The Giants, or Gnomes, outside the city of Al-Lazar, are renowned for two things: their pervasive insularity and their unparalleled artisanry. They craft objects of arcane potency, ingenious devices, and armor so exquisite it can withstand a dragon's flame. To those not of their kind, whom they consider inferior, they offer only the silent discourse of flowing hands, a language of intricate gestures reserved for outsiders.
Among themselves, the giants recount legends of epochs past, when the progenitors of their kind raised the Pillars of Heaven. This colossal edifice pierces the very fabric of the sky, ascending beyond mortal sight over the Glass Fire Sea—a vast expanse where flames dance upon the waves, and the boundary between reality and myth blurs into obscurity.
- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.
With the Gold-ranked leader's fall, we systematically dealt with the remaining adventurers. Cowards that they were, they tried to flee but were quickly cut down by another volley from the mercenaries' crossbows. I finished the last one as he tried to crawl away with an Inferno Bolt to the back. Practice makes perfect after all.
One of the mercenaries—a boy, really, barely past twenty by my reckoning, had an arrow lodged in his left eye. It had been a remarkable shot from the Silver Rank adventurer, even under pressure. His corpse stared at us with his remaining eye as we respectfully left his body in the street, after relieving him of most of his valuables and equipment. In the morning, the servants or support staff would retrieve his body for whatever funeral rites or rituals were required.
As for the adventurers, I let the mercenaries take what they wanted from their corpses. In the past, I used to look into their dead eyes, searching for answers, but I found none. Now, I felt nothing. I had grown disinterested. I would simply push for my share in coin once the fighting was over, confident I could name whatever figure suited me.
After several nights of fighting, I had gained just under a thousand experience points, slowly inching toward the next level. My martial skills and attributes remained unchanged, but at least my Freezing Aura had increased to level three, which was always a plus. Fortunately for my unit, we had yet to face any magical resistance. At this point, magic was the only thing that could truly stop me—no amount of old-fashioned steel could.
I was enjoying the feel of my armor—the solid weight of it and the sense of invulnerability that came from being encased in thick metal. My new set, though bulkier and heavier than my previous harness, made me feel nearly indestructible when combined with my large Health pool and regenerative abilities. I had, for all intents and purposes, become this world’s equivalent of a tank.
Now, all I needed was a suitable mount to add more force to my charge. Perhaps one of the great lizards I had seen at the Grand Bazaar would do the trick.
We marched back in loose formation along the now-quiet streets. Dawn would arrive soon, and with it, peace—or at least the thin veneer of it—would rule, however tremulously, for a while.
Patches, my faithful animal companion, eagerly helped with the march. She had a bit of grey in her fur now, but she was as fast and energetic as ever. Alongside some of the support animals from Salahaem, she carried the various bits and bobs that fighting men required.
Stolen novel; please report.
As a reward, once we were in sight of the Salahaem’s estates I fed a small pink fruit to my donkey which she enthusiastically munched down on before I passed her over to a stable hand. The boy bowed deeply to me, knowing full well what fate awaited him should he be remiss in his duties. It was enjoyable, this sense of power that I held over the little people of this world.
I would rest now for a few hours, enough to recover my Mana and Stamina without consuming one of the potions that Vincenzio had provided for me. Next, I would bear witness to my friend’s duel with the Adventurer’s Guild representative.
*****
Though it had been only a few days since the Festival, the arena already held a certain nostalgic weight for me. But unlike that lively contest, no crowds gathered here to cheer or jeer at the spectacle of two warriors clashing in mortal combat. No, this was a quieter affair, more solemn, akin to a funeral.
In total, twenty or so people were in attendance to bear witness, ten from the Adventurers’ Guild and a “Scale,” ten men from the Mercenaries. There would be no foul play lest this devolve into a skirmish.
Larynda watched on from the sidelines, gripping one of her staves in her hand, the other slung behind her back. I had given her explicit orders to blast adventurers on my signal should it look like Enkidu would lose, consequences be damned. She had resisted at first, but common sense had logic had eventually won over. An angry and alive Enkidu with broken honor was a far cry better than a dead one.
Enkidu stepped onto the stone tiles of the fighting platform, a hulking brute draped in a hide of thick bone and metal. His new shield-gauntlet was even more imposing than before, crafted from the shell of some monstrous sea creature, its edges trimmed with steel, and strange, cryptic symbols etched into its surface. The writing looked familiar, and I knew who’s feminine hand had etched such writings. Blackened bone plates strapped over a heavy hauberk of dark grey chainmail, while his open-faced steel helm, though less ornate, bore a striking resemblance to the samurai kabuto. At his waist was a simple long knife, a shortsword really for a smaller man. In his hands, he carried a heavy hewing spear, and slung across his back, surprisingly, was a small compound bow. There was a savage joy in his eyes, a predatory gleam, like a wolfhound that had caught the scent of prey and was moments away from being unleashed.
Across from him stood Ezlas, an enforcer of the Adventurer’s Guild. Time had not been kind to him—deep lines of worry etched his once-homely face, and a livid scar slashed across his nose, marring the amiable appearance he once had. Though he lacked Enkidu's raw bulk, Ezlas was no small man, encased in a harness of heavy steel plate adorned with runes and trimmed with red-gold. In his left hand, he gripped a large oval shield, while in his right, he wielded an ominous axe, the blade seemingly carved from dark stone—obsidian, if I had to guess. A short tassel of blood red drifted from the end of the weapon's spiked handle, swaying lightly in the still air.
"You have strange tastes, wanting to defend scum like that, Northman. I heard you are an En, if your name is true—what oaths bind you?" Ezlas spoke in a throaty voice, his expression a half-smile. "You, too, are an adventurer, are you not? Why stand against the decision of the Guild?"
"And you are an Ezlas. My reasons are those of honor, a thing foreign and alien to the people beyond the ice," replied the Hunter, his deep voice strangely flat. But then Enkidu grinned wolfishly, noble savagery dancing in the depths of his eyes. "That is what we are fighting to decide, little man. But I think this will not be a contest that will be remembered for long. For that insult given, I will repay most fearfully with sharp steel!"
Ezlas shrugged his armored shoulders. "No unbearded youth are you to make so rash a decision,” the enforcer said with a sigh. “Then let us settle this... for I have much left to do this day..."
Before Ezlas had even finished speaking, Kidu had dropped his spear, nocking and loosing an arrow from his small bow in a smooth motion that defied the eyes. The missile flew past Ezlas's ear, and a scream followed as it found the flesh of a nearby adventurer who crumpled to the ground. The rest quickly scattered and drew their weapons.
“Do not interfere, you fools!” Ezlas barked in a harsh warning.
The Mercenaries and I chuckled at this, and Ezlas’ face grew red before he slammed on his helm.
"Nature has taken its course; warm landers are still so stupid!" Enkidu laughed uproariously, goading Ezlas to let out a furious cry as he charged.
Good for you, Enkidu, good for you.
