Luthias bellowed a word. A force flung the spider away, and Skylar finished it with twin arrows.
An excruciating high-pitch was scream ringing into the night. “My arm! My arm! Help me! Lord LeMort!”
But Lord LeMort couldn’t heal. Lord LeMort could only destroy.
Zaine’s forearm sizzled away into red fumes. His hand dropped to the ground, bubbling. Acid ate all the way up his humerus, stopped just below the shoulder. “Lord LeMort! Help!”
“Liluth,” Rowan said softly. “Tend to him.” He tugged her thread.
She sprang into action.
And that was that. Spiders gone. Zaine’s arm gone. Rowan’s mana—gone. He didn’t know why he was so calm and collected. The Drones suicidally going for the buildings was probably why, farcical even. Ridiculous and weird. What kind of attack was this? A slow trickle to destroy a workshop?
They’re not very smart.
Then from the heavens, a column of magic, stricken with pockets of melancholy, stamped down on Rowan. Something foreign enclosed on his senses, pushing inward on his skull from all sides. He was sucked from his body. The scene changing with a fuzz. The temperature rose several degrees, and he smelled musk and something he didn’t have a word for, quite biting yet mellow. Not offending.
He was floating before a twisted tree streaked with glittering blues and greens. The ancient manawood tree. And among that jumble of roots, a spider at least twenty yards in length crawled from an opening. Its eyes met Rowan’s. A connection wormed into his brain.
The communication was wordless, the communication concise and threatening. Five pulses.
Their forest.
Their gold.
Their animals to hunt.
Their warning—stay away.
In a nauseating spin of the world, Rowan was back in his body. He folded to his knees, desperate for air. Figures were around him, a few kneeling and supporting him by the arms. Panicking voices fought for his ears.
“Lord LeMort!”
“Ahhhh! It hurts! Help!”
“Row! Can ya hear me?”
“Rowan! What’s wrong?!”
His head shook. His eyes refocused on Gabrielle’s worried face. “I think an elite spider gave me a vision. It communicated with me. This attack was just a warning. I think they want us to stay on our side of the mountain pass.”
“Where’s my arm?! Where’s my hand?!” Zaine wailed.
Everyone else stared at him in silence.
25
The magnitude of the situation was slowly taking root in Rowan’s head while Zaine’s agony continued for untold minutes. His screams were muffled in his room, his bed creaking under his rocking convulsions. Viola and Liluth attempted to calm him, that pot of honey coming to use again, but it did not help. The spider’s acid for sure, Rowan noted, carried a form of torture magic.
I’d exterminate all the spiders here if they weren’t useful for the ecosystem, but when it comes to these mutants…
“What are ya thinkin’?” Gabrielle asked, poking his arm.
“We’re going to need some gear,” he said loud enough for a certain Elf to hear. “If only we had a high level Metalworker.”
Outside, Luthias’ eyes slid to Rowan, ever stoic. “My scar is beyond your power to heal, for you only wield the power of destruction.”
Winning over their loyalty and trust was growing oh so tiresome. “I assume neither Priests nor Shamans can heal you, so I only ask what can. Do you know?”
“Come on,” Gabrielle said, “we’re not that bad.”.
From outside, Liluth said, “A vial of condensed light may temporarily alleviate his suffering.”
Gabrielle’s hands clapped together. “And where do we got one of those?”
Luthias answered in a surly voice, “It is only found as loot in high-level dungeons. The risk of death is high; many fine warriors have been lost through the decades.”
“Anything else?”
“Only that can ebb the darkness from his body.”
Rowan said, “Then it shouldn’t be a problem for us.” He inhaled pungent spider musk coming from outside. “We’ll organize a party once we’re high level.”
That didn’t change Luthias’ demeanor. “Even then, I would not follow you.”
“Jeeeeeez.” Gabrielle’s posture dropped. “What did Demons and adventurers do to you?”
Sudden anger wrinkled unblemished skin. “Who do you think delivered these wounds?! Decades ago, adventurers waged wars on my home village. I will not forget. I will not capitulate to your kind!”
