by Tamryn Tamer
Frost rode off as the elves waved and before he knew it the trees were rushing past him. It was surreal how natural it felt to ride a horse. Even at an obviously high speed, through a dense forest, it felt as thought he were running in an open field.
Raullon had brought him a map with the location of the giants and marked what he considered to be the fastest path to the encampment. For the most part Frost stayed on the path and pushed his horse to its limits while infusing it with his strength. He only avoided areas that looked like they might be good places to ambush him.
Although they said it would take him a full day’s ride, he realized if he should have asked if they meant a full twenty-four hours because he couldn’t push the horse that hard. He pulled out the map while looking for landmarks and before long he saw one. From there he estimated the remaining distance, although that was assuming the map was to scale.
It was probably about a hundred and fifty miles away, a distance that no normal horse could have ridden in a day. But as he infused the horse with his power, he knew it could handle it. It was going to be a difficult eight-hour ride but they could do it. He ran his hand along the horse’s neck reassuringly.
“You can do this,” he said. “I’m counting on you.”
They rushed past several strange druidic circles, the village of Greenshire, and eventually came to a village named Stonehaven and turned to the east. The two villages that had been destroyed were both northeast of Stonehaven and had nearly two thousand villagers between them.
Frost imagined some of the villagers died in the initial assault a month ago and another three to four hundred were eaten by the giants. He couldn’t imagine there being over a thousand people left but he just hoped he could actually help them.
Even though he was confident in his abilities given his level and his practice, he was still aware of his own mortality. None of his abilities made him immortal and multiple opponents would take a toll on his strength. And if a giant managed to cleave him, he was probably going to die.
“Holy fuck,” Frost said as he saw the first giant on the horizon. It was still easily a couple miles away but their encampment was enormous. He expected them to be maybe twenty-feet tall, these were clearly twice that and there were three that were probably pushing sixty-feet tall. He activated scan to figure out which were most dangerous but he was still out of range. “Dammit.”
Frost continued to ride as he watched black smoke billow from the encampment while the lumbering creatures paced back and forth. As he got closer, he heard the nightmarish wails of hundreds of people begging and pleading for their lives. Screams of mommy and daddy mixed with the chilling screams of parents that watched their children get eaten by the titans.
They were enormous skeletal men that reminded him of Neanderthals. But their proportions were all off. Their arms and legs were too long for their torsos and their heads looked too large for their bodies. They wore large patchwork tunics made of leather and their skin was white as the snow topped mountains they came down from.
He kept riding and the smell of burning flesh permeated his nostrils and he could feel his horse fighting him as they rode closer. It wanted to turn and run but forced itself forward. Frost imagined that any ability level under ten would have resulted in that horse bucking him off and running for its life.
Finally, he was close enough for the giants to notice him and he stopped the horse as the twelve giants rushed to the front of their encampment. They were still about a half mile away but he could practically smell their putrid body odor. Clearly the carcasses they wore on their body weren’t washed, or worse, the putrid smell was their body.
“Kill!” A giant said while pointing a large wooden club made from an entire tree at him. The others picked up their own clumsily crafted weapons consisting of large rocks and trees.
Frost reached into the satchel and pulled out the longbow Lysandra had given him and the arrows he’d asked for. In preparation he’d learned archery and gained the precision skill but he only leveled them to four. He pulled out an arrow and began Scanning the giants. The largest one, the next was fifty-three, and the next was forty-nine. After that, they continually dropped but forty-one seemed to be the lowest level.
He nocked the arrow and drew the string as far as he could pull it without breaking it while watching the giants rush toward him. He imagined a single arrow wouldn’t hurt much on creatures that size. It wasn’t more than a prick of a pin. Sure, they’d notice it, but it wasn’t going to impact them while they were rushing toward him. Unless it landed in their eyes.
He released his first arrow and quickly nocked the next before the first even landed. The second and third arrows flew to new targets. He was right that mastering archery wasn’t necessary. Each point allowed him to fire faster and hit smaller targets accurately, but giant’s eye wasn’t small.
Frost suddenly felt like something had changed and realized that mounted archery was its own ability but he couldn’t let it distract him. He had to stick to the plan.
The fact was, he’d had plenty of time to think of strategies and the one he’d settled on was partially blinding them with arrows and then finishing them with swords. He didn’t think he’d have time to completely blind them and decided twelve half blind giants were better than six blind ones. After the last arrow landed and the giants were nearly on top of him, he knew he’d made the right call.
He drew his sword and forced the horse forward. It was his first attempt at fighting with a steel sword since Lysandra wouldn’t allow him to use one and he was eager to see what it could do. He started infusing it with is power while being careful not to push it past the orange.
Frost’s eyes fixed on the level fifty-two as it lifted its club over his head. Frost drew back his sword as he approached and pushed the horse to move even faster as the monster prepared to swing. Before the giant could bring his cudgel down, Frost slashed his blade into its leg as he rode past creating a shockwave of air that dug so deep it nearly tore through the entire leg. The level fifty-two tumbled to the ground like a falling tree and mounted combat unlocked as an ability.
