One Moo'r Plow: Minotaur Farming Litrpg
Author: Exemplar Invictus
Date: 2023-08-02T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: Somebody once told a joke. A man ran in place all his life. He worked a job he didn't love for people he couldn't stand. But at the end of the day, the number in his bank account went up. That man got a second chance at life. He woke up in another world, full of adventures and romances and monsters and gods. And floating above his head he saw the number "1". So what did he say? "Gosh I better make the number go up." Not today. Not for this old soul. Reborn as a beast of battle meant to live a short life and die screaming, Garek refuses. He puts the madness of skills and levels behind him and s
Publisher: Independently published

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 1

Argos blinked in disbelief as he stared at his most bloodthirsty warrior. The chief had seen many things in his long years as ruler of these tribes. He had witnessed the birth of a great Conqueror among monsterkind, a uniter who had succeeded in his quest, and had ascended to divinity. He had seen terrible wars, ones that made the current strife seem like friendly children’s play, witnessed honor and courage and cowardice many times over.

Yet he was flabbergasted by the audacity of a minotaur who wanted to retire.

“Leave?” he sputtered. Yes, Garek had failed to reach his prime, that much was true. The breakthrough into the level thirties constantly eluded him, and yes, he had fallen behind his peers in the eyes of the system, for which he was constantly tormented. But few held the minotaur’s sheer, almost divine bloodlust and thirst for combat.

He, Argos Stonegrinder, was at a loss for words for the first time in long memory. Not simply out of disbelief, but what did one say about a minotaur who no longer wished to fight? The very thought was anathema.

“Leave then,” he rumbled. “Pack your things and be gone before the sun sets. Never show your face within these lands again to spare us the shame of your existence.”

One of his own, turned coward, unable to taste the joy of bloodshed. Another soul lost on the long, treacherous journey to the one-hundredth level. The promise of ascension that came with touching the final level drew many. Most of whom perished in the attempt to reach it.

But to willfully turn and leave the sacred path behind? Dishonor and heresy. Men had been killed for suggesting less.

He refused to speak any more words and simply stood in silence as the disgraced minotaur turned and walked away in his own shame.

/`/`/`/`/`/`/`/`/`/`/`/`

This week was proof that whatever god there is hates me. I wake up just as this guy’s spirit vacates the body from an overdose of pills that make this entire place fight-horny, find out I’m a furry, and immediately get told to go stop a monster raid.

Sure, good deal. At least I have a massive beef slab of muscle for a body, lots of experience, and, according to the System, a fuckload of Skills.

But I got my ass beat, because what the fuck is muscle memory when I’m not human anymore?

No, seriously, trying to move feels like piloting a big furry mech suit. All stomp, no grace. Eyes out of alignment. Way too strong sense of smell.

I blame the eye thing for how thoroughly I got stomped into the ground, by the way. The others rescued me, pulled me back to camp, and tossed me into what I assumed was my tent to heal up.

I immediately went and quit.

Fighting monster raids non-stop all my life, competing with the entire world to reach the one-hundredth level. Endless war after endless war here on the frontier? Fuuuuckkkk. Thhaaaat.

Garek, or whatever his name was, had done a lot of killing. Like, copious amounts of it. His tent was piled with weapons forged from monster remains. Sacks of coin littered the floor and jars of rage pills were messily stacked by the shelf-full. Everything about this person was devoted to bloodshed in an almost fanatical fervor.

And I wanted none of it.

He had very portable loot, several large sacks, and more muscles than brains.

I didn’t want to be an adventurer, a slayer, a dungeon explorer, a warlord, or whatever the fuck big beefy had for career options. Instead, I was going to do what I had been decently good at: farming.

Screw glory, I already had gold, and if capitalism had taught me anything, it’s that the value of owning land was priceless. Time to go be the bestest little farmhand nobody had ever seen.

A bag slung over my shoulder with every conceivable possession this brute had owned inside, I trudged out and awkwardly stumbled off. A big, clunky, furred mech suit indeed.

Someone waved and began to approach, and I just trudged along faster. They got the message, and within a few minutes, I had left the camp behind.

It took several hours of sifting through memories of gleeful violence and strangely ero visions of weapons. I would never recover those lost brain cells. But I did find some sort of useful information, at the cost of severe mental scarring.

Big man here hadn’t been too interested in geology, but he had pretty vivid memories of where all the monster infections were, which lands had what levels of creatures, and whatsuch. I aimed right for the nearest spot with weak-ass creatures roaming around. Stuff that I could whack around, but so could my geriatric grandmother in her rusty wheelchair.

I was taking no chances.

It took several days of blunders and a bad deal with the local bigwigg, but I DID get my farm. The only satisfaction from that bargain was the small bag of seeds the man had kindly thrown in. Seeds that I planned to have planted as quickly as possible.

They just neglected to mention what state it was in. Overgrown didn’t even describe it. The word simply failed.

The house was rotted; crops filled with weeds and roots; stream clogged up. Whoever had moved out here had done so because the task was hopeless.

But they weren’t an eight-foot-tall wall of walking muscle with Skills out the wazoo. Garek’s body didn’t give a shit where it slept, I had learned. He had no qualms about dirt-naps if they got him to the next slaughter faster. But I had a need for those luxuries, like any civilized person.

The first thing was to rip apart the stump-covered field and get these seeds in the ground, then to build myself a house. And no, strength would not make that process speedy. There were so many small details that simply took time. It was one of the few currencies I had plenty of.

Sure, I could have easily hired a crew of builders who knew what the fuck they were doing, but I wanted to build my domicile with these hands.

Bag dropped unceremoniously, I pulled out a beautiful, engraved war-axe and went to wage my first war upon the priceless earth of this accursed place. Took a little longer than a few hours, but soon I had a small chunk of land cleared out. Without a plow, I had to till the earth by dragging the axe as I walked, weapon in one hand and seeds in the other.

But soon, the task was done—as much as was possible with the small bag of seed on hand—and I turned my attention, and willing axe, upon the forest.

Betwixt the forest and ground, catharsis I found. Hey, it rhymed. But with every swing that clove a tree trunk from its roots, I gained several things. Wood, of course. Piles of it. Trees toppled every which way, even towards me. But control, that was what I valued most. Strength was fine. Cool, even. Very, I might admit. But control, a better sense of how to steer my new body without tripping every few steps because I was several more feet from the ground than usual, was crucial.

But there was an accomplishment in good, hard labor. A feel-good sensation that came from endurance, from continuing when I could have just quit and waited for tomorrow. With every swing, every grunt of effort, I began to feel something that had eluded me for a long time.

Satisfaction.

Moonlight had begun to rise when I finally decided to lay my head for the night. With a tree over my shoulder and axe at my belt, I wandered home.

The word rolled through my mind, and I smiled. This was the right choice.

There was a town not too far away, I recalled some time later sat upon a freshly hewn stump. A fresh fire crackled before me, a meal on a spit above it. Maybe I could go and hunt for food, but why bother when I had gold? I had fields to break open, a house to build, and animals to procure.

Garek’s Skill painted a very clear picture of the person this body had been inhabited by. A thoroughly pleasant fellow, I had to admit. Still, they could be made to apply.

Brutal Swing and Relentless Charge had immediate uses I could think of, while things like Scream of Fury and Blood for Blood were very much not things I was eager to explore.

After A lifetime of being just an average human, being able to hurl a tree like a javelin amazed me. Okay, it made me giddy. I even had fun purely kicking a tree in half before I realized that just wasted wood. But for all his flaws, Garek’s body was in excellent shape. And all the Levels he had accumulated made tasks trivial.

Why chop one log when I had the strength to cleave through a stack?

It was quiet. Peaceful. Serene, even. Just me and the woods. Things progressed slowly, but they went. Earth I ripped up with Brutal Swing to dig a foundation, then jammed the sharpened logs into the soft earth through sheer strength alone. Nails and hammers I had, but the human-made tools broke in my grasp. As such, I was pounding nails with a minotaur-sized warhammer. Gently, of course. Didn’t want to shatter the floor I was constructing.

It was slow, careful work. My own strength made mistakes costly, and a very tight reign over my frustration kept things from escalating. But deep within all that, all those mistakes and in the slow progress, I found something truly priceless.

Happiness.

It was not simple work, to build myself a proper home. But it was a task I took pride in. Yes, I could rip trees from the ground with my bare hand. Flatten sections of dirt with a stomp. Hew trenches in the soil with little effort. But could strength alone properly connect a joint? Shave down wood into boards and frame a wall? That was all skill and memory.

I could not build to human proportions but to what must fit my new form. And so I did. A sturdy floor, framed walls with windows ready to mount in slots that could be covered for now. And finally, the worst part.

The rafters took several days by themselves. Even with a design as simple as I could make them, working on a rooftop was less than ideal. But it was done. Plywood didn’t exist, so I had to make do with more boards. Another slow process as I trimmed them to uniform length and width and covered the outside layer onto my new home.

The inside, I left open for now. I would stock the walls with insulation before I worked upon the inner layer. Garek’s magical axe hewed stone apart for brick so that I may have a fireplace within. Before I knew it, a week, and then some, had passed, and I needed food once more.

Cloak about myself, dressed in what I assumed were decent enough clothes, I finally decided to venture to the nearest town and search for whatever I might need to thrive.

Tomorrow. For now, I needed sleep.

Thrive. Profit. Expand.

And just like that, the System kicked in.

Farmer Class obtained. Level One Reached. Sleep to apply.

Chapter 2

Felt weird, waking up in another man’s body.

Maybe I should just be thankful it wasn’t a woman’s. Then it’d be really fucking strange. Still, man or not, this was still a gigantic slab of muscle, and for whatever fault the previous inhabitant had possessed, it was built like it could toss most cars overhead.

I had somehow met the prerequisites for the System to grant me the Farmer class. For now, I had no Skills to go with that. If my general knowledge was correct, those would come later. I was excited, sure, but had other things to dwell on. Like supplies and praying for some rain.

Kept that in mind as I trudged down the road towards the only town in any decent distance. Hullbretch was the same old, one-stop, little town he had passed through a dozen times between here and the frontier. At least that was how Garek remembered it.

Inn and tavern were the same building. The village head probably heard complaints and cases once a week, with few dusty stores, hovels and houses scattered along the path, and big old Castle Ironmoor up the road to keep it relevant.

A few farmsteads along the roads broke up the plains, and wetlands dotted with forests made up most of the view. Lovely. My own farm was back towards Mount Redtip, so I descended downwards the entire way.

The scenery wasn’t on my mind, however, Garek’s skills were. I had briefly glanced over them before, but with little to do, I sank back in again.

Plethora was the only word that came to mind as an apt description. He had skills for damn near anything that involved bloodshed. Making it happen, finding the nearest source of it happening, and prolonging it happening.

Case in point: Relentless Charge. Merely being focused on the Skill showed me a vague mental image of its application. Using it would cause me to charge in a perfectly straight line at increasing speeds up to a threshold and keep charging until I reached the enemy. Useful for a lot more than marathon running.

The entire list of what Garek possessed was actually staggering.

Brutal Swing, Relentless Charge, Head Smash, Thickened Fur, Shed Coat, Cloven Crash, Scream of Fury, Blood For Blood, It Will Not Die, Berserk, Ironhide, Gold Is Power, and Brazen Bull Behemoth.

Brutal Swing came as advertised. An almost instant transition from any regular attack into a near-unstoppable swing meant to cleave anything in two.

Funnily enough, Head Smash didn’t involve bashing something’s brains in, but rather involved ramming my skull into something. Given the glossy obsidian horns atop my new head, that could very well be fatal. To them, not me.

Thickened Fur and Shed Coat looked to be defensive utility skills, some of the few he had the sense to possess. Very “offense is the best defense” vibe here. His fur already felt like a heavy wire brush at times. Didn’t take a genius to see where these two were going. Thickened Fur puffed it up even further, Shed Coat trimmed it down for faster movement.

Cloven Crash was interesting, if any of the gore skills could actually have that effect on me. It locked the target in place until Garek full-body crashed into them. No stated duration for the effect.

Scream of Fury looked like a self-buff. Once wounded, you could trigger it and gain advantage against whatever or whoever inflicted said wound on you and gave a bonus after they were dead.

Blood For Blood was that but on hyper-steroids. Every wound you took from a single opponent would be paid back exactly as received. I didn’t linger over the mental picture of two people horrifically bleeding out and mentally scampered on.

I blinked and realized why he had felt confident enough to take Blood For Blood. It WIll not Die was exactly as described. The wielder simply refused death while it was active. Why had I expected any nuance in the naming department of this System? Still, great skill, probably the best one he possessed. Should have activated it before overdosing. Okay that was dickish.

Berserk needed little explanation. Go rage, get stronk, soak damage and hit hard. Friends steer clear while active.

Ironhide made hide iron. What a surprise. Great potential combo with Berserk, Thickened Fur and Reckless Charge though.

Aside from It Will Not Die, Gold Is Power was the skill I immediately took interest in the most. A straight boost to every other Skill I had depending on how much gold I possessed at the time. This had my undivided attention and interest. Copious amounts of money really did make everything easier.

Brazen Bull Behemoth had no description aside from being marked at Garek’s Level Thirty class-race Skill. Garek was Level twenty-nine. The system’s way of teasing him—and me by proxy—by dangling the next Skill in front of the bull’s nose? Clever. I was interested in knowing what it was, even though I had no intention of pursuing more levels in his Bloodstained Berserker class.

This was, however, not his only Class. Abandoned long ago, he was also a level three Mason. Only a single skill, and I could see the proverbial dust on it. Stonecarve was a minor skill, something that merely gave you an edge at hewing rock. But it spoke something about his past that foggy, bloodstained memories did not. The Minoatur had been a person, someone with a past, connections and maybe even friends. And I was being a dick for judging him.

Wasn’t much farther up the road when I noticed dust being kicked up. Didn’t quite feel like reaching to draw the axe on my hip, so I just kept on walking. Hills on one side of the road and plains on the other didn’t make for a great escape route.

For them, not me. I was the eight foot tall minotaur, they weren’t.

A tanned human, jade-skinned orc, and furred beastman rode around the corner. Pale red armor with the crest of a purple sun on their chest was what I noticed first. Second was that they were armed for bear.

The riders bristled with weapons. They rode on thick, wide warhorses covered in armor, armored themselves—save for helmets. Stupid idea, that. Bandits announced themselves with arrows, not by giving time to get your gear on.

Even I could make out lances, a few maces, a sword or two, and greatbows as they drew close. These men carried enough weapons to make Garek envious. Wasn’t particularly excited to find out how deftly they could use them, either.

They slowed at the sight of me. Talked, I imagined. Didn’t blame them, to be honest. Minotaurs weren’t a common sight in these lands, I had learned. And those that were usually proved to be renegades.

Still, they had no reason to be confrontational. In an ideal, peaceful world, they’d just mind their own business and keep riding. But this was not an ideal world, and people were rarely reasonable. They approached where I could make out individual features. The human’s bushy ginger mustache, the orc’s painted fangs, and the beastman’s quilled beard.

I stayed on my side of the road, them on theirs. Only when they had pulled close enough to pass did the lead human stop.

“Hail, traveler,” he called. With no one else around, I stopped and turned toward him. ‘We seek only directions.”

I smiled painfully. I was new to the area and didn’t feel like giving away that information. “Ask, then. Where are you headed?”

“Redtip peak,” the orc grunted. “People from the town weren’t mighty helpful, given that we’ve come to solve their problem.”

The only trail I knew of that led to the mountain ran right past my farm. And I was loath to direct these men anywhere near my home.

The human spoke after a moment of silence. “We are riders under the banner of the Verdant Dawn.” They expected the name to mean something to me. It did not. My shrug implied as much. “Monster hunters.” He sighed. “Our order specializes in culling overleveled monsters who have moved into lower-level areas and keeping the citizens safe. I had thought we were decently well known, at least.

“Redtip peak has seen a recent migration of monsters driven out of other areas who have congregated here. Left unchecked, they will spill down the mountain, wipe out the lower-leveled monsters, establish dens and begin to permanently entrench themselves in the area. We are here to pre-empt that.”

“Or try to,” the quilled man grumbled into the confines of his neck guard.

I blinked as the information digested itself. Monsters would be disastrous for my farm. Crops torn, animals slaughtered, the stuff that nobody back on my homeworld had to deal with but was just a matter of fact here.

To my genuine surprise, they simply thanked me and rode on once I had given directions. No sideways looks, no hidden jabs or threats. Maybe I’d read too many books that dramatized medieval life.

Even at a brisk pace, it took several hours to reach the town of Hullbretch. To my surprise, I found a decently large, walled settlement. Bustling didn’t describe it, but there was traffic about. This being late spring, people toiled away in damp croplands, seeding the land. There were a few late planters still plowing their fields, in no rush thanks to the long seasons. Yeah, the seasons here were twice to three times as long as back home.

I had randomly pieced that together by circumstantial information gleaned from Garek’s memories. Mostly how ungodly long the winter was.

Gate guards were, well, guards. Bored, paid to be suspicious, and on the lookout for anything outside the usual. I expected them to stop me and wasn’t surprised when it happened. What did surprise me was that they just waved me through after a few questions.

What surprised me more was the stone streets, neat layout, and overall niceness of the town. Then I remembered levels and skills were a thing and that I wasn’t the special messiah who only got and used them. There were trees between the houses, double-story buildings, wagons, and even gardens. Everything was a tad dusty, sure, but people here lived well, at least on the surface.

My small list of things I needed had simple destinations. A blacksmith, carpenter, seed-seller, butcher, and grocery shop. Maybe a tavern as well. The blacksmith was the easiest to find. Being a large forge right on the main street had that effect. A large, gruff man with equally sturdy apprentices looked up as I stooped through the doorway.

Human-sized everythings were quickly becoming my least favorite thing about this new world.

To his credit, the man didn’t bat an eye at my request for a minotaur-sized steel plow. Just took my coin and told me it’d be done in a few hours. Of that, I actually had little doubt. While plows were usually made up of mostly wood, that was a little too frail for what I had in mind.

For the carpenter, I did end up having to flag down several people to acquire directions. Mostly because several ignored me out of fright. The young lad behind the desk carefully informed me that his master was out of town on a job and would only return after several days. A hindrance, to be sure, but such was life. I could get my wood another time.

It ended up being the town stables that sold me a wagon, although he seemed insistent on selling me some horses to go with it. I didn’t need them. After securing a promise to keep the wagon there until I was ready to leave, I was on my way again.

Being this big and beefy made the vague, implied threats of what would happen if the cart went missing all the more effective. This body was actually growing on me.

Next was the seed-seller. It was late in the planting season, so the unfortunate reality was that I would have to make do with crops nobody really wanted. Oats, barley and a few meager sacks of wheat were all that remained. I took them all. The woman behind the counter was best described by the product she sold, but tactical looming convinced her to hold onto my stock until I returned. Who knew intimidation could inspire such honesty in others?

A bronzed woman leaned against the butcher’s shop, covered in furs and thick with the scent of blood. A single eye stared me down, the other blank and scarred. The greatbow on her back, quiver of arrows by her side and knife in her hands revealed her as a Huntress. What set her apart was the lack of any sort of fear-scent as I approached the shop. She knew what I was—and didn’t care.

I was the one who looked away first. My excuse being that I had to stoop to get inside the place. A man best described by stubble and gut turned away from the hanging carcasses and to me. Surprised as he was at me wanting meat, he was more than happy to sell me large quantities. A raucous laugh informed me it wouldn’t be going anywhere anyhow when I requested he hold onto it until I returned.

From the dry goods and general store, I bought every conceivable item I could make use of. I needed storable food, actual utensils, cooking implements, rope, steel wire for fences, everything. This time I provided some gold instead of threats to keep the items in wait. They were still there when I trudged back up, the wagon pulled behind me. Heavy stuff on the bottom and crushable stuff on top was what I remembered while loading it.

I wanted to leave the butcher for last, because meat in the sun was no one’s idea of fun. But straw and burlap provided some decent, if temporary, insulation. The huntress watched me all the while, sharpening a knife in her hands.

The bags of seeds went in the front, away from any sharp corners that could tear the bags open. My plow was finished by the time I had returned, no doubt the product of a decent level and good Skills. I got several looks of surprise and even an impressed nod as I grabbed the mass of steel, hauled it up on my shoulder and carried it from the open forge area. That too got deposited onto the wagon.

Hell, it was most of why I got the wagon in the first place. Everything else I could probably carry, but walking home with a steel plow on my shoulder would suck. Even for Garek.

Everything I needed in the wagon, save for wood I would return for, I grabbed the handles and began to haul. It was a long way back home, and I still had things to do.

Chapter 3

I had every right in the eyes of gods and mortals alike to just go to sleep when I got back to the farm after a long, hard day filled with bribery, merchants, and, most stressful, pulling a fully loaded cart back up the mountainside. That was stretching it, I had to admit. It was more akin to a gentle slope upwards towards the general area of Mount Redtip, but still.

And yet I had work to do. I set the plow off in the general area of where the fields started then continued to the clearing where my house now was. I parked the wagon, wedged slabs of hewn rock beneath the wheels, and began to unload. In the faint moonlight, I carried most of my items inside and stored them atop the crude counter and table I had crafted.

The meat stayed inside the wagon for now. The cooler night air, along with the straw and burlap, would keep it from going bad for a time. I would begin to dig a cellar next to the house come morning. But for now, I had other things in mind. It took far longer than necessary to fumble through the darkness and light the wood piles I had stacked earlier.

A majority of the meat could be stored underground, but it would need to be dried first. From what I knew, at least. Proper refrigeration was still a long ways off, if I had to judge the technology of this world. With a large fire started inside a brick fire pit, I wrestled the bulky wooden stand I had made over. The large, impractical thing had one use: to hang meat from so it would smoke and dry above the flame.

With newly acquired hooks in hand, I jammed one end into the wood and drooped long strips of meat over the iron. I had built and tested it specifically for this, and it worked. Finally, I covered the entire structure with burlap sheets I had begotten.

Would it taste good? Hell no. Was it edible and would serve a purpose? Likely.

I had several of these set up, and was in the process of readying the final one when torches came into view. Horses came down the mountain, or so I guessed from the sound of hooves and the height of said torches. Didn’t take a genius to guess who it was.

The Riders of the Verdant Dawn had returned down the mountain. They saw me in the firelight and drew near.

“Once again, I hail you, traveler,” came the tired voice as they sat mounted at the road’s edge. “‘Tis a long ride back to Hullbretch, and we would ask to join your fire for the night’s remnants.”

I did not particularly welcome company, tired as I was. I could have sent them away and had very few people fault me for it. Yet, they had been decent to me on the road and asked for very little. In a world where I could be anything, I chose to be kind.

“Come then,” I called, still not used to how deep and rumbly my voice was. “Sit and warm yourselves by my fire.”

They needed no further invitation, I found. I observed them as they dismounted, only half paying attention as I maneuvered my smoke stand away from the final firepit. The meat could wait until morning. The human was gentle with his horse, plentiful neck rubs distributed as he fed the horse from his own palm. The orc simply threw his reins over a low branch, tossed a bag of feed before his steed, and lumbered over to the fire. The quillman seemed strict, professional with measured movements and careful distribution.

They were seated round the fire, none of them with their backs to me, the Minotaur, when I approached. Venison, bread, and nuts was what they ate. A simple meal, but still more than I could offer. With a grunt, I seated myself and extended a skewer of meat to them.

“A surprise.” The human smiled. “But a welcome one, aye.”

The orc declined to wait for his meat to cook and simply ate it raw as the others watched.

“How went the hunt?’ I queried after a few moments of silence. A look of annoyance flashed across the human’s face, followed by a pained sigh.

“We arrived, culled monsters, found Apex Monsters, retreated.” The orc grunted between bites. “To save you the long story.”

Another look of annoyance appeared.

“Ser Stonefang is blunt, but he speaks no lie.” The human sighed and pulled his mustache with one hand. “We came upon the Redtip Peak late in the day and set about our cull. ‘Twas but a few hours in when we encountered an Apex Monster. With our foe made clear, we chose to immediately saddle back up and head for Hullbetch once more.”

I nodded after digesting his words for a bit.

“No shame in leaving a fight you can’t win.” I searched Garek’s memories for what an Apex Monster is, and found my answer. Effectively, a secret boss of a species, to put it in terms I was familiar with.

“You speak as if you have experience in this matter.” The quillman smiled thinly.

“I fought on the frontier for years before my retirement.” I spoke carefully. Their expression shifted minutely after my remarks, and I could see—was that respect?

Except for the orc. “So you deserted your post, then?” he asked bluntly, chewing on the last chunk of meat.

“I retired. With the blessing of my chief.”

Words were chosen carefully now, by either side.

The human spoke, voice harsh. “Perhaps Ser Stonefang would like to continue instigating our host? Or is the warmth of his fire and taste of his food not good enough?”

“Don’t really care.” The greenkin grunted and tossed his skewer into the flames. “No love for deserters.”

“Thrones Above, man!” the human exclaimed, anger in his voice. “We have bellies filled with food, a warm fire before us, with ale and women to await us in the morrow, and you want to provoke this until one of us lies in the cold, hard dirt before the night is out.”

The quillman spoke solemnly. “This is why I don’t work with orcs, Raffnyk. First he wants to stay and fight the Apex, and now he wishes to pick a fight with a Minotaur to salve his wounded honor.”

“Fuck you two,” the orc growled and folded his bare arms across a bulky chest.

“No fuck your childish sense of honor,” the quillman returned flatly. “We are not dishonored because we chose to leave a fight we would not win.”

“In your eyes, maybe,” the orc threw back, face even more sour than usual. “But not in the eyes of my tribe.”

I just sat sort of awkwardly, not sure what minefield I had just stepped into. There were obviously some hard feelings between the three riders.

I spoke after a moment. “I must confess, I am new to the area. What sort of monsters did you encounter that roam Redtip Peak?”

“Krakks, mostly,” the quillman replied. “Shellmongers, Stonewings, and a few Arasks mixed in.”

I nodded along as if I had any idea of what he had just said. “How much danger is there of them coming down the mountain?”

“As of present?” Raffnyk replied, expression guarded. “Very little. They are content to fight amongst themselves and hunt other monsters for food. Once that runs low and they begin to compete for territory and meat, you will find their presence immediately noticeable.”

“Should we have our way, that will not come to pass.”

I nodded at the quillman's words and returned to my meal.

The next few hours were idle chatter and exchanged stories. Over this time, I learned more about the land and a little about its politics. Their order is not welcome everywhere, as many nobles, tribes, kingdoms, and other such authorities often use these incursions to test and train their troops. An often foolish and costly thing, or so their side tells me. Gotta be a little biased when someone interferes with your entire lifestyle, I suppose.

“Still, there is no small amount in danger involved.” Raffnyk sighed and wiped the grease from his face. “I imagine whoever sold you this land must have given warning.”

They had not.

The human spoke next. “Look, I am sure you are very well and capable of handling yourself, given your armament of enchanted weapons, general past and some such, but Apex Monsters are not to be trifled with. If you see one, just run. Better to rebuild this place than be dead.”

I promised to keep that in mind, though I had no intentions of doing so. If anything wanted to have a go at my farm, they’d have to go through and then over me. This was mine.

I left them to their sleep shortly after, though dawn was but a few hours away. Quick checks of the meat revealed most of the fires had burned down to their coals and were smoking nicely. Some fresh fuel provided, I headed off to sleep myself.

I woke up later and discovered the riders were gone. Only a burnt-out fire and horse droppings remained of their presence. Some coin under Raffnyk’s seat expressed their gratitude for the company, but I had little need of it.

Garek, for some foolish reason, did not possess a magical pickaxe. Nor a shovel.

With little other options, I began to hew the ground open with his axe and scoop the loosened dirt away with my hands. A process that went much quicker than its description might apply. The perks of having this amount of strength. I roughly gouged a diagonal tunnel into the dirt a bit away from my house and then spent most of the morning and afternoon hollowing out a space below ground. Turns out, freakish strength was great for packing the dirt above and around me. Once finished, I had a rather large, cool space below ground with wooden beams for both support and to hang meat from.

Lacking a trapdoor, I instead opted to drag a stone slab over the entrance for now. Even more time later, I had the remainder of the meat hung inside from hooks and rope, well cooled with how far down it was. If I had any vegetables in the future, I could modify this as well to store them.

It was frankly amazing how fast I could work. This thought hit me once I had emerged. I was essentially on a scale similar to heavy construction equipment with none of the bulk and problems that came with those.

Next, I had the fields. The property had come with a rather generous amount of acres, sold at dirt cheap prices for reasons which I now knew why. Overgrown with weeds and roots and littered with stones, this would be a week long, back breaking job for any full team of men and horses.

Not for me. Axe in one hand, I walked in and set right to work.

By god—or gods, I wasn’t too sure with this world—I loved being built like a fucking tank. Garek went right through vines as thick as his calf with a single swing and ripped out tree stumps with his bare hands. Boulders, stumps, anything that vaguely resembled an obstacle was unceremoniously ripped loose and hurled out of the fields.

The fact that I was strong enough to hurl a half-ton boulder overhead gave me so much joy that I wanted to dance. Only when the sun had set upon another day well spent did I retire.

For a while, I just sat and rested, my supper over the fire and my back against a massive oak tree.

In my head, I envisioned what this place would be when I was finished. The farmhouse there, on the hill, because farmhouses and hills were always together. A chicken coop, a barn for some cows. Okay the thought of a cow-man owning cows seemed weird at first, but humans did own pigs, if the skin similarities were what I was going by. But they were on every damn farm because they were a universal good investment.

But most importantly, I wanted fields. Big fields that overflowed with crops and life. Profit, too.

And just like that the System kicked in.

Farmer Level 2 reached. Sleep to apply.

The dopey grin on my face spoke everything about how eager I was to do exactly that.

Chapter 4

Life was sheer, blissful happiness when I awoke.

I had a soft bed, a farm of my own, no immediate enemies that I was aware of. But most importantly, I was a level two Farmer. My breakfast simmered on two separate pans as I stretched in the cool, wet air of morning, content.

A random train of thought led me to contemplate the realities of this world as I flipped meat around on the pan.

Did people here take as many classes as they possibly could? Garek’s vague, hazy memories implied not. There was a strong aversion to even the thought inside the minotaur’s mind. Our mind. Creeped me out some mornings, waking up with another man’s lifetime of memories just beneath the surface.

Like moving into an empty house and seeing all the ghosts there.

Honestly, I had very little to complain about, with my new lot in life. But old habits die hard. I could be an ungrateful cunt, or I could take my newfound advantages and expound on them.

Garek had passed, obviously, after a life of doing what he loved. And now, I was the one to take up his name. I was Garek now.

I would not be Garek the Slayer, the Berserker, the Destroyer. I would be Garek the Builder, the Farmer.

But first I would be a destroyer of these roots.

Breakfast scarfed down, I simply sat beneath the massive tree and gazed out over my land. The long grass sparkled with dew in the morning light, a view made all the sweeter in the knowledge it was mine. The last of the meat was being smoked upon the covered racks, nearly finished. With a sigh of contention, I grabbed my axe, heaved myself up, and got to work.

There was a considerable pile of both stones and twisted roots by the time afternoon came. But, to my satisfaction, the overgrown field was largely clear. Now came the fun part. It took me little time to gather what I needed next. With rope and plow carried in either hand, I stomped back to the fields.

I jammed the plow into the earth, the deeper the better. The rope went through the plow’s handles, and then over my shoulders. Forget a team of oxen, it was time to see how strong I really was. With some length loose behind me, I gripped tight and began to walk. Eyes focused on the far end of the field, I braced and called for Reckless Charge.

Acceleration came immediately enough to almost induce motion sickness. I hit the end of the rope and just kept going. Hooves crashed into the soil below and the half-buried plow behind gouged clean through the earth. Buried weeds, roots, and stones were all simply ripped loose as the unstoppable force of my new body simply refused to relent.

There was no such thing as tiredness when inside the skill, I quickly learned. It was intended to reach the enemy as quickly as possible, and menial things like exhaustion simply were not considered. I charged up and down the fields at an exhilarating pace. Dirt and rocks spewed in my wake as I gashed the land asunder.

It was… fun. Something that would have bored me to death back home when I did it by machine was now a source of enjoyment. That felt strange, in all the best ways.

So caught up in the task was I that I failed to notice an intruder until it was too late.

There was a massive, crimson form in my yard. I noticed the fur atop armored plates that covered its entire body, then the fanged, pointed face. Then the sheer amount of meat that hung from its maw as it stood over a flipped smoke rack.

The horror on my face must have given some god out there a gutful of laughter, but I was far from amused. With a scream of rage, I was charging across the field as the massive armored bear-thing gulped down the meat that was to be my substance. I was not pulling that cart back to town anytime soon.

The bear took one look at me, smelled my fury, and decided he was going to fuck off.

With a sheepish roar, it turned, tail tucked, and began to lope into the woods. Strips of what looked like rotten flesh flapped from between the chinks in its armored plates as the thing fled. Eyes wide with anger and a swirl of other emotions, I followed, fists clenched.

I barreled through the undergrowth and broken trees and gouged out earth in my wake. A crimson form bounced along ahead, a thief trying to escape. I was halfway up the slope when remembrance that I possessed skills slapped my brain.

Faster. I needed to go faster. I called Shed Coat and felt the fur spill from my body, yet little happened. Another use, but I only gained a small burst in speed.

The armored bear-thing barreled out of trees and into another clearing when I finally smarted up enough to use Cloven Crash. A roar burst from my throat directed at the thief. It froze, and I knew it’s muscles had locked up. It was then I realized that I was on a collision course with an armored behemoth as tall as myself.

Without a weapon in hand.

My fists would do.

I had enough sense to call Thickened Fur and Reckless Charge before I barreled into the massive form with my shoulder down.

Wasn’t my first time tangling with a bear. I roared in its face as it twisted around on impact. Stopped a swiped paw with my hand and punched it in the chest. The blow staggered it backwards, and I was upon it, sheer fury and anger. A long tongue whipped out and snapped me across the face. I didn’t care.

I had no words, only rage. Only fury. Judicious kicks from massive hooves sent the beast backwards, and crashing fists kept it reeling. Garek’s memories bubbled to the surface, and I knew where to strike in order to kill. I didn’t. The punches devolved into grapples, and soon, the ground and sky were turning round and round as we wrestled.

A headbutt as it tried to bite dazed me slightly, but I refused to let go. Until, finally, I was exhausted. The monster lay on the ground before me, played out with its head bowed in submission.

“Don’t you ever,” I gasped, in short supply of breath, “steal from me again, you hear?”

It whimpered in acknowledgement as I slumped to the ground. The fast, hard rush of adrenaline had winded down, and now the jitters set in. Some things never did change.

I looked it up and down as I sat, panting for breath. It was a big, rotund thing. Not a bear, not a badger. Something in between, covered in crimson fur and armor. My nose wrinkled from the smell as I noticed the strips of flesh that hung loose between the carapace plates. An oversweet aroma wafted from them. It was a giant amalgamation of nature. A freak.

Like me, I supposed.

Through the faint tinges of my anger—at the temporary loss of food I could replace—I did feel a bit sorry for the beast. Its belly did not bulge from food but obvious malnourishment. It whined, head between its paws, sore from the thorough thrashing I had applied on it.

In a world where I could be anything, I chose to be kind.

It flinched as I approached, too worn and beaten to move, and shied away as I slowly stretched my hand out. I held it there for a moment, let it sniff at my scent, and hoped it wouldn’t suddenly bite my fingers. A really stupid way to lose some important bits and pieces.

Was it irrational and entirely idiotic to attempt to befriend a wild beast I had just chased and pummeled into submission? Yes, no doubt about it.

I was doing it anyway.

“Look,” I muttered awkwardly after a while, “I’m going home. You can come around if you want to. Maybe I’ll even feed you a bit. But if you try to steal my shit, I'm going to thrash you again.”

It gave no indication that it understood anything I had said. Didn’t expect any.

Damn well didn’t expect the figure that stood at the clearing’s edge when I turned. The bronze huntress stood in silence, almost part of the undergrowth. My eyes went from her to the absolutely massive greatbow she carried. I didn’t know they made arrows javelin-sized in these parts. She stood, dead to the world, quiet and emotionless.

How long had she been there? I had no doubt that those arrows she carried could pierce straight through me. Garek’s memories further backed that claim.

She finally spoke, voice flat. “My prey. My hunt.”

“Me or that?” I asked, unsteadily trying to bring humor into this.

“Doesn’t matter now,” she retorted, words chopped. “Ruined.”

With nary another word, she stepped back and vanished into the brush. All that was left was the trees, wind, and an uneasy feeling in my gut. I reached down and shakily gave the monster a few rubs on its skull.

“Bet on any money I saved your life just now.” I exhaled. “And if you aren’t grateful, she might be back.”

I set off for home, the monster following me from a distance. I suspected the promised food interested it more than my company. Still, I would need a name for it. Couldn’t refer to it as the ‘monster’ forever. Maybe I could even find a use for it.

I momentarily regretted my choice to save the burly thing once I returned to the farm. Even as I emerged from the trees, I could see the splintered smoke racks, strewn meat, and clawed trenches next to the cellar. Without an ounce of shame, it sauntered in after me, pausing only to gobble up stray strands of food it had left behind.

It sat and begged as I tried vainly to eat my own supper in peace. Wide eyes had no effect on me, nor did its growl whenever I refused it a piece of what I chewed on.

“Did you suddenly just turn helpless when I showed up?” I asked incredulously when it began to fake weariness upon receiving no food. It was obviously intelligent. Just smart enough to be lazy, in fact. I had no idea what its level was, but monsters' physical attributes were not the only thing that increased for every threshold they crossed.

This was what made high-level monsters so dangerous. Not just their raw strength and experience, but the intelligence the system chose to mete out to them. Garek didn’t care about that. Hell, to him, an intelligent opponent just meant a better challenge. But I was trying to build a farm, he wasn’t.

That night, thoroughly alarmed by the information I stumbled upon, I drifted off to sleep dreading the day the wolves outside learned to make molotovs. The general idea might have sounded amusing to some, but I sure as shit wasn't laughing.

Chapter 5

The levels are coming nicely, I thought with a smile. It helped that everything was made easier by a massive degree thanks to my strength, yes. But in the eyes of the system, I was performing superhuman amounts of tasks, and it saw fit to reward me as such.

That raised several questions. Were humans the baseline for experience and level gain in this world? If so, they would give non-humans an advantage. In fact, by all rights, that would make near-immortal races like elves and dragons insanely powerful. I stopped cold in my tracks when Garek’s memories informed me that, yes, they were.

What else had I expected from races that could compile centuries of experience with a system that rewarded constant effort? For them to idly fuck about in their lairs and waste time doing nothing? From what little I could glean out of Garek’s memories, civilization continued simply because elves and dragons were so powerful they effectively kept each other in check. No one questioned it, minded their own business, and hoped neither side took interest in them.

No part of me blamed them.

What was my concern, however, was acquiring Farmer levels in a fast, consistent manner.

Through sheer brilliance, I had deduced that work around the farm fed experience into the system, which would in turn translate into more precious Levels. Truly, my intellect staggered even titans.

What did surprise me was the patch of greenery that had sprouted already. The seeds I had planted upon my arrival had already begun to sprout. What seeds those were, I had never questioned, but a crop was a crop. If, by some chance, the very act of plants growing could be made to render me precious growth towards my next levels, then this world would truly be glorious.

What was not glorious was Gol’s general laziness. The giant badger-bear thing had been aptly named for his gluttony, and demonstrated that trait at every opportunity. And yes, I was aware my naming sense was flawless before the eyes of gods and men.

Even now, the massive beast lazed around the field’s edge and sat on its hind legs. It drearily gazed at my hard labor, a yawn it’s only comment as I pulled the plow past.

“So glad you’re impressed,” I muttered between strides. “Guess that makes one of us.”

I had learned the Reckless Charge’s claim of charging in a ‘perfectly straight line’ had vastly oversold itself. After yesterday’s fun, the field was gashed crookedly, and I refused to have it be anything less than perfectly straight.

Would a crop still grow within? Probably. Would it pain my soul every time I was forced to gaze upon it? Definitely. As such, most of the morning was spent rectifying my errors, of which they were legion.

I pushed through noon and broke up the remnants of the field before I allowed myself to stop for lunch. Gol promptly regained all energy and briskly followed as I left the field and set off back towards the house. There did exist a stream not far from where I had built the farmhouse, but it was choked with weeds, its flow barely a trickle. Still, it did the job, and with some vigorous scrubbing, my hands were marginally clean—only for me to turn and Find Gol taking a piss into the water upstream. With a holler, I charged at the lout and sent him scampering away. A few sniffs of my hands told me that I had avoided it entirely, but the act still rankled me.

If the beast was going to stay here, it would have to learn manners. Its choice in that matter was entirely null.

Gol grumbled as I shook my fist in his—or her, I couldn’t tell—general direction, but waddled back over all the same as I carried meat out of the cellar. I kept a very close eye on the beast and checked to make sure the stone slab was firmly in place before I left the cellar.

Didn’t trust it further than I could throw it, as far as my food was involved.

Gol still had the gall to whine about how small its portion was when I tossed it an entire strand of meat. Enough to feed me for a day, yet it asked for more. It sat and stuffed its face as I slowly enjoyed my own substance. Growls and pouts did little to convince me to relinquish possession of my own meal once its own was scarfed down.

I slapped away a paw as it reached for a chunk of bread I had left unattended and matched its stink-eye with my own. So caught up in my food feud was I that I failed to notice the visitor until she shouted at me.

“AHOY!” The yell startled me, and it required a large twist of my body to reveal its origin. There stood a girl on the road not far from my house. One hand waved overhead as she attempted to catch my attention.

Slim, tall, and with green skin, she gestured for my attention, and I waved back. I took note of her features as she walked over, a covered dish in one hand. Fangs slightly protruded from her bottom lip, and her eyes were larger than humans, marking her to be at least half-orc. The other half I puzzled out to possibly be elf from the looks of her long, pointed ears and silvery hair.

“Greetins, stranger,” she happily said once close. “You must be the new fellah that moved in here after ole Herrikson finally moved out.”

“I am indeed,” I returned, wiping my hands and extending it to shake hers. Her hand was tiny next to my own, yet her grip was surprisingly strong. “Garek is my name, and yours?”

“Ishila Flintfang,” she informed me with a grin. “Ma and Pa didn’t want to take each other’s name on account of it being a human tradition, so they let me choose my own.” I nodded along, polite as I could be. She focused on Gol, who had slipped away most of my bread while courtesy had pulled my attention to the lass. “And this here big fellow is?”

“Gol the Glutton.” I was happy to introduce the lout for what he was. “An empty stomach disguised as a sentient creature.”

That got her smile to stretch even wider. “Never thought I’d see a tamed Arkaresh, but here we are.” She nodded. “Says a lot about you, then. They only ever submit to someone stronger than them.”

“This thing has submitted to me?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “Perhaps I should check my vision then, because I have not seen as much.” I took the opportunity to pose my own query. “And what brings you here?”

“Why you, of course,” she informed me with a bright, toothy grin. “Came here to see the new neighbor, offer a gift from the family as hospitality.”

That was pie that I smelled beneath the cloth she carried. My very absolute best to offer my politeness in a measured way only barely succeeded as she unveiled the glorious concoction and presented it to me.

“If I'd know you were a minotaur, I’d have maybe gotten a larger portion,” she said, only to laugh as I waved off her protests. Fork in hand, I began to devour it piece by piece, waving at her to sit down between bites. The lopsided grin on her face told me that she enjoyed every bit of praise I could muster as to the taste.

Gol got what little I remembered to leave for them, a fact that was protested quite loudly.

“Well.” I blinked and realized how much I missed home-baked goods. “That was excellent. My many thanks to you and your parents.”

The frown on her face indicated a dampened mood at my words. “That was all me. Ma and Pa are too busy fightin again to bother comin to visit.”

That topic seemed an obvious minefield, and not one I was eager to explore.

She lived just up the road, I learned. Her parents owned their own farm, but with their own planting season done, there was little to keep her entertained. Not surprised, in all honesty. Any distraction from the routine of farm life was a thoroughly welcome one, in my experience.

“So, with you being late in the year for plantin and everything, I wondered if you might want some help around the farm.”

“Well.” I chose my words carefully. “You have come at an opportune time. A perfect one, even. I do have a very long list of labors that need to be attended to and would offer a fair wage in return for honest work. How quickly can you begin?”

“Well, I do have mornin and evenin chores round the farm, but I can work here between. What do you have in mind, and what wages do you offer?”

I liked that. I really did. The can-do, get-up-and-go attitude always garnered some respect from me. “Given the amount of tasks I have to attend to, it would be a godsend to have someone complete the seeding for me while I turn my focus to other things. The fields have been broken up, and all that remains is for the seed to be sown.”

“How soon do you want me to start?”

“Now?” I ventured, then blinked as Ishila hopped back to her feet, an easy grin on her face.

“Well, lead the way.”

I obliged. The young woman obviously knew what she was doing, and given that she lived on a farm herself, I expected no less. It took very little time for her to begin sowing the seeds, and I nodded at her careful, even distribution.

“Do you have anything to scare the birds away?” she asked between handfuls, and I paused.

I had completely forgotten about this. Given that machines in my former world injected the seed underneath the soil, there was very little worry of it lying loosely and being eaten by birds. It was also about then that I took note of just how many there were flying overhead, perched on trees. All ready to swoop and begin to devour the precious grains of my livelihood.

“None,” I admitted. “How does your family go about this task?”

“Pa has a Skill, but I don’t see how that will help you.” She shrugged. “Scarecrows might work.”

Unless I buried the seeds by hand, most of my crop would be gone come morning. It was then that an idea struck me. I could make a harrow with what materials I had on hand. I left the girl with instructions to continue her work and set off back to my farm, a plan in mind.

With rope, wood and far too much time, I had a crude wooden harrow firmly assembled in less than an hour. It was shoddy, yes, but I needed it for this single purpose until a better one could be obtained. I carried it back and dropped it at the field’s edge. With a grin, Ishila informed me that she could seed and pull the harrow at the same time.

I watched as she tied the rope to her waist, grabbed the sack of seed in one hand, and began to walk. The wooden fangs sunk into the ground and flipped the earth as she pulled it along, all the while methodically spreading seeds. I wasn’t the only strong person here, it seemed.

Still, I had no reason to doubt her abilities, and with one last wave, I set off back to the farm. With the girl doing the planting for me, I could focus on other projects. I required a garden, preferably near the house, where my own vegetables would be grown. That was next, and then I would need to fence a pasture for any cows, as well as erect a shed for them to be milked in.

This called for another visit to Hullbretch to gather wood from the carpenter and, if at all possible, leather hides. If Hullbretch had a tannery, I would soon know.

Or I could just ask Ishila. With a sigh, I trotted back out to the field and did that.

She nodded as she answered, working all the while, “Yes, it does. But you could just as easily ask Le’rish.” My polite confusion clued her in, and she continued, “The huntress. She lives not far from here. Save yourself the trip to town and get your hides for better prices.”

Well, the more you know…

Directions to the huntress’ home in memory, I made a mental note to pay her visit on the morrow and returned to break up ground for a garden. The rest of the day passed in blur as I hacked away dirt and carved out smooth rows next to my home. I shaved rocks with Garek’s axe and lined a border to keep the weeds out, then began to plant seeds I had brought from the general store by hand.

The sun had begun to set when Ishila trotted over, sweat on her brow and a smile on her face. “Field’s done,” she announced, just as I was about to ask if she was quitting for the day.

Well, that was quick. And yet, her work was not sloppy, I found. There was very little loose seed, and the harrow had been dragged in neat, methodical rows. Cheerful, a hard worker, and thorough. I liked her already.

“Well,” I rumbled, coin purse in hand. “I always believe in paying people for what I think their effort was worth.” With that, I counted out several silver coins and handed them to her. Quite a bit, I was aware. Three day’s wages for most menial city jobs. The orc girl pocketed them with a grin, obviously well aware of her worth.

“Pleasure workin for ya.” She nodded. “See ya in the mornin?”

She was gone as soon as I confirmed, and I watched her sleek form race back up the trail, all bustle and with the raw energy of youth. And so, another day well spent had passed.

Farmer Level Three reached. Sleep to apply.

Chapter 6

Select a Skill.

The prompt hung before me, wholly incessant from the moment I awoke. I looked at it emptily for a while, brain slow and filled with heavy fog. I had not slept well this night. But the System gave no fucks, and it was happy to let me know that fact.

With little choice, I dragged my tired eyes across the small selection of Skills that hovered before me.

Hew The Earth offered no hidden surprises. Within the mental image, a farmer methodically did as described. A hoe rent through the earth, weeds cleaved from their roots with every cut. I felt the vague sense that this would also enable me to more easily work the dirt overall. Tasks that involved displacing and moving ground would be ever so slightly easier.

Choke The Weeds made a compelling argument for its own selection. Unlike the previous selection, it required no actual work. A very specific skill, but a powerful one. Again, a vague sense informed me that upon all my farmland, weeds would find the soil inhospitable. No matter how rich and damp it actually was.

I gave serious consideration to this skill. Most of the spring and early summer of a farmer’s life was an endless war against weeds. Even with the proper equipment and specific chemicals, it consumed so much time. And without those and naught but a hoe in hand to root them out? My days ahead looked monotonous indeed.

Raise The Crops did not seem like overmuch at first glance. It simply inspired the crops to grow just a small bit faster. A pathetic amount, really. A farmer that selected this could expect to harvest their crops about a week before others planted at a similar time. Definitely not worth an investment of your first Skill slot.

That was where I happily diverged from most people, however. Courtesy of the old Garek, I possessed Gold Is Power. Now, I was not the happy owner of a small stash of gold. I carried a small fucking fortune, and I was about to prove the old saying about unspent gold being useless so fucking wrong.

Choke The Weeds was the easy way out. All it promised was less work for me. Hew The Earth whispered promises that my work would be easier. And yet, I did not even need to engage myself in the mind-numbing monotony of these tasks. Why do it when I could simply hire Ishila and focus my efforts on other enterprises?

It was not a given if I could hire her services full-time, but given her work yesterday, the half-orc girl’s help would make things much faster. The perks of being raised in a farm environment were that you came with all the necessary skills to work upon another farm built-in. Without much other thought, I selected Raise The Crops and watched the words vanish before my eyes.

A quick check made sure that my new skill was indeed already delivered. Another to make sure it was turned on and hard at work.

With Ishila not yet arrived, I instead had to be satisfied with Gol’s meager company as I planned out my day. I would soon need to make a trip to Hullbretch for wood. I had trees that had been carved to serve the purpose, but I sorely wanted proper stakes and fence posts. Even with the cost in coin, they were a far better investment than settling for tree branches.

I wrote that off for another day in the near future and instead looked over my field. For now, I had a single crop seeded in with as much of the wheat as possible, and then barley for the rest. I would need more room. A second crop of oats would be optimal, and then a third, empty piece of land I would rotate the crop in to prevent land fatigue.

In short order, I would need bins or whatever I could substitute those with in this new world, stables for horses, and shelter for other animals. Unless I was particularly fond of pulling wagons filled with grain myself, I would have to get animals to do it for me. They were a cost to buy and provide for, but a necessary one.

So I would need stables. They could mingle with the cows, but I would need a significant pasture. Which called for significant fence posts and significant costs. Yay. I had to visit the Huntress and buy hides in bulk to properly cover all these buildings I had planned.

Ishila sauntered up shortly later, happy as you please. Happiness that remarkably didn’t falter as I handed her my axe and instructed her to clear the stream.

I could probably have done that myself with some time, but I had a dozen different matters to take care of, all that I had wanted attended to yesterday. With instructions to begin clearing the second field once she finished delivered, I set off for the Huntress’ cabin, armed with a minotaur-sized claymore instead.

A bearded elf sat on the porch of a house larger than my own a few miles up the road, pipe in his lips and expression cross. He offered no greeting, and I chose not to disturb the man as I lumbered past his farmstead. His crops were already half-grown, I noticed, and nary a bird disturbed his skies. Respectable.

It was late morning when I finally arrived at the first crossroads. Farther up towards the mountain, the path diverged. One directly towards the Redtip, the other a different, slower path in the same direction. Ishila’s instructions guided me down the slower path, and I followed. It was less of a road and more of a worn, choked trail between the trees that loomed to either side.

Any remnants of the trail disappeared when next I turned and began to follow only landmarks. Now I was in the wilderness with only vague gleams of the sun overhead to guide me.

I emerged from the shrouded overgrowth into a clearing and stopped cold. Not for surprise but because of the wire I had felt mid-stride. With careful movements, I slowly eased my foot backward. Not today. Whatever traps there were, I had not sprung them.

The Huntress’ home resembled a lodge. All manner of hides were being cured across racks along one side, stretched and fleshed.

Bundles of white, knotted vines hung down the side of her house, spread every few feet. They radiated heat as I approached, yet curious glances did not reveal why. Just another mystery. Knocks upon the door went unanswered, and I was presented with a choice. Leave and perhaps get more work done or wait for her return.

It had been a gamble that she would be here, given her nature as a Huntress. But I did not believe in returning from a task empty-handed.

Instead, I took the opportunity to examine her domicile more closely. In contrast to my more traditional farmhouse, she lived in a rectangular wooden lodge. Where I had used strictly wood and nails to build my home, hers was notched logs with materials woven through to fill the gaps. Where I would have constructed a solid roof for the side overhang, she had a stretched net of hides pulled towards wooden pillars for shade.

The same hides also covered her roof and the exact reason for which I was here.

There was not an absence of noise here that could have warned me. No, everything was normal, save for the javelin-tip that suddenly introduced itself to my ribs. Not overtly rude, however. Merely a firm poke. And yet that alone was enough to make me stiffen.

“Bull,” came the Huntress’ distinct, flat voice, “you’re on my land.”

“I’m here to trade.” I should be proud of how smoothly that response came out. I sounded cool and in control here.

The huntress snorted and withdrew. I had barely unstiffened my spine when she walked past, a carcass slung over her shoulder. A rapidly shrinking arrow she carried in one hand, and massive deer-like creature in the other. Blood still trickled from the hole torn in its neck, a fact she was supremely unconcerned about.

This close, I could make out feline features with Garek’s middling eyesight. Sharpened ears atop her head, a tail beneath her heavy cloak. The huntress has dressed for the environment, all muted brown and green. Tinged with red now that blood had dripped over her cloak. The creature she carried was tossed into the shade of the overhang as she turned to me, arms folded.

Her one good eye was distinctly feline, I recognized now. Though I didn’t take too much time to stare at it.

“Your business,” Le’rish demanded, blunt as a hammer. “Get to it.” She remained just as unimpressed through my explanation that I needed as many hides as she could spare. “Sold most of my stock to the tanner a while ago,” she told me, her back turned.

I watched as she looped a rope around a free-standing pillar. Quick movements brought the rope down, fastened it to the deer-thing’s hind leg and then yanked it into the air. If I had to judge, that carcass weighed several hundred pounds, yet it was hauled skyward with only a modicum of effort. It was promptly tied off, and despite it being midday, the huntress lit a fire next to the corpse.

“Those there still need to be completely cured before I will sell them.” She gestured at the racks that dried next to her lodge.

I watched, arms folded as she squatted down and held the blade above the flame. “I need as many as you can procure,” I reiterated. "As fast as you can source them.”

A noncommittal grunt was all that got from her. The deer-like creature that hung from the rope had a large, furred hide pocketed by crystalline growths. A closer look found that small buds grew everywhere on its back, with tendrils that skimmed across the surface like roots. An entire ecosystem of them seemed to grow from the creature, almost serene and beautiful.

“Crystalcoat,” she explained, her knife’s blade almost red-hot. “Parasite.”

With that, she stood and began to dig away at the hide. Knife blade jammed into the coat. She dug out a crystalline bud, held it up, and then tossed it into the fire. The small fire sparked and flared, its flame a sickly green for a moment.

“Don’t eat anything with these on their coat,” she growled, “‘less you wanna die in agony. Can’t stop you then.” She held one up to me, and I gingerly took it. “Looks pretty, don’t it?”

I nodded in agreement. It did, in fact, look beautiful.

“Latches onto the skin and pumps in toxin that removes pain. Or the ability to feel pain. Long as it gets fed, everything is fine. If it isn’t fed, that toxic washes out. And the agony sets in. Keeps the host incentivized to feed it, see?”

That was the longest sentence I had heard from her yet.

“The point of this information is to leave them alone?”

“No.” She looked at me then, a frown on her face. “Kill them, and I’ll trade them for hides. Don’t worry about meat, just leave the hides for me.” She gestured at the flames, where I could see burnt-out buds that had rolled out from the coal. “Alchemists want these buds. Some fool in Hullbretch is trying to make a potion to deaden pain. I have other uses. Buds for hides.”

“How about gold for hides?” I offered.

“That works as well,” she grumbled, already at work. “I have a stack inside and more on the way. Can bring them to your farm once they are done.”

“You know where that is.” Not a question, a statement.

She just shrugged and kept on extracting buds. “Of course. Know where everyone near the Redtip lives.”

I chose not to question that further. But soon, I was lighter on gold and heavier on hides. I exchanged names as a formality, although I was sure we were already familiar with each other's names. With a large bundle of hides on my shoulder, I set out for home, a rapidly clouded sky in my wake.

Life was, at this point, proceeding nicely.

And then fate proved me wrong by making it rain.

Chapter 7

I wanted little more than a peaceful night. A good sleep followed by a healthy breakfast. Simple, effective, vital.

Fate laughed and said no.

Rain bombarded the land, every drop a precision bomb that found the slightest crack in my roof and gleefully introduced itself to the floor below. I had no tubs, so with little choice, I was forced to use my pots and fans to collect what amount they could.

All night long, I repeated a cycle. Sleep for a short time, awake, empty pans into the driving rain outside, and keep Gol from stealing my food. The beast refused to sleep outside, and after a time, I could not bear its incessant whines and scratches upon my door. I had foolishly taken mercy and let it in.

I was only thankful that it was too lazy to explore, and had slumped down in the corner to doze off. It stirred whenever I did, and before long, I was thwarting its attempts to snatch up morsels left from my supper.

I judged it to be just before dawn when I finally gave up on sleep and heaved myself out of bed for good.

Gods, what a shitty start to my day. Just another day and I could have gotten those hides stretched across the roof and not had to deal with all this. But such was life, and regrets would not change what had happened.

The aerial bombardment had given way to a light drizzle I found as I yanked the door open. It pattered lightly against my fur as I shuffled across the yard, headed to the cellar for more meat. Garek’s thickened hide meant I felt only vague dampness as my hooves squished into the wet earth. With a grunt, I stooped and heaved the stone slab aside.

Only to stop in horror as I looked within. Even in the dim morning pre-light, I could see the water below. The cellar was flooded.

To say I took it well would be a lie. I could feel curses rising, only to be choked back down as I struggled to rein in my emotions. Okay, it was a setback, an inconvenience, a product of my own oversight, much as I was loath to admit it.

No one’s fault but my own.

With little else to do, I waded down into the flooded chamber and took stock. The water was up to my knees by the time I had descended all the way down. Much of the meat was soaked, hung as close to the ground as it was. Salted by the butcher and smoked by me, it was wet now. Obviously.

The cellar was useless to me, now that nature had made clear its fatal flaw. Just a hole in the ground to symbolize my wasted effort. It spoke to another problem.

I had constructed my house by modern methods but without modern tools. Sure, I had shaved logs into crude boards with the supernaturally sharp edge of my axe, but they were still crooked and imperfect. The entire structure was serviceable, but not truly what I needed.

I would have to rebuild in the future. If memory served correctly, the sound way would be to build a proper cellar first, with stone—copious amounts of it—for the floor and walls, then cover it with a sturdy floor and then make a house atop. Le’rish’s lodge seemed to be the best idea for me currently. Large, rather spacious, and simple to make.

But that would be done at a later time when I was caught up on other tasks around the farm.

For now, I had a cellar full of soaked meat to carry out, and a hungry Gol to fend off. I chose not to in the end. Just tossed it some of the wettest portions of meat and watched it disappear down the badger-bear-thing’s throat.

“I’ll find a use for you someday,” I vowed with a sigh and began to haul the dripping meat inside. And there was the problem with my house. It took most of the available space to hang the cured meat from the ceiling, even packed into the corner. I had built it for myself to live in, and little else. The goods I had bought from Hullbretch took up what space the hanging meat did not, and I was left with very little space for myself.

I would have to suffer the stench of meat inside my domicile for a time, then. With the final load hung, I found myself back outside. Aside from wholly reducing my cellar to useless, the rain seemed to have done wonders for the rest of my farm. Spurred on by Raise The Crops and whipped on by the effect of Gold Is Power, the wheat had begun to grow. Not actually grow—that would be insane—but I could see small breaks in the soil where the seeds had burst and begun to push up.

Was Gold Is Power that strong? What other skills had it amplified so far that I assumed what I got was instead their baseline? I hunched before my crops in close examination of the soil. It was dark and rich. Very close to topsoil, my preferred growing soil back home.

It was then that I stopped and focused my full attention on something else.

The seeds I had planted on my arrival had not just sprouted, they had grown a near-ridiculous amount. Overnight in the rain, spurred on by my Skills, they had all but burst to life. I hurried over to the patch and bent down. These were not crops, but something else.

A vine grew upright, and thick, fat pods budded near the tops. My eyes widened as the plant yawned. Yes, yawned. The bud cracked open to reveal sharp, stained teeth. It idly snapped at my finger as I shakily held my hand close, yet its attempts were feeble.

My eyes dragged themselves to an orange bloom that spread itself close to the ground. It had just begun to unfold, with purple sacs that gathered near a chimney-like growth in its center. Motion and proximity did little to stir it, but my touch caused it to puff in protest. Small green clouds erupted from its tip, and I drew back. I was not about to inhale that.

There were more. One was simply an armored ball that slowly erupted from the ground, smaller sphere’s growing off the main orb. Another was a miniature tree that had already accumulated insect corpses on its sickly branches.

There was simply a mass of eyes that slowly blinked at my approach upon one.

Magical plants.

Ishila didn’t think so. The orc girl stood with her arms folded, her perpetual smile gone.

“Whoever sold ya these wanted to make trouble for ya,” she announced. “Sorry to have to tell ye.”

“These are monster plants,” she glowered. “Think weeds, but feral and dangerous. Touched by the system.”

“Yes, yes.” I nodded, still absolutely fascinated. “But what can they do?”

“I don’t rightly know.” She shrugged. “People don’t particularly try to find out, in most cases. Just kill them and be done with it.”

“I take they are not well-liked?” I queried

“Monster. Plants,” she returned, voice flat. “It’s in the name. Monsters. Separated and marked by the System. Not normal.”

So that was what differentiated normal animals from monsters in this world. I nodded sagely, still fascinated by the sprawl of life before me. The plants were scattered about randomly, intermixed with one another.

“Leave them here, and they’ll begin to devour the crop around them,” Ishila warned, expression mixed. “Shame, though. I’ve heard tell of people being able to cultivate them and somehow making use of them.”

‘Well,” I ventured, excitement bubbling in my stomach, “what prevents us from doing the same?”

She paused for a moment, a thoughtful look writ upon her face. The orc girl went through a range of emotions, she finally settled upon pensiveness. “For most people, that would be the inherent danger involved. Yet I am dead certain you are no stranger to that.”

“Indeed,” I confirmed.

“Then, if you are willing to go forth with this risk, little stands in our way.” Ishila nodded. “A strange, sudden development, but I suspect the process will not be boring.”

“Beats hoeing weeds all spring,” I offered and received laughter in return. And just like that, I was committed to raising and exploring the growth of these monstrous plants.

“We will need to physically separate them all,” Ishila said, her familiar smile returned. “Simply being a monster in the eyes of the system does not mean they will co-mingle.”

“Stone barricades between the plants?” I offered.

She nodded. “I would suggest they be walled off completely, but we’ll need to access them, and they still need sunlight, rain, and whatnot. Fertilizer would be ideal for even faster growth, but you seem to have Skills to handle that.”

I just nodded along.

“I suggest we transplant them as soon as possible into their own areas. Like most monsters, they tend to grow at an alarming rate. Better do it now than when they are too large to safely handle. Speaking of which,” she said with a sigh, “I have to run home and get proper handling gear.”

She was gone as soon as I nodded, already halfway up the road. Gol had wandered over but kept back, wary of the plants. Perhaps I should plant a few outside my door.

With Ishila gone, I began to haul rock and outline different sections of the crop. By the time the lass had returned, I had different enclosures for the plants, large and spacious. Some, we would plant together, simply because it was more convenient to manage a few large enclosures than many small ones.

Ishila was covered in armor when she returned, the clanks of her form heard before she came around the bend.

“Is that all actually necessary?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Yes.”

I didn’t ask further. I discovered why moments later when the first transplanted tooth-vine tried to nibble my arm. The fangs pierced my toughened hair, only to stop at my hide because they could go further. I chose to let her move the rest, given that one of us was coated in metal and the other wasn’t. No chances taken.

Instead, I gingerly moved the puffer plants with my longer reach. A cloth over my nose just to be sure, I held them at arm’s length and maneuvered around the released fragrance.

The first armored ball-plant violently exploded when I tried to move it. More startled by the bang then the impact of its armored spheres across my body, I yelped—much to Ishila’s amusement.

Ishila carefully moved a pepper-like plant that oozed what I assumed was acid, and I grimaced at the slurry it had turned the ground around itself into. Those went far off to the edge of the crop in their own enclosure. Even so, the liquid left dark stains on her armor, something she found little amusement in.

Without a word, I handed her an entire purse of coins once the day was done. This job had just gotten significantly more dangerous, and I would need all the good help I could find. This was her advance payment for services rendered.

I was a farmer, yes. But raising monsters? That was an entirely new enterprise to me. And I would be a bald-face liar if I said I was not excited and nervous about it.

Chapter 8

Although excitement coursed through my veins, reality slapped my face. Much as I wanted to immediately study and discern all of the different monster plants, I could not abandon my other farm work. And so, with great disappointment within myself, I instead spent the morning stretching hides across my roof. Or rather, Ishila did, given that she was the lighter of us two.

I tossed her fresh hides and carried materials as the orc girl clambered about and nailed the material down. Shingles, they were not, but I instructed her to fasten them in the same pattern. And go heavy on the nails.

“Don’t nail them,” I called up, only half jokingly. “Knit them to the roof.”

It took her a few moments to get the joke, and I received only a small guffaw in return.

Gol stubbornly proved to be as unhelpful as ever. Slouched, hungry, and slacking off, the beast provided very little assistance. Instead, it seemed content to grace everyone with his presence and deemed that sufficient.

It looked butt-ass ugly when it was finished, but we hadn’t nailed those hides up there for looks. They were there to do a damn job, and ensure I never had to spend another night tossing out pans again. With that done, noon was nearly upon us, and I took stock.

I wanted to go and pore over the plants. By every fiber of my being, I really did. They were new, fascinating, the first truly magical thing I had encountered in this world. And yet I had so many other tasks that clamored for my attention.

More fields to break open, a task doubly important to me now, given that I would need even more space if I wanted to grow more monster plants. I needed space to safely experiment, I vaguely thought. The farmstead needed a pasture, shed, barn, and feed for animals. Actual animals. By the gods, I wanted some fresh dairy.

Just the thought of fresh milk made me salivate. Okay, that might be the minotaur part more than my actual taste for it. But who cared?

For now, although I rejected the idea, and railed against it, it was time for another trip to Hullbretch. For several reasons. With a sigh, I turned to Ishila.

“Take your choice of tool, and just keep clearing the second field as long as you can.” I could see the smirk on the lass’ face as she glanced over the house where I kept my horde of magical weapons.

“I must admit I’ve had my eye on a few of those ‘tools’.” She grinned. “I’ll have to test several of them, mhmm.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” I grumbled and stomped off towards the cart, pouch of coins already tucked away.

“I make no promises!” came her reply, shouted at my back. Children and their love for new toys.

There was little to remark upon the journey as I pulled the wagon down the gradual slope and towards Hullbretch, but one thing did interest me. There were scores of riders that traveled in the same direction as I, and many of them were heavily armed. No flags announced their allegiance, and crests upon their armor meant little to me.

From these, I garnered wary looks but was left largely alone. A few asked for directions, though I felt they already knew their destination.

Hullbretch crawled with these people. I will admit, they disproportionately gathered around the tavern, but still. The influx of mounted riders would see a great boom for the stables and inns, I supposed. Perhaps trouble on the side, as always followed these sorts of rough men and women. But I was not here to concern myself in their matters. I needed supplies, and little else.

At least until Raffnyk caught sight of me. Following courtesy, I parked my wagon and trudged over to where the human sat outside an inn. The sweat on my clothes was obvious, I realized as I wiped some away. I was in decided contrast to the human’s worn, yet clean garments.

“Garek.” He nodded, and I grunted in return. “You have come at an exciting time, it seems.”

“So you say. Enlighten me.”

“The word has spread of the infestation and the presence of an Apex Beast. A purge has been declared, and many of my order and some adjacent have seen fit to gather here in preparation.”

“Hmmm.” I nodded along, eyes squinted into the harsh afternoon light. The streets moved around us, and the smell of ale wedged its stench into my nostrils. “Celebrating?”

“No.” He grimaced. “Fortifying themselves through liquid courage, most likely. Your presence at a purge is mandatory, should you join our order.”

“Huh. I take there are those who wish to be elsewhere?”

A question that went unanswered.

“I make it a point of habit not to speak ill of my fellow riders.” He smiled ever so painfully.

A good habit. My respect for the man climbed a notch at that. And yet, these people would be passing through my land and past my farm towards Redtip Peak.

“Of which there seem to be many. Surely not all of them are perfect.”

As if fate itself chose to illustrate my point, an orc chose to drunkenly grace us with his presence.

“Stonefang.” I forced a smile and stumbled upon his name. The orc guffawed, dropped into another chair unbidden, and belched loudly.

“The bull speaks!” he declared to his own great amusement. “Truly, a leader amongst your race.”

“Do not insult my guest.” Raffnyk’s eyes were suddenly narrowed, tone harsh.

“But I am merely foisting a compliment, for he is the most intelligent ‘taur I have clapped eyes upon.”

The orc was drunk, that much was plain. I could smell the ale in his breath, see it in the way he slouched. As such, I didn’t fully take what he spoke or implied seriously. Alcohol had ways of making men and women say things they should not. Yet, his comments did not go unremarked by me.

“Perhaps, then, you would argue my case before a gathering of my race.” I smiled thinly. “Foist your wisdom before my peers and argue that I should lead them, since you see such wisdom in me.”

Whatever point I had tried to make was lost upon the drunken shores of his mind as the orc just snorted and hacked up spittle.

“When will be fuckin’ goin’ ta kill those monsters on the peak, Raffnyk? I’m getting bored of waiting!” he demanded, words slurred.

“An excellent thing, then, that your boredom alone does not determine our time and course of action.”

“You sayin’ I couldn’t lead?”

“Indeed, Stonefang. I would trust you to lead me to the nearest bar or brothel. No farther.”

Ouch. There was some tension between these two, that much was obvious.

Any further quarrels were interrupted as a man emerged from the building and walked up, wringing his hands.

“Good sers.” He nodded, and received the orc’s spittle near his shoes as a reply.

“Good day, innkeeper.” Raffnyk nodded politely. “How can we be of service?”

“Yes, good day. Beautiful day. Wonderful day. I agree, ser,” he muttered, a thin rail of a man who looked as if he wished to physically be anywhere else right now.

“You did not come here to discuss the beauty of the weather,” Raffnyk encouraged. “Or did you?”

“Nay, ser,” he muttered. “Was just ‘bout to say some of your boys made a mess of my rooms, broke some of my things, and was wonderin’ who would pay for it all?”

“Pay?” Stonefang snarled. “You ungrateful wretch, we’re here to keep your lousy hide alive. Men of—”

The look on Raffnyk’s face could have killed. The orc shut his mouth and slouched back, rubbing at his temples. With another glare, the human reached into his cloak and withdrew a small pouch of coin.

“How much to cover the damages? Do you have any descriptions of who caused what?”

“Not much, generous ser. SImply a few beds, a few barrels of ale that were smashed open, and merely a table or two.”

Disgruntled was the look upon the human rider’s face as he counted out the coin and handed it to the innkeeper.

“For your troubles.” He gestured and handed him a little extra. “We would appreciate it if word of this did not spread.”

The thin man stammered his thanks, nodded, and hurried back inside as the orc spat upon the cobblestones once more.

“You're soft, Raffnyk.”

“I am your commander, and you will address me as ser, or I will make it known why you are under my command with my blade.” The words were cold and hard, his kind tone gone. “You disgrace our name, orc. You and your cronies.”

“We risk our lives for these ungrateful wretches and get not so much as a free drink.” The orc spat back. “Ser.”

“Good Queen Elith already pays all your debts, man!” the human exclaimed. “What need have you of something so petty?”

“Sounds like a good deal to me.” I shrugged, in an awkward situation where I had little context as to what was happening. I could piece together the vague clues, but the larger context eluded me.

“Of course the cow agrees with you, ser,” Stonefang growled, expression tight. “What would he know of respect and dignity?”

“If you wish to insult me, perhaps be more original,” I tossed back, largely unbothered. “If I am a cow, what are you then, a goblin?”

The orc was on his feet and had cleared steel from its scabbard before Raffnyk grabbed his collar, dead hard look upon his face. I sat warily as the orc fumed, hate in his eyes.

“You walked right into that one, Stonefang,” he said, tone flat. “You made it about race and did not like what you found in return.”

The orc gave no reply, yet his expression spoke louder than words. Mayhaps I had said the wrong thing, but he had provoked first. Still, that was a childish way to look at it.

“Walk with me, Garek.” The human abruptly stood and gestured.

Given the choice between his company and the crude, drunken orc, I chose the obvious option. I would find little of use sitting here. I joined the human as we walked through the streets of Hullbretch. Although I fairly towered over him, the man did not feel small next to me.

After a while, he sighed, a deep and tired sound. “The situation is not ideal, Garek. I will admit, I think of you decently so far, but I do no not seek your company entirely out of friendliness.”

“Speak, then,” I rumbled. “What do you seek from me?”

“Your sword arm,” he admitted bluntly. “As it stands, we amass a force to go and slay the Apex, yet we will have to wait a significant time longer. Elite units that could accomplish the task are a long ways into the horizon, and every day we wait is boredom to my men and women. They grow restless, and the townsfolk do not particularly want us here. Some entertain themselves with hunting lower leveled monsters, most merely lounge about town and get sucked into trouble.” He grimaced. “And then there is the good baron. Ironmoor has no love for my order, and all know it.”

“There is trouble?”

“None yet, but it is a matter of time.”

He nodded his head to the side, and I followed his vision to behold several green-clad men that stood at another corner—hard looks in their eyes and hands close to their weapons. The baron’s men, I gathered.

“You served on the frontier. Regardless of what anyone makes of your leaving, that fact alone has set your honor and worth in stone. You have likely faced monsters such as this and lived to tell the tale. Should you lend us your might, I swear it will not go unrewarded.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I am but a simple farmer these days, Raffnyk. My glory days have passed, and my bloodlust has been slaked by oceans of carnage too deep for any man.”

The man nodded solemnly. “Shame. I would have liked to give battle at your side, but your choice remains your own. I ask another favor of you then.”

“Ask and you will receive.”

“That you might allow some of my men to stay the night at your farm as they scout, should they require a place to rest. You will be fairly compensated for their shelter.”

I paused then. The monster plants. I would have to ask Ishila about how people would react and prepare accordingly. “I only ask that they do not disturb my crops or farm, then.”

The human nodded. “On mine honor.”

We parted ways shortly after. I had many things to do and a late day to chase me all the way. It was hours later when I finally left Hullbretch again. My wagon was loaded with wood, proper tools to work said wood, more wire than I had initially bought for fences, an entire gate and hinges, actual cheese and herbs to make my food have taste, and a plethora of other things. I was significantly lighter on gold but heavier on knowledge.

Trouble brewed in Hullbretch, and I wanted to be prepared when it boiled over.

Chapter 9

Morning could not come quickly enough. By the time dawn’s first rays broke the horizon, I was wide awake. Breakfast already in my belly and mind filled with unreasonable excitement, I was already outside to greet the sun.

Most of the wagon had stayed loaded throughout the night with only the essentials being taken inside before I collapsed. Half-way through my stride, I froze and realized a new, massive issue.

I had no hats.

This small, inconsequential detail bothered me. Before, I had always worn hats. Caps covered my head at all times, shielded my eyes from the sun, and kept the dirt from my brow. Here, I had nothing. I was bare. Exposed. Just as suddenly as the problem had leapt upon me, it resided into a malicious giggle beneath the surface.

I would have to rectify this. But for now, I had fence-posts to pound and a pasture to outline.

A full armload of stakes for Garek proved to cover quite a distance. One of the many things I appreciated about my new body was the large amount it could carry with ease. Although hat-less, I didn’t mind. The morning was cool and cloudy, which I preferred. With warhammer in hand and a trail of fence posts laid out before me, I set to work.

Hold post straight. Whack post. Replace post because it hit a rock and splintered from the force of whack. Consider toning down whacks.

The early morning passed methodically, a simple and repetitive task laid out before me, but it took amazingly little time. Soon, I had a fairly large pasture staked out.

Ishila skipped down the road just in time to help me pull the wire. With a much smaller hammer, leverage, and specific fence clips, we had multiple rows of wire pulled and the gate mounted before noon.

“And now we need to fill it.” I sighed. “A shed first or cows?”

“Cows,” she answered almost immediately. “You already have a forest around you as a windbreak. What you don’t have are the actual animals. An empty shed produces no product.”

“Smart,” I remarked. “Good business sense.”

“Thanks.” She grinned. “Got it from Ma’.”

“Well then,” I groaned and stretched to work the stiff muscles in my back. “Do you know anyone who would sell us cows?’

‘Welllll…” Ishila bit her lip and frowned. There was a pensive expression on her face as she chewed over her thoughts before speaking. “I doooo know a fellow. Several, actually. See, we have a few options.”

I nodded along as she talked, interested in where this was going. We leaned against the newly erected fence-posts and watched Gol as it sniffed around the wrong side of the fence.

“See, if we go regular cows, we need to get a bull, manage pastures, rotate and all that other stuff because they only provide milk when with calf.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I had accounted for this.”

“Orrrrrrr…” She paused again. “You could not.”

“Explain.”

“My da’ knows a fellow who modifies animals, gets ‘em system-touched. One of his applications was farm animals. He breeds a type of cow that never stops havin’ milk, see?”

I blinked and processed this information. “And why is this cow not a common sight on every farm, then?’

“Well, on account of them being system-touched. With the modifications, they’re now very big and very mean. Like, first-birth momma cow and you just took away her calf mean, ‘cept it’s all the time.”

Oh. I could see how that would quickly dissuade anyone with any sort of interest. But I was not just anyone, to pat my own proverbial back and hang medals in my own praise.

“So, where can we acquire some of these?”

Anything she was about to say further was cut off as Ishila’s face lit up and she began to violently wave past me. My eyes followed hers and caught the huntress’s form just as she seemed to materialize. An active camouflage skill?

Le’rish carried a bundle of hides upon her shoulder, which she deposited down and then sat upon. With nary a word, the bronzed woman pulled a pipe from her robes, deposited some clear goo inside, and then lit it with a tap.

“Ishila.” She nodded in greeting between puffs. “Bull.”

“An excellent morning to you as well.” I nodded and glanced at the roll of hides she had brought. “That was quick.”

“Mmmm.” She nodded noncommittally. “For you, perhaps.”

“A job done is a job done.” I shrugged. “Our paces may differ, but it is done the same.”

I glanced at her pipe and the clear mist it produced. Her face formed a grimace as she sucked the vapor in, held her breath, then blew it back out.

“Crystal slime glaze,” she offered for my curiosity. “Regenerates tissue.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” I shook my head politely. “Would be fortunate if I never needed any, I suppose.”

“Mmm,” she agreed with another puff. “Was once an adventurer like you, like Ishila wants to be.”

“A monster?” I wagered, the context guiding me to guess the place of her debilitation.

“Worse. A mislabeled potion. Instead of a fleshknitter potion, I drank a Firebreather’s Draught. Without any flame resistance.”

The very image of that made me grimace, and my expression stirred amusement from her. The first I had seen on her face. She waved off any further questions and just puffed away.

“Any good hunting recently?” Ishila asked, and anyone who looked at her could tell she brimmed with curiosity. The orc girl did her best to stay calm, but everything about her gave her excitement away.

The huntress snorted and shook her head. “Too good.” She continued after a moment, “Everything’s scared. Spooked. Easy to flush out. Too easy. Monster’s moving in off the Tip. I kill a bunch, rest don't care. Being chased down, I think.”

“The riders who came here a few days ago mentioned an Apex on the peak.”

Le’rish stopped for a moment, then slowly put away her pipe.

“Explains things. Was gonna go up there myself today and look. Won’t anymore. Too dangerous.” She paused and glanced up at me. “Thanks.”

‘For what?” I asked. “I’m more than happy to take the compliment, though.”

“Information.” She didn’t elaborate further, and I did conclude she found value in me just passing along what Raffnyk had said.

“An Apex.” Ishila grimaced. “Ma’s gonna be gettin her weapons out again.”

Le’rish snorted again and shook her head. “Your parents should be staying home and tending to their farm and their girl. Their slaying days are over.”

“I know, but who wants to tell them? Who can tell them?”

“The grave will, and then they’ll listen.”

The conversation drifted into silence, spirits visibly dampened.

“Him.” Le’rish broke the silence and pointed at Gol. My eyes followed as I searched for anything of interest on the lazy brute. I found nothing. But the mystery of what gender the beast was had finally been laid to rest.

“What about Gol?” I asked.

“I want to hunt him,” the huntress stated, blunt as can be. “I’ll give you all these hides for free in exchange.”

There was a very, very brief moment in which I considered that. But that moment passed and I shook my head. Gol, useless as he was, was mine. He was a drain on resources that provided exceedingly little in return, but he was still a companion. If my world had been dictated by cold, psychopathic rationality of benefits versus cost, I might have taken the offer, but it was not.

“No,” I simply rebutted, and with a shrug, she dropped the topic.

“Suit yourself. But I would pay well for the opportunity. Not many of his kind on the Peak anymore.”

It was around then that I noticed it was noon, and with no other reasonable course of action, I invited the huntress to join us for lunch. To my surprise, she actually accepted instead of slipping off back into the woods. Guess nobody liked to stalk through the trees on an empty stomach.

A modest meal shared amongst three people and one whining Gol it was, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Hunger made for a good cook.

"So, what plans do you have for today?" Ishila pried, trying her best to stay collected and not seem too excited.

Le'rish shrugged in return and flicked her tail at Gol as he tried to beg scraps from her. "No plans. Not going up the peak now. Hunted enough for a bit. Nothing interesting to hunt either."

"If you are free," I ventured cautiously, just finishing the remnants of my broth, "perhaps you would not be against helping Ishila with a task for me?"

I swear the orc girl perked up faster than if I had offered her a bag of gold for free. Le'rish considered for a bit, then shrugged. "As thanks for warning about the Apex, sure."

I had just passed on the information, but who was I to reject a gift? “Ishila here knows the location of a farmer willing to sell me cows. A bit stronger and sturdier than usual, or so she says. It would save us quite a bit of time if you could go with her and drive them back here. I’ll send you gold to make the purchase immediately.”

Le’rish nodded as Ishila nodded excitedly behind her back. “I know who you speak of. Have dealt with him before. Can do this.”

And with that, they were gone moments later. Ishila waved back, and then they rounded the bend and vanished from sight. With them gone for now, I sighed and returned to my work. Much as I wanted to go and pore over my new plants, the fields called to be cleared.

And my work mattered more than my curiosity. That was the justification I fed myself as I hauled yet another boulder from the ground and tossed it toward the pile I had gathered.

My afternoon dragged on. I cleared stumps, hacked apart roots, and yanked trees right out of the ground. With the monotony only broken by short breaks to drink water from the now-clear stream, my mind wandered.

I was becoming used to this world, getting used to this body, and it felt comfortable. No longer did I awkwardly stumble around, about to trip over my own feet every few steps. Most of the time. The fact that everything and everyone had classes, skills, and levels was not an insane concept anymore but an everyday thing. Perhaps it was because I had been able to detach from reality back home that I so easily accepted this now.

