Her face brightened. "Oh, thank you, thank you, adventurer!" She snatched the vial and hurriedly fed the contents to her baby. The Illness debuff disappeared in seconds. She pocketed the vial; it was worth one or two silver pieces.
"It’s alright. I’m just doing my duty."
Jonathan nodded politely and was about to continue on his way before her begs restarted. Not just hers either. Others had caught on and were approaching.
"Please, adventurer," Kelly said, "I know I’m asking for a lot, but may we have some food."
“I don’t have any. I’m also low on gold.” Jonathan offered a sorry look.
“Please,” she kept begging.
"Please, adventurer," an elderly man wheezed, leaning heavily on a twisted rotted branch for a cane.
A young, skinny boy said from the other side, "One slice of bread is all I ask."
It looked to be a large family with several children and grandparents, and the family next door were also taking notice. The poor didn’t stop piling on, approaching with outstretched, frail hands. Their pleas were a chorus of poverty and illness. Now Jonathan remembered why new guildmates had been advised to stay away from the slums dotted throughout the world. There were no quests, no rewards, no progression, to be gained here.
Although every muscle in Jonathan yearned to help each and every last one of them, it was a futile cause. He had not the supplies nor gold to feed and cure them all, and even if he did, it would only sustain them for another day or two. Even with all of Light’s Justice’s reserve funds, it was a pointless effort. Lance had mentioned the problem once or twice before, Jonathan recalled; they’d all eventually go hungry again without the necessary skills, land, and resources to sustain themselves.
It took all the strength in him to shake his head and declare with a strong voice, "Leave me and make way. I am on a divine mission from the gods. You are not my priority."
A man yelled, "How could you say that? We are starving! We need help!"
“Though I vow to one day return and do what I can, it is not currently in my place. It is not in my power. I’m but a level one.” He began shouldering through, keeping a strong arm on the Dragon Stone, for that was his now his life. There were far, far too many to help.
“Adventurer! Please! My daughter is on her death bed!”
“Adventurer!”
“Mercy on us, adventurer!”
Jonathan remained steadfast, breathing through the nose. There was nothing that could be done, he kept silently repeating to himself while he waded through the bodies.
“Gemstone’s mine!” A man grabbed his sleeve, a dagger in his other hand.
A bandit! Jonathan reeled, protecting his Dragon Stone at all costs.
Jerome Green (Human): Level 36
Health: 92%
Stamina: 97%
Mana: 100%
Debuffs: Hunger
No, not a bandit. Just another impoverished man resorting to a criminal life. How despicable. Jonathan was about to fight for his life with his single free fist and two legs when a fiery swirl made Jerome step back. A Fire Mage robed in standard attire for a guard flared into existence, stood with a silver staff tipped with a small ruby.
“That’s enough,” she said with little care. Her staff spun a one-eighty, and a hot gust pushed back Jerome and his entourage. A quarter-twirl followed it up with searing bonds seizing the gang of four. Finally, she levitated them off the ground with a loose swish upward, eyeing Jerome for a moment. “Oh. You again. That’s two nights in the jailhouse.”
They struggled, shouting distasteful curses which Jonathan didn’t have the ears for. A sigh of relief came to him as he adjusted his linen shirt, though the way the guard looked at the sick and poor with disdain rubbed him the wrong way. He could only say half-heartedly, “Thanks.”
She shrugged and simply jerked her head down the cleared road. All the needy had dispersed with impressed speed. “Just go—and avoid these slums from now on.” She strode off toward the other end, the struggling men hovering ahead.
Jonathan drank from her fountain of wise advice and hurried to the market building with utmost haste. Beggars were already starting to take notice he was alone and vulnerable once more, their pleas returning as an incoming tide. Strands of annoyance dug into his stomach, but he knew well they were just doing all they could to survive in this dangerous, unpredictable world. They couldn’t respawn like him; they needed food like real people, and in this world, they were real people. Jonathan made a vow to himself to do everything in his power to help them one day, someway. They deserved better.
By the time the guarded high-walls neared, segregating the opulent caste from the northern slums, Jonathan’s shoes were more mud than leather, ripped and worn down to the soles. He looked more like a fellow beggar than a future World Boss, and as he approached the wide gate, the guards nearly assumed him to be one. Fortunately, they were smart enough to notice his precious bundle. They bombard him with Examines. If this counted as a path of tribulation, it certainly felt so. Jonathan tisked.
“Adventurer,” a male Paladin guard said with a touch of concern, “why were you in the north district? Is there trouble again?”
“He’s level one,” another added.
Jonathan paused and inhaled flowery-scented air blowing from the gardens, considering exactly how much information to divulge. “That’s where I spawned into this world.”
“You must have displeased the gods to earn such a spawn,” the Paladin chided, and almost all of them grimaced, and when Jonathan held a bleak, annoyed gaze, the Paladin said, “But get some levels and a class soon. It’s troubling times for a new adventurer.”
Troubling times indeed. Jonathan didn’t need to be told, and it was peculiar that they couldn’t see his class. Why was that?