He added ten points to mounted combat while pushing the horse to run past the giants and toward the encampment. They chased after him as he pulled away and turned around to face them again as if he was simply jousting. He rushed toward another giant and pulled back his sword again. This time, something felt different thanks to the four levels, his cadence.
He felt each gallop as he approached and sought to time his swing for the exact moment after the horse pushed forward. The feet would be on the ground, the energy to push forward would be released, and that force would increase the strength and accuracy of his swing.
“Grraah!” The giant roared as this time Frost sent a slash that sliced through the entire leg. He continued past to the fifty-two attempting to climb to its knees and cleaved its skull, instantly killing it.
He wasn’t having too much trouble but he noticed his power decreasing at an accelerated rate. He also noticed that for the first time his experience was increasing. On top of that, mounted combat, archery, and several sword abilities had gained restricted points. He was getting excited.
“Come on!” Frost yelled as he rode toward them. They might have been powerful but they were slow, clumsy, and terrified. Two of the weaker ones began positioning themselves behind the larger one but that was going to work against them. Frost rode forward once again at top speed and sent the next giant tumbling. The two lower level giants hiding behind it, being in his direct path as he rode by, quickly fell as well.
Frost swung back around to finish them off while the others began to flee. Unfortunately for the giants, the agreement was for all twelve of them so he gave chase cutting them down one after another until none of the them remained.
“Fuck,” Frost panted as he checked himself out. It was over but his strength was significantly depleted.
Frost had never used that much energy in a single sitting, not that there w
as reason to. During his hunt with Fayeth it was all low-level monsters. About half of his strength was depleted so he pulled out some food and took a few bites. While it definitely moved the needle, it basically like refilling one ounce of a thousand-gallon tanker. Rest was the only way he was going to recuperate but there would be plenty of time for that when he was back in the village.
He rode to the encampment and saw hundreds of villagers locked in metal cages. With a few quick strokes of his sword he unlocking them and the people began rushing out.
“I can’t believe it,” a woman cried while gripping her child.
“It’s too late,” another one cried refusing to leave the cage.
“Are they gone?” a terrified man asked.
“We should run before they come back!”
“Quickly!” another said.
The villagers rushed to leave the encampment and stopped dead in their tracks as they saw the field filled with dead giants. Blood and brains spilled from the giants’ cleaved skulls into the grass. Frost watched as they turned their eyes toward his bloody sword.
“Oh,” Frost shook his head. “I’m not going to harm you. I’m here to free you.
“Who are you?” a villager asked. “Did the king send you?”
“My name’s Frost,” he answered while shaking his head. “I’m the Herald of Shalia.”
“The Herald of Shalia?” a woman backed away from him. “That cursed goddess! You’re lying! Stay away from me! I never asked for your help! I’m not cursed!”
“I’m not cursed either,” another villager backed away.
“Citizens of Zira,” an ominous voice said from above. Frost looked up to see an enormous warrior in dark armor carrying a two-handed axe. Frost’s scan revealed he was a level fifty-one unholy knight. “There’s no need to be afraid.”
“That’s right,” a laughing man said from on top of one of the tents. He was tall with dark hair and wore a black robe. He was a level forty-nine Elementalist. “We’re here to take care of the cursed Herald of Shalia just like he took care of the giants.”
“Not just as he took care of the giants,” a white robed saint appeared within the crowd of people. She had long blonde hair and a tall silver staff with a golden star adorning it. She was level forty-five. “We’ll use more finesse.”
“That’s right!” Two level forty-seven snipers appeared at the far side of the encampment. They looked like a pair of brown-haired blue-eyed siblings. “We’re not so foolish as to exhaust ourselves like that.”
“Somebody really should have taught you to conserve your energy,” a level forty-nine assassin chuckled. “You could have killed them using far less energy.”
“Although we can’t complain,” a level fifty-one holy knight laughed. “Taking on a level sixty would be difficult for anybody. Even if he’s only a fighter.”
“It’s going to make killing you so much easier,” a level forty-six Dragoon said while twirling a spear.
“Heroes!” the villagers said excitedly. “Praise Ziralia!”
Frost clenched his teeth so hard he thought he might shatter his skull as he realized he’d been tricked. He should have seen it coming. He knew it was too easy. Negotiations take days, weeks, months. Countries go to war for decades over small land disputes.
He trusted that prince wanted to avoid casualties but he’d forgotten the most important fact, the prince wouldn’t be the one fighting. There was no risk to them, only their soldiers. If he escaped with his life, he was going to remedy that.
“He looks upset Sir Vance,” the saint laughed.
“He certainly does Lady Filara,” the unholy knight grinned wickedly.
“Vance, Filara,” the elementalist snickered mischievously. “Come now, show some respect. He is a herald after all.”
“A cursed herald, Sir Thomas,” the dragoon corrected.
“A dead herald,” the snipers said in unison.
The faces of the elf villagers flashed in front of him. He wondered if the soldiers in the south were smart enough to wait for confirmation of his death or if they considered it a done deal. If they were waiting the elves might still be safe. If they assumed he’d already be dead, he didn’t want to think about that.