I still knew little of the local pantheon, what gods were who, and what people worshiped, nor was I in any hurry to entangle myself in that. But I had deduced that most people viewed the system as a tool of the Gods Above, and I had no evidence to suggest otherwise.

The Garek who inhabited this body before had been a man of incredible violence. The Garek that inhabited it now would be a man of incredible farming. The joys of rampant capitalism, I thought to myself. I was ready to introduce them to the world.

But all of this was just an attempt to keep myself occupied, and soon I was bored beyond belief. My mind strayed again and again to my monstrous plants. And after some time, I simply gave up and decided to come back tomorrow.

I had already worked a decent day’s stretch, and now it was time to slake my thirst for knowledge. Gol followed me towards where the plants had been moved, and then sat back, wary. There was no small amount of satisfaction on my face as I examined the biter-pods. There were pieces of small insects scattered about where they were planted. In the single day I had been absent, these plants had grown the most.

Weeds, Ishila had called them, and they seemed to grow as such. But insects were not the only victims. What seemed like rodent pieces lay devoured around the stalks. As I squatted on my haunches, something rustled beneath another plant. A squirrel staggered about beneath the fat leaves of a puffer plant, dazed and with spores all over its fur. It had made it only several steps before the vines bent and the biter-pods snapped down.

It was gone before I could blink, and any desire to help the little creature was washed away with fascination as to how these plants worked together.

The wide, fat puffer plants lay dormant on the ground, while the biters were too slow to actually catch animals. By luck, we had planted them close together, and now they worked in tandem. The biters dropped blood near the puffer plants, and I could not yet tell if they fed off the liquid.

Everything and everyone steered clear of the armored ballbomb. There was nothing that went near them. Ishila had warned me of how volatile these were, and each of them was planted separately, something that had already been useful. Whatever had disturbed this one plant was gone, obliterated by the power of incredible violence. The metallic bulbs that had grown on its outside shell were gone, instead embedded into the rock that surrounded it.

The plant had burst its growths off like high-force projectiles, and whatever had disturbed it was now a smear across the soil. Now it was slowly regrowing, more bulbs sprouting in the bare spots on its carapace. These, I was not eager to disturb but excited for the applications. Could they be harvested and turned into grenades somehow? The thought both mortified and amused me that I was essentially growing my own grenades.

The small, sickly tree-like growth was the slowest to grow. Small corpses decorated its branches, and a stench of gloom and rot emanated from it. There was an uneasy feeling in my gut as I observed this one in particular, but curiosity outweighed any dread I could sum up. Uneasiness curdled within my gut the longer I stared at it. It was wrong on some level.

There was a series of vines that dangled grape-like fruits from their stem. There seemed nothing special about these plants, save that the small buds of fruit seemed colorless. Out of curiosity, I snatched up a piece of insect remains from the biter-pods and tossed it near the plant. With excruciating slowness, the stalk sunk down until the fruit touched the piece of carapace I’d just tossed there. It vanished into the plant on touch, and color spread through it.

Huh.

With a sigh, I heaved myself up and strode over to the crop’s edge where we had transplanted the pepper-like plants. To some satisfaction of mine, they had not leaked their acidic fluid into the soil and turned everything into a slurry. Instead, it glimmered within cupped leaves, a sweet scent that filled the air. These leaves were unfurled now, large and filled with a shallow pool of acid. As I watched, an insect buzzed by, only to turn around and land on the pepper-like top. A stream of acid squirted from the surface on contact, and I watched in morbid fascination as it ate through the insect’s body.

There were more, of course. A singular large plant that resembled the early stages of flytrap lay open in the sun. Only, I could see a tongue that tasted the air and heard rattles within. Another was a single flower perched atop a stiff, narrow stalk that seemed to radiate a golden light.

Any further discovery was interrupted as I saw a man walk up the road from the direction of Hullbretch. Even from a distance, he moved quickly, despite taking only what I could see were normal human-sized steps. He appeared smartly dressed, with clothes of good make, a large book in hand, and an air of assurance around himself.

An unexpected guest, perhaps. I did not know where he was headed. Up the mountain, perhaps? Should I warn him of the Apex? As it turns out I needn’t have worried as to his destination. The man strode right up to me and sniffed as if he was not a small, skinny thing of a human in front of an eight-foot-tall minotaur.

“I am in search of one mister Garek, owner of this property.” He sniffed. “If you would be so kind as to call him, for I have matters that do not concern the hired help.”

A moment passed, then another as I stood without deigning to reply until, finally, he attempted to break the awkwardness and glanced at papers he carried.

“This is the home of one mister Garek, is it not?”

“Indeed.”

The man looked around and adjusted his glasses.

“Then, where is the man? I haven’t all day. Time is Money, after all.”

“He stands before you,” I replied, my tone curt. So far, I counted myself lucky to have escaped those who would belittle me for my race and appearance, but I could not evade them forever.

“I say; my word.” He grimaced and adjusted his glasses. “First that orc and elf interbreeds, and now the bulls? Who next, the goblins?”

“I do not like your tone,” I warned ever so politely. I was not a man to anger easily, but in some magical way, this person knew exactly which buttons to press.

“Then it is with great pleasure that I inform you that I care little for what you think.” He sniffed again. “I am in the employ of Baron Ironmoor and am here in regards to the sale of this land to… you, apparently.”

“You have my attention on that matter. State your business.”

“You see, Garek, here in these lands, we do not believe that the debt incurred by one should be excused with them shuffling off this mortal coil. As you will be pleased to know, the previous owner of this splendid farm incurred a significant sum which is owed to the good baron, and I am here to collect.”

Chapter 10

“No.”

The human stared up at me, and his eyes blinked as comprehension failed to dawn inside his greasy skull. “Come again?”

“You heard me. You will receive no coin from me,” I rumbled, voice flat. Whatever this was, any amusement had been taken out back and shot after the first minute. My day was not yet ruined, but it was on track to that destination.

“Mister Garek.” He sniffed again and waved a sheaf of magical parchment at me. “I understand things may have been done differently in whatever place you dragged yourself in from, but here on Baron Ironnmoor’s lands, matters are handled in a different wa—”

“Don’t care,” I interrupted, arms folded. “Fuck off.”

I had no idea who this man was, if he really worked for this Baron, if he was a conman, whatever. And at this point, I had no patience left to find out.

“Mister Garek.” He insisted in what I’m sure he imagined was a forceful manner. “I have a document right here that proves beyond all doubt my words.”

He flipped open a folded letter that glinted with light, frowned, and pulled out another. With another imperious sniff, it was extended to me.

And held there as I continued to stare him down.

“You’re supposed to accept it,” he hinted thinly after a few moments.

I did not.

With a disgruntled expression, he flipped it open and began to read.

“By the order of Baron Ironmoor, Regent of the Redtip peaks, Knight Commander of the Purple Flame, first of his name, the Lion of Kunath, long may he reign, the owner of the Property formerly in possession of the now-deceased Farmer Herrikson must carry his debt of Seven hundred and twenty-six gold pieces, to be paid at all due haste. Failure to comply will lead to harsh consequences.”

I couldn’t give two fucks, but I didn’t humor him by saying so. He waved the paper at me, obviously expecting me to be impressed by the wax seal and gaudy ribbon that hung from it.

“Mister Garek,” he implored again, his voice ever so slightly shrill, “you have a contractual obligation!”

My silence remained the only answer. “Remove yourself from my property, or you will be removed,” I rumbled. I meant it. Gol peaked out from behind a stand of trees, and I briefly considered siccing the burly beast on the shrill human.

“Mister Garek,” he sniffed in return, chest puffed up, “are you threatening violence on an agent of the lawful regent?!”

“I do not threaten, taxman, I promise. And I assure you I deliver on my promises.” I shifted closer to loom over him, and the man seemed to realize how small he was before me. I could kill him, here and now, could feed his carcass to the biter-pods and have them grow. The Garek who inhabited this body before me would have. Inwardly, I hesitated, as I wanted to be a better man.

He didn’t know that.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, finger waved at me. “You have broken the law, beast!”

It was about then that several riders appeared down the same road he had come from, bearing a green standard with a golden lion upon it. Same color as the men who had loitered around Hullbretch. Baron Ironmoor’s men, I wagered. They had come loaded for bear.

This was not a coincidence.

The greasy taxman was smarter than I had wagered. Perhaps a communication spell? That glowing parchment he opened by ‘mistake’ earlier. Everything afterwards had been bait. I grabbed for the man and found him already gone. He moved at unnatural speed off towards the riders. If he could not intimidate me with legalese, he was happy to resort to more thuggish means, it seemed.

But I was not about to roll over and let them have what they wanted without a fight.

I had Garek’s claymore at my side today. Eyes narrowed, I drew it and planted myself in the middle of the road. Eyes focused on the riders, I whistled to Gol, and to no one’s surprise, the beast just yawned and stayed hidden. Why had I expected anything else?

The riders approached as the taxman waved them past, their weapons drawn. They had come for gold, and they would take it by force—or so they thought. Any nervousness hidden, I steeled myself and sank into Garek’s memories. A man of peace, I wanted to be, but that was not possible today. These men came to take what was mine and fully expected to shed my blood in the process.

They had crossbows, I saw as they drew near, loaded and ready to fire—which they did immediately. No warning, no boasts. They just spread out, raised their weapons, and fired.

I had Ironhide.

The bolts ricocheted from my skin as I charged at them, massive claymore in one hand. They were here to kill, but I was no easy prey. The first man’s horse, being a horse, reared as I approached. The rider was thrown to the ground, and the beast fled in panic as I loomed. To his credit, the thug was on his feet in a heartbeat, likely the product of some skill. He wielded a mace in both hands and backed up hastily.

I could see the horses moving to flank me as more closed in from the sides. Spears glinted in the afternoon light as they galloped at me.

My lungs opened, and Scream of Fury shook the air. Beasts reared and turned aside in sudden panic at the noise. It was all I needed to step close, swat aside the thug’s mace, and cleave him in half with a single swing of my blade. I grabbed his spear from where it lay next to the rapidly dying man, hoisted it up, and threw it like a javelin.

It pierced another rider through the chest and yanked them from the saddle. And just like that, the tide turned. I needed not kill them all, merely a few to break their morale. The riders wheeled and fled in panic, dust raised as they galloped away in all haste.

And now, I was left with the favorite past-time of every tax evader, body disposal.

The knowledge that I had just killed multiple people in the space between moments struck me, and I found that I rather didn’t care. I had no connection to these people. They had come to kill me and take what was mine and should have weighed their lives to have more value beforehand. I was not some unfeeling beast, or so I hoped, yet I had little empathy for these thugs.

Gol finally trotted out from where he had hidden and wandered over to the pierced man. His chest had been crushed by the force of the spear, it seemed. Died almost immediately. Hmm. If I owned a pen of hogs, disposing of the corpses completely would be simple. Instead, I could feed the plants.

Either way, I had made new enemies today, or perhaps revealed some that were merely hidden.

Fully aware that what I was doing seemed wildly psychotic, I hefted the claymore and began to hew the corpses apart. Not there, of course, I didn’t want the bloodstains all over the road, but near the plants. The men wore no armor, save for some light leather. The maceman had a nose broken several times, some light stubble, and a mouth open in an eternal scream.

He got fed to the biters. I watched in morbid fascination as the fangs from the pod’s rounded mouths closed around his flesh and pulled away neat chunks with ease. They hungered, and soon an entire mass of vines were bent together, swarmed over the body’s remnants. Suddenly feeling inwardly nauseous, I tossed the rest in for them to pick clean in due time and turned away.

I hadn’t killed before. Garek had, in absolutely copious amounts.

But me? No.

The worst part about it was how little I felt.

It was then that I was reminded of the horses the thugs had left behind. Well, this day might end up being a net positive after all. It took far, far more time than I was proud of to approach the animals. I couldn’t catch them, not when they had so much space to run off to, and my scent frightened them. But I persevered, moving towards them with soft, gentle words and slow movements. In the end, I did catch up to them, one at a time, and led them over to the pasture.

I didn’t bother working more that day. I now had a new enemy to chew over and an already eventful day behind me.

“The taxman showed up,” was what I explained to Ishila and Le’rish once they returned, several massive cows driven before them. The herd, or rather group, stomped and snorted the entire time as we drove them to pasture.

‘Mmmm.” The huntress nodded. “Ironmoor’s debts?”

I sighed and confirmed that, yes, there had been inherited debts.

“Refused to pay? Good.” She nodded. “Leech wants a bite of area. Fuck him and his thugs.”

“They don’ come further than our place.” Ishila nodded solemnly. “Scared of Ma’.”

“Lot of things with sense are.” Le’rish shrugged. “Lots of farms ‘long this road they still shake down, though.”

“They left several men short today, and I am several horses heavier than I was yesterday. They attacked without warning, and I defended myself. Didn't want to, but I did.”

“Good.”

The huntress and Ishila stayed for supper as we sat in the shade of evening, a fresh, small herd of cattle put to pasture. The animals were much larger than what cattle I was used to, their coats dark red and thick obsidian horns above their heads. Similar to mine.

Ishila noticed my looks and scratched at her neck before she spoke.

“My theory don’ hold much water, but I’d wager they were modified with minotaur essence.” She paused. “Kinda weird though, no?”

I laughed and waved her concerns off, assuring her that all was fine. They could be milked all the same, and it mattered little to me what they had been modified with.

“Ironmoor, though.” She spoke, a frown on her face as she leaned forward in her seat. “Pa’ says he’s a leech, but a dangerous one. Big name from an old house, in good with the crown, lots of riders under his banner.”

“Bad man,” Le’rish grunted, side turned to us. “Don’t underestimate him. He loves conflict. Peace burns a hole in his pocket, methinks. Bad metaphor.”

“He should be distracted for a time. The Riders of the Verdant Dawn are gathered in Hullbretch, and he apparently has a feud with them.”

“Hmmm. I’ll head out then,” Le’rish suddenly announced.

Ishila bounced to her feet and volunteered to keep her company up the road, a matter I wished them luck with. With them gone, it was once again me and Gol in each other’s meager company. After some time, I remarked that the unpleasant business of killing aside, the day had gone rather well. I now had several new cows, a pair of horses, the contents of their saddlebags, and knowledge.

A wee bit lighter on gold, but Garek had a very nice amount left, and this being a farm built from nothing, investments would have to be made. Still, the bulk of spending was now behind me, and soon it would be time to see the profit. And I could not wait.

Farmer Level Four reached. Sleep to apply.

The local authorities have branded you a Tax Evader. Status updated.

Chapter 11

I had underestimated this task. This was the thought that ran through my mind as my face ran through the dirt. The massive taur-cow snorted and seemed to laugh in amusement as I picked myself up from the dirt, spilled bucket of milk at my side. To say the morning was going badly would be a lie.

Instead, it was horrible. Gol had taken a shit right outside my door and then scampered off to hide amongst the taur-cows. Said cows were less than impressed at me, and even less so at my attempts to milk them. I quickly learned that my massive frame was not an end-all against beasts that weighed more than I did and were much meaner.

The animals weren’t just strong and mean but smart as well. They knew to wait for opportune moments of distraction to suddenly ram their bodies into me, as I had painfully discovered. Until finally, I had enough.

Pail in hand, I stomped up to one of the massive cows, focused on it, and called Cloven Crash. A yell escaped from my throat, and the beast was frozen mid-laugh. With a grunt, I plopped down my stool next to its frozen form, pulled up my pail, and got to work. The effect did specify that any target would remain frozen until I full-body crashed into it. And as rough as my impatient milking was, it failed to break the effect.

Sometime later, I had several frozen cows and a full pail of milk. The price had been steep, but the reward would be worth it. Gol received nothing but a stink-eye when he wandered over and tried to beg. This was mine. A single sip reminded me of why I hated warm milk. With a grimace, I carried the bucket back to the house.

One of the fortunate purchases I had made in Hullbretch was a terracotta pot. Soaked in water, the cooling properties of the slate would keep the milk at very low temperatures for a while, but I needed something better.

Ishila had a solution. The lass blinked and rubbed her hair, her fangs biting into her lip as she thought. “Well, you could do it the usual way an’ dig yourself a cellar to keep things cool.”

“Not going to happen for a while.” I sighed. “I’ll seriously look into that when I rebuild the house, but that’s a ways down the line.”

“You could hire a runesmith to plant cold runes around your house, but they're expensive enough to give even Pa’ pause, and need to be topped off every quarter-year,” she suggested.

“Not feasible.” I shook my head as she nodded.

We were leaning against the fence posts, a spot that had become our regular morning meeting place. Out on the pasture, cows were beginning to unfreeze as my skill wore off. Due to time or distance, I didn’t know. Gol loudly yawned, rubbing his face as sunlight broke over the treetops. In lieu of me, he had plopped himself by Ishila now, given that only one of us was angry at his early-morning defecations.

“You could try to go up the Redtip and gather frostvines, then.” She shrugged. “I know miss Le’rish has them on her lodge, and the inside is wonderfully cool.”

I frowned and tried to remember. I had meant to ask the huntress what those white bundles on her walls were but had forgotten as the conversation progressed. Ishila nodded at my description and flicked a bug away with her hat’s brim.

“I’d tell you the Redtip is dangerous.” She shrugged. “But I think we both know you’d go anyway. Between me an’ you, my money’s on you against whatever monster’s up there.”

Gods, I wish I shared her confidence. I was a big death machine, but one with only a slim grasp of combat and reliance on Garek’s memories. Even yesterday had been all him steering the ship. I was a farmer in a berserker’s body and damn lucky I had the remnants of his instincts and reflexes to fall back on. I still had no baseline for what twenty-nine levels had done to Garek compared to a level one minotaur, but given the contemptuous ease I had killed those men yesterday, it was a lot.

“They grow higher up, near the peak,” Ishila mentioned, already concluding that I was going. “In barren places, mostly. Something about them feeding off heat and sucking it in. Look in rocky places with little other fauna.”

I sighed and decided my own comfort indeed outweighed any potential danger. Most animals preferred to avoid confrontations they could not outright win, after all. Outwardly, I presented a dangerous foe. With a determined nod, I made up my mind.

I could even get and store more milk instead of staying with my singular jug this way. That was the justification for my recklessness. And more milk meant potential sales and profit if I could find someone to buy it.

I would do this in the name of profit. What better reason to risk my life?

“Very well,” I decided. “I will head on and leave the farm in your hands. There are new seeds for various vegetables just inside the house. The garden should be ready for them to be planted in. Although I’ll want to make a separate patch for potatoes. Leave those. Once you finish that, the second field should be near completion. Clear that if you have the time. If enough of the day remains and you have the energy, begin seeding that with what seed we have.”

“No offense, but your seed selection is a bit…”

“Poor?” I sighed. “I am aware, but I had to take what I could get.”

The lass nodded, bright eyes now dim as she scratched the back of her neck and stood awkwardly. “One other thing…” She trailed off.

“Yes?”

“I can’t, uh, strictly read. Yer gonna hafta show me what seeds are labeled which.”

I blinked, shrugged, and decided I had not changed my opinion of her for that. “I see little issue with this. It’ll simply take a few moments more.”

And that’s all it did. Instead of making readable labels, I merely drew simple shapes over the sacks of seeds, and she figured out the rest. Gol elected to keep her company and safeguard the farm—or at least pretend to do so—as I geared up to explore up the mountain. A large, mostly empty pack on my back, waterskin at my side, and claymore opposite from it, I set out.

Time passed swiftly as I traversed up the slope toward Mount Redtip. Beneath Garek’s long stride, the distance seemed so small compared to my human days. The sun gleamed down through a vast expanse of blue, and I lamented my lack of a hat. I would have to ask Ishila where she had procured hers when I returned.

The only traveler on this road was I today. I passed the same farmhouse as before, no one there now. At the crossroads, I chose a different path this time and began my ascent. Cleared farmland vanished entirely as the forest crept closer to either side. Occasionally, I heard rustles in the undergrowth but saw nothing.

I blamed Garek’s mediocre vision. For all his advantages, eagle-eyed sharpness was not among them.

Scent flooded my nostrils with every step, a deluge of sensations I could barely pick apart. Instead, I focused on the path forward and trudged along, my course set. The path grew steeper, and my strides grew more careful. The trees were less dense here as I passed from the greenery that ringed the lower mountain into the rocky waste further up.

Here, there were caves and craters decorated by boulders and hardy weeds. I caught the occasional glimpse of wildlife, from a long, thin being that scaled sheer walls to fat, horned lizards. Many ignored me from a distance, most fled, and only a few stayed to observe me.

I realized now why they called it Redtip. It was literal. The stone itself was red, the rocks were red, even the vegetation was red—all save for what I was here for. The good part about everything resembling a crimson paint bucket being sloshed over it was that the white plants I sought were easy to find.

They were cold, I found upon approach. Less of a chill and more of a thorough absence of heat in the space around them. Despite the near-oppressive heat here, tinges of frost covered the ground around the stems. With no further ado, I grabbed one near the base and yanked. It tore loose, but Ishila had said the drain would linger for several weeks.

Hands cold all the while, I carefully stuffed it into the pack I carried and moved on. Soon, I was the proud owner of a full satchel of these plants. After finishing a sandwich, I set off back down the mountain.

But fate refused to let me have simple days.

Something stomped from the undergrowth, and I got my first true glimpse at a monster. This was no animal, that much was certain. It vaguely resembled a tree, I say that in the most vague way possible. It shuffled atop a mass of writing roots. Gnarled, thickened bark grew into a tall, thick body that sprouted far too many slender branches.

Crows sat perched upon its crown, silent save for the rustle of wings. It lumbered out of the undergrowth and set itself into my path. Look as I might, there was no easy escape. I had no idea what this thing was, what it was capable of, but I knew it was in my path.

The air rattled as branches were raised, and before I could blink, the ground erupted below me. Earth and stone were hurled skyward with me in their path. Ravens crowed with laughter as stone and earth alike struck me with enough force to pulverize a man.

The laughter ceased when I emerged whole, my claymore drawn. Boulders rolled towards it, called by whatever force it wielded. Waves of earth rolled beneath my hooves as I charged toward it. If it was meant to throw me off balance, it would need to try harder. Every stomp I took crushed the rolling soil beneath me, and the creature redoubled its efforts.

Its roots shifted as it began to propel itself backward, earth and stone alike hurled at me. Cloven Clash was unleashed with a roar, and the monster visibly slowed. I got the vague sense the skill was weakened by several uses already today. But it did its job. Ironhide was already active, and now boulders clanged as they were stopped by my skin.

With a snarl, I stepped in close, swung the claymore, and activated Brutal Swing. And that was it. The claymore tore through magic, bark, and core alike in a single motion.

The monster fell, cleaved in twain. I got the vague sense that I was drawing near Garek’s thirtieth level in Bloodstained Berserker, and the flock of ravens nested in the thing’s crown dispersed, off to find a new host.

Once again, the forest was silent. I bent before the thing to examine it and found little of interest, save for a piece of bark that wriggled beneath my touch. With A grunt, I tore it free and found a large seed within. For a moment, I debated keeping it but saw no value to outweigh the danger. It took little time to pry it free, crush it beneath my grasp, and then continue back down the mountain.

This time, naught dared disturb me.

Chapter 12

Trouble had decided I was not out of the proverbial woods just yet, even though I had already left the physical woods behind me. Confrontation awaited as I turned the road toward my farm.

Ishila, bless her heart, stood in the middle of the house’s clearing, axe in hand and Gol at her side. I didn’t know what to be more amazed at, the fact that she was staring down three riders or that she had gotten Gol to volunteer his presence. Either way, things seemed to have settled into an impasse. I broke into a faster stride and approached the group.

Gol’s whines announced my presence, and they all turned to look. I could see the glimmer of relief on Ishila’s face as her tense expression eased. The riders were lightly armed and didn’t bear the green colors of baron Ironmoor. Verdant Dawn then, I wagered.

This was confirmed moments later when one of them stepped forward to introduce himself. Long, lanky, and clean-shaven, he looked to be a youth fresh into adulthood. “Farmer Garek, I hope?” he asked, nervousness hidden in his tone.

I nodded in confirmation and curiously looked as he extended one hand. After a moment, I took hold and shook it. The boy was nervous, that was obvious to anyone.

“Joram, ser.” The lad made the introduction with a hitch in his voice. “Ser Raffnyk sent us. We were told we could rest here for the night?”

“I’m no ser, lad,” I rumbled and nodded, “and a friend of Raffnyk’s is a friend of mine.”

“They were trying to just ride into here an’ claim hospitality,” Ishila announced, expression cross. “I was doubtin’ they were who they said.”

Ah. I should have informed her to expect riders, but once again, I had overlooked it as a minor detail and forgotten about it. A bad habit I would have to work on.

“How long were you at an impasse?” I queried.

“...an hour?” Ishila shrugged. “They had no way to prove the worth of their word, and I would not take chances with anything. Especially after yesterday.”

Curiosity dawned on Joram’s face, but he asked nothing. There would be a question later, I assumed. For now, I just waved the others over as I walked past.

“They’re guests,” I told Ishila with a soft smile. “Though, you did the right thing, lass. Don’t think I’m paying you enough to stick up for my humble farm, anyhow.”

“Ain’t about payment,” she mumbled and followed at my side, axe over her shoulder. “Gotta look out for other farmers with all these thugs and bandits muckin’ about.”

She didn’t so much as flinch as I clapped a hand on her shoulder, only glanced over at my smile.

“Thanks. I mean it. But if you see Ironmoor’s men, just vanish. I can rebuild, but I can’t replace some of the best help I ever had.”

She grunted noncommittally, and soon we were gathered by the unlit fire. I watched as the riders hitched up their horses and trickled over, some slower than others. Most were nervous, betrayed by their scent. The young lad, Joram, sat in silence across from Ishila as I began to gather the ingredients for a pot of stew. Doubtless, they had their own rations, but tonight, they were my guests and would suffer my cooking.

“So, what does Raffnyk have you lot up to?” I broke the silence after a while. It was getting awkward, and the most noise from anyone was a few mutters as they glanced between me and Gol.

“We’re to scout, ser.”

“I’m no ser,” I insisted again. “Just call me Garek.”

A few nods were all I received in affirmation before the lad continued. “We’re to ride up the Redtip and try to get an accurate count of what will await the expedition tomorrow then report back to ser Raffnyk.”

“I see.” Even though I did not. “And this Apex?”

Now I could see true apprehension dawn on their faces. Good men followed orders, was the saying, but these did not do so without fear.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about that. Just pray and hope we don’t come face to face with it.”

“A grand solution indeed,” Ishila remarked dryly.

Misery was their only answer. These men knew they were riding into danger and did so without protest. I’d say it was admirable, but most of me just thought it foolish.

“Pardon me for askin’,” another human chimed in, “but your helper mentioned Ironmoor, and I believe I may have heard a wee snippet about trouble yesterday. May I ask your relation with the good baron?”

Not a human, I saw as I peered closer. The scales on his face should have been obvious, but again, I lay the blame squarely on my poor eyesight.

Shtane, he introduced himself as. I nodded and reached over to shake his hand as well before I answered. The third man remained silent, content in his anonymity.

“The good baron sent a taxman to foist upon me a debt that I refused. When he persisted and sent thugs to claim it by force, they returned home less than when they had arrived.”

Silence fell around the camp as my words sunk in.

“Well, I guess that further deepens your standing with the Verdan Dawn, then.” Joram nodded. “We’ve no love for the Ironmoors, and they’ve even less for us.”

“I would normally be supportive of stickin’ it to the good baron,” Shtane hissed. Literally. He even had a snake’s tongue to go with it. “But Ironmoor’s brother is in bed with the queen. Metaphorically, of course. I would never slander the good queen that way. To refuse the tax is to declare Ironmoor the illegitimate ruler of these lands.”

“He is,” Ishila refuted, her arms crossed. “Bastard murdered a better man than he and stole his throne.”

“With the crown’s blessing,” Shtane threw back.

I just sat and followed the conversation, trying to soak up context and piece together images of who was what and when. There was a complicated web here, and I wanted to be aware of it all.

“Crown blesses any vengeful warlord these days, long as it suits her goals,” Ishila spat.

“Careful, girl.” The third man finally broke his silence. “We ride under the crown’s blessing ourselves.”

“Do not mind our companion.” Joram hurriedly broke the tension. “He is a dedicated man to queen and country.”

“I am loyal,” he said bluntly from within the recesses of his hood, “as was my father before me, and his father before him, back to the days of Jerak the Bold. And will remain until time itself fades.”

“You can’t deny that your queen favors bloody men, long as they accomplish her goals. And Ironmoor’s hands are bloodiest by far,” the half-orc growled. There was resentment in her words, a hidden anger that bubbled up beneath the surface.

“No one’s gonna deny that Ironmoor is a right bastard is all I’m sayin’,” Joram replied. “But he is still rightful regent by order of the crown.”

“He hates your entire order,” Ishila rebuked. “Would seem that would make you wary of whoever props him up.”

“He can hate all he wants,” Shtane hissed with a smile. “We ride under the crown’s grace as well, and he would be a fool to attack us. Him and his dear brother may be blood, but they are not friends.”

“Vicious as he is, no one can accuse the good baron of being a fool.” Joram solemnly nodded. “You being on his bad side will lead to much trouble, I predict.”

“I commit tax evasion,” I rumbled with a thin smile, “but any agents he sends to bother me will have their skills in axe evasion tested.”

The conversation shifted to small talk, and with less strained topics behind us, I got to know the men who dined at my fire this evening. Joram was the son of a knight who had left the family’s service, instead wishing to more actively serve his people. He had been with the Verdant Dawn since he was a young lad and was a passable rider, though I suspected he said that with a thick layer of modesty. Shtane had wandered into this country and sought a trade where he could make coin and spend most of his time doing nothing, he proudly hissed.

The last man kept his secrets, and I didn’t pry.

“Keep away from my fields,” I offered lightly as Shtane stepped away to relieve himself. “You may not like what you find there.”

“It’s an, uh, interesting place you have here.”

I laughed and waved it off. He was being polite, at least. “It’s half-built and still overgrown.” I sighed. “But it’s home.”

“Speakin’ of,” Ishila grunted and heaved herself up, “that’s where I gotta go. I have chores and stuff. See ya tomorrow?”

I nodded, and the orc girl set off. Joram rose as well and offered to escort her, only to sit back down when she rejected his offer. The unnamed man excused himself to go check his horse, and all that remained was myself and Joram. The youth quickly looked around and leaned forward, only to stop as I held up my hand.

“If you’re going to whisper secrets, do it sitting upright so you don’t look suspicious.” I could tell he had been itching for the chance to do so.

“Ser Raffnyk asked me to pass this to you in confidence,” he hurriedly whispered, spine stiffer than a rod. “There is far more happening beneath the surface here than what is being shown. Avoid Hullbretch for the time being. I am not at liberty to say more, but I suspect it would be beneficial if you remained here for a time, a thorn in the baron’s side.”

He clammed up as Shtane emerged from the bushes, a content look on his face. The snake-man gazed around in curiosity and was about to ask something when a scream rang through the night.

From the crops.

“That fool!” I bellowed and burst to my feet. I charged ahead of the others, off towards my fields. Shrill shrieks rang through the night as a man howled in pain. I was headed towards the biter-pods, I realized. I had told the idiot to stay out of my crops.

He only still lived because the pods were slow and engorged, still stuffed from yesterday’s meal. With a snarl, I grabbed the man’s collar and yanked him from the swarm of vines. I could smell the blood here, taste its coppery twang. In the darkness, I pulled him towards the fire and waved off the others as they rushed towards me, weapons drawn.

His limbs remained attached, but not intact. Chunks were missing, and he gasped for air as the shock set in. I gazed upon him and saw a man who was about to die. Until Shtane ripped a flash of thick crimson liquid from his pouch.

“Fleshknitter potion,” he snarled and ripped the top off.

I watched as he sloshed liquid over the bites, and then slapped the man and forced it down his throat. We surveyed him unsteadily as he writhed, and my eyes widened as the flesh began to regrow.

“Fucking. Idiot,” Shtane hissed. “Just had to sneak off for a look. Couldn’t just fucking listen for once.”

Time passed unsteadily as we gathered to watch the man moan in agony and regrow missing parts. I marveled at the sight as torn muscles visibly rebuilt themselves before skin slithered back over gaping wounds.

“That potion was fucking expensive,” the snake-man hissed in anger. “What are you growing out there anyway?’

Well, this would be a fun explanation.

Chapter 13

“Some men are content to raise crops and tame regular animals,” I rumbled, arms folded as I gazed upon the two men that stared up at me. “I am not. I raise monster plants. I gave you fair warning, asked you to stay away from my crops.”

“God’s Above, man,” Shtane hissed. “I just want to know why?”

“Curiosity. An edge on opportunity. Profit, perhaps.” I shrugged. “Like I said, I am not other men.”

“It is not safe.” Joram struggled to formulate the response. “I’m not trying to be incredulous here, ser, but raising monsters? That’s like tending to a wounded fiend, knowing full well it will attempt to kill you once it is physically able.”

“You see, that is where we differ.” I gave the boy a tight smile. “It is dangerous to you as a human, but I am not human.”

And there it was, the rejection of my now-lost humanity. Not morally, of course, but physically. I had accepted that I would spend the rest of my life in this hulking form, forever stooping through doorways, and a titan among men. It was strange. I had not at all even been interested in finding a cure or some such, just accepted that this was my new lot in life and was trying to make the best of it.

It might have helped that I never really considered myself close-minded. Yes, I had my interests, beliefs, and circle of comfort I like to stay within. Yes, there had been some moments in my life where I reacted badly to circumstances, but I had not at all regretted the passing from a human body to another.

I saw no reason to return, in all honesty.

There was a lull in the conversation as I was lost in my thoughts. A polite cough from Joram snapped me back to reality.

“As I was saying before,” I uttered. “This task might be dangerous for ordinary men, but not for me. And so long as people can follow my very simple warnings, no harm should come to others.”

“Yes, so we have heard.” Shtane sighed, frustrated. “But why? I have no doubt in your ability to wrangle whatever things you have out there under control, but what do they yield?”

To that, I could only shrug. Partly because I truly did not yet know what could be taken away from all this, partly because I did not want to reveal everything I knew. Raffnyk’s men, they might be, but I would not trust them with my secrets. And if the unnamed man’s snooping had proved anything, it was that I was correct in my wariness.

“You are down a man until he recovers,” I observed. “How will you proceed with your mission tomorrow?”

Joram’s pensive expression vanished entirely, replaced by dread.

“We shall have to decide that come the morrow.” He grimaced. “For now, I suggest we haul Colbrek into a comfortable position, give him plenty of water, and hope he is fit to ride when dawn comes.”

“A vain hope,” Shtane hissed but bent to grab the man nonetheless.

They dragged him to sit upright against the tree, ignored his moans, and stuffed a waterskin into his trembling hands. With a grunt, I sat myself back down and scooped up some of the remaining broth from the pot. One of the things I disliked about this body was the massive, voracious appetite it had. One that it required to make all this function, I lamented. I consumed a ridiculous amount of food compared to what I had used to, yet always felt an edge of hunger for more.

“Pardon my askin’, se—” /the lad caught himself halfway through and fumbled for words. “Mister Garek, but what was your callin’ before all this? We heard you spent time on the frontier.”

“I was a Berserker, lad. Good at what I did, still am, and now I aim to be a Farmer.” I shrugged between sips of hot broth. “Simple. And you?”

“I’m a Bleakwind Rider,” he returned, a proud look upon his face.

Shtane abstained and informed me he didn’t wish to share his Class.

I nodded, and soon the small talk petered off. With a sigh, I heaved myself up and looked around. “My bed awaits. Rest here wherever you are comfortable ‘til morning. Just, this time, keep away from the crops.”

And with that, I made my way back to my cramped home.

It smelled of meat, a constant stench I found myself losing all fondness for. And that was not my minotaur-ness speaking. I slept with wadded cloth in my nose to help staunch the stench that overpowered everything in the room. I slept long and deep and awoke to a knock upon my door.

It was late morning, I found as I stepped outside. Ishila already awaited me, and the riders were currently arguing by their horses.

“Morning,” I yawned to the lass and received a usual greeting in return.

“Someone slept well,” she commented dryly.

I just nodded in agreement. I had dozed comfortably. Milk bucket in hand, I walked over to the riders to see what decision they had arrived upon. Joram gave me a tight smile and thanks for the hospitality, and Shtane did the same, albeit with an annoyed hitch to his voice.

“We will return the Hullbretch.” He grimaced. “Colbrek was our method of escaping detection by the Apex, and he is barely in any state to ride. Without him, we ride to almost certain death.”

I nodded and bid them farewell as they rode away. Once they were gone, I set about the morning chores. But first, I had methods to try. The icehusk vines were still within my pack, and now I carefully drew them out. A finger dipped into the terracotta jug confirmed the milk was now cooled slightly. It hovered just under lukewarm, likely due to how I stored it.

Now I unfurled a long vine and wrapped it around the jug, then another. Satisfied, I returned the lid and prepared another empty pot. Once finished, I stepped back outside and stomped over to the pasture.

This time, I used Cloven Crash right away, too occupied with other concerns to fight the taur-cows this morning. I milked in relative peace but with hateful stares from frozen beasts on me the entire time. Ishila joined as well, another pail in hand as she squatted next to a frozen behemoth cow and filled her pail.

And in little time, we had all the cows done and two nearly-full pails of milk.

“So,” I asked as we strode back towards the house, “how did you come by that hat? Is there someone here that makes them?”

“The young Gursenhein couple down the road dabble in leatherwork and such, so I got them to make this for me.” She grinned and spun it upon one finger. “Fits nice an’ snug.”

There was a small farm I had passed a few times, I distinctly remembered. Perhaps I would drop by, introduce myself, and extend some neighborly hospitality.

"Tell me about them.”

Ishila was happy to provide. I suspected the lass liked to gossip a little but rarely found an open ear. I was provided with an overview of their history, when they had moved in, what they did, what they grew, failed ventures, current struggles, their problems, everything.

“Well, you see,” she pondered, deep in thought, “we might have something beneficial here, in my opinion.”

She said we, and I did not refute her. I viewed Ishila as a necessary part of the farm now, someone who provided nearly as much labor as myself—so much that I considered her a boon, not an expense.

“I realize that it’s an iffy subject, but they have recently fallen on unfortunate times. You see, the young ma’am, Lindse Gursenheim, has given birth to strappin’ young twin lads.”

“A great fortune for her then.”

Ishila rubbed her neck as her expression twitched. “She’s also dry as a bone. No milk for the babes.”

Ah. I winced. Blood-soaked as my hands were, the specifics of women and their bodies always did make me feel a little uncomfortable.

“Well, ‘tis a very opportune thing we have here then, isn’t it?” I glanced at at the several pails of milk we carried. “We appear to be uniquely situated to offer a gift then. Perhaps a gesture of goodwill to show people that the massive brute growing monsters up the road isn’t so frightful after all.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’.” Ishila half-smiled. “You’re a more than decent person, Garek, but there’s a reason you haven’t had any more folks over to visit and welcome you. Appearances do matter, and you have many people frightened.”

“And yet you stopped by,” I muttered, bemused.

“I was taught not to judge strictly by appearance. It’s often a good metric, mixed with a healthy dose of common sense.” The orc girl nodded as we approached the house. “But it ain’t the end-all.”

“Well,” I remarked and stepped inside, “I have plenty of milk. While I do have an appetite for it, it is more than I can consume. Perhaps a gift to this unfortunate young couple is in order.”

Strictly from a point of profit, this was a mediocre idea. And yet, I figured a gesture of goodwill was worth more than the few coins I could make from selling this. Extend a good impression to the neighbors, perhaps open up some channels that would otherwise remain closed to me. And even without the business side of it, I thought it was the right thing to do.

I had the opportunity to, at little cost and effort to myself, help another in their time of need. And in a world where I could be anything, I chose to be generous.

“Well then,” I asked Ishila as I emerged, carrying the terracotta pot of milk, vines wrapped around it, “how would you like to run an errand for me?”

The smile on her face spoke in ways her words could not.

“And make sure to get me a hat!” I yelled at her back as the lass trudged off, pot secured and Gol wandering after her. What had she done to make the blasted beast like her?

The morning almost over, I walked over to my crops and sighed. Shtane had asked a good question. What did I intend to do with these ‘crops’ of monster plants? Some, I could figure out immediate uses for. With some caution, I could potentially harvest the acid from the pepper-plant. The spores from the puffer seemed to make whatever they came into contact with slow and lethargic. The biter plants' teeth seemed to easily pierce anything not strictly metal.

The armored ballplant was a volatile bomb, but I believed with enough experimentation, I might be able to harvest and harness its growths before they violently exploded. With a grunt, I squatted down to a plant I had not touched before. Purple leaves grew in a spread above the soil. With no discernible effect, we had elected to leave it where it had been originally planted.

I seized a handle of the leaves and yanked it free. My eyes widened upon the sight of what appeared to be a small, wrinkled humanoid form beneath the earth. That was all the warning I had before it screamed, and my world swam as the full, piercing shriek went straight through my skull and into the brain.

The world swam. Black spots gathered in my vision. There was blood in my ears, I could smell it. Instinct took over and I slammed the thing back down and jammed it under the soil. The scream mercifully ceased, and I was left in a deafening silence.

What. The. Fuck?

Chapter 14

Blood dripped from my ears. I could smell it as I staggered away. The world spun in a blurred rotation before me. Everything inside my skull decided to hurt all at once. And through it all, the crushing, desolate silence reigned. Both my eardrums had burst.

It hurt beyond anything I had felt in this world.

The pain inside throbbed between sharp and dull with every breath I took. I tripped and found myself in the dirt. Picked myself up and clutched my head as I staggered back to the house. Needed something, anything.

Pain ruled my existence. How could a scream hurt like that? Mandrake or something close to it, I realized. Never liked old folklore much. Should have probably paid attention. Gods, it hurt. The sound had gone directly to my brain.

Chills went through me. I remembered that mandrake screams were fatal. Better hope these weren’t the same monster. My memories slogged together with the original Garek’s as I tried to pick apart what was what. Not much success.

Pain was weakness leaving the body, my furred ass. I snarled, aware somehow. Trying to distract myself from the sheer, mind-numbing pain, I found myself at the house suddenly, threw open the door, and almost fell inside as a fresh wave of pain almost crippled me.

Why was that scream so powerful?

My sense of balance was horrible. I crashed into the table and dropped to my knees as I fought the urge to wretch my guts up. Thoughts came in sharp bursts from the haze of pain. Gods, it hurt.

I was a minotaur. This sort of pain was something Garek had never experienced, magical fuckery.

Should kill the plants, I thought. I fumbled for bandages from the counter, swiping away objects. I needed to stop the bleeding. Didn’t want to pass out due to bleeding directly from my skull. Normal burst eardrums shouldn’t have this effect on me, but this world wasn’t normal.

I wrapped cloth bandages around my head and was aware it didn’t fix the problem inside. Didn’t care. Just needed the bleeding to stop.

My hands trembled when I finished. Not good. Fucking mandrake. I glanced at one of Garek’s spears propped up by the back wall. I should go and kill those plants right now. Realized it was a stupid decision made by anger. For a while, I just sat alone on the floor in the silence, blood-stained bandages wrapped around my head.

That was worse than the pain. The absolute lack of any sound. Could be a war outside my door right now, and I wouldn’t know. No chitter-chatter of birds, no sound of the wind, no gurgle of the stream. Couldn’t hear the cows in the pasture. No laughter of the crows as they harassed smaller birds in the trees.

Nothing. I saw a bowl fall off the table right in front of me and didn’t hear the clatter.

I needed a healing potion, but I had none on the farm. I staggered upright and leaned against the house’s wall. Realized I had no clue where to go for one either and no choice but to wait for Ishila to come back. Gods, I relied on that girl for so much now.

The smell of my own blood and the stench of meat inside the house roiled my stomach, and I staggered back outside. I could feel the warm wind on my face now, but couldn’t hear its whisper. Dread nestled further into my stomach, a welcome distraction from the haze of pain.

I was fucked up good. Dangerous plant. Would have to make sure Ishila knew. But it was the right kind of dangerous, the profitable kind, the kind I wanted. I could already think of uses for it. Forced myself to do so as I collapsed into the shade of the massive tree in my yard—anything to get my mind off the throbbing pain in every corner of my skull.

Could fucking plant them in pots, sell them to adventurers. Needed to fuck up an entire crowd of enemies? Dungeons, sieges, anything that involved crowds of people, stick in earplugs and toss the blasted thing at whatever was in your way.

There were no birds above the field, I realized with a start, but there were corpses on the soil. They usually circled and would drop down to peck at the dirt for seeds that hadn’t taken yet. The scream had outright killed them, I realized with a chill. The same dread continued as I realized that my massive form didn’t make me invulnerable. Hard to kill physically, but that was not the end-all.

Might be perfect for scarecrows, I realized. Birds weren’t stupid. That was how I had kept crows away from my poultry back home. Hung their carcasses from posts where I kept my animals. Crows saw it, realized there was something there that had killed one of theirs, and stayed away. Smart birds.

I didn’t have to make a mandrake scarecrow to scare them off or anything, I just had to hang their bodies on a stick.

My balance wasn’t good enough for that, I discovered, so I sat myself back down and slumped back, looking out over my farm. So many different things I wanted to do, but my head demanded otherwise. Still, I tried to force myself to be productive. The first thing was that I couldn’t rely on just rain to grow my crops. It was a problem that plagued every farmer, but I wanted a solution if the year’s rainfall was poor.

I had a healthy stream next to my house. No idea where the water ran from up the mountain, but it came steadily, and I had to make use of that. I had no fancy pipes for irrigation, first of all. Buckets and watering by hand could work, but it was inefficient.

I could dam the stream and then dig irrigation trenches towards the field. A lot of work, but that was most things. Would need to make overflow conditions to keep the water running downstream though. No idea how many other people and farms relied on this for water, and I wasn’t about to be a prick who hogged it for himself. Too many bad experiences with that back home.

Mentally, I walked myself through the paces. I would need Ishila, lots of wood, and patience. You couldn’t just drag a dam in a river and call it quits. I wanted water to spill over and continue downstream but also move towards an irrigation trench I’d dig towards the fields. Maybe a holding pool?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I failed to see Ishila arrive. Hours had passed, I realized with a start, as I felt her hand clap on my shoulder. A worried expression was etched on her face as she looked at the bloodied bandage around my head. The world was quiet as I tried to explain what happened.

My mouth moved and lungs pushed out air, but I heard nothing as I tried to explain the mandrake to her. The lass caught on quick. She pointed at my ears, and I shook my head. I couldn’t hear anything. She mimed a healing potion, and I nodded. Without any further ado, she was gone. I watched as she sprinted up the road, dust in her wake.

Although, it wasn’t all bad. She had even brought me a hat with holes cut into it for my horns. I held it gingerly, a pained smile on my face. I wanted to try it on, but it wasn’t going anywhere near my blood-stained scalp.

Having Gol soundlessly loom beside me was a fright. I was startled as the massive beast just appeared at my side. I would have sniffed him out, even with my dead hearing, but blood permeated every sense I possessed. Instead, I just slumped as he sniffed at my ears, suddenly extremely interested in my well-being.

“I’m not dying yet, you lazy shit,” is what I hope I said.

Ishila was back long before I expected her. The orc lass came down the road at breakneck speeds, flustered and exhausted. Gods, how fast had she run? She flopped down in front of me, a crimson flask in her hand.

She mimed instructions, and I removed the thoroughly soaked bandage from my skull. I could see the grimace on her face as she tilted my head sideways and poured the liquid into one ear. I could roughly feel it slosh around then evaporate. Same with the other one. Lastly, it tasted sour going down my throat in a burning rush.

With that, Ishila squatted back on her heels and watched.

A tingling burn spread through my skull, and sensation began to return. I could faintly make out words as she spoke.

“...an you hear me?” The sound came from far away, but it was there. With a grimace, I nodded. Relief returned to her features, and her usual grin slipped back into place. “Your lucky ma’ believes in keeping the healin’ potions in iron flasks and not glass potion bottles.” She grimaced to herself. “Tripped on the way here and nearly had to go back.”

“But you got here anyway,” I rumbled. Gods, it felt so good to be able to hear things again. “Thank you.”

Her frown returned as I explained the mandrake and how to recognize them. “They’re dangerous.” She frowned deeper. “But so is everything else. We need wax and cloth to plug our ears when working with them. Wax for this, armor for the biters, and the acid. I think we should just build storage space for dedicated safety gear at this point.”

“You present an excellent point.” I sighed. ‘The wood I brought to erect a shed for the cows can be used for that instead.”

“Good. Don’t wanna run home for my armor every time you want to handle the biter-pods anyhow.”

“So?” I grunted. “I take the young couple received our gift with gratitude?”

The lass snorted, a cheeky grin on her face. Her fangs appeared more obvious than usual as she grinned from ear to ear. “Gratitude?” she asked. “Have you ever seen someone burst into almost spontaneous tears? I watched both of them tear up real good when I told ‘em it was a gift. They’re just a small place without cows and were havin’ to buy milk at cutthroat prices from another farmer down the road, from what I understood of his blubberin’. Real mighty overjoyed at such a neighborly gift. Tried to foist a whole bunch of hats on me when I asked bout one.”

“You didn’t take them?”

“Eh, woulda’ been too small for you anyway.”

I nodded, a happy smile on my face despite the pain.

“Well, I can’t work too much myself today, so we’re not doing anything. Care to stay for supper or some such?”

She did, and the day faded as we discussed upcoming projects on the farm, what we needed, and who it would be beneficial to get in touch with. Ishila seemed to be of the idea that once the fields were seeded, I should go and meet the neighbors.

I didn’t disagree. I couldn’t stay holed up forever and just drown myself in work. Wasn’t healthy. And if problem times came, I would rather have friends to call upon more than a small bit of progress in some project.

And like that, another day ended. A painful one, yes, but one well spent.

Chapter 15

The cows were strangely quiet when I walked to the pasture the next morning. No grumbling moos roused the morning air to greet me. Perhaps they were settling into the routine? Any hope I had of that was dashed as I saw my small herd.

They were lying on their sides, barely moving. I dropped the pails and broke into a brisk run, my eyes wide. I was stupid. I hadn’t even thought about any other animals in earshot. If the scream had killed those birds above the field, what had it done to my cows?

I knelt and grasped one’s head, turning it side to side. Weak protests came from its mouth, which brought some relief to my mind. No blood anywhere. Meant they weren’t bleeding out like I had been. I moved from cow to cow and found them all in the same state. Weak, lethargic, and only able to feebly protest as I drew near.

The mandrake scream had affected everything in earshot. The horses nervously grazed on the far side of the pasture, at the very edge of hearing, but just the revelation made me stop to think. What if Ishila and Gol had been next to me when I yanked that thing free? I doubted that they could have borne the brunt of the scream better than I had.

I needed some way to isolate the mandrakes from the rest of the farm. If that small, infant monster could kill animals with sound alone, I did not want to see what an adult was capable of. I gently stroked the poor creature’s head and nodded in sympathy to its feeble moos. No milking today, then.

The only mercy was that the horses, by virtue of being bullied to the far end of the pasture by the cows, hadn’t been affected. They were at the very edge of earshot, and other than some nervousness at my approach, I could see nothing wrong with them. A relief. Something good had come from having mean cows, then.

I had been attacked by a monster just a few days hence and thought little of it. Just killed it and moved on. Was attacked by thugs a few days prior. It spoke volumes to this world that no one considered that noteworthy. Was violence and danger such an everyday thing here that people just didn’t care? Garek’s skewed memories suggested so.

So did Ishila. The orc girl leaned against her usual spot as she pondered my question.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “See, for city folks, it might be a bigger deal. And you know, that’s a good thing on some level that they don’t have to be adapted to constant danger. But out here? Away from the walls and with monsters in the woods? It’s just something that happens.”

“Seems very… common,” I suggested, sort of at a loss for words.

Ishila just shrugged and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “You know, one of the strangest things to imagine is a world without monsters. What’d give us levels and skills then? ‘Side from our main classes, I mean. See, I’ve always thought it a bit strange that killing monsters is the universal way to gain levels. It means that even if you can’t do a job or secure a lifestyle, you can still make someone of yourself through violence,” she noted, oddly pensive today. “But Ma’ always says I’m overthinkin’ it. I mean, what a fantasy, right?”

I nodded awkwardly. Yeah, what a fantasy indeed. “What classes do you have anyway?” I asked. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

The lass rubbed the back of her neck, a gesture I’d come to associate with her being thoughtful. “Well, I’m a Farmhand, mainly. But I still have the opportunity to transition that into a Farmer if I get my own place an’ meet all the requirements.”

“What are the differences between the two?” I asked, mostly out of curiosity. I could vaguely guess, but any new knowledge of this system as a whole was useful.

“Well, from what I’ve heard talking to Ma’ and Pa’, the Farmhand class focuses more on physical farmwork with lots of skills that actively and passively work towards, ya’know, helping me work the farm. Farmer class instead focuses more on the farm as a whole, I understand.”

I nodded along as she spoke. Made sense, that.

“Though I’m also a low-level Prizefighter.” She grinned. “Pa’ weren’t too happy when I came home with that shiny new class one night.”

“Do tell,” I prompted dryly. Gol whined in what I assumed was confirmation. Couldn’t tell. The beast was slouched next to Ishila, letting the girl stroke the soft part of his head. He yawned smugly at me, lazy as ever.

“Well, out here, it’s up to us farmkids to make our own fun, see?” She grinned mischievously. “So we’d all get together and have sparring matches. Course that was a polite way of puttin’ it. We absolutely beat the shit outta each other with a crowd watching. Most parents didn’t care, right until we started sproutin’ all the wrong classes. Then that was the end of that.”

“They cared more about classes than physical harm?” I stated the obvious, incredulous.

“Course.” She nodded. “Broken bone or cracked rib can be fixed be with a healin’ potion. Gettin’ the wrong class can’t.”

“Your accent’s slipping,” I noted with some amusement. She blushed and rubbed the back of her head again.

“Been tryna’ work on it lately,” the lass admitted. "Don’t wanna seem uncouth round Miss Le’rish or anythin’.”

We drifted off into further discussion and came to the agreement that we’d need to be more careful with the monster plants. Specifically, the mandrakes would require extreme care. We finally settled on transplanting them to the far end of the field, physically away from the farm. But before that, we would need material to plug our ears, both physically and magically, which would warrant a trip to Hullbretch.

Despite Raffnyk’s warning, I needed another visit to the town in order to advance things on the farm. This time, I intended to collect some profit. Fresh milk was a valuable commodity, I learned from Ishila. Most people preferred to turn theirs into cheese and milk to prevent it from going bad. The jars and vines I had would grant me a few days of safe storage, even though I knew I should pasteurize it or something, just out of habit.

"We should break up a third field,” I suggested half-heartedly. “Just for the crops, ya know?”

“Aye, we should,” came the agreement.

“Buuuuut that can wait.”

“Ya, I agree.”

“Field won’t run away,” I assured myself. “How ‘bout we build that safety shack instead?”

She was very agreeable to that idea, I found. And with two people, it went much faster than expected. In the end, we elected to just make it an add-on to the current house. Needed less wood that way. We were actually done by mid-afternoon. Crazy how two people made everything easy. If I were still human and by myself, this would have been a multi-day job.

Which led me to another line of thought. “Why is it that human standards are used as a baseline for everything anyhow?” I asked out of curiosity.

Ishila shrugged at that. “Most of this continent’s that way, sure, but that’s ‘cause humans are everywhere here.” She grimaced a little. “Not ta’ be an asshole or anythin’, but they’re kinda like pests. Short lives, breed a lot of kids, spread, and stick their noses in everything. Don’t matter if you kill a few, there’s always more to take their place. Kinda like bigger, pink goblins.”

Ah. That was a very vivid description, then. “And actual goblins?”

The lass frowned and made a face at that, scrap lumber over her shoulder as we carried the junk away. Cleaning up after the job still needed to be done. “Most orcs don’t like being compared to goblins, just to warn ya.”

“So I’ve learned from experience.”

“Good.” She nodded and paused to think for a bit. “Humans an’ goblins ain’t too different in the end, see. Breed lots, are kinda everywhere you go, always happy to get into a scrap with outsiders. Main difference is humans work together and will make peace and treaties if it suits their interests. Goblins have too much Trork in them. Don’t trust each other, fight among themselves, refuse to adapt to the world. They’re like humans without the most valuable trait humans have: adaptability.”

“Trork?” I asked.

“‘Nother point of contention among us greenskins.” She made a face. “Ain’t something we love spreadin’ ‘round, given as so many races already hold us in a bad light.”

“And yet...”

We walked in silence until we dumped the lumber and stood to admire the view. Ishila was chewing over her words here, obvious distaste on her face.

“All the greenskin races are devolved,” she started abruptly. “Trolls, goblins, and orcs were once one race—Trorks, or whatever they were called. The name is lost to time. But over time, after some massive fuckery nobody remembers, we got split and, over time, lost most of what made us the dominant race in the world.”

“Trolls got most of the strength but became near brainless and infertile. Orcs kept the warlike spirit and adaptability, goblins kept the numbers but got shafted in every other regard. Lots’a orcs hate being reminded we were ever the same race.”

“Ah,” was all I had to reply.

“Look, it’s a bad topic.” She sighed. “I’m only tellin’ you this ‘cause you’re a decent person and been great so far. Wouldn’t expect that from a minotaur. Your race has a reputation, and y’all earned it.”

I nodded vaguely, blissfully unaware what exactly she referred to and in no hurry to discover it for myself.

In time, we moved back to the farm and began to discuss what we wanted to do in the immediate future. After a bit, we decided to wait a few days and then head to Hullbretch to sell milk and search for a potential buyer for monster parts. That way we could guarantee some profit between now and when the crops were ready to harvest, and Ishila needed to pick up personal things anyway.

After much debate, it was decided that the irrigation ditch could wait. It was already past the time to dig it anyhow, as the field was seeded and already sprouting.

“Watering by hand will be a chore.” Ishila sighed. “But it’s just another job.”

“Aye.”

“Remind me to buy a lock,” I said distractedly. “And two keys—for the shack.”

“I mean, we have Gol to ward off intruders,” the lass offered.

We both stared at each for a moment and then started laughing.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so either. He seems more liable to slink off than chase off an intruder.”

“Honestly, the thing I’m worried about most is the baron’s men showing up while we’re away.” Ishila frowned. “I have a feeling Ironmoor’s lackeys would have little qualms about razing this place while you’re away.”

That gave me pause. I could probably fight off however many thugs he sent, but that meant nothing if they jolly well sallied up while I was absent. An empty farm wasn't going to defend itself.

“Any suggestions for this?”

“Well, not to seem too in favor of her, but you could hire Miss Le’rish to run security while you’re away.”

“I’m seeing a clear pattern of favoritism here.” I smirked. “I wonder why?”

The blush I got out of her with that was worth the angry squawks that came afterward. But later, I did decide that having the huntress stalk the trees and frighten off any potential intruders was worth the coin if it kept my farm untorched. I couldn’t stay holed up here forever, and no amount of justification would get me to put Ishila in danger. The lass could handle her own, no doubt, but I was taking no chances and brooking no complaints.

Chapter 16

The next several days passed in routine. Get up, milk the cows, check on the plants, and proceed with menial farm work. Ishila helped construct scarecrows that were pretty much just poles with cloth and dead bird corpses hanging from them. Crude but effective.

Carefully, and nervously, we walled off the mandrake plants as a temporary measure. We had been lucky insofar, but I refused to let something stupid like a rabbit yanking them free kill us all. That would be an insanely stupid way to end my new life and took no chances.

Even more carefully, we siphoned some of the acid from the pepper plant into metal flasks. It took considerable effort to attach thickened bags over the sprout of a puffer plant and let it furiously puff away all day to fill it with spores. Harvesting some metallic spheres from the bomb-plant was a loud and violent process, but we did it in the end.

The crops were sprouting, yet I had a feeling in my gut their progress would have been much faster if I hadn’t spent as much gold.

Might be a good thing, that. Faster growth meant faster water consumption. After furious debate, we had decided to backtrack on our previous decision and instead go with the original crop irrigation method. My last visit to Hullbretch had, thankfully, acquired my greatest asset yet.

The mighty steel shovel.

I’d noticed a common trend in all my mundane tools. Wood was too flimsy for me to work with, sadly. It cost more, but all my new tools were solid steel. Perfect for a minotaur. It was also during this time that I met Ishila’s father.

The bearded, muscled elf looked me up and down, distinctly unimpressed. He looked nothing like what I envisioned an elf to be, aside from unusual eyes and pointed ears. Instead, he more resembled a tall, thickly muscled viking with a bushy crimson beard and braided ropes of red hair. The loose shirt he wore didn’t fool me a bit, the man rippled with muscles on every exposed surface. He moved with the fluid grace of a serpent and with the light step of a cat.

Everything about the man tripped alarm signals inside Garek’s mind.

“Pa’, this is Garek,” Ishila introduced the two of us. The hand I shook was firm, even when I applied my own strength. We were next to the stream we intended to dam, materials stacked about us.

“Haven’t seen one of your kind in years,” the man said briskly. “Didn’t imagine one would move in right next to me. The Gods are hilarious like that.”

I nodded politely. There was some subtext beneath the surface I was lacking here. that much was certain. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, mister…?” I trailed off pointedly.

“Grenzwald,” he said bluntly. “My girl didn’t call me out here for endless pleasantries. Dispense with them and let’s get to business.”

I did just that and turned to the running stream behind me. Unclogged, it now ran deep and wide, easily up to my waist in the center and several body-lengths across. We had already dug out large holding pools on this side. All that remained now was to erect the dam and let the river overflow into them. Gouged trenches would then carry the water downhill toward my crops and into the funnels we had dug there the day prior.

“There remains one final step in all this.” I gestured at the river. “And though your daughter is exceptionally resourceful, we cannot figure out a solution as to how we might dam the stream without all our materials being swept away.”

“And so you have come to me.” He puffed at a small pipe and looked up and down the stream with a pointed eye. “You require magical means. I require gold for my services.”

“Well, Pa’,” Ishila interjected, ‘I was actually hopin’ you’d do it as a neighborly gesture, see?”

The man snorted and shook his head. “No. I have talents, and you have a need of them. You’ve a suspiciously soft spot for this place, girl.”

The lass’s face crumpled a bit, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t afford to pay for this job. I had intended to in the first place.

“Well, can’t blame me for wantin’ to make a good impression on our best neighbor.” She huffed, hiding her disappointment.

The elf just shrugged, unconcerned, and remarked, “Plenty of other opportunities for you to do that.”

With a slight nod, he named his price and watched as I counted out the coins. A bit pricey, but that was the price of immediate results and convenience. With another puff of his pipe, the man pocketed the coins and rolled back his long sleeves. The tattoos inked onto his forearms squirmed as he gestured towards the stream.

The results were immediate. Water collided with an invisible wall further upstream, swelled and began to build. Pipe puffed furiously, he raised one red eyebrow and seated himself on a stump, fist clenched.

“I suggest you hurry,” he said mildly. “The water will overflow with enough time.”

No more encouragement was needed. Ishila and I began to drag materials into the shallow mud and hastily began to construct a crude dam. Stone, lots of it. Large slabs were maneuvered in and jammed into trenches we hewed into the mud.

But there was an issue.

There were cracks in said stones, which would allow water to flow through. Once the thick, sloped wall of rock was finished, I turned to the elf.

“The other part now, if you could.”

He snorted and brought up his other arm. I watched the ground physically harden around the stone, become near stonelike itself. The crude piles of stone melted and fused together. It shifted and distorted then settled into a thick, rounded wall of solid rock.

Now came the moment of truth. With a grunt, he released both hands, and the stream rushed forward once more. It struck the dam and swirled violently. With nowhere to go, the water rose and began to spill over. On one side, into the holding pools we had dug. On the other, down the stream. An even split into the two.

I sat back with relief. There was little doubt it would have worked, but relief still came sweetly.

His business done, the elf nodded at me, bade me a good day, and strode off back toward his farm.

“Don’t mind Pa’, he’s just like that.” Ishila grimaced. “Bein’ an elf an’ all.”

And with that, my crops slowly began to receive water—one crucial problem solved.

I slept soundly that night, I had to admit. One less worry on my mind. The next day, we decided to head for Hullbretch. Le’rish and Ishila both arrived at first light, albeit from separate directions. The orc girl came at her usual sprint, while the huntress stalked out of the woods. She took my gold without comment, only giving a gruff greeting to myself and the lass.

It took longer than I was proud of to catch the horses and attach them to the cart. But come mid-morning, I was seated in the front and trundling along the dirt road. The cart had not been built with a minotaur driver in mind, and I sat hunched over, legs uncomfortably cramped. Ishila sat in the back, a close eye kept on the pots of cooled milk and various harvested plant parts.

“First, to the Gursenheins’, then off to Hullbretch?” she asked in confirmation, to which I nodded.

It looked to be a very busy day, hence the attempted early start. The horses were… clearly not trained for pulling wagons either. But Ishila had tried to ease them into it over the past several days. Tried.

It was slow going, no two ways about it. Probably would be faster if I pulled the cart myself, but we rumbled down the dusty roads all the same, the sun at my back and naught but roads, trees, and fields before me.

The Gursenhein family already had company, we found. There was another cart out front when he approached, this one pulled by a single horse. Its covered cargo sat right in the middle of the single trail that led to their modest house. After briefly conversing with Ishila, I took a small jug of milk and headed off to introduce myself.

I wanted nothing but the best impression, and so I chose to come bearing even more gifts. A young couple on their own was already a hard enough life, and what better way to cement myself in their good graces than by providing them with much needed aid? I was firmly aware of the incredible power of gossip as well, however. Better that it be positive things being whispered about me than fearful mutters.

“...already sold my sheep to pay you, Pert. What more do you want?”

The sound came from around the corner as I approached. I was aware that I moved quietly for someone my size, but even then, there was no lull in the conversation as I drew near.

“I am a businessman, Leon, and we have a deal. A contract, even. I know how difficult it is to be a loyal family man in times like these, I really do. All these dangers that lurk on all sides, these temptations that might lead good men astray, you wouldn’t do that, would you? Go back on your word, renege a signed contract? I am a good, peaceful man who would hate to see any misfortune befall my neighbors.”

I rounded the corner just then and found a thick, burly man with his back to me conversing with another, much younger fellow who stood in the doorway, his arms folded.

“Now, I have this milk here, which you have agreed to buy from me at these absolutely meager prices I am offering it for, Leon. Understand that I passed up another, much more lucrative contract just so I could sell to you at such a discount. And here I stand, having learned you no longer want my milk?”

“We already have milk this week, Pert,” the young man said, voice weak. “Don’ need your supply. Mighty thanks for supplyin’ us so far, but we won’ be needed any right now.”

“Leon. Leon, my good man. See, we have an agreement. And part of that agreement is that you buy every week. Now, I don’t care if you have an entire herd of the finest milk cows right in your backyard and an ocean of cream, you will give me my Gods-earned gold.”

“No, Pert,” the young man insisted, focused on the other person. “We know you been sellin’ to us for way higher than we could get in Hullbretch, and that you been musclin’ your way into gettin’ other folks to stay away. We don’ want none of it.”

The bigger man laughed deep in his gut. “Hullbretch’ll sell you anything, Leon. But Hullbretch isn’t here, is it? And I don’t see a way for you to get there. What business other folks have with me and their decision ain’t none of your business now, is it? You just keep that thin nose of yours buried in your business, and everything will stay just fine.”

I could see a pail of milk next to the man, and it didn’t require a genius intellect to piece together context as to what was happening here.

“Now, you be a good lad and tell this new uppity supplier of yours to git so we can all go back to the nice, peaceful arrangement we had, you hear?”

It was at that moment that a babe wailed from inside the house, and the young man noticed my massive form. His eyes widened as I fairly towered over the third man, who yelped as I clapped one hand down on his shoulder and spun him around.

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” I rumbled.

Chapter 17

To be fair, he was a big man. Human-wise, Pert—context implied this was his name—was a broad-shouldered, strapping hulk of a man. He had nearly a full head over the shorter Leon and weighed easily a hundred pounds more. The man didn’t need to specify threats to intimidate people, his bulk did it for him.

And then there was me.

I was him but better. The upgrade, in every way. I admit, I took no small amount of inward pleasure as his eye’s visibly widened at the sight of me. There was something about frightening an obvious bully that I had never outgrown.

“Please.” I smiled softly. “Continue with whatever you were saying. Don’t let me interrupt.”

The silence that stretched out was thick enough to run a knife through and spread on a loaf of bread. I could see, even smell the emotions that flickered behind his face. Shock, the rejection that this wasn’t happening, acceptance that it was, and then thinking on how to salvage the situation.

Or maybe I was just overthinking it and the man was simply dumbfounded. Either way, I remained with a fresh jug of milk carried in one arm and loomed over the human as he tried to formulate something to say.

It took a few coughs and false starts, but I believed in his ability to say something. Eventually. “And who’re you?”

We both knew the answer to that, but I humored him anyway. “The new supplier.” I smiled broadly. “Pleasure to meet you.”

I believe there’s been a mixup,” he sputtered after a moment. “I have a signed contract with these here folks to exclusively provide them with milk, and I believe you to be unlawfully intrudin’ upon that.”

I nodded politely. “To whom is this contract beholden then, mister…?” I trailed off, expecting his name.

“By the laws of Baron Ironmoor, of course. As per the law of exclusivity ratified by his excellence himself, you are trespassing upon my fair, Gods-given rights and interfering with my business,” he said, gaining confidence with every word. “Deliberate disruption of another man’s legitimate business will not stand. I suggest you keep yourself in your lane, or we’ll see what the sheriff of these lands has to say.”

He was attempting to salvage this by turning the subject to my transgressions and deflecting to me. ‘Twas a good thing I was not inexperienced with such tactics. “It is fortunate for me then,” I rumbled with a soft smile, “that I do not give a single illegitimate fuck about the baron or his laws. All I see is a bully trying to take advantage of a desperate family.”

“You would slander my honor and cast doubt on my good name?” He all but puffed up. “I’ll have you taken before the baron for sla—”

“I am not casting doubt on your good name, ser,” I interrupted, the very image of patient politeness, “I am denying its entire existence.”

I preempted the redness that burst onto his features by clapping my free arm down on his shoulder and yanking him close to me. There wasn’t a peep as I leaned forward and looked him dead in the eye.

“Now, with your best interests and safety in heart, I suggest you fuck right off. Walk back to your cart, turn it around, and drive on home before anyone gets any harsh feelings over all this,” I said that as nicely as possible, tone soft but stern. “And if you have any untoward ideas about coming back to make trouble for these folks, I know where you live.”

I didn’t, but he lacked that knowledge.

“Is that a threat? I’ll have the law here before you can so much as blink!” he sputtered angrily, trying to pull away.

I tightened my grip on his shoulder and let him wriggle about for a bit before I answered. “Mister Pert,” I smiled lightly and shook my head, “I don’t make threats. I hold no stock in childish boasts of violence. Myself, I believe a man should only make promises as to what he can back up.”

With that, I steered him around my form and let him go. He stumbled away as I smiled and gave him a small wave.

“‘Twas a pleasure meeting you.” I nodded and pointedly kept quiet as he stumbled away, his face several shades of crimson. “Good man.”

I nodded at his back. I was starting to very much appreciate this new form and its incredible size. I didn’t even need to imply violence, simply let others’ imaginations do all the work for me.

The young man stood in silence as I turned my attention to him.

“Leon Gursenhein?” I asked politely, more as a way to start the conversation than an actual inquiry. “I am Garek. I believe young miss Flintfang delivered a gift from me several days ago.”

“You’re a whole lot bigger in person,” he finally said. “Pardon me, but I ain’t never seen a minotaur before.”

“And now you have.” I smiled. “I hate to be abrupt, but I simply stopped by to drop off another gift and introduce myself. Been holed up at my place for a while too long and neglecting my neighborly obligations.”

I handed him the fresh jug of milk and swore I could see the beginnings of tears in the young man’s eyes. He looked absolutely ragged, now that I was closer. Smelled of exhaustion and that unique scent that came with terminal sadness.

“It’s been a rough few months.” His voice was cracked as he took the gift and blinked furiously. “Arga already had a rough time carryin’ twins, and then the gods saw fit to laugh at us again when they were born.”

I nodded wisely, catching a glimpse of a smaller woman with demi-human features just inside the house. The young missus, then. Although from my awkward angle, I couldn’t make out much of her.

“Well, life ain’t fair, so it falls on good neighbors to help relieve the burden.” I nodded. “I give freely and without any strings attached. Would just feel mighty obliged if you could perhaps return those jugs once they're empty, and we can see about getting you some more.”

With that, I accepted his thanks, grinned at his remark on how well my hat fit, and was on my way again.

“Someone left in a pleasant mood a few minutes ago.” Ishila grinned, sprawled out in the cart. “Think you might have gotten your goods tampered with or reins cut if I hadn’t been here.”

“A very fine coincidence, then, that I have you in my employ.” I somberly chuckled. I had probably made an enemy, but I cared little for the friendship of such craven men. If he intended to make any trouble for me and mine, I would not extend him the courtesy I had this time.

The road to Hullbretch was slow and bumpy, filled with dust and wary riders. The guards seemed like they wanted to speak of something and were reluctant to let me through. But in the end, they decided not to obstruct me further. My cart rolled into town, and with Ishila looking after the cart, I set off to find an alchemist or some such.

It took a while to pry directions from the townspeople, but I did eventually make my way to a rather large shop. I took note of the amount of green-clad men who lurked in most corners and alleyways and could almost smell the tension. The Riders of the Verdant Dawn seemed wound-up, tensed like a wire ready to snap. Whatever was going on, I wanted little part of it and hurried about my business.

Walch’s Royal Alchemy was the place’s name, and it did look rather fine, I noted upon stooping through the entrance. Neat racks of clearly labeled bottles were kept along the walls, while baskets of common herbs and ingredients were stocked down the center. A hub for all things alchemy, I was told. The marble walls were spotless, save for the occasional decoration.

It even stocked what I assumed were magical items. Staves, orbs, and other related objects were neatly kept behind glass display cases. A few items caught my eye, not out of necessity, but perhaps the promise of convenience. An innocuous wooden box promised to keep all materials inside at a warm temperature for as long as the lid was closed. Advertised with an average lifespan of several months, I could already imagine the warm meals this could hold for me all day.

It was large for a human, perhaps, but just right for me. And at a not-quite-steep price. I didn’t need it, per se, but it pleased me. What did not please me was what the shopkeeper told me shortly after.

“Come again?” I asked mildly, my emotions kept tightly in check.

The short man shrugged and scratched at a burnt spot on his forehead.

“‘Tis simple, my good man. You’re a Tax Evader, decreed by the Baron. Status says so, and status doesn’t lie. Now, this here bein’ a fine establish in good standin’ with the baron, I can’t buy your product.” He scratched away nonchalantly. “‘Less of course you get that status removed by payin’ your fair share like the rest of us, you won’t see a single grubbin’ sliver of coin from me.”

Well, that complicated things. Still, no sense trying to force a man into doing business with me when he obviously didn’t want to. I could just find someone else to buy my goods from. I wanted a long term profit and buyer, not a one off deal neither side liked. With a sigh, I plunked the basket onto the countertop.

“I’ll just buy this and be on my way, then.”

“Right gentlemanly of you, ser.” The tanned man nodded. “That’ll be seven gold coins.”

“The what?” I almost bellowed. “That’s double the price listed on the shelf!”

Tight rein on those emotions, I told myself. No reason to lose it over some haggling. Wasn’t haggling, it turned out.

“‘Fraid that’s what you’ll be paying.” The man shrugged again, supremely unconcerned. “Tax Evaders gotta pay double on any goods, baron’s orders. You have an issue with that, take it up with Lord Ironmoor.”

I contemplated unwise things, but decency got the better grip on me. Without another word, I turned and strode from the shop. I had not made it more than a dozen strides when a young lad waved me down.

“Garek, ser,” he said nervously. He knew me, but the reverse was not true. “Ser Raffnyk has asked me to bring you to him. The matter is urgent.”

My mood was already foul, but at least there was someone in this bloody town I liked decently enough. With a nod, I gestured the lad on and followed him through the streets. The roads were quiet now, eerily so. People wandered about their business, but the bustle and hubbub of it all was gone. We drew near a tavern I recognized, and the lad ushered me through.

Raffnyk, the orc I recognized as Stonefang, and several others were gathered within. The human looked up as we entered, his expression tight.

“Garek,” he greeted me, face pinched.

“Raffnyk,” I returned with a nod.

“God’s Above, man.” He sighed. The rider was worn thin by lack of sleep with bags around his eyes and normally-neat clothes in disarray. “You could not have picked a worse day to do your shopping.”

“What did I wander into this time?”

“Violence,” he groaned. “Incredible amounts of it. That fact that you’re here heralds it as too late to leave. They’ll have sealed the gate by now and be looking for us. And for you.”

“Who?” I demanded. I could smell the unease in the air, and the men and women in here shifted, tensed.

“Ironmoor’s bloody bastards,” the orc growled. “We should have been tipped off when they stopped letting our men out of the blasted town.”

“The good baron has decided to settle the score with our order once and for all,” Raffnyk grimly informed me. “Up until now, tensions brewed, yes, but there was some modicum of law and decency.”

“See,” the orc grunted. “Just yesterday, the good queen passed away in her sleep. We ride without her protection now.”

“The time for hard feelings and strained civility has passed,” Raffnyk growled. “Bloodshed is inevitable, now. The town is locked down, and they’re coming. You wandered in at a fatefully disastrous time, my friend.”

Gods Above, and this day had started so well.

Chapter 18

Raffnyk paced now as he relayed the situation to me. I could smell the emotions that ran rampant here. Nervousness, some fear, tension, and danger. Stonefang reeked of that particular anger-scent, something his face eagerly conveyed.

“The time is nigh,” Raffnyk growled. “Ironmoor thinks he is clever and will probably justify this as security. If we had not received a letter that the queen had died this morning, it would have worked too.”

“I take he would not have done this had she lived?” I asked, tense myself.

Fully aware of the danger now, there was a hollow pit in my stomach. I had little taste for bloodshed, but the situation seemed like it was intent to force me toward it.

“By Queen Elith’s decree, we were to keep our grudges aside and cooperate. Whoever struck the first blow would have their protection revoked and be subject to the full wrath of the crown,” the quillman who had accompanied Raffnyk to my farm solemnly informed.

“Queen Elith is dead,” Stonefang snarled. “Her decrees are worthless now. An Ironmoor likely holds power in the capital, and his brother will have free reign here.”

“So, do we sit here and wait for the axe to fall, or do we preempt the blow and break free?” Raffnyk asked quietly. “We are trapped in a very real cage. The longer we wait, the worse this becomes. We could sully our honor and strike down our hosts, slaughter the soldiers here, and then funnel our men out under night’s cover—and ride hard for The Mornwood.”

“I say we do this.” Stonefang grunted.

I just loomed quietly, arms folded as I took in the situation.

The quillman shook his head.

“Your honor is impeccable, Raffnyk, and I know it to be a hard thing to sully it so for the sake of your men. But instead of wholesale slaughter, I suggest we make a break for the stables, strike down only those in our way, and then break through the gate—ride for Livant. Give the men orders to split and ride till their horses drop. Smaller groups will mean a better chance of leaving Urthal.”

The men chewed it over, in deep silence.

Finally, Raffnyk turned to me with a tired look. “Garek, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have heard you are no friend of Ironmoor’s, but I would not want to endanger you further by asking you to lend us aid. This matter is far larger than a dispute over taxes. The Kingdom of Urthal is large and with massive resources they can bring to bear. Our actions here will almost certainly spark the embers of war.”

“And yet here I am,” I rumbled. Happy, I was not. That much was clear. “War?”

“Only as a warning of the danger, my friend. And yes, we are foreigners, here on a specific mission. The outrage this will cause is not inconsequential.”

“This fucking mission was supposed to ease tensions between our countries, not inflame them further,” a woman snapped, seated at one of the tables. “But that’s the danger of these requests.”

Danger. It suddenly struck me.

“Ishila,” I realized. The orc girl was unaware, likely still with the cart. She had no idea of this plot or the danger. “I must go.”

Raffnyk smiled sadly. “Then this is goodbye, minotaur.” He offered one armored hand. I shook it solemnly and looked at a man I respected. “You can no doubt find your way out of Hullbretch, no matter what stands in your way. Leave, and do not look back. Distance yourself from whatever happens here. The baron will soon have bigger matters to concern himself with than you.”

I nodded one last time and whirled. I was through the door and past the men standing guard outside in heartbeats. The streets were quiet as I barreled through them at a near-run. My claymore was in the wagon, because I hadn’t wanted to intimidate the citizens any further. A foolish decision on my part. My mind swam as I tried to process it all at once.

This had all come out of nowhere. I had been aware that the baron and the Verdant Dawn had no love for each other and had stumbled into a trap meant for others. Was there an even larger conspiracy at play?

Gods Above, I just wanted to farm.

Armored men stepped out of an alleyway ahead and spread out, hands on their weapons. I gave no shits and charged right at them. Even with Ironhide, I barely registered the impacts as I smashed into and through the line they had formed. Bodies were thrown aside, and men screamed in pain as I smashed through them without slowing. Shouts rose from behind me as I swerved down another street near my destination.

Ishila was safe, thank the gods. She sat upright as I barreled closer, concern on her face.

“On your feet, girl!” I bellowed.

She complied and hopped off the cart as I nearly crashed into it myself. My claymore was ripped free from where it lay, and with one regretful look at the milk and goods I was forced to abandon, I gestured her away.

I spoke in short, clipped bursts as I strode down the streets. “Follow me. We’re in danger. We need to get out of Hullbretch.”

“Gates are that way.” She pointed down another street, but I shook my head.

“Can’t,” I growled. “Guards are all Ironmoor. Out for blood. Don’t want to get bogged down with archers. I’d survive, but I’m not risking you.”

“You have another idea in mind?” she asked cautiously as we ducked down an alleyway to avoid a mass of guardsmen ahead.

“Yes,” I grunted and smashed through a barrier fence. The wood splintered under impact as I forced a path between the two buildings. “Head for the wall.”

A lone man awaited as we burst from the alley, and his eyes widened as I bore down on him. A single backhand swipe of my arms sent him into a wall, where he soundlessly slumped on impact. There were no archers atop the section of wall we arrived at. The wooden palisades were meant to keep the monsters out and townsfolk secure.

Now they were a cage.

“Stand clear,” I ordered and lifted the claymore.

Ishila complied and hopped backward to give me space. With a grunt, I lined up the massive blade and swung. Brutal Swing accelerated the strike, and the enchanted blade ripped through a section of the wooden wall. Two more slices and I kicked the section of wall outwards. Unable to exit via the gate, I made my own.

With one last glance back at Hullbretch, I ducked through and beckoned for Ishila to follow.

“Run,” I said and gestured towards the road we had arrived on.

Her pace matched my longer strides as we cut through farmers’ fields, growing crops trampled underfoot. I kicked up dirt with every step, back tensed as I expected shouts from the wall and the inevitable arrows. They never came.

Ishila kept stride, her expression grim as we dashed for the road. Farm animals scattered ahead of us, their brays of fear an alarm signal that mercifully went unnoticed. I was panting heavily by the time we came to the road and continued in silence until the town was out of sight until, finally, I collapsed against a tree and was forced to rest. Bulky forms were not made for running. My muscles burned, and adrenaline coursed through my veins.

Ishila squatted not far from me, barely winded. The orc girl had a tense expression on her face, fists clenched as she kept watch. “What happened?” she asked, worried.

I waved at her and indicated my shortness of breath before I could give an answer. “Ironmoor. Riders. Enemies.” The words came out in gasps as my chest heaved. “Start of a war, maybe.”

Her eyes narrowed as Ishila processed the information. She was on her feet and in front of me in a heartbeat, deadly serious. “Explain.” Not a question, a demand.

Urgency coursed through me, but reality forced me to pant for breath. Gods, I had not run this hard in years. Garek’s body was excellent for short, intense bursts, but not long, protracted running.

“The Queen is dead. Without her protection, Ironmoor is moving to eliminate the Verdant Dawn. They’re trapped in Hullbretch, and anything they do will trigger a war between countries. Raffnyk—”

“No she’s not,” Ishila interrupted.