Jonathan merely shook his head, waved them off, and continued on his path next to the gardens. He’d been here before many times, walked these exact paths during fetch quests. It was a wonder how he had missed the worsening poverty just beyond those walls. It was a wonder how nobles could display such blatant apathy. This world needed a change, and he, Jonathan Bladestrider, was going to be the agent of change.
A two-story building of granite and marble, the market building towered high over a nearby exclusive cemetery for nobles, and lucky for Jonathan, the lines were non-existent compared to usual. The day-worth of world stasis had done a number on the adventurer base—hopefully for temporary. How could they slack off in the divine realm when so many souls needed help? Shameful.
Tenty minutes later, Jonathan stood in a new set of melee-oriented chainmail gear, a blade of iron at his hip and a shield of mahogany at his back, the linen outfit stashed into a bin. That and a batch of basic skill scrolls ate a sizable chunk into his remaining few gold coins; fortunately, he retained the necessities including Mana Manipulation and Night Vision, albeit reset in tiers and levels. The knowledge for his old skills were still in his mind; he couldn’t invoke them anymore.
Jonathan consumed a Fire Bolt scroll—for incubating his unborn whelp—and headed off toward the closest inn to pick up some fetch or hunt quests from an Enchanted Notice Board. There were always people in need of pest control or crafting materials, both adventurers and natives of this world. Rich adventurers commonly flooded the boards with requests for low-level materials required for high-level recipes. If only Jonathan had the patience for crafting.
Not ten steps passed before a congregation at the cemetery caught Jonathan’s attention. So that’s where everyone had eloped to! The plaza was unusually sparse of merchants and shoppers. Curiosity overtook him, and he strode through the iron gates, trudging among damp tall grass and pristine tombstones. It looked to be a funeral which had commenced minutes prior. Sobs, murmurs, and sniffs weighed down Jonathan’s mood as he took a seat.
A noble wearing highly decorated robes, named Timothy, behind a podium on a raised dais, said, "We gather today to mourn and remember those lost at Stonehurst, slain by
the menaces Gabby LeMort and Rowan Black." He looked down, picked up a long wrinkled scroll, and began reading the names, "Derek Goodwill, Mayor of Stonehurst. Jeremy Mud, skilled Administrator. Alastor…"
A moment slipped away before realization came to Jonathan that they knew nothing of the Dark Humans, so he sat in silence and shared in their grief. The names didn’t stop even after a hundred. Many times, Timothy had to pause and let a particularly upset spouse or parent give a few words. The middle class and nobles had sent their family and friends to that mining town for an unbeknownst reason.
The unborn whelp curled tighter in its incubation, Jonathan holding its crystal womb closer to his chest. Its color wasn’t clear, heavily tinted by the amber stone, but it was probably red. He reached out with his mind and brushed against its, and it responded with a fleeting warmth. Warmth which was very much welcome while the murmurs and cries grew harsher.
A young noble girl dressed in a black gown trimmed with gold, six or seven years of age, suddenly yelled, "Granpa Alastor! You’re not dead! You’re not dead!" She buried her face into her palms as her mother embraced her.
And Jonathan, , jaw clenched, could only swallow his sympathy and shared hurt. He helped himself to steady breaths of grassy air through his nose that was beginning to clog with tears. This all could have been prevented if he had taken action that day two years ago. Despite the gods’ revelations, it was still his fault to at least some small extent. That’d never change.
"Julie!" a stocky man in his twenties cried as the name was read. "My wife, Julie, a—" His voice broke, and he collapsed back onto his chair.
Weeps from such a large man was unsightly, but even men could cry. It sounded as though they had not been married for long. A tragedy. Jonathan let his lungs breathe again, cradling his soulbond reptile, ripping his gaze from the broken man. The uttered names didn’t stop whispering through the air no matter how much he wished and silently pleaded, desperate for a reprieve. More had perished than he’d estimated. Hundreds upon hundreds of names were read, nearing the thousand mark.
S many deceased, so many innocents, were read without a single person standing, forgotten and left in that mass grave of ashes next to the constructing keep. Forgotten for an aeon.
Apart from those evil children and few adults. Dark Humans—the toxic scourge of the world that couldn’t be allowed to spread.
Jonathan shook his head and cleared his mind of their pale faces and crimsion-yellow eyes. They were something straight out of Hell.
Timothy finally reached the end of the scroll, his voice hoarse and strained as he read the last name, "Viola Wintersow, niece of Queen and King Everbright."
Other than a few gasps, only wind howled over the funeral. None stood. None said a word, not even the King or Queen themselves, and as Jonathan’s eyes sought them out, it became clear they weren’t in attendance. None of Viola’s family had bothered.
Jonathan tensed, bitter anger quivering in his nose. How could they miss their niece’s funeral? Were the human nobles so uncaring of their subjects? No wonder their capital was in such shambles, not even mentioning the rest of the humans’ domain in Draconia.
Jonathan stood, broke the silence with a hearty throat-clear, and prepared for a mighty speech in honor of Viola Wintersow. She deserved at least that much from the first ever adventurer World Boss.