“The elves,” Frost managed to force out.
“Aw,” Lady Filara laughed. “He’s worried about his pet demihumans!”
“They’re not your problem anymore,” the holy knight growled.
“You’re all so cruel,” Sir Thomas laughed. “He’s going to die anyway. At least let him die knowing the truth. Your pets are going to be dragged to the town center in Blackwater and sacrificed to Ziralia. Nothing the people love more than watching cursed followers of Shalia being cooked alive.”
“Really too good of a death for those disgusting monsters if you ask me,” Lady Filara said.
“Don’t forget,” Sir Vance laughed. “Some might put up a fight and get killed on the spot.”
“Are you ready to join them?” the snipers asked as they drew their bows. One was using a longbow while the other was using some modified short bow. As Frost scanned around him, he realized that on top of being high level, they were all wielding powerful armor and weapons. “It’ll be easier if you go peacefully.”
The villagers were moving away from all of the warriors but staying close enough to see the action. It was entertainment to them. Frost gritted his teeth. He rushed north and left his people undefended to save them, they circled him waiting to be entertained. He clenched his teeth. He should have known better.
“I’ve made a mistake,” Frost said more to himself than the others. “I forgot that you were humans.”
“Yes,” Sir Vance laughed. “And humans will never lose to demihumans.”
“You’ve made a mistake too,” Frost grinned while staring at the villagers.
“What might that be Herald Frost?” Lady Filara asked smugly.
“Who cares,” the assassin prepared to attack. “Let’s just kill him.”
“You forgot that I’m human too,” Frost answered while dashing toward the crowd of villagers. They screamed as he wove himself into their ranks before the heroes could attack.
“Gah!” a villager beside him fell as an arrow landed in his chest.
“Do you think hostages worry us?” Sir Thomas held up his staff and a fireball began to grow above his head. “These villagers were already written off. They’re commoners from mining towns. They’re hardly better than demihumans.”
He wasn’t using them as hostages but shields as he searched through his abilities. He had plenty of ability points to use. He just needed to use them correctly. His first target needed to be the saint. A healer couldn’t be allowed to live. The elementalist would need to come next.
“What!” Lady Filara gasped as Frost dashed out from the crowd and launched himself toward her. He twisted his blade preparing to unleash five-point slash as a thick golden barrier appeared in front of her.
“Lady Filara!” Sir Thomas roared. “Look out!”
“Quiet Thomas!” Lady Filara laughed as the barrier shattered. Lady Filiara flashed for a moment as another barrier instantly appeared. “See?”
“Filiara!” the dragoon roared furiously. “Heal yourself!”
“What?” Filara looked down to see a stiletto in her heart and collapsed before she could cast another spell. Frost didn’t even need to level his throwing ability. Anatomy and precision were all he needed at that range in the split second before she put up the second barrier.
For some reason they were all out of position. Had they approached in a group the tanks could have protected her. He looked around and realized why they were spread out. They were attempting to surround him like he was some sort of monster.
They were high level and they should have known better. He wasn’t some monster that would rush after the tank just because he was supposed to. Obviously, he’d target the healer first, then the other cloth wearers.
“Filara!” the dragoon lunged fo
rward as Frost dodged backward.
“Sigmund!” Sir Thomas screamed. “Move you idiot!”
“Shit,” the dragoon yelled while rushing out of range. Frost looked up at the enormous fireball and realized he wasn’t going to be able to dodge it. He didn’t even bring cloth armor in his inventory, not that it would have been high level enough…
Frost dashed toward Lady Filara’s corpse as the fireball came barreling down. He used her like a shield as he infused her cloth armor with enough magic power to bring it into the black. Frost escaped unscathed as the fireball crashed down turning Filara’s corpse to ash and the surrounding earth to molten slag.
Under the cover of smoke and fire he rushed toward the giant’s tent and sliced one of the supporting beams. The tent quickly toppled and Sir Thomas with it.
“Thomas,” the assassin appeared and saved Thomas from Frost’s slash before vanishing.
“Bastard!” Sir Vance roared while bringing down his axe. Frost easily dodged the powerful blow but was nearly caught off guard by the corruption spreading from where the massive axe landed. “Fucking bastard!”
Frost dashed back toward the nearest crowd as arrows came flying in. Sir Vance followed behind him but due to his plate armor he was too slow to catch up. Frost looked around for the elementalist and found them hiding behind the holy knight along with the snipers. They finally had the sense to look for a tank.
“Fuck,” Frost mumbled to himself as the people screamed all around him. Since Lady Filara turned to dust any chance of blocking another powerful fire attack was gone. He needed to kill Sir Thomas before the elementalist could compose himself.
Frost was a fighter. He could be kited all day just as he was kiting Sir Vance and the dragoon that kept trying to find an angle to attack from. He decided to try something different.
“Archer,” Frost mumbled while changing classes. Just like fighter, an archer could use leather armor and his combat skills carried over. When he’d leveled bow and precision while preparing for the giants he was given access to the class.