Terrence looked at Adam in confusion. “But we didn’t have a choice though?” he said.
“Right,” Adam responded. “Tough luck then. Those people were just as strong as monsters.”
“But so are we?” Terrence meekly rebutted. He looked at Adam, his confidence faltering.
Adam chuckled. “Well, we’re true ‘monsters’, but we’re yet to become ‘as strong’,” he said.
“Is hunting monsters any safer than what we just did?” Adam followed up.
Terrence didn't have to ponder long before answering, “... No. It won’t be any easier.”
“That’s it. Besides, you’re the one who suggested doing this. You’re a man of faith, at least have a little confidence in your choice. It’s not a bad one,” Adam jested. Although he was taking things lightly, he was quite worried about their situation back then. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say luck played a big part in their escape. If not for his immunity to status ailments, Adam would have been dead bones... or at least until Arokha gets bored with killing him repeatedly.
‘Come to think of it, that’ll be torture for both of us,’ Adam figured.
“All right... But, wouldn’t it be easier if we hunt monsters we know are weak? Like how adventurers pick which quest they take on depending on its difficulty level? Although still raiding the den is much easier, hired guards like the party from a while ago are a threat to us. They’d be on high alert, now that we’ve started attacking,” Terrence added suddenly.
Adam pondered upon the suggestion. It didn’t sound bad at all. However, ‘My “analyze” skill can only tell so much. It won’t be of much help during dire situations. At my current level, it can barely assess the danger the enemy poses.’ Adam shook his head. If so, he needed something, or someone, that could do a more accurate assessment for him in advance.
“Adventurers…” Adam mumbled.
“So you’re thinking what I’m thinking?” Terrence responded. He then gave a knowing nod.
“I think we should register as adventurers at the nearest city and take on some easy quests. We’ll just disguise ourselves so they won’t know we're undead! That’ll fetch you plenty of experience!” he promptly iterated his supposed brilliant plan.
Adam clanked his jaw tight as his boney palm struck his forehead.
“We’re definitely not thinking the same thing. Not even close!” Adam retorted.
“I… wait, really?” Terrence stammered. Adam shook his head.
“I was thinking of tracking down adventurers instead. And no, we’re not ‘hunting’ them down. We’ll just follow them and assess whatever monster they’re hunting,” he clarified. “It’s a shameful notion really, but… we'll do a bit of stealing; Stealing their kill that is,” Adam added.
“That sounds... a lot better than my idea,” Terrence waived.
“I mean, we can’t talk with the living. All they’ll hear are gurgles. Registering as an adventurer isn’t such a bad plan if we can just communicate well with them.” Adam cheered the crestfallen priest. “The other plan may sound better, but the problem is; It’s a tough one to start. Besides knowing this place is a “hive” of the notorious den, I don't know where we are exactly and that’s a problem on its own,” he added.
An excited grin formed on the priest's face.
“You know, I may not be much of a fighter, but I’m confident with my memory and sense of direction!” he said proudly.
“So — from the Third Corner, we went south, and it took us a week to reach here. The closest settlement should be farther south, near the Fourth Corner. East from there should be Scarlet City. It’s safe to say we’re in Carmine, or at least along its borders,” Terrence explained. No wonder the map-like vision Adam had back then was clear as day.
Terrence evidently remembered most of the details.
“There’s a fair chance we’d encounter a few adventurers if we go further south,” the priest figured.
...
“They couldn’t have gotten away that easily! Find them!” Arokha spat angrily.
The confusing grid-like halls discouraged his party to look further; the intruders could have gone anywhere. To begin with, the den lacked proper lighting to do a search. The gifted Larik could barely see a thing even with his pseudo-clairvoyant vision. The place was just too dark, and the lack of light obscured the path. Not only were they struggling to look for the escapees, but they were also feeling dejected by the death of not just one, but two of their comrades. They were in distraught unlike the fuming monk who did not care, more so sympathize with their loss.
“They’ve escaped. Let’s end the search here and call it a day,” Larik said numbly.