Sharing a quizzical look, Rowan and Gabrielle exchanged a quick series of private messages.
Rowan LeMort: Do you think that’s AI-generated memories?
Gabby LeMort: Dunno. Maybe he’s crazy? He does have dark magic wounds.
Plausible.
Rowan LeMort: What about the alpha and beta testers?
Her ear twitched.
Gabby LeMort: That’s right! I forgot!
Rowan breathed through a yawn, his eyelids drooping. “Alright man, I hear you. Who did you lose? A wife? Children? Friends? Are they frozen—”
“It matters to you not,” he spat. “Nothing will bring them back now. Nothing.”
“You’d never know what magic could do.”
Luthias’ chin lifted arrogantly. “You are very ignorant. Seventh law of magic: a dead soul will never return to this plane without its body intact.”
“Huh? What about us?” Gabrielle mumbled. “We’d come back even if we were burned to ash.”
“Thirteenth law. Adventurers are divine beings that cannot be killed. They experience no death, only temporary disembodiment.”
“Oh.” Gabrielle yawned. “Well…” She shrugged. “I’m gonna get some sleep. Someone else take over lookout. Goodnight, Row..” She waved goodbye.
“Goodnight.” He patted the small of her back, then exhaled. There was only one way to give this Elf some hope; he was too valuable. “Luthias. Do you want to know the truth about this reality? This world?”
“How is that relevant? It is not.”
“Oh, it is.” Rowan’s lips slightly puckered. “This world, everything in it, solely exists as a contained device in our world. You see, magic doesn’t exist for us. Neither do monsters and pocket dimension dungeons. We—”
“Save your tales. I have heard this many times.”
A big surprise. “Oh? Then you know I speak honestly.”
Luthias gave a frumpy shrug. “It matters not what is in your world. Us mortals are bound to this plane.”
“I beg to differ. There is one reason you may care.” Rowan smiled.
“My ears are free of wax, Demon.”
“As I was saying, this world exists contained in a small device in ours, called a computer, which is actually our invention. Understand so far?”
He was rightfully wary. “How does this computer work?”
“It is not my invention, but—”
“How large is it?”
“Smaller than this room. They come varying sizes. I can tell you it runs on electricity, also generated by our inventions. We have many inventions that would seem like magic to your eyes. I assure you it isn’t magic but a deep understanding of our world’s natural laws. We have to do everything by hand, with inventions. It is a lot of work, boring grueling work, so we have invented way to entertain ourselves after a hard day’s work. This is one of such inventions. We find slaying monsters and playing with magic very fun.”
Embers of hatred burned on those Elven features. “Our suffering… is your entertainment?” Luthias choked on the last work.
“Oh, yes. Some of us are very cruel. Not all, but some.” Rowan smirked. “But that’s not why I tell you this. The creators of this world, a group of people called Synaptic Entertainment, often make changes where they see fit. They made multiple changes the other morning, and—”
“What did they do?”
“Well, for one, Mutant Wheat Seeds now
exists. They’re legendary though.”
“By the gods,” he breathed. “Mutant Wheat—”
A hardy laugh rose from Rowan’s stomach. “They don’t do anything bad, unless you plant too many. They’re simply easier to grow and have greater yields. I think it’s because the influx of adventurers will cause food shortages, but I digress. The point is: the creators, the real gods of this world, may decide to allow magic to bring back your loved ones.”
The light of hope flickered in those tormented eyes. “Are you certain? Are you absolutely certain?”
Rowan donned a confident face. “I am. And in fact, I can talk to the divine creators for you. Would you like me to?”
There was a minute of silence, then Luthias took a grizzly breath. “Yes. Want Elf would not say yes to such a question?”
“Well, then.” Rowan smiled. “In exchange for your unwavering loyalty and cooperation, I will do everything in my power to… persuade the creators of this world to bring back your deceased family and friends. Do we have a deal?”
“What power do you hold over this group called Synaptic Entertainment?”
“Quite a bit. Without my money, they would cease to exist.”