“What?” I stopped and sat for second. “But, the riders received word this morning.”

“She’s not dead, Garek.” Ishila shook her head, confusion on her face. “Queens are a big deal here. I understand it might be different for you, but if she were dead, everyone would know.”

“Maybe the messengers haven’t gotten here yet?” I suggested. “Either way, now that her protection is gone—”

Again, Ishila cut me off with a shake of her head. “Garek, if she were dead, the System would tell us, her subjects, directly. I would have lost my Subject of Elith class. There would have been a ripple in the system. Queens and Kings don’t just randomly die without everyone being told. When old King Rosharth died, there was a message from the system to all of his subjects.”

“But—”

“You aren’t a Subject, I think, and the Verdant Dawn are all drifters unbeholden to any one crown, but I am. I would have known. And there were no mourning bells, no gossip, no flags. If she had died, the damn Eagle of Ulrath would be flying over every house in that town. The death of a ruler is a massive thing, Garek. We would have felt her Skills dissipate, seen effects vanish, stuff like that.”

I had to stop and think on that. My heart was still pounding, and the adrenaline made my limbs twitch and mind race. “Why would someone tip them off that she died, then?”

The question answered itself a moment later when I remembered what Raffnyk had said, the Queen’s protection extended as long as she lived, but whoever struck the first blow forfeited it.

Horror dawned on me as the pieces fell into place. “It’s a trap,” I whispered in horror. “But not the one that Raffnyk thinks it is.”

The baron was not some mildly competent fool. Only now did I see how brutally cunning the man was.

“He intends to lure them into striking first.” I spoke my thoughts out loud. “That’s why those guards didn’t draw their weapons on me. They closed off the town to scare them, spurred their emotions on with a false letter, and made it seem like they were closing in. if they attack their host, he has every justification to kill them.”

“And with the risk of sparking a war, their home country won’t shield them,” Ishila continued. “Le’rish did warn you that Ironmoor was smarter than you thought. The man didn’t get to be a baron by being a simple-minded thug.”

I heaven myself up. The trap had been set, and Raffnyk was about to walk right into it. I had no time to sit here lamenting about how I had been bamboozled into this fuck up. “Stay here, lass,” I ordered. “If I’m not back by nightfall, assume the worst.”

I didn’t wait for her acknowledgement and rushed off. I ran, but it was too slow. With a curse, I called Reckless Charge and picked up speed. My hooves tore through the ground, earth, and stone alike sprayed behind me as I charged for Hullbretch. Just moments ago, I had thought I was leaving the town behind for good, and now I returned in all haste.

“Open the fucking gates!” I roared as I neared the wall.

They were closed shut, and I was in no mood to go find the opening I had hewn in the walls. Every second mattered here. The guards out front simply milled about as I approached at breakneck speed, either uncomprehending or intent on refusing me entry.

Fine.

I called Ironhide and Reckless Charge again and braced as the wall of wood drew near. It loomed before me, approaching at alarming speed. With a grunt, I put my shoulder down and smashed into the wall at full speed.

Wood splintered on impact, and with an explosion of debris, I was through. I emerged from the other side, took a second to get my bearings, and was off again. No one was fool enough to step into my path this time.

The tavern was empty when I arrived, and it took precious moments to pry the information from the frightened innkeeper. My frustration and roars likely didn’t help, but I was in no mood for niceties and patience. Rage swirled beneath the surface, coated in desperation. Finally, the sniveling man told me that Raffnyk and his men had marched for the stables.

With another curse, I tossed the man out of my grasp and burst back outside. Vaguely recalling which direction the stables were in, I ran for all I was worth. Stone crumpled under my hooves and my muscles burned as I moved at speeds that should not have been possible for a form this large.

I was risking my life, but goddamnit, it was for one of the most good, decent men I had ever met, and I was not about to sit back and let him be killed because I hadn’t tried hard enough. There was still a chance to stop the madness and bloodshed, and I wasn’t about to let it fade.

I barreled into the square before the stables to find a scene I dreaded. Raffnyk and his men stood across from a massed force of armored men, all with their weapons drawn.

“SHE’S NOT DEAD RAFFNYK!” I bellowed at the top of my lungs. Fuck breathing, I had to get the goddamn message across. “THE LETTER WAS A RUSE! THEY WANT YOU TO STRIKE FIRST TO FORFEIT THE PROTECTION!”

With that, I clutched my chest and slumped sideways against the brick wall. My head swam, and my lungs felt so small and tired. Blood pounded in my eyes as the men milled, ripples going through their form. A form dashed towards me, and I recognized Joram. The young lad lent his strength to my weight and helped me towards Raffnyk’s stiff form.

“Garek, my friend.” He spoke tightly, caution and relief on his face. “I did not think you would return.”

“And here,” I gasped, “I fucking am.”

“Are you sure of this?” he asked, his voice tight. “Do not give me false hope. Please.”

“I am,” I gasped, and explained as best I could.

“Thank the gods you came back,” Raffnyk groaned when I finished, “or Hullbretch would have been drenched in blood.”

“Fuck the gods,” I groaned. “Thank yourself for being such a decent person that I actually cared.”

Anything further I was going to say was cut off as a figure stepped out from the crowd of soldiers across from where we stood.

“Well then,” a woman’s voice said from within the confines of a drake-faced helm, “would you care to disperse, or will you lift arms against your host’s leal guardsmen?”

I could almost hear the sardonic smile in her voice as the weight of her presence settled across the shoulders of everyone in the square. A powerful, oppressive feeling that radiated malice.

“You are free to return after our inspection of the stables for fugitives is finished.”

“Who are you?” I curtly demanded.

“My name is of no concern,” came the gleeful return. “I am the baron’s Adjudicator, and you can thank your gods I have little interest in you. Keep it that way, bull.”

After cautious milling about, Raffnyk ordered the men to disperse. My eyesight never left the draconic-armored figure as we left the square, a crisis averted by the thinnest margins. There was still anger and bloodlust in the air, but the worst had been averted.

For now.

“Gods Above,” Raffnyk tiredly exclaimed when we had returned to the tavern. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?’

“The reward of simple kindness and respect.” I smiled thinly. “I expect you to return the favor, someday.”

“We are leaving Hullbretch,” he declared suddenly. “As soon as that sham investigation of the stable is concluded, I am going to round up all my men and march for the Redtip. Set up our own camp somewhere and wait for further orders there.”

“Good,” I grunted tiredly. “And I’m going home.”

The guards didn’t try to stop me this time, and seated on my wagon, I rolled back out of town, picked up Ishila, and began the long drive home.

What a day. Politics, treachery, bloodshed barely averted, and the stark revelation that I had underestimated Iroonmoor by an absolutely gross margin.

Gods Above, I just wanted to farm in peace.

Chapter 19

Night ruled the skies above before we returned to the farm. Ishila tried to cheer me up, of course, but my mood remained pensive the entire ride. Raffnyk, and by extension me, had been played like a fiddle. Even if we had avoided crisis, that didn’t feel good. Ishila did her best, truly. The orc girl offered up plausible explanations, all of which I was too distracted to really appreciate.

“Well see.” She chewed on her lip as we rode along. “It makes sense, don’ it? The Verdant Dawn, being outsiders, wouldn’t have a specific Subject class. Being foreigners, they wouldn’t be informed of her death anyhow.”

I suspected this was a ploy to bolster my mood but listened anyway.

“And what of all these other signs that should have been so obvious? The bells being tolled, the flag over every house?” I threw back half-heartedly. I had not been aware of these traditions, but I was not strictly from this place either.

“I dunno if they ever mentioned it, but the Verdant Dawn’s homeland, if it can be called such, isn’t a kingdom. Part of why Iroonmoor dislikes them, I suspect. It’s more of an elected council of people. Those rarely die in office, and the system doesn’t place any great stock on their deaths. Nor has this land, Urlath, had a monarch die in half a century now.”

“Ironmoor gambled on a simple lack of knowledge, and nearly succeeded,” I returned quietly. It was a chilling thought. A reminder that, despite being massive, strong and—with help from Garek’s memories—experienced, I was not infallible. I had let myself get swept up in the rush and feel of danger and nearly watched friends die.

We traveled the rest of the way in silence.

Ishila led the horses to pasture once we returned to the farmstead itself. For once, I was glad to hear Gol’s whines as the beast wandered over and peeked into the cart. With the jumbled mess of politics, relations, feuds, and strife outside, there was something reassuring in his simple-minded hunger.

The cart could stay loaded tonight, I decided. The jars were covered anyhow, and everything else was sealed.

Le’rish seemed to appear almost in front of me, but I was too tired to be startled. We exchanged greetings, and tired as I was, I only half-heartedly invited her to stay for supper. She still accepted. Soon, we sat before a crackling campfire, me clumsily slicing meat and vegetables into a pot. Le’rish puffed away at her pipe, her face as a grimace as she inhaled the crystal smoke.

Ishila wandered over, bade us goodnight and walked off down the road.

“Unusual,” Le’rish remarked at the lass’s back.

“It was a long day,” I grunted. “Not a good one either.”

“Share?” she asked, and I did.

She stayed quiet throughout, leaned back against a tree with her legs crossed and one arm behind her head. I didn’t downplay my own oversights and mistakes and conveyed exactly what had happened, and she occasionally nodded along. Supper was ready to serve by the time my story was done, and the huntress graciously accepted a bowl.

“People underestimate the snake, Iroonmoor,” she grunted and blew into her soup. “Man didn’t become baron by being stupid. Calculated gambles always go well for him. Too well. Think he has a Skill that sways outcomes in his favor. Can’t confirm. Knowledge like that is secret. Secrets that people die for. But I’ve seen people with it before. I suspect he has a few levels in Gambler.”

Eager to not be reminded of my own failures this day, I instead chose to chase down this path of conversation. “Ishila mentioned this as well, a while back.” I questioned between sips of soup, “Why is it that having more Classes seems to be regarded as negative?”

“Mmm.” Le’rish shrugged. “The higher your level, the better your Skills. A single Skill in level thirty to forty is infinitely more useful than a dozen skills from one to twenty. Having multiple classes splits level growth as well. Already slow enough at higher levels, but with multiple Classes, it becomes a drag.”

She hacked and coughed after speaking that long, and grimaced between inhalations of her crystal haze.

“Has to do with how levels grow,” she rasped. “Killing beings that are part of the System grants you growth. Depending on their own growth in the System. Universal way of advancement for every Class. Doing Class aligned tasks also brings growth. But that’s a down-trickle.”

“Elaborate.”

She did so after a few more moments of silence and long pulls of her pipe.

“Your highest-leveled class will split its growth with the next highest class, but the reverse isn’t true. So while killing will split experience across all Classes, doing things in the highest class will feed the next highest.” She grunted. “It’s generally not worth it to have multiple Classes. Past level thirty, most Classes slow to a crawl. But every new Skill is massive potential.”

Garek’s memories contained none of this information. This being my first real look into the System, the information fascinated me. “For instance, what would you suspect Baron Ironmoor’s level to be?” I asked.

Le’rish shrugged. “Hard to tell. Wager he’s a higher level Warlord than Baron. Spent years on the northern campaigns. Plenty of experience killing. Suspect he has a few levels in Gambler. War’s a risky business, but things seem to go in his favor. Unless he found a way to consolidate his classes, I'd wager him to be mid-thirties in Warlord, mid-teens in Baron and mid-teens in Gambler—if he has it.”

“Class consolidation?” I asked, interested. “I have never heard that term.”

“Doesn’t happen much. You need some massive feat. One that uses both your Classes. Combines them into one. Most people already don’t take more than one Class.”

“Interesting.” I nodded.

“If you say so,” she grunted. “What now?” She elaborated a moment later, “Your plans?”

I shrugged. “Stay here. Farm. Do my damnedest not to get mixed up in all this. I’m already in deeper than I like,” I tiredly grumbled. “I just want to grow my crops, experiment with my plants, and raise livestock, but now I can’t even sell product because of my Tax Evader status.”

“Maybe not on Ironmoor’s land,” Le’rish suggested. “But you’re not far from his borders.” She grabbed a loose stick and leaned forward. With a flourish, she drew a round oval in the dirt. “Not accurate, but close. Think of this as Ironmoor’s lands inside the kingdom.” She stabbed at a part towards the middle. “This is Hullbretch, the edge of the settled lands.”

She moved the stick left and gestured at the empty space. “This over here has far more towns and villages, with the city of Koth on the border.” With that, she brought the stick back and poked a dot past the halfway-point of Hullbretch and the border. “This is where we are. Right on the slopes of Mount Redtip. Once you leave Ironnmoor’s lands, your Tax Evader status becomes nulled. Find towns not far from the border and sell your goods. I suppose.”

With that, she lapsed back into silence and began to eat her soup.

“Thank you, Le’rish.” I sighed. “This information is a large help.”

She shrugged and waved me off. “Fuck Ironmoor.” She grimaced. “Enemy of him is friend of mine. Mostly.”

“You seem to have a past with him,” I remarked.

“Worked for him, long ago. Things went bad.” She gestured at her chest. “I have him to thank for my torn lungs every morning.”

She lapsed into silence, and I didn’t ask further questions. After a time, she stood, thanked me for the meal, and walked off into the brush. Gol wandered in and flopped down in her place. A massive downgrade in company, I had to say. Still, I wasn’t in the mood to be angry with him today. For all his faults, the lazy beast wasn’t actively scheming my downfall.

Was he?

I lay awake in bed a while later, unable to sleep. For all its flaws and fuck ups, today had been an important day. Its events had closed doors for me but also opened others. In spite of everything, I saw opportunity.

A camp of Raffnyk’s riders here on Redtip would need supplies, and I found myself in a prime position to offer some. Milk, for sure, and perhaps vegetables and wheat down the line. I still needed an alchemist to sell my goods to, but if that failed, I would have to find separate uses for them.

And so I turned restlessly long into the night. My mind whirled, thinking of new ideas and purposes for the deadly plants that grew in my fields.

The most relevant was that I could possibly make either acid or spore grenades, but that would require care and some ingenuity. Still, those could perhaps be a source of profit, and I would have potential buyers nearby.

What Le’rish had said about classes and levels gave me much to chew over. I effectively had three classes now, with Bloodstained Berserker, Farmer, and Mason. But it seemed I didn’t have to worry about any growth from Farmer bleeding down into Mason. And even if it did, it seemed that the class wouldn’t actually gain any levels unless I did tasks that related to it, given that Garek had such a disproportionate gap in his levels. Despite his memories indicating he had taken Mason at a young age.

There was a vague sense inside me that if I used the class and its skills just for a little while, it would level up. But I didn’t want that. I was close to the next level of Farmer and wanted to focus on that as much as possible.

And I would do just that—in the morning.

The time between sleep and awakening came far too quickly, and with a grumble, I stumbled out of bed. I had fed Gol yesterday’s leftover soup, and I didn’t trust him enough to leave any meat over the fire while I did chores. With a yawn, I stumbled outside, blinked as the dawn sunlight struck my eyes, and went off to visit the cows.

The mandrake incident had made them even more resistant to my approach. Something that Cloven Crash was forced to remedy. But soon, I had a field of frozen cattle behind me and a full pail of fresh milk. With a sigh, I heaved open the door of the storage shed where we had moved the milk to and stopped.

A cat-like creature sat on its hind legs, half a jug of empty milk in front of it as it blinked up at me with big round eyes. That was officially when I decided to no longer take things well.

Chapter 20

To its meager credit, the cat was fast. All of two heartbeats passed between me yanking the door open to it bolting between my feet. Or it tried to. The pail of milk hindered it somewhat. And I was no slouch in speed either.

My haste fueled by rage, I grabbed the creature before it could escape and hauled it skyward. It squealed in protest as I breathed heavily, contemplating simply hurling it at the sky with all my strength.

“Do you know what happens to thieves?” I rumbled, blood pounding in my eyes. This farm already had one slacking-off, useless resource drain. And he mostly existed because I was too far into the sunk cost fallacy to kick him out.

“No?” it whimpered.

And I blinked in surprise. Of course there were talking cats here. Now that I glared at it closely, it also wore some rudimentary clothes.

“Thieves get fed to the plants,” I growled and stomped toward where the biter-pods were.

“No no no,” It mewled furiously. “I’m sorry-sorry for taking your milk! I was hungry, yes-yes.”

“Sorry isn’t going to return it,” I snarled. I was well and truly fed up with all the random bullshit life had been throwing at me lately, and this threatened to be the last straw.

It squirmed in my grasp, glancing over its shoulder as I approached the plants. “I’m really, really sorry, mister,” it yelped. “I can pay you, yes-yes.”

That got a twitch out of me, and I stopped. It was firmly in my grasp, but I wasn’t squeezing tight enough to crush it. The cat was near two feet tall and weighed a few dozen pounds, I reckoned.

“Coin,” I rumbled. “Now.”

“I have none, but I can help on the farm!” it spoke in a rush. “Help on the fields, catch vermin, and stuff. I promise-promise.”

I paused and considered. I did need some way of keeping mice and other vermin out of my harvest, and having some controllable way of doing that seemed good to me. Still, I wasn’t about to let this be another Gol. I yanked the creature close to my face and glared at it.

“Fine,” I growled. “You can stay and earn your keep. But any funny moves, and you become food. Try to run off without repaying your debt, and I’ll send the best huntress this side of Koth after you. Am I clear?”

“Yes-yes.” It nodded enthusiastically.

With that, I dropped the creature and folded my arms. It righted itself mid-air and landed on its back feet, tensed up.

“First of all, I’m going to need a name.”

“Artyom,” it complied.

“Art it is, then,” I grumbled. “Now, what can you do?”

Ishila interrupted me halfway through the cat-creature boldly listing all its traits and skills, most of which I assumed were exaggerated.

“A felinid?” she questioned, fresh in from her morning run.

I shrugged, not knowing what the creature’s race was, and explained the situation to her. The orc girl blanched when I recounted the details of it all to her.

“Best you keep it far away from milk, Garek,” she told me staunchly. “It’s a near-drug to them. Too much will cause them to turn manic. Seen it happen before. Ration anything you let this one have.”

I noted that and ignored Artyom’s hisses at Ishila. The felinid had its ears flattened along its skull as it glared up at the lass.

“Look, all I’m saying is that there’s a reason they’re known as a race of wandering thieves, and most of it comes from them being given unrestricted access to milk, going absolutely manic from it, and needing it again.”

“I’m not like the rest of my kin-kin, greenskin!” Art hissed at Ishila, hostility in his eyes.

“It did consume half a bucket of milk and is still lucid,” I offered.

“Take no chances,” Ishila insisted. “Last thing this farm needs is a drugged-up felinid tearing through everything in desperation.”

With morning already well underway, I set Ishila to look after Artyom for the day, and they both headed out to weed the crops, tools in hand. I trusted the lass to watch over the cat-thing and tell me if she thought it was worth keeping around. I gave Gol the stink-eye as the beast rolled over from where it had been fast asleep the whole time and loudly yawned. Some guard-animal he was.

With that, I settled in to plan the rest of my day.

Construction on any new buildings was temporarily halted. Until I could find an actual source of good wood, I was going to focus on other things. The dam and irrigation trenches needed a blockade to cut off water to the fields as needed, so I focused on that. The neat rows of plants that had sprouted were separated by small trenches filled with water. At the opposite end of the field, I could see Ishila and Art carefully making their way through the mud and beginning their mass extermination of weeds.

But here, upslope from them, I wanted a method to cut off the water. After a while, I settled on making a proper barricade for the small stream. The water would stay in the holding pool and could be let out as needed. It took me a few hours to construct and implement that, but the task was finished before long.

I waved to the two as they worked their way up the first field and set off back to the house. The garden next to the house I had to water by hand, and so I did. The vegetables had sprouted, spurred on by my skill. I had tomatoes, corn, cucumbers, and peas—all separated into separate rows.

A hoe in hand, I carefully worked, removing weeds, and sank into thought.

What I had planted here was enough for me, yes, but there would be more people moving into the area soon. If they planned to stay for any length of time, it would be beneficial for me to clear more land and, perhaps, plant even more vegetables as soon as possible. That way, I could sell locally.

I tried as much as possible to put Ironmoor and anything related to him out of my mind and instead focus on the farm.

The rhythmic movements were cathartic, I had to admit. Forget all the tensions, plots, and schemes of the outside world, I just wanted to be at peace with my farm. Slowly, carefully, I hoed out the weeds, cutting their roots and doing my best to rip them free. It took a while, but with that done, I sat by the massive oak tree and rested for a time.

I very much had a finite amount of meat and didn’t look forward to hunting myself or acquiring more. I’d never been much of a woodsman, to tell the truth, and my large size would make hunts even more difficult.

I could send Ishila, came the solution. I was the Tax Evader, not her. I stopped, blinked, and realized this solved so many of my potential problems. I couldn’t sell or buy goods reasonably, but the lass could. This didn’t entirely answer the question of finding new suppliers and buyers myself, but I more than trusted her to head for Hullbretch and bring in a load of meat.

Le’rish was an option, but I had first met her outside the Hullbretch butcher’s place, so I assumed she got her kills processed into meat for herself. Would have to inquire about that.

A light meal later, I returned with axe in hand and began to hew earth for a much larger garden patch. This one, I made closer to the stream, so I could either water it via the holding pool or even by hand. I carved out a much larger plot of land simply by dragging the axe as I walked to break up the soil. Then hitched up the plow and crudely turned the soil along the furrows I had craved.

Back and forth, I went in steady repetition in the afternoon heat, turning the soil over and over.

It being this close to the forest, I debated on fencing it off immediately but decided to leave it. It wouldn’t be ready to plant until I acquired more seeds anyhow.

The reality of most farming, it was a waiting game. Plant the crops, weed endlessly, harvest, and repeat. There was little to break up that cycle, and the sheer amount of work I had done in the past while was all to get the cycle in place.

With those tasks finished for the day, I found myself once more back at the monstrous plants I had sown.

Being the one most capable of catching prey—and the ones I had fed the most—the biter-pods were the largest. By now, they were at my waist with pods the size of a baseball. But I wasn’t here to admire them. I wanted to see what made them tick.

Long knife in hand, I approached a long vine and reached out. A mouth grinned open and fangs revealed themselves, but my hand shot forward and closed around the pod. With it trapped, I cut off the pod and pulled it free as the others began to turn towards my touch.

It was then that a surprise revealed itself.

The pod in my grasp continued to wriggle and strain. Curious. Separated from the vine, it still lived. It refused to relent either. After a few moments, its movements were still as strong as before. I peered at it, absolutely fascinated. When detached from its stalk, plants should, by all logic, die themselves, cut off from their lack of nutrients. But what was essentially a rounded mouth with fangs inside instead moved as if it were alive. It seemed agitated, even.

I needed to test this out. With brisk strides, I crossed the yard and into my house. Pod still in hand, I cut off a strip of meat and emerged back outside. Having smelled food, Gol wandered over, but I had no interest in him.

Instead, I tossed the meat into the grass, and then cautiously tossed the pod next to it. The reaction was immediate. The pod hit the ground and bounded towards the hunk of meat, and I watched in fascinated horror as it tore into it with gusto.

What was essentially just a mouth swallowed a chunk of meat near its own size, its form swelling all the while. Gol growled as the pod turned towards him, and I swooped in to snatch it up before it could do any harm.

It could function separately from the vine. But that changed my perception of it. Beforehand, I had thought the pods to be a contraption of sorts controlled by the vine. Now, I saw it more of its own separate being that just so happened to feed the vine nutrients.

I crouched there in the grass, a dozen different ideas whirling through my head. I observed the pod as it wriggled in my hand, gnashing its teeth for more. Where was it putting all that material it consumed?

Eagerness in my mind and some degree of glee in my eyes, I turned away and hurried back to the house. I had some experiments to run.

Chapter 21

Materials spread on the table before me, I hurriedly made a prison for the pod out of what steel implements I possessed. Crude, but it would have to work. I dropped the carnivorous bud inside and stepped back to examine its actions. Inside the metal, it just plopped down quietly. Moments passed as I waited for it to move, yet it seemed content to do nothing.

Had it gorged itself to the point of not wanting to seek more? Was it digesting the meat or doing something else?

No amount of waiting revealed tangible answers, and I decided on another path.

I tossed a finger-sized chunk of meat into the circle of metal and bent forward to watch. The reaction was almost immediate. Even as the meat flew through the air, the pod rolled toward it, and began to feast. Its body swelled with every bite, yet its feasting remained relentless.

So it had no defined appetite as far as I could tell. Simply hunger. This was further proven by several more chunks of meat being devoured greedily. Would it eat until it burst? I wasn’t quite eager to test that theory. Still, I had several things I wanted to test.

The pod left there on the table, I hurried outside and began to rummage through the storage shed. With its free space, I had been able to move some of the items that cramped my house into here. Several moments of fruitless rummage later, I emerged victorious, glass jars in my hands.

The pods could function autonomously to the vine, but how long could they survive?

That was what I was well and truly interested in. Knife in hand, I stalked back towards the field and liberated several more pods into a burlap bag. Writhing mass in hand, I returned from whence I had come, wickedness on my mind.

Experimentation on living beings had never sat right with me, but for these things, I could make an exception. That, and the promise of profit. The little buggers tried to nip at my fingers as I reached into the bag, but Ironhide meant they merely dulled their teeth. Loved that skill more every time I used it.

Two pods in close proximity were content to ignore each other, I observed. I had tossed the second pod into the prison, only for it to roll over and do nothing. This, however, became a complete reversal as soon as meat entered the equation. Both biters surged for the piece, and the slimmer one reached it sooner. For a few seconds, they gobbled at separate parts of the flesh at an uneasy truce. Then only scraps remained, and the fight was on.

Teeth clicked as they snapped at each other over the last few chunks. And when that failed to dissuade the other, they instead brought forth the wondrous power of incredible violence. Truly a time-tested method of achieving one’s goals.

I beheld the two as they snapped at each other, though the smaller one was at an advantage here. The larger, engorged pod moved sluggishly. Bloated and slow, it seemed to stumble around as the smaller pod nipped at it. And then the teeth snapped down in a sudden blur of speed, and it was over.

The larger pod seemed to have no interest in devouring its kill, however. It spat the smaller remnants away and went back to fruitfully doing nothing. Interesting. A scarcity of food would cause them to fight without regard for their primitive lives.

With that out of the way, I instead return to the experiment I wanted to run the most. One by one, I fished out the pods and deposited them into separate jars. For some, I left the lids off. For others, on. Some got no food, others a small bit, and a select few got an entire handful. I wanted to see how long they could survive while detached from the stalk and the effects of different conditions.

Once all was said and done, I cleared a space on the counter and lined up the jars. With that out of the way, there was little to do but wait—on them, that was. I had one more pod left and one other experiment I wanted to run. A wriggling bag firmly in hand, I left the house, blinked as the afternoon sun struck my eyes, and headed for the wagon. There were deer-like creatures grazing at the edge of the forest, I saw, but I ignored them.

A groan escaped my throat as I drew near.

There was a fresh hole in the wagon’s back. I discovered the source a few moments later. The acid I had stupidly stored inside metal flasks had eventually eaten through the material, ran free onto the wagon, and chewed its way right through the wood.

Excellent. Truly, a wonderful development.

Only by the divine mercy of Ishila’s packing skills had the acid flasks been stored at the very back. As such, they had spilled and eaten through the wood but not touched the other goods. Speaking of which, there were still pots of milk with chilling vines wrapped around them out here, which I probably should move into the shed and lock it before any more of Artyom’s kind came along to liberate the liquid.

Not that I had a lock, thanks to my wonderful trip to Hullbretch.

With a grimace, I stepped around the slurry the acid had left on the ground below and instead pulled free a bag that burst with collected spores, the proverbial fruit of the puffer plant. Breath held carefully, I carefully extracted a pinch from said bag and sprinkled it into the pod’s sack. At first, there was little effect, but gradually adding more caused the struggles to recede.

Until eventually the pod was no longer agitated by my presence at all. Even shaking the bag had little effect on stirring it. I strode back towards the house to experiment further. Dumping the dazed, spore-covered pod in close proximity to meat showed a remarkably different result than before.

It had no interest in the food, merely lying in place, its mouth snapping weakly. This beggared the question: why didn’t the spores affect them while on the vine? They were in close proximity to the puffer plant. Perhaps it was because of the small amount the puffers produced normally that kept them calm?

Further tests would require me to transplant some of them away from the puffers and see how they behaved afterwards.

Still, now that I had established that the spores had a tranquilizing effect, there was one other plant I wished to test this on. I stored the dazed pod in its own jar and, with a bag of spores in hand, approached the crop.

Slowly, carefully, I approached the quivering armored ball plant. I moved with extreme caution, not for my own safety, but because we had deduced that motion triggered these things. Anything that moved quickly in close proximity would have metallic orbs violently fired at it. This is what I had learned through repeated triggering of said orbs.

With extreme care, I edged close and sprinkled powder over the one plant inside this enclosure. It shivered violently for a second, and I watched with bated breath. More and more, I added until the bag was nearly empty.

Finally, its quivers stilled entirely. I sprinkled on some more for good measure and settled in to wait. After a time, I slowly reached out and grasped one of the orbs. They were the size of a baseball, growing from pits in the plant’s armored surface. With a twist, I snapped one free. It remained dormant in my hand, absolutely doused in spores.

With careful movements, I backed away and held it up. Similar to the pod, it seemed to suffer no adverse effects upon being away from its parent plant. I turned it over in my hand, trying to find anything unusual about it, apart from it being essentially a massive bullet for a bomb-like plant.

A few moments of experimentation revealed nothing extraordinary. And then my eyes caught sight of the deer again. I shrugged a general apology in advance and made my way in their direction. They stood at the wood’s edge, a wary eye kept on me as they drank from the stream.

Just some wildlife minding their own business and going about their lives. I almost felt bad for interrupting their scheduled meandering like this, but curiosity called. And who was I to refuse it an answer?

With a grunt, I dusted off some of the spores and threw the sphere in the general direction of the animals. It hurled through the air, shedding a trail of puffer particles in its wake. With sudden violence, it exploded in speed and accelerated into a blur. The next thing I realized, there were screams in the air as the animals scattered. They bolted into the undergrowth, save one.

A wince rose unbidden to my face as I approached the site of impact. The sphere had homed in on the deer’s center and plowed right into it like a massive iron bullet. The only solace from that was imagining it must have died almost immediately. With a wince, I pulled the bloody corpse aside and found the orb embedded in its caved-in chest.

Covered in blood and dirt, it seemed lifeless now, its volatile energy spent. I grimaced at the sight of it, not wanting to imagine the damage those things could do to the human body. Effective immediately, nobody was to go near the orbs.

Ishila frowned at the corpse while Artyom cowered behind her. The grimace on the orc lass’s face made it clear she shared my sentiments.

“They’re all yours,” she agreed. “I’ll make sure the Felinid knows what’s which for danger.”

“Speaking of which.” I sighed as we both watched Gol sniff the corpse and tear off a few chunks for himself. “You’ve run Artyom through the paces. Do you reckon he’s worth keeping as a farm helper?”

I intended to work the cat until his theft was paid off, but beyond that, I did need specific sorts of help. Ishila, amazing as she was, couldn’t do everything herself.

“He’s noisy.” She pondered, “Makes mistakes, but he didn’t try to run off or anything. Has enthusiasm. A bit clumsy, but that can be worked out. Works decently hard for one of his race. I’d say it’s worth keeping him around, especially for when we have to worry more about rodents and vermin.”

I didn’t bother to string Artyom along, just turned, looked at him, and told him he was hired. He had sort of wandered here and didn’t have a place to go, so I would arrange sleeping quarters for him. With the sun sinking low to herald the advent of evening, we gathered for supper.

The sounds of horses interrupted our meal a while later. Riders of all banners trod past my humble farm, all headed farther up the mountain. The Verdant Dawn had made their exodus from Hullbretch and were on the move. I spotted Raffnyk and his squad amidst the column and raised a hand in greeting. I received a salute in return, but none of the riders broke off to join our company.

Columns of horses kicked up dust as they rode past, their banners high. A select few brought up the rear, carts loaded with materials. But all too soon, they were gone, and we were once again alone.

“Well,” Ishila grunted. “I’d best be off. Same as usual tomorrow?”

“Aye,” I confirmed. And the lass strode away.

“Soooooooo,” Artyom yawned, eyes blinking furiously, "I have a place to sleep, yes-yes?”

That would have to get sorted out tomorrow, but for now, he could sleep inside the house. A few hours later, I drifted off to sleep, my mind whirling with possibility.

Farmer Level Five reached. Sleep to apply.

Chapter 22

Fertile Soil, Green Thumb, Apiary, and Hallow Earth awaited me once I awoke. With a sigh, I swung my legs out of bed and immediately began to examine them. Might as well get it over with.

Despite having similar names, Fertile Soil and Hallow Earth functioned differently. The first gave me the vague sense that all land I owned would become more fertile in a slight regard, while the second was far more specific. Land that I worked would receive an infusion of mana. I was not a magic wielder, so I had little idea what that would do. Was mana helpful? Was it harmful? I had absolutely no idea how magic functioned in this world, and neither did Garek.

Apiary was yet another oddly specific skill. It would give me a blanket buff for working with bees. The issue that I currently had none presented itself at that moment. Sure, fresh honey would be nice and could likely turn a nice profit, but I simply didn’t have the bees.

Green Thumb offered me a tangible boost for my plant-handling skills. Outcomes would more often be swayed in my favor, even if I did things incorrectly.

These were actually hard choices. Discounting Apiary, the rest could all be immediately relevant. And yet…

The soil I already farmed was prime topsoil, some of the best quality dirt around. I didn’t need better soil. I had no idea what mana-infusion into a crop did, and it was already too late to go work the soil again with the crops sprouting. Green Thumb looked to be the most appealing, especially given that I was often fumbling for results with the monster plants. An invisible force turning outcomes in my favor while handling wildly dangerous plants? Yes and yes.

Reassuring myself with a nod, I selected that and blinked as the words disappeared from my vision. With a yawn, I got up, woke the felinid, and began my day.

Artyom stood unblinking next to me, an image of willpower and deadly focus. The felinid’s eyes never left my hands, not even for a heartbeat. So enraptured was he that Ishila was able to sneak up on him unnoticed. Even then, he gave no head to her friendly bop on his head and continued to stare.

I’ll admit, it was a little disturbing to have him watch me milk a cow this intensely.

“Someone’s enthused about all this.” Ishila grinned as she walked up with her own pail and stool. “Maybe we should let him try it, eh?’

I just shook my head and returned to my labor. The cat-thing had kept me up half the night with his screeching snores. For something so small and slim, his capability to produce noise went unmatched.

It took a few seconds for the felinid to register what Ishila had said, but he enthusiastically nodded his approval of the idea.

“Yes-yes, I should learn soon. Help with chores, a very good idea.” He all but bounced in excitement at the thought.

“No,” I grunted. “I don’t trust you to not slip some for yourself.”

I didn’t even need to look to see his expression had fallen. I was generous, not blindly stupid. Letting the felinid have unrestricted access to milk would end badly, if what Ishila had said was true. She had worded her suggestion just now as a jest to get a response from Artyom, I imagined.

His wide eyes never left the pails of milk once we left the pasture and followed us all the way to the shed where the rest was stored. I could imagine the physical effort it took to tear himself away once we headed off, but he followed close behind.

“More work, yes-yes?” he asked, voice cheerful.

“Given that you’re going to be working for me for a while, it’s only right that you have a place to sleep,” I grunted.

I could have been a prick and made him sort that out by himself, but I wanted my help to be enthusiastic and willing. Making the felinid sleep outside or forcing him to build something on his own time didn’t gain me much of anything. Instead, with seeding done, all that remained now was weeding and construction. The first was freshly finished for now, and the second required proper materials.

Once I was prepared, I would begin work on a proper lodge as my actual house and convert the current one into quarters for any workers or storage space. Then, I would need storage space for crops before harvest came, and so on.

But for now, I reckoned I could get Artyom a bit experienced with building and practice for my own lodge by making him a small cabin.

“This is the fun part,” I assured Ishila and Artyom as I distributed Garek’s magical weapons. “Myself and Ishila will begin chopping trees, while you gather smaller branches and stones.”

The felinid held Garek’s smallest knife like a massive greatsword, a wide smile stretched on his face as he pledged death to any small trees and staggered off.

“Perhaps not the wisest idea,” I winced as we watched him stumble over a root and trip forward. “What if he cuts himself?”

“Then it will be a lesson.” Ishila nodded, uncharacteristically serious. “Besides, I have some healing potions on-hand. Which, you really should get yourself.”

“Aye,” I agreed with a sigh.

I couldn’t just drive myself to a doctor if something happened. That had taken a while to sink in. A serious danger this far away from the nearest doctor or cleric could be certain death if there was no one around. The idea of clerics as a whole intrigued me, I had to admit. Literally calling on the power of the Gods Above to mend someone’s body seemed like a wishful fairy tale to me, and yet here, it was a reality.

Didn’t know if I still trusted it, despite Ishila’s assurance that it was how people who couldn’t afford to carry potions on hand survived. I voiced my concerns as such, and she just shrugged as we trudged towards the woods.

“Well, think about it,” she started, “monster hunting and purposefully seeking out danger seems stupid to an outsider, I guess. Without clerics or potions, it’d be so much more dangerous. Just imagine getting wounded out in the wilderness, hours from anyone who can help, and not having either of those. Certain death. It’s why most low-level slayers, adventurers, or monster hunters stay close to towns or cities with those available. Even though the monsters there are likely scarce, it’s still safer to slowly level on them than risk the wilder frontiers.”

“Hmm.” I nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Look at every famous Named Adventurer, every well-known band or party of slayers. What do most of them have in common?” she asked, and then answered her own question. “They’re rich. They can afford the best potions on demand, can afford to hire Clerics to journey with them, and the like. And because they’re rich, their kids will have a much easier starting point than, say, some commoner.”

“Speaking from experience?” I asked and received a wry laugh in return.

“I wish. Ma’ and Pa’ have retired and stuck their coin into the farm, not me. Orcish culture demands I carve my own path through the world, as does the Elves’ meritocracy systems. They raised me, sure, but it’s on me to prove myself.”

“I did hear mention that you want to be an adventurer someday.”

“Ya’.” She sighed wistfully. “But I wanna start off smart, ya know? Have a good stash of coin for potions, gear, and maybe hire on some companions. Solo adventuring is the most profitable but too dangerous for anyone but a fool to consider.”

“Well, plenty of time to practice your swing on these trees.” I smiled, and we split up.

The morning was spent hewing decently-sized trees and hauling them back to the farm, but it went quickly with three people focused on the task.

Soon, we had neat piles of similar-sized logs and a plan in mind.

A small area was cleared near the old house, myself dragging the harrow around to break up any grass. Flattening and packing the dirt took a bit of time, but soon, we were ready. Logs split lengthwise served as the floor for now. Knife in hand, I carefully notched full logs that would be laid together and have pegs driven through to serve as the walls.

I was attempting a log cabin out of memory, this time, instead of using my more complex modern building techniques. Ishila filled in much of my missing knowledge, such as how to properly align and stack the logs.

Artyom enthusiastically applied mud from the stream and leaves between the gaps for filler, and slowly, the building progressed. It was smaller than my other buildings by far, but it was exclusively for Artyom. And so, it went exceptionally quickly. With two people who knew what they were doing and one over-eager felinid, it was mostly done by mid-afternoon.

Once we had reached the part where I was confident they could finish construction themselves, I excused myself.

“I’m going to head up the mountain and see what the riders have decided to construct for a camp.” I told Ishila. “Perhaps I could find a willing buyer for some milk, given that stream water is not the most palatable option.”

“Hmmmm.” She nodded. “These men and women will have spent the last few weeks sating their thirst with ale, wine, and the like. I, myself, would not be over-eager to return to water after that.”

“Though, I'd like to find a buyer first, not haul a cart full of it up the mountain and achieve little result. Speaking of which.”

We headed over to the cart, and she grimaced at the acid-burns in the wood. “Feh.” She clicked her tongue. “Oversight on my part.”

I shook my head. “Don’t blame yourself for my decisions. I chose to store it in metal flasks without first testing it.”

She shrugged and set about finding something to cut away the burnt parts. Trusting the two to keep themselves occupied for the day, I grabbed my claymore and headed up the mountain. Felt a bit strange, making sure I had a weapon at my side every time I left the house, but that was the reality of things here.

Clouds had set in after a painfully clear morning, and a cool wind blew down off the mountain. I could lament that hot weather was better for the crops but instead chose to see the good fortune in things. I wasn’t hot and sweating from the weather alone, at least. Speaking of which, I sniffed at myself and figured I should perhaps invest in a good bath soon.

Something made me stop, and I looked around. My eyes saw trees, undergrowth, flowers, rocks, grass. Nothing out of the ordinary. My nostrils still drew too many smells, all jumbled together into an incomprehensible mess I could not sort out. Everything appeared ordinary, and yet I could not shake a feeling that tingled beneath my skin.

A sense of anticipation that kept me on edge all the way to the rider’s camp. I emerged from the trail to find a clearing had been forcibly made in the forest. People milled about, hard at work. They were chopping down trees, making an enlarged area to set up tents and beginning to work on walls.

So they were setting in for the long run, here. Dug in to wait for reinforcements before heading farther up the mountain.

I did award myself being so damn big for the reason Raffnyk spotted me almost immediately. The human waved and walked over, wiping sweat off his brow.

“Garek, my friend.” He greeted me with a smile. “What brings you here?”

“Curiosity,” I admitted. “And perhaps the possibility of profit.”

“The two seem to go hand in hand.” He nodded. “Come, explain to me what designs you have to drain our purses.”

I did just that and found myself seated amidst the bustling camp, a water flask offered to me by the human. This was the first time I had seen Raffnyk without his armor, I realized. His arms were dotted by scars, which surprised me. The image of an untouched, stiff knight I had was tempered by the man’s humility.

“Coin interests everyone.” He sighed. “How would you like to make some? Right now, I mean.”

Chapter 23

“I cannot promise long-term help,” I rumbled. “My farm needs me, but if you’ve another task in the meantime, I shall see what can be done.”

And he did. Raffnyk showed me where they were attempting to build a wall that would encircle the camp. “Monsters out there,” he grunted and  stepped over loose timber. “Would be foolish to leave an area with this many system-touched gathered unfenced. Irresistible target for any monsters hungry for a level or two.”

“Can’t only be monsters who are hungry for levels,” I vaguely commented. Just a filler thought.

The human didn’t think so. His face  morphed into an angry grimace and spittle hit the dirt. “Aye,” came the snarl. “There’s plenty scum around that don’t particularly care how they get their levels. If monsters are in short supply, they’ll happily turn to other sources.”

He looked at me, a cold, dead look in his normally warm eyes.

“You run into anyone of those level grinders, Garek, do the world a favor and kill them on the spot. You’ll be saving a lot of lives that way,” he spat again. “There’s men and women that have given up their morals and humanity for a few more levels, people that don’t care where the blood and levels flow from so long as they do.”

The bitterness in his voice was plain to hear, and I just nodded along. But that too passed, and we found ourselves near a crew of people busy erecting a wall.

“I have to go and make sure some of my knuckleheads don’t go slacking off in the woods.” Raffnyk sighed, his eyes already lurking towards the forest. “But I’d be most pleased and pay handsomely if you could give these here people a hand or two.”

I was inclined to do as much out of respect for the man. And his coin. Introductions were swiftly made, and I was soon hard at work, a mass of timbers carried on my shoulder as I lumbered past holes dug in the ground and jammed them in to create a wall of wood. Pounding down the sharpened ends did little to slow me. The perks of being a minotaur, I found myself very keen to enjoy.

Humans scurried to and fro around me, hustling hard to match my pace. My movement remained measured, steady all the while. Jam down a post, hammer it down with my fist, move on. Rinse and repeat. Return to the log pile for more. But even in my unrushed state, the rest began to fall behind. The pile of logs dwindled as people hurried to the forest for more, and multiple people sharpened those on the pile. Three separate groups dug holes ahead of me, barely able to keep up with my pace.

I could have slowed, of course, taken my time. But I was being paid to work my hardest, and that was what I intended to deliver.

I told as much to a scarred woman with a lopsided grin after she had approached with a request for me to slow down.

“It’s not that I’m trying to make you look bad,” I gently said. “I am being paid to complete a task, and I intend to do so with all possible efficiency.”

“Right.” She nodded. “Folks are already worried ‘bout Raffnyk bein’ friends with one of your lot, and these here are a proud, hard-headed bunch. Take it from me.”

That presented another thought I wanted to follow up on. Garek’s memories revealed little of interspecies interactions. Hell, the man had only given any sort of fucks about what he could kill, and little else mattered. I would find no answers poring through the gore-stained depths of his memories.

“Why do they fear me?” I posed the question between blows as I hammered down another post. I knew part of the answer, of course, but more discourse was always beneficial.

She shrugged, watching me with her arms crossed. “You’re a ‘taur, for one. War of the Beasts is still fresh on many people’s minds.”

Ah, there were faint memories in the back of Garek’s mind. Something when he was just a young calf, only vaguely remembered.

“Like as not, people are rightly frightened that your kind has long memories and little forgiveness. Lots of old bulls still looking for vengeance for Gallane.”

“That was before my time,” I assured her. “I have no grudge with you humans.”

“Then you’d be the first. And with you being a minotaur and us tiny humans, people will be cautious. Except for optimistic fools like Raffnyk, apparently.”

Hmm. I nodded noncommittally and continued my work. I had learned something new today, it seemed. People didn’t just fear minotaurs out of prejudice but because of a past event. Still, the two were not entirely separate.

There was some attempt at small talk, and if my eyes couldn’t see the visual cues, I could smell that she was nervous—as were many of the others around me. Not because of the danger outside—they seemed used to that—but because of who strode in their midst

That was the one scent I could reliably recall from Garek’s memories. Fear.

But I kept about my work, maintained my pace, and by the time Raffnyk had returned, my work was complete. The human just stared in surprise at the newly erected posts that formed the basis of his wall.

“Well, I don’t know what I expected from a minotaur, but it was not this much.” He shook his head and fished out a small purse of coin. “Take it all. I owe you as much for the work and for all you’ve done for me. This and more.”

I accepted the coin, satisfied to finally turn a profit on something. But I had even more to sell. Several inquiries as to food revealed he didn’t have much faith in his own rider’s hunting abilities. I put in a good word for Le’rish’s talents in that regard. Didn’t hurt to bolster your neighbors a little.

“Milk?” he asked when I brought up the subject. “I mean, given that we only have a limited quantity of ale and will soon be reliant on stream water, I suppose a few might like to try it? It is not exactly what one imagines a camp of armed warriors drinking.”

“It is healthy.” I frowned. “Good for the bones.”

“I mean, I guess you can try to sell it.” He nodded without much faith in my chances. “But I make no promises.”

A small bit of chatter later and a coin purse heavier, I set out for home as the sun sunk toward the horizon. The shadows stretched long around me, only the faint sounds of wildlife my company.

All was well until the silence set in.

It was not the sounds of whatever was in the undergrowth that made me uneasy. It was the lack of it. With a physical enemy to face and stare down, I would feel fine. But here there was just a gaping void, a distinct absence. Hand tight to the hilt of my claymore, I hurried on.

Dusk had set in by the time I reached the farm. Gol was nowhere to be seen as I strode onto the yard and waved Ishila away from her work. Artyom followed her from the fields, tools slung over his shoulder. The worry on my face was evident, I learned quickly after.

“There’s something in the woods following me. Haven’t seen anything, but I can’t shake the feeling,” I explained between brisk breaths.

Ishila tapped her foot as we stood, obviously tense. “There is little on this mountain that can give you pause, I imagine.”

“Not myself I am worried about,” I rumbled and shook my head. “You and Artyom are not as invulnerable as I am, neither is the farm itself. The cows are system-touched as well. Monsters seek system-touched others to kill, do they not?”

“Yeh.” She nodded. “Been gettin’ a little less on edge round here lately, I guess.”

“Very safe, yes-yes,” Artyom commented from beside her.

“Not right now it isn’t,” I bluntly said and gestured towards the house. “Inside. Everyone.”

They followed without much protest, and I found myself within the confines of my house as night overtook the world. Leaned against the open doorway, I kept careful eyes on the farmland.

“Where’s Gol?”

Ishila shook her head, my axe over her shoulder. “Haven’t seen him all day.”

Gritted teeth were the only reply I could give her. It was inevitable, I suppose. Just because I had moved to a zone with low-level monsters didn’t mean they would leave me be forever.

Night fell, and the cackles began.

I strode from the house, claymore in hand. I was not some frail old man to hide behind the flimsy safety of wooden walls while the monsters stalked my yard. Garek’s vision was poor, but equal was the measure in which it functioned. Light or darkness, it saw the same. I lumbered across the yard, and nostrils sniffed at the air in a vain attempt to pick out any unnatural scents.

Only now did the woods that surrounded my farm seem oppressive. Cackles came from all sides, malicious laughs that alternated between high and low pitched.

They could come, and I would give them something to laugh about.

I was nearly to the pasture when the first projectile sailed through the air and hit the grass, flames trailing in its wake. Hunched, wolven forms stalked at the trees’ edge on two feet, a chorus of hilarity that I failed to see the humor in.

They threw more flaming projectiles. I picked up a tree and hurled it back in return. The roar that tore from my throat bellowed through the darkness, and with my sword raised, I charged.

They had picked the wrong fucking farm.

Chapter 24

A hunched, humanoid form with a too-skinny torso and bulky chest loomed from the darkness. It took one look at me, turned, and scampered into the darkness as I charged. I refused to let it escape. Another roar burst from my throat as I called Cloven Crash, and it froze mid-bound.

A sweep of my claymore rent it in half, and a bellow of triumph served to chase more of these beasts back into the woods.

These were not crude, vaguely intelligent monsters. The tools they carried were of decent make. I glimpsed a shortbow upon the ground as I stepped over the dying corpse and felt arrows mere heartbeats later as silent shafts whistled from the trees. Shrugged them off as they barely pricked my hide and kept forward momentum.

I could see them all around as the pack streamed from the trees. Illuminated by the harsh moonlight, they loped forward on far-too-long forelegs, weapons clutched as they ran. I charged into the densest patch of them, and they sprang away.

More and more poured from the trees. I backhanded a leaping creature, felt its bones break beneath my hand, flung its corpse aside, and moved on. Howls mixed through the night, only drowned out by the bellows of fury I unleashed.

This was not combat, this was slaughter.

And I was king.

It felt good. Too good. I charged after fleeing monsters, moving at speeds that should not be possible for a form this large.

One of the lanky creatures twisted in mid-air to escape my blade. It was torn asunder as the steel chased its movements.

Horses galloped past me, neighing in fright, creatures hot on their tails. A round sweep of the claymore missed one and gashed another open with just a nick. The blade hummed, every drop of blood a piece of kindling on the fires of hunger.

Out here in the darkness, furthest from the light, I was the true monster.

My eyes could see them running, tearing through the yard. A swarm of locusts, seeking to devour while fleeing my wrath.

Arrows dotted my hide, I found. I could not care less. Still, with a roar, I called Blood for Blood. A feeling of my wounds stretching outwards flashed through me for a second then was gone. Darkened forms crumpled among the trees as every wound I took was repaid in kind.

Dirt was ripped free beneath my hooves as I stomped across the fields, moving towards wherever the pack was densest. They circled the herd of cows, arrows flying past their dancing forms. Trampled, broken forms lay across the earth, a reminder of those that got too close. Firebombs flew and tried to set damp grass alight. I thanked whatever god took amusement from this for the recent rains and charged in to kill.

One, two, three died beneath my blade, and the rest scattered, off to find softer targets. A loud bang rang through the night, and my eyes were torn toward the crops. In the bright moonlight, I could make out a long, lanky form as it collapsed backward, it’s head obliterated.

They had found the bomb plants and received hospitality in kind.

More explosions set off as other creatures bounded near, and a firebomb lobbed at the plant sent shrapnel in every direction. Explosive force cut a swathe through leaping bodies. Blood and bones alike were torn free, and the stink of blood permeated the air now.

Undeterred by the losses in their ranks, the cackling horde continued. Frightened neighs of pain tore through the air as they pulled down a horse. My roars of fury as I approached did little to deter their malice. There was a sick feeling in my stomach as I watched blood run from the cuts across the animal’s neck.

Cloven Crash called over and over and froze entire groups. My greatsword returned them to the dirt. I felt anger now, hot and heavy, burning through my heart and filling my veins like boiling poison. I slaughtered, and they rent senseless destruction upon me and mine.

I saw an arm cocked back, a firebomb clutched in hand and aimed at the house. The arm swung then faltered as the beast’s head was split open. Ishila grunted and pushed the corpse aside, a swift kick sending the projectile away. The orc’s armor was stained with blood, and my axe was in her hands—stained with blood.

“Stonemongers,” she snarled. “Fuckin’ murderous vermin, scum an—”

Your pet has leveled up.

The notification cut off whatever she was about to say. But before I could think on it further, a cackling horde rolled across the field. I roared and charged towards them, only for them to veer and flow away, leaping towards the trees.

They were broke, running and routed.

I was not content to let them flee. More roars locked limbs in place as I stormed after them, my blade rending them apart until they vanished into the trees, gone.

Dim fires burned everywhere, I realized. I stood, panting, and took stock of the damages.

The pasture fences were broken. Posts were alight. I could see a dead horse from here. Cows resembled pincushions from a distance. And everywhere, so many bodies. Stonemongers, Ishila had called them. They were scattered across the fields, in the pasture, in the crops, even draped over Artyom’s ruined house.

Everywhere.

I could see some by the fields, still writhing as biter-pods latched on and devoured it live. With a snort, I stomped over and ended its misery.

“You’ll eat well tomorrow.” I tiredly promised the plants. The adrenaline rush was gone now and soon would come the crash.

But first, the damage.

My eyes turned to the woods, and the heart within my chest nearly stopped.

Gol, my brave, foolish pet, staggered from the trees. I couldn’t tell where the blood ended and crimson carapace began. Scraps of flesh hung from hide, and arrows filled every gap in his armor. He reeked of death and blood.

I found myself at his side in horror as I looked at his wounds.

The dazed, empty look in his eyes frightened me in ways the swarm hadn’t.

“Ishila!” I roared, and the orc girl came running.

Not fast enough. She took one look at Gol, turned, and dashed for the house. Hands that trembled gently held my beast’s head as I physically grabbed and held the largest wound closed.

There was so much blood. I cared little for my own wounds. The big, lazy, gluttonous mass of bear and badger-thing in front of me lay barely panting. My eyes couldn’t believe the multitude of cuts, lacerations, and the insane amount of arrows that stuck out of it.

“You could have just stayed lazy, Gods Above,” I whispered. “Hid somewhere and kept your nose to yourself.”

He whined in return, a pitiful little sound of hurt and tiredness.

“Don’t,” I rumbled gruffly. “Stay still.”

I had one hand one his head, the other holding a massive gash closed. Lifted the former as Ishila dashed up, a trail ripped in her wake. The lass forced a flash into my hand and ripped the top off another.

“Largest wounds first,” she barked as I stared at the metal dumbly.

What was I going to do with some water? It took me a second to remember healing potions existed. Seconds too long. My hand still holding the bleeding gash closed, I shoved the container into my mouth. Teeth ripped through the entire top, and I dumped the thing onto Gol’s wounds.

“Ration it,” Ishila snapped. “It’s all I have here at the farm.”

I complied, instead dabbing it over his body. Gol growled in pain as Ishila pried out arrows and dumped fluid into the gaps.

“Should wash out the wounds first,” the orc girl growled. “No time. Get as many wounds closed as you can.”

We tried our best, I think, and spread out the precious fluid, prioritized the biggest wounds. In the end, it was enough. Barely.

Gol lay panting and groaning in pain as every breath reknit the flesh and muscle of his body. He was in agony, but he was alive.

I knelt back on my heels, relieved. I was exhausted, covered in wounds, bleeding, and my farm was damaged. Buildings were destroyed, and shit was on fire. My crops had been torn through by packs of monsters.

But I was alive. Those I cared about still lived. And that was enough.

Farmer Level Six reached. Sleep to apply.

Farmer Level Seven reached. Sleep to apply.

Gods Above, I had every intention of complying with that command.

Chapter 25

To say it wasn’t pretty would be a bald-faced lie. Even in the moonlight, my poor vision could see much of the damage that had been wrought. There were fires to be put out, first and foremost. I left Gol in Ishila’s hands and hurriedly stomped about. From one flame to the next.

The fires cackled with glee, happily devouring what I had built with so much sweat and effort, but such was the nature of flame. Or something like that. I had little interest in the philosophical quandaries about the nature of the world and only gave two singular fucks about how quickly I could extinguish them.

I kicked dirt onto smaller flames, tossed a lit fence post into the stream, and generally proceeded to extinguish all fiery life I could get my hands on. The creatures had made liberal use of firebombs, and my farm suffered for their enthusiasm.

The sheer pissed-off factor of the “moos” that came from the pasture was not lost on me. Dead beasts were ground into bloody pulp as the taur-cows stomped over them, enraged by their presence and stung by arrows. The lone surviving horse huddled in their midst, protected by walls of angry cow-flesh.

The other horse was a casualty of this attack, I confirmed. Knelt next to the warm corpse, I could do little but confirm its death. Even copious amounts of potions could not revive what was already dead. A deep, tired sigh in my throat, I rose and trudged on.

All I wanted was to be left alone, I lamented, to farm in peace. How many times would I have to go through this very scene before anything changed?

A hard, cold edge formed in my thoughts as I looked around at the destruction that had been visited upon me and mine. I buried it for tomorrow. Tonight, my hands were still meant to rebuild.

But combat had left a weight across my shoulders, and fatigue whispered my name. I tiredly mended the fences where the wire had been torn down and leaned snapped posts back up. And through it all, I weaved around corpses, the stench of blood thick in the air. And through it all, anger bubbled inside me. A melting pot of emotions was stirred within, and there was one flavor that overrode the rest.

But soon, tiredness meant I could function no longer. Gol would be fine, Ishila assured me. Wounded, hurt, and would be in pain for a while, but fine nonetheless. Much as I trusted her word, I was not content with it alone. Bloodstained claymore in hand, I collapsed next to them, my back to a tree.

Soon, my eyes were pulled closed and sleep took hold.

The simmering anger returned as soon as I woke. I blinked and realized the sun was already halfway towards noon. I had slept deep and dreamless, held down by exhaustion. It was a funny thing. I could work hard all day, but some combat and a light spot of bloodshed demanded rest.

Or was it the system that induced sleep whenever new levels came? That was food for thought.

Eyes encrusted, I blinked, yawned, and looked around. Gol lay next to me, head in his paws. Whines of pain drifted from his jaws, and a wince rose from my throat as I looked at him. Still stained in blood, every exposed spot of skin seemed pink and raw. An effect of fresh regeneration, I assumed. The man who had foolishly wandered into my crops had been much the same.

If there were any similarities between then and now, my brave beast would not be moving much for the next several days. But he deserved his rest, I thought with a sad smile. I would have given him some scratches behind the ear, but the skin there looked particularly raw.

Ishila was not alone, I found. With a grunt, I hauled myself up, grimaced at the dried blood on my blade, and trudged over to the two.

Le’rish was crouched to examine a corpse and only spared me a glance. Knife in hand, she used the blade to lift a monster’s head and grunted.

“Stonemongers,” she grunted. “Was just a matter of time. Before they were pushed. Down the mountain.” She spoke in even shorter, more clipped bursts than usual. Her clothes had blood on them as well, I saw.

I wasn’t the only one whom the beasts had paid a visit. “Why now?” I asked grumpily. Though I already suspected some of the answers.

“Already down here. Already amassed.” She shrugged and flipped a head over. “Just needed a spark. Riders moved in. They went crazy. Single Stonemonger. Not much of a threat. Stays by itself. Lurks around. Maybe harasses weak animals. But a coward.” She coughed and grimaced. With a grunt, the huntress rocked back on her heels and straightened.

“But they ain’t loners,” Ishila remarked. “You never see ‘em alone.”

Le’rish idly kicked at a decapitated head, nodded, then looked closer, and noted the shoulders were still attached. Wonderful. Ishila’s handiwork, as I didn’t remember doing that. But my memories were a blurred haze of anger and bloodshed anyhow.

“True.” The huntress continued, “Group up. Get brave. Strength in numbers. Bigger groups attract more. ‘Til they’re a screeching mob. Affects their thinking. Their actions.”

“And then they decided to show up and burn my farm,” I said bluntly, arms crossed. “Wow.”

“Pretty much. They’re brave in numbers. Crude and intelligent. Enough brains for weapons and tools.” We walked across the corpse-scattered field as Le’rish led the way. “But no one ever accused them of being smart.”

“What drew them here, in particular?” I grimaced. “I’m just another farm down the mountain.”

“You’re not.” The woman spat in the dirt. “Don’t delude yourself. Lots of system-touched animals. Plants. All calling to the monsters. Amazed they stayed away this long.”

I looked around at the destruction, a sunken feeling in my gut. There was little comfort in the knowledge that I had single-handedly driven off a horde just hours ago now. A target was painted squarely on my farm, on my home.

"What are the chances they’ll stay away?” I asked, the desperation in my voice hidden.

“For a small while. They will. Lick their wounds. Cower in fear. Then they’ll forget. Grow bold. Come to sniff again.”

Ishila stopped and cocked her head, her eyes locked on the fields. I followed her gaze and found only empty dirt, battered crops, and scarecrows.

“What if we erected something larger, more… ominous?” she queried. “Scarecrows, but, ya know, bigger. A few stonemonger corpses here and there.”

“Would work. For a bit. Deter them. But they’re greedy in groups. They’ll raid again. Will just be more of them.”

“And if I’m not content to sit and wait for the horde to return?”

“Well then. There are options.”

What little remained of the morning was spent on mass corpse disposal. The biter-pods did not feast, they engorged themselves on flesh, bone, and hide. Le’rish found no use for the corpses herself and was content to help drag them to the fields.

Artyom looked to be a cross between horrified and enthralled as he carried severed limbs. Eyes stretched wide, he watched the biters tear an arm to shreds, then stumbled backward as they turned to him.

“Don’ get too close, or they’ll have themselves a morsel,” Ishila warned, not a drop of humor in her voice.

Let them feast ‘til the burst, I decided. What remained could always be disposed of later. There was a plant missing, I realized. The flytrap with the serpentine tongue had disappeared from where it had been planted. But as I watched, a green mouth burrowed from the ground beneath a corpse. Large jaws wriggled out from either side of the corpse and spread wide as fluid gurgled with the spread mouth.

I kept an eye on that as I hauled away more corpses and witnessed it slowly dissolve over time, until it was naught but a half-liquid slurry that the monster plant gulped down.

Most brutal of all were the bodies that lay around the bomb plants. Pieces were simply missing with messy holes blown through bodies. I grimaced, decided not to look too closely, and pulled them away. Didn’t need any more nightmares to keep me up at night.

Le’rish helped quietly, only occasionally answering awkward questions from Ishila. Her breaks were plentiful, however. She sat and smoked a blue haze periodically, her face a grimace all the while.

Out of all the carnage, my monster plants had not escaped undamaged, however. The grape-like vines of what I had deemed the absorber plant hung loosely, torn by stonemonger claws. But behind it, I saw the glow of another plant.

The single, rigid sunflower that had grown amidst the other shone now, and its light was radiant.

I watched plants physically mend in its glow and sat back, astonished. The plant was a cleric. Harsh was the laughter that escaped my throat. Out of all the monsters I had grown so far, one was a healer. Carefully, I plucked a single petal and held it near the torn mimic vine. The grape-like bulbs turned towards it, and I watched it absorb the petal.

The effect was immediate.

Yellow color spread throughout the vines, and bulbs turned from deathly white to pale gold.

In the midst of the destruction and carnage, I had found something that could mend, could heal and restore the broken and torn. There was something almost… poetic in that. I was not one to place much stock in fate, but this was something grand.

I looked over my shoulder to where Le’rish sat, deep in her sour vapors. She coughed and chatted with Ishila with puffs of haze.

Perhaps.

The day had started in death and destruction, but it did not need to end tarnished by the memory of such. Something good could still come from it.

I reached out, plucked several petals, and stood. I could walk over right now and give them to her. But another, better idea presented itself. With a wave, I beckoned Ishila over and turned my back. The lass stood and wandered over, curious. I could see and smell the awkwardness mount as I explained my idea. The butterflies in her stomach were no doubt rampant as she finally turned and made her way back.

I watched, the smile on my face hidden. This was my thanks to both of them, for separate reasons. Only a fool could not see that Ishila was smitten by the huntress but too shy to actually do anything. I watched as the orc girl awkwardly approached and held out the petals to Le’rish.

The feline huntress looked at them curiously as Ishila muttered an explanation. She took one, looked at it strangely, then cautiously put it in her mouth.

Nothing happened.

For a moment. Then the woman spat out the dull, spent petal, and grabbed the rest. With trembling hands, she dropped the rest into her mouth and collapsed backwards in her seat. It took me a moment to realize she was laughing. A full, giddy sound.

There was a smile on my face as Le’rish hauled herself up, grabbed Ishila, and swept the blushing girl off her feet. The smile on her face was the purest I had ever seen. Just pure, unbridled happiness as she spun the orc lass around and yelled with joy, her lungs healed.

And I was satisfied, happy in the knowledge that something good had come of this day. Even disasters had a silver lining, if one searched deeply enough.

Chapter 26

Much as I hungered to leave and set about solving my newfound monster issue, responsibilities came first. Even though the back of my mind itched for violence, I stayed home and tended to my farm. Artyom’s new hut was, sadly, no longer existent. A burnt pile of wood remained in its stead, yes, but the felinid needed elsewhere to stay.

Without so much as a sigh, I told him he could sleep inside, provided he did something about his purring snores. They seemed innocuous at first, but the high-pitched sounds and whines he produced while asleep quickly grinded my nerves.

But such small discomfort was fixable.

Were I a more brash man, I would have taken my weapons and headed off to observe the problem-fixing capabilities of copious violence. The old Garek would have and would’ve been right eager about it, as well. But instead, I spent time at my farm cleaning alongside people I knew. And even, dare I say, liked.

Never had I seen a smile so content as the one Le’rish wore now. The petals had not done anything for her missing eye, true, but she did not lament that. Instead, she blissfully strode along, happily breathing. Something so simple could give a hardened woman like her so much joy. I found that frankly amazing. Truly, the simple things in life mattered most.

Wounded or not, the cows called to be milked. And with buckets in hand, I trudged over to attend this task. After yesterday, I was simply too sore to be bothered with Cloven Crash. Instead, I plopped down on my stump-stool beside one and just shot it a tired, grumpy stare.

There was much pawing of hooves, shaking of head, and otherwise dissatisfaction. But ultimately, it relented and let me carry on with the task while it chewed bloodstained grass.

Several others were not so understanding, but I tried anyhow. Only after several spills of the milk bucked did I give up and freeze them in place with my entirely misused skill. I did my best to be patient, truly. Yet, I was still human and flawed, and it only extended so far.

With four people hard at work, the farm was mostly repaired by the time evening fell across the sky. We gathered for supper, Le’rish and Ishila both accepting my invitation. The huntress sat, her usual hard exterior melted away to reveal happy smiles underneath.

“Mmmmmmmm,” she breathed in deeply. “I usually don’t make assumptions, but none of you have any idea what it’s like to breathe after years of cracked, stunted lungs. Safe assumption, I think.”

I didn’t and admitted as much. She laughed and shook her head. There was genuine happiness written on her features.

“It is intoxicating. Glorious clean, fresh air. No more fucking slime-haze. Gods Above, I fucking hate that taste.”

“I’m happy for ya’,” Ishila said quietly between sips of soup. Soup that she almost dropped with a squawk as Le’rish leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, lass.” She smiled, and I grinned as Ishila furiously blushed.

Artyom made no comment, face buried in his own food. The felinid had more important things on his mind than two women flirting. His grub, for one.

There was a distinctly happy feeling in the air tonight, I found. No doom and gloom and worrying about tomorrow’s problems. We had survived the raid, beaten back the monsters, and rebuilt. An ordeal had befallen us, and we had emerged in a better situation than upon going in.

So I was more than content to simply sit here and sip my soup, rather than break my skull over tomorrow’s problems. Enjoy the wins as they came, and worry about the problems of the world another day.

“So your kin didn’t care that you were attacked?” Le’rish asked Ishila, her eyebrows raised.

The lass shrugged and ran a hand through her hair with a sigh. “Not really. Ma’ just asked how many I killed, and Pa’ expressed his approval of me survivin’, but he didn’ expect stonemongers to threaten me anyhow,” she grumbled. “On account of me bein’ their daughter and whatnot.”

“Your parents must have a lot of faith in you,” I remarked.

“Ehhh.” She shrugged. “Think it’s more thinkin’ so little of the monster around here. Don’t really care about pests and whatnot.”

“Mmmm.” Le’rish nodded. “I’m pretty sure your mother could march off and murder half the monsters on the Redtip without breaking a sweat.”

“Yeah, but that’s Ma’, not me,” Ishila grumbled. “And they wouldn’t let me take the Adventurer or Slayer class until I was of age, and by then, the Farmhand class had leveled up so much that any progress I make now will be glacial.”

“Did you level up last night?” I rumbled out of curiosity.

“Yeah, Farmhand went up for defending the farm. Maybe if I’d taken Slayer instead of Adventurer, I would have gotten a level in that too.”

“There’s a reason you didn’t take the first one?” I grunted.

“Well, to me, adventuring ain’t all about killin’. Now if I’d have taken Slayer, I’d get more Skills and stuff that specifically helps me kill monsters. And now, don’t get me wrong, every party needs a competent Slayer. But I want my adventures to be about more than that. Fighting and combat are dangerous. People die. We all know that. Prepare for it best we can, but it still happens, especially if you go around lookin’ for trouble, which is what that class specializes in.”

“Now, if you want to find trouble and stay out of its way, you become a Stalker.” Le’rish grinned. “Like me. Hell, I’m sure the four of us have the right makeup for a decent party ourselves.”

“You’re a?” She gestured to me, and I shared my class with a shrug. “Right, Berserker. Assuming you have a competent Stalker, that’s one of the better Slayer offshoots to have in a party. Doubly so given you’re a minotaur. You’d have me to make up for your poor vision and lack of range, find the enemies before they find us. Traps, pits, enemy scouts, and assassins? Forget about them. Ishila havin’ the Adventurer class could take the Treasure Sense, Danger Alert,
Pathfinder skills, and the like to round things out.”

The woman leaned back, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

“Cat.” She gestured at Artyom. “What Class do you have?”

He looked peeved at being referred to as that, and looked around uncomfortably before sharing his Class.

“Scavenger, hmm. Not too good, not too bad. Usually comes with Skills that let it pull useful items from nowhere. Increase finds in certain places. We find any relics or chests, we let him pop them open.”

“In this hypothetical scenario, yes.” I sighed. “But I am a Farmer.”

“True,” she lamented with a rueful smile. “You’d have made a great adventurer. Maybe even grown to a high-ranked or Known one. But you’ve made your choice, and I am happy you chose to come here.”

I nodded, and the conversation drifted off into other topics. Le’rish mentioned she had been approached by the Verdant Dawn camp to hunt for them and intended to take them up on that offer.

“Good pay. Turn’s out soldiers who ride around all day and prefer to loaf in town can’t hunt for shit. I mean, a few of them can, but not enough to feed all of them.”

“And that’s where you come in.”

“I have services and talents, they have needs.” She shrugged. “Long as the coin flows, those services will continue.”

Artyom muttered something about her seeming like a very expensive doozy and immediately bolted as Le’rish whipped her spoon at him. Still cross from being called a cat, the felinid bounded across the field as Le’rish’s death glare followed.

“Just because they’re small doesn’t mean they can’t be mean.” I shrugged. “Cats are vindictive little bastards.”

“I’ll exact payback.” She shrugged, and I remembered she too had feline features.

Ishila dismissed herself soon after, citing that chores still awaited her at home, and Le’rish left with her. With little company, save for a sound-asleep Gol, I turned myself in for the night.

Sleep did not find me waiting. Instead, I sat on the bed’s edge and stared at the wall. I contemplated tomorrow and all that I intended to do.

In all this time here, I had not gone to purposefully seek out violence anywhere. Even my fight with Gol was a spur-of-the-moment decision of righteous anger and rashness. But here I sat, preparing to go to do so.

I had come here, far away from any possible strife and conflict, to be at peace.

And yet the monsters of the world refused to leave me alone. For there was nothing that fate hated more than a quiet, peaceful place, it seemed. It refused to simply let me be to quietly raise a homestead and live out the rest of my days in silent satisfaction.

My eyes rose to the wall where Garek’s armor was messily piled into the corner. Weapons and armor forged for the express purpose of war. I had hoped to never use them except in self-defense.

But how much more would the next raid claim? How many burnt crops, dead animals, and ruined houses would be piled here when more monsters came knocking in the night? Would a stonemonger run down Art or a lucky blow end Ishila? Would Gol find his way back to the farm next time?

These were all questions in the aimless hands of fate, and I was not content with that. Hard was the resolve that lurked within me as I straightened and gazed upon the steel before me. If fate’s answers to those questions were uncertain, then I would remove the variable that posed those queries in the first place.

I was not a soul that hungered for violence, but I was also not some helpless creature to be carried by the current and hope it did not dash me upon the rocks below. And I refused to let tragedy strike because I was too scared, too tied up in my own morality to take necessary action.

This time, I had emerged lucky. Next time, I might not.

There would not be a next time.

Chapter 27

Little was the sleep I had earned once morning came. Instead, dawn found me outside, already carrying back pails of milk from the pasture. My chores finished, I donned Garek’s heavy armor, lumbered past Artyom’s still-asleep form, grabbed several bags, and headed for the fields. I would need spores in great measure for what I had in mind.

It required slow, careful work, but I was finished before Ishila came trudging down the road toward me, lost in her thoughts.

“The stonemongers pose a continued problem,” I grunted in response to her query. “I will force a solution.”

“I’d tell you to stay safe,” she offered, expression both wry and tired, “but I doubt ya need the warnin’.”

I didn’t, but to say I left the sentiments unappreciated would be a lie. I spent scarce time laying out her work for the day, directed her to build scarecrows and mount what stonemonger corpses remained, and then moved to set off. For a moment, I glanced between my remaining bag of spores and the mandrake plants, tempted. Done right, they could offer an immediate solution to all that ailed me. Yet the risk involved was, frankly, insane.

I was not fully equipped for that, and neither was anyone around me, I suspected.

A random train of thought gave me pause once more. If killing things was a guaranteed way to level up in this world, these specific plants were a level-grinder’s wet dream. The image of some maniac strolling into a city with one of these wrung a shudder out of me.

Horrifying.

With a vague thought to do something when I got back on my mind, I shouldered my pack and set off up the slopes that led to Mount Redtip.

A long, grim day awaited me, and I was not about to keep it waiting. Might as well go and get it over with. Scarce as the traffic was, it was still far more occupied than any time before. Riders trotted along on patrol, and a few other farmers recognized the same opportunity I had. Carts laden with goods trundled towards the camp, and I silently nodded my own greetings as I met them.

But that was not my destination today. I turned toward’s Le’rish’s lodge where the path split, and with due haste, I arrived. The huntress awaited me, splayed out peacefully in a hammock. She raised a hand in greeting as I approached and then sat upright. One bright eye regarded me, the other socket empty and scarred.

“Not too early, not too late,” she grunted in approval. “You have everything?”

“Aye. On my end anyhow. You?”

She gestured at a pack that leaned against the wall of her lodge. “Healing flasks. Emergency items. Only what we need in the worst situations. Pray it doesn’t come to that. Prepare for it anyway.”

This was her way of thanking me, I knew. She had little personal investment in my problems with the stonemonger swarms yet had offered to guide me to their nests.

And I was ready to engage in some good ol shotgun diplomacy.

My eagerness to move was not hidden, I suspect. Yet Le’rish wasted little time. She had grabbed her stuff and was moving towards the undergrowth in heartbeats, with me close behind.

I will admit, the huntress was silent as she moved through the overgrown forest. I was not. Branches snapped with every few steps I took, trees were pushed aside to make room, and she quickly grew annoyed. I shrugged helplessly as she threw annoyed glances back at me.

Nothing as large as my frame was made to be quiet.

“The entire point of ambushing a stonemonger nest is not to be heard half a horizon away,” she hissed as a particularly loud snap cracked through the air.

I attempted several more steps, at which point she gave up and stalked back along the trail.

Her clawed fingers touched my form, and everything became muted. I spoke, but heard nothing. “Mute skill,” she explained. “Affects the immediate area around you. I’ll drop it when we get to the first nest. Just follow me for now.”

Unable to protest, I did just that, and we quietly moved through the trees. Thick blankets of clouds above blocked any possible sunlight and left the forest dull and muted. The undergrowth stretched in every direction now, no clear sign as to what went where. I shuddered and just kept behind Le’rish as our path wove up and down hills, into crevices, and over streams.

Where exactly we were headed, I had no idea. But without the huntress, I would be lost, I already knew.

Vague shapes moved through the trees at the edge of vision, yet whatever was out there did not seem keen to bother us. Instead, we moved in relative silence, save for the sounds of animals in the growth and the shrieks of birds overhead.

Minutes blended together, as did the greenery around us. I had never been a proper sort of outback survivor, and a new world hadn’t magically improved those non-existent capabilities. Couldn’t improve talent if there was never any there to begin with.

Le’rish signaled a stop and, my eyes firmly on her, I obeyed. One hand beckoned me forward, and I cautiously approached a break in the trees.

A swarm of stonemongers congregated in a clearing before us. Dozens, perhaps over a hundred of the lanky, rock-scaled creatures, moved around. But this was not a primitive, writhing mass. No, something stopped me whole as we silently watched the scene.

Large, carved stones were clearly the focal point here, gathered in a circle of all this. Adorned with rags and symbols painted everywhere, they stood high above gathered creatures. Many lay off to the sides of this nest, others worked on weapons. I could see several trading, more preparing food. But what was happening in the center truly took my attention.

Several forms stood on a slightly elevated slab of stone, opposite to each other. I could not make out their guttural language, yet I could see the ebb and flow that took place there.

“Are they… debating?” was what I attempted to hiss. Being muted meant nothing came of it, however.

But yes, to my astonishment, this was not some primitive tribal system where an alpha or something ordered around the rest. The creatures had a large portion of their numbers gathered as several unremarkable members debated each other before the stone idols they had erected.

The perspective in my head of these creatures was shifted from a mindless scavenger swarm to one more refined. But being smarter made them more dangerous, gave an edge to their malice. It elevated them from beasts to deliberate evil.

Le’rish drew her bow and nodded to me.

I had come here for a reason. It took a few moments to harden my heart, but with claymore in hand, I stepped from the trees.

A bag of biter-pods flew overhead, slashed open and spilling hungry plants all the while. Lerish’s muting skill faded halfway through my roar as I charged from the trees, head down. Relentless Charge and Head Smash carried my forward at the surprised masses. A scaled figure leaped to its feet, only to be gored upon my horns and hurled away as I straightened and roared again.

Brutal Swing and my wide reach cut through a mass of monsters as I continued forward momentum and into the crowds of screaming, hissing stonemongers. Their fury sang around me. Any blow that managed to reach me was stopped by Garek’s armor.

Arrows filled the air around me as wood and steel whistled from the trees.

Creatures ran from my path as they found attacking futile. Yet I was not here to solely slaughter. My claymore chased down monsters with every swing, and I bathed in the blood of my enemies.

I was not a Farmer, I was a Berserker—a god of blood and fury granted a mortal shell.

Lost in the fury, I nearly forgot myself. Blood beat through my eyes as my mind demanded death to any that stood before me. The Gods Above had made all of this world, large and small, but it was I that made them equal in death.

Great was the effort that forced me away from the slaughter and towards my real objective. Screeching stonemongers gathered around the stone idols, weapons in hand as one of their kind gestured toward me and screamed guttural words.

They would die here, bleeding for every step I took. Desperate to protect their gods.

Let them.

The earth shook beneath me as I stomped at the last defenders. All hesitation was gone as the sanguine red rush enveloped my being. I was divine, a deity of blood and carnage. Faces I would soon forget died screaming beneath my blade, their attempts to stop me futile. I never ceased momentum but carried forward until I stood before their Stone Gods.

Brutal Swing tore through the stone as attacks glanced off my back. One statue toppled, followed by another. I rent their idols in twain then rampaged through the rubble until they were reduced to pieces, killing all the while.

Screams of fury, anguish, and rage rang through the nest, but their spirit was broken. Those that still lived fled into the wilderness, chased by arrows all the while.

I stood panting in the center of it all as the red rage cleared from my mind and I beheld the destruction I had wrought. I refused to ignore it all and look away like a coward. I had done this to protect me and mine. My face grim, I wiped the blood from my blade and looked to where Le’rish emerged.

If the slaughter bothered her, the huntress was excellent at hiding it. She nodded on approach and examined the idols.

“Worship their own pantheon,” she explained. “Every nest is built around these carved rocks. Where there are no rocks, there are no stonemongers.”

“And you know all the locations in this area?” I grimaced and watched a plethora of biter-pods gnaw at a corpse.

“Most of them. Some small ones are well hidden. Big ones are the ones to focus on. Bigger statues, more stonemongers. Simple.”

I nodded grimly and sheathed my blade. “Then let us move on. The bloodshed here is done and the nest cleared.”

A long, bloody day lay ahead of us, and who was I to keep it waiting?

Chapter 28

“Dead stonemongers are good stonemongers,” Le’rish grunted as she picked our way through the undergrowth. “Nobody will argue that.”

This was the point where I would interject something clever about a ‘but’, yet I found myself muted once more.

“But,” she said, and I found myself vindicated, “there are more efficient ways.”

She assumed interest through my silence and continued as we dipped into another valley. Ground crumbled underfoot as I navigated the loose earth with a silent grimace. Le’rish continued unimpeded and spoke crisply all the while.

“Stonemongers are strange,” she stated the obvious. “Left to their own devices, they are cowards. Follow me.” She beckoned, and with little choice in the matter, I did.

She—and by extension I—crept up another clearing and stopped to look. As the one before, this was filled with stonemongers. Yet, the differences were clear.

There was no gatherings of the creatures. Instead, they kept to their own corners of the nest and sat alone in silence. With a gesture, Le’rish dropped our camouflage and stepped forward into the nest unarmed. It took several moments for the monsters to notice her, at which point they barked and fled in all directions. I watched them go and followed the huntress.

“I’ve hunted mongers for years now.” She grunted and kicked over a small firepit. “Formed conclusions. What do you notice here that’s different?”

Blessedly, I found myself able to speak again. “Less of the monsters overall,” I observed.

“And why is that?’

A good, long look around the clearing brought several thoughts to mind, but one stood out before the rest. “There are no idols here,” I guessed.

Unlike the last clearing, there were no crudely carved and decorated statues in this nest.

“Yes,” Le’rish answered simply. “With no rocky outcrops to carve into their gods, there is no reason for them to gather. And without large gatherings to egg and spur each other on, they remain in their base state. Cowards and scavengers.”

“You are suggesting we destroy every rock formation around Mount Redtip?” I shifted and looked around the gloomy clearing. It seemed like a rather tedious chore, but if it was necessary…

The huntress snorted in reply and waved her arm in dismissal of the idea. She surveyed the area then turned back to the forest that walled this place in.

“No need. These are the last remnants of the packs that were on Mount Redtip. Or so I have observed. Most were wiped out or driven off the mountain by the influx of higher-leveled monsters. Although, some have rapidly adapted and evolved to combat the threat. New subclasses, higher-leveled individuals, and the like.”

Monsters gaining classes. A new revelation to me, but I did not question it and just nodded along and followed the woman into the brush once more. Mostly because I was already muted again.

“Point is, they need these stone gods to be anything more than reclusive cowards. Destroy them and you destroy their will and morale. Simple.”

Perhaps I did not see everything too clearly, but I nodded along and followed her as we made our way through the valley. Walls of rock and occasional greenery rose above the trees as we traversed the massive gash in the mountain’s side. Everything smelled wet and lush in here, overly ripe and sweet. Bloom and life surrounded us as we stalked through it on our way to deal with matters of death.