Arokha halted his heavy steps and looked at Larik. “What did you say?”
“We’re not paid to hound intruders,” Larik responded bluntly.
“And you’re not paid to talk either. Now stop spouting nonsense and look for them!”
“No, I’m done.” Larik dismissed the scolding nonchalantly. He turned his back and was about to leave when a surge of bloodlust came rushing towards him. The stifling intent brought Larik to his knees. A barrage of fists was about to strike the stupefied assassin when a giant mallet intervened. The hard floor shattered and a cloud of dust puffed up the air as the hammer blocked the torrid fists. Many scorch marks littered the lustrous surface of the hammer.
Larik soon recovered. He fell back, drew his daggers out almost instinctively, and braced himself. The warrior, Durdur, and the duelist, Frame, stood beside him as they raised their weapons.
“Tch, you’re all a bunch of cunts!” Arokha scowled as he took a few steps back, a sharp sizzle sounded as he blew the smoke off his clenched fists. “The Headmaster might have sent us here together, but in no way are we a team. You’re all weak and insignificant… And it won’t matter if I rid the guild of useless tools.” Arokha then brandished a fighting stance; his right foot stepped forward, both knees bent slightly. Unlike his earlier, more “frolicsome”, approach against the undead which then backfired heavily, Arokha was now overflowing with killing intent. His arms, once more, flared with a bright orange glow. Contrary to what the monk expected, the three didn’t seem worried at all, ‘... They’re smiling?’
Larik suddenly let out a laugh. “Then that makes two of us. The Headmaster wouldn’t mind losing an arrogant bastard,” he said, pointing his pitch-black daggers at Arokha.
The baleful retort incensed the monk even more. Arokha stomped, and the ground shook strongly. A palm as tall and wide as an adult man gradually took shape. The debris from the cobweb-like cracks rose and ignited, bursting into bright tiny flames suddenly.
“Then you’ve sealed your fate,” Arokha whispered. With no delay, he threw a palm strike. The attack caused the den to tremble slightly. The burning rubble that trailed with it made the attack all the more menacing.
“Durdur, Frame… It’s time to execute our plans,” Larik instructed calmly.
The distance between the two parties was short. The elemental assassin kept his focus and struck the ground with his daggers. From the pitch-black blades crept columns of thin icicles, conjuring an ice-wall half as tall as the surging palm. In quick succession, Durdur struck the frozen column with his war hammer, hurling chunks of ice towards the palm.
Hiss!
The cold counterattack broke the momentum completely as the clash dissipated into nothing but a freezing fog.
“Fucking hell!” Arokha cursed as he waved a hand to scat the thick mist off his face.
Without pause, Larik and Durdur repeated the same routine. The second swing pitched a dozen more chunks of solid ice towards the unguarded monk. The unorthodox method of attacking battered Arokha badly. Frame then rushed at the monk who was almost on his knees. “Too careless…” Arokha whispered as a devious grin formed on his face.
Chapter XV
Attempted Extraction
Frame didn’t falter. His steps maintained their graceful momentum as he rushed forward.
Arokha stood his ground confidently. “I’ll teach you a lesson then,” he muttered. The flame emblems on his arms reignited as he raced to counter the duelist.
The smog was a mere inconvenience for him, but for the duelist who relied on their sheer speed to win a fight, the freezing temperature was bad news. As a monk who had learned to manage his body temperature well, Arokha held better control of the situation, or so he thought; The excess heat from his body dispersed the pervading mist. However, doing so turned vapor into countless water droplets.
The damp atmosphere caused the emblems to sputter and misfire.
Frame reinforced his blade with mana; The long-sword glistened with a bright yellow hue. Having no other choice, Arokha raised his forearm to guard against the incoming attack. Blood splattered as the augmented blade cut through the skin and muscle like butter. It didn’t matter how tough Arokha was. The skin was still skin. And mana was still mana.
