A narrow ridgeway running along the west border of the desert made for a perfect avenue off the usual church-patrolled pilgrimage route. The ridge was nigh unassailable from the river delta but could be accessed from the north-westernmost segment of the plains via a series of winding dire-goat paths.

  The posse spied a great dust cloud from their distant, safe position atop the ridge. A whirlwind spun up over the far western plains.

  “The dire-worms appear to be multiplying,” Enkidu said with his characteristic growl.

  “Eh, let the arbiters sort that out.” Jelena shrugged.

  “Would make a heck of a Pandemonium Wisp, though,” Zilara said offhand.

  Calaf had traveled this side path once before. It was in the charge of the Church of the Menu’s star Arbiter, and top-ranking Paladin, General Perarde—the Hammer of Faith. Calaf had wanted very much to become a beacon of chivalry. Only it had been revealed to him that churchly chivalry was more conniving and ruthless than even the self-centered morality of a fiendish relic thief. Not long after that, Calaf and Jelena had become something akin to more friendly rivals on a trajectory for something more.

  From this high ground, they could see many of the lands influenced by the Church of the Menu.

  The low, flat prairie on the other side of the dire-goat trails offered a view of Plains Junction peeking through the dusty haze. It was best to avoid towns where they’d just performed a heist, so this would be their last look at the trading hub for a while. Rocky terrain further east and an increasing haze blocked a view of a small port on a sheltered sea.

  Highlands sloped gradually out of the plains to the south and west. The main pilgrimage path continued into a steam-shrouded wooded copse that marked Twelfthnight and, much further along, Deepwood.

  A long day’s march would circumvent and shadow the longer, more casual pilgrim’s path. The quartet traveled north and east, bypassing the heavily wooded swamps of the river delta. The same rocky range that funneled water into the fertile delta also blocked rain and water from the Firefield deserts.

  This journey was slower than Calaf’s previous forced march in the charge of General Perarde. Paradoxically it was also harder going across uneven, rocky terrain barely viable as a walking path. Troubadours had helped with that – low-level Bard classes that had formed the General’s retinue had turned a grueling journey breezy and quick. Maybe Jelena would be open to a fifth member? Bardly charisma could come in handy during a heist.

  Shielders and other tanks were ill-fitted for a party of relic thieves. Scouts, Battlemages, whatever class Enkidu was equivalent to, they were all fast and agile. Useful for a heist. Squires, Shielders, and the like were built for open combat in heavy armor. Spears were inefficient during a stickup. And the armor made fleeing difficult – hence why he’d swapped out for a less defensive but more mobile Desert Silken Mail (x1).

  Ziilara had a special class, befitting a long-lost holy heir. Her skillset meshed well enough with thievery. It meshed well enough with any party configuration. She was pretty good company for a moody thirteen-year-old. She’d come up with their plan in the Plains Junction job – specifically with using Calaf as a ‘law-abiding’ Squire come to evacuate everyone and clear the building.

  Enkidu proved moodier still. He was a fair traveling companion, mostly because he never talked and could kill anything on the Menu or off with lightning-quick sword strikes. His strategy in all things was to just stab at the problem until it died.

  And then there was Jelena. Well, she was why Calaf was here, after all.

  Night fell once more just as they were within view of the desert. Firefield appeared as a string of magic-summoned lights on the horizon, so bright that the night sky was blotted out in a whitish haze.

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  Jelena spent the time waiting for camp to assemble itself staring out just south of Firefield.

  Somewhere over the horizon, Japella awaited.

  Another day of casual marching awaited. By the second night, they’d left the nightglow of Firefield behind. The route ahead fused with another plateau rising out of the desert sands. Lightly forested hills formed the boundary line to Autumn’s Redoubt. They camped between a trio of maples, a light carpet of fire-orange leaves setting the scene. New leaf buds had already sprouted to replace the fallen branches, therefore maintaining the everfall microclimate.

  It was a land of both ceaseless, romantic beauty – as well as myriad bad memories for Calaf. The posse stayed well clear of the main road, making sure never to venture within sight of Fort Duran’s tall ramparts.

  Autumn Redoubt’s hinterlands were rife with smaller ruins. Evidence of previous forts and entire townships peeking out between root networks, stone walls, and piles of fallen leaves.

  Fort Duran held significance in the church as the origin place of Roland, Paladin of the Ancient Heroes of Yore. In contemporary times, the Redoubt was one of the less populated regions along the trail. That was not always the case, judging by the abandoned stone walls and grown-over avenues, there’d once been towns and villages all along the slope, possibly more so than back in Riverglen.

  Older ruins dated to the era of the demon king. Burnt-over farms were destroyed in recent times – no more than a year ago, evidenced by the lack of overgrowth. Hamlets and farmsteads burnt down in a recent heretic hunt.

  What population remained in Autumn’s Redoubt was concentrated along trading depots and waystations in the far north and south.

  “Where are we heading?” Calaf asked.

  Jelena smiled at him. “Far north. A target’s been on the hit list since before the Riverglen job.”

  “Ah.” Calaf grew quiet.

  “Don’t worry. Got a perfect role for a certain upstanding Paladin.” She nudged him on the shoulder pauldron. “In, out. Undetected, unsuspected. And it’ll all be thanks to you, my dear.”

  Calaf’s spirits dropped precipitously the moment they arrived in the autumnal wonderland, even as they ventured far to the north. Each step marked the furthest he’d ever been from Riverglen, at the far southern end of the route.

  The nature of this next heist was theoretically bloodless. But so was the Plains Junction job. Calaf readjusted his gauntlets, again and again. A nervous tick.

  Somewhere out there, Fort Duran was waiting. So long as Calaf was in the region, his mind would forever be playing through the horrors he’d experienced less than a year ago. He couldn’t help but imagine a pair of bodies, still crucified by the roadside…

  As the group marched off the beaten path, Calaf kept to himself. His reverie lasted until they rounded a hill into a glen where several minuscule streams flowed into an alpine lake.

  Six mighty antlers emerged from behind a row of bushes.

  Calaf and Zilara gasped. The creature remained staring at the group, its twisted antler network looking like a velvety pine.

  “Whoa,” Zilara said. “Never seen anything that strong before. Things from Demon Lord’s Fall sneak onto the ice floes sometimes. They’re rarely more than level 96.”

  “What level is it?” Jelena nodded at the dire-beast.

  “Ninety-eight,” Calaf said.

  Jelena let out a whistle, which caused the dire-elk to tilt its head and snort.

  “Lemme guess, Legendary Beast?” she asked.

  Enkidu snorted at the beast in turn.

  “Yep.” Zilara and Calaf nodded.

  “While my sisterly training is a little rusty, I believe each region had a legendary beast,” Jelena explained.

  Calaf nodded. “I know. I’ve seen the one in the Delta.”

  The dire-elk did not flee, for what reason could something of that level have to retreat? There was no predator in the realm that could threaten the creature.

  Both Jelena and Calaf had some church education. Calaf had spent his formative years in the Riverglen Cathedral orphanage, receiving repetitive lessons in the life and times of the Ancient Heroes of Yore. Jelena, meanwhile, had taken on a more formal education process in her early adult years.

  Legendary dire-beasts, per church teachings, predated the Holy Interface itself. Their status Under the Menu was something of a grandfather clause. Their exact nature was… ambiguous. Most doctrines treated them as holy-adjacent. Divine signs of good luck.

  “Well, it's blessing our heist,” Jelena said with a smile. “Can’t go wrong now.”

  The dire-elk loped away at a confident, casual pace in all its majesty.

  The group continued onward after this close encounter. Calaf walked alongside Jelena, his head a little higher.