My sense of time was skewed, but I estimated it to be nearly an hour before we reached our destination. Once again, Le’rish’s skill applied camouflage to us as we stalked forward to observe our target.

This was by far the largest nest of the three we had now seen. It easily dwarfed the first in size and numbers. The carved stones here were absolutely massive. We had seen them over the trees, even from a considerable distance. As before, we approached with sound muted and active camouflage around us.

There were several large differences here I could see immediately. The Stone Gods were the center of all activity and were carved in far greater detail than before. I could make out features on the rocks now. Carefully chiseled and painted, they showed three separate individuals, which resembled more humanoid, regal stonemongers. One was in the classic image of a warrior, the other a mage or scholar, the third a cloaked form I would guess at being an assassin.

The debate podium around these towering statues was sophisticated in design, an ascending gallery that held stone benches to either side of a classic debate floor. I saw lodges, organized campfires, ideas that seemed crudely copied from humans and other races. And all of it swarmed with monsters. Stonemongers in all shapes and sizes gathered here, and I felt my throat turn dry at their sheer numbers.

There must have been nearly a thousand gathered here in this massive nest, situated in the heart of this valley. Even though we were a considerable distance away, I could make out stark differences in the beasts.

Many of them had bulky, rocky armor that covered them like a carapace. Others were smaller, sleek, and hard for the eyes to keep track of. But there were several individuals that caught my attention. There was a stonemonger nearly as large as me, covered entirely in slabs of stone that floated around its body.

“Stone Colossus class,” I heard Le’rish whisper into my ear, even though she remained some distance away. “Big. Strong. Slow.”

She gestured to others around the camp. There was another, smaller than the Colossus, that carried a small shield and, strangely enough, a scimitar-like weapon.

“Likely a Rock Guardian,” she grunted and gestured to a wild-eyed, bellowing figure that presided over the debate floor. “And that strikes me as a Stonebinder. There should be a Shadowstalker in here, but I cannot find them from here.”

She held an arrow in hand and gestured to what seemed to be a massive kennel made of rocks.

“Those house their Magnethounds, stonemongers that have regressed back even further into bestial forms in exchange for power.”

I nodded solemnly, my claymore drawn and ready. In one hand, I held a bag filled with spores and sleeping bomber-pods. Grim as it was, there was already a plan in my mind. Throw my bags into their midst and then immediately cut a swathe to the statues. Blindly rampaging around like the first nest could mean I could get swarmed and worn down through sheer numbers.

“Stay here,” Le’rish hissed. “I’ll scout around the area to ensure there are no nasty surprises.”

She was gone before I had a chance to protest. With a silent sigh, I crouched in place and surveyed the nest. But I did not wait long. Le’rish had been gone only moments when a scout came screeching from the woods, and I tensed.

Had she been discovered?

Whatever the creature relayed to the nest, the disturbance was instant. Masses of creatures swarmed every which way, a hundred things happening at once. I could see them scrambling for weapons and smell the fear that permeated the air now. The kennels were thrown open, and lumbering, metallic hounds, nearly the size of Gol, emerged.

But they had little time to prepare.

Something soared above the treetops and landed in their midst as stonemongers scattered desperately around it. My eyes could see a tall, slender form that landed before the podium. Those words were a lie, however. The creature was taller than I and, while slender in the context of its size, easily matched me in bulk. Bipedal with feathered legs that shimmered red.

A thickly-built chest gave way to a flowing mane and draken appearance. Steel wings were folded upon its back, and long, muscled arms ended in sharp claws.

I gazed upon it for but a second and knew this was the Apex. A heartbeat passed, and chaos reigned.

Eyes wide, I watched the massive form cleanly pivot, swivel, and catch the rising Stone Colossus in the chest with a blurred kick. Even as the massive form was broken and ragdolled through the air, the monster landed, swept low, and spun its steel wings wide. Stonemongers were caught and shredded by the flash of steel. It moved like a dancer with fast and graceful yet heavy blows.

Butchery was the only word I could describe its actions with. Long, powerful legs lashed out and simply broke anything in its path. It danced, every movement an act of slaughter that smoothly flowed into the next.

A wall of rock erupted from the ground as it surged towards the Rock Guardian, and it shattered it with a powerful axe kick. Momentum propelled it forward, even as a mass of car-sized boulders appeared above and slid through the air to crush it. One second, it occupied a space beneath the tonnes of falling rock. The next, it simply didn’t.

My eyes could barely follow the monster as it flash-stepped forward and swatted the Stonebinder away like an insect. Stone rose from the ground to entrap its legs in that instant as the mage sacrificed their life to trap it. A futile effort.

The Apex glowed and applied pressure downwards, and I watched as the ground around it shattered. Stone and dirt were thrown in every direction with enough force to hurl away the swarm of Magnethounds that raced towards it.

It flash-stepped again, and I watched it appear before the Rock Guardian. There was terror in those final moments, I was sure. I could see the creature jerk backwards as the larger monster loomed before it then be crushed into the ground by a flurry of blows.

There was something primal about the destruction it wrought. A storm of relentless carnage that came at blinding speeds. The Apex tore through the nest of stonemongers without so much as a pause, and death followed its wake.

And all the while I watched, silent.

I had thought an Apex to be just another higher-leveled monster, never taken the threat seriously. I had been wrong. It was the literal apex of its species, an avatar of brutality and sheer force. In truth, I did not know if I could defeat it in combat myself. I was strength and blind, directionless rage.

It was power and focused carnage. Speed and massive strength, meshed by perfect control.

Quiet, emotionless, I watched as it stood before the statues of these stonemonger gods, and it sneered at them. The nest lay in ruins around it, hundreds of monsters butchered in the span of minutes. Its bright red form stained with blood, it gazed upon these gods and spit at them.

A single leg rose and planted its spread, clawed toes on the stone surface. Then it squeezed. The rock shattered beneath its strength, and it cawed in mocking laughter at the last few stonemongers it had left alive, watched their despair as it reduced their gods to rubble. With one last screech of malice, it bent, spread its wings, and leaped into the air.

It was gone long before Le’rish returned.

“Apex.” She nodded quietly. “Fortunate we did not arrive sooner.”

I was inclined to agree. With naught else to do, we turned and set off for home, the silence heavy in the air.

Chapter 29

There was little to say as we made our way home but much left unsaid. Things hadn’t changed, in truth. My perspective had. Beforehand, true danger was a far-off concept, the Baron being situated far away and with other matters to occupy himself. Conflict and confrontation was there but as a vaguely hazy thing further down the line.

There were monsters up the mountain, yes, but I had, for some reason, been incorrectly confident that I was the top dog or some such in these areas. That illusion was shattered now. Garek’s memories held vast amounts of blood-soaked experience, yet the berserker had never fought an Apex himself.

Much as I wished I would not have to, I refused to be an optimistic fool. I would pray for the best but steel myself for the worst.

Quiet and somber was the mood as Le’rish led us back out of this wooded maze. The huntress deftly found trails my eyes would have passed over and kept up moving in a consistent direction. Lost and with my trust in her, I followed.

Overcast as it was, I guessed it to be early in the evening before we emerged back onto the road. It was not where we had entered by her lodge—but close enough.

“Well,” she broke the silence. “‘Til we meet again. I will be working at the camp these next few weeks. Hunting for those who cannot do it themselves. Your company would not be unwelcome. If you find yourself in the area.”

I solemnly nodded and thanked her for all she had done today. The huntress gave me a rare, wry smile and went off on her own way. And I was left alone with my thoughts once more. There was a tiredness in my limbs as I trudged down the slope, following the road that would lead me home. Just I, the sound of birds in the distance, and the dull evening light.

Exhaustion crept through my body, yes, but I was not too tired to smile when Gol lumbered up to me as I approached the farm. Ishila passed me on the road as I drew near, the big burly beast by her side.

“Had a good day?” I asked and leaned forward to scratch Gol behind the ears.

The way he pressed his head into my hand brought a small smile to my face, I had to admit. The last few days had caused me to appreciate the big lummox.

“Was alright. Bit boring, but that’s how I like my days ‘round here. Yourself?”

“Unexpected things happened,” I grunted. “Finished what we set out to achieve and had a change of perspective.”

“Want to share?”

“Maybe in the morning. Too tired to do anything tonight. Gonna wash in the stream and go to bed.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She grinned in her lopsided way. “I still got chores at home, or I’d do the same and be asleep.”

“Well, have fun with that.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “I make no promises in that regard. But I’ll try.”

And with that, she was gone. I watched her race down the road, dust kicked up in her wake. Gol followed me home, close at my side. And of course I spoiled him with an abundance of head-scratches and much pets. Just to express my gratitude. He had risked life and limb for my farm, and now it was his home as much as mine.

Supper was a vague blur of Artyom cheerfully chattering along and describing the day. Truth be told, I could remember little of what was said.

Fatigue’s iron grip tightened its hold on me, and soon, I found myself in bed, eyes closed.

Farmer Level Eight reached. Sleep to-

I was out before the message even finished.

Deep and troubled was my sleep, and haunted were my dreams. A sea of blood and carnage was all that I remembered once I woke, my body covered in cold sweat. With a grunt and a sniff, I realized I had forgotten to bathe yesterday.

The clear pre-dawn air and cold water did wonders for me, I found. Relaxed in the pool created by the dam, I allowed myself to simply soak and enjoy the early morning. It was quiet, almost peaceful with a decent view of the farm from here. I could see the cows out in the pasture, the lone horse amidst the herd.

Better than a reservoir to the crops, I had my own sizable bathtub. But all too soon, it was time to go and attend to my duties. The last few level-ups had not yielded me any Skills, I had noticed. Were they spaced further apart, or was there another criteria for them that I was unaware of?

The cows were milked and jugs loaded onto the freshly patched cart by the time Ishila arrived. Artyom sat on the cart’s front seat with a wide-eyed, innocent look. Inviting himself along, or so he thought. The felinid visibly twitched as he gazed at all the gathered milk, and I sighed.

“Look,” I rumbled between securing jars. “If Ishila is impressed by your efforts today when I return, I’ll see about slipping you some when she isn’t looking, alright?”

“Slip him what?” came the voice from behind, and with a grunt, I finished the binding and turned to find the orc lass. “Some extra coin,” I lied in a way I wanted to think was smooth but came out a little too delayed

She eyed me skeptically, but shrugged. “Sure, we’ll go with that. Anythin’ you want done today?”

I directed her to begin harvesting biter-pods, with the caveat she take things slow and careful. Said pods were absolutely engorged by the feasting they had done these past several days. So stuffed were they, in fact, that the vines had begun to sprout more pods in random areas. There were additional effects all throughout the range of plants, but I intended to leave investigation of those until I returned.

With work laid out and promises that they would keep safety paramount secured, I set off. Yesterday’s clouds had passed without so much as a drop of rain, and an empty expanse shone with sheer sunlight today. Nothing bothered me on my way to the rider’s camp, save for a few passing patrols. Raffnyk’s men and women rode along these roads now, armed and bored as they kept a lookout for trouble.

It was one of the reasons I was comfortable leaving the farm, despite knowing Ironmoor’s men might come knocking. The Verdant Dawn patrolled up and down the mountain, ceaseless in their vigilance. But I was headed upwards, with my cart in tow and an eagerness in my step.

I had milk to sell and knowledge that had to be shared. All in all, the day looked to be very productive indeed.

It was with such expectations that I gazed at Raffnyk sometime later. The human smacked his lips slightly, face scrunched up as he tasted some of the milk from a cup.

“It certainly tastes… unique,” he admitted after a few more sips. “Quite unlike any milk I’ve tasted before. But you wanted to talk about other matters.”

With a sigh, I took the returned mug and placed it back with the others as I leaned against the cart’s frame. There was some curiosity as to my products, but insofar, only Raffnyk had approached me. Despite my every attempt to seem friendly and approachable, I was betrayed by my own body.

A huge, hulking beast offering samples of strange liquid was not the comforting sight I had hoped it to be after all. Shame.

“I encountered the Apex,” I stated bluntly.

In a heartbeat, the man’s face went from relaxed and curious to alert and tight. “Every detail you can provide me will be compensated for in gold,” he said, voice hard.

But I waved him off. “From one friend to another,” I assured him. “Keep your coin, and instead, do me a favor in the future, should I call upon it.”

“Very well,” he agreed, voice low. “But every… single… detail… you provide me with will be invaluable beyond anything. Every scrap of knowledge might save a life when we have to go and fight it, might make the difference between killing it and a rout.”

That was where I wholly agreed with him. Information and knowledge was what won battles and decided wars. I knew this very, very well, which was why I had come to pass it along. Hoarded, that knowledge was useless to me, but shared, it could benefit all. The worst thing I could have done was simply sit on it and fail to mention it to anyone.

Not a sound came from Raffnyk as I described the encounter in bluntly excruciating detail. Every little thing I could remember, from how it moved, to its attacks, to its stature and attitude. Frankly, the conversation took far, far longer than the actual slaughter at the stonemonger nest.

“I thank you for this, friend Garek,” he said once I had finished. He abruptly stood and clasped hands behind his back. “May your woes be few and your days many. I must go. Now.”

He stalked away, and I watched a good man leave.

While I wish I could have said the day was profitable, that would be a very severe over-reach. Few and far between were the people who actually approached me, and fewer still were those who were willing to buy an entire large jar of milk after a few sips from the sample cup.

My business strategy was sorely lackluster, I finally concluded. Soon, evening came, and I could wait no longer. Cart just as heavy as it had been this morning, I turned and began to trudge back home.

Not entirely disheartened, just more experienced. I would need to make several adjustments and compromises, but I had a plan.

If just milk was not enough to attract attention, I would need to add the proverbial spice to my selection.

Once again, it was late enough that Ishila passed me on the road home. The lass assured me that everything had gone well, albeit slowly. The harvested pods were safely stored and awaiting my attention, and she had drained some of the acid into proper glass containers.

Artyom deserved whatever reward I had promised him, and that was not because she had seen him chased across the yard by a massive biter pod before cleanly running it through with a spear. The image roused both concern and amusement in me, but I thanked her for her effort, and we parted ways once more.

True to my words, Artyom was rewarded. I sat beneath my evening tree and watched the felinid happily lap away at a thick bowl of cream. Spoon abandoned, he slurped the liquid straight from the bowl, a content look upon his face.

Truly, blissfully happy. I let him enjoy it, my own supper already eaten. But I was not content to head off and sleep just yet. Despite my very un-nocturnal instincts calling, I heaved myself up and lumbered off towards the fields.

Amidst the freshly harvested stalks and vines, a single flower bloomed in the darkness. Surprise and delight swelled inside me as I regarded the sunflower in all its clerical glory. The petals I had plucked were already regrown. Did its healing capabilities also apply to itself?

With eager hands, I plucked several of the pale gold petals and headed back to the farm. Sleep could wait. I had some experiments to try.

Chapter 30

Cold steel in one hand and colder milk in the other, I braced myself for the moment of truth. This idea was frankly ludicrous, yes, but so was every second thing I had encountered since my abrupt arrival on this world. Operating entirely on logic from my old home was a crutch that served to slow me down, I had realized.

There was quite literally magic in the air. And if I refused to utilize it, I was an even bigger fucking idiot than in my old life. I vaguely remembered some bullshit about patient people waiting for opportunity to knock on their threshold. Well, I was more content to go and kick fate’s door in.

Forget waiting for opportunity, I was going to make my own.

Teeth grit, I pressed the knife against my forearm, frowned as it failed to penetrate, and pressed harder. For a moment, I feared the blade would dull before it pierced my hide or some such, but I had faith in its prowess. And after a time, I succeeded in cutting myself.

What an achievement.

Sticky, precious blood pooled against the shallow slash as I observed it, detached. But such a small wound did not interest me. I needed to go deeper. I angled the knife in so as to avoid anything important, muttered a quick prayer at whatever god was out there, and then jammed the blade home.

Shock withheld pain’s vestigial advance for a scant few heartbeats and then was swept aside before its arrival. Eyes wide and teeth ground together, I slowly withdrew the blade and shakily reached for the milk I had set aside.

The moment of truth.

Wounded arm braced against the table, I guided the small cup up and gulped it down between shivers and agony. I had been wounded before, but that was in the heat of battle, where adrenaline’s fiery surges kept the worst at bay. It was a special sort of hurt when you knew it was coming.

The effect was instantaneous. I watched, eyes stretched open and refusing to blink as my flesh simply flowed back together. This surprised me. The fleshknit potions I had both seen and administered myself were a rough, brutal method that reknit the torn nerves, veins and skin, and was as painful as that sounded.

This felt smooth, for lack of a better word. Again, I delved into Garek’s memories for an explanation. His kind held little stock in the clerics of other races, for any minotaur not a warrior was worthless in their eyes. But he had encountered humans that wielded divine might, and what hazy memories I could glean from his remnants indicated their healing prowess was far superior to any alchemical potions.

What man could create was not equal to divine providence, it seemed. And yet I suspected these petals were more akin to clerical healing than other forms. I had simply dropped the plucked petals into the milk and let them soak for a while to test my theory.

And now I needed more.

I had a small, finite amount, yes, and would need to use them carefully. But for now, work had to be done. Ishila had, upon my request, gotten me a few smaller jugs. I would have liked to have more variety in the sizes, but that would have to wait for the future. For now, I had my regular pots and several smaller ones, all of which I planned to sell separately.

With careful measurements, the smaller pots were soon filled, and I evenly distributed the petals among them to soak overnight. With cloth and vines, I covered the tops and kept them chilled. Satisfied, I had one last task to attend to before I could turn in.

I had half a sheet of wood that remained from my various construction endeavors. For a while, I sat and thought, wondering what catchy things I could carve upon its surface to attract the eye. In the end, I came upon the conclusion that simplicity was the best option. My products would speak for themselves. Why promise something flashy and fancy when my quality would best be known anyhow?

Some time later, with it finished, I trudged in and retired for the night. Morning came as soon as I had closed my eyes, and with a groan, I prised them open and hauled myself from bed. A new day had dawned, and I was not content to waste any of it on my back.

Tired as I was, the chores seemed like a slog this morning, and I found myself nearly butting heads with my thick-skulled cows. But that too passed, and I had the wagon loaded before Ishila came bounding down the road.

“Off again today, eh?” she inquired as I secured the new goods properly.

The bags of biter-pods still wriggled where I had forgotten them yesterday, and I made a note to check the ones I had sealed away inside the house. I had intended to speak to Raffnyk about selling these, but the subject had been lost in our talks. Ah, well, such was life sometimes.

“Aye,” I grunted. “Should be a better day than yesterday. Didn’t know what I expected, honestly. Just rolled up and hoped for the best.”

“A different plan today, then?” She grinned and looked at what I had prepared. “Learning from your mistakes and all that?”

“Something like that,” I admitted. Like most people, I did hate to admit—especially to myself—that I could have done better, but here we were. “Look after the farm while I’m away.”

I spent a chunk of the morning walking around and pointing out specific tasks to her that I wanted done, as well as some demonstrations. I took particular time to fill her in on the cleric flower, its properties, and what I wanted done with it. We mused over how to possibly reproduce it, but eventually concluded we knew absolutely nothing about it insofar. I admitted that to her, and Ishila just laughed as I trudged back to the farm and my cart.

With a crooked grin, she waved me off. I set off up the mountain, cart pulled behind me as the sun rose up the empty horizon behind my back. I was not the only person on the trail, however. Raffnyk’s riders were already out on patrol, diligently trotting along. Clouded and flooded as my sense of smell was, I could smell a familiar scent as I passed the trio, and it didn’t match my own. Beneath the heavy odor of men, horses, sweat and steel, there was a faint wisp of a more recognizable smell.

Milk.

I frowned, seeing as I didn’t quite remember selling these men any of my goods, then shrugged and trudged onwards. In due time, I arrived at the camp and stopped short as I cleared a rise in the road. Another cart was already parked just outside the half-finished walls, having set up shop. I recognized the short, broad human, even as my mind tried to reach for his name.

Pert, I remembered at last. The other supplier of milk in this area. We had the same idea, then. I could see him turn towards me and then tense up as his eyes took in my form. The odor of baked goods wafted from his cart, and it was plain that he had already made several sales.

Without missing a beat, I kept on moving and pulled my own cart up to where it had been yesterday. If he was tensed for a confrontation, he would be sorely disappointed. I had little time for the man and did not deign to so much as acknowledge him.

Instead I parked my cart, turned my back to him, and began to set up my wares—which didn’t take much effort, in all honesty. Just me loosening some bonds to make it easier to retrieve tied-down items and pulling up my sign.

“Garek’s Goods: Healing Milk And More,” was all it declared and all it needed to.

With that sat up, I simply loitered around and waited, content to let word of mouth spread about my ludicrous claim. Word spread slowly at first, I saw. A few people drifted by, curious looks levied in my direction. More followed. One or two laughed at the sight.

I beckoned a young, bandaged man close as he hovered around the fringes of the gate, obviously intent on watching me. After a moment’s hesitation, he hobbled over and looked me dead in the eye.

“What do ya want?” he asked bluntly, unable to summon a single fuck to give under the layers of cloth that covered his face. A burn victim, or perhaps acid. I couldn’t tell.

“Very little,” I replied truthfully. “You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. How would you like a free sample?”

The suspicion upon his face was obvious as he eyed the sign up and down, wary. “What ya’ sellin?” he demanded gruffly, and I gestured to my sign. His eyes followed my hand and evoked nothing. “Not everyone has time for your fancy scribbles.”

He couldn’t read. Wonderful. Instead, I sighed and explained it to him on blunt terms.

“So yer claiming you have fleshknit potions mixed into yer milk?” He scoffed and scratched at his ginger scalp. “What kind of fool idea is that?”

Momentary weakness nearly made me send him on his way, but I persevered and did my best to remain patient. Even those offered a cure to their illness were hesitant to take it, lest it be a false hope. I myself had gone through such experiences before this life, and I understood his position, his right to doubt my words.

“Free of charge,” I rumbled and held out a cup filled with petal-soaked milk. “The cure for what ails you. If it isn’t, I’ll pay you for your time.”

If anything, that seemed to make him even more suspicious. But the offer proposed was too good, and in the end, he accepted. With bated breath, I watched him chug down the cup and then look around. Waiting for something to happen.

“What a load of rubb—” Anything the young man was about to say was cut off as his free hand shot up to the bandages that covered his face. He blinked blankly several times and groped the skin beneath the wraps that he pulled free. “Huh,” was all the reply I got from him. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

With little else to say, he wandered off, busy feeling at his smooth skin once more. While I would have liked his thanks, they were not strictly required. Others had been watching, and now their testimonies spread. Before I could so much as refill the cup, I had another human striding up to my cart.

“How much?’ she demanded gruffly and pulled out a purse of coin.

I listed my price, and she matched it without flinching.

“Your stock.” She gestured. “I’ll take all of it. “

The coin tempted me, it really did. Visions of its pale gleams in my hands seemed succulent, but I wasn't here to sell out in half an hour and then trundle home with my main draw depleted.

“Two per customer,” I returned, although it pained me to pass up that much immediate coin. I knew it was the better plan to spread out my sales and establish long-term interest, but there was something alluring about immediate gratification.

She bargained and haggled, but I remained firm. “Two per customer,” I repeated stubbornly. “There will be more next week.”

Truth be told, I had come with ten small healing pots, used one as a demonstration and wanted to stretch the remaining nine as far as I could.

“I have other wares, strictly for the discerning adventurer,” I offered once she had accepted that I would not sell her more. She had coin aplenty, it turned out. Several moments later, I was light one bag of biter-pods, a flask of acid, and a jug of regular milk.

Not all my customers were as free with their coin as her. Several balked at the price of the healing milk, but I refused to budge. I knew it was a bit higher than was reasonable, but it was still fair and a precious commodity. The healing pots went far quicker than I had expected, and soon, I was forced to tell interested parties that they were sold out.

Across the road, Pert had a small trickle of customers for his milk and baked goods, but the majority visited me first. Even if I could no longer provide what I advertised, the rest of my wares held the interest of the riders. Giving monster hunters the tools they needed to more easily do their jobs was profitable, who would’ve thought?

By day's end, my cart was light and my purse full. Satisfied, I packed up my cart and pointedly ignored Pert as he waved me over. No doubt he had some business proposition in mind, but I had little interest in the man. It wasn’t that I thought he was inherently evil, just greedy, or that I thought lesser of him. It was simply that I possessed better ways to waste my time than in his association and presence.

Through polite conversation with my clients, I made sure to spread the word that I would return once every week, each time with a fresh batch of goods. Those who came first would be served first. And then, after a day well-spent, I hitched up my cart and began the trek back home.

Chapter 31

To my immense surprise, I discovered that variation produced patterns. Yes, that was indeed sarcasm. My wit knew no limits, I was proud to admit. Come dawn, I was already awake and conducting my examinations accompanied by the faint pre-dawn light and Artyom’s squeaky snores. Gods Above, that little windbag had an entire orchestra of sounds down his throat, and I had been his unwilling audience all night.

Back turned to him, I sat upon a crude stool and examined the countertop’s worth of biter-pods. Entombed in glass, they lay in various states of affairs, with remarkably few of them showing any signs of thriving. Who would have thought that sealing organic life inside a glass container could have such an effect?

Predictably, those that had received the least food withered first. That conclusion had been foregone, however. What interested me was how quickly they had degraded. Those that had gotten none were simply dead, cut off from the vine, food, and air. Truly, a stupendous outcome. There were faint signs of life left in those that had received some small morsels, amplified in the jars I had left open to the air above.

Those I had allowed to gorge surprised me the most. They positively thrived inside their castles of glass. Several had sprouted vines from what I would tentatively refer to as their backs, and one had gone so far as to begin growing more pods from a thickened vine that curled along the jar’s floor.

Soil, while optional, was not strictly needed, or so I was led to assume.

The results here fairly lined up with what I had guessed the natural outcome to be, yet I wanted to conduct more advanced experiments. Rather than just figure out a way to grow more, an eagerness to manipulate the conditions further simmered within me. A thirst for knowledge that demanded my attention as if a physical need.

Tentative expression set upon my face, I gathered up those that had perished and left the hut. The husk of those dead I disposed of in a compost pile Ishila had started and refilled their containers with soil. They could survive in sub-optimal conditions, yes, but how much did it affect them versus those planted in lush soil?

Artyom had woken upon my return and scurried off at my insistence. Morning chores would not perform themselves. He was to feed Gol and check the crops for weeds, along with a small list of other tasks to rotate through day by day. The wonders of being able to rely on competent help.

While he attended to those chores, I further divided up the plants and their conditions. Most got soil, and I watched as the vines of several plants snuggled into the loamy dirt. A few trips back and forth provided some with water, some with food, and a healthy variation across all those that remained. This time, I made sure to carefully mark all of the jars to indicate their conditions. Loathe though I was to admit it, but there were only so many details I could cram into my skull and expect to remember.

Ishila had returned from the fields with milk pails in hand when I finally emerged, her morning chores already completed.

“Thought I was going to be fighting with the cows again today,” I admitted as we leaned against the fence posts and observed Artyom weaving through the crops.

Harvest was, frighteningly, weeks away by my estimate. That unsettled me the most. Back home, it had been this immutable thing that occurred on a set pace, and even for all our technology and studies, humans had been able to do naught but speed that process up by a few weeks. Now, a Skill, a power I could not feel and had little control over, hustled that process along by months. Unnatural.

“Well then, ain’t you glad I was in the area to do it for ya’?” the orc lass distractedly replied, her usual grin just a slight twitch upon her face.

Something was bothering her, and I didn’t want to dance around it or pretend like it wasn’t a concern. Some people just wouldn’t care, as long as it didn’t affect her work. I wasn’t one of those people to say “do your job and deal with your problems on your own time”, or some such.

“You want to talk about it or be distracted from it?” I sighed and leaned against the crooked wooden post. “I can see something is eating at you. Share, if you are willing.”

She frowned and shook her head ever so slightly. “Ehhh, it’s stupid.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” I reassured her.

Ishila sighed and made a face before she straightened and crossed her arms, a serious expression on her face. “I wanna be an adventurer. Think I mentioned this before, but lately I’ve been havin’ arguments with Ma’ and Pa’ about it. Look, I know the whole thing about kids and their parents clashing and then tempers simmering, so don’t worry ‘bout that. It’s just..” She trailed off with a deep, tired sigh that I felt.

I really did.

“I know that I have it better off than a lot of young folks my age an’ am in a better situation than plenty o’ people ‘round here. Ma’ and Pa’ are leavin’ me the farm an’ everything. I’ve got a great headstart with my Classes, inherited great Skills from both of ‘em, and have a fair sum of coin saved up. I could live well once the farm is mine.”

I nodded along, sort of sympathetic and able to empathize with her position. “And yet?”

“It’s selfish an’ shit, but I don’t want it. It’s secure, stable, a good life by any means, but it wouldn’t make me happy. I know that. And I got only one life to live.”

Of all the things I expected to do this morning, helping a young adult with their existential dread and uncertainty of the future was not among my long list of possibilities. And yet, she had tirelessly helped me all this time, risked her life for my farm. This was the least I could do for her.

“Well,” I slowly replied and scratched my head. “I can’t make that decision for you, Ishila. All I can do is offer some advice and share my experiences. How much have you thought this through? Do you have all the necessary equipment and funds secured to be an adventurer? A person can train for it, but no amount of practice in a safe, contained environment prepares you for a life of constant danger and uncertainty.”

“I’m aware.” She nodded with a grimace. “Ma’ has told me that a dozen times. You never know what’s around the next bend, out there in the world. Or so I’ve been told. I have a potential party, but all of us are greenhorns, to put it bluntly. I got my stuff, but there’s never a set time for us to set off, ya’ know? Just always some vague date in the future that never seems to come.”

“The worst part is,” she continued. “It’d break Ma’s heart so badly. It took her so much effort to leave all that behind and settle down with Pa’.”

“I can imagine.” I nodded.

“Leaving the call of blood and battle is torture for someone of the orc blood, but she did it for me.” Ishila sighed quietly. “And here I am, off to go break her heart.”

“No matter what you do, make sure you do it on good terms. Don’t let the sun set over regret or anger. And whether or not you stay or go, I just want you to know this, I am thankful to have both met you and had you help me in the past weeks.”

“Thanks for that. Really.” She nodded.

We discussed it for a time, content to just stand and share thoughts. But soon enough, other deeds clamored to take precious attention. Ishila led me over to where she had transplanted the clericflower into my house-side garden, and I squatted to examine it with a frown.

“It seems… sickly,” I stated the obvious.

“Indeed.” She nodded sagely. “Was like that when I scooped it out and moved it over.”

The golden petals had been drained of color, now an unhealthy off-white instead of their pale gold. The flower seemed to droop, devoid of any prior healing prowess.

“Perhaps I plucked too many of its petals,” I ventured carefully.

“Could be. Could also be it’s not getting fed enough.”

“There is sunlight and water aplenty here.” I frowned even harder.

I was going to say that I had never heard of a plant shriveling up so fast but then reminded myself conventional wisdom had been tossed out the window the second I was forced into this world.

“True. But if not water and light, what is it feeding off of?”

Ishila shrugged and gestured to the field where she had transplanted the fragile flower from.

“Given the past few days and how you only noticed it after the raid, I would hedge my bets and just say it’s either blood or death.”

I couldn’t even make a decent counter-argument against that, given what kind of other flora grew among my crops. They had a very specific ingredient that linked all of them together.

“Well then.” I nodded. “Might as well test it and see, first. Anything we can bleed onto this?”

For once, the thoroughness with which the biter-pods disposed of whatever meat I had thrown in front of them disappointed me. I would have quite liked something readily on hand to test Ishila’s theory. But it was not to be, and so I grabbed the knife and decided to do it myself.

Face already a grimace of anticipation, I towered over the pale bloom and held the knife to my palm. The pain was barely there, but I still shivered as cold steel parted the flesh and blood flowed free.

Crimson was the precious liquid that seeped from my clenched fist into the dark soil below. Droplets splattered across the soil, fat drops of bloody rain that stained the pale petal where they struck, stains that faded in mere moments as life returned to the bloom.

It hungered, and I gave it sustenance. The pale gold returned before my very eyes, and we stood, blinking.

“Seems about right.” Ishila nodded.

Any further questions were interrupted as Artyom came tearing across the yard, bounding on all fours. “Riders, yes-yes!” he screeched. “Baron’s men!”

Not a moment of peace at all, it seemed. Ishila broke off and headed for the storage shack where the weapons were stored. This early in the morning, I hadn’t been lugging around my claymore. An oversight. Danger did not choose convenient times to reveal itself.

There was a sense of dread that pervaded the air as I strode towards the road, intent on confronting the riders and any potential trouble before it reached my home. Ishila met me halfway, axe in one hand and my massive blade in the other. I nodded thanks as she handed it to me hilt-first.

“Stay back and watch,” was all the instructions I mustered before she was gone.

Back to the storage shed for her armor, I assumed. Gol stirred from beneath the massive tree he snoozed under, but I did not wait for him. Artyom bounded towards him, and I turned my attention back to the road. They came around the corner, a full contingent of armored men with their green banner flying overhead.

And at the forefront, a figure I recognized. The Adjudicator rode in full armor, her draconic helm a sneering visage upon the world as she surveyed all with regal disdain. They saw me at the same time I caught sight of their column.

With a crack of the reins and flick of her boots, the warhorse she rode broke into a gallop, coming right at me.

Chapter 32

Instinct screamed for action as the frenzied mass of flesh and steel galloped toward me. Wisdom whispered to stay my hand. Eyes narrowed, fist clenched around the hilt of my blade, and sweat upon my back, I chose to follow the quiet voice. The dark figure pulled to a halt before me, her horse viciously jerked to the side.

“Again you stand before me,” came the imperious statement, delivered from on high.

A moment passed as I carefully considered my words. Cold was the malice I discerned in her tone. Something about her… unsettled me, put me on edge as I glanced at the figures that continued to march on.

“You sought me out, not the other way around,” I returned slowly, trying to stay expressionless. “What brings you to my humble farm?”

Had the baron decided to come in force to attempt and make an example of me? The sheer amount of soldiers that marched along the road behind the Adjudicator could flood my farm in bodies, drag me down through sheer attrition.

I could almost hear the sharp smile behind that blackened armor.

“No need to flatter yourself, farmer. The baron’s business lies elsewhere today. You being here is merely a distraction on the route. But, as you have seen fit to bring up the subject.” She swung one leg over and slid from her horse. Armor clanked as she struck the ground and strode towards me. Instinct screamed, and I took a step back before realizing what I had done.

There was something wrong about the figure. A sense of dread and malice that entered my mind whenever I looked at her. Irrational emotions that reigned over my mind. I was a giant before her, the imposing one here. But the mere sight of this figure brought uneasiness into my heart.

“Is the supposed hospitality of farmers simply a fable?” came the sneering voice. “Given only to those you favor?”

She expected me to invite her into my home, well—no, she expected the rebuke. This person wasn’t stupid. I had already seen that back at the square. Taunts meant to get rises out of better people. She would not receive the like from me.

Pained was the smile that came through my gritted teeth, but I cordially stepped to the side and invited her to share my shade. Another rider drew close behind her, and she simply waved him on.

“You are not incompetent enough to not carry on without me,” she snapped at the soldier. “You have your orders, follow them.”

They were marching up the mountain, I realized. Towards Raffnyk’s camp. Cold eyes followed my gaze, and a derisive laugh escaped the confines of her throat.

“Your friends will not be harmed today,” the Adjudicator sneered. “But they cannot outrun my liege’s wrath forever. Vengeance’s hand will close round their throats, one day.”

Those words I chose to ignore and instead led her towards the tree where I entertained my guests. Ishila had vanished, I found. The young woman had seen the situation, put the factors together, and bounded away into the woods. Good. Much as I considered her a lass, she was a capable, grown woman experienced in her own ways.

Gol growled warily as the armored figure approached, slowly backing up as she drew near.

“You tamed one of these for a pet?” came the laugh, almost scornful. “How quaint.”

“Grateful am I, then, that I hold little value in your approval,” I tossed back and sat myself on the largest stump.

Everything seemed eerily quiet as the woman sat herself in the shade across from me. There was an awkward silence as she looked around, her posture relaxed. Someone who was used to strolling right into a place and owning it. I could not explain why she unsettled me. Physically, she was perhaps half my size. Yet, I had learned that in this world there was much more to a person than would meet the eye.

I stood abruptly and dusted off my pants. Something to keep my hands distracted instead of sitting there quietly.

“Could I offer you a drink?” I asked with forced pleasantness.

If she realized that, the woman was content to let me fumble along. “The guest is finally offered refreshments?” She clicked her tongue but didn’t answer my question.

With a sigh and rolled eyes, I trudged towards the storage shed and fetched a small jug, as well as two glasses. Her attention seemed focused on Gol’s retreating form as I returned, and for a moment, I thought she had turned her attention away from me.

I thought wrong. The draconic head of her black helm fluidly turned to stare at me as I approached, discomfort in every step of my body. Her scent was… unstable. Humanstench sporadically overlaid something else I didn’t recognize, something unnatural. Crackling and cold all at once, with a hint of corruption mixed in. Hard was the battle I waged to keep my features from twitching as I set a glass before her and poured the creamy liquid within.

Only when I had withdrawn and poured my own did she reach forward and grasp it in gauntleted hands.

“Milk,” she stated flatly.

“Perhaps you would settle for stream water or air?”

The rebuke I expected did not come. Instead, a hand reached up, undid catches, and pulled the helm from her head. Intense darkened eyes emerged from beneath the steel, colorless hair cut short over them. Several of her teeth were sharp, I found as the not-quite human face took a sip from her cup.

A narrow tongue ran across her lips with slow deliberation after every sip, something that only served to unsettle me further.

The more she revealed, the less I understood about this being.

After a slow agony, the cup was drained and set back upon the stump she had taken it from.

“Delicious,” she commented. “You have fine taste. Shame that your friends do not reflect this fine taste,” she continued, teeth bared into a smile. “You chose to throw your lot in with these vermin, and that choice was exceptionally poor.”

“I need not justify my friendships to you.” I shrugged. “Yet, honorable men and women make far better company than the man you serve.”

Sharp was the smile that cut through her stone face, and with the helmet gone, I could see the sneer beneath. “Keep company with the riders, and soon, all you will have for companionship will be corpses.”

“Is that a threat?” I asked softly, eyes narrowed.

“No. You are not worth wasting the baron’s time on. But that is a promise. My master has burned with righteous vengeance for longer than you have been born, furback. And you will not stand betwixt him and his retribution.”

“Your master is fond of grudges, I glean. Must be a delightful person to serve.”

“You know so little, small man. That flame has burned since days long gone, when what was considered a monster was a far… looser term. When organizations like the Verdant Dawn were allowed much more freedom, answered to no man,” she hissed, “and killed who they pleased in the name of protecting the people.”

Her smile was sharp now, pitiless.

“You have wandered into a feud you know frighteningly little of and entrenched yourself with the wrong side. Know that the world is not kind to the mishaps of fools, and I am even less so, Farmer Garek.”

“You know my name, yet I have not heard yours.” I cocked my head. “Somehow that doesn’t seem fair.”

“Fuck fair,” she spat. “But since you finally asked, I am Valencia.”

“Valencia, Adjudicator in the service of Baron Ironmoor and currently enjoying my hospitality. Does that sound right?” I asked.

“You are far better at grasping the surface details than any other of your kind.” Valencia smirked coldly. “And I have met many of you brutes. Killed nearly as much of your spawn as I met.”

If that was meant to provoke a reaction from me, she received naught but silence. Sharp fangs smiled further as she sniffed the air and found the scent of my discontent.

“Yes, Farmer. You are a long way from home, not that your kind has a home anymore. The War of the Beast saw fit to end that.”

“Many people speak of this event, yet I find I care little for it.” I shrugged and sipped more milk to calm myself. I would not let her bait a rise from me. Not now, not ever.

“And I. I served on the front lines in the minotaur campaigns. I know more of your kind than you do.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

She did not pause, but immediately launched into what she intended to speak next.

“You are a simplistic, brutish species fueled by bloodlust, barely able to contain your desire to pillage and slaughter. Even your precious kingdom was only built because the elves altered your rules. But you, a base bull, are only drawn to slaughter and bloodshed, consumed by it. When you have naught else to fight, you strike at each other.

“I cannot even commend you on survival of the fitness or might through strength. Your kind is too animalistic and savage for even that—even worse than the orcs. They, at least, have some structure and honor. Your kind is fallen, corrupted. You fight for the joy of it, for the very act of bloodshed and little else.”

She stopped and looked me up and down. “And that is why you have provoked my interest. To move out here, in the middle of nowhere. It must be torture not killing everything you come across.”

It really wasn’t, but I left her to continue on.

“This facade of calm you have.” The Adjudicator looked at me with unblinking eyes. “It will slip, sooner or later, and then I will be at hand to contain you. But for now,” she smiled, “I am satisfied with your hospitality.”

She reached into her cloak and pulled out a sealed roll of parchment, placed it on the stump, then stood.

“And what is that?” I asked, not moving to pick it up.

“Payment due for assaulting a guard and two separate instances of damage rendered to the walls of Hullbretch. The baron understands that such decisions were made in irrational haste and is willing to overlook them if you agree to pay for what you broke. Contemplate it.

“Personally,” she offered, “I’m hoping you don’t. Be the nail that sticks up so I can return to hammer you down.”

Before I could formulate a response, she had strode across the clearing, mounted her horse, and galloped off, leaving me with a bill, an empty jug of milk, and dread roiling in the pit of my stomach. A fantastic combination.

Chapter 33

“A scare,” Raffnyk grunted as we sat in the dusk shade of my yard. “Nothing more. Just the good baron flexing his might and showing us that distance means little to him. Officially, I am certain it was some rubbish like sending the troops to see if we needed reinforcements, given how long this has taken.”

“Too long, I assume?” I replied with a grunt and accepted the flask he passed around.

After my confrontation yesterday, I needed a drink to take the edge off my nerves. The resounding tiredness in the human’s sigh made me nod in pity as he rubbed at weary eyes. I felt that, I really did.

He quietly spoke after a few moments of silence. “Part of me wants to make some pretty reassurance, tell you we’ll be okay. That would be a fucking lie. We are, quite frankly, trapped in a massively undesirable situation. The baron choosing to force our hand made the situation markedly worse.

“With the Apex up the mountain, our task of culling monsters is proceeding at a, frankly, glacial pace. I’ve told my riders that any hint of contact with it means they’re to break off and retreat. But despite that, we’ve already begun to lose good soldiers. And now, he is beginning to apply pressure from the other side.”

“Caught between the anvil and the hammer,” Le’rish remarked from where she sat.

“One of the baron’s Adjudicators paid me a visit yesterday,” I mentioned, swirling the viscous liquid inside Raffnyk’s flask before I took a sip. Potent stuff. Or maybe that was amplified because I hadn’t had booze in so long. Didn’t particularly miss it either. “Splendid person.”

Le’rish’s normally tight features visibly soured as I described what had happened, culminating in an abrupt spit of disgust at the ground.

“Valencia.”

“You know her?”

“Of her.” The huntress snorted. “Nothing good, anyhow.”

Raffnyk made a noise and leaned back, features flat.

“This Adjudicator presents a unique threat to myself and my soldiers. I would say ‘us’, but you are not in deep enough to yet withdraw. Make no mistake, we are all individuals experienced in killing monsters. I know my men and women are all decently leveled, some are even approaching their level twenties. We had expected this expedition to be, frankly, overkill.”

“Doesn’t look that way now,” Le’rish grunted, and I nodded along.

“Seems to me like you’re beset on all sides,” I mentioned and took another swig, then passed the flask back and wiped at my mouth.

“We still have the good queen’s decree, but I fear he will inevitably find a way around that, given time. The man has a single-minded focus for brutality.”

“He seems highly motivated,” I concurred. “The woman mentioned something of a past grudge, in that regard.”

SIlence fell now as Raffnyk’s face turned uneasy. I could smell the uncertainty from his body, and he chewed over his words.

“Just spill it,” Le’rish growled. “Whatever occurred between your order and Ironmoor in the past changes nothing about what I think of the man.”

A shrug was the only response I could give at his questioning look. Truth be told, if the man had not bothered me again and again, I would have been content to just let him rule from his far-off tower. But even now, I had no strong feelings either way.

Aside from the physical dread I had felt in the presence of his Adjudicator yesterday, I was not overmuch bothered by him and his schemes. Inconveniences, yes, but such was life. I had found that the measure of a man wasn’t whether or not he could avoid life’s hurdles but how well he dealt with them once they inevitably slipped beneath his feet.

“Fine.” The human finally straightened. “But do not judge me for the actions of others.”

“Go on.” I waved him onwards as he glanced around as if looking for a verbal nudge.

“Firstly, understand that this was before my time, so I know only the basest details. Secondly, it happened at a uniquely volatile time. The War of the Beast had just ended. Tensions were high, and people were afraid. Those in higher positions than I decided we needed a solid win. Something, anything to detract from what a pyrrhic mess the destruction of Gallane was.”

“And?” Le’rish fiddled with a cold, empty pipe as the man trailed off. I shot her a glance, and she just shrugged. It seemed I was content to let Raffnyk continue at his own pace, and she was distinctly not.

“And Leila Ironmoor just so happened to be in the wrong condition at the wrong time in history. People were terrified of anything even resembling a monster. Demi-human folk had fled these lands, and with good reason. The human purists and their sects had whipped the people into a fright. One that nearly erupted when it became known, through a loose-lipped castle maid, that the young Ironmoor maiden suffered from lycanthropy.

“Think on that for a second. It was revealed that an aristocrat was possessed by uncontrollable bursts of madness and hunger that could inflict on others a fate more feared than death, the stripping of their own humanity. Regardless of anything the Ironmoor family said or did, the land was enraged, howling for her to be put to death for their safety.

“The old patriarch refused, of course. Human or not, she was an Ironmoor and would be given the respect and dignity that afforded, regardless of her disease.

“The king disagreed. He, and others, saw the mood of the people and needed this to go away—quickly. Decrees were issued, and the monster hunters were brought in. Armies were raised and marched on castle Ironmoor. Possessed as she was, the young lass saw what was coming and, by all accounts, wanted to spare her family the coming storm.

“With the help of her brothers, Reiland and Londer—the man you now know as the baron—she slipped away into the night. But, you see, the Verdant Dawn was already near and, with such a hefty reward on her head and the promised favor of the king, was not content to let her escape. By all accounts, they ran her down and lanced her in front of her own brothers.”

His face was pale now as Raffnyk recounted what he knew.

“In any regard, it is not a proud time in my order’s history. But different times, different men. Almost all involved have since died off, given how many years have passed. And yet.

“Reiland Ironmoor, by all accounts, grieved for his sister, but he understood the politics behind it and eventually accepted them. He plays a similar tune in the queen’s court these days. Londer… never did. He grew up filled with hate and cold rage for not only my order but for any semblance of the ‘filth’ that had debased his sister to a subhuman form in the first place. He spent years on the campaigns learning to wage war and exacting his vengeance on anything that moved. But vengeance is an unfilling hunger, insatiable.

“The grandmasters had hoped the years would have tempered his rage, quenched the fires of his hatred, and that this operation would be seen as an offering of peace between our two factions.” He shrugged miserably. “They were wrong.”

Not a word was uttered for several moments after the human finished.

“Well,” Le’rish finally offered, “that does explain much.”

“You see why I am not eager to share that story with every person I come across.” He smiled tightly. “But it explains, quite nicely, why I am currently grandly fucked in my current position.”

“Well then,” I reached for the flank as it was passed round once more, “we are afforded a choice here. Either wallow in our misery and troubles, a path where we let doom and gloom consume us, or plot a course through this haze of despair. And between us, I would rather be captain of a ship that blindly leads to where the fuck I don’t know than just a passenger helpless aboard a drowning vessel.”

“Pretty words, but they need action to mean anything,” Le’rish grunted. “But if we intend to do anything about this mess, begin by examining it and everyone involved.”

“And how are you involved in all this?” Raffnyk asked warily. “No offense, but we just met. Were it not for Garek, I would not have shared my knowledge with you.”

“Not.” The huntress shrugged. “Every opportunity to jam the thorn of my existence into Ironmoor’s side is a welcome moment, but know that this is not strictly my fight. I stalk unseen, not waste my potential standing in rank.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugged.

“Le’rish is a hard case on the surface,” I interjected with a smile. “But give her some time, and she’ll grow on you.”

“If you say so,” he muttered, decidedly unconvinced.

Le’rish just shrugged and leaned back, scratching at Gol’s ears as the beast slept next to her. It was just the three of us here, with Ishila and Artyom having left to go elsewhere for the night.

“Valencia,” I addressed the elephant in the room. “Who and what is she?”

Shrugs were all I received in return.

“Given that Ironmoor has been a long-standing enemy of my order, we have kept tabs on him over the years. From what little I know, she followed him back from the endless campaigns and firmly cemented herself as his Adjudicator. To put it bluntly, I have no gods-blasted idea how she came to his service when, by all accounts, she is the more powerful of the two. Yet, she has chosen to serve him and has done so with bloody efficiency over the past few years. But aside from that and her list of bloody merits, there is little I know of her.”

“She’s a Cursed.” Le’rish neatly threw that bomb into the proverbial room.

“Which means what?” I inquired.

Raffnyk looked like he wanted to throw up as Le’rish answered, “She’s either a husk overtaken by the demon invited into her body, which would make her a Taken or a Fiend.”

“You couldn’t tell? By what means did you acquire this knowledge anyhow?” Raffnyk demanded.

“Don’t ask. Unless you want me to lie. Anyway, Cursed is a class that hides another class beneath. Like how Spy or Saboteur are hidden beneath other, ordinary classes. In one path, she has been consumed by a demon and is a living manifestation of that corruption and malice.”

“And the others?”

“She consumed the demon, broke it beneath her will, and now wields its unfettered power with impunity. I honestly don’t know which one is worse.”

“So we are caught between her or the Apex.” Raffnyk’s head was now firmly buried in his hands and the flask of liquid courage had run dry. “You now know the stress I deal with every single day.”

“You have Garek as a friend,” Le’rish offered. “That is far from nothing. In all this, if he commits to your cause, you gain a massive boost to your forces. Consider that. You have a very well-level minotaur firmly at your side.”

“He’s a farmer, a man come to seek a peaceful life. Even if I had to, I would still detest dragging him into this.”

“I already am in ’this’,” I interrupted with a frown.

“Any deeper,” he reiterated with a sigh. “Look, I won’t lie. You, just sitting here, are already a large buffer between us and Ironmoor. The elf and orc up the road are too, to a different extend, but nobody is stupid enough to fuck with them, and they don’t care for mortal affairs. As long as Ironmoor leaves them alone, they won’t intervene. So, they’re effectively removed from this conflict. Leaving, essentially, you and this Adjudicator as perhaps the strongest people on either side.”

“Isn’t Ironmoor also fairly high-leveled?” I asked Le’rish. “I recall you telling me so.”

“Levels do not equate combat prowess. I have no doubt he could hold his own with a weapon, but I suspect the baron’s skills lie firmly in ruling and overseeing his lands now. Hence why Valencia is his primary executioner.”

“Interesting.” I nodded. “Please, continue on.”

Morning came before our conversations ended, as talks drew long into the night, any idea of sleep was discarded, and plans to move forward were drawn up. Yes, the situation seemed bleak, but I was not one content to wallow in endless misery and induce headaches wailing about my problems. Rather, I would search for solutions and be done with it.

By the time the sun had begun the strain over the horizon, farewells were said, departures were made and the cows mooed for attention for pasture. Another lovely day approached, and head spinning from both ideas and lack of sleep, I heaved myself up and trudged off to the fields where my duties called.

Chapter 34

It was with great reluctance that I approached the gates of Hullbretch once more. Against my better judgment but under the advice of other people, I was here to swallow some of my pride and make life easier for myself. Myself and the others had debated this topic briefly, and the general consensus had come to a simple fact: business in this town would be easier than a lengthy journey elsewhere.

Was my pride on this one explicit matter and my time more valuable than just getting the matter sorted out? None of the others had been able to make a resounding case for that, so here I was. Cart pulled behind me, I approached the wooden gates in a peaceful manner. Or attempted to. Even as I stood before the wooden walls, guardsmen swarmed at the top, clearly panicked.

Bows were levied over the top of the wall in response to my polite waves, and I reconsidered this for a moment.

“Wha’ d’ ya’ want?!” came the shout off the battlements, a harsh response to my approach.

“I come in peace?” was all the reply I had energy for. “I think?”

“Didn’t seem that way last time!” another, distinctly nasally voice shouted from off to the side. “Yah nearly ran me over!”

Somehow, that did little to evoke any sort of pity within myself.

“My brother in Aurelan.” I shook my head and referenced the deity of wisdom. “You chose to stand in the bull’s path. Am I meant to ensure that your common sense functions correctly? I’m here to pay what I owe, not incur even more damages.”

A string of curses was all I received in response, and after a moment, a head popped over the wall and glared down at me.

“Fine,” came the bark of annoyance. “You’re granted entry, provided you actually honor your word.”

“Have I ever not?”

The guard captain snorted and shook his head as the gates began to creep open.

“Nice try, but I don’t know you, so your word’s about as useful…” he trailed off and cleared his throat. “Point is, there’ll be lawmen following every step you take, bull.”

“If that makes you feel better, then by all means, proceed.” I shrugged and hefted my cart once more. Flippant though I was, I was eager to get into the shade of Hullbretch and out of the boiling sunlight. “But I fail to see how that will affect anything.”

Fully aware that I had just declared his men unable to stop me from doing as I pleased, I strolled beneath the walls of Hullbretch and welcomed myself back into the town. If not I, then who else would welcome me, after all? Certainly not the good citizens or their outstanding guards.

True to the captain's words, a contingent of hard-faced men and women in armor trailed me from a distance, but even with the space between us, I could smell the fear that roiled off their bodies. Others might have considered this a perk, but for me, the fear instilled at the mere sight of my form was an annoyance.

I just wanted to be bloody friendly

That was rendered rather difficult when every person that passed within view of me reacted as if my mere presence courted death directly upon them. Preposterous.

I was not that scary.

Was I?

Either way, it made the task of acquiring directions to the town’s debtor office rather irritating.

I frowned at yet another hastily fleeing citizen and stood with my arms crossed, deep in mental debate. The majority was to simply say fuck it and leave. I had come to pay off the inconvenient fine for damaging the walls and attempt to sort out this stupid tax business. And yet, how would I do that if I couldn’t even find the gods-blasted building?

Fate offered me yet another kick to the shins a moment later. I rounded a corner and found myself facing down a trio of rather… colorful individuals. In the time it took their eyes to widen, I distractedly glanced them over and was about to dismiss their presence when I looked again.

Before me was arrayed a woman who was unmistakingly an elf, a purple-skinned man with ram horns that flowed from his scalp, and a decidedly bored, extremely short person I took was either a dwarf or a halfling. Couldn’t tell, because I had yet to meet any other of his race.

One by one, their eyes found me, and a variety of expressions crossed their faces. The elf displayed a droll curiosity, the rather flamboyant humanoid recoiled in surprise and cut off midway through a joke, and the dwarf—if such he was—stepped back.

“Greetings,” I rumbled with a wide smile. “You have most wonderful timing.”

“Hullo?” the humanoid peeped in return, still frozen mid-step.

“Indeed.” I nodded. “See, I’m looking for directions.”

The mention of that made him perk up and straighten his open-chested shirt before the man swept into a flashy bow. From which, he straightened with a beaming smile and extended grip. There was enthusiasm in his grip as he shook my far larger hand and introduced himself. The captain of an adventuring party fresh to the area and seeking trouble, as he unashamedly put it.

“If you would be so kind as to direct us to the nearest worthwhile gathering of monsters, we would, but of course, make it worth your time!” He beamed. His companions seemed less enthused but nodded along, content to let him do all the talking.

“Well,” I admitted. “I’m afraid I know but one such gathering place, and that happens to be the general vicinity of Mount Redtip.”

“Splendid, splendid!” he enthused. “Many thanks, my good fellow. The Unbound Blades will be sure to remember your generosity for ages to come. When they sing epics of our adventures, I will be sure to include you, the reliable and thoughtful purveyor of directions.”

I blinked, squinted at him and snorted. “I would be more thankful if you chose to forgo that and, instead, just gave me directions to a specific building in this town,” I rumbled, and confusion crossed his face, followed by a sheepish regret.

“Well, as I said, we are new to this area and know very little of the architecture. Yet, I assure you we will be the most reliable of direction acquirers in the future.”

I sighed and shook my head, ready to let myself just turn around and march back out of town. Supplies be damned, this was too much of a hassle. “Don’t know why I expected fresh faces to know where the tax office is, but that’s on me.”

“The tax office? You should have led with that. By your good fortunes, we just came from there.” He pointed. Confusion must have dawned upon my face, because he laughed and explained a moment later. “We thought it wise to pay the adventuring tax early and get it out of the way.”

“The what now?”

“The new adventuring tax, apparently,” the dwarf broke in with a grumble from behind a massive, bushy beard. “‘Twere informed that the lord of these lands has issued a new tax and that we were subject to it as soon as we entered his lands.”

“How, even?” I asked, mostly out of polite curiosity.

It didn’t affect me as I was not an adventurer, but it seemed to me that launching new taxes haphazardly was not a sign of the baron’s good mood. Or it could herald a build-up of coin and armed forces in the near future.

“A Taxman approached us on the road, of course. Vultures like those are always lurking about. They have a special skill that informs them of unpaid taxes, you see. So we’re just minding our own business and trekking for town when this dandied up leech just comes a-zoomin’ down the road, fresh on the trail, and huntin’ for the scent of unpaid dues.

“Stops us and informs us that we’re to pay the adventuring tax either to him right there—or to the office here in Hullbretch. We did nay have the bloody coin, so we had to borrow from the bank and pay it off right now. Only mercy was that we didn’t have to actually go into the bloody office and just paid it outside.”

“Did this taxman perhaps have a description?” I asked, curiosity now firmly piqued. “Well-dressed, greasy, lacking any semblance of facial hair?”

“Why indeed!” the swashbuckler replied. “A splendid description.”

“Well then,” I smiled, my teeth bared, “it seems I have urgent business ahead. Some matters that need settling, you understand.”

Once I had foisted directions upon the trio, I straightened, parked my empty cart, and strode off. There was unfinished business that I was about to conclude. It had waited long enough and would be delayed no longer.

The office had forgone a receptionist, so I stooped through the low doorway and knocked upon the first closed door I could find. The human within quickly straightened, tucked away a bottle, as I chose not to wait for an answer, then directed me to the office that handled matters of tax with all due haste. More out of fright at my form than eagerness to get back to drinking, I assumed.

The man I found slumped behind a desk within was distinctly not the greaseball I remembered. Instead, this fellow seemed old, paunchy, and positively stretched thin. The same tired look of bureaucratic fatigue I had seen so many times. It was a testament to his inability to summon a singular fuck to give that a full-blooded minotaur stooping into the confines of his office only evoked a single raised eyebrow.

“How might I assist you today?” came the dry, dusty voice of a man too tired for any of the world’s bullshit.

I debated between just getting this over with in a semblance of politeness and the utter ruination of his day. In the end, basic decency triumphed, and I took the far too small offered seat and extracted my coin-purse.

“Here to pay off a fine for damages incurred to the walls and the damages to the wits and emotional sanctity of a guard.”

Long and drawn out was the sigh I received in return. With a grunt, the man pulled open a cabinet and began to rifle through them.

“Outstanding warrants, delayed fines, unpaid bills,” he muttered to himself and sorted through sheaves of paper.

Several awkward moments passed before he found a single piece of parchment and held it up to better squint at it.

“A mister Garek?” he asked, to which I nodded. He read off an amount, to which I counted coins onto the desk. A smaller amount than I had expected. It was finished soon, and the man signed something onto the parchment and filed it away in a separate cabinet. “I believe that is now all, unless you have another matter to discuss?”

I did, in fact. “I am here to appeal a matter of unpaid debts.”

The man blinked and glanced between me and the cabinet. Visible confusion etched itself across his face as I described the situation, the generational debt, and my newly acquired Tax Evader status.

“Mister Garek,” he finally broke in as I civilly attempted to explain how it hurt my business. “That is complete and utter hogwash, sir. You do not owe the baron a single copper, and whoever told you otherwise is a charlatan of the basest degree. My lord is too busy with the actual affairs of ruling to care about extorting some poor farmer at the edges of his land, I assure you. I fear you have been taken advantage of, or at least, someone attempted to. Could you perhaps provide a description of this alleged Taxman?”

Fate must have had a bloody good laugh right about then, because the door opened behind me and said man walked right in.

Chapter 35

Momentary shock compelled both the taxman and I to freeze in place as we took in each other’s presence. I recovered faster. Superhumanly fast, the man flowed backwards and slammed the door closed—his attempt made in vain.

Garek’s reflexes triggered on instinct, and my massive hand closed around his scrawny shoulder. A yelp of surprise and pain sang from a constricted throat as I yanked the charlatan back into the office he was attempting to vacate.

“Remembering that you have to be somewhere?” I smiled through bared teeth, hot breath washing over the man’s face as I yanked him close. “I must inform you that has just been superseded.”

With a grunt, I roughly navigated the shocked human into the chair I had occupied heartbeats earlier. He protested my kindness, but a clamped hand and a flex of my muscles stifled those outbursts.

Several moments of deep, measured breaths worked to calm the anger that simmered beneath my otherwise calm facade. A task that was far more challenging than it seemed. This man was directly and indirectly responsible for many of my problems. The sleep I lost at night when I remembered the men I had killed, my frustrations in trying to do business in Hullbretch. The hole I had myself into in perpetual wariness of the baron coming to collect when the man likely hadn’t even known I existed before the incident at the stables.

Silence reigned here, broken only by the elderly man methodically filinging away papers, very few fucks given that I had just restrained an enforcer of the baron’s laws in his very presence.

“Call the gua—” he man yelped out words that turned into a cry of pain as I squeezed.

I could smell the fear that boiled inside him now, and part of me enjoyed it. “If and when the watch is called, it won’t be for me,” I rumbled.

My form filled a large portion of the space inside this room as I loomed over the human, my words chosen carefully. Anger pulled at my emotions, but I refused to relinquish the reins. Instead, slow and thoughtful, I selected my words of accusation.

“Some time ago now, you approached my farm and demanded I pay you a hefty fee for a debt left behind by the farm’s previous owner.”

“I did no su—”

Again, I brought pressure down on his shoulder and cut off anything he intended to say.

“Silence.” I snorted.

“Time is Money. I haven’t got all day,” the man blurted, and I stepped back with a blink.

hy yes, he made sense with that. My thoughts sped up, and I blinked and tried to make sense of what I was going to say. Everything was running so quickly now, and I shook my head in confusion. I was holding up everyone here. I needed to make a decision quickly.

“It seems the brute has been struck speechless.” The taxman stood and began to walk towards the door. “If that is all, then—”

With a roar, I broke out of the Skill’s effect, grabbed the man, and physically heaved him into the air. Anger boiled through me now, heated, and ready to overflow. My eyes bulged as I barely held back the boundless rage within and kept myself from ripping this puny, arrogant manthing in twain.

“Use another Skill on me,” I snarled, “and it will be the last thing you ever try.”

A dusty cough interrupted me, and the older taxman waved a sheaf of paper at me with a disdainful look. At me, the man in my grip, or the situation at large, I couldn’t tell.

“Could we at least attempt some semblance of civility here?” He sighed and rubbed at weary temples. “If it is not beyond you two.”

“Names,” I demanded. “If I’m to accuse anyone, I would like to know what they’re actually called.”

“I am Dalarius.” The old man shrugged. “And the man in your grasp is Thodic. Who also, coincidently, was given the undeserved fortune of being the magistrate’s spawn.”

I nodded sagely, having decided on an equal distribution of fucks to give. None divided void was still null, after all.

Superhuman was the effort required to force a smile upon my face, but I managed it. Somehow.

“Well then, seeing as we are already acquainted, we can skip further pleasantries and get right to the meat of the unique quandary I find myself in.” It took physical effort from myself not to let righteous wrath consume my actions and squeeze this greasy sack of feigned humanity until the juices ran from his wrung-out body.

Although I had already recounted my tale, it gave me no insignificant amount of pleasure as I retold it, this time from a position of power, not victimhood. How quickly the tides of fate turned.

“I was but a fresh-faced arrival to this good land, when, lo and behold, I am greeted by a man who comes to my doorstep in name of the baron that rules these lands and demands my coin. An inherited debt, tied to the land now mine, he claims. And when I refuse, he sends thugs to beset me in an attempt to take what is rightfully mine through force, then runs like a coward when they fail.

“But that was not, as I’d hoped, the end of the charade. Mere hours afterwards, a special status was applied to me—one that has caused me great headaches, meddled with my business, and contributed towards making enemies. All for what?” I snarled into the leech’s face. “Because I didn’t roll over like some rube and let you shake me down?”

My hand closed around the human’s throat as weeks of repressed anger bubbled to the surface. By some grace, I managed to stop myself from snapping his throat like a twig. I was a peaceful man, not a monster.

But he didn’t know that.

“You thought it was clever, didn’t you? Some final fuck you to a farmer who refused to go along with your robbery. That’s what it was. Nothing less than bald-faced attempted burglary. First through treachery and then force.”

“In the name of—” was as far as he got before my grip cut off all air to his lungs.

I could feel the soft, crushable flesh beneath my grasp, and temptation sung for me to repay this scum for the troubles he had inflicted upon me and mine.

“The next word will be your last,” I rumbled quietly, deathly serious.

“Do you have any proof in regards to your claims?” Dalarius sighed, and I whirled towards him. “Not because I disbelieve you, but because any allegation you make against a relation of the magistrate will require actual evidence.”

I did not. I also did not possess the capability to care. With a grunt, I turned back to the pathetic worm that reeked of fear in my grasp. “That status. Remove it. Now. Breathe a single excuse as to why you cannot, and may the Gods Above help me, I will tear your stem from stern, here and now.”

The only movement from the man was the quivers of fright that danced within his eyes. A hand that trembled with erratic motion gestured towards the desk, and I eased aside. With a pinched frown, Dalarius slid him a piece of paper and a quill, freshly dipped in ink.

Suspicious gaze peering over the man’s shoulder, I watched as he quickly scribbled out a notice, then snatched it from his grasp once finished.

“This decree signifies that Farmer Garek has paid his dues and is now freed from his bond as a Tax Evader. Witnessed and signed by Thodic Greatmoor. Paid his fucking dues?” I roared in his face. “I have owed you no fucking dues that I am forced to give you my coin.”

Tax Evader status lifted. The system informed me of this change even as I raged.

“Now,” Dalarius interrupted, “proof.”

My grasp held firm round the worm’s throat as I shivered in anger. “I can provide you little,” came the stark admittance. “His word against mine, with scant few other witnesses. Thugs in the baron’s livery or his actual guards, I know not.”

“You mentioned that you repulsed an attack. Were there any casualties?’

“I slew two of them and kept their horses.”

“If they were truly the baron’s men, their saddlebags would have contained items and the like that told you so. Did you search them?”

I had not. They sat forgotten at the back of my storage shed back home, and I admitted as such.

“Then we will require other ways to extract the truth.” Dalarius binked and ran a hand through his receded hairline. “I have long suspected foul play and mishandling of the law here in Hullbretch. But Thodic’s actions today have given me confirmation. This will be… dealt with. The baron has ways of making men talk, and I suspect he will not be fond of extortioners roaming his land and turning the citizens against him by using his good name.”

The taxman’s eyes widened and pleas squeaked from his throat and Dalarius gestured to me.

“Good day, mister Garek,” he sniffed, and I realized this was him letting me bow out of this mess. “Please send in the guards, if you would be so kind.”

I took some solace in that Ironmoor would inflict much worse on this man than I could ever bring myself to as I straightened and released my grip on the whimpering man. Contempt writ upon my face, I spat on his fancy shirt and saw myself out. A group of armed guards awaited me as I emerged back into the sunlight, and I smiled and directed them through. They had come for bloodshed or to make an arrest, but I suspected the end result was not what they had expected.

Now, I had an alchemist to visit.

The bell rung behind me as I strode into Walch’s Royal Alchemy, now entirely without the brand of a nefarious evader of taxes.

“He returns,” the short, bald man grunted from his stool behind the counter. “Got rid of that status yet, or fixin' to pay me double anyway?”

“It’s gone.” I smiled, teeth bared and lips thin. “Fate dealt me a rather surprising hand.”

“Good, good. Now, what among my many wares catches your eye?”

The shopping could come later. With a grunt, I strode up to the counter and carefully set down a large bag or neatly arranged, well-cushioned glass jars. A week's worth of acid extract, the gathering of which had signed more than a few hairs off my arms.

“Tell me, are you in the market for a certain liquid able to eat through steel, bones, and flesh alike?”

The perk of his features and coy look was all the confirmation I needed. There was coin to be made here and now.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, trying his best not to seem too interested in the bag’s contents. His scent betrayed the cool, measured look upon his face. I smelled excitement. “But I would need a demonstration of this acid’s effectiveness before I would even deem it worth my time.”

“Have you anything you would not greatly miss once gone?”

He did indeed, and a moment later, a preserved, feathered tentacle end was dropped into a freshly unsealed jar of acid. The man watched in fascinated horror as it visibly dissolved before his eyes. A fascination quickly replaced by want and the smell of need.

“How much?” he demanded.

“Ten gold coins per jar.”

Walch—or so I assumed his name was—squawked and clutched at his breast, his face painted by a wounded expression. “You would rob me of my home and goods? Beggar me until I am unable to put food upon my own table?” he exclaimed. “Three gold coins a jar. A fair offer you would receive in any reputable establishment even in the largest cities.”

“Eight,” I countered. “This is a rare, dangerous commodity, and we both know it. You’ll not find another who can provide you with such a resource the world over.”

“You rip the food from the mouths of my children!” he cried, and then cast around his gaze and arms. “Have you no mercy, no spirit of support for your local alchemist? Five gold pieces for a jar, and I shall have to flee from the debt collectors for months to come!”

“No. Six, and throw in some magical items of my choice.”

The hand that snaked out to shake mine moved as lightning, and before I could blink, the man was counting gold onto the countertop from a remarkably fat wallet. I checked them as he presented the pile, bit into one, and found it solid. Moments later, my business concluded, and with several items of note tucked into a bag he had the audacity to charge me for, I exited the alchemist’s shop and set off for the carpenter’s store.

Just a single stop for building supplies, and I could begin to embark on my journey back home. The day had gone much better than I expected so far, and I prayed that this luck would hold for as long as possible. Little could sour this day, no matter how the world might try.

A crack of thunder across the suddenly-clouded sky reminded me that to tempt fate was hubris, and the gods laughed at my arrogance. Hurry in my step, I jogged along, the road ahead suddenly promising to be long and remarkably wet.

Oh joy.

Chapter 36

Ishila yawned behind one hand and gazed skeptically at the crude plans I had drawn up. The orc lass’s eyes were half-closed, drooping from a distinct lack of sleep. Or such was my guess. What exactly kept her awake long into the wee hours of the morning was not something I was privy to, nor felt the need to ask. If her fatigued state bothered her overmuch, it wasn’t displayed overmuch. She had shown up, done her chores, and immediately sagged against a fence post and purveyed the blueprint I had spent the night assembling.

“Just the two of us?” she grumbled and rubbed her eyes.

“You doubt our capabilities?” I asked wryly and scratched Gol behind the ears.

The big lug had sat himself firmly by my side, now wholly recovered from his wounds. A rumble of content eased itself from his throat and prompted me to continue.

“Not particularly.” She shrugged. “Only reason I’m askin’ is with it being this close to the first harvest is all. Crops look like they’ll be ready to take off in a week or so now.”

“And that is a large reason of why I’d like to have the main house finished by then.”

I nodded as she handed the parchment back to me. I didn’t need to survey it myself. I had just spent the entire night sketching it up and was short on sleep myself. As if to exacerbate my point, a yawn slipped from my throat and into the freedom of morning’s cool air.

It seemed neither of us would be functional at optimum capacity today, a fact that didn’t bother me.

“In my last attempt to build a proper house, I did several things wrong,” I admitted and gestured at my temporary domicile. “Attempted to use building techniques that did not frankly mesh well with the materials needed. A sort of franken-structure, if you will.”

“A what now?”

A bit of old, obscure culture from back home slipped through the cracks, which I waved off. That explanation would benefit no one. Instead, I began to discuss our plans, the tools, and materials available, and a step-by-step process. It took time, yes, but I found that giving those who worked with me a detailed overview produced better results for me than withholding information to make them reliant on me for instructions—like an absolute jackass.

“First, the basement,” I concluded. “We have actual tools with which to dig it out this time.” A pained sigh rose from my throat as I looked at my last attempt to dig a cellar. The water inside had not magically disappeared, to my immense disappointment. “And of course, properly line and seal it off this time.”

“What do yeh have in mind?” Ishila asked as we watched Artyom bound across the fields to do his morning chores.

Routinely checking the fences and plants was a little too much early-morning exercise for my bulk, I was unashamed to admit.

“Rocks. Hundreds of them.” I beamed and held out my axe.

Expectation demanded her face fall as realization of her work sunk in. It did not. Faced with the prospect of back-breakingly arduous labor, she instead grinned crookedly and seized the enchanted weapon.

“There’s a exposed cliff face not far from ‘ere,” she drawled a little and spun the weapon around in her hands. “I’ll be over there, ventin’ some frustrations.”

“Long as you get me my stone on time, feel free to carve up the whole mountain.” I nodded at her already-receding back.

The lass liked idle conversation as much as the next woman, but there was a thirst for action and movement inside her that had been made clear since I first met her. Was it just her, or an orcish trait? Either way, she had her work, and I had mine. An oversized steel shovel in hand and a plethora of other tools at ready, I set off to dig myself a cellar.

A task that, while being made easy by virtue of the body I inhabited, was still monotonous. Sink the shovel in, prise loose the dirt, and cast it aside. Strength made the digging part trivial, yet the motions through which I cycled all demanded their share of time. Garek’s body was made for strength and endurance, not hyper-fast bursts of speed. And so I labored on, the dirt piling around me.

There was little for either Gol or Artyom to do, and so they sat and watched my work from atop ever-growing mounds of earth. And through it all, I was once more entranced by the relentless movements of my own body. Garek’s form moved with near-machine-like consistency, with performance that did little strain his muscles.

But I was soon distracted from admiring my own form.

Artyom jumped up and scampered off towards the road then returned momentarily. I frowned and wiped the sweat from my brow as he announced that there were riders coming.

“Not baron or Raffnyk’s men, no-no,” he assured me and plopped back down on his throne of cool dirt. “Just three horses and riders.”

Caught between curiosity and apathy, I shrugged and returned to my task. If they had business with me, I would soon know. If not, then they would simply be passing through.

Neither were true, it turned out. My eyebrows rose as I recognized the adventurers from Hullbretch. the ones who had fallen for the fake tax. Only now they seemed armed for trouble, with packs and weapons upon their steeds. They were halfway up the road when one glanced at me, hollered a greeting, and promptly guided the others towards me. I frowned as they trotted across my property, not having bothered to unhorse themselves.

It wasn’t so much that anything was damaged then I expected some form of politeness. My scowl was reformed into a neutral expression as they drew near and their leader swung from his steed in a single, fluid motion.

“Why, my good man, I did not think we would meet again so soon!” he exclaimed, teeth flashed in a wide smile. “And so near our destination! Surely this is good fortune for all involved.”

“Quit your jabbering, Etlos,” the elf tiredly snapped. “Just skip to the point where you try to recruit him and he says no. The man has a farm and a life, he’s not going to abandon it to come with us.”

The purple-skinned humanoid—a tiefling by Garek’s memories—winced and shook his head, disappointment on his features.

“My own party has so little faith in me, alas,” he exclaimed.

A flair for the dramatics lay in this one, I surmised.

“We’ve traveled over a hundred leagues to get here and have nothing to show for it,” the woman replied, cold as a winter’s breeze. “My lack of faith in you has been naught but vindicated with every step that passes beneath our feet.”

“I ain’t nothin’.” The dwarf glowered up from his markedly smaller horse. “You sayin’ I’m nothin’?”

“Not in the mood to repeat myself,” the elf hissed.

“When are you ever?”

There was some… tensions within the group, I gathered. Events that I was not privy to had likely occurred. “Welcome to my humble abode, such as it is.” I plunged my shovel into the dirt and looked around. “What can I do for you?”

“Here comes the sales pitch,” the elf groaned as Etlos straightened and beamed. “Could we just skip it this time?”

“Well, my good man, I have delightful news for you. There is a significant chance for us all to become filthy rich, you see.”

“There’s a dungeon up the mountain, or so we've been told,” the elf cut in. “An undiscovered one.”

Silence reigned as the others took in what she had just said.

“What the fuck, Marile?” the tiefling said flatly, his cheerful expression gone. “That was our knowledge to share. And you just give it away?”

“A hundred different people have heard it from your lips, Etlos. It isn’t a secret anymore. It hasn’t been a secret for months now.”

“It is, however, the first I have heard of this,” I said, “and I live here.” Relief settled on the tiefling’s face at my assurance. Relief that vanished as I continued. “This alleged dungeon is not the only thing at the mountain’s peak, however. An Apex lurks there as well.”

“Well, fuckity,” came the reply after a moment of silence.

“It changes nothin’,” the dwarf rumbled, arms crossed. “We simply avoid it and find the dungeon ourselves.”

“Or…” the elf trailed off and glanced me up and down. “We follow through with Etlos’s small-eared idea and take on a fourth member.”

“Not interested.” I cut them off right away. “My adventuring days are over.”

It was at this time, in this place, that Ishila chose to appear from the trees, a mighty load of hewn stone slabs carried in her grasp, enchanted axe hanging from her belt. One by one, their eyes went from me to her as they observed the young woman stomp across the field, several hundred pounds of rock carried in her arms.

“Perhaps there is another…” Marile mused, arms crossed. “If you let her, that is.”

“She is not my daughter.” I shrugged. “The choice is hers.”

All eyes remained firmly on her as the lass dropped the stone slabs in an avalanche of rock, straightened, and strode over with a grin. Introductions were made, Gol and Artyom included. The tiefling opened his mouth to give her the same pitch as he had attempted to give me and was silenced as the elf broke in.

“How would you like to be an adventurer?” she posed the question bluntly, refusing to dance around the subject. “There is a dungeon up the mountain, or so we have been told, and we intend to plunder its depths, yet lack a fourth member.”

Ishila was caught flat-footed and simply stood in stunned silence as heartbeats passed. “Well, I’d love it, I suppose,” she finally said, cautiously. “Always been my dream. But I got obligations right now. When do you plan to go up there? It’s right dangerous, you understand.”

“We’re adventurers, lass,” the dwarf grunted. “Danger comes with the profession.”

“That’s a mighty simplistic way of lookin’ at it,” Ishila returned with a frown.

There was some relief within as I saw that the promise of adventure and the call to fulfill her dreams had not blinded her common sense. Excitable and easy-going as she was, she had a solid, sensible head on her shoulders. Perhaps even more so than I.

“What the bushbeard means to say is, in this line of work, danger and risk are sometimes necessary. We can evade most potential danger and locate the dungeon, I am confident of this. But we are too few. A fourth member of the party, even temporarily, would greatly increase our chances of success.”

Dull as my eyesight was, even I could see the struggle the orc lass underwent right now. Fate had laid before her the chance to live out what she desired, but with an added price. And in truth, I did not particularly want to lose her services. Harvest drew near, and even outside of that, the amount of work she performed for me was frankly considerable. Yet, it was her choice, and I would respect whatever she chose. I told her as much.

“Let me think it over,” she finally muttered. “This is a big decision to make for me. I’ll sleep on it and let you know.”

Promise secured, the Unbound Blades informed her that they’d be staying at the Verdant Dawn camp as they gathered the lay of the land for the next few days and rode off soon after. I watched them go, a tight feeling in my gut. Like as not, I had grown attached to Ishila’s company and would sorely miss her if she left.

The lass didn’t say much, just returned to her work, lost within her thoughts. It was late in the evening when we had gathered around the fire for supper that she finally spoke.

Chapter 37

“I don’t know where to start,” Ishila admitted, voice heavy.

The orc lass was slouched forward, staring into the crackling flame. The mood was quiet tonight, almost pensive. Even Artyom seemed to realize that something important was about to happen and sat subdued on his own, much smaller stump. Gol whined and insisted Ishila scratch at his ears, which she distractedly complied.

“Their offer tempts you,” I said, both a statement and a way to open the topic.

“Yes, it does,” she admitted bluntly. “But I have reservations, ya’ know?”

A slow nod was all I could offer in return.

“I don’ know ‘em, first of all.” Ishila sighed. “Seems stupid to entrust my life to a band of strangers. Ya’ prolly’ know that better than I do.”

“That is a large part of adventuring, yes,” I admitted. I did not know that, but Garek did.

“No one’s heard a peep of this supposed dungeon either. If there were really one, the entire land would know.”

Garek proved to have very little experience with those sorts of places, I found. Hurried scouring of his memories revealed he held a disdain for their enclosed spaces and traps. Honorable combat given upon the open field of battle had been his preference, and those wants had been followed like sacred tenants.

“They’re places of some interest, I take?” I prised, tone soft.

“No. They’re not of some importance.” Ishila snorted and poked a stick into the fire. “The discovery of a dungeon is, no two ways ‘bout it, a monumental thing. Which makes me suspicious ‘bout how casually the tiefling was throwing it ‘round.”

“I have very little experience with them myself.”

The young woman’s expression was tight as she glanced at my shrug and then back into the flame. Her scent came as a mix of anticipation, uneasiness, and sweat—almost drowned out by the stench of Gol next to her.

Ishila held, in my eyes, few faults, and I had not yet decided if wearing her heart upon her sleeve was one of them. She was open, excited, seeing no need to conceal what she thought or felt. And I envied her for that, some days.

“Look at it this way. In some ways, his story could be true. Nobody has ever poked around Redtip Peak. It’s just some random place in the middle of nowhere. Who’d wake up one mornin’ and decide to go there? Even Ma’ and Pa’ came here simply because it was empty. Hullbretch was just a small town when they got here, far as I understand. So, it could be plausible that there’s a hidden dungeon just slumberin’ up the mountain.”

“Hmmmm.” I rubbed my chin, weaving among the streams of thought that flowed through me. “Le’rish might know. She seems to be the only one who actively traverses the mountain and explores it. Perhaps you could ask her for any further information.”

Moments of silence passed on the wary breeze as Ishila considered.

“Things have been quiet on the mountain since she settled into the area, to tell ya’ the truth. Ma’ sometimes sees her stalkin’ the valleys but never really near the peak. And with the Apex showin’ up now, I doubt she’ll want to go pokin’ up there herself.”

“Still well worth the attempt.”

“Yah,” she agreed. “But that brings me to another point. I don’ know these people. Don’ know their reputations, their histories, all that muck. Always imagined if I went adventurin’, it’d be with friends I knew and trusted.”

“You have reservations.”

“Plenty.” Ishila snorted. “But understand that this is my dream. I have waited so long for an opportunity. And I’m nervous that if I let this slip, there may never be another. What if there isn’t another chance? What if this falls through and I don’t have the means to find another?”

“If you’re concerned with work, there’ll always be a job for you here,” I said softly, reassuring as best I could. “You’re young, Ishila. You have a chance to chase your dreams. I say you take it. I wish that I had when I was your age. Be careful. Be thorough. But don’t let yourself become steeped in regret.”

The young woman laughed, a deep and throaty sound. “I expected ya’ to try and convince me to stay here, Garek. Not shove me off on some half-plausible quest for adventure. Is my company so stale?”

Sad was the smile upon my face as my head slowly shook. “Your company is always welcome, Ishila. But I am not fool enough to stand between you and your ambitions. If you choose to go, I will miss you and your help, but you have my blessing.”

Her smile sobered, followed shortly by a deep sigh. “I know the harvest is close, and you could sorely use help. I’ll try my best to accommodate that. Gonna sleep on it and make a decision in the ‘morrow.”

“And your parents?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

“I am a woman grown.” She shrugged. “My help around the farm comes from courtesy and respect. But if I chose to go on my own way, they would not stop me. Ma’s heart would be broken, yes, but time will heal that… I hope.

