken him nearly two decades to build the stamina and strength to complete an undertaking of this magnitude. Now that he had arrived, he saw ancient elders and babies still in need of swaddling. How had they made it up here? And more importantly, why? Surely, they were not here for the same reason as him; to seek the wisdom of the ancients that resided on The Unconquered Peak? The Guardian of the Mountains was a literal legend, said to have bested a hundred would-be conquerors in their day and had a hundred other names and deeds besides. Rafael knew well of powerful forces. How could he not when living within the verdant groves of Ir Arlathen itself? Illyn Solynia stood above all, but she guarded her secrets and treasures well. So it had always been, according to their elders. Rafael had been taught well as a boy, and he knew that nobody rose to power by sharing it. No, the powerful were jealous. They clutched to what they had, and only offered a hand down to those they thought would benefit them. That is why it had taken so long for him to embark upon this quest ¨C only once he knew that he was willing to risk the price he was sure would be asked of him had he decided to pursue greatness. But here these useless people were, smiling at the top of the world and playing around like it was all a game. Like they had nothing to fear, and no reason to be grateful. Although¡­perhaps that wasn¡¯t quite right. He saw cheer and joy wherever he looked, but that did not necessarily mean they were ungrateful. He hoped so, in any case. To be given leave to live and train on The Unconquered Peak would surely require the largesse of its guardian, and that was a rare and valuable thing to obtain. He was startled from his musings by a soft voice spoken from close behind him. ¡°Welcome.¡± He jerked round, searching out the owner of that calm voice, before his eyes alighted on a serene man, sitting cross-legged on a nearby rock beneath the shade of an orange blossom tree. He stared for a few moments at the man, his presence strange. Had he been so still that Rafael hadn¡¯t noticed him? Or was there some sort of aura at work here to disguise his existence. He took in the man¡¯s appearance ¨C bronze skin weathered by sun and rain, long hair braided on one side and left to hang loose on the other, neat but no particular order imposed upon it. He sat with composure, arms folded in his lap and simple smile on his face. Content, if a single word was to be used. ¡°Who are you?¡± Rafael asked, not wanting to be rude, but unsure how to address the strange man sunning himself on a rock like a particularly unbothered lizard. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. The man just smiled wider. ¡°Guess,¡± he replied, infuriatingly. Rafael strained out with his spiritual sense but could detect nothing from the man beside him. The people playing and training further out shone like lighthouses in storm-wracked seas, but this stranger seemed to blend in with the spiritual ocean. As if of the world itself, rather than apart from it. Rafael then noticed the red-lacquered haft of a long spear propped against the man¡¯s shoulder, the ice-blue head jagged and dripping a pattern of softly pulsing light down the haft, shaped like spiralling leaves. He then took in the lean muscle and faint scars wrapping his arms, and his eyes widened. ¡°Forgive me,¡± he stammered out, as he dropped to his knees. The impact was brutal, stone bruising his worn knees. He lacked the strength to slow himself properly after such a harrowing climb, but a skinned knee was the last thing from his mind as he beheld the legend he had been searching for. ¡°There is nothing to forgive, lad,¡± the stranger said, soft voice reaching out towards him as if an arm extended in support. Rafael drew strength from the words and looked up to meet the man¡¯s gaze. It was calm, just as before, faint laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes as he spoke once more. ¡°You asked who I am. I am Husband, Father, Uncle, and occasionally ¡®Old Git¡¯. I am many things to many people. You¡¯ll have to be more specific.¡± A riddle then. Rafael held back a sigh. It was expected, and he was well used to the elders speaking in such a way to him and his generation, but he had come here for answers, not questions. Still, perhaps it was simply a test of patience, and there was no need to get off on the wrong foot. He thought for a moment. ¡°Are you the Guardian of the Mountains? The one who claims The Unconquered Peak?¡± The man cocked his head to one side slowly, humming to himself for a moment, before speaking again. ¡°Some call me that, aye, though I do not count it among my many names, and I can assure you that nobody holds dominion over this peak, save for the birds and the insects, perhaps.¡± He paused to take in the words, mull them over and ensure he was not misunderstanding in his haste. Songbirds whistled and chirped in the background, the noise lyrical and melodic, but he paid it no mind. Was this perhaps a disciple rather than the master he sought? But then the stranger had not denied it¡­best to assume status rather than the reverse when unsure, as his aunt had reminded him many a time. He tried again. ¡°What is your name?