Rowan slung his longbow over his back, smoothly turned on his heel. These wooden sandals—a lot like Geta—that Liluth had fashioned were nice. “How come? They use them in… theater in our world all the time.”
A fatherly grin soften Luthias’ eyes. “It may appear dazzling on a dramatic stage, but on a battlefield, as you have just witnessed, they are either woefully ineffective or a waste of mana. If you want something burned, order a Fire Lord to the front lines—or yourself.”
Good to know. “You’ve fought many battles?”
“I may have.” His tone was saying he wasn’t going to divulge any top-secret Sun Elf intelligence.
Rowan decided to not pry. “Then the others are Lucky to have you around as their tank.”
“They are, which why I must insist on aiding your hunting party.”
“You have work to do here. Liluth needs nails and other building materials.”
“There are enough to last half a day.”
“Half?”
“I must insist that I come. Even in my weakened state, my body is far more durable to punishment than any other here. Do not forget my Taunt.”
Rowan slowly said, “Alright. You can come.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He turned.
“By the way, what’s the iron to nail ratio? Is it efficient?” This had to be asked just in case.
Luthias said over his shoulder, “For her current tasks, she requires roughly two poor quality nails and one decent quality glass per hour. One unit of iron makes one unit of nail, which is a clump of ten—like arrowheads.”
“So we’ll run out of scrap iron in a day?”
“Indeed.” He briskly walked off toward the forest. “Allow me three minutes.”
Great. Now we need an iron source.
But it could be worse. Things could always be worse. He could be Orc poop right now. He had been lucky with Nargol’s superstitions, but luck had clearly ran out despite Gabrielle’s build and new ring. In hindsight, events had taken a dark turn after their Demonic transformation. Were Demons—or dark magic—naturally Unlucky? Rowan was starting to suspect as such.
A shiver brushed up his sides as colder winds blew from the fjord.
It was time to go.
Rowan retrieved his arrow, then sought out the cousins’ slave threads. They were inside Skylar’s room. He entered without knocking, and found Gabrielle as well. They were talking about chocolate cakes of all things, about the right balance of egg, sugar, and vanilla extract as though those ingredients were of plenty. They were allowed to dream.
Gabrielle smiled brightly. “Heya, Row.”
“Heya, Row,” Viola mimicked.
“Heya, Row.” Skylar grinned like a little devil.
“Hey, everyone. It’s time.”
Gabrielle hugged him in a loose embrace for three heartbeats. “Good luck.” She took hold of his hand, placed something warm on his palm—her ring of Luck. “I want it back, so no dying on me, kay?”
“Okay.” He pushed it onto his fourth finger, instantly feeling luckier. Not really, but the ring’s magic radiated into his skin. The feel was kind of upbeat and sly. Nothing like euphoric Demon magic, however.
Skylar said, “I still think armor would’ve been better than arrowheads.”
“No point in arguing now. Let’s go.” He gave the cousins and Luthias a gentle tug. Three pats on Gabrielle’s healed arm as well. “We’ll be back by sun down.”
“Of course you’ll be.” Her tone was confident.
Rowan exhaled, “Alright.” He passed the bindings of Liluth, Faenin, and Zaine to her.
And off they went—a party of three damage dealers and one tank. No healers. Foolish, but there was no other choice.
* * *
“Do you think we should split up?” Viola asked as her foot snapped a twig. “Might be worth the risk.”
“No,” Rowan said flatly.
“Kay,” she chirped. Gabrielle’s cuteness was rubbing off onto her.
“Spotted any more bee hives?”
“Nope. That’s why I think we should split.”
Temptation knotted a muscle in his tongue. “No, stay grouped.”
“Fine.”
They were now trekking downhill on the other side of the pass. No spiders had jumped them. No game had crossed their lines of sight, including birds and rodents. Rowan swore fewer insects were around. It was as though all locomotive life had simply vanished overnight, driven out by Draesear’s dark display.
That was it. Draesear’s doing.