Every last pair of eyes snapped to him as he began, "I, Jonathan Bladestrider, adventurer chosen by the gods, future Word Boss—"
The chatbox vibrated, playing an annoying tune.
Dorian Dubois (To Jonathan Bladestrider): You’re level one. Dragon Initiate? Is that a dark class?
Dark. Class?
Jonathan flinched, his gut clenching. This was why the guards weren’t able to see his class; he, Jonathan Bladestrider, was a darkie.
No! It couldn’t be. He refused to believe such a travesty. There had to be another explanation. There was another explanation.
The chatbox vibrated again.
Dorian Dubois: Bro, are you there? Do you need help? It says you’re in the human capital.
Meanwhile, the crowd finally reacted to his announcement, some standing and voicing their surprise. The reaction was polarized, many regarding Jonathan with apprehension or distrust, and Timothy roared over everyone else with a magically-enhanced voice, "Future World Boss?! What is the meaning of this?! You are but a level one! Classless!"
"It’s true! I’ve been given a que—"
A elderly woman pointed. "He’s holding a Dragon Stone! He’s stolen a Dragon Stone!" The accusation set an explosion off within the crowd as though Jonathan were holding an acid bomb. But he was no Gabby LeMort!
Her buddy yelled, "How could you?! You’ve put us in grave danger!"
"Calm down! This is my—"
Timothy drew his wand. "Guards! Seize him! Seize the Dragon Stone!"
Fourteen guards appeared around him in an ensemble of movement skills, and he was seized with great force, his bonded Whelp taken from his arms. He could only chuckle as painfully hot bonds lifted him into the air. His head spun, desperate for an out. There were none.
But he was not alone. He looked to the chatbox, typing out a message, ignoring the shouts from the snobbish nobles.
Jonathan Bladestrider (To Dorian Dubois): Yeah, I need some help. A lot of help. I got this thing called path of tribulation from the red dragon quest. It's basically a quest, but once I hatch my Dragon Stone and bond with the whelp, I'll ascend to a World Boss as an adventurer! Black and LeMort won't know what hit them!
Jonathan fidgeted against the blazing restraints at his legs and torso, waiting for a reply. Somehow, he had already messed up an F difficulty quest, and yet again, he was on the brink of falling into deep shit. His friends and guildmates would bail him out with some verbal coaxing. Hopefully.
Dorian's reply wasn't what Jonathan was expecting in the slightest. Not at all.
Dorian Dubois: Dude... Didn't you read the patch notes or thread? Rowan and Gabby are already World Bosses. Both T6.
"No!" Jonathan screamed into the cloudy skies. It couldn't be!
Dorian Dubois: The Water Mages' spire fell yesterday. They took over.
Oh. God. "NO!"
Dorian Dubois: I’m coming, btw. Also, they captured the Draco king. Been sieging their shield since yesterday. Looks like LeMort has some of those rare shield batteries which can link to a town shield.
No.
No.
No.
Jonathan simply did not have words anymore. A deep well of despair drilled into his chest.
Chapter 18
Her Devil Within
On a lingering high from the kiss, Rowan did best to maintain composure while explaining what had happened. Gabrielle grew increasingly aghast as he recounted the series of either lucky or unfortunate events, depending on how one viewed them. At least Redwing now had a potential bone body to inhabit.
She interrupted the second he got to the part about groping the mimic boss, "You did what with who?!"
Maybe leaving that out would’ve been smarter. It had slipped through Rowan’s mind that she could be the overt jealous type at time. Oops. Yesterday’s brain injury must’ve done it. "I had to make sure she wasn’t you," he tried in a firm voice.
Gabrielle’s eyes widened to comical proportions. "By rubbing yourself on her?! And of course it wasn’t me! How dumb is that mush between your ears?!"
Rowan shrugged. "It was just a quick feel. I didn’t even get to her pus—"
With swift moves, she grabbed both his cheeks, pinched, yanked them back and forth. The pain was blaring as she shouted, "You haven’t even done me, your very loyal fucktoy, once yet, and you’re already coming onto other girls! I thought you weren’t trying to replace me! Did ya forget about our deal back at the altar? Hmmm?!" Letting go of his throbbing cheeks, she poked his forehead once with a pinky.
While Rowan really did not see it as that big of an issue, her bothered state was discomforting—t
hough he indulged in a twinge of excitement, for possessiveness only meant one thing. A cocky smirk planted itself on his face. Unable to stop, he nudged her arm and said, "Maybe we could have a three-way for our first time. I’d love to have two of you. Do you have a twin stashed somewhere?"
That sent her over the edge. Her cheeks ballooned as she reached for her wand. “I think it’s time for those fingers.”
He took her shoulders and hastily added, "I’m messing with you. I forgot to mention her ultimate, Mental Disarray. It messed with my memories for the duration and muddled my thoughts. I wasn’t myself." He kissed her forehead. "I wouldn’t replace you on such a whim. You’re more or less irreplaceable to me, my beautiful fucktoy." And a peck to the lips for good measure.
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