Hesitance held back Luthias’ tongue. “This is— Is this a trick, Demon?”
“It could be, but you’re a slave anyway. What do you have to lose? All I ask is some cooperation. I don’t wish to give you orders for every last thing. That would be very unentertaining. I’m glad you volunteered to smoke the bear meat, however.”
“I…” Luthias looked at the floor, scowling with every last muscle in his face. “As long as you uphold your word, we have a deal. I pledge my skills to your cause. You have my hand and shield. You have my forge. But know this: we are not friends or companions, we are merely two sides of a spoken agreement. No more, no less.”
Shield?
Right, he was a Knight. “Thank you.” Rowan double-checked Luthias’ level.
Luthias : Sun Elf Slave (Level 20)
Class: Knight
Health: 100%
Disappointing. “Are you really just a level twenty? How old are you?”
A head shake. “I am forty seasons of age. I spent the majority of my life as a Knight for the Queen. Dark magic in my internal scars renders my effective level to a third.”
“What about your Metalworker level?”
“That as well. Faenin was honest.”
“Level… fourteen, correct? That makes level four, effectively.”
He nodded. “With the twenty units of scrap iron, I can forge everyone either basic short-swords and shields…” His head swayed. “Or crude chainmails.”
Already in business! Good Elf. “Can you make the iron into steel?”
“Level eleven for basic steel-working.”
“Damn.” Rowan evaluated both avenues and saw a third. “What about iron-tipped arrows? How many? Assuming we have the feathers and wood.”
“At least four hundred tips, which is forty units worth, by my estimate. However, I highly recommend chainmail. I speak from experience.”
Tongue rolling, Rowan thought it over. “Versus acid spitting spiders?”
“It would make for a slight buffer against the skin, and there are many other dangers out there other than spiders. Claws are common.”
Decent reasoning, but a nagging feeling was urging Rowan to stick with arrows. “No. Make arrowheads for Skylar and Viola. They’re the only ones with classes. Five units of scrap iron smelted into various arrowheads. How long will it take?”
An expression halfway between irritation and disappointment glowered on Luthias’ face. He exhaled a long breath. “Very well. Arrows it shall be. A little over a day for normal quality.”
“What about good quality?”
“Two days.”
“Admirable?”
“At least four to five.”
Exponential cost for marginal gains. Lame. “Then stick to good quality. Understand?” Two days to forge fifty arrowheads. Was it worth the time? Rowan wanted to believe so.
“Yes, Lord LeMort.”
“Good. Get on it. You’re on lookout duty for the rest of the night.”
Slight irritation wrinkled that sharp nose. “I must insist I need sleep. The dark magic of my scars—”
“My mistake. You go sleep.” Rowan’s heard jerked toward the Bedroom block, which was now silent.
“My appreciation for understanding.” Luthias walked out with his usual slow steps.
And that was six—six Sun Elf slaves working without need of constant surveillance. And honestly, it felt pretty good to know everyone here wasn’t plotting a coup or assassination, but there was always a chance. With head shake, Rowan stowed away his worries.
Outside, Skylar and Faenin were processing the spider corpses—best to not risk an abomination spawning. Naturally, Skylar was butchering while Faenin was on hauling duty, careful to not step on corroded soil, his feet bare. Rowan made note to have Liluth craft sandals as he approached the makeshift butchering table consisting of three upside-down crates. How ingenious.
Skylar, motioning with his hands, orchestrated those cutting ribbons, guided them where to place butchered parts. Chitin went into one crate, meat into another, and everything else piled into a third. The acid sacks, however, were emptied into glass containers that Rowan had ordered Luthias to craft with extra care. The acid was most valuable.
Faenin dumped a decapitated Drone by the crates, then abruptly, his gaze snapped to the third crate. His eyes widened.
“Hmmm?” Rowan stood closer.
“Those are Frigid Fiber Seeds.”
Skylar nodded as he conducted. “Yeah, a Drone was carrying them. What about it?”