“Make your matters right, first,” I advised. “Do not let the sun set over regret and hard feelings, if it comes to that.”

“It won’t. But that’s all jus’ speculation. I haven’t decided whether or not to go with them. And even if I do, it could likely just be for this quest. Go up the mountain, poke around, probably won’t find anything, and come back home. Pray we don’t meet the Apex, and run away if I do.”

“And if you find a dungeon?”

“Well,” She took a deep breath, and the scent of excitement made its way into my nostrils. “Everything will change, then. But that’s just wild dreamin’. If I do go with them, do you have any advice for me? For fights and stuff, I mean. I’ve gotten into my share of ‘em, but I ain’t arrogant enough to not look for new advice.”

I considered her words for a few moments, sifting through Garek’s memories. The minotaur had experience in this matter. In fact, that very statement was a grand underselling of his capabilities. But most of that experience was him crushing smaller, weaker underhoof. By simple virtue of being the massive, hulking monster did he win most engagements.

“If you must fight, be the first to do so. Strike first, hard, and last. Do not hesitate. Better to realize a mistake later than not be alive to ponder it. If a fight seems nebulous or the outcome unclear, withdraw and attempt to put yourself in a favorable position.”

Her eyebrows raised at that last bit of advice. “Didn’t expect that from you, pardon my sayin’ so.”

“There is more than presents itself to the eye, Ishila. You yourself should be an example of that.”

She agreed, and we lapsed back into silence. This was a subject we had brushed on before, but I had not expected it to be relevant so soon.

“Perhaps you could offer me some advice in return,” I queried, much to her surprise. She nodded after a moment, and I carefully forged on. “I have been… stuck for some time. At my current level. It has always been on the verge of leveling to Thirty. Yet, despite all the recent bloodshed, there has not been enough to tip me over.”

“Which class?” came the reply, and I told her. “Huh,” was the only thing I got for a few moments. “Honestly, that ain’t too strange. You’re at a point of major advancement. The levels where you could just crush weaker foes and receive the blessings of the Gods Above are behind you now.”

“And that means?” I asked quietly, a sinking feeling deep within.

“If you intend to break through into the next stages of levels, you must prove your worth to the Gods Above. Perform a truly monumental task in service to the path you have chosen.” She looked me dead in the eye now. “Yer at a bottleneck, Garek. Ya’ have already accumulated large amounts of strength and blessins through the Gods’ system. Level twenty-nine is already higher than many people will ever achieve in their lifetimes. But now, your progress in withheld by the System itself until ya’ prove yourself worthy.

“Ya’ need a breakthrough. Ya’ could drown the lands in oceans of blood from those weaker than you, but ya’ would not gain another, single level. Understand, that by going into the next set of levels, you will gain strength beyond mortal means. But only if you prove yourself in the eyes of Gods and System.”

“As a Berserker offshoot class, you’ll need to conquer a truly monumental foe or perform such an act of, well, berserkin’ that the Gods Above allow you through to the next stage. There is no other way. No hidden shortcut. No ancient technique of bullshittery, pardon mah language.”

“Ah,” was all I replied with. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll stay at level twenty-nine ‘til the end of your days, already stronger than most.”

“That sounds fine to me,” I admitted.

“Stronger than most, but noticeably weaker than those higher.” She nodded, expression flat. “Of which there are an unusual amount in this area. For a place so empty and quiet, the lands around Mount Redtip seem to have attracted folks with the same idea and Ma’ and Pa’.”

“Let me guess, they came here to live quietly away from the stress and danger of other areas?”

“Yeah, same as you. There’s Miss Le’rish, but nobody knows her actual class or level. Pa’ told me hers was cloaked by a skill, and it ain’t what she tells people. Which, to be fair, is her business and no one else’s. The baron is fairly highly leveled, but he’s had years of constant campaigns and seeking out bloodshed in the crown’s name. This Valencia woman with him is highly leveled as well, but even Pa’ don’t know anything about her.

“That’s a healthy amount of good-leveled people for a large city, Garek—all just here in the bumfuck middle of nowhere. That’s more than strange, but whatever.”

“She concerns me,” I replied. “That woman who works for the Baron. I get this sensation of pure malice and dread whenever she draws near.”

“An aura.” Ishila bit her lip, face concerned. “A manifestation of emotion that physically impacts the world around the wielder. I don’t know who she is, but best be on your guard. That’s a powerful skill to have. I know of kings and queens that would kill for such an ability.”

I sighed and waved the conversation off. “Here we are, getting all gloomy about what-ifs and could-be’s when we should be celebrating this chance and opportunity for you.”

“Oh?” Ishila perked up.

“I may have picked up some rather strong spirits on my last trip to Hullbretch, courtesy of an alchemist.” I rubbed my hands and nodded to an eager Artyom. “Get the bottles, if you would.”

He needed no second encouragement and vanished into the harsh moonlight before I could finish speaking. Moments later, he stumbled back, burdened by the weight of two glass bottles filled with an amber fluid.

“I don’t normally drink to celebrate anything, but I feel as if this celebration is long overdue.” I smiled and handed her one of the bottles. “And so, I propose we quite literally drink our worries away and give thanks to a long, fruitful season worked together.”

Little more urging was needed, and the night flowed on as I tried liquor in a new world for the first time. Damn tomorrow’s hangover, I refused to let this night end on a sour note.

Chapter 38

Yesterday’s drinking had returned upon my skull as today’s hangover, I found. Perhaps—and I meant this in the loosest way possible—we had overdone it by a small amount. But such things were inconsequential. I had reaped what my own hand had sown, and now I lived with the aftermath.

Philosophical ramblings proved too little of a distraction as I stumbled along, skull tight and the drums of alcohol pounding at my cerebral flesh. Already, my day was off to a spectacular start. Much to my shock, the knowledge that being able to barely concentrate hindered my ability to harness Skills had been rudely foisted upon me.

As such, my morning tussle with the herd was far less one-sided than I would have preferred. And now I stumbled away, battered and bruised both of body and mind. With a groan, I waved Artyom away as the felinid cautiously approached. Two meager, half-empty buckets of milk in my grasp, I trudged back to the storage shack, yanked the door open, and plonked them inside.

This monumental task completed, my form betrayed me once more, and soon, I found myself in the dirt.

Gods Above, I was a mess.

Legendary amounts of alcohol had been consumed last night—myself the primary culprit—as Ishila had made several runs back to her parents’ farm for more, as we had seen fit to celebrate a successful time together through the night.

All else aside, I had needed an excuse to finally give celebration to something.

Was regret at the forefront of my mind? Indeed.

Would I do it again? Undoubtedly.

Cursed by blurred vision and feeble hearing, I staggered upright, wandered across treacherous land and let myself fall face first into the dammed pool of cold water. So delayed were my senses that cold’s shock took several moments to strike my sensations. But like a hammer blow, it rippled across my body as I lay submerged.

Fully clothed, I let myself simply sit within the pool in woe as I clutched my skull and contemplated never drinking again. A sound stratagem, perhaps.

So invested within my own self-pity was I that Ishila was nearly upon me before I realized the scent upon the wind was hers. My heart sank as I turned to look and found her with a pack slung over shoulder, a closed expression on her face.

“So, this is it.” I stood and shook water off. “You’ve made your decision.”

“Yah,” she replied with a quiet nod. “You look like shit, if ya’ don’t mind me sayin’.”

“You’d say it anyhow, if I minded or not,” I grunted, somewhat aware of the state I was in. “I know now why they call it ‘spirits’. Because they always return to haunt you.”

Mirthless was the smile that graced her lips now. She probably wanted to laugh but empathized with my pain. Still, that was not what she was here for. Courtesy, likely.

“So, off to follow the call of adventure then.” I sighed and rubbed my temples.

“Yah,” Ishila replied, tone muted. “I know it comes at an awkward time for ya’, but I’ve been waitin’ on this for way too long to pass it up.”

“And your parents?”

“Ma’ cried a bit. Pa’ just gave me advice, some gifts, and told me if I was gonna leave ‘em for the adventurer's life, I was gonna do it right.”

“You’re just going up the mountain for now though. That seems...”

“Like an over-reaction?” The young woman shrugged. “Not really, I guess. It’s less of me physically movin’ away right now and more of a lifestyle change, I guess. Thought on it myself for quite some time.”

“You’ll stay… okay, I hope?” I would have said safe, but there was no such thing in that sort of life.

“No promises, but I’ll try. Just wanted to come by and let you know. Courtesy and all. And because you’ve been a good friend. Need to grab my armor as well.”

“One last thing,” I grunted and beckoned her to follow.

Ishila in tow, I crossed the yard, mid-morning sun already hot against my soaked form. Gol whined and approached, Artyom on his back as I made my way to the storage shed. Steel gray armor hung to the side with the safety gear, its fur trim burnt by acid. Yet, my attention was on another.

With a heavy sigh, I withdrew the great axe from where it hung and passed it to Ishila. The smile that blossomed across her features made the loss of such a powerful weapon worth it.

“My gift to you,” I rumbled. “I have laid down my own tools of war. Mostly. May it serve you well in my stead.”

Arms that attempted to wrap around my form was the only response I received. After a moment, I realized the lass was trying her best to give me a hug. I returned the favor in kind. My own try was more successful than her—by quite a long shot. Still, I found myself touched as we stood in silence for a few moments.

Anything that needed to be said had already been uttered yesterday, either sober or under the influence. Nothing more was uttered as Ishila donned her armor, one piece at a time. Axe in one hand, she scratched Gol behind the ears with fondness in her eyes, petted Artyom as the felinid protested, and then turned and set off up the mountain.

I stood and watched her go, soaked, and already boiling under the clear blue sky. Silence lingered long after she had vanished from view, none willing to break it first. Until finally, I turned, closed the shed’s door, and trudged over to my new house-to-be.

Much as I would have liked to stay and reflect on her departure, work called to me. A welcome distraction from my thoughts, I soon found.

I had made much progress in lining the floor and walls with rock yesterday, and now came the much more tedious task of sealing the cracks. Ishila had made a truly monumental effort to have me supplied with hewn rock throughout the day, and with that to minimize wasted time, the cellar was mostly completed. A large pit lined with sealed rock walls atop a stone floor was what I worked within now, carefully stuffing the cracks.

Artyom worked alongside me now, jabbering on about random things. He could not hold a subject for more than several minutes, I found, always leaping from one topic to the next. Yet, his paws kept in steady movement even as his mouth ran a mile a minute.

I didn’t mind, truly. Was just something else to distract me from otherwise monotonous work. This work was nearing completion after a long day, of which I remembered little when Le’rish appeared, perched at the pit’s edge and staring down at me with her one good eye.

The huntress made no comment as I straightened with a groan, my back in pain from being bent over for most of the day. By divine mercy, the headache that plagued my skull had faded to a dull throb somewhere in the endless monotony of the day. She remained quiet as I approached, only offering a greeting once I had drawn near.

“Finished for the day?” I grunted and drained the last of a near-empty waterskin.

Another time, I would have offered some to her, but I’d rather not have a conversation with my throat recreating the sensation of sandpaper.

“Long ago,” she replied, her eye following my motions. “Easy day. Overhunted for the camp. Free for next few days.”

“Too good at your job.” I managed to crack a smile and swung up to sit next to her. “Shame.”

“Mmmmm,” she agreed.

“Anything I can do for you?”

She shook her head and sighed a little, still crouched next to my much larger form. The huntress looked uncharacteristically on edge tonight, her expression twitching in mild ways. Her scent was yet another mess of layers I could not pierce. I realized at this point I had never been able to pinpoint a defined pattern in her smell. Probably a Skill that jumbled it or something.

“What do I owe the pleasure to then?”

She shrugged once again, non-committal. “Figured I’d drop by. Not much to do at home. Either this or go back and sleep. Chose this.”

“You’re… lonely?” I asked cautiously.

Le’rish rose to her feet a moment later, her face going from a grimace to flat in a heartbeat. “Mistake coming here,” she grunted and turned to stride away.

“No, no, I’m not judging,” I rumbled frantically. “Please, sit.”

Her form paused mid-stride, then returned and squatted back down to her former position.

There was both tension and understanding in the air now. The lone huntress, always stalking her own path, isolated away from most of civilization, wanted company after all. I empathized with her, I really did. It hit me as to why she visited so often. Not because she wanted something, but because she, like I, craved the company of others.

I didn’t push it further, just mildly inquired as to the details of her day and made small talk. It wasn’t much, just a fragile understanding that the company kept was preferable to none at all. She sat in silence as I filled in the silence, talking about the plants and my recent breakthroughs. An empty pipe was idly turned between her fingers, and I found the huntress was an excellent listener.

Eventually, the conversation ran dry, and a topic-change was in order. She grunted and nodded as I informed her my debilitating Tax Evader status was gone, gave a few more vocal affirmations as I described the Unbound Blades, then snorted when I told them of their suspicions.

“A dungeon? On the Redtip? A fool’s dream.”

“I wouldn’t know myself.” I shrugged and offered her a glass of milk that Artyom had fetched from the shed.

She took it and sipped between spurts of talk. “I’ve all but lived on and around this blasted mountain for the past few years. Seen nearly every crag and rock with my own eyes—” She paused mid dip and grimaced. “Eye. An entire dungeon, hidden up that slope? Self-delusion at best.”

“Ishila seemed to think there was some merit to their theory,” I mentioned, and her eyes narrowed.

“Where is she anyhow? She usually seems glued to this place.”

I noticed her eyes widen, then narrow, as I told her that the orc lass had left to adventure with the Unbound Blades, as per their invitation. Her scent flared, and the glass cracked in her grasp. Before I could blink, she was on her feet and already moving across the clearing, headed for back up the mountain.

“Another time!” Le’rish called back over her shoulder, seconds before she vanished from sight completely.

What had just happened?

Chapter 39

Ishila stepped over another crag and did her best to quash the profound sense of longing that filled her being. She should be excited, ecstatic, and overjoyed that her time had finally come. Instead, she felt nothing, and that was worst of all. For all that she tried, she had barely been able to stir emotion at the sight of tears in her father’s eyes as he hugged and told her to stay safe. Her mother’s pained silence had done little to stir anything within Ishila as she turned and left.

And now, she trudged over another cluster of rocks in close pursuit of the party. Harsh, relentless sunlight broiled down from on high, a blanket of heat that did its best to smother her. Still, Ishila clutched her axe and soldiered on, bringing up the rear.

She was not the only new face among the party’s ranks. Several others had joined from the Verdant Dawn’s camp, and now, nearly a dozen adventurers-to-be made their way up the slopes of the Redtip in search of ancient treasure—and an even older danger. The guide that wove their path ever higher was decent, but he was no Le’rish.

But he served his purpose, and as the sun reached heaven’s zenith, they emerged unto the peak. The stone itself bled here, crimson in color, barren save for the occasional bloom that struggled to grow.

“We’ve arrived,” a long, lanky man with a rogue’s smile and disaffected posture indicated the obvious. “Now we need only scour the peak’s entirety, dispel whatever magicks and traps hide the entrance, if any among this lot are capable of the task at all.”

He was among the several gathered from the Verdant Dawn’s camp. The man carried no weapons, at least none that were obvious to Ishila. He consulted with two others that stood near him as Etlos laughed, loud and boisterous. His face showed humor, but his scent conveyed none, the orc noticed. For her part, the group’s edges offered most comfort.

“I would be delighted to tell you, then, that we need not waste days—nay, weeks in search of this entrance among these barren rocks.” The tieflings beamed and swept around the gesture grandly at the expanse of stone that lay before them. “For we have what no other expeditionary party to this Gods-forsaken place has had before.”

“A dwarf,” said fellow grunted and withdrew a hammer-staff. “No stone can hide its secrets from a true son of the Underdark.”

Without another word, the small, sturdy manling strode across the rock, hammer raised to smite the ground every few steps. With naught to do, Ishila settled her back against a slab of stone that jutted skyward and surveyed those who she would entrust her life to.

Etlos, a reckless hedonist. She could smell the stench upon him even now, from this distance. A man who could fake it ‘til he made it.

Marile, the disaffected malcontent. Whatever schemes the elf had, she kept them close to heart and dissuaded all attempts to come near with a razor’s tongue and unfiltered, brutal honesty.

Vargosh Stoneheart had only so far demonstrated a liver of steel, and now revealed that he could wield magic. An unseemly talent among sons and daughters of stone, or so she had been taught.

Their guide, an on-edge beastman, conversed nervously with the trio of mercenaries from the camp below. A lanky human in brown and green with dark hair and darker complexion. Several others stood with him, all of varying height and seriousness. Some joked, others stood stoic, all reeked of nervousness. Separated from the rest, Ishila found herself approached and straightened as Marile drew near.

“‘Ello.” She nodded briefly as the elf stepped close. Wisp thin and without scent, the elf unsettled Ishila. The skin was perpetually pale, without so much as a hint of tan under the harsh sunlight.

“You are a halfbreed.” Not a question, a statement.

“Yes, and?” the half-orc shot back, expression defiant.

“Nothing. Simply curious. You are unique. The first of your kind, even. I have never heard tell or seen another elf copulate with an orc, of all races.”

“And now you have.” She crossed her arms, already wanting the topic to bugger off. There was enough grief on her mind, in relation to her race, buried deep. There was little want for more. “Are you satisfied?”

“Not at all.” The woman’s eyes slowly moved over Ishila as if surveying a quaint new distraction. Sizing up her muscles, lingering on her pointed ears and small tusks. “You are not optimal but better than I would have expected.”

“At what?” came Ishila’s scoff.

A turned back was her only answer. Half-tempted to throw something at the haughty elf’s back, she instead settled back in to do naught but wait and boil beneath her armor. Mercifully, the boredom did not hold long, and shouts rang across the stone.

The dwarf had discovered something.

Ishila brought up the rear as the party congregated and found themselves before a wall of rock. The dwarfs’ hammer-staff smote the stone, and a massive web of cracks formed.

“Sealed shut,” Marile murmured so low that only Ishila picked it up. “That bodes well.”

Etlos was too busy exulting to the heavens to hear her, the sounds of his rejoicing serving to drown out anything the elf muttered further.

“We have crossed countries, walked through harsh deserts, flirted with danger all the way to find this place, and at last fate has seen fit to reward us!” he announced, arms spread wide. “Let our names live on in legend as the first to find this place—and the first to plunder its depths!”

“Wait, we don’t know if—” Ishila voiced her protests, only to be cut off as the rest turned to her.

“This is the adventurer’s life,” Etlos silenced her and raised a clenched fist up. “We seek riches and laugh in the face of uncertainty! If you have the spirit, the thirst, then you will understand. If not, return to your farm and leave this life behind.”

Ears red-hot and face burning, Ishila dropped her head and looked away as scoffs came from the others. She was an adventurer now, Thrones-damnit. She would prove that, one way or another.

For now, others reaped the glory of the find, and she tailed the rear once more. There was a serious few moments as the rest armed themselves fully, laid out a few plans, and discussed formations. Throughout it all, unease pervaded the half-orc’s gut. The plans were laid before her, but she understood little overall. In her case, she was simply to guard the rear and be the muscle if it was required.

All too soon, the time came. Axe in hand and a few stolen fleshknitter potions at her belt, Ishila breathed in and crossed the boundary between the world and this dungeon.

Nothing extraordinary happened.

The air remained hot, even in the shade. No trap sprung from the floor, no monster emerged from the darkness. A moment passed, then another, until she let out a shaky sigh of relief and began to follow the party into the darkened depths.

Etlos drew a saber from his belt and held it high with a hearty yell as Ishila blinked, momentarily blinded. Phantoms sprung to life around him, their bodies lighting up the darkened interior of this high hallway.

An unorthodox way to provide light, but the glow they provided was crisp and flooded the stone walls. Inside a massive corridor, they traveled continuously downwards into the earth. Lifeless statues of alien beings were half-crumbled along the walls, their rocky forms dwarfing the party.

So high was the ceiling that Ishila could barely see it, as well as the lumps that coated it. Whoever had carved this tunnel had obviously not given it the same attention as the faded grandeur that they passed with every step.

Ishila remained silent and wary the entire time, on edge with every further step she took into this place. Only Marile seemed to share her wariness, as the others were content to boast and examine every small thing. The dwarf seemed fascinated by the statues and stone, only to be dragged further inwards as the Tiefling urged everyone along.

They passed through endless corridors, skirted around a massive, empty pit, and passed through empty gates. This place was ancient. Anyone could tell that. Abandoned. Half-broken traps jutted from the walls, jammed blades that still gleamed without rust. Nary a corpse or bone decorated the empty lengths of stone hallway, however.

By the fourth gate, Ishila was well and truly on edge. There was something wrong about this place. Yet, any concern she voiced was laughed off and waved away. If anything, Etlos moved even faster, spurred by a hunger to find whatever treasure was hidden in these depths. The path diverged, and one was chosen at random.

Then another split.

Soon, Ishila found herself creeping down steep, spiraling staircases as the statues vanished, replaced by sigils and craved tapestries of stone. Multi-limbed beings offered up sacrifices to gods she didn’t recognize on perfectly preserved murals of iron. The worn corridors were tinged with color now, and above all, the walls seemed… fragile.

Yet, through it all, she fought her own nervousness. She would be brave and venture these depths, not be spooked and yearn for home with every small detail. She was Ishila Flintfang, and no one would ever accuse her of cowardice.

They emerged into a new cavern, and she gazed in awe at a massive mural set into a titanic wall. The entire scene was built around a massive, upraised altar that housed a slew of wispy orbs atop it. Behemothic beings did battle with each other, set forever in stone. Smaller, alien creatures bowed before the titans, knelt in supplication even as their own brethren were devoured by these things.

So entranced was she that Ishila didn’t realize she alone still stood at the entrance. Only a loud click snapped her from that wondrous trance. Her eyes snapped across the room to where Etlos had liberated an orb from the altar and held it high.

A moment of triumph.

The spike that pierced his chest turned it into one of horror.

His scream drowned in rock as the ceiling shattered, and rubble fell throughout the cavern. Shapes tumbled amongst the thin slabs of rock, hidden by clouds of dust. Ishila whirled, gut tight and axe in hand as both walls of the corridor they had just walked through collapsed and revealed the silent forms within.

Eyes dragged open, and forms unstirred for millennia began to move. The trap had been primed, lain in wait through the ages, and now its steel jaws snapped shut.

Ishila had always thought herself fairly tall, an advantage that let her loom above what few peers she possessed. A mix of wiry elvish frame and orcish height left her with an innate advantage in many physical fields. Now, she furiously swung upwards, axe aimed at the long, multi-limbed creature that towered over her. It cut into the monster’s bulky, jagged skin, tore through its upraised arm, and gashed open the throat.

Shouts and screams mixed among the whirling dust, the chaos illuminated by flashes of light and surges of power. The orc ducked beneath a vicious lunge, slammed her form into the monster to topple it, and found it unmoved. Too sturdy for such a thin form. She jerked back on reflex and barely saw the wicked claw that passed a hairbreadth from her forehead.

Were the axe not enchanted, she doubted it would even have affected these monsters, came the thought as its magical edge struggled to separate flesh beneath another swing. A furrow of claws carved into the armor and left bloody tears down her back.

Pain came heartbeats later. Eyes bloodshot, she tore through one monster’s leg, stumbled forward and ducked beneath another blow and split the legless creature’s skull open with an overhead swing as it toppled forward.

Pale, sunken eyes regarded her as she whirled to find more of these monstrosities. Amid the clouds of dust, she lacked the eyesight or smell to see how the other fared. Nor did she particularly care, here and now. She faced at least four of these pale creatures now and however many more lurked within the haze.

Retreat was her best option. Only a fool would charge right into their midst. With that in mind, Ishila hopped backward, turned, and ran. Her armor was as effective as butter beneath those scythe-like claws, and much as she prided herself for being able to fight, certain death was certain death. Arms pumping, she charged through the dust, coughing all the while. Eyes wide, she moved around a silent blow and dashed past the monster.

There was nothing to guide her path, save for the occasional flash of energy that shone through the clouds of dust like a fleeting ray of sun, only to vanish and leave her in darkness. Her foot struck something, and she looked down to find a corpse. One of the mercenaries, his eyes stretched open wide and body cleaved almost in twain. Bile rose in her throat, but she pushed on. No time for that. Death nipped at her heels as the orc ran towards the light, every near miss that swung from the darkness another death denied.

She ran towards the flashes of brilliance, even as they faded, became fewer and further between.

Only for them to fade entirely as she drew near. The light died in quiet whimpers, and the darkness reigned now. Quiet, unsteady, every direction promising the end. The halfbreed crouched, eyes wide, trying to see anything as the dust began to settle. She caught glimpses of steel string as the wire whipped soundlessly through the air, eviscerating anything it touched.

The elf lived and danced amidst the carnage, cutting through the monster with contemptuous ease. Long streams of steel string flowed from between her fingers, lashing through the gloom. Every flick sent creatures back to the dirt, bodies shorn apart.

Barely able to hold back the tide.

The elf vanished and appeared before Ishila before she had enough time to so much as blink. Firm hands seized onto her shoulders as the elf snarled. Ishila shook her head, blinked, and realized she was saying something.

“—dead. Fucking bushbeard teleported himself out. Only you alive. Run. Flee. Don’t you dare look back. Tell them the dungeon has woken.”

With that, Marile shoved Ishila away and lept back towards the horde, wires flashing.

No time to process anything. She turned and ran. The elf had done something. Magic settled into the orc’s skull and something flared behind her eyes. Sweet agony blossomed. She stumbled mid stride, caught herself, and found she could see through the gloom. A small spell, but a welcome one.

The walls were empty, she found. Broken open, hollow. Horror settled into Ishila’s stomach as she saw a few lone corpses slumped inside. Fears confirmed themselves as she rounded a corner and saw the mass of monsters that streamed before her. Hundreds of them. Thousands. All headed down the path the party had entered through.

A pack turned towards her as she stood, shocked. Instinct compelled her to turn and run. Desperation sped her limbs. Reason whispered she was trapped between two hordes. A half-crumbled section of wall offered salvation. Through sheer force of need, she ripped a corpse free and dragged it from its stone cocoon. Their footsteps drew near the bend as she wriggled into the hollow wall and jammed herself in among those that had not awoken from their slumber.

Pressed on all sides by stone and dormant creatures, Ishila waited, the sound of her own heart a drumbeat, her breath impossibly loud.

Death drew near. Trapped in the darkness, her breath came hard and fast, wedged in amongst the monsters. The sound of stone being scraped by claws passed long before she moved once more. Eyes wide, she stared at the stone for far too long before remembering she needed to move. By the grace of the Thrones Above, the dormant monsters did not wake as she ripped herself free of their embrace and spilled back out into the corridor.

Insanity presented her a bafflingly dangerous plan. Follow the horde to escape. Without another option, she moved to do just that. Pressed against the stone, she clutched the axe in hand and peered around the corner. Empty space greeted her. No mindless stragglers waited to be dealt with or alert the others to her presence.

These monsters were anything but mindless, she reminded herself. This was not a shambling horde of undead. Slowly, cautiously, she followed. The statues and stone murals invoked only mild horror in her now. Parts of her brain were shut off to function with this, Ishila realized vaguely.

This much death and carnage in a short span had no profound effect on her. Even that thought lasted for but a fleeting moment as her thoughts were wrenched back to hyperfocus on survival. Her escape from this place was all that mattered now. The rest could come at a more convenient time. She stalked through the darkness, quick, low, and quiet. Or as quiet as armor allowed.

She found the horde before it found her. A flood of monsters poured before her, all long, multi-limbed humanoids. She kept at the edge of vision and tailed the flood, heart pounding away all the while. Silent as they were, their movements produced enough noise to mask her own.

Eyes darted back and forth as she kept glancing over one shoulder, expecting more to come at any moment. Only now did she realize how stupid this plan was. But fate smiled in her general direction this day, and she drew near the entrance.

Only for that smile to turn into a gleeful laugh.

Something else loomed from the darkness. A towering form of draconic features and steel feathers burst into view and crashed into the flood. Bodies began to fly, and the massive corridor shook as the frenzied Apex tore into the monsters.

Ishila did not question the hows and whys. Ishila did not stay and watch the storm of fury that spilled loose before her. Ishila turned and sprinted back the way she had come.

And fate chose to be cruel to her this day. Monsters streamed a fork in the tunnel. Stragglers to the flood behind her. The axe ripped through most, and through some small mercy, they were not bunched together. But it only took one. One misstep. One stroke of poor luck. One failed swing, one return swipe that cleaved through her armor like the steel was paper. A single slash, and her life’s blood ran onto the stone below.

Ishila screamed and smashed the monster’s head open, making it burst like a rocky fruit beneath the axe’s blade.

It lay dead, but she was not far behind. A long furrow was gashed into her body from stem to stern. Cold agony gripped her now as the orc writhed on the stone, limbs flopping around as the wound began to burn like nothing her short existence had felt before.

True pain blanked out all else as it gripped her in barbed talons. Fumbling hands managed to pull the fleshknitter flank loose from her belt. The metal was dented but whole. A sight she almost sobbed in relief at. Her hand proved useless at twisting the cap open. So she jammed it into her mouth and let her fangs tear the top off instead. Crimson liquid spilled onto her cheeks, guided by a trembling grasp. It burned going down her throat and flared even harder as she sloshed it directly onto the massive wound.

Another would have blacked out from the shock. But she was the daughter of Teshalis Warborn, and by virtue of orcish blood alone did she remain conscious. Her throat screamed raw as the fleshknitter worked its agonizing purpose, but she lived.

Dazed, beset by fresh agony, and hounded by death’s looming presence, Ishila stumbled up, collapsed again, and screamed in frustration. She refused to lie here in pain until another one of these twisted monstrosities showed up to end her. Crippled by agony, she grabbed the wall, hauled herself back up, gasped, and began to move.

Roars from behind only pushed her harder as the Apex moved through the flood like an avatar of destruction. It was enraged beyond reason, a wild dance of death ripping monsters to shreds. But it was one against thousands, and the monsters cared little for how many fell beneath its wrath.

Spurred on by the enraged cacophony, the halfbreed staggered along, farther into the darkness of this tomb. She lunged down new paths and took turns at random. The corridors were a maze now, desolate and broken. And on she plunged, ever further into the heart of darkness.

Ever further from the light.

Down here in the darkness, furthest from the light, there was no solace. Every corner held the promise of danger and death. Most lied, and she was thankful for that. But now, Ishila limped along, teeth clenched in pain, the stench of her own blood clouding all else. Her armor was rent open both front and back, the metal pressing into barely-knit skin.

A small discomfort, inconsequential in the quiet void that surrounded her. She staggered through long hallways, took paths at random, and kept moving. Forward, step by step. Anything to avoid stopping. Uncertainty was preferable to stagnation. If she had options, her pace would have been slow, methodical, thorough. She was not afforded those.

The dungeon woke around her. Rumbles and screeches sounded over the clank of her armor and the sound of heavy footsteps. Far-off cries of strange creatures she had no desire to meet spiked adrenaline in her veins, a sensation that kept her footsteps swift and mind on the razor’s edge. Breath came hard and fast, lungs trying their best to keep pace as she pushed her body close to the limit. Long, fast strides kept Ishila just below a run.

Another turn brought her to the edge of a pit that yawned before her, its gaping maw vanishing far below. A stone ceiling stretched high above, at the edge of vision. She glanced back, thought of seeking another path, then discarded it. Onwards.

Adrenaline, blood, fear, and need fueled the sensation, the drive to keep pushing onwards.

Something stirred below, deep in the darkened guts of the pit as she edged along its outer circumference. The orc hugged the stone walls and froze as something swung its gaze along the walls. Something stung her ears, and instinctive motion brought her hands up to cover them as a high-pitched whine brought physical pain into the confines of her skull.

The depths roiled as darkness stirred below her. Ishila bolted along the slim path, legs shuffling in a stumbling run as something ascended from the pit. She caught glimpses of a tattered, serpentine figure that emerged over the edge as her legs carried her across the stone, through the arching exit, and back into the darkened stone corridors of this place.

Flogged onwards by some invisible thing to her back, she delved farther and farther into the depths. Pain flared in slow, excruciating waves throughout her form as she stumbled down myriad halls, through massive rooms lined with sleeping golems, past ancient altars to foreign gods, and over massive, detailed mosaics wrought into the stone itself.

Pristine silence surrounded her now, only desecrated by the sound of her own movement. Every lungful of air she sucked was dry and cold, beleaguered by pain and tinged with the faint taste of her own blood. Her limbs felt numb now, slow and heavy. Yet, the drive, the will to live, pushed her onwards, even if the destination was unclear.

Ishila stepped through a doorway, felt something slam into her stomach, and lurched backwards, a frenzied scream of pain torn loose as she clutched at her gut. The trap’s blade had not pierced her armor as it swung around but dented the metal inwards. Eyes wide, she swore and grasped at either side of the split metal with her hands. The metal dug into her flesh as she strained. Slowly, excruciatingly, it pulled back outwards, and she collapsed.

Nausea reared its head inside, and overcome by it, Ishila leaned against the wall and vomited. Bile and blood splattered across the cold stone as her eyes stung with moisture. Pain’s sharp talons raked across her insides as she slumped against the wall for a moment’s rest. A brief respite in this hell. One that did not last long. With a grunt, metal-clad hands heaved her back up to continue her desperate dive into the depths.

Hands grasped the cold metal, and with a grunt, she ripped the trap free from the stone, spit at it, and threw it aside. It clattered lifelessly as she stepped into yet another massive chamber. A hall of crumbled statues greeted her now. Massive behemoths towered over her, vaguely humanoid and otherworldly. Some intact, some hacked apart. All in various poses of splendor, grandeur, and victory. Perhaps they were some beautiful color, but her eyes only saw greyscale as they pierced the darkness.

Another altar loomed between the statues, upon it a long, decorated spear, held aloft by invisible force. Past that lay her actual destination. Archways led to more tunnels, darkened recesses of stone that called to her.

Every movement made sent noise echoing across the massive chamber, something she flinched at. She felt… small in here. A tiny, insignificant intruder in this hall of ancients. She passed beneath the titanic statues, their stone gaze fell upon her back as she shivered. Her careful path took her towards the upraised altar, and she carefully skirted around it. The last altar being touched had events that lingered fresh upon her thoughts.

The ground gave way beneath her, and only a desperate leap saved her from the pit below. A leap that carried her forward and had her clutch the altar, her hand brushing the spear.

The sun rose within this stone tomb as light’s blinding brilliance bloomed before her. Stone began to shake as pure, raw heat entered her arm and flowed up into the orc’s body. The smell of her own flesh heating was drowned away by power and sensation. The greatspear vanished, and things began to stir about her.

Ishila turned her head, saw the statues were beginning to move, picked herself off the altar, and bolted. Pain and heat ruled her existence, but instinct guided her towards the nearest archway as everything began to shake. The walls crumbled before her, even as she desperately dashed into the corridor, dragging her body.

Monster emerged as panic rose in her throat, only for the creatures to fall forward. Bodies collapsed in sequence before her, as Ishila dragged herself along, her life a haze of agony. She noted massive holes ripped through bodies as she stepped over them, beheaded sleepers scattered everywhere. Uncrumbled sections of wall showed methodically placed holes at head-height. Butchered while they slept.

The adventurer stumbled over bodies, clutching her superheated arm and pushing on through the haze. Another doorway loomed ahead, and she staggered through.

A mistake.

A stone slab materialized behind Ishila as she entered, even as the chamber came to life before her. Frozen monsters moved as she entered, only to collapse in pieces. Not all, however. Several remained alive, their gazes turned towards her. Fangs bared and back slumped against the slab that sealed her within, the orc struggled to draw her axe.

She would die here.

Cold. Alone. Entombed by the endless tone.

But she would not die with a whimper. If she went to meet her maker this day, it would be upon her feet, screaming rage and hatred into the void. A bloated, chitinous force stalked near, long arms tipped by scythe-like claws. Smaller hands set further back upon the arm. Bulky, long, and armored. She saw clearly now, without dust to obscure her vision.

And they were horrifying to look upon. Wrong was the only word that sprang to mind.

Back against the wall, she panted and raised the axe as the monster drew near. Legs wobbled beneath her as the momentous toll upon her sapped the strength from weary limbs. Four arms were raised as the creature darted forward and brought all of them down at once.

Ishila lunged forward into the blow. The wicked blades whistled over her head and sliced the stone to her back even as the black arms crashed into her shoulders. She buckled beneath the blow for an instant, then grunted in anger and brought the axe up. It tore through the beast’s stomach, then chest and neck as she strained.

Freshly knitted wounds threatened to tear themselves open as she gouged a massive rent into the monster and saw the light leave its eyes. Breath heaving, she ducked aside as it toppled towards her and let it slump forward into the sealed doorway.

More came.

Her arm tingled as Ishila stumbled into a vague mockery of a run. A doorway beckoned to her, offering her an escape from this slaughterhouse.

Her legs gave out halfway there. Ishila tasted stone and blood as her face smashed into the floor and pain blinded her once more. Her throat howled raw, she flipped over and began to drag herself away as the monsters approached. Something compelled her, urged her on, and she raised her burning arm. The limb trembled, barely held upright. Swollen, bloody eyes widened in pain and shock as light bloomed in her grasp.

A massive, weightless spear formed as her flesh felt dipped into the sun itself. The hair upon her head smoked, another small bout of pain added to the excruciating heap she endured. With nothing to lose, Ishila shakily aimed the lance at a monster bearing down upon her and hurled it with what little strength remained.

The pure, unfiltered ray of light tore through the darkness. Heaven’s lance obliterated the monster, those behind it, the wall, the earth, and much more before it vanished. In an instance, they were. In the next, gone. Ishila blinked, dumbfounded as she surveyed the pure destruction she had just wrought.

She felt oh-so cold.

Her body shivered as she collapsed once more, any and all energy spent. Not a single spark remained within. Drained by her desperate flight and the last vestiges taken by the spear, she could not find a single smoldering ember for her to burn.

She lay, empty and spent, eyes staring into the darkness, deep beneath the surface, far, far away from the light and any hope. A tear rolled down her eye as she watched the end approach.

One monster had survived, part of its body simply sheered away. Its remnant tottered towards her. But there was nothing left. Her limbs hung, lifeless, her muscles unresponsive. Heart beating slowly, faintly, she gazed upon death coming to take her.

A life short-lived, burned away in pursuit of her dreams. Another soul, claimed by the System.

Her death loomed before her as she stared at it, unable to do so much as close her eyes. Claws raised up, and its chest burst open. Clawed, metal arms reached through and tore it in twain.

Ishila stared blankly as the monster fell away, and another emerged. This time, one in human form. Dread and malice struck her like a hammer blow as the dark figure loomed above her. Colorless hair spilled beneath a skull-like helm as death’s face examined Ishila.

“A greenskin,” came the sharp, female voice. Metal hands grabbed Ishila’s chin as blazing eyes regarded her. “Down here in the depths. Your kind never learn.”

The void took her as Valencia looked at her with disdain, disgust, and a hint of pity. As the light left her eyes, the last sensation she felt was being slung over the dreadknight’s shoulder as she finally found peace.

Chapter 40

I had made a habit of involving myself in the messes of other people as of late, often to my own expense. Largely because I could not help myself when it came to matters I had strong opinions on. Even if it cost me, I would rather be entrenched in trouble for doing what I believed was right than die a slow death inside from apathy. Inaction was defeat in my eyes.

That emotion tugged at me today as I watched riders gallop along the dusty trail that ran outside my yard. Frantic dashing up and down the mountain that I stood and observed in silence. Something of importance had occurred, and I was none the wiser.

Had Ishila and her party discovered the dungeon? Curiosity pulled at me, whispering for me to go and see what new events transpired. But responsibility’s firm voice drowned out the whispers.

My home was still in its early stages, the bare framework laid for the floor. And so, with a deep sigh, I quelled my curiosity and turned back to my work. With Artyom’s help, I had erected several thick wooden pillars in the cellar that would help support the weight of the floor, complete with cross beams. The particular wood I had hauled for this was far thicker than usual, but I would brook no chances. Even now, I sometimes underestimated how much my body weighed.

The morning progressed at an agonizing pace as I dragged timbers and slowly secured the floor over the gaping cellar. Only when the last length of lumber was firmly in place did I relax and allow myself to observe the road once more. Riders still galloped along at intervals, and carts were being hauled up the mountain en masse.

Fed further by this information, my curiosity only grew further. Yet, I stifled it and forced myself to go sit and regain my strength through nourishment. Artyom, Gol, and I shared lunch as I distractedly fiddled with a small plant. The pale, grape-like growth had latched on to my fascination as of late. Were my imagination more vivid, perhaps I could have named it something clever, but for now, I had dubbed it a ‘mimicseed’.

Original, I know.

And yet, I spent hours cautiously examining the small things. They seemed to be very particular about exactly what they drew from. One cautiously swayed against a piece of meat I was about to eat and showed no effect. I had come to think that they were unresponsive to inanimate objects.

They shifted between a duo of states: empty and full. When barren, they resembled small, shriveled grapes devoid of any color. When in contact with a living entity, the flesh peeled itself back to reveal a multitude of pods beneath the skin. Those latched on to whatever found itself in contact. I watched as that currently transpired as my own finger pressed against the singular grape.

I felt no sensation of pain or any otherwise as the pods pressed themselves to my skin and bulged. Their fleshy covering quickly retracted, and changes came near-instantly. A fur coat that matched my own grew as the grape’s pale skin bulged, small stub emerging that were similar to the texture of my horns.

“Artyom,” I beckoned as the felinid looked up from his meal. “Catch.”

He caught the loaded grape as I flicked it through the air and looked at it with curiosity. I waited in silence for a moment, but nothing happened now, as it hadn’t either the first several times we had done this test.

“Another one, yes-yes?”

I nodded, and he hurled it back at me. Any further musings were interrupted as my eyes followed the projectile’s arc through the air and stopped squarely on Le’rish’s ragged, bleeding form as she stalked across the yard. My untouched meal spilled to the dirt as I bolted upright and strode towards her, worry in my eyes.

My concern was brushed off as the huntress hauled herself past me, murder on her usually impassive face, and dropped heavily onto a stump.

She looked horrible. Gashes were everywhere on her body, slashes that had flayed open the skin and torn into the muscle beneath. How she even walked upright was a profound mystery.

“Work your magic, minotaur,” she growled, hunched over the dead fire, a seething rage in her tone that I had never glimpsed before. “Please.”

“Artyom, clerical milk,” I commanded gruffly.

The felinid rocketed from where he had sat frozen atop Gol’s slumbering form and hit the ground running. My monstrous pet woke and began to whimper with concern as he smelled the sheer volume of blood that coated Le’rish.

Some, her own. Most, not.

“How?” came the demand to know.

“Fucking idiots,” Le’rish snarled, though I knew not if that was in response to my query or a general statement. “Absolute imbeciles.”

“That does little to narrow anything down.”

I winced and examined the gashes on her back. Long, deep and oozing a clear, viscous liquid. As bad as any wound I had ever seen, yet Le’rish remained upright when, by all rights, these should have rendered her, frankly, dead.

“I’d gut those maggots if they weren’t already carrion.” She spat, her body heaving for air.

Her normally cool exterior was wholly shattered by whatever had happened, and rage roiled beneath. One hand up, I gestured at Artyom to hurry as he staggered across the field, jar in hand. The huntress wheezed in pain as I snatched the jar, wrenched off the lid, and held it to her lips.

“Drink,” I commanded, and she obeyed.

She gulped down far more of the clerical liquid than I thought she could hold and slumped forward, elbows on her knees as she groaned. I kept watch, my expression worried.

The milk wasn’t working. Not as it should. Clear liquid bubbled from Le’rish’s wounds, almost seeming to boil against her skin.

My naked eye could see the flesh begin to close at an agonizing pace. There was something wrong, something that worked against the pure healing magic.

“Le’rish, I need you to tell me what happened. There is something in you that is actively fighting against your body being healed.”

It took her moments to reply as I commanded Artyom to get me water and rags. The huntress was a blood-caked mess and likely to suffer from infection if her wounds were not cleaned and closed. The milk worked from the inside out, expelling discrepancies from the body as it returned to its original state. Or at least, it would have if not for whatever force strove against it now.

“Chased up the mountain to save those fools from their own idiocy. Came too late. The flood has been unleashed. Fought off several of them. More gashed me open. Had to flee.” She grunted, head in her hands. “Apex showed up and collapsed the dungeon entrance. Bunch still forced their way out. Everything is fucked.”

My mind processed all that while I worked on her wounds.

“This fluid. Is it from these monsters?” I gently scraped a massive gouge on her back clean, feeling her muscles tremble under the cloth.

“Likely.” She gasped. “Not toxic, far as I can tell. No changes to my insides or blood flow. Aside from it spilling out.”

“It is directly counteracting the healing properties of the milk,” I observed, growing more concerned by the moment. The towel I used to clean her largest wound was already soaked through with blood and fluid, and I shouted at Artyom to get as many as he could from the house.  “Fleshknitter, too!” I bellowed as Artyom vanished into around the building’s corner.

“No,” Le’rish snarled.

“Why?”

“It physically pulls the flesh together,” she grunted in pain. “Anything inside stays there.”

Well, fuck.

“This is going to be a long, painful process,” I warned and dabbed at another wound. Hunched over Le’rish’s back, I could see and feel the raw muscles move beneath my touch.

“Don’t care.” She shivered. “Need to get moving. Warned the camp. Dwarf from the party had teleported in not long before me, grabbed a horse, and started riding. Going to find that fucking bushbeard and rip his head off.” She met my eyes and snarled, “They did it, Garek. The absolute imbeciles woke the dungeon. They’re likely dead, and the mess is firmly in our lap.”

My hand froze mid-wipe. “Ishila.”

“Don’t know. Went in with them. I tried going in, but there were too many. Dungeon is huge. Slim chance she’s still alive. Pray to every God out there that she is. If she isn’t, there will be death aplenty.”

My mind whirled now, only half aware as I cleaned the clear liquid from the huntress’s wounds. Ishila couldn’t be gone. Not like this. Some cold, hard part told me that she hadn’t survived. I refused to listen.

I spoke abruptly. “I should go. Up the mountain. Try to find her myself.”

“No,” the huntress grunted. “Only get yourself killed. These things aren’t like any monster I’ve seen. Giant. Nearly as tall as you. Fast. Powerful. Claws go through armor like butter. There are thousands of them in that place. Going in by yourself is suicide.”

I threw away a soaked towel and grabbed another, hands trembling. I needed to do something, anything but sit here. Le’rish drank more, her cleaned wounds beginning to heal at a glacial pace.

The clank of metal began to sound in the distance, a cacophony that grew louder with every passing moment. As we watched, columns upon columns of soldiers under green banners came into view, marching up the mountain.

“Baron’s Army. Come to contain this mess before the inevitable flood,” Le’rish grunted. “The adventuring parties, slayers, delvers, dungeon breakers, and the rest of their rabble will come soon enough. But until then, defenses are needed.”

“Ishila’s parents,” I asked quietly, “do they know?”

I could feel Le’rish grimace beneath my touch.

“Yes. Tehalis is on a warpath right now. She’s out for blood. The dwarf should pray to every deity in existence that I find him before she does. The death I will give him will pale in brutality compared to what she will do.”

“And the elf?”

“He was headed for the peak when I passed him by. Don’t know much else.”

Artyom carried another jar of milk over and sighed in relief as Le’rish relieved him of its weight. The felinid staggered and sat back in the grass as the huntress began to drain this one as well. Her wounds were finally beginning to heal, and I had a significant pile of soaked rags and several empty jars to show for it. Beneath the blood, sweat, and fluid, Le’rish’s scent was gone.

The fact lingered in my mind only briefly as she coughed and spat up blood.

“Not my own,” she grunted. “Swallowed some in the carnage.”

Well that was reassuring. “You knew of the dungeon this entire time,” I realized.

“Yes,” she grunted. “And I did my damnedest to keep it hidden, keep fools away. Entirely to prevent what has happened. What an absolutely amazing feeling it is to have years of work undone by some brainless imbecile rushing in without any idea as to what they’re about to unleash.” She groaned. “Thrones Above, I despise adventurers.”

In that moment, I truly shared her sentiment.

Slowly, surely, I got her stitched up, burning through my entire stockpile of milk in the process. I grunted, “You know, luck smiled on you this day.”

“A bold statement.”

“Luck and my own laziness are why I even have all these on hand to heal you with,” I noted with an inward shiver. “I was going to sell my stock yesterday, but Ishila leaving sapped my will to go up to the camp and hawk my wares.”

“I’d thank the Gods Above, but my gratitude goes to you,” she muttered. “I came right here from the camp. Nothing I have at my lodge would have worked. Need to get some of your stock for myself.”

“You’ll have to wait a while.”

“We have nothing but time. My advice, however? Get more cows and get more of those flowers yesterday. You’ll soon have a very large market on hand. A flood of fresh bodies will swarm this area. Fools come in search of riches and levels. Might as well profit off their soon-to-be corpses.”

“A grim way of viewing this.” I grimaced.

“Realistic.” She shrugged and winced in pain as I cleaned another gash.

Anything further was interrupted as both us took note of a massive, green form striding across my yard, warpaint on her face and axe in either hand.

Chapter 41

Cracked scars, fluid muscles, stalking forward on silent limbs, she approached. Sight of her shaved head, vibrant tattoos, and distortions in the area around her triggered some faint recognition within Garek’s mind.

A Wyld Orc.

Far from home, but never long from danger. Gol nestled his head between two large paws and fell quiet, whimpers trailing off into silence. Artyom vanished as I stood and turned to face the enraged guest upon my land.

Her voice was restrained, measured as she regarded Le’rish. “You.”

“Me,” Le’rish shot back, her mood soured even further.

The calm voice that came and the angry face it emanated from could not be any different. “You have failed, huntress.”

With a grunt, I fully rose and stared down at the woman who had just stormed onto my farm. It did not require a great breadth of knowledge to realize who she was or why she was here. And yet, I realized Ishila had never given me her mother’s name.

“Perhaps introductions are in order,” I rumbled. “I am Garek.”

“A weak name for your kind.” The orc smiled through bared fangs. “Not Garek Bloodhewn, or Garek Skullcrusher?”

“I had several such names,” I smiled thinly in return, and such was true. “I chose to leave them behind.”

“I know of you,” came the taut reply. “The one man whose praises my daughter would not stop singing of. I am Tehalis Warborn.”

“And we know each other,” Le’rish grunted, still hunched over in pain. “Loosely.”

And so we stood under the afternoon’s scorched heat, two friends and a mother, tenuously united by the same person.

“Could I offer you a seat?” I gestured towards an empty stump as the woman snorted.

“No. I am here to find my girl, not pass idle conversation in comfort.”

I could swear murder entered Le’rish’s eyes in that moment, only for her to choke it back down and remain calm.

“Of course,” I reassured her. “Everyone here wants to find Ishila.”

“Some more than others. I have need of you, minotaur. These adventurers my daughter was with, tell me everything about them. Every small detail.”

I did so to the best of my ability as I continued to clean Le’rish’s wounds. The glowering huntress sat quiet throughout, her body twitching on occasion as I dabbed at exposed muscle and nerves.

“A tiefling, an elf, and a dwarf,” Tehalis grunted, restlessly running her thumb along an axeblade. “The camp says only the dwarf survived.”

“Do you plan to find him?” I questioned, handing Le’rish another small cup of milk to drink.

The orc stared at me long and hard before she replied, venom in her tone, “I love my daughter very much, but I am no fool. No one touches dwarves. So it is written in the great book of wrongs beneath the Far Peaks.”

She spoke the words, yet all could hear her tone was not sincere.

“There is… a price to pay. For harming a dwarf. Any dwarf,” Le’rish grunted. “Even the outcasts.”

Tehalis spoke, her eyes blank. “For my girl, there is no sum too small.”

“I could perhaps offer some gold,” I suggested, only to be me with a raucous laugh from the orc.

“The price is not of gold but blood. What use have the Underdark’s masters of a few golden coins when they sit upon the hoards of dragons slaid, all the world’s wealth theirs?”

We left it at that.

“The dungeons itself?” I asked. “Last I know, Ishila was somewhere inside.”

“A mess. My husband will restructure the rubble. It must be sealed until proper defenses are prepared.”

Le’rish spoke, her voice flat, devoid of any emotion. “With Ishila inside.”

That provoked something in Tehalis. The tall, imperious orc flared for just a moment, blood in her eyes, crimson spirits drifting around her. For an instant, I could see wrath approach, saw her want to lash out and hurt the huntress.

A hand instinctively gripped at my missing claymore as I prepared for bloodshed.

Quickly, quietly, the moment passed. Her scent faded back to a still calm, and the spirits faded away.

“I love my daughter as much as a mother possibly can,” came the low, serious growl, “but I will not be held to the deaths of hundreds—thousands if that dungeon breaks free. I will not be the one to bathe this land in blood if that evil wrenches free of its shackles.”

“Once the humans have prepared as best they can—and only then—will the entrance be opened.”

“Ishila aside, why not entomb it forever?”

“And allow the dungeon to grow and expand uncontested until it is large enough to swallow the land whole?” There was derision in her tone now. “It must be dealt with. We had known there was a dungeon that slept at the peak but had no idea of its true scope. An abandoned, sleeping infant—or so we thought. Neither of us went near it, lest our very presence cause it to stir.”

She stared flatly at Le’rish now.

“Instead, there was a guardian, one meant to keep intruders away. One that failed.”

“And what now?” I asked, still working away at Le’rish.

“Nothing. We let the humans continue their preparations. Stay here. Farm. Enjoy your peace while it lasts. But when the time is right, I will return and ask you to join us as we plunge into the dungeon’s guts and rip the life out of it.”

A few days ago, I would have refused and told her I was but a farmer who wanted a peaceful life, though the world planned otherwise.

Now, I was not so sure.

She spoke curtly. “Wander in wisdom. I have found what I came for.” She paused for a moment, half turned away. Tehalis spoke after a moment. “I am told you have… milk capable of healing most wounds. I would like to see it.”

Artyom appeared from behind Gol as she spoke those words, and I nodded to him. A cup was drawn up and given to the orc. She sniffed at it, dipped a finger in, and tasted a dollop. The paint on her face seemed to move and flow as she stood still, having consumed some of the milk.

“Power pervades this liquid. Divine might came to seal the flesh and heal all. Yet, I cannot tell what deity it is drawn from. Curious.”

With that, she handed the cup back to Artyom, turned, and strode away, leaving us to sit in silence.

Only when she had left did Le’rish speak, “Heal me, Garek. Fast. My hunt continues.”

“The dwarf. She seemed to think even touching him is a bad idea,” I grunted and began to clean what small wounds remained.

Le’rish’s back, arms, and front were a mass of barely healed flesh, still stained with dried blood. Her clothes were ragged, almost shredded. One could see that she cared little for that.

“Is. Horrible idea,” she grunted. “Anyone asks, you had nothing to do with it. A price will be exacted, but they will not find me wanting.”

I did not press further, only did what I could as a friend and quietly mended her back to full.

“He took a horse last night. From the camp. Will already have been riding hard. Have a long road, a long hunt ahead of me. But I will find him. Rip the beard hairs from his face. Tear the flesh off his skin. Make him tell me.”

“About Ishila?”

“That. Where they came from. Who told him about this place.”

I had one last gift for Le’rish, then.

“In that corral is a horse,” I grunted and pointed, bloodstained rag in hand. “Take it and ride like the wind. I have saddlebags and all the necessary bits in the shed.”

The huntress staggered upright, her one good eye focused on me.

“Thank you,” was all she said. Then she turned and bounded towards the herd where the horse grazed.

I told Artyom to clean the mess up here and strode towards the storage shed to retrieve a saddle and reins for her. It smelled vaguely of dust as I wrenched open the door, carefully moved around empty pots and chillvines, then stooped to one of the saddles.

I should have checked these a while ago, I remembered. But it had always slipped my mind.

Now, I hauled up a pair of saddlebags, opened them up, and rummaged inside. Dried venison, a scribbled map, a small pouch with coins, a pair of hide gloves meant for human hands were what remained of a dead man’s possessions. I found no sign of Ironmoor’s green livery within.

What instead was found was a scroll that denoted the man was to be paid his weekly sum from the Hullbretch Watch. This man had been a member of the town guard.

Something I would have known all along if I had bothered to examine these earlier.

With a frown of abject disgust, I emptied the saddlebags onto the ground, grabbed the saddle itself with one hand, the reins in the other, and hauled everything back out.

Le’rish approached, horse led by its mane. That got a raised eyebrow from me, but the poor thing stayed right where it was once she let go.

“It’s gained some weight,” I noticed with a wince. “Hasn’t been ridden or exercised in some time. Don’t run it into the ground, okay?”

“Will try. No promises,” she grunted and took the saddle from me.

She tossed it over and began to fasten the underside with quick, smooth movements. The creature bucked against the bit going into its mouth but froze when the huntress snarled at it. After a tense moment, it timidly opened its mouth, let the bit slide past its teeth, and then stayed in place as she fastened the reins.

Something about the huntress scared the horse, I could tell. Frightened the beast past the point of bolting away and right into submission. Its scent was terrified.

“Best of luck on your hunt,” I said quietly. “Come back in one piece.”

An empty eye socket stared at me, then bobbed as she nodded.

“I will find her. If that dwarf could teleport out, he can teleport back in. Whether or not he wants to.”

With that, she flicked the reins, dug in her heels, and galloped off. Once again, I was left in silence, my thoughts to keep me company.

Ishila was alive, somewhere out there. She had to be. I did not want to imagine a world where such a bright, brilliant soul could be snuffed out in the blink of an eye.

I should have discouraged her from going. Should have trained her with sparring at least. Instead, I had been so focused on the dream of me avoiding bloodshed that I had neglected her.

Could have,

Should have,

Would have.

Useless phrases to wish for empty things. The time would come when I would delve into the dungeon proper, when I would take up the blade once more to strike down danger before it could rise up to strike down those I cared for.

I had been too late for Ishila.

But that would not happen again. Once more, I was left with my thoughts, a host of revelations in mind as I stared out over crops that would soon be harvested, plants to be examined and cared for. And beneath it all, tunnels filled with ancient monsters that I would soon whet by blade upon.

So much for the quiet life.

Chapter 42

Life continued on. Despite my worries, despite my fears for Ishila’s safety, the world did not stop for me. Night passed into day, and I found myself tired, easily distracted while I worked. A night of twists and turns had done little for my wellbeing and mental energy, and now I gazed at my half-finished home and groaned inside.

So much remained to be done, and I distinctly was not at all willing to continue on. The walls had been laid, formed to be a proper lodge of notched logs atop each other, cut from the largest, longest trees I could find. With a sigh, I shook my head, sniffed at the wet, cloudy morning, and got to work. Whether I liked it or not, it had to be done.

Harvest nipped at my heels, and it was necessary for me to vacate the old home and move so I could have a place to process the crops before they would be stored in this house’s cellar. Having lent my horse to Le’rish, any trips to sell plant parts and other goods would have to be made by the strength of my own back.

The huntress had also all but depleted my reserves of milk, and with the coming influx of bodies on the horizon, the prospect of profit demanded more. Once she had returned, I would ask her for the location of this farmer these cows were from and wrangle more back myself.

The bare minimum done for myself to consider this an acceptable day, I turned and instead directed my attention to the fields. I looked past the ripened crops, the birds that circled warily above and mice that crept below to focus on my monstrous plants.

They were fattened now, large, and, above all else, dangerous. I had forbidden Artyom from being close to them for his own safety. The stalks from which I had harvested biter-pods were thick and engorged, birthing new pods from veiny vines.

I bent to examine these half-grown podlings and found them about as expected. Tiny, only partially developed. Their thirst would emerge soon enough.

Every time I approached the metallic bomb-bursts warranted more and more caution. For the sake of ensuring relative safety and not random violent demises delivered to anything in the immediate area, I no longer approached without a full bag of sleep spores. Every slow movement was an agony to me as I inched closer to the trembling growths and dusted their surfaces with the powder.

Slowly, quietly, their trembling ceased, and I could harvest several more. Carefully packed into bags filled with spores, they uneasily slept, their raw explosive energy barely contained.

The others needed a much lesser level of caution when handled, but some was still required. Without Ishila’s help, the entire process ate through the afternoon, until the final far of freshly-harvested acid was safely tucked away.

Now, my experiments could begin.

Try as I might, I could not summon any excitement. Ishila was not here with her usual lop-sided grin and words of encouragement. I know not if she was even alive. Now, I could do little but wait for the call that this dungeon’s entrance had been opened and search could start.

There remained one particular experiment I wanted to perform. The mimicseed I had tested on living people, inanimate objects, and the like, but there was one venue that I had not yet touched upon.

Various bags of harvested plants in either hand, I nodded farewell to Artyom, told him to keep Gol on the yard, and set off for a secluded place—one where, I hoped, the carnage would be minimal. A clearing in the dense forest yielded itself some time after. With careful touches, I pulled free one of each specimen at a time.

For this, I did not want my essence copied by the mimicseeds, so I brought forth an entire vine. Held by its stalk, it was navigated to hover above a drowsy bomb-burst. A gentle brush against the metallic surface was all a lone seed needed to peel open, attach itself, and gain a quivering metallic appearance.

Carefully plucked from the vines, it seemed in every way a miniature bomb-burst. Size, shape, and even the same quivering energy. A cautious flick revealed it held none of the original’s explosive energy, however.

I had suspected this when it mimicked the cleric-shine’s energy and radiance yet offered no healing effect. There remained one other wild possibility I wanted to explore, however.

The first mimicseed lost among the undergrowth, I touched another pale fruit to the slumbering bomb-burst, waited for it to absorb its properties, and then brought it over to my other specimen. The biterpod.

Its fleshy, toothy surface swelled as the mimicseed latched on. As I watched, the metallic features flowed from the seed into the biterpod. It transformed before my eyes, becoming enlarged, hardened, and shaking.

Now for the test.

Breath held in trepidation, I tossed the newly created amalgamation into the air, followed its arc, and blinked as it burst through the air and shredded through the nearest tree. A mad flurry of teeth and steel were all I caught as wood flew through the air.

It struck the ground, cratered the soil, and burst from the ground once more, aimed at something deeper in the woods. A shrilled scream rose and died off, followed by the sounds of crunched bones and the wet squishes of torn meat. All in the space of several heartbeats. More followed, and I found a trail of destruction as I cautiously followed the hybrid’s frenzy.

Shattered trees, the torn corpse of a mossdeer and more awaited me as I approached the final crater. The newly born hybrid lay lifeless, its life spent in an uncontrolled frenzy of decimation and destruction.

More than just the physical characteristics, the mimicseed had fused the bomb-burst’s short, explosive life with the biterpod’s insatiable hunger to propel it far farther than it previously ever could have, I realized. A wince writ upon my face, I gazed back at the sheer destruction wrought by an organism unconcerned with its own life or safety. We had stepped from the realm of mildly dangerous to a true terror in the wrong hands.

Were I wholly an ethical person, I would have given this up and buried these experiments far from the light of day.

I was not.

Curiosity, hunger for knowledge compelled me onwards, and I answered the call.

In that moment, I realized a glimpse as to why mad scientists even existed, although I tried to convince myself I would never go that far.

A beautiful lie. But one I would hold onto nonetheless.

I retrieved the amalgamation’s empty husk, not wanting to leave it out here in case something were to happen. No sooner had I tucked it away than my attention turned to another.

The mimicseed was fully capable of transferring one essence to the next. Now, what if I performed the same process but in reverse?

The biterpod wriggled between pinger fingers as I dipped the stalk of mimicseeds down to meet it. One pale fruit touched and learned the wonders of dental hygiene. I was truly a revolutionary with all the concepts I introduced to this world, to pat myself upon the back. Unlike the now re-sedated pod, the mimicking did not bulge and struggle with hunger but stayed dormant.

A state that lasted all of several moments as I dipped it towards another fresh bomb-burst. A screech of metal ripped through the air as the iron ball suddenly found itself in possession of a gaping, teeth filled visage, coupled by a void of hunger within.

It sprang from my grasp, and all I saw was an approaching iron meteor headed right for my skull. Instinct led me to duck as it rocketed past overhead.

Right into my horns.

Steel teeth latched on to my right horn, gnawing and chewing at the hard, massive growth. And worse, chipping away at it. All thoughts of scientific pursuit abandoned, I bellowed and threw my head around in attempts to dislodge it.

It held fast, grinding away at my horn. Slowly shredding through.

A fast, wild swing connected the horn to a massive tree as I threw my body around. A sharp twinge ran through my skull as the horn ripped through ancient wood, flattening the ball of steel, hate, and hunger.

Or so I thought.

It clung still as the horn emerged from the tree, flattened, leaking, and battered, determined to never let go. Another bellow and vicious rear of my head tossed it skyward. With the last of its life, the hybrid defied gravity, reversed itself, and shot back down towards me, maw stretched wide open.

And impaled itself right on the horn’s sharpened tip. Such was the force at which it came that its body only stopped halfway down the horn, nearly split in twain.

All of this happened in the space of several heartbeats.

This was one combination I would not recreate under any circumstances, I vowed to myself. Grimace on my face, I felt at the jagged grooves in my otherwise untarnished horns where the teeth had shorn through. A reminder for myself and my future ambitions.

Both variations had been relentless, exerting themselves right up until they violently perished. The bomb-burst’s explosive potential combined with the biter-pods relentless hunger should have been a predictable outcome.

If I did not know before, I could no longer claim ignorance as an excuse.

Cautious further experiments showed my own essence, although copied by the mimicseed on a direct touch, could not be transferred to the plants. And with that concluded, I gathered everything back, heaved up the broken mossdeer corpse and trekked back home.

Thick and dense though the undergrowth was, I had some sense of smell to guide me through the otherwise pathless forest. The trees faded away, and I found myself uphill from my farm, gazing out over what was mine. It seemed idyl at this moment, a picture of tranquility. But I knew that it was a fragile peace I maintained, one that could be shattered at any moment by the world of dangers upon my doorstep.

Blood leaked and dripped behind me as I walked, corpse slung over my shoulder. But it was not for meat I was concerned.

The cleric-shine’s lonely blood grew amidst dried puddles of blood, its plucked leaves rapidly regrowing as it sucked nutrients from the stained soil. It stood alone, as I had been unable to duplicate it. Insofar, I had been unable to find any seeds on the plant itself, but I would keep trying.

For now, I tossed the corpse into the dirt next to the plant to let it bleed out and feed the flower.

After a long day, I was tired, bloody, and matted by dirt and sweat. A bath was in order. Fresh clothes grabbed from the house, I stopped and looked at Artyom dejectedly sitting atop Gol. The felinid was staring up the road, his ears drooped and tail lifeless. A small pang went through my body as I observed his sadness. I wasn’t the only one who missed Ishila, and burying ourselves in work hadn’t paid off for either of us.

“She’ll be alright,” I tried to convince him, but whatever facade of courage I mustered was revealed by the tired tone of my voice.

“That’s what I want to believe, yes-yes,” he muttered. “Annoying orc brat. Free from her torment. Not here to bother me, no-no.”

There was little I could do to lighten his dejected tone, but still, I tried.

“Go get yourself some milk,” I suggested. “Wth my permission.”

“No,” he simply replied. “Bad for me. We know this both. Stupid to bury myself in addiction and hope for better times-times.”

I respected that decision. With a nod, I trudged off, intent on thoroughly cleansing myself. The water proved lukewarm and was soon filled with dirt, loose hair, and blood. All which would soon be washed down to water my crops. A small whisper that no matter what hardship I endured, the world marched ever onwards.

It was sometime later that I sat beneath the massive tree and watched the sunset, my mood pensive, a lit lantern bobbing by my side. I did not know fully what that moment signified, but at the time, I was entranced by the image of a small, warm light shining into the darkness, faintly bobbing on the wind.

Chapter 43

Inaction was the slow death. Unforeseen, unforgiving.

This, I pondered as I awoke to a new dawn. My chores passed in a tired haze as I felt the effects of yet another sleepless night. Worry clouded my thoughts, ate away at the fringes of my mind. Gnawed and chewed ‘til I could stand it no longer. With a grunt, I poured the pails of milk into cooled, vine-wrapped jars, slammed down the empty metal, and decided to go and do something about all this.

I bellowed for Artyom, told him to look after the farm and feed Gol. Claymore at my belt, armor secured, and my few remaining flasks of healing milk on hand, I set out for the mountain’s peak. Just like that. A decision made like a snap, yes. But I could stand the worry no longer. The uncertainty that came with trying to bury myself in work and experiments, the vain hope that all would be alright.

I refused to just sit here and not be a part of rescuing Ishila, if she was still alive. Tehalis had told me to wait until they were ready. Well, I was going to accelerate that readiness.

A mountain clad in steel strode up the path as the sun began to clear the horizon to my side. The road lay bare with none to cross my path. Save one.

Deep was the shout that echoed from behind me, a greeting from one traveler to another. I turned and observed a man who seemed wholly unfamiliar. A human casually strolled towards me, a roguish smile upon his face. An unbuttoned shirt made of fine material was what I first saw, backed by a pearly smile, dark stubble, and slicked-back hair. A rapier hung alongside flared pants. Something one would expect from a noble’s court, not traversing towards imminent danger.

“Greetings,” the man hailed enthusiastically.

A tone I did not return. Merely a ruble of acknowledgement. Tiredness still pulled at my eyes, sunken as they were beneath the helm I now wore.

“Forgive me for staring, but I have not seen one of your kind in so long, let alone this deep in human lands!” He beamed, eyeing me up and down.

“Now you have,” I grunted. “What do you want?”

“This,” he pondered. “This is an opportunity.”

It was only now that I noticed a wrongness about this man. The smell of blood loosely splattered about his clothes. A gleam in his eyes. He walked like a cat, strung tight and ready to pounce.

“The Gods Above must truly love me if they have given me this unique chance,” he rambled on as I cautiously eyed him up and down. “To not leap at it would be to spit in their faces.”

There was a hidden dirtiness to his clothes. The sign of a man who was constantly on the move, without a stop to wash or clean. I had been that way, once. But this did not stir empathy in me. The opposite, in fact.

“Be on your way,” I rumbled, eyes narrowed.

“Tell me, minotaur. Do you consider yourself a religious man? Do you fear the Gods Above, give thanks that they let you live another day, so you may have met me?”

“They exist. But I do not fear them. What use is fear when they will do as they want?”

Early morning theology was not among my strong suits. Before I had come here, the idea of actual deities roaming the skies above and watching the world seemed foreign to me. Here, it was an everyday thing. Even Garek had memories of having once seen one of them descend in the distance, albeit opposite a battlefield to him.

“On this day, they have put you before me. And I give thanks for this feast.”

The space between heartbeats passed as the words slithered into my ears, struck my brain, and screamed danger. A blur streaked towards me, blade flashed up and aimed at my throat. Wouldn’t draw the claymore in time. A fist encased in metal swung around and struck the madman across the chest.

Felt like striking a feather. The man twisted beneath the blow, thrown aside by sheer force. Tumbled through the air and landed upon his feet. A bloody, vicious smile upon his features. The stench of bloodlust filled my nostrils now. He and I both drew something at the same time. Mine, a claymore. His, a blurry shape I recognized too late.

Crossbow.

The string twanged, and a bolt raced across the open space. Right at my eyes. A violent twist of my head and it glanced off my helm instead. Barely phased by the impact, I closed the distance with long strides. Ready to kill. Peace only went so far when some lunatic attacked me.

“You will be my next breakthrough! The push I need for the next level!” He laughed and danced backwards, a blue blur pulled from somewhere. A crystal, my vision found. It shattered beneath the man’s grip as he squeezed, a loud and pure sound.

Blue sprung into existence round his form, and I blinked in confusion as the man seemed to stretch. An after and before image seemed the only explanation. He lunged again, even faster. A slab of iron I called a sword swung to meet him and cleaved through the man.

A doppelganger, I found. The second image stepped over the first’s corpse and thrust a gleaming rapier at my face. Already committed to my swing, I could not pull back as the blade neared my face. I stumbled forward instead and took it to the chest. It pierced my armor and flesh with ease, lancing through my hide to the flesh, muscle and precious insides beneath.

With a bellow of pain, I swung aside, weapon buried deep within me and ripped the hilt from his grasp. The man’s sword firmly embedded in my flesh, I continued momentum, dragged the claymore along the ground, and twisted with all my might to cleave a massive moon of steel around me.

He rolled beneath the blow, then froze as I bellowed and called Cloven Crash. Again, he faded backwards, a ghost of himself left frozen as my blade split it in twain. Then staggered and clutched a gaping hole in his chest as Blood for blood found him.

Hate and rage flowed through my veins like poison now. An acid that burned at my soul, made it so much more satisfying when the physical force of Scream of Fury knocked the man backwards. Lean arms fumbled at pockets, and more crystals were flung at me. Explosions of light and sound did little as my already poor vision blinded. Yet, I stomped forward, firmly on the man’s bloodstained scent.

I felt the rapier rip itself from my shoulder as my vision cleared. Some sort of recall skill. One metal-clad hand latched onto the blade, and I ripped it from the sky as hot fury snorted itself from my nostrils.

Not today.

Another roar made the man flinch, ever so slightly. His pull faded for an instant, and just like that, I hauled the weapon back, leveraged it against the claymore’s blade and snapped it in twain.

I recognized the red fluid of a fleshknitter as the man jumped backwards, lifesblood spilled from his body. He swallowed, staggered, and then roared with bloodshot eyes as the wound began to close. Far faster than any other I had seen. Pain entered his scent now as he yanked free more crystals. More afterimages. A spectral whip of blades formed in three separate grasps. The world blurred, trees replaced by an azure sphere that surrounded us.

But I was not trapped in this place with him. Quite the opposite.

His whip did not have the piercing strength of the shattered rapier. Instead, I let it skid off my armor, blue streaks of frost left behind despite the sheer heat. A brutal dance of his retreat and my advance ensued now as I stomped ever forward, shredding through doppelgangers one bellow at a time.

Cloven Crash proved it’s worth a dozen times over in the span of a minute. For all his speed, I only needed to lock them down one at a time. A swing did the rest. There was tiredness on the man’s face as he approached the azure globe’s wall and slipped through. I crashed into it a second later and found myself halted.

Not for long. Reckless Charge gave me speed, grinded my body against the hardened wall until it shattered around me. I burst from the bubble, eyes locked on my attacker, filled to the brim with murder and rage. A lance of force appeared before my eyes and slammed into my face before I could do more than blink. A blow to kill another man.

Not me.

To another, this man would have been a monster. An oppressive force, with Skills and relics to kill them with contemptuous ease. I had been warned of his ilk. Grinders, or so Raffnyk had named them. That much I could piece together. Shells of men who saw others as nothing more than more levels. Scum. Ruthless. Dangerous. Prepared to kill.

To me, he was naught but a conduit upon which to vent my rage. It crossed my mind that nothing so large should move this fast as I barreled towards the man, shrugging off lance after lance of azure force hurled at me. My armor chilled and cracked on impact, cold to the touch.

I drew near and looked my attacker in the eyes. Eyes that swelled and glowed brilliant blue, followed by his skin doing the same. Shockwaves of force hurled me through the air as all turned brilliant blue. The explosion ripped through the still morning, trees toppled and earth sloughed outwards by pure power as the hand of a titan batted me through the air. I struck a tree, broke it in twain, and kept going.

Ironhide likely saved me, brought up right before detonation. I struck the earth, went through the base of another tree, and cratered through the dirt. Fury ripped itself from my lungs, and hands trembled with anger as I seized the ground and hauled myself upright. My claymore was somehow still within my hand. Eyes bloodshot, temples pounding, and breath coming in heaves, I charged through the undergrowth. Without sight, I relied on scent.

It did not fail me.

Trees fell away around me as I emerged back onto the road, blinded by hatred and driven by sheer berserk fury. A massive crater was now in place of the road, and in its center tottered the madman who had started it all.

Hooves ripped free dirt as I charged through the crater, and for the first time, fear entered his scent. I watched it dawn in his eyes as I bore down on him, claymore over my shoulder. The end was here, and he had brought it to his door. Eyes widened, mouth moved to say something.

“Rot,” came the snarl from my lips as the blade descended like a steel meteor. I watched the light leave his eyes, and found myself… satisfied as he died.

At then I was left empty, standing there in dirt, blood, and cold all around me. Death had come to visit me this day and had not found me wanting. And above all else showed me that it did not wait for a time when a man was ready. That it could come on the most peaceful mornings. My breath trembled as the wroth and wrath let slip their grasp, and I found myself seated in the dirt, gazing up at the sky wondering what god I had offended to start my day out with such carnage.

Chapter 44

There was only mild interest as I lumbered into the Verdant Dawn’s camp, nearly bisected body slung over my shoulder and covered in blood. Many gazes turned to me, only a few stayed. Movement flowed all around me, headed in random directions as armored figures swarmed like ants. Uneasy gaps were left between the green liveries of the baron’s men and the many-colored mercenaries of the Verdant Dawn. Tension’s sickly sweet scent poked through the odor of blood that engulfed my form, in part due to my own wounds.

Mostly contributed by the cadaver over my shoulder.

I passed vaguely familiar faces as I stomped through the camp, searching for their commander. People who had perhaps introduced themselves to me but whose names I had forgotten. Their faces however, those I remembered.

The spunky woman who had brashly told me to slow down with the walls stood off to the side, a lone, still figure in a sea of constant movement. Her arms crossed, she regarded me with a hidden expression. People parted before me on the merit of my size alone, yet few bothered to stare.

I had just carried a dead body into this camp, and nobody could be bothered to care.

Raffnyk’s eyebrows raised, and he grunted a greeting as I dumped the carcass before him. The man’s helmet was sitting lopsided on a table, serving its grand purpose as a paperweight. One hand rose to greet me, a feeble gesture from an otherwise slumped posture.

“I would inquire where that corpse was made,” he grunted and waved around, “but you can see that I have other matters at the forefront of my limited attention.”

“Good morning to you too.” I picked up a full cup of liquid, smelled wakebrew gone cold, and handed it to him. The man sighed, looked at it with loathing writ on his face and drained it all with a single gulp.

“Any more of that vile shitewater and I’m going to throw up. There is also the distinct possibility my heart will explode.”

I believed that. Any more color, and his eyes would be crimson instead of just bloodshot.

“Coincidentally,” I grunted and looked around, “when was the last time you slept?”

There was a pause in movement, halfway through the task of turning over another page, quill frozen in midair. “That is a splendid question.”

There was no further answer immediately presented, only the sound of paper nearly being stabbed through as his hand descended.

“Sometime before that dwarf teleported in, screamed about an awakened dungeon, stole a horse and fled.”

He spoke in a fast, blunt tone, little emotion in his words. “And then disaster saw fit to visit its presence upon me once more. Apex at the peak. Dungeon entrance revealed and promptly half-buried, monsters getting out. Abominations. Elf’s up there right now, reshaping the landscape so we can erect proper defenses and attempt to entrap whatever spills out. Worst is yet to come.

“Laughed when that tiefling told us there was a dungeon up the slope. No merriment about it now.” He finally took some interest in the corpse at my feet and leaned forward for a better view. “Anyone I’d know?”

With a sigh and a seat taken on a very flimsy chair, I relayed the ambush and following events as best I could. Raffnyk listened diligently throughout, scribbling words on a fresh sheet of parchment as I talked. Eventually, words ended as I reached the conclusion of my recollection. He nodded, half-stood, and spat at the corpse.

“To the pits with him and all his ilk. Scum.” Tired as he was, there was venom in the otherwise friendly man’s voice.

“Word of the dungeon spread this quickly?” I grunted.

“Possible. But this isn’t right next to some bustling city. Could be he was nearby and heard.” He paused again and glared flatly at the corpse. “Could be he was on his way to this camp to try his luck on us. Fate is never certain in the presence of these lunatics.

“Keep whatever armaments and relics there are on this body. The kill was yours, and the world is better for it. No one will dispute it.”

“You just believe me?”

A sigh dragged itself from Raffnyk’s throat as he flipped over a stack of paper and revealed a rounded stone beneath. It glowed with a soft viridian sheen. Beautiful as it was, I could not see how it was relevant to the situation.

“Truthseer stone,” he grunted. “I’ve dealt with so much possible deceit, lies of omission, false promises, and other forms of hogwash that I’ve given up on otherwise gauging the truth and its nuances. Any official or person in place of importance will have one of these discreetly tucked away. The presence of lies causes it to fade and die. What I know of you aside, this is the brightest it’s been in the past several days.”

Well that explained several things.

“Understand that this is perhaps the best news I have received all day. That and not having to deal with that blood-thirsty monstress Ironmoor keeps in his employ. Insofar, she has been mercifully absent from all these proceedings, and I am instead dealing with his slightly less arrogant guard-captains.”

He gestured, and my gaze followed his hand. Outside the camp, soldiers were hewing down trees en masse, all headed up the mountainside. Teams of horses carted lumber, and where they were not enough, the soldiers did it themselves.

“We require walls. Stakes. Trenches. Pits. Traps. The entire area around the dungeon’s maw must be sealed off, fenced in, and watched at all times. The bulk of our forces will be moved up the mountain to be stationed on full guard.”

He gestured back into the camp, and I watched heavily armored and armed groups moving in and out of the open gates.

“As we speak, all of my kill teams are conducting wide-scale operations on and around the peak. With the Apex mercifully absent after fleeing the dungeon, we must scour the area of all monstrous life. With the dungeon’s threat, there can be no other distractions.”

He slumped back, sweat wiped off his face as the afternoon sun broiled down.

“And here I endure. Endless reports, paperwork, reassurances to superiors, gauging our inventory, ordering fresh supplies, requesting help from adjacent orders, trying to find godsblasted healing supplies anywhere, gathering provisions, trying to find blacksmiths to move here so I might repair weapons and armor for my men and women. Sending letters begging for more coin before we run dry—”

He stopped halfway through a sentence and looked up at me.

His tone became somewhat excited. “Healing… That milk you sold to my troops that could heal wounds, I’ll take your entire stock and every ounce you can give me. Now. Double anyone else’s offer.”

I winced at that. “I am, unfortunately, currently dry. Used it all.”

The hope left his face and some vestige of buried emotion creeped up as Raffnyk struggled to control himself.

“I can, however, produce more at a consistent rate,” I reassured him.

The human grunted, pulled a bag of coins from beneath the table, and slid them across to me. “Down payment. Get me as much as you can as soon as possible. I have more faith in you than that wretched alchemist.”

“Alchemist?” I queried, and followed a quivering finger towards a large tent halfway across the camp.

“Forgot his name. Some royal alchemist of other balderdash from Hullbretch. Promised me as many Fleshknitters as I could pay for, hasn’t produced anything yet. I swear on Itlayis’s benevolent name that if he cannot bring me results soon, I’ll have him driven up the mountain buck naked and covered in tar.”

That was a harsh promise, but I knew Raffnyk to be a man of his word, for better or worse.

“I will go see if I cannot help resolve this issue,” I promised and stood.

Raffnyk thanked me, then glanced between me and the body lying before his table. “I’d offer you a bag to carry that, but we are also in perilously short supply of those. Leave him here, and I’ll have one of mine strip the goods from him and bundle them up for your convenience.”

With a nod of thanks in return, I lumbered across the camp, eyes locked on the large gray tent he had indicated. A small, bald man who I recognized as the resident alchemist of Hullbretch was within, in argument with a much larger, burlier man I assumed was said quartermaster. Try as I might, I could not remember his name, so I simply skirted around that issue.

A hand clapped on the man’s shoulder caused him to startle as I gazed down at him. “We meet again,” I rumbled as his irritability turned to fright and back to relief.

“Gods Above, you are the face I had hoped to see!”

“Minotaur,” the quartermaster grunted from behind folded arms.

I had never met the man, but it seemed my reputation preceded me. Or the man had simply made a very astute observation as to my species.

“What troubles are present here?”

The short man threw his arms up in frustration as he began to recount to me all his woes, his ideas on how proper supply chains should be run, and lack of any potential ingredients or reagents for him to create fleshknitters with.

Through it all, the quartermaster simply shrugged, his face set in stone and expression disinterested.

“And what do you need to rectify this issue?” I cut him off midway through another rant. “Rather than expound upon your woes and how they affect your life, propose to me a solution.”

“Well, I was just getting to that,” he huffed. “But that acid you sold to me. Wonderous thing. With the proper tools, I could extract and make several more batches of fleshknitter drafts from its compounds.”