Rowan caught a phantom whiff of sulfur and char while his eyes were skimming through forum page after useless forum page. People sure loved to banter and post feel-good fluff. Of course, they weren’t at risk of starvation. They were having the best times of their lives where gold grew on trees and bakeries waited for hungry mouth every two steps. Spoiled bastards they were.
Including Tasha. Why hadn’t she logged back in yet?
God damn.
Rowan chilled his envy before he set a tree ablaze.
On the next thread about hunting, one comment scrolled into the bottom.
Lance Rider: Wildlife will flee their homes or seek higher ground if they feel dark magic. They really do not want to become enraged if they can avoid it.
“Luthias,” Rowan said. “Is it true that animals seek higher ground when they sense darkness?”
He glanced back with a frown. “Where did you hear this?”
“Divine communication.”
“It is not typical behavior, but I supposed if monkeys have nowhere else to flee, they will climb a tree—or a hill or mountain. It wouldn’t be a waste of time to look in a cave or crevice, but dark beings may lurk within.”
“How likely is that? The dark beings.”
“Not very.”
The decision was made. “Alright. Turn around. I saw a way up the mountains back there.”
Skylar moaned, “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Stop complaining.”
“I haven’t been compla—”
“Quiet.”
Their formation reversed back up the slope.
An hour later, at the creek near the waterfall, they stepped off their path of stumps, took a sharp right up the mountain range. They climbed. With their Agility builds, they found ample footing on blocky eroded stone and the odd tree clinging onto life. An easy ascent. But Rowan had to offer many hands and arms to Luthias, who was out of breath after a mere hundred yards up the mountain face.
They stopped on a ledge. The view was beautiful to put it humbly. The Troll’s ruined village—a black spot—gave the valley an eerie look and feel. The ancient manawood tree was a bump in the rolling green. And in the far distance, maybe fifty to a hundred miles away, a body of water stretched on as far as the eye could see—an ocean.
Rowan took a panoramic extra high definition screenshot. Click.
“I— I recognize—” Luthias was fighting for breath. “I recognize this place. We are on Swinetooth Peninsula. That is the Serin Aethel Ocean, or the Yaci Ocean known to the Trolls.”
Rowan nodded. “Thank you, Luthias, and it’s not too late to stay behind.”
“I have braved tougher hardships.”
“So be it. Forty seconds rest.”
“Why forty?” Viola asked.
“My favorite number.”
She huffed, “Okay, Lord LeMort.”
Skylar said, “We should hurry. It’s already been three hours.”
“Which is why I say forty seconds. Twenty now. Ten. Five. Let’s go.” He brushed their threads, and they climbed once more.
Maybe it was Luck at work, but after a hundred more yards up the mountain, in the crook of a tree, they came across a bird’s nest five yards in width. A dozen eggs each larger than Rowan’s head were waiting for a new home, and he was in the mood for some ranching fun. Some fried wings. Those dragons better stay away from his livestock.
“It’s cold,” Viola said as she touched on
e, then the next.
Not so Lucky, then. “Are you able to revive them?”
She gave him a weird look. “Wouldn’t that be a godlike power.”
“I’d say,” Skylar added.
“Then,” Rowan said with a pinch of indecision, “this should be enough for today.” For at least a week.
“Baby eagle soup? I guess that’s fine.”
“I know you’d still eat it, Skylar.”
“I don’t think they’re fertilized,” Viola said. “They’re basically big chicken eggs.”
“Yum,” Rowan said, looked downward. Long Elven ears were shuffling about. “We’re heading back! We found eggs!”
Luthias was visibly relieved. He reversed course. He really should not have climbed—or come in the first place.
Securing the eggs inside three crates wasn’t an arduous ask, but the climb back down was one which Rowan did not wish to repeat. Each hop landed with a jolt of his crate. His balance was tested to the limit of thirty Agility points, his untrained hand-eye coordination not helping. He hadn’t been the best gymnast during his school years. Gabrielle would like this tricky exercise though.
When his feet were on soil, his arms and back were burning in the strain, his stamina bar drained to less than two percent. This was the hardcore experience that had been promised.