“These are very rare in the wild, bordering legendary.” Faenin plucked them from a bunch of eyes. “Frigid Fibers are highly resilient against both physical and magical cold.”
Rowan stopped from hitting Skylar behind the head. “And this is why you pay attention in school.” He squinted at the muddy-sapphire colored ovals the size of grapes.
Frigid Fiber Seed (31)
Item Type: Magical Plant Seed
Yield: 4 Frigid Fibers
Seed Yield: 0.5 Seeds
Growing Time: 12 weeks
Temperature Range: -39 to 12 degrees Celsius
“Half a seed yield? What? Does that mean a fifty percent chance?”
Faenin said, “For magical seeds, halves will combine into a whole.”
How creative. “This means they’ll run out?”
Faenin’s head shook. “Both Farmers and Foresters have a skill that increases its yield.”
“Does is stack? The two skills.”
“No, they’re the same skill.”
Good to know. “Is frigid fiber strong against anything else other than cold? Is it edible?”
“Most types of damage, but heat and darkness are its major weaknesses. Not edible, like cotton.”
Rowan yawned. “Skylar, how long will these take with Enhanced Growth?”
“Just under two weeks,” he answered, moving onto the next corpse.
“Can all thirty be buffed?”
“Yeah. These only reserve a fifth of what trees do.”
Rowan blinked as his tired mind calculated. “A crop of one hundred per Farmer. Is the reservation percentage-based?”
Faenin answered, “All reservation is.”
“Alright, take buffs off enough apple trees to plant all these. Has viola planted hers yet?”
“No, she was… helping Gabrielle cook, I think. Either that or she forgot.”
Yes, they could forget orders if they had too many—another reason why they needed more autonomy. And having to ask about their skills was growing old. Rowan made an annoyed grunt, beckoned for the seeds. “I’ll give them to her. Skylar, you’re on lookout for the rest of the night.”
“Yes, sir.”
Another yawn ballooned in Rowan’s mouth as Faenin passed a tiny wooden crate. “Good
night.” He turned on his heel toward the bedrooms, that owl once more hooting in sync with his heartbeat, strangely sedative in the darkness, thick clouds blotting out the twin moons. His eyes blurred as he almost stumbled into Viola.
“Rowan, I was looking for you. I’ve tended to Zaine’s wounds. He’ll live, but his ego is wounded.” A hint of a smirk persisted on her cheeks.
“My ego is fine,” Zaine said in a quiet voice from behind. His face was paler than usual, his eyes haunted. Those long tapered ears sagged by one or two degrees. Thick bandages wrapped his stump of a left arm. “May I work in the mines for the night?”
“No. First thing in the morning.”
“Fine.” He scowled and went back into his room. The door slammed.
I’ll give him a pep-talk later, Rowan thought, yawning.
Zaine was only the equivalent of an angsty Human teenager. There was plenty of room to guide him to become the perfect champion of this settlement, a guardian that would never need to log out. Without doubt, investing time and energy into Zaine was smart. More than just smart.
Rowan mentally nodded to himself, then passed the seeds to Viola. “Plant a crop of these.”
She rolled one between her thumb and index finger. “Hmm? Frigid Fiber Seed?”
“Honor student right here.” Rowan patted her head, then strode off toward his Bedroom. “Good bloody night.”
26
Hardly any sleep was had for the rest of the night. Rowan found himself tossing and turning next to his similarly restless wife. Man-eating spiders nested in his mind and did not burn. Their phantom webs were fireproof.
Damn bugs.
Damn the AI for granting such a tricky Fate, but he would not have it any other way. So far, it had been a fun ride, a story that he supposed would attract a fair number of viewers on MyTube. Gabrielle’s first video was to be out sooner than later. And that was the equivalent of announcing themselves on the world stage. Oh well. It was inevitable. Bring on the gankers, stalkers, and world PvPers.
The system clock was half an hour away from dawn when a door creaked—Zaine’s door. Rowan rubbed his sore eyes, heaved to his feet, and followed. Might as well get up now. Might as well have a man to NPC talk about the previous night.
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