“So you need more of it?”

“Well, yes. But I imagine something in that stock must be exceptionally rare and difficult to acquire. It was extracted from monsters, was it not?”

“Let’s go with that.” I nodded. “I may perhaps have more on hand and a way to produce even more in the future.”

“The Gods Above, I’ll take all that you can give me!” he all but crowed. “Today, perhaps?” he continued.

“Fine,” I grunted. “Have the coin ready upon my return.”

Problem resolved, I turned and strode back to Raffnyk. True to his word, there was a sack that shifted and clanked next to a half-naked corpse upon my return. Efficient.

“The loot is yours,” he grunted after I had explained his supply issue could be rectified soon. Well, one of them. “I would chat for a while longer, but I have so much on my plate, and this mess has only yet begun.”

I pitied him, I really did. But no force between heaven and earth could make me take his place. With a farewell, I took my bag and set off.

Not a dozen steps had passed when someone yelled at me.

“Minotaur!” The orc I remembered as Stonefang beckoned me closer. He reeked of blood, sweat and tiredness as I approached. Open wounds glistened sickeningly over his wound as he stood, leaned against a wooden post. “Money to be made for one for your talents,” he grunted as I drew near. “Kill teams would be glad to have one of your kind among their ranks right now.”

He spoke true. Battle was Garek’s element. The heat of combat, the thrill of slaughter. I suspected the coin would be secondary in motivation if the old soul was still within this body.

But not mine. I sadly shook my head, told him I had other things to take care of, and set off back down the mountain, his eyes on my back until I had left the camp.

Chapter 45

For once, I was thankful that nothing of great import occurred in the time it took me to deliver a load of bottled acid up the mountain. Once the viscous liquid was firmly the alchemist’s problem, I made my way back home, considerably richer in terms of coin. With the sun dipping towards its afternoon slouch, I sat the cart back down and pondered what would happen next.

It was inconvenient, to say the least. The first harvest loomed ever closer, the crops ripe and ready to be taken off. But once that was done, what would I plant in return? I had taken the last stock of seeds from Hullbretch, and unless there were others with Skills like mine that accelerated the growth cycle, my pickings would be slim indeed.

The crops I had planted were not entirely optimal either. Having discussed prices and the like with Ishila, I had come to conclude that they could instead be channeled back into my farm. My original plan had been to sell the crops for profit. This had changed.

I leaned against the fence and gazed into the pasture as Gol approached and pressed his head into my side. The big burly beast was well-fed and placid. Slow and lumbering, not unlike the bears he resembled. But I knew all too well what lurked beneath that exterior, had seen firsthand how terrifying those creatures could be when spurred on by hunger.

It raised an interesting question. How and why were several of the animals here loosely similar to those back home?

While I had no concrete answer or even a theory, I did possess multitudes of questions. Queries for another time. For now, I simply stroked the lazy goof’s head and surveyed my fields. Large as the pasture was, the cows kept it under steady pressure. The growth of grass kept up to their needs, but just barely. My eyes wandered over sections gnawed down to the ground, yet I knew it would rapidly regrow and sprout within the next few days.

I wondered on this for a while. Was it at all affected by my Skills, like the crops in the field just across the road? If it was indeed not, could I then somewhat influence it?

The situation called for me to introduce even more cattle to this pasture for the sake of profit. More milk meant more supplies streaming up the mountain. Scent flooded my senses as I took in the smell of grass fertilized by cow manure. Hmm. That would unfortunately need to be cleared, sooner or later. Too high concentrations would render the soil burnt and unwilling to grow anything, if my experiences remained relevant.

A dirty job I could perhaps foist upon someone else. If not, I would need to grit my teeth and do it myself.

Oats would make for a decent feed supplement, I reckoned as my poor gaze slid between the fields and the pasture. Help take the strain off the grass and be able to accommodate more cows comfortably, for a while. Mental notes set in order, my attention turned back to the crop that could render me the most profit.

Monster plants.

The cleric-shine held so much value that it could not be understated. I had an entire stone fence erected around its patch to prevent the possibility of any pest being able to damage its precious petals. It alone was the source of my best seller, and I would do everything in my power to ensure it remained so.

Deal with the alchemist secured, the acid leached from the pepper-like plants now could also serve as a stream of revenue. If the bomb-bursts and biter-pods proved popular among guards and adventurers, I would also soon need to harvest more of them.

The spores I planned to keep for myself for the time being, and other plants I had examined but could not find a practical use for. A snake-like flytrap that moved unground seemed like a cool concept, yet it offered me little in terms of financial gain. Perhaps I could harvest its fangs?

Not everything that moved could be forced to turn a profit for me. This, I realized.

But for now, my affairs seemed to be in order. I needed work. Forward momentum to bury myself within as I hoped for news regarding Ishila. I had no idea when Le’rish would return, nor in what state. At current, she was the sole person I knew who could tell me where this eccentric farmer lived that could sell me more of these cows.

Perhaps Ishila’s parents knew, but I doubted they would be keen to answer. Even as I stood here, I itched for action. To get up and move. Do something. Anything. Try to occupy myself with anything but standing here wallowing in my own worry.

I needed help. Up until now, Ishila had stop-gapped that issue with impunity, single-handedly carrying the workload of several men. And now she was gone, and I knew that realistically, unless I tore myself seam from seam, something would fall behind.

Artyom had earned his place here, no one would dispute that. But his size alone prevented him from doing so much of what needed to be achieved. Another task filed away in my mental list. Wary gaze on another column of green-liveried infantry marching up the road, I continued to scratch behind Gol’s ear and sighed.

With so much excitement whipped up by the dungeon’s discovery, I suspected help might be hard to find.

The day grew late, and a choice was presented to me. Prepare supper and likely end the day, or try to cram in some more, much-needed work before the light fled beneath the horizon?

I chose the latter. I had already achieved a long, tenuous prosperous day. Survived an attempt on my life, cut several deals and reaped a very respectable profit. But there were tasks that called to be finished with all haste, and I had procrastinated long enough.

The sounds of evening rose around me, a mixed cacophony that sounded from all directions as I slid lumber onto my lodge’s roof and did my best to secure it. Log after log was heaved into place, laid into grooves, and secured as best I could. Artyom perpetually hovered around me, ready to hand me tools or fetch supplies as I worked on the wooden roof. This time, I followed Le’rish’s design with a few of my own adjustments to better house someone my size.

Slow and deliberate as it was, I managed to get perhaps half the roof in place before a lack of light forced the day to end. With a sigh, I helped Artyom pack away the tools opting to store everything inside the lodge. A door was still required, and I could perhaps work on a few windows afterward, but the structure was largely completed. With how much I weighed, I had some misgivings about the hollow space beneath the floor, but the lumber held my weight without much protest.

A few more good days of work and my new home would be complete. Just in time for me to vacate the old house and convert it into a storage space for crops and other goods. The vegetable garden near the place was also doing well, accelerated onward by my Skill and otherwise bountiful conditions.

The lodge would be complete just in time for me to be rushed headlong into more work. Torch in hand, I left Artyom with instructions to go light the fire and carry some water to the pot while I procured ingredients for yet another soup.

Some part of me said it was just begging for thievery if I left the tools unsecured in the lodge. Another replied that if there was a thief ballsy enough to stalk onto my property and not be mauled by Gol, I wouldn’t even feel peeved about the loss.

Lantern in hand, I yawned, stooped to make sure the chill-vines were properly secured around jugs of milk, and groaned as I realized I would soon need to harvest more. Either that or find a way to grow my own. The idea of venturing into a warzone to cut more of these for myself held little appeal, yet I needed them to preserve my goods.

Milk. Ishila was the one who usually delivered to the young couple down the road and often returned with several small gifts of gratitude in return. They were due a delivery soon, I remembered. Another task past due on an already lengthy list. Something caught my eye, and I grabbed the sack I had stored in here earlier this day.

All that remained of the madman and his vain attempt upon my life.

With a snort, I tied that to my belt, grabbed varied ingredients, and trudged off to once more taste my own miserable cooking. Perhaps it was Garek’s tastebuds being skewed, but nothing I had eaten in this world had ever tasted quite the same as back in the old world. I almost thought of it as ‘home’, then. The thought lingered, yet I banished it and forged onwards. Sentimentality aside, there remained little for me to return to, if I ever could.

If I ever wanted to.

By some mercy, Artyom volunteered to try his paws at tonight’s meal. More than glad to pass this task to another, I instead sat back and began to pull items from the sack. The worth of this man remained… meager. All that he left in this world was a broken sword, a pouch with scant few coins, faded crystals, some trinkets, and little else.

I knew not his name, yet I was certain he had died a fool.

The snapped blade still thrummed as I slowly moved the broken rapier around. A few experimental pokes showed it slid through the wood and even stone with almost no resistance. Even in it’s broken state, whatever spell made the edge so lethal held true. But how long would that last? The hilt was unremarkable, save for etches and patterns that adorned the guard.

Most of the crystals inside the bag were spent, lifeless husks. I had distinctly seen the man pull out several of these in a glowing state and call forth power stored within. What were they exactly? The ones he had used when attacking had been cast aside once spent, yet these were carried still.

Was there a way to refill those spent? What were their effects? Those few that held an azure glow within I avoided, lest I somehow trigger them. I had no idea as to their effects, yet thinking back on the blurred, focused moments of the attack, I noticed a general pattern to them.

Most, if not all, had aided the caster in some form. The doppelgangers, the icy whip, the azure prison. Only the explosion had not been something that directly buffed or enabled the wielder in some shape.

Questions piled upon each other with no distinct answer in sight.

I distractedly thanked Artyom for his wonderful cooking and sipped soup directly from the bowl as night reigned across a starry sky. Yet, tired as I had been, sleep did not call for me yet. Curiosity fueled my search as I turned trinkets in my grasp, determined to see if they were mundane or magical.

Of note was a metal star enclosed by an iron circle, a flat pendant dangled from a steel chain. There was something hidden inside it, I was sure. Yet, try as I might, I could not coax forth its secrets. The fire flickered, faded, and eventually ran out before I looked up and realized Artyom had headed to bed and Gol was sound asleep.

With my own yawn, I decided that this was enough exploration for the night and rose to turn myself in.

Almost to the house, the sound of hooves striking dirt caught my attention, and I turned to find a black figure riding through the darkness atop a silent stallion. Malice and dread washed over me as the specter drew near.

Valencia.

Chapter 46

The dreams of death were the sweetest Ishila had ever tasted. She skimmed along its calm surface, enthralled by the song of those silent depths below. Far-off melodies that promised peace eternal called her further down, even as she left the light behind.

Calm. Still. Quiet.

An expanse of gentle darkness bubbled soundlessly around here, a beautiful song sounding from further down. She hung here now, all the world’s weight lifted from tired shoulders, and slumbered within their cool embrace.

There existed no feeling here, only calm. Only contentment. Surrounded by oceans blue, she drifted along just beneath the surface, following that silent song.

Water was shorn apart as chaos descended. Black dread steel grasped her neck and ripped her back to the surface.

Ishila felt blood within her mouth as Valencia slapped her again. Roars, howls, and worse sounded through the stone corridors, followed by the rank stench of rot and ichor.

“Open your eyes, greenskin,” the dreadknight snarled. “I will have my dues before the void takes you.”

She was back in the dungeon. Deep inside its stone guts. Dragged by a woman who despised her. Her mind a hazy fog, Ishila fought to keep her own eyes open. There was blood everywhere. The wounds that were supposed to have healed seemed barely contained, about to split open once more. A scream longed to rip itself free, but her throat refused to work.

She vaguely lolled her head as Valencia straightened, dipped under a striking claw and splattered the monster across the rock wall. The dreadknight reeked of desolation and malice, cold hatred focused on anything that dared bar her way.

Things that vaguely resembled corpses decorated the dark corridor around them, torn asunder by the sheer force of the Dreadknight’s savagery. Ishila could not bring herself to summon emotion as she watched a black-clad fist close over a horror’s head. It was shaped to resemble a crushed grape a heartbeat later.

What remained of the corpse slumped forward and sent up dust.

On some level, Ishila realized that the true monster here stood before her now. Evidence lay all around her in the broken and torn bodies of the very horrors that had pursued her mere moments before. There had been an ambush, she was certain of. Spikes from the walls, horrors that emerged from all sides.

Valencia had simply not cared. There had been contemptuous laughter upon her throat as she ground them down to heaps of skin and bone, ripped ancient nightmares limb from limb.

Now, this fiend above Ishila, her very presence able to pierce the veil of apathy that draped across the orc.

“Stay awake, girl.”

Nary another word was given before Ishila found herself slung over the other woman’s shoulder once more.

Vague blinks were all she could muster as the blackguard carried her through pitch-dark corridors. The elf’s spell had run dry, and now the darkness grew deep around them. They descended downwards, deeper into this hellscape. There were bodies here now. Old ones. Bounced along like a rag doll upon Valencia’s back, Ishila could only just make out vague shapes as the woman strode overtop them. But the smell showed what sight failed to see.

The orc faintly registered ichor and decay as she was carried along, the scent almost suffocating in intensity. They were not headed back the way she had come, back to the light above, but down another path. One that Valencia seemed to know well.

Here was silence, now. If she had the energy to think, Ishila might have wondered why. But for now, she let herself be carried through corridors of carnage. Even at her full strength, she knew that trying to oppose the blackguard would have been the image of futility.

Stone corridors faded abruptly as she was carried through a blasted section of wall, up dirt tunnels, and then wrenched across Valencia’s back. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a pinprick of light in the distance, only to lose it once more as the dreadknight began to climb.

Consciousness faded, then was torn back to life when a steel fist slapped her awkwardly.

“Fight, greenskin,” the woman snarled. “Surely you can do the one thing your kind adores.”

Ishila watched the ascent through a thin haze, barely able to see the ladder being climbed. It took so, so long before they emerged inside rounded stone walls, barrels and weapons stacked all around them. She blinked blearily as Valencia carried her to a table and then felt pain inside as her body was deposited upon its surface.

Upwards she stared, eyes blank as the dreadknight circled and sniffed the air. She leaned over Ishila and jabbed one clawed finger into the massive gash upon her front. Steel dug through the scab, ripped it away, and felt at the clear liquid beneath.

“I expected some sort of intelligence from a half-elf.” She snorted and tore the partially healed skin away. Ishila’s eyes widened in pain, and another scream died before it could be born. “You continue to crush even those meager expectations.”

She continued in a conversational tone even as her steel claws raked along the wound’s open flesh. “Fleshknitters were the worst thing you could have consumed. These mongrels were made with these potions in mind. This recipe, this alchemy, has existed since your kind was young upon this world, halfbreed. Did none of you ever think, in all your arrogance, there would be one who could turn it against you?”

Quickly and efficiently, Ishila found her armor stripped off, and she lay oozing clear fluid atop the wooden slab, unable to move as Valencia circled.

She spoke on as Ishila lay twitching, her claws prying open every wound barely sealed. “Even if you kill them, their intent is to ensure your demise. Heed this lesson, little girl.” She bared her teeth and tore open another wound. “There are flaws in these potions. And where there are imperfections, there will be those like me to wrench them wipe open.

“You can’t feel anything,” she stated. “A small mercy as it melts your insides. The venom paralyzes. Slowly at first. You expend energy but are unable to gain any back. It is a testament to how fucking resilient you greenbacks are that you even have the strength to breathe.

“It kills you. Slowly. Gently. A death, one handspan at a time. Unforeseen. Unforgiving.”

She sounded almost… approving.

Heat approached from on high as Valencia stripped away her gauntlet and brought her hand near to Ishila’s gaping wounds. The flesh seared, the clear venom being burned away as a sun formed in the dreadknight’s hand.

Until finally, mercifully, Ishila could scream. She emptied her lungs of air as the woman knit her flesh back together and dried the fluid through sheer, focused heat.

Then the smallest wound was closed, and the blackguard moved on to larger ones.

She could not tell if the dreadknight jammed a strip of leather between her teeth out of disgust or pity. Nor did she care. Teeth clenched and eyes bulged as Valencia set about her work, brutally mending the orc’s broken body.

A haze, a blur of agony was all she could remember. Gently being flipped and roughly sewn up were motions she registered through the mind-shattering sensation of pain. She discovered new depths of agony, found things about herself she did not know existed.

And then it was over, and the cold returned once more. She found her head forced up, drink poured down her mouth. Some foul concoction. And then came deep, dark sleep. Filled with restless nightmares and the faces of those she had seen killed.

Not for long. She woke and struggled, only for Valencia to force her back into the nightmares once more.

“Sleep or your body will kill itself before I have the chance to,” came the command.

Ishila obeyed.

She awoke. Stone. Cold. Alone.

A thin sheet draped over her.

In so much pain.

Effort beyond anything she had ever expanded was needed to sit upright and groan, head held in her hands.

The sound summoned dread. Physically. The aura washed over her as Valencia stepped through a doorway. Tall, pale, and terrifying. Whatever fear Ishila held for her before was now only exacerbated by what she had seen her do.

“Monstress,” she croaked. Almost a greeting.

“That I am,” came the wicked smile in return. “You live because of I.”

“Where?” Ishila grunted, barely able to see.

“A tower in the middle of nowhere,” came the reply.

“How? Why?” She couldn’t form more than short bursts of speech. Too tired.

“Too many questions, greenback.” The other woman smiled, a sight that stirred no joy in Ishila. “Tell me everything. How you fools found the dungeon. How you woke it.”

Not a query, a demand. For a second, she was hesitant. But if not for Valencia, she would be a corpse inside a stone tomb right now. She owed her this much.

Slowly, painfully, she recounted all that she could remember. Valencia sat in silence, a still specter of gloom in the otherwise lit room.

“And none of this surprises me,” the woman intoned once Ishila fell silent. She was leaning backwards on a throne of piled chests, her arms draped over the sides. “Tiefling foolishness, Dwarven greed, and Elven lack of near-term consequences. And you. When have orcs ever done anything but heap their platters high with death and destruction?”

“And the humans with us?” Ishila tossed back, her face in a half-snarl.

“Fools and corpses.” Valencia shrugged. “Their reward for trusting one of you. Bad as the orc within you, the elven half of you is perhaps even worse. Close enough to human to fool those who would grant you some leeway, but never one of us. They hide it. Bury it. But there are those of us that know where the dungeons come from. Those who know the truth, though they hide it, lest one of the sunwood assassins visits their homes in the wee hours before the dawn.

“They say I am a monster because I reject those who are not of my kind.” She smiled thin and filled with malice. “But they never ask why. You have glimpsed the evil your forbearers wrought, though you know it not. They were the Gods’ mistake, and the world has paid for it ever since.”

She rose now, her presence an unbearable pressure on Ishila.

“The others are dead. The dwarf has fled, and only a fool would touch him and risk their name being writ in the Book of Grudges. Only you remain. I could snuff the candle here, let the blame for this be placed on you all.”

Tense and thick was the silence that spread now, only broken as Ishila flexed the fingers of her gauntlets.

“Would seem like a cruel joke to die here. I’m sure the Gods Above will approve.”

She loomed above the orc, a towering presence clad in blackest armor, strength beyond reason within her limbs. She reached out and grasped Ishila’s throat.

“You will not die this day. Not at my hands.” Valencia tilted her head from side to side, as if examining a piece of meat. “I will ride you home, instead. Remember this mercy, orc. It will not soon be extended again.”

She left her then, and Ishila fell backwards, exhausted. Hooves soon came outside, then rode away again. Once more, she was draped over and armored shoulder, then slid into a saddle as the light began to fade from the sky. There were no roads here as they trotted along, her tired arms wrapped around Valencia’s black form.

The sun sank, and moonlight began to rise before she finally recognized some of the scenery. They were near Garek’s farm. And before she could blink, they were riding across the road, past the crops she recognized so well, towards a figure that stood in the darkness, a lantern held high.

Chapter 47

Naught needed be said. I could feel the proverbial hackles rise as my claymore descended through the air into a readied stance. There were painfully few reasons for this woman to visit her presence upon my door under night’s cloak, and none of which I particularly liked.

Fate proved me wrong. The blackguard swung her horse alongside me, sneering down at my raised guard. It was then that I glimpsed the figure slouched behind her, arms wrapped around the dreadknight’s dark armor. Silver hair, green skin, and the smell of dried blood all struck me at the same time. My weapon was tossed aside and Ishila’s grumbling body caught as Valencia roughly hauled her up with one hand and tossed her to me.

Questions tumbled through my mind, one quashing the next before they could be voiced.

“Your pagan gods have granted you blessings upon blessings this day, bull,” came the derisive laugh from on high as the stallion reared towards the sky. “Count them all.”

“And who should I send to notify you once they have been thoroughly counted?” I snarked back, unable to keep myself from rising to her jab. In my defense, the past few days had been an unpleasant experience, and now this topped it all off.

“Send unto me anyone you like.” Valencia smiled, teeth bared in the moonlight. “But make sure you do not want them returned.”

“Why me? Why not take her back to her parents?” I demanded.

“Soon there will be death enough for all. The reaper does not yet need me to exacerbate this harvest by ushering in an early dawn.”

Her laugh echoed through the chill air, fading into the distance as she wheeled and trotted back into the gloom. Gone just as quickly as her arrival. And here I was left to hold the groaning body of the girl I considered my closest friend.

Artyom answered my bellow, eyes fighting the onslaught of sleep. Door burst inward under my hoof, I saw the felinid scramble from his bed as I hurried past to dump Ishila into mine. The scent of melted flesh reared fear inside me, followed by an almost instinctive bellow for the healing milk. Irritation flared as he didn’t budge.

Disappointment and a hint of fear followed his words. “We have none, no-no,” he sleepily grumbled and rubbed at his head. “Used it all, yes-yes.”

My mind stood blank for a moment before realization struck that, yes, I had indeed used it all. Between sales to the camp then healing Le’rish and my own wounds, my supply was thoroughly exhausted. A few petals had been left to soak today, but they would need days for their effect to spread into the milk. Days I might not have.

“Run to the shed,” I commanded. “Fish what petals you can out of the milk and bring them here. All of them.”

Worried gaze cast back at Ishila’s quiet form, I, too, left the house. Hurried strides carried me to my garden where the lone cleric-shine reveled in its pool of liquids. Its petals were premature, small, and just beginning to settle into their growth. Without so much as a thought, I plucked them off, cupped them in my hand, and hurried back to the house.

Ishila had not magically disappeared during my brief absence, nor showed any signs of wanting to. She lay on the bed, obviously in no small amount of pain. But not pained enough to prevent her from cracking a pained smile as I hovered nervously above her.

“Look at you,” she croaked. “A big, burly healer, worried like an old housewife. I should keep ya around more.”

For a heartbeat, I was tempted to roll my eyes so hard heaven itself would break. Just back, obviously been fed through the grinder, and already eager to spout off sass. It relieved a part within myself that she had not been changed in this short time. That small piece of me found comfort in that idea. The rest worked on keeping her that way.

“Mouth open, tongue out,” I rumbled and deposited a few scant petals as she obeyed. My eyes traced massive scars of fused flesh up and down her body. I found myself wincing at the thought of what had caused those.

“How?” I demanded. Her tired eyes followed by own and the lass groaned.

“Valencia.”

My temper flared at that moment as my mind ran with possibilities. What had that monstress done to Ishila? Thoughts screamed through my mind, driven by anger and the stirrings of vengeance.

“Healed me,” she continued.

“Oh,” I replied, and thoughts of violence dissipated. “Seems like a very crude way of healing to me.”

“Was right painful,” she grunted. “But necessary.”

“There were none of your fleshknitter potions on hand?” I questioned, skeptical.

Ishila blanched at the mention, something that only further piqued my morbid interest. “Those both saved my life and nearly ended it.” The lass groaned, one arm flopped across her face as I hung the lantern and lit the candles.

Where was Artyom?

Through rough, pained breaths, she slowly recounted the events that had transpired, all the while swallowing what few petals I had left. Her breathing became smoother, less erratic as the cleric-shine worked its magic upon her form, though I could not see the results.

“I would call it a series of unfortunate mishaps, but to be blunt about it, the Tiefling led you all to your deaths.”

There was a grimace, a pause, and a noncommittal shrug. Too good for, well, her own good. But who was I to advocate for cynicism? My entire outlook was to try and see the good in people, even if there were those in which that was naught but a hungry void. One name sprung to mind when I thought of that.

Valencia.

Despite what I thought of her, her actions forced me to acknowledge that, buried somewhere deep within, some inestimably small spark of good still survived. I could not write her off as a complete monstress. Ishila lived because of her, and that alone meant much to me—and to others.

“And the tower she kept you in?” I asked and fed her the last of what few petals remained. “Do you know its location?”

A shaken head was my response as the lass chewed and swallowed.

“Nah. Don’t know. Lotsa trees ‘round it. Somewhere in teh forests. Don’t know which direction though.”

I nodded along to that, pondering the revelations that came with this. “She has her own entrance to this dungeon,” I speculated, crouched near the bed’s edge. “So she knew of its existence and found her own way inside.”

“More’n that.” Ishila winced and gulped down air, one hand clamped down on a shivering leg muscle. “Been actively delvin’ through it. Butcherin’ the monsters inside without wakin’ the dungeon.”

“Butchering is a very… ah, deliberate description.”

“Only one that fits. Slaughterin’ works too.”

I listened, attention rapt as she described the methodically pierced walls, guardians asleep inside obliterated, then casual decimation of those that had awakened, and sheer disdain with which Valencia killed those in her path. Every word only further solidified her as a danger. The more there was revealed of this woman, the more I doubted my own ability to defeat her in combat, should it ever come to that. I was strong, a monster in the eyes of men, yet through sheer brutality, she seemed to exceed even that.

“For now, you need rest, not me interrogating you for information that can be shared another day,” I rumbled and rose up. “I need to go see what is keeping Artyom. Once you are better healed, further topics can be discussed, if you so will it.”

One could almost feel the smile fade from her face as I turned, followed by her slumping backwards. She did not display it, but I would be shocked if the ambush and following pursuit had not scarred her on some level. The smile on her features had not matched her scent at all.

“I cleaned these same wounds off Le’rish several days ago.” I paused and let that sink into the silence. “She ran for the dungeon to save you. Came back just in a similar state as you. Even now, your parents are preparing to tear apart the dungeon in search of you.”

Silence was my answer, but the faint scent of some small happiness reached my nostrils before I strode through the doorway. I found Artyom leaned against the shed’s doorway, slumped and dejected as he stared up at the pale moon.

Questions swirled through my mind, some irate, others worried. I chose the civil response, merely asked if he was alright.

“I can’t,” the felinid replied quietly, his usual excited stammer gone.

My tone stayed gentle as I squatted before him. “Can’t do what?”

“Go inside. Dip my paws in the milk. Feel it on my fur. Smell its sweet, rich scent. Taste its presence on my tongue.

“You don’t understand, Garek,” he continued before I spoke. “It is an addiction to my kind. We are born with it and will die with it. Does this seem like an awkward, inopportune time for it to flare up? That is what I deal with every day, yes-yes. I fled my previous home, because I was becoming too reliant on it, spending all my coin on it, about to resign myself to near slavery for another taste.”

And all this time I had been making him work right next to it, with it, getting him to carry it. There was little I could say, just quietly nod, promise to help him with it, and send him back to the house.

Fishing the petals out by myself was a quick task, although I wondered what would have happened if Artyom had tried to. I couldn’t imagine, but he obviously knew his demons and what they would have done.

A small batch of petals gathered, I trotted back to my humble abode. Ishila grinned weakly as I entered, followed by a grimace as she swallowed the petals in silence. Much larger than the ones I had plucked from the bloom, these seemed to have a far more noticeable effect. Her hands traced the gash down her front, watched as it began to fade until all that remained was a thick scar.

“Huh.”

Indeed. No matter how often I’d seen these petals work their magic, there was always a joy in seeing something so pure happen. The act of healing, of mending itself was magical in all the best ways. No other power, skill, or act fascinated me as much as seeing what was broken made whole once more.

“There is somethin’ of importance I am tryin’ to remember.” Ishila frowned, halfway through running a finger over another wholly closed wound. She sat upright now, strength returned to her form by the bloom’s blessed nature. “It keeps slippin’ off my mind.”

“Perhaps it is not of great import, then,” I suggested, tone mild.

“But I feel like it is. Somethin’ crucial. There’s a hole in my memories, and I know it’s vital to somethin’.”

“It might return in the morning when you have slept and truly rested.” I paused and glanced out the window. “Although, that is not far off.”

The night had already been late when Valencia had arrived, and now, hours later, the moon was sinking towards the horizon, chased further down as dawn approached.

“I have a feeling we should perhaps skip breakfast and get you back to your parents before anything monumental transpires. Wouldn’t want them to go and invade the dungeon in search of you because we delayed to have a meal or something foolish like that.”

“A good plan,” Ishila agreed.

And that was that. Dawn’s pale light had just laced itself across the sky above as we took to the road, Ishila supported at my side and hobbling along. The past few days had been tense, filled with dread and uncertainty. Yet, now it was time to take her home.

Chapter 48

Perhaps it was a fault in my own nature that I found my attention not upon Ishila, but on her parents’ rather prosperous crops. The farmstead lay empty as we approached. Windows dark, porch lacking its usual occupant. Animals grazed in fields far from the road, yet there were no signs of life otherwise.

A sharp rap upon the wooden door stirred no life within, a fact that seemed not to bother the lass at all.

“They’ll be back in a bit,” she tiredly drawled and jabbed one finger towards the trees.

My vision followed her, landed on a hunched vulture sat atop an old tree, and followed it skyward. The bird laughed once, launched itself heavenward, and soon disappeared behind the forest’s wooden walls.

“She knows now.” Ishila grunted as I slid her weight onto the rather large, sturdy chair that overlooked the road. “Out for a mornin’ hunt, gonna come hurryin’ back soonish.”

A nod was what I offered in return, head turned to look around.

“Nice farm,” I commented, even though I had walked past here a dozen times. Maybe less.

“Was born here, raised here, and Gods’ willin’, I won’t die here.” She grunted, slumped back and weary. There was something in that sentiment I shared, truly. “Farm life is nice. Mostly safe, specially with Mah and Pa scarin’ off all the wildlife just by existin’. But they always wanted me to just live here with ‘em.”

“Parents are protective like that.” I shrugged.

“Worst part of this is, I proved ‘em right.” Ishila sighed. “First time I go out and try tah do somethin’ on my own, everythin’ goes horribly wrong.”

“About that.” I winced. “There have been… developments.”

“Ah yes, please do tell,” came the groan as her head lolled back. A quick recount of the area’s response to the dungeon’s abrupt awakening brought a terse mood to her face.

She spoke quietly once I had finished. “There will be blood over this. Someone will call for a scapegoat. The one responsible for this. For what is to come. Dungeons are not just unleashed and the cause of their awakening forgotten. For smaller, easily contained ones, they would herald you a hero for finding it. Not this.”

“How so?”

“This, this thing is ancient. Massive beyond anythin’ I have heard tell of. It spans leagues below the earth, and that’s only what I saw.” There was a distant look in her eyes as Ishila gazed at the morning sky. “Filled to the brim with monsters, traps, creatures I don’t want to remember. There will be blood, Garek, and I am firmly in league of those who woke it.”

“What about the others?” I questioned

“What about them?” She laughed, her voice hollow. “Dead to a man. Dwarf teleported out.”

“He ran,” I relayed what Le’rish had told me. “Took a horse and fled.”

“Knew what was coming. Didn’t want to risk it, even with his vaunted protection.”

“His what?’

“No one’s fool enough to touch a dwarf, Garek. From kings to street rats, every livin’ being on this continent will sing the same tune. A dwarf dies, and more go to war. They dig under the cities, come from where there is no defense, and they leave no survivors. No one in their right mind will touch ‘em. But people won’t be in their right mind, once the horrors come burstin’ out.”

“So only you remain.”

“Aye. Perfect mess I’ve dug myself into. Didn’t even think o’ all this before I went in. Just some fool girl in search of adventure and treasure. Life has a way with harsh lessons, I guess.”

“Something puzzles me, I must admit,” I mused after a moment.

“Do tell.”

“Valencia.”

“I have no idea why the fuck she saved me, if that’s what yer askin’.” Ishila gave a choked laugh. “What goes on in her mind, I haven’t the faintest idea. One day, I’m sure she’s some irredeemable monstress that despises me for simply existin’, the next she’s draggin’ my carcass out of a dungeon and piecin’ me back together.”

“She is…” I pondered for a moment.

“Evil? Yes. Monstrous? Agreed in a heartbeat.”

“My suggestion would have been unpredictable, but those work splendidly,” came the sigh from my throat as we waited.

A flock of ravens approached over the treetops, their distant caws of laughter a hammer against the morning’s quiet.

The towering green form of Tehalis Warborne burst from the trees heartbeats later, carcass of a mossdeer slung over her shoulder. Long strides closed the distance at all speed, and soon, she loomed over Ishila. Muscular arms swept the lass into a crushing hug. A weak smile on her face, Ishila returned the gesture. I simply stood by and watched, the vague feeling that I was intruding on a rare moment gnawing at my mind.

“So,” the larger woman said once she had released her daughter, “you have brought my child home. What reward do you seek?”

Blunt and to the point, even if there wasn’t one.

“None,” I rumbled. “I am not wholly responsible for her rescue, only for healing her. Her safety is my sole concern.”

“Then you are different than most of your race.”

“And here I thought that had already been firmly established,” I grunted and wrinkled my nose at the sweet stench of blood that permeated her form.

“We will see.” She shrugged and turned to the returned vulture that now sat upon the porch rails. “Fly,” came the command, and with wings spread, it obeyed.

Daughter scooped up in her arms, the orc led the way inside. For once, I did not have to stoop far to enter the doorway, a matter I found pleasant. Everything inside was built large and sturdy. A table seated three, with a fireplace along the far wall, comfortable chairs, large windows, and all the furnishings one would expect from a significantly well-off family.

Ishila was taken from one chair and deposited in another, then sat as her mother checked her over.

“Tell me. Everything,” Tehalis demanded.

Ishila relayed her experiences once more, the story just as genuine as when I had heard it hours ago. I found myself wincing as she described the trap, the desperate flight, the pitfall, and Valencia’s arrival. Those came in vivid detail. What followed after, she described as an unclear blur up until I had taken her from the dreadknight.

While I stood and empathized with her pain, Tehalis paced, her knuckles tight on the handles of sheathed weapons. An anger simmered within her, one that was plain to anyone that gazed upon her.

“Listen to me, girl.” She abruptly stopped and grasped Ishila’s shoulders. “Take me back to the start. Where did you meet the party?”

“At Garek’s,” she replied, puzzled.

“No, when you went up the mountain.”

“We met on the road.”

The words caused some relief to wash over the orc’s otherwise tight face. “You did not mingle with them inside the camp, were not seen in their presence?” came the terse questions.

“Not that I remember.”

I could smell the relief that enter Tehalis then.

“Then as far as the world is concerned, you never stepped foot in that dungeon. No one knows you were missing. As far as the soldiers are concerned, your father has been helping him from the goodness of his heart, and I have been furious with battle-frenzy. You were in the house this entire time, sick with fever or some such.”

“But—”

“No.” There was an certainty, an absolute in Tehalis’s words that gave even me pause.

“She has valuable information about the dungeon, its monsters, and what other horrors are contained within,” I pointed out. “Knowledge that could save lives.”

“Knowledge that will see her killed,” the orc snarled. “I will not have my daughter offered up as a sacrificial lamb when those that rule demand their scapegoat for unleashing that place onto everyone.”

The air cracked, and a flame-haired giant of an elf materialized before me. Velton Grenzwald looked around, spotted his daughter, and swept her up into a hug as she feebly protested. He demanded to be let in on what had happened, and Ishila ran through the events once more.

In contrast to Tehalis’s pacing, he sat quietly, pondering her every word as his head sternly nodded along.

“I am in complete agreement with your mother,” he concluded. “As of current, only a very specific handful of people even know you were inside the dungeon. Six, to be exact.”

“Myself, your parents, you, Le’rish, and Valencia.”

Tehalis’s face twitched at the mention of Le’rish’s name. Interesting.

“The huntress will not reveal such information unless it is in some way directly beneficial to her cause. The dreadknight, however, I can make no assurances for.”

“So we silence her,” Tehalis growled.

“Quench your bloodthirst for a singular moment, dear.” The elf sighed. “Remember why we moved out here and what, perchance, could destroy what we have built. The blackguard is still a mystery to me. And I despise uncertain battles. I propose… diplomacy.” The word seemed bitter as it left his mouth, and all knew why.

“There might be a seventh you are not thinking of,” I interjected. “The dwarf that fled.”

“Ah.” Velton sighed. “Him. That is now firmly out of our hands. As it stands, we stand to lose nothing by his absence either way. He does not know that Ishila survived.”

“Le’rish has left to run him down,” I followed up.

“Of course,” the elf groaned. “She demands her pound of flesh, no doubt. Blinded by her anger. But that will be her reckoning, not ours.”

“What are ‘sunwood assassins’?” Ishila threw that bombshell into the conversation, and the room froze.

Tehalis stopped mid-stride and turned to her daughter as Velton leaned back and closed his eyes. I remained clueless, yet could smell the tension that suddenly coated the air.

“Where did you hear that term?” the elf quietly demanded.

“Valencia mentioned it to me while she was gloating.”

“Of course.” Velton sounded tired now, ragged. “Of course she knows.”

“Knows what?”

“Were life good and things reasonable, we would never have to have this conversation,” he continued. All eyes turned to look at me.

“Much as we respect you, Garek, this is not for your ears.”

“No.” Ishila held up her hand. “I insist. There is no closer friend or better person in this room. I explicitly trust him with my life. Whatever this is, he hears it as well.”

The elf just sighed and shook his head.

“Stubborn girl.”

“I got it from both of you.” She shrugged.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

There were a few moments of silence as everyone sort of hovered around, waiting for him to speak. I leaned against the wall, Ishila sat upright in her chair, and Tehalis gazed out a window.

“There is a reason your mother and I live in the middle of nowhere, Ishila. And it isn’t simply because we desire isolation. Up until now, I have taught you little about your elven heritage, and for good reason. Ours is not a pretty history, nor one I would ever want you involved in. One of the less… desirable parts of this is the Sunwood. A faction obsessed with elven purity. Maintaining the reputation of my species.”

“Not our species?”

“Never,” he hissed. “You are my daughter, and I love you beyond all things, but do not ever think to mix yourself in amongst them. Elves do not mix with the lesser races, nor allow others to. We, your mother and I, left in secret, traveled a continent away, and buried ourselves deep inside human lands where the locals might mutter about us but never take real interest.”

“Then we had you. And for a time, things were manageable. Now that is… murky. This is why we did not want you to be an adventurer. Mere word of your existence as a halfbreed would bring these fanatics to you. To them, the elven bloodline will remain pure or not exist at all. All the power, all the strength you accumulate would never deter their blades. Even now, they visit those who are in possession of inconvenient knowledge. And ensure they speak it no further.”

“Then why did you let me go up the mountain? Did you know there was a dungeon there?”

“No. We knew there was something, but were convinced the Apex would scare off any potential threats. It has nested up there for as long as we have been here, and for a long time, that was enough. No one came here. No one went up the Redtip. Whatever secret was up there stayed buried. But for as much as we know, we are not omniscient. Events have transpired in frankly unfortunate ways, and now we are left to salvage what remains.”

Chapter 49

I will admit, there were more questions within my skull as I left the farm than when I had entered, if such a thing was even possible. This was yet another complication to my dream of idyllic, peaceful farming. Yet, for today, things seemed to be on the upturn. Perhaps. Ishila was back in safe hands, if perhaps scarred by her adventures. We had discussed matters of supply and how to best deal with the situation at hand.

For now, Velton had assured me that we needed only to pretend as if Ishila had been sick for the past several days and had nothing to do with the awakening. I had not disclosed the information to anyone else, save for Artyom and Le’rish. Any other leaks would be… taken care of, or so the elf promised. Truth be told, the tone of voice in which he had suggested that unsettled me.

For now, they were content to let the proverbial ball roll at its own pace and for events to take their natural conclusion. News would no doubt be spreading akin to wildfire, and they intended to step back and let the humans either save or damn themselves for now.

There had been a glint in the elf’s eyes when I asked how he intended to avoid further scrutiny, and I had chosen not to press the question further.

For now, I tiredly walked home. Chronically deprived of sleep, I yawned in the mid-morning heat and vowed to catch up on some much-needed rest once the chores were done. I would have a visitor later, but nothing that rushed to be addressed at the moment.

Fate smiled upon me, and I made it to the safety of mine own home without further altercation or some monumental event unfolding upon me.

The cows were not yet milked, I discovered, but all other chores had been tended to. Artyom was currently entrenched within the vegetable garden, stalking his prey with the look of a hunter set in his eyes. As I watched, his ears flattened, fur stood on end, and hiss escaped his mouth. Like a blur, he shot across the dirt, bounded over the stem of a tomato plant, and ripped free that which he stalked. The weed spilled dirt and was deposited firmly into the wicker basket carried at his side.

One more foe overcome.

With a tired wave, I made note to thank him for his hard work, grabbed some pails myself, and headed for the pasture. Come hell upon this earth or grace everlasting descending from the sky, the cows would be milked.

Several turbulent tussles later, I gave up on trying to milk them without
Cloven Crash, froze them in place, and went about my work. Patience could wait for another day. Milk stored in the shed, I sighed, rubbed weary eyes, and sought out the shade.

Sleep should have claimed me before my eyelids properly closed, but instead I just sat there, sort of half-awake and caught between my waking dreams and the thought of just slogging through the day anyhow.

By some grand miracle, the darkness took hold, and I drifted off.

Not for long.

A rather rude kick woke me, and my eyes dragged themselves open to find a crimson-haired elf patiently drawing back for another jab. A few confused blinks confirmed that, yes, it has mysteriously turned into late afternoon despite me only falling asleep mere seconds ago.

“The time for rest will come later,” was all he offered as I blinked at him with accusing eyes.

“Fine,” was all the response I deigned to offer him.

It took more effort than I was strictly proud of to haul myself up and stare balefully at the smaller man. Tall as he was for his kind, I was still a minotaur and held several feet of height to my advantage.

If he was at all intimidated by that, it showed neither in his scent nor on his expression.

“This supposed wondrous flower with remarkable healing properties my daughter maintains is so all-important. I would wish to see it.”

A yawn stifled in my throat, I nodded, lumbered past his smaller form, and led him to the garden. With a grunt, I nudged the bled-out carcass aside and gestured to the already-regrowing petals with a wince. It was rather bare at the moment.

“I’d offer you an example, but I expended it all to heal your little girl.”

“For which you have my gratitude,” came the stiff reply. “If I might?”

A nod of approval was given, and the elf knelt down to inspect the plant. Much more hands-on then I had been about it. He poked it physically, prodded it with magic, felt it out and hummed to himself all the while.

“It feeds on blood, I take?’

A suspicion I confirmed.

“I suspect a sort of vampirism, but the healing properties seem anathema to the usual nature of such beings. My second theory, it is an older strain of plant from a time. A more relevant one would be that this is an exceptionally foreign plant from some distant land where blood sacrifices to their native gods in return is still a common practice.

“Make no mistake, the power exuded by it is clerical in nature. Only those dedicated in service to one of your Gods Above emits the same radiance.”

As he spoke, a knife was produced, and a small incision cut across Velton’s palm. Blood dripped from tanned skin, coming to land directly upon the petals.

“Your Gods?” I questioned. “Interesting wording there.”

“Correct.” He nodded, attentively in examination as the petals lost their pale hue for a moment.

They seemed to swell as the blood was lapped up, its rich scent fading from the air. The elf’s lifeblood smelled… different. What a strange thing to think, but here, amidst dried ichor in the soil below us, his had an unusual tang to it.

“We—dragons and elves alike—are firmly the mistakes of the Old Ones. This new pantheon begets no worship from us.”

A rumble of thunder rolled across the clear sky as he said those words, yes all it elicited from the elf were rolled eyes.

“They bark and yammer about it occasionally but are content to leave well enough alone, for the most part.” He headed off my next question. “A much more lenient bunch than those they overthrew.”

Garek, unsurprisingly, had no memories nor interest in local pantheon politics. He only knew that their followers were marginally harder to kill on the field of battle, which in turn made him seek them out more. A mind for a challenge, that one.

“Observe,” he demanded. “The difference between clerical might and human alchemy.”

Two slashes were flicked up his arm, and a flask filled with viscous liquid withdrawn. A substance I realized was fleshknitter he poured over one wound, then ripped off a half-grown petal and smeared it across the other. I watched closely as the first wound pulled itself closed, muscles and flesh pulled back together as if by magnetic attraction.

The second healed much more slowly. Split skin reconnected from the inside out, a pure and gentle rebinding of the flesh that purged the wound. One left a scar behind, the other did not. With a grunt and a flick, that mark too vanished, and the elf nodded up at me. I had heard this described and knew the difference, of course, but seeing the difference in action, side by side, was a new experience.

“One is roughshod human invention, a manipulation of the System and its gifts. The other is divine absolution. Now,” he bent closer, “for the real test. What is the usual growth length for one of these petals?”

A frown came to my face as I scratched my chin and tried to remember.

“Constantly fed with blood, watered, and with good sunlight, around four to five days?” I mused.

“And what sort of blood do you stain this soil with?”

“Mossdeer, various small animals that Gol brings back.” I gestured to the slumbering creature.

“Mmmm. Has it ever consumed the blood of creatures more directly affected by the System. Say, ah, monsters or people?”

“Would Stonemongers count?” I asked, trying to remember if those things I had disposed of had been near the cleric-shine.

“Absolutely. It reacted rather quickly to my blood, if you’ll recall.” He continued on, brisk and no-nonsense, “My theory of this being from where blood sacrifices to their Gods are still common seems to grow stronger with every new revelation. As such, I would assume that this plant is attuned to the System itself.”

“And this means?”

“To put it very simply, the blood of higher-leveled beings will spur its regrowth faster than not. A crude way of putting it, I realize, yet that is how it works. Am I being blunt enough with this? This last corpse here was a human, I take.”

I blinked and realized that, yes, it was.

“A level-grinder that attacked me on the road.” I nodded.

“Then one could safely assume you’ll see a growth spurt within the next day or two. Keep feeding it good blood, and it will continue to grow quickly. Lower-leveled, watered-down slop with to drag out its potential regeneration properties. You’ll find the system demands something be given in exchange for another thing taken.”

“Nothing is ever free.” I nodded grimly.

“Not in the purview of your benevolent Gods, at least.” He chuckled.

“This is excellent.” I nodded. “Wisdom that will help me and my endeavors.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”

“It is not entirely the knowledge I seek.”

“And so we arrive at your actual query.”

“It is imperative, for me at the very least, that we find a way to replicate this plant. I have not yet discovered a way to do this.”

“It has regenerative properties, does it not? This should be evidenced by how it heals itself whenever you pluck off.”

“Indeed.”

“Then, I would suggest a small test. Like so.”

He gestured, and my eyes widened in horror as part of the bloom’s center was simply cut away. The elf gestured, and the piece sprung to his hand, which he then presented to me.

“Unless my extensive knowledge on this topic suddenly and inexplicably fails me, it should be fine,” he reassured me with confidence I did not share.

That plant was by far the single most precious thing on this farm. Its value was absolute. To see it so casually damaged after I had carefully tended to it for weeks now was a shock, to state it mildly.

He handed it to me with instructions to bury it in soil, water it thoroughly in quality blood, nourish it with water and copious amounts of sunlight.

“Now, I am not entirely suggesting that you start cutting down high-leveled individuals or some such to get better blood for this thing.”

“I am sensing a ‘but’ here,” I returned his earlier quip.

“You are close friends with Le’rish, are you not?”

“I would hesitate to define our relationship as close.”

“Yet, she of all people would be able to procure these needed substances if you but ask. And don’t pose too many questions about the hows.”

“Noted,” I replied.

Yet, such a dubious offer would not sit right with me. I had my morals. I would stick to them or die trying. There were obvious implications in what the elf had said, and none that I was willing to closely entertain.

“Well then, I believe that concludes our business here today.” He nodded.

Before I could so much as protest, he was gone, naught but the sound of a thunderous crack left behind. With a tired sigh, I rubbed my eyes, looked down at the frighteningly large piece of cleric-shine, and hurried off to find a pot and some soil.

Whatever the weeks to come would hold, I could rest assured that at the very least, I likely would not find myself overly bored.

Chapter 50

Harvest was upon us. And I was woefully unprepared. This I realized as I stood and stretched come morning, one hand rubbed across my eyes in a futile attempt to dispel sleep’s hold.

There was some innate sense that told me the crops were ready, before I even looked upon them. Something tied to the Class I possessed produced a vague… feeling deep within. Much as I appreciated such boons from this world’s system, I was not reliant on its input alone. Physical examination confirmed that, yes, the fields were ripe to be reaped. And whether I liked it or not, now was the time.

Acres stretched before me, filled with oats and barley to be taken off and processed until it could be fed to the cows and, in turn, fuel their production of milk. Ishila being here to help had been my original plan for all this, but such designs did not hold up to the world’s weight as it moved around me.

Artyom rode atop Gol as the two made their way over to my disgruntled form.

Early as the time was, with dawn barely having broken above the horizon, there was work to do aplenty. One of the many tools I had commissioned from the blacksmith in Hullbretch was, to put it bluntly, a massive scythe. In human hands, it would have been ludicrously large. Overkill would have been an accurate descriptor.

Not in mine. In fact, it was a tad small, but a few test swings showed it would do. The felinid and Gol in tow, I lumbered over to the fields and instinctively groaned as I looked out over the fields. With the tools that I possessed and unaided by Skills or Classes, the average human could reap roughly an acre on a good day.

I intended to do it all. Grasped by hilt and handle, the scythe traveled in its half-moon path, honed blade shearing through ripened stalks without resistance. I had no frame of reference to compare it to but would have been willing to wager that the edge’s sharpness was the result of the blacksmith’s own system-fueled skill.

Iron whirled, oats fell, and Artyom moved at a mad pace. I cut, then stopped for a moment to watch as he energetically bundled the felled oats together into stocks. With a grunt, he slid a stalk around the pile and tied it together. Quick and knowledgeable. But despite that, my tremendous form, strength, and relentless rhythm soon left him in the proverbial dust.

Hard worker though he was, the felinid was only a single person and slower than a human. It was not in my nature to leave another to work alone, I found. With a sizable lead formed, I rested the scythe and turned back to help him catch up. My far larger fingers proved clumsy when I attempted to do the same bindings as him.

So the natural conclusion was that I would stack the stocks and leave him to bind them. Gol lazed about at the field’s edge, perhaps thinking of yet another slow day in which he needn’t do anything.

I had other plans.

With a yawn, he followed my whistle and beckon, trudging through the dirt and sniffing at freshly reaped stubble. A sack of thin ropes deposited nearby, I watched as Artyom tied several bundled stocks together, sizing up Gol’s bulk to adjust the difference.

“Ready for some exercise?” I posed the non-question while rubbing Gol’s forehead carapace.

In truth, his readiness made little difference. The task would be done.

Without so much as a grunt of exertion, I lifted the bundled mass and dropped them upon Gol’s back. While typically they would have just been left and propped up for a few days to dry, my need to get the soil growing something again meant that I didn’t have that time to wait for them.

With instructions to take them back to the house and lay them out in the sun, Artyom waved from atop Gol’s back, and the duo lumbered off, stocks of oats hanging from either side. Though I sincerely doubted that he felt the burden at all, there was still some protest, although quickly quenched by Artyom’s iron paw.

With long, wide strokes, I cut my way around the field’s borders. It was with caution that I now approached the spots where my monster plants had been sown. There were a concerning amount of skeletons around the cohabitation of the biter-pods and spore-puffers, most of which seemed like pests and other small rodents.

But not all.

With a sigh, I watched the brownish waves of oats fall as my scythe passed beneath their crowns. Careful scoops brought the stacks of grain far away from the eager teeth that hid among the large vines. Up to my waist now, these plants had been well-fed, and hungered for more. I had no doubt that if Artyom tried to bundle up stocks in their presence, they would not hesitate at the free meal.

And yet, dangerous as they were, I intended to grow more.

A section of the ground closed before me, green fangs retracted back into the soil as the snake-like flytrap fled my presence. Always lurking within the same small area, I had come to realize it was somewhat of a coward. But that only meant I could place my hooves without the worry of stepping right into its mouth.

A cold chill raced up my form, and my scythe halted mid-swing. Brown grain fell away to reveal the blade that rested against the squat, colorless tree that had been planted here, drained corpses of insects and rodents hanging from sickly branches. Dubbed the Hanging Tree, I still had little idea as to what use I could extract from it, and now, with it hidden amongst the crop, I had nearly mowed it down.

Slowly, carefully, I withdrew the blade and winced at the gash it had left in the supple, fleshy bark. It already looked fragile enough as was to the eye, like it might wither and die on command. Didn’t need me to speed along that process.

A trail of labor left in my wake, I continued to work my way around the field, snout wrinkled up as I approached the pepper-like acid plants. The sickly sweet smell barely covered up the burnt stench of flesh and carapaces anymore. Despite posing the highest danger, these were perhaps the easiest plants to work around, given that they only squirted upon touch.

With that in mind, I still directed Artyom to be especially careful. Would it be that I could follow my instructions, however…

The outside swathe cleared, I returned to help my tired felinid bundle and load stocks onto Gol’s broad back. Once his complaining ceased and a properly large load hung from either side, I waved him off with a grin and turned to cut across still standing oats to where my scythe rested.

Something round and jagged struck me, I realized. I was staggered back, hit with all the force of a speeding truck. My eyes widened, and I looked down to see the detonated burstball slide down my skin, having physically struck me harder than anything I’d experienced before.

There was pain, for no surprise was truly complete in its absence. Writhing, dull agony accompanied by the knowledge that if Gol or Artyom had been in my place, they would resemble a stain across the field.

This has gone far enough. I stomped back towards the house, shoulder clutched in pain, yelling at Gol and Artyom to stay clear. Blinking in the faint hope that nothing was broken, I wrenched open the door to the old house, realized I had the wrong place, and headed to the storage shed. Fat bags of spores were exactly what I was looking for.

One hand waved off the duo’s concerned looks, the other carried several bags of spores as I returned to the fields. The bomb-burst had detected me from outside what I knew its usual range to be and was capable of inflicting harm on me. I did not think on what it could do to the others, nor had any particular want to.

Ironhide was called, the sensation of my skin becoming hard a faint thing as I stomped through the dirt. I stepped past where I had been struck moments earlier, and another sphere slammed into my skin. This time, barely felt. Another exploded violently from its nest and grazed my skull. A blow that would have caved the head of another. Another came, and more followed. By the time I was close, the entire side of the metallic plant that faced me was bare, its fury expanded at me in futile impotency.

With a grunt, I dumped the entire bag onto the largest of the metallic spheres and stepped back, my own breath tightly held. It squirmed, and the attached metal sphere began to vibrate with alarming intensity. Only to fall short of the violent dreams of flight and still themselves as the powder took hold.

Another sack held upon, I twisted off those spheres that remained and dumped them in amongst even more powder. The sphere stripped bare, I contemplated its destruction. It was quite obviously worth something. There were those who would no doubt pay heavy coin for its capability to simply destroy. Yet, was the profit worth the lives of one of those close to me?

I had initially thought that if I kept the quivering spheres stripped at a certain stage it could be contained. But now, it showed that its range was expanding, and I had failed to notice up until a situation that would have killed another. Suppose Ishila had been here and taken the same shortcut as me? That would have been a brutal mockery, to survive the dungeon only to have her life cut short by a random plant.

Decision made, I reached down, grasped the metallic ball with both hands, and ripped it free. A mass of roots writhed beneath the surface, the dome above home to life beneath. A pang passed through me to destroy what I had cultivated for so long now, but my mind was set.

I moved from one to the next, stripping off the spontaneous burst-bombs and heaving their growth pod from the soil. Only when they had all been uprooted did I rest, and then only for a moment. Some things were just too dangerous to let live, and I was not a fool content to play too close to the fire and then wail ‘why’ when it burned. Better to extinguish it early than suffer more grief.

Bags that bulged with drowsy occupants in hand, I returned to the house, told the duo that it was safe to continue harvesting, and stowed the remnants of the burst-bombs away. A sore shoulder reminding me as to what had happened, I too returned to the scythe, far warier than I had been before.

Despite—no, perhaps in spite of my alert state, there occurred no other notable events throughout the day. Quick breaks were taken to eat and a few more to rest and refuel with the knowledge that Artyom could not keep pace with my relentless nature.

Both too soon and after far too long, evening’s end approached, and I could not keep pace any longer. If I had perhaps pushed, then yes, I could have cleared the entire field by myself in this single day, but Artyom was not some machine that could keep up forever, and Gol had begun to whine hours ago.

They, I sent off to eat and rest while my own work continued, only elsewhere. I had slept in the old house for the last time, I vowed. The exterior of my new lodge was completed, and now the inside beckoned to be attended.

By lantern light, I commenced the great task of moving my goods and furniture from one to the other. A quite literal uphill struggle that, at several points, made me wonder why I had chosen to build it atop a hill.

Only once my bed, table, tools, weapons, coin, armor, and experiment jars had been carried across did I decide it was enough for the night. The most important things settled, I too found rest beneath the tree that had come to be my evening retreat and let myself sup on what food Artyom had prepared.

A long day lay behind us, and tomorrow only promised more of the same.

Chapter 51

Sore muscles and a stiff back were my reward once morning visited its presence upon this world once more. The sigh that escaped my throat echoed from the empty walls as an unfamiliar sight greeted my eyes. Only once several moments had passed did it register to me that I was now within the lodge. Sunlight drifted in from unfamiliar angles, and the scent of dried meat hanging in the corner did NOT pervade the air. A welcome change.

After several moments of confusion, I managed not to trip down into the cellar and find the door that led back outside. A yawn wrenched itself from my throat as I emerged from my place of dwelling and greeted a new day. One that promised to be just as long as that before. No gray clouds laden with rain greeted me on the horizon, something I was both grateful for and oddly disappointed by.

While a clear azure sky did mean I could perhaps work uninterrupted, it also disappointed a part of myself that would not be opposed to a day off. Some figment that, against my better judgment, just wanted to spend a single day lazing under a tree, accomplishing a grand sum total of nothing.

The sum total of what was mine lay spread below me, And it was beautiful. Lacking an urgency to do something, I instead leaned against the doorframe and simply stood in simple admiration of all that I had built.

This too passed, and the ever-marching grind continued on, leaving me with little choice but to follow its pace. Another yawn stifled in my throat, I made my way down the hill, banged on the doorframe of the old house to wake Artyom, and headed for the storage shed.

There was yet another reminder that I needed fresh chillvines to keep my milk cooled awaiting me. Where before they had been almost icy to the touch, those that remained were now cool at best. Not exactly optimal for keeping precious milk stored cold.

Buckets in hand, I greeted Artyom as he sleepily emerged and marched towards the pasture, intent on getting this done within record time. Such a feat proved itself to be impossible rather quickly. Mean as they were, the taur-cows were not stupid. Far from it.

Today, they scattered at the sight of me, dispersing to the farthest reaches of the pasture out of sheer spite. I stomped after them, pails in hand, Cloven Crash readied for when they got in range.

Stubborn, boorish beasts though they were, I prided myself in being even more hardheaded. One by one, I bore down on where they trotted to, let my shout echo across the green fields, and did my needed chores. Their stubbornness cost me dearly in the currency of time, however.

And here I was, thinking of bringing even more of them onto my farm. That future promised no shortage of entertainment, indeed.

Eventually, with some spillage involved, I was able to procure several full buckets and empty them into chilled jugs that awaited. With that out of the way, I groaned, grabbed the scythe, and headed for the fields. Artyom raced across the yard in hot pursuit of Gol as the much larger beast fled the felinid’s wrath.

Gol, it seemed, had realized another long day of labor was expected from him and wanted none of it. His lumbering gait easily towed the screeching felinid along behind him. The rope Artyom had wrapped around his neck did little to inconvenience the massive monster. In fact, he seemed to treat it with amusement, grunting wickedly as he dragged Artyom’s yowling form along.

He barreled across the yard with gleeful contempt for the felinid’s indignation. A wild charge that saw the smaller being pulled through the dirt like a rag doll as he refused to let go.

One that ended with me looming in front of him.

Firm hands clamped down and stopped the beast in his tracks. He protested, of course, with grunts and surly growls. But the message was delivered. Like as not, he was headed back to the fields.

Without any new surprises from the monster plants, the day instead descended into a monotony of cutting, stacking, and helping the bumbling duo load stocks for delivery. Once again, even helped on by virtue of my size and strength, the work progressed at a painstaking pace. Without variation came boredom, spurred on by how the end of this single field seemed to inch closer without any large breakthrough or hurry.

A dry throat soon demanded water, and with orders for the other two to carry on, I laid down my scythe and headed for the stream. It was on this path that I passed by the piled husks of the bomb-burst hosts and stopped in examination. They had not yet been ripped free for a day and had already begun to degrade.

Their metallic sheen had faded, and a brownish rust had settled itself in. Cracks ran through the previously impervious dome as the sheer density of the shells worked against itself. And yet, I did not regret my decision to destroy them. There was such a thing as quitting while I was ahead. My reasoning that they were too inherently dangerous to be handled safely remained sound.

Their fruit had a singular purpose, and that was destruction. I had removed the threats before they could bring harm to me and mine. If it had only I, then perhaps I could have found some reasoning to keep them, but that was not so.

Their now-decaying state dismissed from my mind, I continued on my way. The cold, clear water chilled my insides as I drank with a smile, already having been sweating under the harsh sunlight. It was a welcome, unexpected surprise that the stream remained cold and crystal even in these conditions.

Another stark surprise presented itself as I made my way back to the fields. Farther up the road, a figure hobbled towards my farm. Green skin and rough clothes covered her form as she walked along, obviously in pain.

Yet, her smile remained, and one hand waved tiredly at Artyom’s eager form. Gol broke into a loping run at the sight of Ishila, with the felinid bouncing on his back. The lass’s eyes widened as a full tonne of badger-bear monster hybrid bore down on her, happy and excited.

The collision did not occur. With her, at least.

Gol tripped in his own excitement and skidded into the dirt, Artyom being launched from his back and into Ishila’s arms. The orc still grunted on impact but caught the felinid as I fought the urge to laugh and made my way over.

“Mah wants me out and about,” she explained once I had checked to make sure Gol had not suffered any injury that might interfere with his work.

He could have chosen to fake some then and there but instead hauled himself up and snuggled against Ishila. ‘Twas a somewhat strange sight, to see a beast that large all but beg to be petted.

“For your own health, or…?”

Her face scrunched up a little and she made a sound that could only be described as a resounding bleh. “Bit of both. Mah’s a firm believer in tough love and that adversity builds character or somethin’.” She groaned. “But it also helps with the you-know-what.”

“Ah. You being out and seen about somewhat helps to deflect suspicion.”

“Exactly. Far as everyone is concerned, I’m just a farmhand who never left her job. Mah gave me all of yesterday to rest up, and today I’m back to work.”

“One might conclude that this is not entirely by choice,” I mused.

One hand stopped halfway across Gol’s scalp and she gave me the deadest look I had yet to receive.

“Mighty keen of you to notice that.” She held a frown for all of several heartbeats before her smile slipped back through. “Didn’t need much of an excuse tah come back here anyhows.”

There was a silence for a while, and eventually we all sort of drifted back towards where the work awaited us.

“That aside, how are you?” I asked, scythe in hand as Ishila sat herself down underneath a tree at the field’s edge, content to watch us work.

“My body’s healin’ up fine, I guess.” She shrugged. “Mentally, I dunno. In a weird place right now. Happy to be alive, but don’t wanna sleep or think too hard on what happened.”

“I empathize with you,” I rumbled. “Please, feel free to simply keep us company. Your presence alone could brighten the day.”

Those words proved to be true. Gol proved to be much more eager with Ishila’s presence spurring him on. The big lumbering brute loped along at all speed, setting a pace that Artyom could scarce keep up to.

Scythe moving in almost machine-like fashion, I too worked my way towards the field’s end. Small interruptions aside and periodic stops to chat with Ishila, the day seemed to all but fly past. Before the sun had begun to sink low on the horizon, the last stand of grain had been felled, and now the bundling began.

My back still sore and the cutting done, I instructed Artyom to attend the stack bundles I had worked on while I took over his task of transporting loads back to the house. I could hold just as much in my own arms as Gol could fit upon his back, and the field began to be emptied at all haste.

Not content to simply sit by, Ishila made her way over to the perpetually hunched felinid and began to lend what help she could. Her movements were stiff, obviously burdened by pain. She grunted under the weight of what had been wrought unto her yet did not falter.

The sound of hooves in the distance was low at first, then grew to where I stopped and gazed down the road, curious. Riders were not uncommon, especially with what had been happening as of late, yet the urgency and speed in this one were unmatched.

Death rode a ragged horse onto my yard, and I recognized Le’rish beneath the blood and torn clothing. The huntress pulled my barely conscious horse to a halt ahead of me and swung from the saddle.

“It is done,” was all I heard as she handed me the reins.

What and why, I did not feel the need to inquire. I already knew that it involved bloodshed, and not her own.

Her eyes traced across the fields and came to a rest on Ishila as she stood, framed by the setting sun. Without another word uttered, the huntress stalked across the barren fields of freshly-felled grain. I could almost see the smile bloom on the orc’s face as she hobbled towards the advancing woman, fighting pain with every step.

And yet, there was a smile on my face as Le’rish seized Ishila and hauled her upwards into a tight hug, one that she reciprocated.

“Fool girl,” I could hear her whisper as I drew near, an uncharacteristic tremble. “I thought you were gone.”

“All the world’s horrors couldn’t keep me down and away from you.” The orc blushed a little as she fumbled the words.

Le’rish drew back and looked her in dead in her in gleaming eyes. “I know,” was all she spoke.

“You’re bleeding.” Ishila finally noticed. “A lot.”

“Not mine. Now just shut up and let me hold you.”

Unable to find a decent moment to interrupt their precious reunion, I instead decided to sort of awkwardly hover a distance away to let them enjoy the moment and have whatever time they needed together. The recollection of what had happened with Le’rish and her dwarf hunting expedition could wait until later.

“So,” I rumbled once they approached me, “I take your venture blessed you with success?’

“Wrong word,” the huntress grunted. “Nothing good ever comes from dealings that involve the Underdwellers. But yes, I am here, and I am alive. Count that as success, if you will.”

Chapter 52

By scrunched nose, wrinkled face and sour expression, one could tell that the stench approached.

“You stink,” Ishila put it bluntly.

Le’rish glanced down and indicated that, yes, she did indeed reek of sweat and dried blood. A foul odor, I had to admit. Several other smells I did not particularly want to identify were mixed in there as well, and I was more than happy to leave them a mystery.

“Yeah,” she grunted. “Should go wash.”

And just like that, we finished work for the day. With a sigh, I instructed Artyom and Gol to carry a final load of stocks and led the group back to the house.

Ishila hobbled off towards the storage shed and emerged with an empty bucket in hand. I guessed her intent, took it from her, and set off towards the stream. One quick dip later, I had procured a full load of crystal cold streamwater, balanced carefully as I lumbered back across the yard.

Le’rish seized the bucket from my hand and unceremoniously dumped it over her head. A small yowl escaped her mouth as the sheer cold struck her, some of the feline within slipping out. Ears flattened against her skull, she scrubbed herself with a rough towel I recognized as my own from the house. One furious shaking later, she proved to still be covered in various substances, and more buckets were brought forth.

I could see the hiss that formed on her lips as the fourth bucket approached, but she allowed Ishila to dump it on her without comment. Only once the multitude of fluids were solidly washed off her form and into the grass below did she seem satisfied.

“Once would assume there is quite a tale behind that.” I nodded solemnly once she had stood back up from her stool.

“Yes,” she grunted.

I left it at that and gestured towards the usual place. I found myself beneath the massive oak tree shortly after, gathered in the company of those I had perhaps bonded with in my time upon this world. Those whose opinions and well-being meant much to me.

“That horse is about to slump over and trot on to meet its maker,” she remarked. “Brave, foolish thing has been running hard for—well, I don’t know how long.”

I turned to look, and yes, that looked to be the case. Alone and forgotten, it swayed in the middle of the yard, quite literally upon its last legs.

A grimace rose unbidden, and Artyom hurried off seconds later, instructions given to feed it cleric-shine petals and lead it to pasture. The weary animal gave no resistance as the felinid gently guided it along, too tired to protest.

There was writ anger upon the huntress’s features as she sat and mused in silence. A single sunken eye moved between my form and Ishila. Weighing the weight of her words as Ishila launched the third retelling of her story in my presence. One that became more dragged out than the last as Le’rish frequently stopped her to expound on more details and provide descriptions for nearly everything. Any hint of emotion was abruptly brought to an end when the lass mentioned Valencia.

Le’rish sat still, quiet as a tomb while Ishila continued her narration uncontested. Her features were cold now, hard and withdrawn, all trace of feeling erased.

“Of course. She knew.” My ears had never been graced by a tone quite so thoroughly dead. “All this time. Wasted.”

Although the knowledge was already firmly within, I was once more tempted to simply ask what.

Silence fell as Le’rish sat and almost seemed to tremble with restrained frustration. Deep heavy breaths were taken, and not because of her lungs being damaged. Her singular eye gleamed with dull light, cold and lifeless as she chewed over words.

“I trust no one,” she started with a grunt. “Not fully. Not even you.”

There was no proper response to those words, and so I held my silence.

“This knowledge will come forth. Sooner or later. And I would rather you know it from me than her.”

There was no glazed, faraway look in her eye as she began to recount something, only a frozen intensity that sheared through her facade of emotionlessness.

“Secrets should sometimes remain so. This knowledge had remained buried for my safety. And that of others. Yet now, all I have wrought is becoming undone. So let the truth free me, and judge me not.

“Back in a time when the Baron had just returned from his long campaigns… when you were still a child and I was a young, eager adventurer… things were… largely the same. The only adventuring party of note here was myself and several close friends. Eager for adventure. Hungry for a taste of power. Too hungry. We came to the attention of Ironmoor and his captains after overhunting the monsters that inhabited these lands.

“For such a small group, this was it. This was the chance we needed. The breakthrough. And yet, we all know where this story goes.”

Le’rish let slip a small sigh. Within the past half hour, she had displayed more emotion than the sum total of all our other time together, I realized.

“Perhaps Ironmoor knew. Perhaps not. One of his captains approached us with an innocuous task: investigate a possible mine at the peak of the Redtip. It was specified that this mission was to be kept secret, even from the Baron himself. At the time, he—and Valencia—were thoroughly occupied by a rebellion near the northern borders. The coin was good, and the man himself was friendly enough, despite his affiliations.

“There is a long and tragic recount here. Don’t want to dive into it, even now. The mine was not what it seemed. We discovered a dungeon and a trap. My story echoes yours,” she addressed Ishila directly now. “Everyone died. Only I escaped back to the remnants of the camp. I had lost my friends, had my eye taken in exchange for power. But another ambush awaited me there. The captain wanted credit for this discovery himself. A fool who had failed his way upward into a position over others. He died that day, his men with him. They had me dead.”

She stopped now and stared at the darkening sky, her head tilted back.

“Nothing less than divine intervention is why I sit with you today. The Apex appeared and tore through the captain and his soldiers. From within the dungeon, or summoned by the seal breaking, I don’t know. Don’t care either.”

“This was the first sighting of the beast?” I questioned.

“For all intents and purposes,” Le’rish grunted. “I learned after that this captain was greedy, not stupid. We had rested overnight at this camp. Been given fresh fleshknitter potions. Or so I thought. They were fire-breath draughts. I lacked fire resistance. Only actual fleshknitters I had kept from before prevented this secret from dying with me. Death surrounded me. Spite burned in me.

“I buried the camp and its corpses. Resealed the dungeon and helped hide it. Tried to keep its existence secret. I was determined Ironmoor would not get what he wanted. If that demanded I kill all that came near, so be it. Under my watch, it would never be unveiled.

“Over time, it dawned on me that perhaps Ironmoor lacked knowledge that there was a dungeon there. Had perhaps accepted the story that this captain tried to betray him for his own gain. No one had ever accused the man of being virtue’s paragon. I lurked among the mountaintops, ever on guard. Keeping the watch. A year passed. Then another. Small teams came to investigate and were frightened away by the Apex.

“All this time I have hoped, I have believed that the dungeon was truly hidden away. Sealed. And now I am shown that that was a false hope.”

Worse than any sort of despair, there was a dangerous emptiness in her voice.

“So Valencia knew,” I stated the obvious.

“More than that, she has created her own way into that place. From what Ishila has described, she has grown adept at traversing it. Without waking the place. Only the Gods Above know how much sheer, raw power she has harvested from within.”

“Then why did she let me go?” the orc posed the question quietly. “If it’s such a secret.”

“The ruse is up,” Le’rish said simply. “The knowledge has spread like wildfire. Every straw-chewing hick and their mother and their dog knows. It can no longer be contained.”

“She wants us to know,” I hazarded a wild guess.

“Arrogance, or confidence supreme, I know not.” The huntress shrugged quietly. “But what I know of her, it is very much in line. She knows her position is impeccable. And now? She holds all the cards. Valencia knows the dungeon, what it contains, who woke it, and all else there is to know.”

“So, there are now a scant few here that know the entire truth behind this matter.”

“No,” Le’rish groaned. “There is another.”

“The dwarf survived?” I queried, eyebrow raised.

“No.”

“Then who?” Ishila all but demanded to know.

“Whoever told the dwarf. Someone informed the fools who dragged you to die with them.”

“And?”

“And the less you know of what I did, the safer you are.” The smile on her lips was obviously forced, sharp teeth gleaming on the last hints of sunlight.

“He refused to talk once I had run him down. Yet, I have ways. Methods that proved insufficient. Something scrunched his body as he finally gave me a solid description. A very powerful, very well-placed Skill he did not know about.”

There was disgust on my face as I attempted to imagine that. “That blood, those fluids on you earlier?”

“Yes.”

“Gods Above.” Ishila grimaced and made a sign across her chest.

“And now?” I sighed, eyes rubbed at my tired eyes. Every day revealed new secrets that threatened to shake the world around me, yet the farm life continued on.

“Now, you keep this to yourselves, and you deal with Valencia even more cautiously than before. Arm yourselves with this knowledge so it cannot be used against you.”

“And you?”

“And I will hunt. Wherever this tower is located, I will find it and whatever secrets it holds.”

I would have offered her some words of caution, but those would have been worth little. More than perhaps anyone, the huntress knew what she was getting into.

“If you were the dungeon’s supposed guardian, why did you let this happen?” Ishila asked quietly.

Everything stopped, and all eyes turned to Le’rish as the orc posed the question I had been dreading.

“I didn’t,” Le’rish returned softly. “Please, understand that I am not all-seeing, all-knowing. It happened at such a rapid pace while my attention was focused elsewhere. Had I been there, knowing you were about to walk to that doom, I would have ripped the mountain itself apart to stop you. To spare you from that horror.”

“Did my parents know?” came another question, an almost accusatory edge to her tone.

“Somewhat. They knew there was something up there, but not its full extent. A dungeon perhaps, but for all they were aware, it was a small one, jealously guarded. And yet, they loved you enough to let you go.”

Ishila was not an irrational person or even an overtly emotional one, yet I could see her struggle to contain herself then.

“I cannot say that this was the worst possible outcome, however.” Le’rish smiled faintly. “You survived, and that is what truly matters.”

It took several moments of silence for me to realize the two were about to have a moment. With a sigh, I stood up, dusted off my pants, and bade them goodnight. I was not quite sure if they heard my words, but I thought it best not to check twice.

Some moments were best left undisturbed.

Chapter 53

She had not left the night before. This, I found with a pail of milk in either hand, eyebrows raised as Ishila stumbled from the old house. Sleepy still, her eyes bleary and posture slumped, the orc gave a sheepish wave in my general direction as I returned from the fields, chores finished, and another day of harvest ahead of me.

“Up ‘til the wee hours of morning?” I guessed, tone wry.

It took her a few moments to reply. Moments in which I stowed away the morning’s load and began to prepare for the day. Breakfast was a hearty affair, given that I preferred to consume my food now for a shorter break come noon. Artyom stomped from the house behind her, a positively foul expression distorting his features.

One could add up the sum total of what had happened the night before and perhaps come close.

“It’s not what yah think.” Ishila rubbed her eyes and cracked a wistful smile. “We were only talkin’.”

“Chatter somewhere else next time, yes-yes,” the felinid hissed.

To say everyone was sore—one way or another—would be an understatement. Myself excluded somewhat, Gol and Artyom definitely felt the pace of the past few days, and Ishila was still in recovery. My own body only lightly felt the strain, but I was blessed with unrivaled physique and relentless endurance by virtue of being a minotaur.

An unfair advantage I had wholly come to enjoy. Relish even.

The thought of returning to a weak, frail human form no longer interested me, I found in a sudden, stark moment of clarity. I was… comfortable within my new body. In enjoyment of it, even.

A slight cough from Ishila interrupted this moment of self-appreciation as the orc held out a small bowl. I realized my ladle had frozen halfway through the air, about to serve up some leftover stew for breakfast. A good, healthy meal, but one I feared would not quite get everyone ready for the day. Sore muscles and all those other worries that did not overmuch trouble me.

One very short internal debate later, I stood and abruptly made my way to the garden. Watered by now-gone blood, the cleric-shine valiantly regrew precious petals. Pale, silky things that promised great profit. More than that, they could save lives. The wound inflicted by Ishila’s father had already healed, rendering the plant whole once more.

Without a fresh source in sight, I sighed and drew the knife. Heartbeats later, it supped on my blood, smeared across its form as I gently plucked off a few of the larger petals with another, cleaner finger.

These I passed out among my friends and helpers as I returned, with instructions to consume. Perhaps a pricey action to alleviate some soreness, but I would rather they be happy and healthy than try to pinch a few coins more.

At some point, I should have realized I never saw Le’rish coming, nor did a scent fill my nostrils. Instead, the huntress seemed to appear beside me, cloaked in silence.

“You look better,” I grunted in an effort to hide my surprise. Startled or not, I was determined to get used to her constant habit.

A light blossomed in Ishila’s eyes, and one could see a smile form behind her bowl as the orc scarfed down her breakfast.

“Hmmm,” was all I was returned. Little expected, little given. No one had ever accused Le’rish of being a fascinating conversationalist.

“Off to the hunt once more?”

“Soon. Here for a bit.”

The slight grin upon my features was all the comment I deigned to give on that subject.

“While I have your attention,” the conversation veered off-track, and I presented her with a bowl. It was seized from my grasp, sniffed for a second, and then chugged down with all haste. “There was something I had a mind to ask of you,” I continued undeterred. “A favor, in fact.”

“Mmmm.” A slightly barbed tongue licked away some leftover liquid and stared flatly. For a moment, all was silent, save for distant birdsong as those feathered greeted the morning sun.

“Ask what you will.” She shrugged.

“If you ever have free time, it would be a great boon to me if you could deliver the carcasses of higher-leveled creatures here. Their blood, in particular.”

The single eye that gazed upon me didn’t so much as blink. “Sudden penchant for necromancy?” was all she asked.

“Don’t think Ma’ and Pa’ will particularly appreciate the attention that brings.” Ishila winced quietly into her own bowl.

“The conclusions you leap to wound me.” I sighed. “But no, it is for something else.”

“Done,” Le’rish said.

After a brief pause, I found that, no, I did not have to explain what it was for. There was something nice about knowing a person that simply could not be bothered to care.

She did not stay much longer. Naught but a few moments had passed when she stood upright, nodded to everyone, and left in silence. A wistful look adorned Ishila’s face, and bright eyes followed the huntress’s path.

“I hate tah’ see her go, But I do love watchin’ her leave,” she muttered. There was a pause, then a sudden, deep blush as it struck her everyone had heard that. Despite my most heroic efforts, a smile cracked the edges of an otherwise flat expression.

There was a collective groan shared between Gol and Artyom as I stood, ready to head off and begin my work.

“A few more moments, yes-yes?” the felinid pleaded with big, round eyes, and I relented after a moment and told them to come when ready.

“Anythin’ I can help with?” Ishila grunted and heaved herself up.

A skeptical glance showed she was not gifted at hiding her stiffness. I stated the obvious, “You’re still healing up.”

“Yes, and?” the lass tossed back. “I can still work. Need to repay you somehow.” She continued after a moment, “Look, you healed me. Kept me from havin’ to walk ‘round for the rest of my life with achin’ scars and a broken body. That’s no small thing. I’m whole because of you. Somethin’ words can’t really appreciate. So don’t be stubborn, and just let me help to show some small part of the gratitude I owe ya.”

After a moment to fully appreciate what the orc had just said, I grinned and clasped my hands. “So, how much do you like threshing?”

It didn’t take long for me to have Ishila positioned over a large sheet covered by stocks of grains. Flail in hand, she groaned, stretched her back, and began to beat away. No instructions were needed, and after a few moments of observing her motions, I was satisfied. She knew what to do and would likely have them ready for winnowing before the day was out. The flail rose and fell as she beat the oats, the blows separating the grain and straw through brute force.

A long and enjoying day of repetitive labor set before her, I made myself scarce and trotted back towards the fields. With one stripped bare, another awaited me. Oats were still the dominant crop here, with sections of barley and wheat also planted.

All would serve to feed the cattle.

My eyes drifted across the road where said cows roamed the pasture, and another smile found its path unto my face. The horse that had been fed cleric-shine petals just the night before was not doing better. That would have grandly undersold how full of life it seemed at the moment, being chased around the pasture by the taur-cows, having made an annoyance of itself through overeager exuberance.

All was indeed well.

Thoughts firmly set aside, I hefted the scythe, sighed at the extraordinary full field before me, and got the cutting. Even with the stream having been cut off days ago, the ground was still soft beneath my hooves. Every step sunk into the rich, loamy earth as stocks fell around me. At first, I worried about how badly I was displacing the earth. Then it dawned upon me that I would likely plow it before the next crop anyway.

Another irrational worry overcome, I released a grunt of contention and felled another sweep of oats. With little to distract me, I made steady progress in both the cuts and stacking. This field thankfully lacked any monster plants, and so I lacked the need to slow down and carefully work around them. All of the seeds they had given me had been spread into a single field.

With a frown, I cast my mind back and attempted to remember something, anything. An expression that only deepened as I attempted to come up with any sorts of features or look. Nothing. Less than that, there was a void within my memory, one that troubled me. I had never been good with names, but I could remember a face for a lifetime. But here, not a single thing about the merchant that had sold me this farm and these seeds could be recalled.

A raven cawed at the treetops, almost as if to mock my concentration and lack of results.

Sour was the expression I leveraged at it, yet it only laughed harder. One of Tehalis’s eyes, here to keep watch on her daughter? If so, it was situated terribly for that. It seemed intent to gaze upon me rather than Ishila who remained hard at work across the entire yard. A brown, puffed-up body made it larger than any sort of darker-feathered raven I had seen before, and yet the mix of features was unmistakable.

Large, dull wings rested against its body, and calloused claws dug into the branch it imperiously perched upon. Straw covered its body, jutting out from between feathers. It seemed, in every way, at home on a farm.

A slight tilt of its head brought one gleaming eye towards me, and for some gods forsaken reason, I found myself having a stare down with a raven, refusing to blink. Neither of us moved, eyes locked upon each other as sweat ran beneath my coat of short fur, teased out by the sun’s heat. A droplet ran directly across my eyeball, and it demanded willpower supreme not to blink.

Heartbeat after heartbeat marched on, each one slower than the last. I did not quite know how I had wrapped myself in this foolishness, but at this point, I refused to leave.

A thrown-back head and sharp, raucous caw signaled my victory. Wings spread wide and flapped overhead were all the congratulations I received. Even then, it simply sat on high, content to watch me as I shook my head and got back to work.

And yet, the Gods Above were not content to simply let me continue on with my life.

The first signal I received was the raven. Wings spread into an upright fan, it began to caw incessantly. I glared at it in annoyance, debating on trying out my rock-flinging skills. I stopped that train of thought as my eyes dipped down from the treetops and saw the forms that emerged.

Stonemongers.

They came in small groups, weapons in hand. Long, sinuous forms that broke from the forest in silence, slinking from the undergrowth towards me.