With haste, Frame thrust his sword at the open wounds with pinpoint accuracy. The tip of the blade pierced through the bones. If it were anyone else, the pain alone would have caused them to collapse right there and then. Unfortunately, Frame was up against the glutton of pain and punishment.
“I’m done toying around. You wanna mess with me, pinhead? I’ll gladly oblige!” Arokha quipped.
He held the blade without care to prevent Frame from pulling it out.
Frame let go of the blade which caught Arokha off guard. “You want the sword? Take it!” Frame said while swerving to the side. Durdur took his place and swung the war hammer at the hilt of the long-sword. The one-two execution was perfect to a fault. It was as if the two choreographed the switch. The impact drove the blade deeper, skewering the forearm to the right shoulder. Durdur rode the momentum and executed a backhand as a follow-up.
Larik picked up his daggers and sprung into action.
Even before Arokha could recover from getting pummeled in the face, a dagger found its way into his right eye. The stinging sensation caused even the masochistic monk to flinch. He narrowly avoided the second blade from striking his left eye by tilting his head slightly, but the dagger slit his cheek instead. Durdur compensated for the mishap by bashing the monk on the torso, forcing him to retreat.
Arokha spat a mouthful of blood as he staggered back. The pause was long enough for him to pull the blade off his shoulder. The impaled long-sword restricted his movement heavily. Removing it, however, was far from ideal. It was quite the opposite.
“Tsh! So you’ve been planning this all along… What a bunch of thick-skinned pigs!” Arokha protested. “Enough with the tricks! Fight me head on!” he roared. An illusory statue of a fat man wearing a bead necklace took shape in front of the monk. It was a restorative totem.
“Don’t let him cast the spell,” Larik commanded.
As the only one left with a weapon, Durdur disrupted the channeling. The heavy war hammer beat down Arokha to no end. The phantom-like statue flickered and eventually lost its healing effect. Larik and Frame retrieved their respective weapons and hopped into the fray once more.
It was as the monk feared. The synchronous movement of the three—weaving in and out, landing hits left and right, one after another, all with no attack interrupting the other—proved the opposition premeditated his untimely death, or rather his assassination. To think, he would be in a much worse situation if the undead had not gotten rid of the other two. A caster and a marksman would have made short work of the already one-sided fight.
...
Larik drove a dagger to the chest of the fallen monk as a coup de grâce. It was less of mercy and more of insurance that the man was dead.
“There’s a better way to do it,” Frame said. He infused his sword with mana and decapitated the dead man. “See?”
“Your methods are too outlandish for my taste,” Larik commented, smiling.
“But the Headmaster would definitely appreciate that as a gift,” he added, looking at the severed head.
Durdur glanced at the corpse and muttered. “Aren’t we forgetting something?”
Frame cupped his sharp chin, “I remember the Headmaster saying something about... ‘extracting the essence’ if we’re able to kill the monk or something? Well, I don’t know what he meant exactly, but we got rid of the man, so...”
“We’re extracting his hero system.” Larik interrupted.
“Huh? Is such a thing even possible?” Frame queried.
“I’m unsure as well. I guess we’ll find out.” Just as the Headmaster had instructed, Larik took out a crimson pebble the size of his thumb and pressed it against the headless corpse. The stone emitted a fine line of red light. The thread-like column of light swayed and arched in all directions before it gradually died out.
“... Was that it?” Durdur asked.
Larik picked up the pebble. “I don’t know.” The stone was physically unchanged.
“Perhaps it failed?” Frame guessed. “But if it did, only the Headmaster would know.”
Larik sighed. “Then let's return for now.”
* * *
The subtle crackling and popping of the bonfire warded off small beasts away from the camp. Similarly, the stifling air caused by the condensation of mana repelled the bigger predators lurking around. It would have been foolhardy to set camp in the dense forest of Garuda if not for the many high-ranking adventurers taking a rest here. Most were of B-rank or higher.
Cling… Clang...
The calming sound of chimes rang as a youthful man in a full set of armor entered the central tent.