“Keep going,” he breathed, but he stole a moment to drink from the waterfall. Pine-scented water did well to quench a Thirty debuff that had evaded his attention.
The cousins were less exhausted, ready to move after a sip each.
Back on their trail of stumps, Rowan noticed some odd-looking black mushrooms that gave off a malicious feeling. He had to wonder how the ecosystem would change in the coming seasons. Fewer grazers meant a denser undergrowth—a thicket of mutated vines and sentient fungus elites. With his dark influence on this forest, such a hell wasn’t unlikely.
The mountain pass soon filtered into view through rustling leaves.
Then a skull-shaking screech louder than a million claws on glass blasted from above.
Rowan’s crate thumped onto grass as he clutched his ears. Over the canopy, large white wings were beating. A curved bronze beak. Enraged crimson eyes.
? : Arctic Eagle (Level 19)
Health: 82%
Rowan snatched his longbow from his back, nocked an arrow. He loosed as the cousins shot theirs in unison.
Triple arrows, two glowing, were dodged with a majestic leftward bank. The eagle shrieked even louder if that were possible.
Magic skewered Rowan’s gut. Muscles seized on him, his fingers trembling and dropping the longbow against his will. His heart palliated. His groin squeezed inward. His legs wanted to run and never stop running for no rhyme or reason. He hadn’t felt such primal fear in his life. Undiluted, irrational fear.
Out of sheer willpower he stood his ground. He inhaled through his nose, then out his mouth. In. Out. In. This was just a game, he repeated to himself. He couldn’t be harmed here. A divine being from another world was akin was immortal. From Earth. This was just a game.
And a game it was, for on the interface, above his health bar, an icon was highlighted in dark blue.
Fear (partially resisted, 2 seconds remaining)
Your body betrays you as your heart cowers.
-20% Agility
A debuff and nothing more. And partially resisted? If this counted as partial, then full blown Fear definitely was not fun.
The counter hit zero.
Rowan snatched up his longbow, twisted around, and released an arrow that missed the circling eagle by a dozen yards. “Viola! Calm it with your Farmer skills!” he barked, yanking her thread. He pinged her as he shot another arrow, missing. “Viola! Skylar!”
The cousins were nowhere to be seen. Three slave threads were leading downhill.
“Get back here, you cowards!” he yelled as a third shriek chaffed against his skull.
Then a series of feathery projectiles rained down on him, one nicking his cheek.
Growling, he shot another arrow. Miss.
A fourth shriek popped eardrums. More feathers shot at him.
He tucked and rolled. Enough was enough. He chucked this useless admirable longbow. Euphoria blossomed from his heart as hellfire gathered between his palms. Demonic magic geysered from where he stood.
The eagle swerved sharply into a retreat. It knew what was about to happen, able to feel impending fun.
Rowan compressed the hellfire into a bomb, then threw with all his might. Branches turned to dust. Ruddy-black flames detonated high above, missed as usual. The fire did not spread, and was amazingly quick to die out.
The eagle’s fifth shriek was but a whisper in the wind. Far gone, down the mountain range. No fried wings for dinner tonight.
Some time on the system clock passed while Rowan stared at a perfectly circular hole in the canopy. There were no piles of ash or charred wood laying around. Only a hole. Leaves and branches had simply been erased, because that’s all he could do—burn and erase.
Destroy.
But what else had he expected from a Fate named Demonborn? Cookies and milk?
“Lord LeMort,” Luthias said from behind. His voice was apprehensive. “Apologies for fleeing.”
“I thought you had some experience in battle.”
“I was not expecting Fear. It is a rare, monstrous skill, and we Sun Elves are more vulnerable to dark magic than others.”
“Then no worries,” Rowan huffed. “What skills do Arctic Eagles usually have?”
“Feather Dart. Razor Talon. Razor Whirlwind. High level Arctic Eagles may also exhibit Ice Blast and Blizzard.”
“You’ve seen them cast Blizzard before?”