With no weapon in hand, I was caught flatfooted. But I was a minotaur, and they were small, frail things. My hands would be enough. If it came to that.

Without the armament of choice close by, I hefted the scythe and watched them approach. A shout back across the yard caught the other’s attention, and Gol’s snarls quickly sounded through the area.

And then they stopped, the scattered groups coming to a halt as a singular, larger Stonemonger approached.

It knelt before me and offered up what looked to be gems in hand, knees buried in the dirt and clawed hands held outstretched.

For my part, I simply stood there, dumbfounded. This was not at all what I had expected.

Chapter 54

Were I a more clever man, there would no doubt have been some witty response to what had just unfolded before me. Some flourish, a show of bravado as the conqueror accepted tribute from those overrun. I had no such reaction. A heartbeat eked its way into the void of time, then another as I mimicked a stone in movement.

The monster knelt before me smelled of naught but raw fear and nervous sweat. Its head remained bowed briefly as I gazed upon its supplication. No plan presented itself as I watched it twitch back and forth, glancing back at its kind, those who lingered just outside the treeline. Much as my mind refused to readily accept what had just happened, there was no indication of treachery in its scent. Only fear. Even so, I kept my gaze upon it, ready for the twitch of muscles that would give away a sudden spring forward, heralding a surprise attack.

In my example, the creature decided against any action, simply keeping knelt in the sweltering afternoon heat. Sweat ran down its brow, the only noticeable scent amidst the raw stench of trepidation that cloaked it.

One hand reached out and plucked the gem from its upturned palms before I could second-guess my actions further. Adequately large and rather shiny, I supposed it was a generous peace offering.

“Explain yourself,” I rumbled and then resisted the urge to smack myself for not phrasing that better.

An empty stare tinged by traces of confusion met my gaze. Several more moments passed as I repeated this. Comprehension dawned soon after.

It could not understand me. And much as I believed that actions spoke louder than words, experience indicated that any aggressive actions I took would ruin the moment. Likely cause them to bolt back into the trees and continue whatever existence they eked out. By virtue of being a minotaur, that would cover the wide range of… well, anything I did. Even while I remained motionless, the sheer amount of raw fear that roiled off the creature and invited itself into my nostrils gave me pause.

Gods Above, they were terrified beyond belief.

And so we were back to the very first square, at a one-way stalemate, if such a thing was possible. Several splendidly productive moments later, a tug on my pants and the scent of feline indicated Artyom’s arrival.

“They speak in another language, yes-yes,” he stated the obvious, one word at a time. “The Low Tongue. All monster-adjacent species are gifted it by the System, Mhmmm.”

A facet of knowledge I had not been in possession of.

“And one might assume you can speak this?”

“I may try, yes-yes.”

And that was all that I needed. “Relay to them my thanks for the gift, and inquire as to their purpose here.”

A series of low, guttural sounds came from Artyom moments later, to which the creature slunk backwards, fangs bared.

Its long snout moved as it began to bark something in return, then cut off and dropped into a much lower whimper. A verbal exchange that I comprehended exactly none of, but this was not the only language I understood. Its body language spoke of submission, even with small flares to other emotions as it grumbled back and forth with the felinid.

“Well?” I asked once the light breeze was the primary source of sound once more.

“You are the Great Destroyer,” Artyom stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Breaker of Gods, Shatterer of the Sacred Stones. The one that lay their Stone Gods low. They have come to pay tribute so that your wrath may be appeased.”

Only great restraint kept the laughter inside my throat as the sheer absurdity struck me.

And yet.

Was I not nearly a god from their perspective? A divine force of wrath that had returned to punish their hubris and shatter their weaker gods before me?

The thoughts ruminated for several moments, A reminder that the shards of the old, arrogant being who had been Garek before me still lived within.

“Tell them I am pleased with their gift, but that I am no God,” I replied and watched Ishila draw near, Gol  protectively between her and the stonemongers.

The great beast had its fangs bared, ears flattened, and visible clumps of fur on end. The orc held him back, soothing words uttered and giving gentle strokes along his head as they approached. He had not forgotten, nor forgiven.

Chatter resumed between the two as the rest waited for the results in strained ignorance.

“It says that if you are not a God after such ruinous wrath and feats of strength, then what are you?”

“A farmer,” was all I returned. There were visible hints of confusion on the creature’s face as Artyom translated.

It crept backwards and glanced up at me, not sure what to make of what Artyom was saying.

“It’s scared stiff,” I remarked to Ishila as Artyom and the stonemonger conversed.

“Any and all can see as much,” she remarked. “What did you do to these beasts anyhow?”

“Cut down their leaders, toppled their idols, and scattered them into the wilds,” I returned without pause. “But I only culled out a single nest. The Apex destroyed the largest settlement.”

A flare in fear—if such a thing was even possible—came before the creature leapt backwards, ears laid flat and fangs bared as its body trembled. If I scared these beasts, then the mere mention of the Apex cast terror into their very being.

It took several moments of calming gestures from us and words from Artyom to reassure the stonemonger. All throughout, its eyes darted back and forth, tongue flicking at the air.

“You destroyed a gathering nest,” the felinid translated after several moments of harsh jabbering back and forth. “The Apex destroyed their… well, the rough meaning is ‘civilization’.”

“I know. I was there.”

“As you have destroyed their warrior god, whose name I cannot translate, they have come to pay tribute and beg for peace,” Artyom continued.

“They did not seem overtly peaceful upon our last few encounters.” I smiled thinly, stark memory of a howling tide descending upon my farm fresh upon my mind. “The opposite, from what I saw.”

“They have only reassurances to offer,” came the reply several moments later.

“I am a peaceful person, not a stupid one.”

“They are mostly harmless in small groups,” Ishila chimed in. “It’s only when they get tah rilin’ up in big packs is when the trouble starts.”

Much as I valued her opinion and had heard the same from Le’rish, I was not entirely eager to budge on this subject.

It was easy to think of this monster as weak, fearful with how it cowered before me, ready to leap away at the smallest movement. And yet, a part of me admitted that it took real courage to approach that fear, to be terrified by it, and to face it down. The absence of fear was not courage. That was reserved for those who would try to overcome what scared them.

“What now?” Ishila asked.

I had no reply to give. It took several moments of musing to come up with a decent solution. “I accept their tribute. They may go in peace,” I finally had Artyom relay. What else was I going to do? Put them to work? Have them run errands for me? Teach them to cook?

It was at this moment that another chose to make their appearance at the worst possible time. Hooves clopped and wheels creaked as a semi-familiar cart rolled around the road’s bend to appear from the trees. Atop it sat Pert, likely on his way to the camp to peddle his wares.

I did not need to be close to smell the focused interest with which he surveyed the happenings. My scowl matched his gaze, and I stood with arms folded as he slowly trundled past. Much as I disliked the man, the road was not my property, and I could do little to halt him. Legally. Should it ever go beyond disagreement, I had other options.

While I did not know the man all that well, I had heard of him, and by accounts on and all, he was a blabbermouth. A gossip-leach, through and through. I had little doubt this would be the talk of the camp come sundown, with whatever twist he wanted to add to this.

All too soon and not quickly enough, he was gone, and my mind turned back to more important matters. Namely, the obviously valuable gem held in my hand. In its current form, it was rough, uncut. A hunk of shiny crimson stone. Yet, it could be made into more.

The promise of profit hung over me, yet I did not want it to cloud my thoughts.

“I will leave you alone,” I promised to the stonemonger. “So long as you remain peaceful and deliver tribute.”

It took but moments for Artyom to get the message across, the monster’s eager nods a clear indicator despite the language barrier. With little fanfare, it turned and slunk away, the rest of its kind electing to follow suit and disappear among the foliage.

A wise decision.

“So. That happened,” I mused in monotone.

“Yah,” the lass agreed. “Nice little distraction. Make for a good story too.”

“Back to work?” I suggested.

Not exactly a question, but Gol seemed to think so as he plopped, tension leaving his body. Only to be dragged back up as the felinid began to harass him. A small smile broke across my features as I watched the two. One that only slightly shrank as I caught sight of the brown-feathered raven sat astride the treetops, laughing silently down at me.

My very small arsenal of witty remarks being found sorely lacking, I did the humble thing and simply returned to my work. The day passed slowly as a multitude of thoughts stormed through my brain, one eager to edge out the next. Of all the things I had expected when I rolled out of bed this morning, this had been among the last. In my mind, the stonemonger problem had firmly dealt with and filed away.

But life here had proven it was no stranger to handing out surprises to anyone and everyone involved. Lost within my thoughts as I was, I still managed to clear well over half of this field before the day was forced to end. One final push tomorrow, and my first harvest would be finished. The reaping, at least. Threshing, winnowing, and more promised to eat up what free time I had, and then, as always, more work awaited me.

But that was for some date in the distant future. For now, for today, my work was firmly done.

Supper proved an amicable affair. My own cooking had remarkably improved since my arrival in this world. And yet, at times, there was much I would sacrifice for a good, greasy burger. The thought made me pause.

Given the body I inhabited, would perhaps be cannibalism? A moral question for one stronger than I, for the greasy goodness of fast good could bend even the strongest wills.

“Stars looking pretty tonight?” Ishila questioned, and I realized I had been caught staring up into the void.

“Thoughts of home pervade my mind,” I admitted. “I sometimes wonder if they inhabit the same stars we do, if they can see the same view as me.”

“Hmm. Doubt it. Angles, distance, and all that,” she grunted between bites of whatever meat Artyom had prepared tonight.

I had not yet touched mine, I realized. “Ever feel like going back?” came the question after a short pause.

“I have considered it,” I admitted. “And yet, while I could claim I have no way to return in order to soothe myself, I have no true desire to return. Here is where I have put down my roots. All those I know, all those I care about are firmly in this small area. And here is where I have made a life for myself.”

“That’s as good a reason as any. Myself, I’m more comfortable drifting around. Or so I’m hopin’ anyway. I love meeting new people, gazin’ upon new horizons. The few trips I went with folks to the city, I loved every minute of it.”

We left it at that, and soon enough, Ishila heaved herself up.

“Ma’s gonna come lookin’ if I stay out another night.” She grinned in her lopsided way. “Gonna borrow Gol to ride back home.”

Amused by the sight of the orc lass sitting astride the lumbering beast, I bid her farewell and watched until they vanished into the distance. Tiredness crept across me all at once, and just like that, another day had concluded.

Chapter 55

In the aftermath of several eventful days, it was almost refreshing to have one where nothing of great import occurred. Save for the reaping coming to a close and Ishila’s struggles with threshing, calm finally settled around the farm. A sort of eerie stillness only occasionally shattered by increasingly colorful persons on their way up the mountain. Mercenaries, adventurers, delvers, and dungeon breakers, if stored knowledge did not suddenly fail me.

Some stopped to exchange pleasantries, most just kept to the climb. Almost all stared at the sight of a minotaur preparing to winnow the threshed oats. Few returned my gaze. The process itself involved large sheet, gently tossing the oats into the air so that the light chaff might be swept away upon the wind and leave the heavier grains to fall back down.

A slow, repetitive process, made only longer by the remarkably weak gusts that ran through the grass. Dust swirled around, raised with every flap of the sheet. That they have cloth bound over their mouths for at least some protection was a point I had refused to budge on. I did indeed know they were hot and not quite models of comfort, but they were more than necessary.

There were protests at first, of course. And while I didn’t enjoy being someone who condescendingly stated they knew what was best for others, this was an instance of such. Although, the sight of Artyom in an oversized bandanna did stir some amusement.

Ishila finished the threshing towards mid-day, her strength and enthusiasm having shortened the task to a far more manageable time than I had dared hope.

“There is a task I cannot put off any longer,” I informed her with a grimace once my position had been handed over to her. The decision was made to forgo dinner entirely. I hefted the massive claymore and its equally ridiculous sheathe, grabbed a large pack, secured my gear, and set off up the mountain.

If all went well, I would be returned come evening.

Experience had taught me to expect that it would not.

Many souls traveled up the mountain. Few flowed back down. Drawn, like moths to the flame. The dungeon woke, and those who gathered here came on the faint promise of riches. The prospect of glory hidden behind a veil of danger.

I was not here for such petty things.

The climb took me ever upwards, the gradual slope growing steeper with every step. The trees tightened around me until the path was choked by growth to either side. Just big enough for a team of horses and a cart in tow. This had not been the case when I first ascended here, but the Verdant Dawn had hacked away the undergrowth until there was just enough room for supplies to be hauled up the slopes.

Dirt became less and less frequent as the ascent continued. I passed the first camp, originally home to the order of monster hunters I had fallen in with. Now, more distinct colors mingled among the walls. More land had been cleared, and even more formations erected as they labored to transform it into a proper staging ground now.

A greeting rang through the air, a voice I recognized. Raffnyk waved tiredly from a toiling mass of bodies. There was exhaustion in his eyes, yet he issued orders at his brisk pace as I approached.

“How goes the farm life?” came the question. A polite formality, I guessed.

Not content to waste his time, I simply imparted to him a brief summary and took to usual affirmations in return. “And this?” I asked with a vague gesture to the men and women clearing trees, ripping loose stumps, and piling wood to either side of the road.

“After much deliberation, the decision has been made to erect a proper fort here for the time being.” He sighed as we walked along.

“Irnonmoor won’t take offense?” I asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“The opposite. I never thought I would see the day when reason and calm came from that man, but he has agreed that this should be a shared project. One necessitated by circumstance, yes. It seems the Baron has decided that the situation at hand is more important than pursuing his old grudge with us. For now.

“Still, I was pleasantly surprised that he was capable of seeing past his prejudices and grievances to view the coming threat with this clarity. My soldiers have been mostly rotated out of guard duty at the peak and can now focus entirely on construction of this fort. With more mercenaries pouring in and eager for some pay before the dungeon is opened, I expect we will be finished in several weeks.”

A reminder that levels, skills, and the other gifts of this world could harshly skew timeframes in comparison to what I would have expected otherwise.

“We will, of course, need supplies in a constant manner, some of which I am sure you could supply. Speaking of which, I have not yet received any shipments of healing milk from you,” he stated bluntly.

“There was an emergency that required I use it all.” I winced. “More is in production, currently. Should be ready for delivery soon.”

“Good.” He nodded. “By the mercy of the Gods Above, we have not yet required it, aside from the initial wave that broke from the dungeon. Monster culling aside, there has been no significant combat. Although I fear this is a wary peace that will not maintain itself for long. We scramble more every day, trying to shore up defenses just a bit more before the flood inevitably comes.”

He gestured around as we walked along, gauntleted hand sweeping over freshly-cleared land.

“This here will be a last resort, should it come to that. With the elf’s help, the defenses prepared at the peak should—no, must be adequate. If they break through, this is the only true path down the mountain and will need to be fortified. If it does come to that, I suspect all is already lost, yet the attempt must be made.”

“You intend to see it complete, well-stocked and armed to the teeth.” I nodded.

“Aye.” He nodded curtly. “If it falls, then so will I. My duty has been given from on high, and my life will be forfeit before I forsake my oath.”

With that, we reach the road’s end, at least as far as Raffnyk was concerned.

Tiredness and fatigue pervaded the man, and with some pity, I let him go. My own road lay farther on, higher up the slope. Here, the trees grew thinner, with less soil to fully sustain the lush forests below. The soil began to take on a crimson tinge, almost as if stained by blood. No monster bothered me as I climbed towards the summit.

The was not truly a mountain, as it lacked a distinct, single peak. The top was shaped as if it had been shorn off, with a cratered plateau that served as its highest point. Undisturbed save for the occasional patrol or messenger riding past, I soon found myself above the treeline, the vastness below me so far, far away.

Only once had I traveled this way, and yet the path was familiar. Possibly helped on by that there was only one such route up the mountain, but that was far from the point.

I crested a ridge and gazed into the craters that had been torn into the mountain soil. Many lay empty, naught but dust and crimson rock. One in particular, however, teemed with life.

Quick glances showed it was the largest in sheer size, and now it overflowed with humanity. Where the dungeon’s entrance was located, I assumed. From where I stood, my eyes could not glimpse the actual opening, so heavily buried was it in fortifications. A stone fortress now stood within the crater, reinforced with wood and iron. Velton’s handiwork?

There was no sight of the elf, yet everything I had heard of late indicated he spent most of his time on the peak. In preparation of the inevitable wave come to crash upon the defenses and see if they were wanting.

Soldiers patrolled along the battlements, Ironmoor’s green flag flown overhead. From here, they seemed small, off in the distance. But I was not here to admire the elf’s handiwork or to speculate if these preparations were in vain. I knew little of fortifications and how they were designed to keep monsters locked inside. I would leave such things to those with more knowledge than I.

Instead, I set off to find the chillvines I had come here for. Knife in hand and pack empty, I scoured the mountaintop, searching under every shaded rock and among the scarce bushes. They were plentiful up here where magic permeated the air, and I harvested quickly. Despite the pack’s insulation, I could feel the cold upon my back, in sharp contrast to the heat that broiled down from above. When I had first cut and carried these, the chill had been uncomfortable. Now, it was welcome.

The pack ran over soon enough, stuffed to the absolute limit I could manage without crushing those already inside. But I wanted more. These were more than enough for the jugs I had now, yes. Yet, forward-thinking and my plans to expand demanded I think larger. So, I draped them around my neck and over my shoulders. Cold to the touch, almost icy, even under the smothering heat.

But I did not do this task quickly enough. Riders approached, the baron’s banner held overhead.

“What business have you here?” the one leading demanded from atop his stead. Were I a human, this armored figure would tower over me. Instead, he was just a bit above head height for me.

“I am gathering plants,” I stated simply, arms folded. “Plants needed for my farm.”

They glanced back and forth for a moment before the man shrugged.

“Very well. We are only here to warn you, if by some miracle you have not yet heard of the dungeon close to here, then you know now. Monsters are abundant here and prone to bursting from the depths at any moment. Tread with caution.”

Much as I tried to find some hidden threat in the man’s words—and could see that hard look in his eyes—I could admit he was simply too tired to give a damn.

“The fort,” I broke in suddenly. “I would like to see it.”

There were glances of suspicion, but once more, their unwillingness to release a single ounce of caring shone through.

“I am a farmer, yes, but also adept at battle. Should an attack happen, I would not drag the defense down, only bolster it.”

“First part surprised me more than the second,” the lead man grunted and pulled down his visor. “Fort’s open to all brave enough to lay down their lives in defense of these lands.”

With that, they galloped away, back towards the stone castle, and I was left unbothered. Mayhaps they really had been sent to simply investigate and report. One never knew what surprises awaited. Still, I had plenty of daylight left, and my curiosity was firmly piqued.

Rocks crumbled beneath me, crushed by the weight of my hooves as I began the descent into the crater. The soil, while hard, was malleable underneath my sheer bulk and prowess. The singular path towards the fortress was smooth and leveled perfectly, in sharp contrast to the steep jagged slopes that surrounded it.

Velton’s handiwork.

A large question posed itself. Was it possible the elf had raised the crater walls to entrap this entire place? Such power seemed frankly god-like, or at least what I could think of a god to be. To shape the very landscape itself in his image was true power, by my reckoning.

Or maybe it had always been like this. I did not truly know, as my only other expedition up here had been the outside ring of trees and rocks, not the peak itself.

Any further thoughts I had were drowned as horns began to sound. I did not recognize those. Garek’s memories did, and blood stirred within. The call came of war, a signal that monsters had been sighted, and that an attack came.

Hesitation cast aside, I ripped my claymore from its sheath and began to run towards the promise of blood.

Chapter 56

Long, powerful strides carried me across the sculpted rock towards the call of battle. Thoughts on whether or not I should even intervene were cast aside before they could form, only the hunger for righteous slaughter left in their wake. I was put unto this world to slay, and my purpose would be fulfilled before I went to meet my gods.

Cold fur rustled as I shook my head mid-step in an attempt to clear away the old Garek. These were his thoughts. This hunger for carnage that burned inside and drove me onwards. There was no way to deny the eagerness with which I charged forward, however. Legs flexed and hooves ripped up rock as I overtook the riders galloping back towards the fortress, then left them in my dust.

Walls of crimson stone rose before me, much larger than I had guessed from a distance. Warriors of all class and profession moved in haste, shouts echoing from the distance. None attempted to stop me, focused only on containing those within. The stone layout left me confused, and I suddenly found myself somewhat lost as I attempted to hastily navigate the unfamiliar fortress.

A second set of walls even thicker than the first lay within the inner ring, staircases filled with soldiers moving upwards. Cracks split the air, the sound of rock being violently broken as I glanced around in search of somewhere, anywhere to go.

I knew my worth and determined I would be useless upon the walls. Ranged combat was far from my forte, and it would be too crowded for me to engage should the walls be climbed. A voice shouted directions at me from on high, and I followed the soldier’s stabbing finger to find a singular opening in the smooth ring of stone. Large enough to hold me and then some, I saw.

One, single corridor was bored into the stone, and only when I approached did I appreciate how thick the wall was. Magically made, it spanned an entire distance, perhaps two-dozen of my body-lengths, barred with several steel portcullis’.

Through the gaps in the steel, I could glimpse what lay outside. A killzone, ringed by massive walls of red rock surrounded a cliff face, from which poured long, thin, jagged nightmares. They bounded across the torn earth and blasted rocks with speed and jerking movements as destruction rained down from on high.

Streaks of lightning exploded from nothingness anywhere they clumped up, and fire fell from the skies above. The earth was warped, going soft beneath the monster's claws to drag them down and harden once more. Crossbow bolts and massive arrows shrieked through the shimmering air. Sheer waves of heat and flame distorted the air, bringing forth mirages as those attuned to the magicks let loose their might.

Long, slender darts of venom sped through the air in return, and from the screams above, they found targets with some regularity. Pillars of stone were ripped from the ground and vanished into the air with frightening speed, only to drop back down like titan fists moments later.

And for all this wroth and wrath, the flood could not be contained. They came, moving akin to blurs across the landscape.

Headed right for me.

The tunnel was just wide enough to swing the claymore, as I grunted and prepared for battle. Ironhide came first as I watched the roiling tide swell before me. Any fear I might have possessed was drowned as battle-thirst reared its head and bellowed approval.

Finally, a worthy slaughter. These were no small, weak monsters or frail humans such as inhabited these lands. Eldritch dread crawled across what I could glimpse of their features, and their hardened skin shrugged off all but direct hits of divine fury. Thickened Fur came next, my coat growing heavier as I waited breathlessly, eyes wide in refusal to blink.

A sinuous form leapt upwards, shrugged off a bolt of flame that washed across its back and crashed into the first portcullis. Cold, dead eyes regarded the interlocked steel as I did my damnedest to keep my gaze locked on the creature. There was something wrong set in its appearance that tickled unawakened parts of my mind, beckoned me to look away. To feel something, anything aside from the thrill of bloodlust that I could keep barely contained.

I refused.

Roars rumbled from within my throat, magnified by the rock around me as the creature tore through thickened steel with only moderate frustration. It stalked through the first gate and spat through the second’s bars at me.

One forearm came up just in time to block the acidic glob coming at my face. Fur sizzled, and metal wrenched as the creatures tore through the next gate and charged right for me. Thoughts and calculations left my mind and I swung on pure instinct, wrenching to a brutal stab as the monster attempted to eat the blow and keep coming.

The claymore’s enchantments ripped through its hardened shell and splattered ichor across the walls as its claws fell short. More came, pouring through the shorn gates, acid flying through the air as they closed the distance.

It stung, and that was all.

A wild swing was easily evaded as the monster slid backward without so much as stopping. Its carcass toppled as I halted the momentum, stepped forward, and gained speed off of a small flick with Brutal Swing. The blade met the monster, continued through it, and tore through the stone wall before I yanked it back.

Too late to stop the other horror that lunged at me. Instead I let one hand go from the hilt and yanked it around into a hammerfist that caught the creature’s side. Even with my prodigious strength, it barely staggered, yet that was enough. It’s long, singular hooked claw scraped along my side, its edge carving through my hardened hide.

That was all I needed to go Berserk.

Stopped by its treacherous bulk, my hand closed around its head through sheer hatred and pulped the snarling carapace between it and the wall.

The corpse dropped, and I staggered backwards, stung by acidic darts as more poured in through the opening. Pure fury bellowed from my lungs as I charged forward to meet them. The corridor barely held several of the long, sinuous monsters, their length making the sheer bulk of each one deceptive. A claw pierced past my defenses and ran along my neck even as I hacked the body in twain.

Cloven Crash stopped the others from tearing into me, but barely. They strained against its might with a strength I had not seen in other creatures.

The blade cut them down all the same.

“Is this all!?” I roared as more screamed through the tunnel.

A vain boast, for soon I had no time to speak. Acid and claws forced me backward, the claymore ripping through stone, shell, and horrors made manifest. I found myself at the tunnel's mouth soon enough. They could not be allowed into the courtyard.

A portcullis dropped from the ceiling ahead of me, the creatures underneath speared through by several tons of dropped steel. A moment’s respite was all I was afforded before that too was torn wide open and the quiet storm approached.

Saying they flooded forward would be a lie. That would imply some simplistic beast. Instead, they seemed to stalk at full speed, ready to explode in any direction. They came, they died, they learned. Full assaults turned into lightning-quick jabs and slashes, acid aimed at my eyes. Several would split, forcing me to commit to a side as they danced on the blade’s edge.

Unconcerned for their own lives, they threw bodies at me simply to drag me down and let the wounds grow. I screamed raw, of pain and sheer fury as my hooves crunched among the corpses, skills thrown wild. Another group was yanked to a halt by Cloven Crash, only barely held in place long enough for their lives to be ended.

The dead piled around me, broken corpses in their dozens felled within my reach. The footing was treacherous now, even as I stomped onto and through bodies. My head twitched aside, and the dart aimed at my eyes only traced across my cheek.

How many had been returned back to the dirt, I didn’t know. Didn’t care either.

They still came. Unrelenting.

A mass of acid shots sent me reeling back, pawing at my face as the poison fried through my fur, slid off the iron skin, and into delicate orifices, like my ears.

Claymore raised overhead, I brought it down, saw the monster begin to dodge, and bisected it stem from stern as Brutal Swing turned the steel into a blurred moon arc.

And then I tripped.

In a moment that broke my heart, my hoof slipped upon carapace, and I lay on my back atop the mountain of bodies I had made. Grip held tight, I managed to bring up the claymore and impale one as it leapt at me, the stench of its ichor and ancient shell seared into my nostrils. A roar in my throat, I twisted and flung it away.

More came, and without any time to stand, I was overrun.

Scythe-ike claws scissored into my chest at blinding speed, my armored skin shorn right through. I gasped as venomous claws sliced into the flesh, muscles, and precious organs that lay beneath. Shock took hold as claws moved like blurs to eviscerate me. Not one, but several monsters stabbed into me from all sides.

Only because I had seized It Will Not Die as I had fallen was my time on this world not ended here and now. They tore my flesh apart, sank claw and fang into my being even as I thrashed, my rage breaking them apart.

I cast one off and staggered upwards even as more claws came to drag me down. Atop a mountain of carnage, beset on all sides and without another choice, I dipped within and used all my strength to summon Blood for Blood.

The cacophony of shrieks nearly bled my ears as the masses writhed in pain, my wounds returned to them. One and all felt my pain, and they could not bear it. Dying rasps filled their corridor as those strong enough to survive the initial shock of their inside being torn apart still survived.

I clung to It Will Not Die with a singular determination and staggered up. The bloodletting was not yet over. The gods of violence demanded their tribute, and I would give it. Those that lived did not linger upon this mortal coil much longer. I assured that.

Until, finally, my grisly work was done.

It was then that I finally looked down and realized I would die the instant I released the Skill.

Potions. I needed something. Anything.

The way back out was choked with bodies, carcasses stacked high in tribute to some carrion lord. I tore through them with my bare hands, creating my own path. Ichor burned my hands, and venom ran free as I hauled and hurled away corpse after corpse, all the while determined to not look down. Spare myself the sight of what lay exposed and torn.

The gathered force stared in silence as I emerged from the carnage, having braced here to receive any force that broke through the gate.

They would not have been enough.

But now, they stared at another monster, one covered in blood and ichor, body ripped apart and alive against all reason.

“Stare later,” I snarled, temples still pounding red. “Fetch me a healer.”

It was with some irony that I found myself holding a flagon full of my own milk, stuff I had sold to some soldiers so long ago. A figure I could not be bothered to give attention to assured me they were a Cleric and could attend to my wounds. With one last sigh, I tipped the liquid into my mouth and collapsed backwards once it was empty.

Firm, gentle hands brought heat and light close to my body as consciousness faded in and out.

Bloodstained Berserker Level Thirty reached. Sleep to apply.

Finally.

Chapter 57

I refused to let sleep’s grip smother me under as the cleric attended my wounds. Somewhat out of sheer spite, mostly because a small voice whispered into the recesses of my mind that I would not wake for days. The feat I had wrought had proven my worth, and the Thirtieth level awaited me. Messengers from the System, from the Gods Above, let it be known that once I lost consciousness, no force would awaken me until the breakthrough had been achieved.

A legendary Skill awaited me for such a time when I was ready. The unique combination of my class and race, it dangled just out of reach, not yet given to me. Soon.

Hands that knitted my flesh moved quickly, with uncanny precision as clear fluid was scraped out of my wounds and the flesh pulled closed beneath her touch. Red robes clad the woman who attended to me. A stern, drawn face seemed without emotion as she expertly made me whole once more. Not a trace of revulsion or other such weakness lay in her scent as she worked through my insides, everything returned and reattached to its proper place.

“You have experience with this,” I grunted in pain.

“Not the first fool nearly made into a corpse I’ve worked upon. Nor the first of your kind,” she returned briskly, black hair speckled with gray bobbing as she moved.

I grunted as a rib slid back into place, blood coughed up in my mouth.

“Whatever Skill still gives you life, cling to it with all your might,” she demanded, and I happily obliged.

“Thought they just used Fleshknitters here,” was my attempt to make small talk to distract from the pain.

I was slumped back against a wall, the woman standing before me. She barely had to bend to stitch away at my chest, her fingers beckoning the flesh closed.

“A mockery of godly grace,” she snapped. “I use no such cheap blasphemy. The Red Godling guides my hands, and through him, you are made whole. Now be silent. I have others to attend, and the sooner you are stable, the better.”

“Why me first then?” I almost laughed. Would have, had I not been so utterly crushed in the grasp of agony.

“You’ve fashioned yourself a bloody hero,” came the cranky reply. “Now shut up and stop moving.”

Her words rang true, I realized.

There was a quiet sense of awe in the gazes of those who looked upon me. Some fear buried behind the amazement, so deep I could only smell it. Dazed though I was, I fully realized what I had just accomplished was no small feat. The swarm had been contained by a single minotaur. It was then that I was finally, fully thankful for this body and its strengths.

Even as I sat here, tired beyond belief, the fortress moved around me. The injured needed to be tended, the bodies cleared, massed carcasses hauled away, and damage fixed. Duty slowed for no man, I knew. For a time, I sat and observed the ringed fortress moving with life around me as the pain slowly faded.

She stood abruptly, thin gloves pulled from her hands and cast aside. I realized then that her work was finished, and while still sore, I was no longer about to die. At least not immediately.

With a sigh, I finally released It Will Not Die and felt the breath leave my body as tiredness clubbed me about the head.

“I’m told you sell this… milk?” she asked after a moment spent regarding me. “It radiates divinity, yet from no god with which I am familiar.”

The empty flask she had handed me, I realized after a moment of confusion.

“Indeed,” I replied cautiously.

“You are the farmer who lives on the path up the mountain, yes?”

Again, I nodded. She seemed satisfied with that.

“I shall pay you a visit in the future, then.”

And with that, the Red Cleric turned and strode away, off to mend the wounded. Someone who took her duties quite seriously was the impression I had gotten, brief though this had been. She had stitched me back up with surgical precision, only the exact amount of power needed to heal each and every individual gash used. Were I not done on my own body, I would have perhaps displayed more fascination as to this and her methods.

For now, I was merely thankful she had been present. It had not been my strict duty to involve myself in this battle, but such had been my choice, and I stood to reap the rewards.

Physically, I did find just a smidge of trouble with that. And while my healer had left, I was not left to my own devices.

The first thing I noticed was the singularly bushy, magnificent mustache that graced the man’s upper lip and covered most of his face. Proud eyes webbed by crow’s feet from constant smiles gazed at me as I stood, and a beaming smile was perhaps not something I fully expected.

If a minotaur towering before the man frightened him, his face did not show it.

“Gods Above, I am pleased that you are on our side,” he addressed me in a cheery fashion, helm held under one arm as the other extended forward in the offer of a handshake. A grasp that I gently took and gave a few pumps, careful not to squeeze too hard. Not everyone shared my prodigious strength, levels, and whatnot aside.

“Ser Damian North, Knight-Commander of the Redstone Fortress,” he introduced himself and gestured around. “It is not much, but it is mine.”

“Garek,” I returned. “A farmer.”

“Humility or false modesty, I cannot tell.” He looked me up and down. “Don’t care a whit either way. The fortress stands because of your timely intervention. Let nothing diminish that feat or what gratitude is owed to you. Come.” He beckoned.

With a groan, I followed his strides, my longer legs allowing me to slow alongside him. We passed marching troops, couriers being dispatched with reports, mercenaries heading to loot what they could, and people emerging from designated habitat towers.

A fairly long climb later, we emerged atop the wall and gazed down into the massive pit the fortress ringed.

It was a charnel house. Corpses lay strewn in the thousands, the full might and fury of all the fortress’s defenders unleashed into the swarm as it had emerged. There was nary a patch of land empty, all covered in strewn, broken bodies. Sections of wall crumbled, eaten through by acid barrages and hewn apart by claws.

The armor-clad man spoke solemnly. “You’ve rendered us a great service this day. One that will not, and should not, soon be forgotten. The tunnel you held very likely saved the fortress. The wave, this horde was far larger than any we had seen or prepared for. If they broke through, they would have overrun the castle from the inside.”

“Why even have a tunnel such as that?” I questioned. “If the point is to keep them contained, would a solid wall of rock not be better?”

“We tried that, aye. They just swarmed up the walls and ran over them. Lost many good soldiers in those first few attempts. Then the elf insisted on the tunnel, and we found they instead flood towards it. The easiest route, you see. There were still more that came up the walls, but those were repelled.”

It made sense. They could cut through steel, yet the funnel created by said tunnel would attract them all toward one place, where, in theory, the ranged volleys could crush them. That theory had been largely disproven today.

“And yet.” I gestured back, down to where soldiers struggled to pull the massed corpses from the tunnel’s mouth.

“Aye.” He sighed in acknowledgment. “We did have some semblance of a plan for that.”

“My plan,” came a tired voice as Velton appeared before us, announced by the air itself splitting with a sharp crack. “One that, while not properly implemented, would have failed anyway. I expected a rational increase in the number of beasts sent while they tested the defenses. Instead, it found a weakness and flooded much, much more than I thought the dungeon would.”

“Master elf.” The commander nodded. “I see you two are acquainted?’

“Indeed,” he acknowledged with tired eyes.

“What was your plan, then?”

There came a frank, exhausted sigh as he quickly conjured images in the air to help an explanation.

“They would be forced through the tunnel and out of a controlled choke-point, where there would be a mass of armed guards and mages stationed to greet them. If all went according to plan, they would pour out, right into a ritual spell I had prepared for the baron’s mages to trigger.

“Time Slow. Within a selected bubble, this would force those caught inside it into a glacial pace, allowing those defending to accurately pick them off. However, the sheer crush of bodies the dungeon sent would have eaten through the available mana so fast I doubted it would make a difference.”

“I see,” was all I could give.

“I will need to prepare something else for the next assault. No same tactic works twice against the monsters. The swarm watches, and it learns. I fear these are the worst sort of foes.”

With that, he headed off along the wall, pausing to repair sections through his magic.

“As he said, your ferocity and prowess held the fortress for another day.” Commander North smiled tiredly. “Ask anything of me, and I will see you rewarded for it. I do not forget those who render me aid.”

“Some coin would not go amiss,” I grunted and observed the feast for crows that lay below. “Although, I do have another request.”

“Simply ask.”

“Have your men bring several cartloads of those carcasses to my farm. I assume you know where it is.”

He shrugged and said that, yes, he was aware.

“I have given my word, and it shall be so.”

Once more, I found my gaze back towards the dungeon. Its entrance stood in the middle of a cliff face, its entirety ringed by the massive fortress.

“He made this, didn’t he?’ I gestured around.

“The elf? Aye, he did the bulk of the magical conduggery, helped on by Lord Ironmoor’s resident wizards and sorcerers. A great feat in its own right, but something within the realm of possibility with his kind.”

We watched as Velton’s distant form levitated an entire broken section of wall back up, the rock fusing back into its original placement.

“Mages.” I nodded, my first real taste of what the arcane could do fresh upon my mind.

“Indeed. Too fanciful for a simple man like me. My work is done through steel and strength, my battles won with bravery and good supply trails. Let those who play with the Gods’ gifts stay focused upon my enemies, and not on me, I say.”

A good way of thinking of it.

“Now come. Your rewards await.”

With that, he led the way back down the walls, pausing every so often to issue orders and sign some parchment or other presented by an endless flow of people come to seek him out.

But he held his promise, and before long, we were at a tower I found to be his command center.

Before long, I was one heavy coin purse richer, my pack retrieved from where I had mercifully had the sense of mind to shed it outside the walls. Cold kissed my hide once more, and with the chillvines slung over my shoulder, I set off back down the mountain.

Tiredness gripped every limb I possessed and some I perhaps did not as I staggered into the yard come evening. Within me lay just enough strength to gesture a greeting towards Ishila and Gol as they looked on. The climb up the hill towards my lodge was the longest I had ever endured, and the pillow had just barely touched my cheek before sleep dragged me under.

Unique Class/Race Skill: Brazen Bull Behemoth granted.

Your actions please the Gods Above.

Chapter 58

I drifted in sleep’s deep waters, a contented tiredness about my body as the System worked away at my body. This, I was fully aware of yet, yet there was no panic as the gifts of the Gods Above shaped my body to its natural course. To the man I was before, perhaps the experience would have been a source of fright and horror, to have my body changed in such a way as I gazed on. Yet here, it came naturally. If some outside source provided influence to calm me, I welcomed it.

My visions were strange things, even for this world and what I had experienced insofar. This was not a peaceful sleep that I inhabited. To say it was would be to reject reality itself with such a level of self-delusion.

My thoughts were filled with ancient, primal things. Transcendent visions of a different time, one where all I could see were massive, furred beasts that only resembled minotaurs in the vaguest sense. Gone were the plethora of dull colors that my race’s fur was. Those that came to me in dreams were colored of whitest snow, their long, pale hair streaked with vibrant paints.

Even in the dreamscape, the strangest feeling entered me as I gazed upon these beings. One I had yet to experience since I had come into this world. I gazed upon what had once been, and I felt small.

An event of great importance unfolded around me, I realized. Several of the ghostly forms drifted past, speaking in strange tongues I could not comprehend. And as they whispered their lost wisdom to me, my very being changed.

The Gods Above had sent me a tribulation, and it had been overcome. Now was my reward. My proof that I could be entrusted with even more strength, an irrefutable argument that I had the potential to rise even further.  Give greater battle in their name. I knew this distant pantheon of fickle deities not, but I welcomed their gifts all the same.

Whatever immortal wisdom these great furred beings tried to impart was lost to the void simply as I could not understand their language. Something precious, gone forever.

The waking world seized hold and dragged me back to the light before I could dwell on this.

My eyes slowly cracked open, and I found myself in a wholly unfamiliar place. The shell of this place had been built by my hands, but I could not remember the insides this way. Counter-tops were laden with objects, my weapons and armor neatly mounted upon the walls. The faint scent of dried meat drifted through the air, coming from the cellar. Whoever had moved all my possessions from one house to the next had done so in the time in which I had slept.

The world spun as I stood. Everything seemed just a tad… off. Misplaced. Too far away. The doorway that had been comfortable to walk through before, that I had built specifically for my height, now required that I tilt my head. Even then, my horns scraped against the wood as I blearily emerged from my lodge and winced as the sun lanced into my eyes.

The yard was bare, the fields were empty, and—

The first harvest has been completed. You have reached Level Eight. You have reached Level Nine. New Skills will become available for selection once you rest.

I had just woken up from said rest, but okay. Was it a massive trickle-down from my main class leveling up that had triggered this surge?

The thought fleeted across my mind, only to be swept away as a shout rang across the yard. Ishila waved from where she and the others worked near the dam. The sight of me caused all attempts at said task to be abandoned. They approached my mildly confused form with varying degrees of speed.

“Welcome back to the living!” the orc lass announced, her grin stretched wide, fang-tips poking past her lip.

“How long?” was all I said in reply.

“Several days. Gettin’ up on a week now. First day, we were sorta worried, then Pa’ came by, realized you were breakin’ through into the next stages of levelin’, and assured us you’d be alright.”

She stopped and looked up at me with eyes that were full of awe.

She spoke solemnly. “Garek, that miracle you rendered at the fort was beyond what even I thought you were capable of. I fought those monsters first. I know what they’re capable of. Pa’ told me everythin’.”

“It was an act of the Gods Above that I survived, yes,” I agreed, leaving the skill that had literally pushed death aside unsaid.

Moments passed until Ishila’s serious frown flickered and a smile emerged beneath. “In the meantime, you weren’t ‘round, and the work wasn’t bein’ done. Got the oats, grain, and wheat all sorted out and stored away, cows milked, and more pots of healin’ milk bein’ worked on right now.”

“I could not help but notice my lodge is far better decorated than when I left.”

“That too.” She beamed as Gol groaned and sat on his haunches. “Ran out of other work, and the cows only take so much time tah be milked, so I figured we’d finish what ya started. Weren’t gonna wake up either way, no matter how much stuff Gol dropped.”

That last part was accompanied by an accusatory glare at said recipient, an action that only elicited a pitiful whine.

“We were sorta countin’ on you bein’ up from that power-nap once that ran outta things to do. Once that didn’t happen, we got the vegetables picked and sorted into the cellar. Once that was all done and tidied up, we were seein’ if we couldn’t do somethin’ with the dam and try to hook some fish.”

A scant few wobbles ran through me as I quietly nodded and processed the situation. That was quite the load that had been lifted from my back.

“Men from the fort dropped by and dumped a bunch of carcasses at the field’s edge.” She made a face and pointed across the yard. “I’ll admit, my reaction… weren’t pretty at first.”

Ishila scratched the back of her head and looked away, hand on one hip, her scent uneasy.

“To be honest, I mighta freaked out and nearly killed one—or more—of ‘em. You asked ‘em to deliver those things down here?” There was something strained in her voice at that.

I had done that without thinking of the effects on her, true. My explanation that I intended to study the enemy and derive uses from their corpses eased some of the strain from her posture and voice.

“I thought they’d start stinkin’ and goin’ bad under the sun by now, but yeah, nothin’,” she pointed out. “You can have at ‘em whenever you feel like. Just count me out for now. Not too excited ‘bout the prospect of lookin’ at one of those buggers anytime soon.”

I could not find it in me to judge her in any way for that.

For as much work as the trio had accomplished, there was still more to be done. Once congratulations were given and my thanks firmly expressed, there were other tasks that desperately needed to be tended to. The lightning-fast battle at the fort had instilled in me a reminder that now, more than ever, logistics were supreme, and I intended to integrate myself into those.

More to help save lives than for profit, but I could not lie and say the latter would be unwelcome.

Ishila informed me that, yes, she had also been harvesting from the monster plants while I slumbered. The jugs of acid were plentiful, and there were adequate jugs of healing milk. For a while, I questioned the validity of using milk as a component for healing. It was not exactly a substance known for staying good under suboptimal conditions. Yet, I had heard no complaints insofar, and the draught I had taken at the fort held up just fine, despite being sold weeks ago. Was part of the healing power working to keep it preserved?

It was deep in the afternoon once we had the singular horse hooked up and cart fully loaded to head up to the Verdant Dawn’s camp. I elected to stay upon the farm for this one, having my own interests to attend. Ishila had earned my trust so many times over that sending her to do this was a trivial concern at best. Artyom leapt at the chance to accompany her, and Gol took the opportunity to slink off under some shade and splay himself out.

Soon, they too were gone, and I turned my focus to what excited me this day. A power coursed within, eager and ready to be called. For so long, it had laid dormant, a carrot held before me to pursue the next great breakthrough. Now, it was within my grasp, and I intended to see its glory.

Soon, I stood alone, save for a familiar face that rested among the treetops. The straw-covered raven had returned, its brown wings folded and its dark eyes turned to observe me in silence. Out in the middle of a barren field, I took a deep breath and dived deep within.

Brazen Bull Behemoth writhed and shook as I attempted to drag the Skill to the surface. Unlike the others, it resisted with stubborn ferocity, some great beast that disliked that I roused it.

A candid description, I found.

The space before me flickered and distorted, shimmers running through the air as something became undone. A massive shadow throbbed and pulsed, features blurred and then sharpened. Back and forth it went, being all but dragged into reality. Cold limbs were rendered unable to move as I stood and witnessed what I had wrought upon this world. A command had been given to the world itself, and it was absolute.

Rumbles that sounded like boulders being ground together down a mountain slope sounded as the mass towered above me. Broad shoulders, long fur, massive form. An ancient, titanic minotaur stood before me, a monster that dwarfed me in every way. Scarlet streaks ran along snow-white fur, a crown of horns upon a gigantic head.

Primality itself radiated from every pore of this massive, hulking brute. It spoke of strength and sheer resilience, every pore of the creature exuding strength.

It hit after a few heartbeats of awe and vague terror.

The Skill had summoned a behemoth unto this world. It stood silently, and I instinctively knew it awaited a command.

Hesitation blinked aside, I grunted and ordered it to step back. There was a small delay that caused me to fear a language barrier could screw this all over.

Earth was shoved aside as legs thick as tree trucks moved, hooves that dwarfed mine slamming into the earth itself.

I was a giant among men. The largest creature that existed in this general vicinity, save for the Apex. This thing made me seem insignificant. I felt giddy inside as I beheld the behemoth in all its slouched, shaggy glory.

There was so much farmwork that could be made trivial if I had this to do it for me. I suppose it would be rather invaluable for any future battles and dungeon expeditions as well. A whim flitted through my mind, and a command was issued. I watched with no small amount of fascination as it turned and tromped away, every step sending small tremors underfoot. Its sheer weight and bulk crunched the earth itself, every step sinking into the ground.

A tree was uprooted with ease as the behemoth closed its fist around the sizable trunk and tugged sharply. Said dirt, bark, and greenery vanished into the distance as the behemoth reared back and hurled it up the mountain.

I watched with no small degree of giddy joy as the massive trunk, roots, and leaves vanished into the general horizon. A feeling bubbled within me now, a childlike excitement and penchant for mischief as I cast about to see what other feats I could command the primal minotaur to do.

This was perhaps the single best outcome of this Skill I had ever envisioned.

Come what may, I was going to have copious amounts of fun.

Chapter 59

Words failed to describe the glee with which I observed the behemoth messily uproot my land. Trees were ripped from the loamy soil and tossed aside, vaguely stacked as I filed their presence away for later usage. Now, in the moment, I was solely focused on the complete and utter destruction of the landscape surrounding my fields. I had imagined the act of clearing the forest to be a long, tiring one that would eat through my available time.

The concern had been addressed, scoffed at, and tossed aside in a crumpled mess as Fate decided this amused it more.

I trailed in the ancient being’s wake, the land torn asunder as I commanded it to create available farmland. Birds rose from distant trees, disappearing into the distance as the disturbance spread. There was a faint strain about my body as I issued commands, a touch of tiredness that came, despite my long slumber.

Everything had a price, I was reminded. This was not the exception. Yet, for now, I was more than eager to pay it.

Wanton destruction only ceased once a yell echoed across the fields, somehow piercing the cacophony. Ishila hopped from the cart and strode across the yard, head tilted back to take in the giant.

“I saw that over the trees!” she exclaimed, eyes wide and the scent of excitement about her. “I’m assumin’ it’s your breakthrough Skill?”

While I did not quite understand the terminology she chose to use at that moment, I could piece together the context and nodded.

“Gods Above, someone up there really must be pleased with ya.” The orc all but glowed as she observed the behemoth casually ripping a tree from the ground. “Summon?”

I wanted to ask how she had guessed this quickly, then realized that she had spent her life in the presence of a powerful mage.

“Insofar as I can tell, yes.” I nodded, then frowned.

The energy required to both engage in conversation and commandeer that massive minotaur was now a noticeable strain. It was through my energy and will that it was held to this plane, the System whispered to me. Powerful though it undoubtedly was, it did come with rules.

“This is amazin’,” she continued. “I know the breakthrough skill everyone gets is a unique mix of class, race, and some other stuff, but this? “ Her head shook in silence as Ishila gazed towards the behemoth with amazement.

A head turned towards the road showed she was alone in her wonderment. Artyom lingered by the cart, ears flattened to his skull and tail on end. The felinid refused to approach any closer, trying to calm the horse. Gol hid at the furthest reaches of the yard, at the very edge of my notably poor vision. Although drowned out by other noises, I could almost imagine him whimpering.

Even the taur-cows were backed against the furthest fence, grunting their disapproval. It was around then that I realized I could not hear the wildlife within the forest, nor did I see any birds overhead.

The lone raven sat in its untouched tree, silently smug as it viewed the destruction that accompanied the giant’s wake.

I felt nothing as I gazed upon the behemoth’s primal form, only the sense that it would obey my every command. Yet, simply because I did not experience something would not mean others were the same.

“Ishila, does this invoke any feeling in you?” I asked.

“Yah.” She nodded, eyes still focused on the giant. “Sense of fear. Something absolutely overwhelming is near. Danger screaming in my ears.”

“And you’re not bothered by it?”

“Not in particular.” The orc shrugged. “Grew up with the same feelin’ whenever I looked at Ma’.”

That would do it.

A decision was made, and with some faint sense of regret, I released my hold on the bond that kept the titan tethered to this world. Great red eyes turned towards me as the beast slipped free of reality’s grasp and faded away, gaze on me all the while. It left naught but ruined forest and massive, gouged hoof prints in its wake.

“So… that certainly seemed worth the effort,” I mused as we stood amidst the barren field and observed the fresh ruination.

“Never heard of someone gettin’ a disappointing’ breakthrough skill. There’s good reasons why people always chase that next level.”

Dedicated though I was to a simple life on my farm, I could begin to see the allure of new skills and levels.

“How went the trip?” I asked, steering the conversation away from such topics as we tromped back towards the farm.

“Faster than I expected. Alchemist made some rufflin’ ‘bout how long it took for the acid to be delivered to him. I told him if he wanted it that bad, he could have just came and got it.”

“And Raffnyk?”

“Yer human friend? He took everything we had, handed over the gold, and was back to work quick as you please. In and out, no trouble at all. That other fellah though, Pert, he was lookin’ like he wanted to throw in somethin’ as we’re talkin' but got told to mind his business.”

The man just couldn’t let it go. He was still searching for a way to get back at me for whatever petty slight I inflicted on him. And sooner or later, it would come to a head. One that he would dislike.

“Anything else?”

“Ma’ or Pa’ will want to talk to ya soon. Just remembered. Expect them to come find you in the very near future. Dungeon’s been actin’ up more and more last few days, and they’re thinkin’ it might be time soon.”

“Time for… what exactly?” I could perhaps guess, but to hear Ishila confirm it might be better than leaping to assumptions.

“That question’s between you and them.” She grimaced. “Ma’ doesn’t seem particularly keen to share new developments with me. Kinda frustratin’.”

I could imagine.

The skill had sapped a fair bit of my pep and energy at this point. Though I had maintained it for quite some time, physical exertion while using it had greatly increased my fatigue. That in and of itself was understandable. Past experience with how other skills functioned showed the same thing. Although, this drained me at an even faster pace than any other power I had called, save for It Will Not Die.

More than even my new-found summon, that skill enthralled me. The ability to simply refuse death for a short time was, frankly, beyond belief. It lay dormant now, and a vague feeling stirred within that it would not be available again for a long time.

“I entrust you to take care of the horse and cart.” I nodded to Ishila as we parted ways.

The lass agreed and headed off to finish up her work as I made my way toward the stack of corpses that awaited me.

Menacing in life, made awkward in death. The long, jagged corpses lay in a somewhat crooked row, the product of a hurried drag and dump. Up close, they only looked the slightest bit less horrifying than when they had been blurred shapes streaking through the half-darkness. The soldiers had picked the most intact, but even those were rent apart by incredible amounts of violence.

Their ichor stained the grass, I observed as I knelt and began to turn the corpses. The carapace that covered their bodies was jagged, bulky, and flexible at the same time. It grew into what little skin could be found beneath the various wounds and overall burnt smell. This one had obviously taken an entire flurry of crossbow bolts before colliding with a sizable fireball. Charred and burnt, it moved stiffly, limbs seized up.

What interested me most was the scythe-claws. Distinct memories of those long, hooked uni-claws piercing my hide with contemptuous ease were still fresh upon my mind. With careful motions, I pried one seized-up limb loose, brought out the knife ever-present at my belt, and hacked the entire limb off.

A firm grasp on the severed forearm, I swung at the air and found it, to no continued surprise, stiff.

Much as I wanted to test the edge, I knew better than to do something as inane as pricking myself with it. There were plenty of other corpses on hand. Make-shift shortsword raised, I selected the closest one, brought the edge down on a piece of carapace, and began to cut.

It went through. Eventually. Nowhere near the easy slices that had laid open my hide. Perhaps it was dulled. Through a sudden burst of violence, I acquired another claw—and attached arm—then returned to the same experiment. This one also proved fruitless. While no doubt sharp, the pale claws lacked that ceaseless edge that made them so effective against everything they came into contact with.

Several moments spent in thought of this conundrum led me to conclude that it must have been a skill unique to the now-slaid horrors.

I had known monsters also harnessed the System and reaped the benefits that came with it, yet the full implications of that had not been considered until now. They not only wielded skills but powerful ones. An entire species of monsters possessed the ability to simply ignore armor. Clarity struck like a hammerblow as several murky subjects were made clear.

People cherished and chased after levels not in blind pursuit of power for their own gain but because of the creatures that would see them dead. This was not just a race among what one could consider the civilized races but all beings.

Left struck by this rather obvious revelation, I found myself once more above the gathered corpses. Without sheer levels on my side, I would need more unorthodox ways of ensuring my safety. If these were what the dungeon considered fodder, I shuddered to imagine its more elite dwellers.

Thankfully, this was one topic I had refused to remain ignorant on, and Ishila’s late-evening schooling helped me glean some insight here.

For now, however, a veritable trove of materials lay before me, ready to be stripped and made use of.

The claws, while a minor disappointment, still contained something I considered precious.

Some time later, I had several spare pots ready, along with just-too-tight gloves stretched over my hands. Teeth grit, I held a claw in one hand and the knife in the other. With slow, deliberate movements the blade sliced off the ivory tip, and my prize ran free. Clear liquid ran in a thin stream, arced through the air, and into the jug below.

The venom carried by these creatures was a scentless, deadly thing. Capable of neutralizing most conventional methods of healing, it showed a firm step in the philosophy behind these monsters. If their adversary did not fall beneath the claw, the venom would end them.

The more I cut away at these corpses, the more I studied these unnatural bodies, the more I became convinced that these horrors were not birthed.

But rather made.

Only an intelligent mind could design something so focused on the express purpose of inflicting death at all costs. When I had used Blood for Blood back in the tunnel, it had not targeted a single creature, as I had intended, but the entire swarm. It has swept right past the monster I had focused on and to the mind that controlled them all.

There existed something up there in the darkness that puppeteered and commanded these monstrosities. Saw through their eyes, adapted, and commanded their movements. A hive mind. It made them effective, I realized. When every being was expandable, that mind that oversaw the swarm could be afforded a fluidity in battle that human commanders would perhaps not have the stomach to match.

The alchemist would pay good coin for this, I wagered. Yet, it might benefit everyone more if I delivered this to Raffnyk’s possession and set his resources to another task. Finding an effective antidote to counteract this would be a costly endeavor, I realized. And a small stopgap anyhow. But it would save lives. Were I wholly concerned with profit, I would not have had this discussion at all.

Still, if it was any solace, I figured the ichor would sell nearly as well. Alchemists had a weird obsession with foreign materials like it, even if no discernable use presented itself.

Chapter 60

Logistics was something much easier in imagination than reality, I found. In mind’s eye, acquiring additional taur-cows for the herd was a task that had been all but fulfilled. I had help, Ishila had the location, and the coin was at hand. Now, as I stared down a baleful herd of temperamental half-monsters, I found myself unsure.

There was remarkably little I could do with a small whip in one hand and a dream in the other. A half-hearted crack at the air elicited no more than a few snorts of disdain. The pressure of Skills waiting to be chosen hovered at the edge of my vision, forcibly ignored as I attempted to challenge the system’s patience.

“Harder,” Ishila grunted, followed by the air being loudly split apart. Her own whip came down mere handspans from a taur-cow’s face. If those flat faces could convey emotion, this one would be distinctly unimpressed.

“Should have brought Gol.” I sighed and contemplated the trek back.

We would need to travel downhill, cut across several areas, and finally meet up with the road that would lead back up the terrain towards my farm. I had started the journey exceptionally early with the assumption we would have returned by noon. I saw now my naivety and arrogance for daring to think that.

The farmer—if, indeed, I could call him that—offered no help whatsoever. He had happily taken my coin, opened the gate to the small, cramped pasture that contained this sullen herd, and promptly retreated to his decrepit cabin.

This was firmly our problem now. The sale had been made, and he had no further obligations in this matter.

“Off tah try an’ find the next big breakthrough” Ishila mentioned once she followed my gaze. “That coin’s gonna be gone within the next full moon, I’d wager. Man could be half-rich by now but keeps throwin’ it at every new fancy experiment that catches his eye.”

The sight of this shoddy cabin, run-down yard, sagged fences, and overgrown weeds combined with the general gloom struck a feeling in me. Almost pity, but also a hint of relief at my own situation, weirdly enough.

“This doesn’t make him enough coin?” I asked with another ineffective crack, my irritation mounting as the taur-cows refused to budge.

“Heavens, yes.” Ishila almost laughed. “There are some folks that pay ludicrous amounts for some of his experiments, but, if ya’ don’t mind me bein’ blunt, he pisses it all away. New toys he uses once and never again, some expensive enchantments from far-off lands that don’t live up to the myth, the most inane things. Ma’ and Pa’ have tried to help him since he crafted up some stuff for them, but he don’t want none.

“No one can argue he’s not a genius,” She scowled, face turned uncharacteristically sour. “But people ‘round here don’t want occasional bursts of glory followed by throughs of mediocrity. They want consistency and stability. Results delivered on time so their own businesses and farms can function without gamblin’ on someone else’s moods.”

“Sounds to me like you speak from experience.”

“Yeah,” was all I got in return.

There was a brief moment in which I realized this man mirrored me in many aspects. A product in demand, ways of achieving it unbeknownst to others, resources at his command. Yet, according to Ishila, he was content to squander it.

It was at that time that I inwardly decided I would never be the same. Deliveries would be on time, rain or shine. I had established myself as a friendly, valuable source of goods in the area. Now I needed to prove the most meaningful test of all: reliability.

But first, these cows had to be driven home, and I tired of their disdain.

“You may want to cover your ears,” I suggested mildly, letting the whip fall and feeling the dry air sucked into my lungs.

Scream of Fury shattered the air heartbeats after Ishila’s hand clamped to her head. The shockwave of sound and sheer anger flared reaction and movement in the herd. The shifting mass turned and began to trot away, mooing all the while as they funneled down the narrow path.

Sometimes, all one needed was a little fear.

“That works,” Ishila commented as she jogged alongside me to keep up with the herd’s pace.

Not the skill’s intended use, but I would take it. Stubborn as they were, the taur-cows were still beasts prone to guidance from their instincts. They slowed, of course. Base fear only lasted for so long. Yet, I was eager to supply them with more roars, much to the dismay of whatever wildlife existed nearby. Birds flapped from trees, animals burst from the bush and scattered in random directions as my wake continued.

Such was the extent of my bellowing that I found myself with a sore throat once we had arrived back at the farm. The task of herding them into the pasture was made somewhat easier with Gol around. Artyom, while riding valiantly atop Gol, was simply too small for the cows to care about. While I would rather not see him randomly trampled by some beast dozens of times his size, the decision to help from up close was his.

The beasts were eventually guided into the pasture, despite some breakaway attempts towards the end. They lingered in their own groups, the two herds distrustful of each other. There was plenty of grass for them to share, I reckoned. For now. The growth was spurred on by my Gold is Power, and the more I accumulated, the more I would be able to keep my cows sustained and even perhaps, dare I hope, happy.

“We really should get that shed built someday,” I mused to Ishila as we leaned against the fence posts for a quick break.

She agreed.

“Other things to focus on for now, though. Need to break up the land cleared yesterday and turn it into a proper field.”

While I wanted to go and run experiments on my plants, the more mundane tasks of my farm received attention first.

“Ma’s gonna be around later today,” Ishila muttered under her breath, looking around. “Needs to talk.”

“Dungeon?” I assumed.

“Yeah. There are a few… hiccups. Didn’t tell me what, but I can tell.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that firmly committed to memory, I headed off to carve myself a fourth field with newfound gusto, magical weapons, and a solid steel plow. Much as I liked grass, even enjoyed its scent both as a human and minotaur, it had to go. As did all the bushes, brambles, and general undergrowth that the behemoth’s tree-ripping rampage had missed.

It wasn’t hard work, per se. Just a boredom-inducing slog that took up overly much time. Progress was steady but slow, simply because carrying around waste and destroyed plant life took time. Anything heavy, I could toss beyond the field’s boundaries, but the lighter chaff would simply flop and blow with the wind before dropping into the other fields.

Stones and boulders alike had to be heaved from the ground and carried away, although I did question just how necessary this was. Still, habit demanded I do so. There was a nice little rockpile being stocked up by the time I saw the Wyld Orc approach.

Her weapons were not at hand this time, I saw as she drew near. From a distance, she could have been mistaken for Ishila, were it not for the shimmer in the air around here as her bound spirits swirled.

“Tehalis.” I greeted with a neutral, somewhat respectful tone. While she was the mother of a dear friend, I did not know her well enough to be fully friendly.

“Garek,” she returned curtly. “I have sought you out for a reason. We must discuss some… inconveniences.”

Her tone and sufficient context of the situation implied they were far, far more than that.

A wordless gesture indicated the conversation might be better served inside the lodge, away from any prying ears. Enough experience with this world and its magic meant even that might not be safe, but it was better than no precautions at all.

Tehalis gave no visible protest to Ishila’s presence as her daughter joined our path towards my home. Only a quiet grunt escaped her throat. The orc’s scent betrayed her impassive demeanor, tinged with impatience and frustration.

Was it then a merit to her that her expression hid those emotions well? Or a sign that others might take that, no matter how restrained she appeared, orcish anger stewed beneath? Context and interpretation to whomever peered closely enough. Where a bee might draw nectar, a spider could suck venom from the same source.

Her mother stood while Ishila took an offered seat. Truth be told, I expected neither of them to make themselves comfortable.

Tehalis spoke, crisp and curt. “There have arisen complications.”

“Do tell,” Ishila drawled.

“The dungeon is waking rapidly. And with it, the danger grows with each day.”

“We knew this already,” I confirmed the obvious.

“Not to this extent. What we see now is merely the first shard stirred. The base monsters that swarm from the fort’s entrance stem from that sphere of influence. Now that it has shaken off the chains of slumber, it seeks to extend its influence towards the other shards. It is a vast mess of ecosystems and share-cores that all remain connected to the final, deepest layer of the dungeon—or so I suspect.

“And now, the foremost part has been tickled awake. I have stalked the dungeon’s halls unseen, and insofar, only it has been woken. Why or how the rest has slept so far remains a mystery, but we must act soon, or it will not slumber for long.”

“So we prepare to storm the dungeon’s gates, then.” I sighed. There had been some faint hope that, if the situation could not be resolved without me, it would at least be delayed some time further in the future.

“No,” Tehalis grunted. “A frontal assault would fail, regardless of how well our current numbers worked together. The swarm that awaits within will overrun almost any force. To attempt it would be the basest stupidity.”

“Then how?” Ishila demanded.

“The huntress searches for the Dreadknight’s tower and entrance concealed within,” Tehalis stated. “I will aid her search from within the dungeon myself.”

“You’ll be fine?” I asked, a healthy dose of skepticism in my mind. Much as I did not doubt she was a fearsome warrior, she had just finished saying any frontal assault would fail.

“The swarm cannot strike at what it cannot sense, bull,” the Wyld Orc said. “With the huntress searching overland and my efforts to locate this shaft from within, we may soon find it. We need to find it.”

“Very well.” I nodded. “I will stand ready for when the time comes.”

“Good. Increase your alertness around here as well. The fort is quickly becoming an untenable position to hold. They know this. Even now, we have found traces of some stealth variant of these monsters slipping over the walls at night and disappearing into the forests. Be on your guard at all times.

“Stock up on every item of importance you can think of.” Tehalis looked around with those intense eyes. “Once we enter the dungeon, none of us leave until the task is completed. We succeed, or we are buried there.”

“You would lay down your life for these people?” I asked with genuine curiosity. Given what I knew of her and the elf, they did not strike me as the type.

“No. Not for these humans. Not ever. But to stop another full awakening and the shambling apocalypse that follows The Swarm That Walks, yes. There are some things worth dying for.”

“The task before us is monumental, then. Are you sure we are enough for the occasion?”

“The nearest help is weeks away. These ‘elite hunters’ that the Verdant Dawn has promised your human friend remain unknown, and even with news of a possible dungeon, it still requires time to travel to the ass-end of nowhere. I would place little faith in outside help at this point, minotaur. We will have to be enough.”

And on that cheery note, the orc departed as quickly as she had come, silence left in her wake.

Chapter 61

The notion that I would need metal to protect my skin seemed almost laughable as I gazed at Garek’s old, polished set of armor. I had worn it perhaps once now, and it seemed that, in all honesty, I was better off without it. My skin was already naturally tough, and with the relevant skills, that could be enhanced to a level that the steel could not hope to match.

A moment of clarity struck me and I leaned back, caught in sudden thought. Ironhide was strong, yes, but how much of it was enhanced by Gold Is Power? I lacked a baseline to go off of as I had the boosting effects of said skill activated before being forced to use the former’s protection. Garek’s foggy memories did little to provide aid. There were glimpses of faint battles where the mind remembered usages. These indicated that there had been a time where it was just strong enough to deflect an axe-swing. Yet another, further memory showed of a time when it could stop a war-lance at full charge.

A time when Garek was at the height of his wealth, perhaps? The minotaur had been… well, rich. I had merely taken what I could carry and walked away, and those resources still gave me a massive advantage. Now that I was assembling wealth myself, I could begin to climb back to the heights he had once achieved.

There was pressure about me as the System continued its insistence that I pick a Skill after my last level-up, yet I continued to ignore it. I had come this deep, and I wanted to see the full extent to which I could hold out.

Instead, I chose to focus on my current task. With the armor set back to its stand, I instead turned to survey the rest of the lodge. Ishila toiled away at the far counter, all my available harvested monster-plants asleep within containers of spore-dust. Biter-pods, the remaining bomb-bursts, flasks of acid, and a single small, perfectly sealed cube that contained soil, dust, and a plant I had not meddled with in a long time.

Experiments with the mimicseed had, after great reluctance, produced bags of hybrids that had been dosed with far more spores than any others. Dangerous as I regarded these things, this was it. All stops pulled out, no holds barred. This would be do or die. And I intended to have all available advantages on my side, morals be damned.

“You’re sure about coming?” I proposed the question to Ishila once she had turned.

“Sure as I’ve ever been.” The orc nodded. She had a set, stoic air about her, a focused calm that stripped away any vestige of her usual cheer.

“Just making sure. You’ve had some bad experiences. Nobody would protest if you decided to stay home.”

“Hmm.” She shrugged. “Wouldn’t be an adventurer worth a damn if I let one setback put me down for good, would I?’

“Well, I suppose not, but taking time to heal is something crucial to wellbeing, both physical and mental.”

Again, she simply looked at me with a curious expression.

“I’m of sound mind and body, Garek. Nothin’ is weighin’ me down.” She wasn’t lying either, her scent told me.

“What you endured in the dungeon could shatter many people I knew before. Sudden violent deaths, danger, pain and agony. I shrivel to think of experiencing those myself were I in your body.”

“I’m an orc, Garek. Bloodshed, war and death are so deeply ingrained in my race that it is an everyday thing. I realize this might shock some others, but it’s who I am. Yah, it would weigh other races down, but not one of such as me. My people grew up on seas of sand and oceans of blood. Everythin’ an orc has ever wanted, they had to fight an’ bleed for.”

I had wondered how she had been holding up so remarkably well, and here lay my answer. Instead of being deeply traumatized by the horrific experience, it had simply slid off her mind by virtue of her race.

“I’ll trust you on this.” I nodded solemnly after a short time.

And that was that. This concluded, I turned back and began the task of attempting to organize all my supplies into a neat, carriable position. While my belt did possess places to hook things onto, they were not enough. I would need spaces for flasks of healing milk, bags of various plants, and containers of acid.

I was going to need a better belt.

It was about right then that the pressure in my skull increased to, frankly, unbearable levels. With a defeated sigh, I realized this was as far as resistance could take me. This had been inevitable.

“Fine,” I grunted to no one in particular. “Show me the choices.”

Finally.

I blinked as the words resonated in my skull. The usual robotic scrawl was lost, replaced by something that oozed exasperation.

Before I could contemplate this further, a litany of choices were all but shoved down my throat.

Safety in Stone caught my eyes first. It promised tiny sentinels that lingered around and in piles of rock around any of the lands I owned and would alert me to danger, trespassers, and other irregularities. In the mental image projected by the System, this skill, while useful, had rather limited range.

The Fields Shall Flourish offered deeper roots and better water absorption for any plants I grew. While useful, not something I was in dire need of at the moment.

Wild Friend. The sense that I had only been offered this because of where my farm was set up came to mind immediately. Rather simple, its effect was to make wild creatures that came across my property less prone to damage anything, could repel low-level monsters, and make it easier to befriend creatures.

Prepare the Harvest was the final one, and while it would have tempted me a week ago, it was the one I discarded the first. The promise of a quicker post-harvest process might interest some, but to me, it felt like the worst skill to take.

For now, I stood and pondered. These were all moderately useful Skills, and the opportunity to acquire more would not be present for a while after this. Each selection promised to nudge the farm in a different direction. Quicker growth if watered was something I considered, but it did not explicitly offer this, but instead simply to better retain available water. Friendlier wildlife might have tempted me, but insofar, I had very little interaction anyhow.

In the end, Safety in Stone seemed the logical choice. I could put the piles of stone in my fields to good use, and the ability to detect intruders was invaluable to me. This task would have fallen on Gol’s nominal shoulders, but we both knew the reality of that.

Conviction in my choice, I selected that, and felt something new flood into me.

The choice is made. Until next time.

And just like that, it was gone, leaving me to wonder what had happened. Ishila laughed as I described this to her.

“Ah, yeah.” She grinned. “The breakthrough changes a few things. Seein’ as you proved your worth and maybe attracted the attention of some minor God by surpassing the seal, you’ll now have an actual messenger deliver you words from the Gods Above instead of the usual lifeless scribbles everyone else gets.”

Well, that certainly threw me for a loop. To me, the Gods Above existed as faraway, mythical powers I would never have to interact with, and now one might be watching me like I was prime reality entertainment. A strange feeling.

I chose not to let that bother me overly much. Realistically, there was little it changed and even less that could be done about it.

“Some folks chose to use this, I’ve been told,” Ishila mentioned once I had relayed my thoughts to her. “Always tryin’ to please and entertain whatever deity is watchin’ them to get some boons or gifts.”

“Seems like it’d be exhausting after a time,” I commented idly.

“Agreed.”

With that said, I left Ishila to her preparations and strode out into evening’s fading light, off towards the fields. The stone pile existed exactly where I had left it, with no noticeable changes. With a curious nudge, I focused upon it and called Safety in Stone. A small rumble emerged from within the rocks once a few heartbeats had passed. Rocks were shoved aside and a small, crude stone form wriggled its way out. About a foot high, the moving rocks faintly resembled a humanoid with rocky legs, torso, arms, and a head-shaped lump mounted on top.

It plopped down upon the top rock as I gazed on with fascination. And then it simply stopped moving. Its form faced the woods, still and silent. Something opened in my senses, and a vague mental connection formed. It was stolid for now, all else ignored as the construct waited for anything, something to cross its vision.

How did it see anyhow? Despite close examination, there was no answer available to me. It resembled a small statue carved from rock, no visible magic to indicate System interference.

Eventually, my curiosity ran dry, and I lumbered towards another, smaller pile of stone. The sentinel that emerged from this rubble was noticeably compact in comparison to the other. A direct correlation to its stone-pile, I guessed. This was further backed up by the other mounds of rock I summoned sentinels atop of. Before long, I had no less than half a dozen rocky denizens seated atop their mountains of rock, overlooking my land.

As I watched, a mossdeer emerged from the trees to nip at a shrub that had been torn loose and tossed around. The sentinel closest to it whipped its head around, and, for lack of a better word, a notification flashed in my mind. I suddenly knew there was a non-threatening creature at the edge of my property.

A shout came from the house, Ishila waving at me, something in her hands. I had taken but a dozen steps in that direction when a mental alarm caused me to stumble with sheer intensity. Every sentinel screamed danger with shrill insistence.

The mossdeer made it all of a single bound before a salvo of obsidian missiles pierced it through the side and pinned its shocked form to the ground. Leaves silently parted as something stepped from the trees. I took one look and ripped free my claymore.

Long, sinuous and armored in a dark carapace, these monsters were even larger and more horrifying than the horror’s who’s corpses currently fed my biter-pods. A second set of longer, muscled arms grew from its back and curved forward over its head. Spikes emerged here, freshly regrown to replace what had been fired at the deer. This creature matched me in size, yet moved in complete silence as it stepped over the shocked, utterly silent animal it had just impaled.

Tehalis had warned me there were monsters that had come over the walls. And now it had come directly to my home.

It was not alone.

Screams of tone resonated through my skull as more emerged all around my farm. Seven, if I could rely on my newly-found sentinels. They stalked towards me in utter silence, without scent or sound. I roared to Ishila that danger was close and called every skill I could hold onto.

The air distorted as my behemoth stepped into reality, space torn asunder and shockwaves spreading through the air as it roared. Blades of bone emerged from the behemoth’s forearms as astral skin peeled itself back, the danger alongside my intent preparing it for slaughter.

“You too will fall,” I snarled.

Salvos of obsidian missiles were all the reply I received. I avoided most of them, even if by mere handspans. One pierced my shoulder from behind, and another my gut, as they slid right through my armored skin. Wounds that could have crippled another, inconveniences to me.

Roar upon my lips and fury slaughter in my heart, I charged. Their blood would whet my fields before the hour was out.

Chapter 62

Something so large should not move so quickly. This was the first thought that entered my mind as the behemoth lashed downwards. The air blurred white as it attacked, crushing force directed at the nearest Swarmling. It darted under the blow, and my vision was torn away, priority given to the foe that approached.

An aura radiated about this thing, a declaration that it was a Champion. The sinuous growths that curved over the shoulders of others were forsaken here, replaced instead by a second set of arms below the first. Larger than I in height and just as bulky, it strode forward with a jagged fluidity, all honed edges and calculated movements. The singular scythe-claws of the regular Swarmlings were gone, replaced by clawed hands that grasped a multitude of weapons.

Long swords of bone were held steady in the top set, a dull shield and rounded symbol grasped in the remaining arms. Any curiosity as to what that could do was dispelled seconds later when it gleamed and an inferno was conjured around me. Dark flames licked at my body in search of flesh and found naught but steel.

The ground broke beneath my hooves and the Champion drew close as I exploded forward, claymore raised. Deceptively long, the arm holding the buckled swung up to meet the blow. Snarl upon my lips, I leaned into Brutal Swing and the mass of steel I called a blade blurred with acceleration.

Violent was the only way to describe how it stopped and yanked backwards as I staggered back, force turned against me as the shield pulsed on impact.

The Champion’s dark form surged forward, blades poised to stab into my chest. A pained roar brought forth Cloven Crash, and its charge was halted. For all of a heartbeat. The eldritch symbol gleamed, and it shattered my skill to continue its rush.

That single, precious moment was all I needed to regain my footing. Blade whirled overhead, I used my longer reach to bring it down once more. The shield darted up, and I swung the feint aside, stepped in, and savagely kicked the side of its leg. The sound of splintering bones was audible even as I leaned back to avoid both blades being pincered into my chest.

Blade dragged along the ground, I stepped backward and realized, in this moment, the others still existed. Obsidian spears lanced into my back and elicited bellows of pain. My brain clouded as waves of oppressive energy crashed down upon my psyche. One of the Swarmlings hovered above the ground, suspended by psychic energy as it targeted me from a far distance.

The behemoth engaged three Swarmlings at once, I knew without the need for a glance. Black thorns lanced its body, yet it cared little as it pursued the trio with furious purpose. These were all small details I was able to glean as my psyche began to crumble under the eldritch assault. I raged against the crushing darkness as it closed around me, but bloodlust and hatred failed to stem the tide of nothingness.

Ishila stepped from the lodge, arm drawn back. With a howl, she whipped forward and hurled a metal orb through the air. It blurred halfway along its arc, and the crushing tide of mental energy ended abruptly. I straightened just in time to see the psycher tumble through the air, neck and chest crushed inwards.

Axe in hand and bag of bomb-bursts at her belt, the orc screamed fury and entered the fray.

The sounds of flesh and bone being wrenched and warped reached me before I comprehended what the Champion wrought. It had staggered back for a moment, leg bent inwards at horrific angles. The eldritch symbol raised and commanded the wound to become undone, and it was so. Another roar froze it in place as I let hatred rise and stepped forward once more.

It broke through the skill once more. I fed it another. Cloven Crash was called again and again in the space between heartbeats, the skill almost exhausted by the time I had reached the Champion of these horrors.

Blade aligned with its neck, I swung the claymore with all available might. Fate cheated me once more as its body abruptly contorted, and it gave me its arm instead. I watched with disgusted fascination as limbs shifted around before my very eyes, only some small satisfaction gained at one main arm was sheared off.

If this evoked pain, there was no visible sign of it. The monster righted itself once the blade had passed and lashed out. Its bone blade sliced through my metallic hide with ease, the edge traced along my ribs. Snarl of pain dragged forth, I twisted with momentum and slammed another low kick into its form, even as it twisted with the blow.

Death needed to be visited on this monstrosity, and I would be the one to deliver it. Yet, the strain of combat and keeping the behemoth bound to this plane was heavy upon me. I caught a stumble mid-step, then stomped down on the severed arm as the eldritch symbol flared once more. Not this time.

The ivory-white bone blade that lay next to said arm warped and bolted through the air as the Champion straightened. It struck the other blade in almost liquid form, melding itself to the surface. Unmade and remade in the space between blinks, it now wielded a massive greatsword with a single arm.

The shield projected another blow right back at me. I could see it coming, but knowledge did not mean the power to stop the effect. A low rumble of triumph interrupted my thoughts, and I sensed the behemoth had crushed a Swarmling beneath its weight.

My eyes moved to check on Ishila, yet even as I tried, my attention was dragged back to the Champion.

Was it… using a Skill to keep me focused upon it?

Clever.

A blur streaked overhead, and a Swarmling stumbled mid-stride, midsection caved in.

Brilliance flared as a sun sparked to life from my side. Even with my gaze locked upon the Champion, I witnessed Ishila haul up a massive spear of light. A howl of rage sounded before the solar lance annihilated the Swarmling.

Three dead.

The Champion spoke, and force shoved me back. Hooves dug in, I ripped the earth loose as titanic pressure attempted to throw me away.

It was denied. More words rang through the air, and it held the eldritch symbol high. A bomb-burst blurred toward it, aimed right for its neck. Something blurred, and the steel plant impaled itself upon the ivory greatsword’s tip. Through sheer expanding force, it levitated off the ground and stretched its body wide. Ragged cries came from around me as the Swarmlings were seized by the effect.

Relentless Charge helped me push back into the immense pressure. Step by slow, agonizing step, I dragged myself towards the dark Champion. Whatever it attempted to invoke, I would snuff it out before it could be wrought. Intent alone could not sustain this dream, however. I found every inch forward to be the slowest I had ever taken. Before my eyes, I watched the giant horror become undone, disassembled, and scattered until only a single claw held the unholy symbol upright.

Massed particles swarmed around it, the remnants of other Swarmlings pulled into one giant cloud. A solid core formed a long, jagged torso that shifted and swayed treacherously. Too many eyes ringed an armored head, and masses of arms floated around it. Long, powerful legs barely needed to touch the dirt as multitudes of bone weapons slid into existence.

The behemoth stepped in and squashed the entire form beneath its massive claws.

It attempted to, at least. There was deadly fluidity as the nightmare-form broke apart and flowed upward, along the white-furred arm. Innumerable slashes left the skin stripped to the bone. It reassembled, perched atop my summon’s shoulder, all blades raised. A vicious head-swing tore through it, horns gauging apart its swirling form.

Yet, even as the massive black horns passed through it, I could see the monster begin to reshape itself, poised to stab a dozen blades into the behemoth’s skull. Cloaked in desperation, I channeled Cloven Crash and froze it just for a heartbeat. Long enough for the behemoth’s swing to tear away the entire side of the nightmare’s body.

It laughed, a dozen low voices that sounded like leaves being rubbed against each other. Blades flashed down faster than I could see, ripping into the behemoth’s neck as it thrash backwards and, with another shout from me to freeze it, sent it flying.

Fury and rage filled the primal minotaur now, I felt. The swarm-thing righted itself in the air and buzzed back to the ground. It couldn’t fly, then. Suspended by eldritch power, it raised every blade to the sky and let rip a bolt of sheer darkness that disappeared seconds later.

The ground tore itself asunder as dark energy ripped through my fields, the earth cratering upwards. A dark volcano brewed beneath my hooves even as I charged the walking swarm. Miasma and brimstone choked the air as the nightmare faced me down, a blacker form than the darkness that cloaked it now. The stars hid from its presence, the sky enveloped in veils of deepest night.

This was unholy power, I knew.

Didn’t stop me from charging it anyway.

A multitude of blades descended upon me, a storm of swords came to rend my flesh and rake my bones.

I stopped abruptly, let the storm crash down before me, and did the stupidest thing possible. Muscles screamed and the air blurred as I hurled my claymore end over end. It spun through the darkness and impaled itself right in the monster’s chest. But even a blow directly to the core did little to faze it. It was stunned for perhaps a second, yes, but that was all.

All the time I needed for the behemoth to charge in and seize it. Giant though it was, the behemoth trapped it within two clamped palms as it began to swarm and slice once more.

Just enough time for Ishila to wind back and aim another pulsing lance right at it. The air pounded and light pulsed in erratic waves as the young orc brought her full power to bear. Slowly, surely, she dragged the immense sun-lance through the space, and aimed it as if guiding a sunbeam.

Flesh shredded and bones beginning to fray, I gasped, able to feel the behemoth’s pain as it kept the swarm in place.

Ishial’s arm flexed and shot forward, and in that instant, I dispelled the power that kept the behemoth bound to this world. The swarm was fast, beyond any human being. But there was naught that could outrun the sun.

A streak of heaven-light tore the night away, turning all to day for the briefest moment. To say the nightmare was obliterated would be to understate what had happened. Its very being was lanced through, the spear tearing through the magic and flesh that bound it to this world.

There one instant, gone the next.

Only the eldritch symbol remained, suspended in mid-air. It hovered for a moment, then shot heavenward and vanished into the night.

“Gods Above,” I panted and collapsed backward. The stress of combat and summoning the behemoth had sapped any strength that I had managed to build.

“Those were not creatures created by the hands of deities,” Ishila offered as she staggered close, looking dead inside.

“Whatever they were, they came here with a purpose in mind. But the question is, did they come to kill me, or you?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” Ishila grunted. “Back to the mud with all the damned things.”

That was a sentiment I wholly shared.

“So,” I grunted with a groan. “Suppose we should go see what was wrecked this time.”