¡± he asked, trying to match the even, unhurried tone of the man on the rock. ¡°I have many names,¡± the stranger said. ¡°Some I have taken for myself; World-Walker, Surefoot, The Ram Whose Horns Breach The Sky. In my youth I had pretentions on Shield-Shaker and the Fell-Handed. Red names for red deeds. But time has changed me, and experience has written its ballad across my body as surely as it does to all. ¡°I have had many friends, too, and they have gifted me names of an entirely different calibre; Lamb Chop, Lamb Shank, Lambikins, The Gallant Goat. Names given in jest, I suppose, though true enough all the same.¡± Rafael fought heroically to keep his eyebrows still where they rested. The man¡¯s warrior-like appearance and lack of aura had initially convinced him he was dealing with a true power, but the doubts were adding up. No powerhouse would allow themselves to be denigrated in such a way, even by a friend, surely? Still, better to not show his concerns openly just yet. There could still be wisdom to gain here. After all, he had heard of the Ram of Broken Skies, and that was a reputation that warranted a second look, even if things did not look promising just yet. He quested out once more with his spiritual senses, digging deeper beneath the plain exterior that the man projected out into the spiritual sea. He caught a brief flash of something, flickering and thin, akin to a second realm acolyte within The Order of Verdant Blades. Impressive, for sure, and stronger than Rafael was himself, but only marginally so. Far from the power of The Ram¡¯s legend that he claimed. He felt a stirring of anger bubble within him at the thought of an unworthy imposter trying to claim such lofty heights but forced the feeling down. Much more likely he was meeting a young disciple playing a joke on the newest climber come seeking glory and power. In some senses, that was a good sign. If the true master was permissive of such jests, that spoke well to their tolerance. Still, imitating a Great Power was not done, in jest or otherwise, without ramifications. He would follow along with the man¡¯s delusions for now, but he could use this lack of discretion later as leverage. He was also quietly confident that he could show his worth as greater than the jester sitting by his side, wasting his days in leisure rather than training. Rafael decided to play along though, entertaining the possibility he was wrong, even if he privately doubted it. The stranger carried on, blissfully unaware of his doubts. ¡°You might be familiar with some of the more recent names: Keeper Of The Grove, The Monk Atop The World, The Unfettered Wind, or perhaps ¡®Wielder Of Resolution¡¯? That last one has managed to last the centuries for some reason, though I have never quite understood why.¡± Rafael frowned. Ir Arlathen¡¯s reach was not endless, but their libraries were vast and captured much of the history of Tsanderos within, at least of the current era. He had studied many of the greats that came before, and even more vociferously absorbed the stories of those legends still striding the continent, intent on joining their number one day, but he was not aware of any such names. ¡®Resolution¡¯ did stand out for some reason, and he recalled a fable his mother had sung to him when he was young and stricken with illness for those long years of his childhood. How had it gone? Something about the hunt for a lost weapon, and Syldred Dark-Strider ¨C another legendary name from among his own Order ¨C taking up a quest from one of the Subakir themselves. It was an old nursery rhyme though, sung to his own mother as a child, from what she had told him. How a middling disciple would know of his people¡¯s close-kept and obscure cultural touchstones, he had no idea. He looked again at the man¡¯s pleasant face, seeing no resemblance to any son of Arlathen. He searched again with his spiritual sense, pitting the full force of his will again the man¡¯s subtle veil, hoping to peak behind it once again. After a few moments, the stranger cocked his head. ¡°No patience in the young anymore, is there?¡± he said, seemingly to himself, and then the veil dropped. It was only for a few heartbeats, but in that short time, Rafael saw the truth. The roiling waves of the spiritual sea were as nothing to the beacon of power he glimpsed. Like a lodestone dropped in a river of iron filings, the very sea itself seemed to warp around his presence, moulding itself to the man¡¯s shape. The veil slipped back on once more, and the man shrugged before carrying on with his tale, ignoring Rafael¡¯s bowed head and heavy breathing. ¡°I have wandered with Truth''s Favoured Son and traded barbs ¨C and more ¨C with The Axe In The Night,¡± the stranger said. A fond smile graced his features at that, and he glanced behind himself for a moment, though to what Rafael could not tell. ¡°I have learned from Progress herself, and witnessed the rise and fall of many names and legends throughout my long life¡­but before all of that; before I had titles and names and deeds a plenty, before all that history has proclaimed me to be, I was just a lost man, taught by The Shepherd, and The Burning One.¡± The man looked over Rafael¡¯s shoulder, eyes distant and fixed on something beyond the horizon, as if he was looking through time itself. His smile was softer in that moment, a touch wistful. ¡°You asked for my name, and so I shall give you my oldest and most treasured one; I am Lamb.¡±