Luthias nodded. “Most creatures with Arctic in their name can be powerful with ice and cold magics.”
“I assume that one had Fear because of our Demonic magic’s influence.”
“Yes, my lord. The balance of these lands further tips into darkness the longer you dwell therein. Mutations will be common. Dark being will often spawn.”
“But that eagle didn’t have mutated in its name.”
“It will soon if it stays here.”
“Then let’s hurry.” Rowan picked up his crate, then whistled downhill. “Come out, you two. Stop cowering. It’s long gone.” He heaved on their slave threads.
Out came two pale faces. Mechanically, they picked up their crates and recurve bows, and their trek resumed in silence. Rowan gave a parting glance at a smear of his blood on the soil, paranoia creeping up his chest. Surely, a few drops was not going to cause a level sixty dark being to spawn. Surely.
29
Dinner was served.
Rowan was drooling in the aroma of ginger thyme omelets and seasoned egg soup. He had never seen so much egg in his life, and he could not wait to dig into his plate of scrambled egg and a few leftover bits of bear that had had not been inflicted by mold. The flavor was rich, richer than chicken eggs, with a sharpness and intensity that he was quickly growing on. He did not know if he could go back after this experience.
Well Fed (242 Quality): +4 Flow, Constitution, and Resistance (6 hours remaining)
Perhaps hunger warped his perception. He went in for seconds, just half a serving. Well Fed’s quality rating did not improve with each extra bite, but he was granted a few extra minutes.
“Lord LeMort,” Liluth said, “have you never eaten eggs in your life?”
He swallowed, and washed it down with a mouthful from his clay goblet. “Not eagle eggs. I think they’re illegal in our world.”
“Yup,” Gabrielle said. “Dun’ tell anyone about this. Heh.”
“Your secret’s safe with us,” Viola said.
“What she said.” Skylar was stuffing his mouth. “How many eggs did you use, by the way?”
“Only two,” Gabrielle quipped.
Luthias hummed a contemplate sound. “Usually, they are around seven to eight units of raw food per egg.”
“A week, depending on when they were laid.”
Obviously. “Then we’re good on food for now. How’s the gold mine coming along?”
Sitting in the back corner, eating with one hand, Zaine muttered in a tired voice, “We hit a thin layer of marble. It’ll take an extra day to reach the vein. Apologies if that disappoints you, my lord.” He gobbled up remaining bites, stood, and put his plate onto a dirty stack. “I best go help Faenin.” He hurried out.
Rowan’s spoon made a harsh noise against his cleaned plate. “What about Tasha?”
Gabrielle was drinking from her goblet. “She’s waiting on us now.”
Finally some good news! “Great. Make sure she buys a lot of bulk flour and seeds and—”
“Ya don’t have to micromanage everything, ya know?”
He chuckled. “It makes me feel dominant, thank you very much.” His eyes shifted to Liluth, who was long done with a smaller plate. “Were you able to save on nails for the storeroom?”
“Yes, I was. I used a number of nail-less joints my grandfather taught me.”
“Good work. What about the palisade? I see you’re making excellent progress on that.”
“For that…” She smiled sadly. “The joints need to be as strong as possible, for your security. Do you not agree?”
“Fair enough. How long till it’s done?”
“Tonight.”
More good news. Was this Gabrielle’s Luck points at work? “We’ll have a watch tower next, followed by a mushroom shack, then the town hall, then lavatories, and—”
“Row…” Gabrielle wagged her pinky finger. Her Luck ring glinted in the evening sun. “Are ya copying the Troll’s settlement?”
“Maybe I am. You have any suggestions?”
“Hmmm. Nope. Just try to make it look nicer than what they had, kay? So far, things look good. I like how ya touched-up the hovel.”
“Thank you.” Liluth smiled coyly. “And I do understand.”
Viola’s posture had keeled over, her arms drawn in.
Rowan’s chin lifted at her. “What is it?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “I lost the mushroom seeds.”
Gabrielle shuffled closer to her, protectively.
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