“Aye. Might as well. Might as well forget about sleep as well, I guess.”

A tender wince from me confirmed that. Much as my inner bloodthirsty minotaur loved the fight, nobody was really appreciative of what happened afterwards.

Chapter 63

Farmer Level Ten reached. Sleep to apply.

“So,” I grunted, pain barely suppressed within my voice. An attempt to distract myself more than to actually conversate as I pried one of the obsidian spear-thorns from my body. “What was that?”

“The spear?” Ishila returned, half-distracted in her attempt to prise another spike from my back.

Gods Above I absolutely despised these particular monster’s ability to ignore armor. Every confrontation with them left me in vague resemblance to a hairy pincushion.

“Found it in the dungeon. Must have forgotten to mention it.”

I gritted my teeth as she yanked the barbed head free, already aware that chunks of flesh had been taken with its exit.

“Seems like an awfully significant thing to forget.”

I poked at another wound, trying to determine whether or not these monsters possessed the same clear venom as their lesser counterparts. Better to err on the side of caution anyhow, I grimaced at another opened wound and took a swig of milk. Ishila had emerged from the slaughter unharmed, but I was not so fortunate.

“That was close,” I commented. Too close. The nightmare thing they had transformed into had nearly been a full counter to me specifically. “The way they fought, worked together, the variety of powers they possessed..”

“Kill team,” Ishila grunted. “Made specifically for you. Or the version of you they fought back at the fort.”

“And it would have been enough,” I replied soberly. With the bloodlust gone, I could see now with terrible clarity. “Genius, really. The Champion locks me down, able to engage me in single combat, the psycher crushes my mind, and the rest turn me into a pincushion. If all else fails, they merge into that swarm-being.”

I mused my own destruction, and found the monster’s plan had nearly been flawless. There were only two things they had not accounted for: my behemoth and Ishila’s lance. Yet, I could not shake the theory that clung to my mind, that these things had been created with the sole intent of killing me in mind. More and more I came back to this, and evermore I was convinced there was an intelligent mind behind these abominations.

This strike had failed, yes. Would the next? I doubted we could afford to wait and see. That alone was foolish. To let the enemy prepare from the safety of the dungeon was to inevitably lose. And in this race, there was no consolation prize for second.

Artyom tended to a wounded Gol not far from where I sat hunched over. The brave, foolish beast had charged out to protect the farm, distracted one of the Swarmlings for a few short moments, and had been battered away. Strong of a monster as Gol was, the severity of the threats I faced had quickly outstripped his capabilities.

“Wait,” I suddenly said and felt Ishila’s hands paused, about to rip out another spike. “How did you know they were made for me?”

I had been so lost in my thoughts that her comment had gone unregistered until now.

“Depends on how old the dungeon is, but their deepest workings often possess near-human intellect. And this one is both ancient and massive enough to warrant that. From what you and Pa’ told me, it isn’t all that hard to puzzle out there’s a mind behind these creatures. You yourself pointed out that they adapted to your tactics at the fort.”

I wanted to slap myself, simply for the reminder that I was far from the only intelligent person in this locale. Of course, people who had far more experience with the absurdities of this world could easier accept these seemingly far-fetched ideas.

“So, the spear,” I returned to the subject. “Seems exceptionally powerful.”

“Yeah,” she returned, tiredness in her voice. “Kinda frustrain’ though. All this power at my fingertips, and I can’t tell anyone.”

“Why not?” I frowned.

“Ma’ and Pa’ know, but they asked me not to spread it. It’s a giveaway that I’ve been in the dungeon. That, and there are other reasons.”

“Such as?”

“It’s power, Garek. And like any sort of might, there are those who crave it. While I live, the artifact is bound to me. But when I die, it’s up for grabs.”

“You are concerned someone may attempt to kill you for it.”

“May?” She laughed, derision in her voice. “Sure as the sunrise, certain as winter will come, there’ll be those who will seek me out with only the intent to end me and expand their own strength.”

“I see now why you chose not to speak on it.” I sighed.

“I explicitly trust you, Garek. Was just waiting for a time to bring it up properly.” The lass sighed and ripped out another spike as she spoke. While I appreciated her enthusiasm, a little warning would have been welcomed. “Last one.” She saw fit to warn me now and grasped a particularly deep thorn in my shoulder.

“Just… get it over with,” I rumbled. “Can always heal la—”

Anything I said was cut off with a sharp intake and growl of pain as the barbed spike was ripped free. My eyes bulged with pain as Ishila handed me a full jug of healing milk. It was one thing to endure pain in combat while the adrenaline flowed, another entirely when I knew every tear came slowly.

There was an almost frantic urge with which I gulped down the life-giving fluid. I refused to stop for air until the entire container was empty and I could feel the clerical warmth spread through my body. Once the wounds had been dabbed clean and the flesh began to knit, I stood and shivered my muscles.

“Well, no use putting it off any longer,” I groaned and went to survey the damage.

Obliterated in its entirety, the field in which the battle had occurred was now a mass of upheaved dirt and thick, liquid miasma. Even from a distance, the stench evoked displeasure in me.

“That’s going to be a fustercluck to fix.” I sighed and hobbled around, still very much in pain’s sharpened depths.

“We have shovels, a plow, and other assorted tools,” Ishila replied. “Now all we need are some sturdy backs an’ preferably weak minds. Those ask fewer questions.

“Imagine the panic at the fort if this got out.” She grimaced. “They’re already strained as is tryin’ to keep the swarm-things contained. The average soldier is gonna take one look at that Champion an’ realize he got about the same odds as your average kobold tryin’ to become a dragon does. And the swarm-bein’?”

“Hmm.” I pondered this in an attempt to distract myself from the absolute wrecking my fields had undergone. “One could argue that giving this information and letting them fully prepare might be better.”

“Then you have more faith in that garrison than I do. They’re already just hangin’ on. What we need is to find Valencia’s tower and strike into the dungeon to destroy the shard.”

I agreed with her on that. Now, everything rested on Le’rish and her ability to track down the tower’s location. Without it, we could only twiddle our thumbs and idly wait. I could sit here and let myself worry endlessly, or I might actually attend to the ruination of my farm. Even though the night was deep, I was too spiked up with adrenaline to sleep. So, there was only a single clear choice.

“I will admit, that spear is powerful. However, it left pitifully little behind.”

“A good thing,” the lass grumbled and kicked over a stone.

“I was thinking one might like to examine the corpses, perhaps loot the weapons they used. The swarm-things stripped apart all the bodies, both alive and already perished for material. Which was then erased.”

“I’ll try to be less deadly next time.”

That got me to frown as I realized she had taken it the wrong way.

“It’s not meant to chide you as if anything important was lost. Our lives and the farm are both still somewhat intact, and that’s what matters. It was merely an observation.”

Silence drifted among the deep darkness as I hoisted the lantern up and continued to survey the torn fields. Upheaved earth, ruined water-trenches that lay dry, torn plants, and a gleam in the distance.

“You know, I’ve never gotten fully used to that,” Ishila mused and walked along behind me as I hurried towards the glint. “A minotaur speaking so eloquently. Ma’ had told me most of your kind are particularly brutish and see no value in speech beyond short sentences.”

“The latter is true, and as for the former, I am very much not similar to the rest of ‘my kind’.”

“I gathered as much from our very first meeting.” I could hear the smile in her voice. A small thing of beauty amidst the stinking destruction.

“Ah, yes. The best pie I had ever eaten. Not that that was a very high distinction at that point, but still, a moment to treasure.”

There, amidst the dirt and miasma, was a single silver relic. I gingerly scooped the shield from the dirt and held it up. Faint scorch marks were the only sign it had borne the sun-lance’s full brunt. Knock upon its surface showed whatever enchantment lay within still worked, my own force jerked back into my hand. With a smile, I turned and presented it to Ishila. The orc’s eyes glinted in the darkness as she reached for it with a tinder grasp.

“Your kill, your reward,” I said simply. “Too small for me anyhow, I prefer to fight with both hands.”

“Bit awkward, but I can use the axe with one hand, I guess.” She took it with a smile. Perhaps the most valuable relic had survived the attack. Another artifact from within the dungeon. “Might need to get Pa’ to put a disguising enchantment over it and make it look plain for now. But, really, thanks for lettin’ me have it.”

“You’re the adventurer, not me.” I smiled. “Don’t think I’ll need it to fend off wolves or whatever.”

“Huh,” the orc remarked, “might need to change my name soon. Ishila Sunspear or Ishila Brightshield?”

“The spear befits you.” I nodded. “An orcish custom, I assume?”

“Yah. Though I should prolly wait till the mess with the dungeon is cleared. Ma’ will want to have a proper feast if I do that.”

“Make sure to invite me.” I grinned and began to tromp back towards the lodge.

The fields, while torn, could be fixed. The dam and stream had taken no stray attacks, and save for a few spikes, the smaller house was whole. The damage was there but minimal. The storage shed had been pierced by a single bolt, but that was largely empty now, with only tools and milk stored within.

“Well, looks like Artyom is gonna have some breeze to keep him company tonight.”

Sleep eluded me, I found. With that conclusion forgone, we worked through the night, pulling spikes from buildings, restacking scattered piles of rock, and talking all the while. Mostly idle chatter or empty worries,  but it was enough to keep my mind occupied. I sipped a cup of wakebrew as the horizon began to light, realizing it would be some time before I went and slept again.

My newfound level-up could wait for some time longer. There were more important things at hand now.

That point was driven home by a figure that emerged from the trees. Le’rish gazed around at the sheer destruction wrought across my property, made a facial expression I couldn’t fully make out, and stalked towards where we stood.

“Long night?” she offered.

“Aye. You?”

“Mmm. Found the tower. Make your preparations and gather the others. We will go soon.” She looked around. “Rather than later by the looks of this place, methinks.”

I looked down at what pitifully little wakebrew remained, groaned, threw it back, and settled in for a long, rough day.

Chapter 64

Blessed was I that I inhabited this body and not another. The minotaur physique was uniquely suited to go long periods without rest, I had discovered over the past few weeks. While it was optimal to acquire sleep, it was not, strictly speaking, needed. Tiredness soon faded and my inner reserves were called upon as I held myself upright and felt the fog slowly dissipate from my mind.

“Half-day’s journey from here to the tower,” Le’rish continued from her own seat. There was a blank tiredness in the huntress’s eye, only interrupted by how quickly she chewed.

I glanced over my shoulder to see Artyom bring out yet another length of dried meat. “Le’rish.” She glanced upwards at the interruption, seeing the faint worry upon my face. “Have you perhaps eaten in the past several days?”

“Mmm.” She shrugged and swallowed. “Rations ran out after second day. Didn’t want to waste time returning home for more. Scavenged a little.”

“So that’s a no.” Ishila frowned from next to her. The two had shared a moment once Le’rish had returned, all warm hugs and happy expressions. This had passed, and now there were more serious topics at hand.

“Needed to be found sooner than later,” Le’rish said in defense of her bad habits. “Rest and food could wait. Time is invaluable.”

“On that, I agree.” I gestured around. “Your news comes at a welcome time.”

Her curiosity was piqued as I and Ishila alternated to fill her in on the freshly-occurred attack and its consequences. Expression adamant throughout, she chewed on a fresh link of sausage and nodded occasionally. With every morsel she consumed, her posture straightened just a bit further. If this was the effect of a class skill, then I had to admit a part of me was jealous as I watched her regain energy right before my eyes.

“We delve today, then,” I rumbled. “Every hour idly spent is another chance for the fort to be overrun. They barely hold on at this point. Every wave could very well be the last.”

“And if the dungeon breaks free, this land is damned,” Ishila repeated what everyone already knew. “The Baron’s army is the largest force in the area, and as much of a bastard as the man is, Ironmoor has done the right thing and diverted all available troops to the garrison. But his army ain’t large enough, and it’ll take a lot of political wranglin’ an’ time for more forces to show.”

“We have all agreed that to flee here now, when we could be the ones to make a difference, would be to live in shame and cowardice,” I rumbled solemnly. “I could not, in good conscience, live with myself if I let so many die when my strength could have stopped it. Try as I might to have laid down my weapons and live a life of peace, it is time for war.”

“Good,” Le’rish agreed, no lengthy speech needed from her. “Ishila, get your parents. Please.”

The orc lass hopped up, nodded to us, whirled, and tore across the yard, running full tilt up the trail.

Silence crept upon us in her wake, yet I did not welcome its presence. This was it. Possibly the most important danger we would face. Our lives were not a sure thing within the dungeon. Our return, even less so. If I was to go and lay down my short life for others, I intended to face it with all possible knowledge that might be gleaned.

“And you, huntress, how do you fare?”

The short pause that came stretched into a moment’s hesitation, then a quiet stillness as Le’rish pondered her words. Exhaustion was set not in her features but in how she held herself, in the way she slowly moved. Though she fought against it, I was well enough versed in the language of bodies for it to be clear in my eyes.

“Tired,” she put bluntly. “One hunt after the next. Now we dive into the darkness.”

“You fear it?” Curiosity nudged on my words.

“Not particularly. I approach every danger as if it may claim my life. I am a Stalker, Garek. The quiet hunter among the trees. What good am I, constrained by stone tunnels and bare chambers of stone?”

For perhaps the first time, I heard her sigh. Her hardened facade slipped just a little as her head tilted back and gazed up at dawn’s clouded sky.

“We fear the monsters within the dungeon. Not the charnel house itself. Pray you only lose life or limb within and not what truly makes you whole. Your humanity, although that word does not apply to us. Never did. Fools venture within to seek treasures and strength. Yet, that place will always take more than it gives.”

There was scant little conversation after that, only short answers to my myriad of questions. Yet, we were not left like this for long. Sudden pressure raced through my eardrums as the air itself cracked and split. Three figures appeared before me, holding onto each other.

Velton stepped from the teleport, dressed in a short, rune-covered tunic and loose pants. Combat robes, I guessed. Tehalis sported form-fitted armor that made nary a sound as she shifted and glanced around. Ishila gripped the mirror shield in one hand and enchanted axe in the other, although it seemed smaller now.

All of this I took in as attention turned to Le’rish.

Velton spoke sharply .“The tower. Shall we go now?”

“No.” Le’rish heaved herself up. “Only you and I for now.”

“Why?”

“Surveillance,” the huntress grunted. “There will be detection sigils, alarm spells, and far more. Would you expect a place so valuable to be unguarded, even if not by human hands?”

“Your thinking is sound,” the elf agreed briskly. “Your proposal?”

“Your magic will move us there at all speed. Less bodies, less exposure. I disarm the traps, you teleport back for the others. Simple. Traps disarmed and sigils unactivated, we descend into the dungeon without another enemy aware of our presence and able to take advantage of it. We already know Valencia will be just as worthy a horror as any we find in the stone depths.”

“I have no counter-argument.” Velton nodded and looked around at his wife and daughter. “Let us go.”

True to his word, the elf wasted no time. Tattoos and runes wriggled across his bare forearms as spells enveloped the time. I gestured farewell as they streaked across the yard and along the forest’s edge, over twice their regular speed and surrounded by an aura that blurred them from sight.

“Rest now, for there will be none once we are among the stone tombs,” Tehalis grunted and seated herself.

Warpaint streaked the Wyld Orc’s face, accented by the spirits that swirled around her. Curiosity compelled me to stare at the specters, an action that elicited only a shrug from her. I was, it seemed, far from the first to express fascination in this.

Every moment I sat here, the awareness that this was far from optimal grew within. It Will Not Die still lay dormant, not yet ready to be called upon again, and Brazen Bull Behemoth had just been freshly used. It would require time to reach its full potential again.

Time I sorely lacked.

Armed as I was in body and mind, I dreaded this journey. I knew not the danger, only that it required a stalwart soul to face and overcome. Time and again, the greatest fear to haunt a man was that of the unknown, and its shapeless form stared down at me now. Even within this mighty body, bolstered by divine might and steeled with righteous purpose, there crept doubt within me.

“Rations and Drink,” Tehalis abruptly cut through the silence. “Do you have any prepared with you?”

I did not.

“Pack for yourself, and some for others if needed. We know not how long this will take, and delving consumes particularly large amounts of energy. Frequent combat and constant alertness does that, although I think you would be familiar with such things.”

Garek was. I was not.

“Very well.” I nodded and stood.

Just another pack to carry. It did not take overly long for me to fill a waterskin and cram a pack full of dried goods to munch on. Just one more source of weight on my already laden belt. And then, the waiting continued.

It was near midday when the air was once more split apart, a thunderous clap shearing through monotonous silence. Velton stepped from thin air and gestured. It took all of a second for me to wave goodbye to Gol and Artyom. Another for me to clasp the elf’s shoulder. Less than that to be violently wrenched sideways through reality itself and emerge in a new, unfamiliar place.

Trees surrounded an overgrown, squat stone tower on all sides, the structure almost choked off by nature. A worn path along the ground showed movement in and out, but other than that, it was almost entirely closed off. I blinked and nodded at the sudden shift, not so much as dizzy or nauseous as I had expected teleportation to be. A glance around revealed Le’rish slightly hunched before the tower’s doorway, patiently working away at something.

“Snares and alarm sigils have been stripped,” she grunted back over her shoulder. “Stay away and give me several moments to finish this one.”

Not fool enough to wander around randomly and set off more, I complied. The group sort of awkwardly stood amidst the small clearing, armed to the teeth and ready for the slaughter while the huntress worked away silently. A faint cough broke the air just before Le’rish stood and nodded to me.

“Door kicking, anyone?”

Eager as I was to comply, Velton simply sighed and wrenched the door open with a smooth wave and invisible force.

“No need to immediately give ourselves away to anyone who happens to come by here.”

His logic, while sound, did deprive me of a rare and excellent opportunity. Unfortunately, I did agree with him on this all.

One after another, they disappeared through the low doorway, bodies swallowed by the darkness within. Through it all, I could not shake the feeling that eyes rested upon me, though the wind betrayed no scent. Yet, watched or not, this mission would go through anyway.

I was forced to stoop through the doorway and emerge from the other side to find my companions clustered around a hole gouged into the floor.

“Ladder has been removed,” Le’rish grunted and gestured to markings.

“Be thankful then that I have no need for such human things.” Velton smiled thinly. A snap of his fingers, and rock pulled itself from the walls of the tunnel to form a long, slow descent that wound down into the darkness. “We tread into the dungeon’s realm now.” He looked around. “And I am the only one that can see its treachery in the magical plane. Should I command something, do not hesitate.”

Affirmations came from the group.

“Good then. Garek, if you could lead, given you are perhaps the most resilient and skilled in combat?”

I saw no issue with this. Breath steadied, I carefully drew my weapon and stepped onto the conjured stone. The cramped, angled staircase was not to my liking, but it served a purpose and carried me downwards. More and more joined me, in single file as he descended towards the heart of darkness. Orbs of light swam around us, Velton’s creation bringing life to the heavy darkness.

Nothing ambushed us upon the stairs. There came no sudden, fatal attack from the gloom. Only quiet, faraway sounds, almost drowned by the echo of my hooves upon the smooth rock.

Too soon, the stairs ended, and I found old, carved stone beneath me, a small cave torn into the side of a long, dead hallway.

“And now, the true test,” Le’rish grunted as she emerged next to me. “Find our purpose within this place, or perish.”

From on high, at the tunnel’s mouth, a figure stood and watched as stone slid back into the walls, all trace of the party’s passage erased. Or so they thought.

Chapter 65

“Someone possesses a penchant for slaughter,” Velton remarked as we stood amidst the butchered hallway.

A mere short pace after the empty stone corridor from which we emerged, the carnage began. Long, jagged bodies were splattered everywhere, strewn across the floor and hanging from half-broken sections of false wall in equal measure.

Cold, dark air lay heavy with the stench of ichor and rot. Bodily disposal was obviously not high upon the dungeon’s list of priorities. The elf’s orbs of light pierced an otherwise encompassing darkness, shadows thrown far into the distance.

“Who shall be the torchbearer?” Tehalis growled. “Decide now.”

More symbolic than actually needing to hold a torch, I found once I had volunteered. The hallways here were high and vaulted, able to easily clear my bulk. Velton strode beside me as we stepped over old bodies. Le’rish nodded once as she slid past. The air shifted and the colors of her form changed, becoming dull and lifeless to match what lay around us. Heartbeats passed as I lost her void of scent into the gloom as well.

Daughter and mother brought up the rear, Tehalis also fading from sight to ensure we were not surprised from behind. This was far from her first dungeon delve, I gathered. The corridor of corpses turned a corner and led into another, this one filled with rubble. Methodically spaced holes came into view, punched into the walls. Curiosity compelled me to grab a section of the thin rock and rip it loose. Dead was the face that stared back at me, empty eyes still within the deepest slumber.

Any urge to plunge my claymore into the familiar form was stifled as I noticed the massive hole torn through its chest.

“Valencia,” Ishila offered from behind me.

Of course. A snort came as I stepped away and continued my way along the ruined path.

“Strange,” Velton commented as we turned yet another corner. “She caused all this destruction and never woke the dungeon. She must possess an absurd amount of knowledge about it.”

With little knowledge to back up either assumption, I chose to hold my tongue and continue onwards. An oppressive darkness cloaked us just beyond the light’s range, surrounded by a silence only broken by the sounds of our footsteps.

One dead corridor passed into the next, all a trail of destruction.

“Would you know where we are going, by any chance?” I posed to Velton.

“Not entirely, no.” The elf frowned. “But I am following the aura of darkness that stains this air. Keep on its trail, and we will find the heart of darkness soon enough.”

Claymore in hand and perpetually on edge, I nodded and chose to believe him. Death lay all around us, wrought by a fiendish hand. I would be thankful if we did not join their eternal sleep before the day had passed.

Tragedy nearly visited itself upon us, only stopped as I withdrew the blade mid-swipe. Le’rish had materialized directly before me, and in my surprise, I had lashed out at her. She regarded the withheld blow and sniffed.

“Chamber ahead. Removed the trap. Monsters likely inside.”

Short and clipped information conveyed, she once more stepped back into the gloom. Heart pounding away in my chest at the sudden shock, I nodded blankly and followed. True to her word, a doorway loomed, a slab of iron that somehow passed as a full door upon hidden hinges. Closed bear traps lay piled in the corner, removed from wherever they had been hidden.

“No mechanism.” Le’rish appeared again. “Garek?”

A look around to make sure the others were ready, I nodded, called the necessary skills to prepare for combat, and rammed my shoulder into the metal. For a heartbeat, it attempted resistance. The next, it gave way. The screech of crumpled metal shattered the silence as I burst into the room, weapon at ready.

Swarmlings turned to face me, but they were of a sort I had never seen before. Metal, wood, and corpses dropped from massive claws as they lumbered around, tiny eyes buried within wide, hulking forms. Only a heartbeat was available for me to take in an almost oval, bulky carapace that stood to nearly my height, with inverted mouths, bulky arms, and thick legs. All covered in a jagged gray carapace.

Low screams rumbled through the air as the alert sounded almost instantly. One charged to meet me, arms outstretched, not a weapon in sight. Right into the claymore’s descending mass. The short, bulky head was caved in and shorn beneath the blade’s enchanted edge. I still stepped aside as the corpse’s momentum carried it forward.

Another roar followed a wild swing around as my blade missed a bulky Swarmling by a handbreadth and ripped a pillar in twain. Rubble collapsed downward and struck the stocky monster’s back to stagger it ever so slightly. Just enough for me to kick its knee out. Downward momentum drove the claymore’s tip into the creature’s chest, out its back, and through the rock below.

Force blossomed beside me as ethereal spears shot from Velton’s outstretched grip and lance through several clustered Swarmlings. One staggered backward to my side, a double-fisted blow into Ishila’s shield nearly breaking its own arms. It dropped to all fours and opened its mouth to fire a long, barbed tongue at the orc, only to crumple as Tehalis appeared before it and pulled both axes from its head.

The orc vanished once more, and I continued my forward charge. Brutal Swing tore right through a Swarmling as it pounced forward, top and bottom halves brushing against me. One appeared before me and latched on to either arm, firm claws holding my sword arms down as its mouth opened.

I caught a glimpse of sharpened teeth and something coiled deeper, then a bloody pulp as Head Smash blurred my perception downwards. The monster’s dead body clung to me, dead weight that refused to let go. The battle died around me as the final few were brutally cut down, only I left to extract myself from the monster’s grip.

One mighty heave and a roar later, I found the obsidian finger-claws refused to budge but were tightening instead. They could not pierce Ironhide, but I could feel the grip shrinking with every passing heartbeat. Placed perfectly upon my biceps, I did not possess the leverage to bring up the claymore and hack them off.

Velton appeared beside me and ended that problem for me. A translucent blade of force in one hand, the elf neatly slit off the creature's arms and let the dead weight fall. With a grunt, I moved one hand over, grabbed the fingers, and began to pull. Nothing. For all my strength, it was akin to trying to pry open a badger’s bite.

Clear discs of force moved to assist me as Velton attempted help, but to no avail.

“What in tarnation?” the elf grumbled. “The hands simply refuse to open.”

“I gathered as much,” I growled. “Any other solutions?”

“Allow me.” He sighed and moved to grasp the stumps in either hand. “I am not well-versed in flesh manipulation, but I did learn some. The nerves in these claws are deformed, unlike much of what I have seen. They are not meant to open without having closed to a certain distance first. Rather crude, but effective.” There was a grudging admiration in his voice.

I might have indulged his curiosity sooner were it not for my arms being the material clamped down upon.

“But they are nerves nonetheless, and can be puppeteered as such.”

With that, the claws slowly creaked back open, their grip on my arm gone. Velton regarded the decapitated hands for a few moments and tossed them aside.

“These creatures appear to be made.” He poked at the bodies. “They are not the warrior-type we have been encountering at the fort. A worker breed, perhaps?”

The materials they had been carrying seemed to give credibility to that guess.

“We are not here to stand and guess the nature of these things.” Le’rish appeared once more, appearance gaunt in the floating light. “Onwards.”

This sentiment, I agreed with.

One room passed into the next, and within, there lay a different scene. The bodies of the warrior-type Swarmlings lay upon stone slabs in neat rows here. A stench pervaded the air, one of ichor and chemicals. The masses did not stir as we approached. I saw why soon after. Sigils glowed beneath the bodies as they lay split open, all bearing identical wounds.

“Necromancy.” Velton wrinkled his nose beside me. “Someone is performing modifications on a large scale.”

Dozens of similar slabs stretched off into the distance, with every creature upon them in an identical state. Chest cavities sliced open, skin and shell peeled back.

“Kill them?” Ishila offered from behind.

“You cannot kill what is already dead.” The elf grimaced as he examined the sigils and bodies. “But I can dispel what keeps them frozen. Whoever did this has moved from corpse to corpse and performed the exact same procedure on every one. Attempting to implant something foreign within the bodies or modify them in some way.”

“Any idea what?”

“No. And may it die with them.” Circles of power glowed around his hands and tendrils snaked towards every altar of rock.

The air filled with the sounds of creatures dying horribly as the sigils flickered out and the sheer shock of massive wounds proved enough to end the subjects. Most of them. A few retained enough strength to climb from their slabs, and I put them back into the dirt.

Again, Velton seemed to want to linger, yet Le’rish urged him onwards. The party moved forward from room to room, similar situations found in each one. By the third, the huntress simply decided too much time was wasted on dispelling the magic and that our concerns needed to be turned further inwards.

Another hallway of stone greeted us as the chambers of undeath faded to our backs.

“Prepare yourself,” Le’rish announced. “There lies something powerful behind that door.”

Once more, I approached and made sure all Skills were brought to bear. I ensured the others were ready and backed up. My shoulder rammed into the door at all speed, only for it to distort and warp beneath me. Teeth and tongues appeared from the surface as the liquid metal flowed to encompass me.

“Mimic!” I heard Ishila yell as I thrashed.

Sheer cold spread through the metal, the flowing liquid being frozen around me. Cracks ran through it, the teeth becoming brittle and tongues ripped off as Velton commanded the elements. Roar of rage in my throat, I twisted myself free and tore into the brittle metal. Incensed beyond reason, I tore the frozen mimic to pieces to reveal the actual door beneath.

“Well, that was only a matter of time.” The mage sighed. “Excellent thing we had you take the lead then. I dread to think what might have happened had I touched it.”

“Le’rish didn’t detect it?” I glanced at the huntress.

“Do not fault her.” Tehalis stepped from the shadows. “They are dead to magic and most every possible form of detection. I would not have seen it either.”

“I do not lay blame on her, but merely a question.”

“Questions that can come later,” Le’rish growled, on edge. “Onwards.”

With that, I complied. This door, too, crumpled beneath my strength. With a heave, I toppled the ruined mass of steel inwards and stepped through, only to shield my eyes as unnatural light struck me.

Crude machines whirred within, giant tubes propped upright that overflowed with the scent of magic. Pipes transported liquid everywhere, dozens of rounded altars prepped with sigils and strewn with unholy accessories.

“What ungodly mockery is this?” Velton almost laughed as stepped within. “It is so… crude.”

A figure emerged from the darkness, a tall thin corpse-like creature with sunken eyes, pointed ears and, most notably, skeletal forearms. The flesh was simply gone, and in its place were iron constructs that held spools of the thinnest wire I had seen. An elf. And, if my knowledge was not incredibly mistaken, undead.

“You,” Ishila growled, eyes narrowed and weapon at the ready.

Chapter 66

Any movement I took was suddenly halted as I felt a wire laid taut against my throat. Even through Ironhide, its edge bit into me. My eyes traced from left to right as I now saw the small, almost invisible string stretched between pillars. Attention returned to the undead elf as I now saw her fingers for what they truly were. Spools of wire wound along mechanical reels and disappeared into the darkness.

“You know her?” Velton demanded, arms writhing with magicks that wailed to be unleashed.

“The elf with the party,” Ishila growled. “You’re alive. How?”

There was the semblance of a smile upon the drawn, dead lips. “Not a word I would use to describe myself,” she uttered, voice harsh. “Not for the longest time.”

“And yet, here you are,” Velton rebuked. “In the dungeon’s bowels, mostly whole and doing quite well for yourself.”

This was true. The workshop, for that was what it plainly was, lay quiet around us, a vast expanse of mage-machines and resources. Tanks glowed with multi-colored fluid, bodies suspended within.

The wire tugged at my throat, only to loosen and fall slack an instant later as the undead elf gestured. One hand came up, and I traced the small nick in the steel that my hide had been transformed into. Some type of mono-filament wire, perhaps? Or just magic would be a more likely explanation.

Webs of it coated the room, I saw now. With a flick, those too vanished, though to where, I knew not.

The undead elf spoke and spread her arms even as Le’rish appeared behind her. “Despite the situation I find myself in, I know that any confrontation with you will end in my demise. Perhaps I may be able to kill a few of you, but my own survival would be far from assured.”

“So you’re switchin’ teams now?” Ishila barked with laughter, a sound that echoed through the massive chamber. “Not once, but twice.”

Her scorn only elicited the smallest of shrugs from the figure.

“Whatever happens, my own survival remains my primary concern. One does not grow to be as old as I by taking foolish, uncalculated risks. Of those, I have already chanced too many in the last little while. The tiefling who led us here was such a fool that even I was swayed by his reckless enthusiasm. No longer. I have faithfully assisted the swarm-mind after it spared my existence, and I will not endanger my own survival now to stop you.”

Tehalis spoke, face flat. “So you are twice a traitor.”

“I cannot commit treason unto one that never held my loyalty to begin with.” She looked between Ishila, Velton, and Tehalis now. “Your… mate might know of this.”

There was no show of power, only grim silence as the red-haired elf regarded his undead counterpart. “Tread carefully now, lest the last spark of your existence be snuffed out.”

“Oh no.” She smiled in return. “The remark was not meant as an insult, but rather an observation. I am one such as you, if you could perhaps not tell. Just as you have, I yearn to experiment, to create, to elevate my race, even if it must be through methods they do not approve of.”

“And you think I share your motivations?” Velton looked cold enough to freeze a volcano now, drawn taut and ready to spring free. “That what I do is for the sake of the elven race?’

“Silence,” Le’rish growled, her voice far deeper than anything I had heard from her before. “Every moment you stand here and trade insults is another this swarm-mind grows more aware of our presence.”

“Ah yes,” the undead one replied. “The Arn’Thema’s Overmind prepares for its descent down into the dungeon, to devour the shards that still sleep and rise as true conqueror of the dungeon. You may want to hurry.”

“You,” Le’rish seized the elf from behind, “will guide us.”

“Revealing my newfound treachery to the Overmind will endanger my own safety.” The elf frowned.

“Further than it already is?” the huntress snarled, her hackles well and truly raised.

“Absolutely.”

“It is a divine thing then that I care little for your safety.” I could almost feel the malice in the huntress’s voice. Something spurred her on that was far deeper than shown on the surface.

Through it all, I stood silently and let them exchange their duels of words. Now, I stepped forward, expression grim.

“Tell us. Everything.” She gazed up at me, illuminated by the sickly light of a containment tank next to us. For a moment, I saw a sardonic smile cross those dead lips.

“Perhaps I could show you instead.” She turned and began to walk, a gesture to follow her made to us.

With a growl, Le’rish released her hold and trailed to the side, teeth bared.

“The Overmind prepares below. One last wave upon the surface and it will have gathered enough combat knowledge to overpower the guardians that await it in the depths,” she revealed casually.

Le’rish stopped and turned upwards, her face suddenly contorted. Almost on instinct, I turned and grabbed the huntress to haul her back as a wall of force slammed between us. Velton’s spears struck the shimmering wall, sending cracks through the ward.

“And unfortunately, I will not be here when that happens. You have opened the perfect path for me. With your presence, the Overmind will be too distracted to notice as I slip away into the darkness. I should thank you, I suppose.”

Claymore out, I battered away at the wall of force, determined to shatter the thing before the elf escaped. Cracks spread along the surface as I watched the elf hurry towards several particularly large tanks and fiddle with their sides.

Horror overshadowed by annoyance which in turn was drowned out by rage grew as several popped open and revealed massive Arn’Thema inside. The wall had nearly been splintered when she realized this and bolted for the far exit.

Perhaps it was her own arrogance that demanded she turn and give one last wave of mockery just as the wall fell.

Either way, she did not witness the wall behind her buckle and explode as Valencia burst through. Black, armored fingers wrapped around the elves’ throat and hoisted her upwards.

“Remember me, sunslave?” the dreadknight snarled.

Any reply was drowned out as black, hellish flames engulfed the corpse-elf, her existence wiped from reality a heartbeat later. One arm still upraised, Valencia turned and opened her fist to let blackened dust fall.

“Who shall join her?” The dreadknight’s cruel laughter drifted through the laboratory as I processed what had just happened. Here one moment, snuffed out the next. A reminder that life was not cheap within this place.

It was worthless.

“Go,” I growled solemnly to the others. “I will overcome this foe and meet you further in.”

To this regard, I had my doubts, yet we could not afford to be held up here. If what was spoken had been the unfettered truth, there would soon be a new wave unleashed upon the surface. And without Velton there, it would almost certainly break through.

The burden of countless lives lay upon our shoulders, and this weight would not find my wanting.

The Arn'Thema unleashed wobbled around, still fresh from their tanks, and unused to these massive bodies. It was rare that I faced a creature larger than I, yet these abominations stood my height and then some. Larger than I, and perhaps stronger. One for I, one for Valencia. The dreadknight ignored me as she stalked towards that closest to her, fists aflame. She gave not a whit of notice to the others as they moved along the chamber’s walls towards the door.

The claymore slid into one hand as I regarded the twisted giant whose gaze and rage turned itself upon me. The other dug into a bag upon my belt. Spore-dust fell as I withdrew metallic spheres, several inside my fist. I had seen what these hybrids were capable of. Now my enemies would learn the same.

Frantic energy began to pulse beneath my fingers as the burst-pods awoke. I let fly the spheres of hunger and watched as they blurred through the air, an entire volley of nearly mature fusions. Steel meteors crashed into the giant’s body with enough force to crumple its carapace. Then they ricocheted again, buried deep inside it. Its body wracked in pain, the monster did the unthinkable and charged me.

Claymore at ready, I stepped forward and chopped the slab of steel down to bite into an upraised arm. The goliath continued even as the blade sheared away a hand and bit deep into the shoulder. Cold and focus flowed through me, the realization that I would not stop the charge on the forefront of my thoughts. I let slip the blade and ducked aside as three massive fists crashed through the space behind me.

One arm lay upon the cold stone floor now. Three more remained. Ichor flowed from rent-open wounds, yet the creature showed no pain. If it was even capable of feeling the sensation. Leg drawn back, I stepped forward and stomp-kicked into the side of its knee joint.

Carapace splintered and something shattered beneath my weight and force. Leg destroyed, the obsidian mass had nowhere to topple, save toward me. Once more, I moved aside, cold and methodical strikes breaking it piece by piece.

Shrikes of unholy fury roiled from its maw, and just in time, I saw the glass behind me shatter from the force. More bodies joined the fray now, destroyed tanks awakening those within. An unnaturally thin form landed before me, a multitude of claws outstretched. Its head vanished a heartbeat later, my fist in its place.

One final surge of valiant effort left within, the goliath staggered to one knee and raised its arms heavenwards. Whatever it attempted was rudely destroyed as I crashed into its body with Relentless Charge, sheer force enough to splay it out upon its back.

Even on its back, it attempted to batter me with powerful fists. With a grunt, I seized the claymore still embedded within one shoulder and ripped it free. A swift kick to the head interrupted another shriek. Motion from behind told me to whirl, and another monster was upon me.

Another worker-type lunged for me, claws outstretched. My hoof caved its chest in as I snapped off a front kick. Simply being large did not mean I was unathletic. The opposite, really. The claymore swiped its head off a heartbeat later as it staggered back up. Well clear of the crumpled body, my attention turned back to the goliath.

Once more, it attempted to rise, and again, I kept it down. More and more flocked to its rescue, a swarm of Arn'Thema throwing away their lives so that the goliath might live. But death was not denied this day. It too fell, claymore buried within its head. For it was true that prodigious size alone did not dissuade the sharpened blade.

“Well done.” The mockery rang within my ears as I turned to face Valencia.

Corpses lay strewn around the dreadknight, torn to an unrecognizable degree. Raw hatred flowed within her, her scent naught but danger and malice and spite.

“Step aside,” I rumbled in return. This was not a fight I desired. Not with this much gambled upon our success. “There are greater things at play here.”

She laughed, a cold and cruel thing.

“You bow to the will, to the needs of others. Give and give and give until you are naught but an empty husk, and expect me to do the same?” came the bite of derision. “I will have what mine heart desires, no matter the cost. Now, the truest test, minotaur,” she howled with dark glee, fist crackling with hellish rebuke, “Gods Above and Below, witness me now!”

Chapter 67

No greater foe. No sweeter glory.

Malice roiled off the dreadknight in low waves that pounded away at my sanity, eldritch force that commanded I yield. Naught but refusal was given to these requests. The voice of darkness was at first a whisper, then as thunder, it demanded fealty. It received only cold steel in return. Pressure cracked the stone around me, glass and metal crumpled beneath sheer will as Valencia approached.

Relentless Charge carried me through the crushing weight, Brutal Swing turned my blade into a steel blur as I roared with Cloven Crash. The dreadknight shattered the skill, stepped into the blow, and slammed one fist into my gut. The metal that encased my flesh gave way as a sickening feeling spread through me. Head Smash rocketed me forward, only to collide with a solid force.

Bared teeth mimicked a twisted smile as Valencia stood unfazed, my face pressed against hers.

Violence exploded as she jerked her head back and slammed it forward into my own. Sick, wet sounds followed by pain were what I experienced as my snout crumpled under the force. Long legs carried me backwards, one hand over my face as sheer agony bloomed across my skull. My back struck a stone slab that jutted from the ground, my journey backward at an end.

Defiance was all I roared as Valencia stalked near, fists at ready. I saw the blow that wove around and planted itself in my chest at lightning speed, yet I could not avoid it.

Rock shattered as sheer force passed through me, through my front, and out my back. A wild swing of retaliation bit only air as the dreadknight ducked beneath the blow. Scream of Fury came just in time, almost choked off as a black-clad fist slammed into my throat. I dropped down and rolled, as Valencia loomed overhead. Her fists tore through steel on the missed swing even as I coughed dust and blood.

Cloven Crash gave me but a heartbeat’s reprieve before it was shattered once more. All I needed to regain my feet and distance. Valencia pressed in with unnatural speed, battering past my own attacks. Her strikes seemed like titan-blows, each punch the heaviest I had ever been struck. Even beneath Ironhide and Thickened Fur, I was battered.

Berserk fed me strength beyond mortal hands, made pain an afterthought as I struck blow for blow with the fiend. Rage and bloodlust and hatred screamed within, the howls of fury that kept the flame alive beneath this oppressive gale of darkness.

The claymore slammed into Valencia’s side and bellows of triumph came. Only to fade as she gripped the blow and twisted the sword from my hands. The smallest nick now decorated her armor.

Now came the reckoning.

Dark suns glowed in each fists as the dreadknight hammered away at my body, each blow shockwaves of heat, force and pain that ripped into the veil of Berserk. I struck back, a messy roundhouse across her face only slightly staggering her. A black fist crashed into my stomach, and I saw burning blood as she withdrew. Huge hands seized her as I attempted to grapple and throw her away.

My strength failed to so much as budge her. Feet set and body swinging, she tore into me, even as I moved forward to envelop her. Crushing force struck my side as I charged in, and her elbow smashed into my ribs.

Sanguine bloodfury held me now as I bit and tore, every attack doing pitiful amounts of damage. Explosive force erupted into my chest, and I found myself flung backward, a ragdoll struck by the hurricane.

Stone and steel greeted me, glass shattering as I was flung through a tube, its occupant crushed.

If darkness could ever shine like sunlight, it came from Valencia now. The dreadknight blazed with dark glory, her very being a nova of hellish flame and unbridled malice. She stepped from shadow to shadow, in relentless pursuit. Some semblance of thought felt, I tore a flask from my belt and hurled the acid across her face.

She licked it clean.

Wide, frenzied eyes beheld me, a storm within as the acid melted her skin. With a laugh, she brought her will to bear, and I watched in horror as the flesh was knit. A hastily hurled burst-pod was easily caught in her grasp and crushed beneath her fingers as the metal oozed foreign substance.

“Is this all?” came the demand from on high. “Have ye no more rage for me?”

“Plenty,” I snarled, upon my feet once more.

A lie.

The Behemoth was not content to heed my call, for I had just summoned it. It was on the verge of agreeing, but that meant I had to survive against her for some time more. No other ploy in mind, I threw the entire bag of biters at her and watched with some satisfaction as they latched on across her body.

Only to recoil as flame consumed her being and seared them from existence. The distraction, small though it was, allowed me to retrieve the claymore. Another to swallow as much healing milk as possible. The warmth of divinity spread through me for a mere heartbeat before the howling void was once more before me.

Stone shattered beneath Valencia’s feet as she stomped forward and swung overhead, her weight behind this blow. Once more, I saw it draw near, yet could not move. A meteor-impact crashed into my chest and stopped my heart on impact. Flesh gave way, bones shattered, and heaven pierced me. My eyes locked on the black form even as the laws of reality threw me away.

Blood for Blood delivered the blow back to her with all might. A wall could not stop me, not another. Rest came only once I was buried in rubble. Yet, this would not be my bed for long. Weak roars petered out in my throat, dead in their inception as I struggled to regain lost footing. There was blood in my eyes as I heaved upright and downed another few mouthfuls of milk.

Valencia’s wild laughter roared across the broken chamber, the dreadknight ablaze with glory and might. To fight her was foolishness, I realized. But I battled not to win but to withhold her from the others.

“Thy flesh unmade.” The words rolled across the chamber as she drew near once more. “Thy life consumed.
Ye will feed the inferno that comes,” she promised, and I saw not a hint of deception within her.

“Only once you have returned me to the cold, hard dirt.” Blood followed the vow from my throat as I strode to meet her, blade in hand.

“I like you, minotaur,” came the fiendish smile, a rictus of emotion on her dead features. “Burn all the same. The only fate your kind deserves.”

Every skill used at once, I stepped forward and brought the claymore down with both hands. The dreadknight laughed as the mass of steel I deigned to call a sword descended upon her.

And then she caught the blade. Both arms above her head, the horror laughed as I pressed the claymore down. Muscles strained and my eyes bulged as I applied every ounce of strength my body possessed. Rock cracked beneath me as Valencia’s form was shoved down, the stone giving way before she did. Then I was stumbling backwards, overwhelmed as she threw the blade back and slammed forward to headbutt my chest.

Pain. Caved ribs and shattered things I wished not to think upon.

A sideswipe caught her and staggered her ever so slightly off-course. But she was a storm, and one could not stand before nature’s relentless wrath. Blows that would have torn humans to pieces ripped into my side, even as I returned all the strength I had left to give.

Defense an afterthought, I ground my hooves and traded blows with her as I raced fatigue and pain. Every wound she inflicted upon me was returned by Blood for Blood, yet one needed not eyes to see the dreadknight did not care.

Savagery unrelenting washed over me, and I struggled to withstand the tide.

My form crumpled backward and rested against a heap of shattered rubble as Valencia stood, her breath heavy and blood-stained smile upon her face.

“Arrogance betrays your kind, minotaur.” The dread being that pretended to be human smiled down at me. “You think yourself the strongest, the most fearsome. They will fear me, for I have come to guide them to depths their minds cannot comprehend.”

“Not this one. Not today.”

Someone loomed from the darkness. Le’rish. The brave, foolish huntress returned to save me. No match for the dreadknight. Yet, even as she spoke, my eyes went wide. Her body writhed and stretched, beast-folk features gone as something more emerged in her place. Steel feathered headdress, metallic wings, draconic features.

The Apex.

Valencia roared and spread her arms as the beast Le’rish had become tore through the air and struck her with an almighty blow. Laughter cracked through the air as the dreadknight returned the favor in kind. Muscles flexed up and down her mighty body as Le’rish grabbed Valencia in one hand and ripped through the wall with her.

She came out swinging. Lightning greeted her as Le’rish’s maw gaped open and storm-fury blasted loose, shearing paths through stone and crystallizing stray goo through overwhelming heat. The void gleamed with irreverent light as Valencia raced forward, the stream of bolts taken dead-on.

“This is what I have sought!” she screamed with joy and pounced. Her form blurred through the air and crashed into Le’rish to send the Apex tumbling backward.

Claws and fangs clashed with fists and heat as the two brawled. Meanwhile, I clutched blankly at my wounds and consumed milk as much as the pain would allow. I mended, but far, far too slow.

I needed to be back in the fight, to be the lynchpin that could sway the death duel either way. Even after all the energy she had expanded upon me, Valencia fought like a caged tigress, a monster with its back to the wall. Every blow was one too many for the Apex as it tried to strike back for every hit it took.

“Depths take you!” came the primal roar.

Lerish hauled Valencia overhead and slammed her into the floor with all her might. Too hard. The stone, already weakened from my battle with the dreadknight, gave way. I watched in horror as stones collapsed downwards, tons of rock suddenly in a freefall.

Only once I was upon my feet and racing towards the edge did I realize my folly. Fate compelled me to continue, however. And there I found Le’rish, clung to the edge, dangling above a sheer void. No time wasted, I plopped down to one knee and fought through the pain to grab her arm. There was very little strength left within me, yet I managed to haul her skyward.

Weakened already, my throat shuddered with a singular sigh as I collapsed backwards. Le’rish crouched above me, her expression shrouded. Another time, my head might have reeled from the revelation.

Le’rish was the Apex?

Here and now, I was simply too tired.

“Thank you,” I rumbled.

“She’s not dead,” came the clipped, pained reply.

“I know. We will see her again. I pray it be later rather than sooner.”

There was precious little healing milk left, yet I offered it to Le’rish instead of myself. Though her face showed little emotion, her body was battered and torn to the same extent as I.

“This,” I groaned and heaved myself up, “was a complication we did not strictly need.”

“Fate delivered it all the same. But she has been removed, for now.”

Onwards, then. Down and deeper into the heart of darkness. I offered one hand to Le’rish, and after a moment, she accepted.

“You have a story to tell me once this has all been concluded,” I grunted.

“Aye. But for now, one last battle awaits.”

Chapter 68

Darkness stirred around my form as we two hobbled along, healing supplies drained dry to sustain weary bodies. We had tentatively triumphed in this battle, if only because Valencia had been physically removed from the battlefield. Yet, there was a sick feeling deep within as realization crept upon me. The price of victory in the battle may have cost us the war.

Freshly healed wounds radiated phantom pains across my body, every dark blow struck refusing to let go, even as the cleric-shine’s magic compelled it.

“Garek,” Le’rish said from beside me.

“Yes?”

“I have shared a secret with you this day. The others do not know. Don’t tell them. Please.”

The words came in short bursts as the huntress looked away. We had not spoken on this, and the knowledge made my mind whirl. So many questions had been raised, and I knew answers would need to wait until we emerged from this place. If we lived to see the day through.

“Your secret will follow me to the grave,” I swore.

Every new obstacle lessened our already slim chances of survival. And now that our only known path had been very clearly collapsed behind us, the only way was forward.

Deeper into the dungeon’s stone guts.

Destruction passed us by, thrashed chambers and ruined hallways lined with corpses. The road thus far was lined with carnage, every step paid for in blood. Not mine, in the here and now, but with the ichor that spilled from hundreds of Arn'Thema corpses. The Overmind hurled swarms upon the party, even though it must know they would be defeated.

Why? To purchase more time through the sheer crush of bodies it might flood these corridors with? To learn more about our fighting patterns? Likely.

We turned through darkened corridors, the only light a torch Le’rish had procured from somewhere. Gone was the luxury of Velton’s mage-lights now. We wandered in the deepest darkness, held only at bay by the smallest flicker of light and life.

Le’rish grimaced and sniffed at the air. An open pit of spikes lay before us, I saw a moment later. A glance inside revealed nothing had been swallowed into its depths.

“Move around the side.” She gestured, and I complied.

Would be a fool way to die after so much had been overcome, I reckoned. Feet light and steps sure, Le’rish stepped past and back onto the main path.

Only for the floor to vanish beneath her as the illusion released and the second pit was revealed. Reflexes beyond anything human saved her as the huntress’s body contorted in mid-air and grabbed back onto the ledge. With a grunt, she yanked herself back up, irritated.

“Always think they’re so smart with the double illusion,” she growled.

“It almost did get you this time,” I noted with some wry humor. An attempt to make the most of an increasingly dire situation.

“Startled me,” she grunted. “That’s all.”

The floor flickered back into place behind us, ready to claim an unwitting victim. Would it too fade if we destroyed the shard that supposedly powered this section of this hellish place? I hoped so.

More rubble and ruin passed us by until we finally emerged into a tall, vaulted chamber filled with magical light. Figures sat within, and after our short time apart, the party was reunited. Velton stared up at massive statues that depicted ancient beings unfamiliar to mine or Garek’s memories.

Faceless Gods that stared down from on high, only in the barest resemblance to anything humanoid. Many seemed to have several more limbs than I was used to, one depicted in splendor with a full growth of stone tentacles that swept from its back like a cape.

In this dusty chamber, they were almost perfectly preserved, altars beneath every individual statue.

“Garek.” The elf turned. “You have overcome your challenge.”

“For now,” was all I said as Ishila gave a tired wave.

The young orc looked positively exhausted, soaked in blood and ichor. She sat slumped atop a stone altar as her mother paced about the cavernous room.

“We awaited your return, for to approach this final fight without our full force would be folly,” Velton explained. “We have a plan.”

“A cruel one.” Ishila frowned.

“A necessary one,” he insisted in return.

“Shall I hear it before we march off then?” I sighed and seated myself.

Recovery would come easier once I was seated than if standing, or so I hoped. In truth, I was simply tired. The post-adrenaline crash had set in, and now my limbs felt like stone. The slaughter not even a day before and lack of sleep only further exacerbated this.

“We know with certainty that the Overmind directly commands the Arn'Thema swarm.” Velton sighed and weighed his words. “We are in possession of a crucial piece of knowledge. One more swarm will soon be sent to the surface. Not to break through, as we expected, but, if the traitor-elf is to be believed, to simply gather combat experience.

“Several things come to mind. It views these numbers as expendable. Knowledge is gleaned through their eyes and action, which means a direct psychic link, unless their physiology wildly differs from any other such example I may think of.”

“You intend to disrupt it?” I guessed.

“Oh heavens no.” Velton almost laughed. “I am but one elf against an entire swarm of minds all guided by this Overmind. The utter annihilation of my own mind is not a clear path to victory.”

“Think a little… deeper,” Tehalis offered from across the room as she examined ancient statues. “The elf claimed their main purpose is to gather combat experience. But we have learned that they need not be alive to pass that onwards. Neither do they store it and carry it back for extraction like some species.”

“There exists a continuous link at all times, which I theorize is how the Overmind directly commands and modifies the Arn'Thema mid-fight. Unless it is a horrendously powerful being—to a degree we cannot hope to defeat anyway—it has to be an immensely taxing process to command the swarm.”

“We can all see where this is goin’.” Ishila grimaced, her arms crossed.

The plan was simple, yes. Even with what little context provided, one could piece it together.

“You intend to let the swarm march on the defenses and then attempt to slay the Overmind.” Not a question, a statement.

Even in my exhausted state, the potential for this to go horribly wrong was clear to me. Others agreed, I could see. Ishila sat, her arms folded and expression flat.

“We came here to save lives, not endanger them further,” she grumbled at her father. Yet, for her bravado, she was willing to go along with this foolhardy plan. Even I was.

“Would you rather face this Overmind and its entire swarm, or have those forces split and the Shard’s power divided both literally and mentally?”

Silence followed this question. And I pondered something. Just how many lives was I willing to sacrifice for this victory.

“To make something abundantly clear.” Le’rish stood and gazed dead at the crimson-haired elf. “You are in full mental faculties and aware of the disastrous consequences should we fail?”

“Yes. We came here to stop it before another swarm was unleashed on the fortress, yet this new knowledge changes several things. It will be forced to choose between maintaining control of the swarm or its own preservation, and as a being who has lived just as long as this Shard has, I believe it will choose the latter option.”

“Or it could be that the elf lied and all that we heard in that laboratory were honed words meant to lure us to certain death.”

Velton snorted and waved that off. “She was a high elf, Garek. Her kind is too arrogant to lie. A final twist of the knife before she slipped away, rather. Truth, but for her own ends, meant to hurry us towards the Shard and not in pursuit of her.”

“Valencia saw fit to end that loose thread.” I nodded.

Le’rish was clearly on the fence, and so was I. But I too relented and agreed that, while his plan was rife with risk, it was our best chance of success. We were battered and low on supplies, frankly. Every advantage we might eke out could be the crucial point that tipped the scales in our favor.

“Can you teleport out of here?” I posed the question to Velton as Ishila strode across the gap between us.

The elf simply shook his head, then explained a moment later. “Teleportation requires clear knowledge of both locations. The point of origin and destination, as well as a mental path between the two. With how violently dungeons reject the laws of reality and culminate distance, to attempt it would be both insanity and certain destruction.”

“So no.”

I accepted the flask Ishila handed me with a thankful smile and found healing milk within. The lass ordered I drink the last of her own reserves, just to be ready for the battle that awaited us. A kind gesture, and one that I would remember.

And we waited.

Velton stood still amidst the chamber’s inner circle, wreathed in an aura of magic. Tehalis stalked the shadows in silence, not content to be still. Ishila and Le’rish sat together, perhaps a final moment of each other’s company in the likely event none of us returned alive.

Content in my own silence, I rested and let my wounds heal. It seemed oddly… peaceful down here in the darkness. The occasional far-off sound drifted through the stone corridors, but here beneath the gaze of ancient, foreign gods, I found rest.

Sharp was the hand upon my shoulder that jerked me awake. Sleep had claimed me, I realized. I felt heavy now. Tired. With weary hands, I forced myself upright and gazed around. Noise struck me first. The dungeon moved around us, the sounds of a thousand feet on stone in every direction.

“The Overmind awaits.” Tehalis pointed one axe down a side corridor. “Its lair lies not far away.”

“Miss anything?” I grunted, too tired for proper courtesy.

“A few scouts meant to probe us. It has decided against sending its swarm to confront us directly, it seems. The way ahead lies empty. The traps I found were disabled, and the doors are open.”

“It desires conversation, I think.” Velton frowned. “I did not plan for this.”

“The Overmind of the Arn'Thema awaits us to bargain.” The words rolled through the chamber as I stood. “Who are we to keep it waiting?”

“We will hear it out,” Velton agreed. “But first, battle plans.”

Silence enveloped us as the elf’s magic took hold, and then the discussion began. There were… rather good plans within. Risky, sure. But most were simple and safe. In the end, all roads led to the same conclusion. The methods of arrival were simply varied in their complexity and danger. But we had come prepared for death.

“Triumph or death. One or the other, no other end to this journey,” I rumbled. Grim resolve weighed upon me now, and this, I would see through.

“If nothing else, I am glad to have met you,” Le’rish addressed me and Ishila. A sad, uncharacteristic smile lay upon the huntress’s features, her one good eye upon the orc lass.

“We will… speak about this if all of us live through this day,” Tehalis promised, a thumb upon her axe blade as she regarded the two.

Naught more needed to be said as we left to approach the heart of darkness. Convictions were set, outcomes known, and now, only this task needed to be carried out. I prayed we were strong enough to see it through.

Chapter 69

Blessed silence came as we passed beneath stone arches, the irritable noise of the dungeon left behind as we descended. Monuments and murals to ancient beings lay carved within every surface save for the floor we walked upon, no two the same. Decades and centuries of history passed us by, unappreciated in our hurried wake.

The Overmind awaited. Traps lay open and empty with every step taken, ingenious designs that I shuddered to think of in action. Once more, I was the honorary torchbearer, in the lead to ward against treachery.

But no flame was needed where we dared tread. The downward slope gave way to massive gates of steel that were barred tight, massive slabs of iron from which only orange light escaped. This deep glow spread across the party as we approached. One last check to ensure all were ready, and I heaved the doors open. Steel screamed upon rarely used hinges, and my eyes were forced open as I embraced the light.

What lay within defied reality. A deep orange sun was set in the rock above, a pulsating mass of light and heat that baked the sheer rock below. We emerged unto the throne of arrogance, steppes of stone and steel that flowed upwards past statues of ancient gods that bowed in irreverent glory to the figure at this mountain’s peak.

“Mortalis,” came the swarm of a hundred voices all at once from a single figure at the mountain’s base.

Something massive turned towards us, a tyrant of spikes and sinuous limbs. A dozen eyes that burst with divine power regarded the insects before it, the mountain of carved gods to its back.

“Overmind,” I returned, blade at hand as we tentatively closed the distance.

The creature seemed… unconcerned as we drew near. It towered over even me, of massive size and unshakeable strength. Obsidian plates covered its form, flowing down into a long battle-dress. It seemed like someone’s idea of an ancient priest, with symbols grown from its body in place of wearing anything.

“Is this what they have named me?” came the voice akin to a whirlwind of leaves and a low buzz that irritated my skull. It cast no shadow, I saw as it stood perfectly beneath the sun mounted into the roof above. “It speaks to arrogance. Alludes to being above the rest of my kind.”

“Are you not, then?” Velton queried. The elf gazed on with fascination. Upon the magical plane was a layer to this creature my eyes could not see, no doubt.

“Your false Gods have deemed me the Apex of my kind. They do not understand me. Thrust words and meanings upon me so they might give me shape. Apply meaning to my existence.”

“Your Gods?” I asked.

Like all others of its kind, there was an aura of wrongness about this thing. A pervading sense of unease that one garnered simply by viewing it. It came forth in the way it stood, its body’s structure, the aura that surrounded it.

“They are not worthy of my worship.”

“You give fealty to the Gods Below?” Le’rish spoke. The huntress had moved off to the side, eyes cast about for anything that might be of use.

“Traitors. Usurpers. They founded this all on the greatest of lies. Creators of my kind, though they are, I refuse to give them my respect.”

“If not Gods then, what are those?” I gestured to the mountain that stood carved in painful detail behind the great being.

“These hands, unworthy though they may be, will create a pantheon worthy of my worship. Who I may bow to and feel respect as I look upon their forms. It will be a long, harsh road, but of this I dream. Of a home for the Arn'Thema to one day live.

“Know this; I cherish this dream with every fiber of my being. Stand in its way, and I will unmake you as dust upon the wind.

“We are one. Though this crude temple I call a body may house the spirit, I am every one of the constructs you have met. Every being you have given battle to. Every body you have slain. I have known the weakness of the flesh, that it may falter and fail me. I also know of you.

“You have come here to slay us,” it stated. The being remained unconcerned even as the party had spread out in preparation for violence. “In your eyes, We are a threat to your short lives.”

“You say otherwise?”

“No. The sun itself will be torn from heaven above and the skies will rain crimson before we falter in pursuit of our dream. Your lives, so short, will simply be cut shorter. I offer you an alternative path. Flee this place. You will not be harmed. You are specks to us. Mayflies. Ours is a journey of millennia. Your names will be forgotten and legacies turned to dust before we emerge once more.”

Silence filled the pulsating chamber as these words were contemplated.

“Even if we agreed to this, you ask us to trust the word of a monster, to damn future generations.”

“In our eyes, you are the monster. The product of heresy and false Gods. Fate demands we strike you down for the blight that is your existence, yet we are not without mercy.”

“You fear us. I can see it,” Tehalis growled, axes at ready, eyes locked on the titanic form.

“You are an inconvenience. A small danger. Yet, we have dedicated far too much time unto this road to humor such risks. We will not have it destroyed over some minor spat. We refuse the chance, however small. You have seen we are not without reason, not devoid of logic or compromise. Leave this place, and your safety is guaranteed.

“Oppose us, and all such mercy will be withdrawn. We will crush your corpses under the flood that is We, bury you so deep the sun will never touch your skin. Legions await to be called, warriors that will not stop until our purpose has been achieved. You face preparation that has marched on before you were even conceived. You gamble with Fate itself here now, Mortalis. And it favors me upon its table.”

“Threats are typically not a brilliant way to sway people to your side,” I pointed out. Velton was up to something, and the longer I could keep the Overmind occupied, the better.

“You have invaded our home, slain hundreds of our constructs, and you worry about threats?”

It sounded almost… amused.

“You invaded ours first,” I pointed back.

“Untrue. This halfbreed and others with her desecrated a shrine upon their trespass. Our response was within the bounds of reason. A message was delivered not to intrude further into our domain, yet this too was refused.”

“You don’t think the repeated assaults upon the fort were perhaps a little overkill?”

“Your stubbornness needed to be remedied. I require total non-aggression on your behalf.”

“Well, that puts me at ease.” I snorted, derision in my voice. “Would you like us to promise to keep every human in this land from this dungeon as well while we’re at it?”

“In fact, yes.”

Tension pervaded the air now, thick enough to cut with a dull knife.

I spoke after a shared glance with Velton. “Your offer has been duly considered and refused. If fate demands I have a grave in this place, then I will either triumph or embrace it. No other paths. No lesser Gods. Your dream dies here, today.”

There were no more words.

The sky broke as Velton channeled the power of suns down upon the figure, even as the ground broke and legions emerged around it. I found myself in furious combat as pillars of heat and fire crashed from a stone sky.

Heat singed at my eyes, the metal that was my hide beginning to blacken. Furious swing cut through packed masses of Arn'Thema as I found myself before the mouth of a tunnel. They climbed from the earth in their dozens, and I hewed them back down.

Missiles whistled through the brimstone air, lances of force and magic that decimated swathes of Swarmlings. Le’rish crouched somewhere high above, streams of metal death let fly down towards us. A Champion loomed before me, only to stagger back as half its head vanished. The claymore helped liberate the rest.

Velton was locked in magical combat with the Arn'Thema Overmind, a glance told me. The air was strewn as spells tore at reality, fireballs, lightning bursts, and spears of force running haphazard through the air. An ice missile crashed into the pack of monsters before me. The explosion of cold yanked me backward, eyes wide from the sudden pain.

It was about then that I realized my hatred for magic. Every problem that had really, truly given me pause had been magical in nature, insofar.

The elf suddenly tumbled through the air, overwhelmed. I caught his form with one arm, the other busy with matters of decapitation. Blood was snorted back into his nostrils as he regarded the Swarm-form high above.

“I may have underestimated its full arcane abilities,” he admitted with a grunt of pain.

“Happens to us all,” I spared a moment to reassure him. “You know better now.”

“Aye,” he replied as I turned to punch an Arn'Thema worker’s head off. “That I do.”

It was about then that I realized every corpse in the room was locked in levitation. It took all of a heartbeat to glance between the shielded, hovering figure and the sheer mass of corpses that were drawn towards it for realization to strike me.

“Oh no,” I uttered. “Kill it. Kill it now!” I bellowed with all the capacity of my lungs.

The primal spirit minotaur protested as I disturbed its rest once more, yet I did not care. Fight as it did, I forced it upon this world. Brazen Bull Behemoth distorted the air as I focused now, vulnerable for but a moment as I summoned the ancient being into reality. Velton came to my aid, hexblade in hand and flame in the other as Arn'Thema swarmed towards me.

With a little more leeway, I might have attempted to summon the behemoth above where the Overmind floated now, to see it crushed by the weight of the fall. This was not to be. Instead, it came into existence and immediately began to thrash about, bloody carnage in its wake. That was not what I needed. I required something to attack the Overmind itself. Le’rish missiles sparked its shield, yet she was only one woman.

Spirit hatchets swirled through the air, volleys of violent force hurled by Tehalis. Sunlight gleamed as Ishila’s great spear was brought to bear, all blinded for but a moment. Heaven’s lance flickered through the air with speed beyond all but Gods, might inexorably levied at the half-orc’s foes.

The Overmind simply moved aside. It transcended space for a heartbeat, its form physically shifted through reality and emerged unscathed as the lance tore into the ceiling above. Tons of rock crumbled down in the distance, the vast cavern beginning to crack from pressure and damage. Bone blade could not reach the creature as the Behemoth tried to swipe. A statue ripped up and thrown at it merely broke against its shield.

Bodies massed through the air, material to the furnace as limbs were pulled apart and swirled around the dark hurricane. I commanded Velton to target those, and firestorms were pulled from the miniature-sun above to set the stream alight.

My body balked against the heat of what came, but it was necessary.

Too little, too late. All ceased, and as I watched, a demi-god descended from on high. A fluid body made of a billion parts, all in perfect movement and synergy.

The Swarm That Walked opened its maw, and storm clouds tore through the rock, headed right for me.

Chapter 70

Black death swarmed towards me, A swarm-cloud that drowned out all else. The particles tore through rock as they swirled in their hunger. No skill would save me from that shredding force, I realized. White encompassed me as the behemoth stepped between me and fate. The giant seized my form and wrapped its body around me. Fur and muscles encompassed every sense I possessed, save for sound. Buried in the behemoth’s grasp, I could still hear death as it swarmed around me.

It swirled faster, tighter, tearing through flesh with impunity. Only a matter of time before it ripped through this temporary shield and reached my form.

The tendril withdrew, gone quickly as it had been commanded upon me. Unable to bleed, the primal beast dropped me and returned to the attack. A valiant attempt, at least. The swarm-beast floated high above, a storm in the Overmind’s shape. Tendrils extended downwards towards us, a billion different beings under one unified command.

Cloven Crash was a valiant, yet feeble attempt to lock it in place. Easily broken. Yet, it provided a heartbeat where the skill’s hold was absolute. The behemoth’s bone blades crashed into the solid tendril to tear it loose, yet it was the smallest nick in the bloated swarm.

“That’s not a sun!” Velton shouted as he attempted to draw power from above. The massive orb glowed and pulsated, yet refused to yield any more aid. “It’s a reliquary!”

I bellowed in acknowledgment despite my complete lack of understanding.

Massive blades of shifting darkness formed as the swarm reshaped itself, weapons autonomous from its main body. These whirled round and crashed down from on high, come to blot out the light. Flame met them in return as Velton set himself and brought forth dragon-fire. The elf’s magical wroth and wrath seared through the descended swarm-fall and upon the cloud itself.

Yet this was a feint, I realized. Cloven Crash froze the swarm for just a heartbeat as gray magic swirled above. A conjured moon whirled with silver energy and fired dull lances of force to crash down upon us.

Annihilation came for the elf, eldritch magic to flay the flesh from his bones and sap the magic from what remained. Small though it was, the delay had given Ishila enough time to dash close and take the full brunt of the pillar that descended.

For a moment I stared in horror as it engulfed the lass. This turned to relief as the mirror shield refused to yield and reflected the magic skyward. This tore into the swarm, colossal force directed back to its wielder.

Grease rained from the sky as Velton gestured, and a simple fireball set the mass alight, even as it reeled from the blow. It coalesced into a singular being rather than be consumed as a billion smaller ones. A roar and lightning-breath from above forced it down just enough for the behemoth to seize a burning chunk and rip it from the sky.

The cradle of unborn gods shook as the Arn'Thema Apex tore into the mountainside, rubble left in its wake. The behemoth dragged it down to earth, fire and fervor shredding at its white fur. Bone-white blades caught only rock as the massive being shifted aside and returned the favor. Even as I charged toward the fray, the behemoth staggered back with an array of blades that jutted from its back.

Le’rish crashed down to earth in all her draconic glory, wrath brought forth in thunder as she expelled lightning at the downed swarm. Bolt-breath struck the creature as it rose and tore the earth open with a gesture.

All this magic and wrath, and here I was, just a minotaur with a sword.

All I needed to be. Scream of Fury loosed itself from my throat and directed the titan’s attention to me. It was a solid mass now, alight with grease-fire. Tehalis whirled into view upon its back, axes falling in savage repetition. Its body contorted and slammed into a wall, the orc leaping out just in time. Psychic force nearly brought me to one knee as the Apex’s mental might shredded right through Berserk.

I staggered up and continued my charge, claymore raised.

Cold and cruel was the laughter that came at the sight of me running towards it. A small, insignificant speck. This was silenced as the behemoth plowed one massive fist into the creature’s side. Bone blades ripped and tore in frenzied rhythms, even as the Apex returned the punishment in kind. Rock broke beneath their fury as the two titans clashed, then outright shattered as Le’rish joined the fray.

Fast kicks shattered the ground in sheer force as the second Apex flowed from one attack to the next, just barely twisting past counter-attacks. Faced with two beings nearly its equal, at least in title, it did little but survive the onslaught.

All it needed to.

The grease burned away, and once more, the massive thing dissolved into a storm-cloud that shredded everything it touched. Le’rish leaped backward, blood dripping from her front as the behemoth staggered and bore the full brunt. The air trembled in anticipation as the demigod took flight once more, unfathomable amounts of magic within its grasp.

My eyes locked with Velton as I mouthed the words.

“Now.”

All sound ceased as the elf’s spell took hold round my head, then spread to the others. On my belt was a sealed metal cube. This I plopped onto the ground and dug my fingers into the seams, then ripped it open to reveal the cube of earth within. Large green leaves sprouted from this, and without further ado, I seized these and yanked the creature free.

The mandrake emerged with its mouth open, death-scream already being bellowed from its lungs. With one last glance at the little fiend, I wound up and hurled it towards the swarm with all my might. Its pudgy body arced through the air, an announcement of damnation wherever it traveled.

Gray death spread through the swarm as all that heard the sound withered away. Waves of particle-beings fell, shriveled and used up as the screams ripped through the swarm. The vast cloud crumpled and reformed into a single creature that staggered about in pain. Legions lay dead around it, in the center of it all, a baby-like thing that wailed death and despair.

The behemoth stepped in and hammered it down, once more able to engage in directly. It thrashed and struggled, curled up in pain.

“No more.”

These words pierced the veil of deafness, and I watched with horror as both the mandrake and behemoth were disintegrated. They were not blasted, destroyed, or otherwise damaged, but simply unmade.

“The price of your arrogance will be eternity.” This, it spoke, and the sun shattered above.

One, ten, a thousand orbs of light emerged from this shell and swirled downwards.

Souls. Power. Fragments of divinity.

Velton threw his arms forward to stop the transference and was hurled across the chamber with violent force to crumple into the wall. Tehalis was snatched from the sky and buried straight into the ground. Le’rish fought but was likewise tossed aside. Ishila’s lance pierced it through the chest as the orc screamed in rage, and my claymore whirled for its head.

It cared little for these, I found as it stood braced, arms outstretched as the mass of light descended upon it.

You witness the ascension of a new God.

The system confirmed my worst fears. Sick was the feeling within my gut even as I dashed forward in desperation.

“We are not worthy of divinity, yet you have left little choice,” the being lamented.

“Then I will take it from you.”

A cold, cruel, frenzied voice emerged from a singular shadow the being now cast. A familiar, dread rasp that spoke with coiled malice. One that I had never been so grateful to hear.

Valencia emerged behind the being, an inferno of dark glory. Hands ablaze with dark suns seized the massive Arn'Thema, her fingers piercing into the flesh itself. Darkness shone as the array of souls struck the creature even as the dreadknight pulled the life from it.

Brilliance gleamed through the void, cut loose by the scream of millions. They stood wreathed in glory and hellfire as pure power rained down from the false heavens and flowed into them both.

Reality violently expelled them both from the void that crumpled upon itself where they had stood. Valencia flipped through the air and landed next to me, bloodied smile upon her face. My claymore was in her grasp, I saw. She flipped it towards me, and I snatched it from the air.

“Again we meet, Garek.” There was blood and lust and hatred and scorn in her words, that crooked smile upon her face. “So soon you hurry back to me.”

“You just tried to kill me,” I stated bluntly.

“I have been led on for so long now.” She grinned. “Can you blame me for wanting a taste?”

I chose not to think on that further and turned back to the half-ascended Arn'Thema.

“You steal power meant for divinity, lay claim to might your mortal shell cannot hold,” it raged. “We are the creator of Gods. The Overmind. The swarm unleashed. We are billions. Who are YOU to stand in our path?”

“I am Valencia,” the dreadknight sneered at the eldritch half-godling before us. “Breaker. Undoer. Butcher. And I will cast you down.”

“I am Garek. You end here. Now.”

Ishila only gave a scream of fury and charged past us, axe raised. Valencia still beat her there. The dreadknight warped through shadows and staggered the godling with vicious blows fueled by its own stolen power. She stood and traded blow for blow with the ancient of days, every strike delivered back to her but the smallest dent in her armor.

She was literally shrinking the blows, I realized with some vague sense of approval as I closed the gap. Genius. The Arn'Thema was wreathed in heavenly glory and light, where her own inferno was darkness and void. Her appearance flickered back and forth, human and something sharper, a being with fangs and too many horns as she shifted between planes at speeds I could only witness.

I crashed into the godling and brought the claymore down on its neck. My arms rang as, for the first time, something refused to yield beneath the enchanted blade. Still focused on Valencia, its elbow recoiled back and slammed me across the face. It struck it again and again, a flurry of blows with all my strength and rage that did little.

Valencia burned through consumed souls with a mad fervor, more power expanded in heartbeats than I had ever witnessed. She danced through shifts of reality, the worst blows narrowly avoided as she laid a storm of blows into the Apex. Ishila’s axe found the same problem as I, and she cast it aside with a snarl.

The being back-handed the dreadknight and staggered her for the first time, its entire power still focused on her. The mountainside of carved gods was laid to waste as it tore into her, all magic abandoned in return for sheer strength.

The dreadknight laughed and gasped beneath the blows, flames of fervor still in her eyes as she struck back. Sunlight bloomed as Ishila summoned another massive spear of light and jammed it into the godling point-blank. Blood ran from her eyes upon the exertion, dried through sheer heat. In desperation, I seized the godling's arms from behind and yanked it back, off Valencia.

The dreadknight came up swinging, suns of void-light tearing into the Arn'Thema’s mighty body. She bled now, exhaustion in her features, writ alongside sheer joy as she blazed with power. Elbows and spikes slammed into me as I brought all my strength to bear and held the godling in place. A fist to the neck tore open the indestructible shell and let liquid flow free.

Ichor and obsidian flesh flew, torn off by strikes as the battle turned in our favor. What force still held me up through this exhaustion, I did not know and did not question. Something shattered, and Valencia staggered back, howling in fury as she clutched her face. I let loose the massive being, heaved it around, and seized the open wound upon its throat.

No skills were needed as I looked the being right in its dozen eyes and tore the wound wide open. It choked now, then screamed as I grabbed the sunlight lance buried in its side and twisted upwards to tear it in half.

Noise and chaos died as it fell backwards, and the three here bore witness to the death of a newly ascended godling.

It was an unceremonious thing. Flopped a few times, had some light leave it, and then dissolved.

What came after made up for it.

You have been granted the thirty-first level. You have been granted the thirty-second level. You have been granted by the will of Gods Above the thirty-third level of Bloodstained Berserker.

You have been granted the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth level of Farmer.

You have achieved a mighty feat through the culmination of both classes. Class consolidation will occur once you sleep.

Chapter 71

“We just killed a god.” Ishila stared in shock. The half-orc looked battered and near-broken, held aloft by sheer grit and orcish tenacity.

“Not a full god,” Valencia grunted and rolled her shoulders. “Godling at best. Tried to rush the ascension. Managed to hold on to a fraction of its intended power. A fool, as these things usually are.”

“You.” I stared down at her.

The dreadknight remained malicious as ever, her aura of dread in full effect. She looked barely winded, my own fight with her and this battle barely having only lightly taxed her. Or so she showed on the surface, at least.

“Me, minotaur. Are you not thankful I came to your aid?” She grinned, her every word derision and blood.

“You remain an enigma,” I continued. “Why?”

“Why not? I am unbound by your rules, your petty moralities. My heart desired this, and so it was given.”

“You fought a God simply because you wanted to? Not to save this land and its people, prevent annihilation?” I asked with tentative disbelief. The fervor in her eye made me realize what an exercise in futility that question had been.

“Yes,” was the expected answer I received. “I came to witness its arrogance, to see how mighty it set itself and thought it was above me, then to see it broken and driven before me. Humbled, in its final moment.”

“And now?” I asked, still tensed for the possibility of battle.

“I am satisfied,” she declared. “You will walk safely this day. You really should attend to the elf.”

She tossed that in casually, her smile burned into my memory as I whirled and raced toward Velton’s broken form with Ishila in tow. The elf lay crumpled against the wall, chest a slow rhythm of weakness as he wheezed blood.

“Pa’!” Ishila yelled as she shook his form.

There was worry in the lass’s voice, and rightfully so. The elf was crumpled and broken, his body smashed upon the rocks. As I watched, one eye cracked open and he gasped in pain. My worry was in vain, however. The elf wriggled tattoo’d fingers and, with some disgust, his body was realigned to proper proportions.

“It’ll take more than being chucked into a wall to end me, girl.” He grimaced. “But I do appreciate your concern.”

Magic. At high enough levels, it was oft indistinguishable from telling the universe what to do. Yet, the elf was not some frail being. There was no small amount of respect garnered as he hauled himself up and looked around.

“Weak though I was, I could still witness you succeed,” He gave Ishila a pained smile. “Know that I am proud beyond what words can express right now.”

A hug of reunion was what I left them to and strode across the chamber in search of the other two. Tehalis lay groaning and waved off my assistance, yet seemed fine otherwise. Le’rish sat inside a massive crater, returned to her humanoid form. She stared blankly upwards, her expression bleak.

No words needed to be said as Ishila strode past me and down to Le’rish’s seated form. The lass simply understood. I turned away as the two embraced, willing to leave them some privacy as the others gathered. Those who remained, at the least. Valencia had vanished, gone back to whence she came.

“So. We have slain the Overmind. Now what?” Even these words were forced out as exhaustion’s hounds nipped at my heels.

“Now, we go home. We rest, we heal, we celebrate this victory, and then we return to our daily lives,” Tehalis offered these words of wisdom with a pained smile as Velton’s magicks worked to mend her body. Without any semblance of healing potions left, magic would need to be the stopgap until we emerged from this place of fear and darkness.

“To be exact, how do we get out? A long trek back to the ladder and its tower?”

A simple gesture upwards showed sunlight high above. I realized then that Ishila’s lance had completely burrowed through the cavern’s roof and smote a tunnel to the world above. The unposed question to whether anyone could fly was summarily answered by a platform of dirt being torn from the ground beneath me. There was little said and even littler to say as we hovered skyward, the cradle of a god left below us. Light slowly approached, come to greet the victorious.

The air was oddly peaceful as thick green canopies of forest bloomed around us. The dry earth gave way to fertile land, dead dungeon replaced by lush forest. Perhaps a little winded and my fear of heights being thoroughly renewed, I staggered off the platform and into the underbrush. Fallen trees made a suitable seat as I basked in sunlight and warmth, grateful for life’s simple pleasures.

“One last bit of magic, then.” The elf sighed. “I doubt anyone particularly wants to walk home from this place.”

“You recognize it?” The area seemed foreign to me, yet the elf had lived here far longer than I.

“Indeed,” was all he offered.

There was little conversation as those present gathered round, and once more, I experienced the unique sensation of being pulled sideways through reality. Never had I been so grateful to see Gol startled as we appeared en masse upon the farm’s property. The big lug loped up to me and buried a thoroughly cold nose into my side, whines given all the while. My attention turned to thoroughly spoiling him with rubs and scratches, barely able to nod farewell before the others vanished.

And then I was alone once more. The weight of what we had done had not fully settled in, I knew. The task was done, countless lives were saved, and most importantly at all, my farm was safe once more.

Strange was the emotion that came to my tired mind as I pondered upon this. Without the vague threat of danger that loomed over me, there was now no force to hurry my actions. A hitch in my stride, I hobbled towards the storage shed and gently pulled the door open.

Fresh milk sat inside, pale petals being soaked. Stiffness and the sore pain of pulled joints made themselves known as I bent to scoop up a full jug and slowly sipped the precious liquid.

Sleep called, yet I did not answer to what awaited me. Once my eyes closed, that meant more levels, more skills, more power, more expectations from the Gods Above that expressed interest in me now. An onward march of endless events and danger.

There was naught I desired more than the simple caress of peace in this moment. The silent regard for simple things, small joys, and wonders in which I could satisfy myself every day. Much as I desired this, it was not to be.

Realization had slowly come that if I desired such things, they would have to be made by me. Moments such as this where I sat beneath the shade of trees that were mine, a cool jug of healing milk in my hand and the other upon the head of my dearest pet.

The dungeon’s saga had not ended. Only a fool would think so. Its threat, while subdued for now, would no doubt return later. Yet, that was tomorrow’s worries. For now, I allowed myself to revel in what had been accomplished by my own two hands. Artyom was nowhere to be seen, yet I had faith that he was alright.

For the longest time, I sat and let the wind blow through my fur, watched the sun slide across the sky. I accomplished nothing in this time, yes. But such were my intentions. To simply enjoy the feeling that came without the need to hurry from one task to the next. These hands had built this farm, gathered all that I owned, and preserved this realm. Now was time to let them rest.

The baron remained an enigma, a man who I had never met, yet who commanded so many aspects of my life. Valencia did as she wanted, and I dreaded the way I would confront her once more. I was not the only one who had walked away from that desperate battle with the god’s rewards upon me. If that act had been enough to propel me so far, how had it affected her? What had it granted Ishila?

Le’rish had hid her true self for so long, perhaps in fear of what others might judge her as. Yet, now that it had been revealed, I only found more sympathy for her. The signs had always been there, yet I had never given enough thought to the matter. It changed… frankly little, I realized. In my heart, she was counted as a friend and would continue to be so. Yet, I was aware that this world was not so understanding as I.

Questions for a future time.

One last battle I waged now, this time against sleep’s smothering embrace. There was a determination within, a stubborn refusal to obey every one of the System’s whims. It was small, yes. Petty, to be frank. Yet, I would dictate when and where I gave in, not be nudged along by some unseen force.

Milk was all I had, and after long hours of exhaustion settling upon my limbs, I could thwart this foe no longer. I would not awake for some time. This, I was aware of. Gol had himself drifted off to sleep, I saw once I rose. High above, evening’s dull light faded as night set upon this world once more. Another yawn stifled in its infancy, I walked up the hill towards my lodge.

At the threshold, I paused and turned, if only to survey what was mine. It was unchanged as when I had left, a place of simple beauty that I could appreciate. Even as I turned and closed the door behind me, I knew many more adventures awaited me, whether I welcomed them or not.

Such was the fate of one Godtouched.

The End