“Is this everyone?” the young knight-in-training, Reynaulde, bluntly asked the old man leading the subjugation force, Bartimore Stod. “Or are we waiting for more fodders to join,” he added mockingly.
Bartimore swept the squire with a tired gaze. “You better check yourself, kid. You coming from the Divine City doesn’t change the fact that you’re still nothing but a rookie. Keep that tone of yours and those “fodders” will eat you alive,” the old man warned. “Us adventurers aren’t the same as corrupted beasts in that we’re not afraid of your fancy holy magic. It’s such a shame we accepted this cheap request. Your lovely cult can’t even handle a few monsters trying to overrun your churches… Pathetic.”
“If your seniors are asking you about it. Tell them that no more “fodders” are coming and that your little cult is sending a few more hands. It would seem this subjugation is a serious matter to you, fine folks. A bishop is coming to aid. Gah! No wonder the pay is dirt cheap. If only the times aren’t so tough,” Bartimore protested.
Chapter XVI
Garuda Forest
Reynaulde left the tent in a bitter mood. “Tsk, who does he think he is? He’s just some old man calling himself a “veteran” adventurer. It doesn’t mean shit!” he ranted while caressing the hilt of his sword. “I’m an esteemed squire of a holy knight. That alone puts me above all these tawdry adventurers,” he mumbled proudly.
The encampment numbered at around thirty tents; half of which belonged to the Order, and the other half to adventurers. The Divine City had no other choice but to outsource an external fighting force to ensure the safety of the Greenstone Village — the Fourth Corner.
If it weren’t for the internal conflict between the Order and the Senate of the Cyrus Kingdom, they would have sent their holy knights to solve the pressing issue quickly.
Reynaulde reached the other side of the camp belonging to the holy knights, or more accurately, knights-in-training that were candidates for promotion. None of the knights in the camp from the side of the Divine City were actual full-fledged holy knights. Although most could still use holy magic to a certain degree, no one among the eighty squires had mastered the art. Reynaulde belonged in a much lower echelon; having other squires as his seniors.
“Sir…” the young squire Reynaulde then reported.
* * *
Greenstone Village. The next morning.
The local ministers scrambled to prepare the church
for the impending arrival of one of the most respected bishops in the entire Divine City. The church was spotlessly clean. They tidied everything to not shame the name of the Fourth Corner. The church bell rang loudly as the clock struck one. The makeshift portal at the dead center of the podium—close to the golden pulpit—quivered as a spectral rift took shape.
The many ministers that await knelt in reverie.
Bishop Kalen stepped out of the rift rather calmly, but her young companion wasn’t looking too well.
“Hand him the elixir. I don’t need it,” the fair bishop instructed.
A priest promptly handed David the cup at the pulpit. The young man drank without question; his light-headedness vanished quickly. “I’m never taking a trip through a portal ever again!” he protested. “I—ugh.” He was about to go on a long-winded rant when he felt throwing up again. He quickly stopped talking and drank the rest of the medicine.
Kalen glanced at the disheveled youth. “Sober up as soon as possible. We're heading out immediately.”
She then left for the rooms made for visiting ministers and let David recover from his dizziness.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, young sir. As no beast of burden can traverse the dense forest of Garuda; You and Her Excellency have to travel on foot after reaching the outskirts. It'll take about an hour to reach the encampment. The bad route will make the trip a lot longer than it already is if you still wish to travel on a horse,” a priest filled David in. The young man paid no heed to what the priest said and gave a dismissive nod as he tried his best to sober up.
…
Slash!... Slash!
“I’m starting to think you just brought me with you so I can clear the way...” David ranted as he swung his short-sword at the dense thickets repeatedly. The altar boy culled the helpless shrubs without mercy. It was eight in the morning yet the forest was already gloomy. Towering trees with unnaturally wide branches obscured most of the sunlight. Fortunately, the darkness didn't seem to hinder the two as the bishop illuminated the way with her magic; a sphere of light the size of a clenched fist led the way.
Undone- Resurrection of Murdock Page 8