The walk back to camp was shorter than Joel recalled. The thought of Perri waking up and reaching the camp hastened his step.

By the time the woods were behind him, he’d chosen to increase both his Deftness and Resolve by 50, splitting the remaining EXP. A little more speed and a bit more oomph on the [Lay on Hands] would be useful.

The wind was pleasant as its breeze rolled across the grassy plains. A thin line of smoke trailed in the far horizon, signalling the stage of his would-be rescue. But his mind was still racing, testing his various imaginary lies and trying to predict their outcome. 

Boreth got lost? While we were both looking for Perri? A flimsy fib, too suspicious and convenient.

Boreth ran off to chase the bear himself? He felt the weight of the sword in his bag, its pommel peeked out, tapping against his shoulder as he walked. You have his treasured cutlass, you buffoon. In his short time with the dwarf, even he knew that Boreth wouldn’t part with it easily.  

His hand ran through his dark hair, scratching at the back of his head. It felt like being a teenager lying to your mother about where you’d been all night. 

No, he needed a better lie. 

A lie like him and Boreth coming across the black bear from last night. They both fought the beast off bravely, only for Boreth to fall at the bear’s claws. He could taste the bitterness of the lie without speaking it. A grimace flashed across his face. Better that he did that here than in front of them.

Step by step, the plume of smoke from the campsite was becoming larger. His gut was sinking at the same rate so he blew out a deep breath — slowing his heart rate to calm himself. 

By the time the camp came closer to view, he spotted the three remaining members of the crew. Curzan was shooting arrows at the side of the strongbox cart, each one landing into the dense wood with a thud. Flendel was still under his blankets, shaking near the fire. And the terrifying Bhas was sitting on the cart’s roof, one leg hanging off of the edge. 

Curzan was the first to notice the solitary approach, his scarred face wrinkling. “Where’s Boreth?”

Joel shook his head, doing his best to look somber. “We ran into trouble.”

“Trouble?” Bhas’ voice was curious.

He didn’t bother looking up at the elf, continuing his explanation. “Bear from last night caught us in the woods, ambushed Boreth and me…” The trail off was a nice touch, right?

“And?” Curzan said impatiently as he shot another arrow.

Thud.

“The beast got Boreth, but not without getting a sword stuck through them.” Joel’s throat felt dry.

There was a lengthy pause from everyone, even Bhas seemed to freeze for a second. The quiet moment passed when Curzan returned to shooting arrows again.

“Seems like you got the sword out of the elf,” Bhas said flatly. Her completely black eyes peered over to the ivory hilt sticking out of his pack.

Thud.

“It felt like a waste to leave a quality blade behind,” he replied calmly, sweat dripping down his back.

Curzan shrugged, drawing the bowstring back for another shot. “My brother will want that when we get to Wardenhal, but you can use it till we get there.”

Thud.

He wished Curzan would stop shooting those damn arrows. Each one was making his heart pound in his ears. It was—

Thud.

He winced, nerves making him drop his quarterstaff.

Trying to hide it, Joel immediately sat down and made a show of massaging his bandaged wounds. Rummaging through his bag, he felt around for the cool glass of Gorum’s gift. The minor healing potion would provide much relief. 

He didn’t dare to look up but he swore Bhas was staring, still analyzing his actions. Once locating the vial, he pulled the potion from his bag. The vial contained a dark red liquid that could be confused for blood, if not for the shimmer that gleamed from it. Popping the cork off, a fizzle followed. It reminded him of opening a soda. A tart and sweet fragrance, just a hint of it, filled the air.

As he chugged the vial, a buzzing coursed through his body. When it reached his wounds, he felt a strange sweetness — as if his wounds could taste their cure. Once the buzz passed, strength flooded in to replace exhaustion. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips. He didn’t know if it was because he was stuck here, but the magic of the potion felt so vivid, so alive. Perhaps an update after the early access? 

It didn’t matter; he had to focus. Tabbing his [Status] screen, he saw his HP stood restored at 100%. Perfect.

He watched Curzan shoot a few more arrows. Each landed accurately at a single point, though the archer wasn’t more than 20 feet away. In the corner of his eye, Joel could tell Bhas was looking his way, though perhaps not directly at him. A small relief. 

Chewing on some cheese to appear calm, his mind raced for what to do. If they bought his lie about killing the bear, they might consider camping the night for Flendel. An ambush in the dark while they slept didn’t sound like a bad idea.

No, it was too risky. Considering she was a lunar elf, there might be several unknown advantages she could have at nighttime. He knew for a fact she could see better in the dark than he did, the blessings of being an elf. More importantly, he was uncertain that they would even stop for Flendel. Perhaps if Boreth was still here to be a voice of authority. But at his request? Doubtful.

So that meant waiting for an opportunity. His eyes narrowed on the weasel-faced archer.

Ideally, he’d get rid of Curzan first. Not only was he wielding a ranged weapon, but it was better to clear out the weaker opponents earlier. Just like how additional monsters, or ‘adds’ for short, could easily cripple your run against a dungeon boss, Curzan could end up being a real thorn in his side.

Above all, he was confident Curzan wouldn’t be able to avoid his charge. Compared to Boreth, the Burton brother was nothing. The anxiety and excitement threatened to make him fidget. Another bite of spiced cheese stilled his nerves. Joel looked at the sheathed cutlass, still in his bag and tempting him to be drawn. 

“Curzan. The keys.” Bhas’ voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She leapt down from the roof. “I want to check on the cargo before we leave.”

A chill ran down Joel’s spine.

“But you just saw them,” Curzan replied as he gathered the shot arrows from the wagon’s side. The pronounced silence prompted him to glance toward her, to see the dangerous glare plastered on her face. With the crew being chopped down to four people, it only made Bhas even more intimidating. Nearly wilting, he quietly and quickly handed over the keys.

As the elf turned to head to the padlocked wagon door, Joel caught a splatter of red across her cheek. Evidence of her previous ‘play’. Guilt, for taking his time on the way back, clawed at him. He clenched his teeth tight, hoping it would stop his stomach from turning.

Bhas hummed a happy tune as she opened the heavy lock. It was enough to piss off Joel, anger morphing into determination. Rising to a knee, he eyed Curzan, who was repositioning himself to practice more shots. Once Bhas entered the wagon, it would be his cue to rush Curzan. The archer was within ten paces, a distance he’d cover in a second.

The wagon door creaked open; he tightened his grip around the cutlass’ hilt. Beads of sweat, too many for the temperate weather, dripped down the back of his neck. Every part of him tensed like a coil ready to spring. 

Swinging close, the heavy door creaked. To him, it was a race’s starting pistol.

He burst forward, unsheathing the sword as he launched himself at Curzan. The archer’s eyes went wide as Joel aimed the sword’s swing at the neck. With the scarred man fumbling with his bow, it was a certain, critical stri—

His arm wouldn’t swing. A look back confirmed what he felt. Veiny vines, erupting from the ground, wrapped and restrained his elbow.

[WARNING: Restrained (Status Effect). Tilt 1 afflicted.]

“I knew it.” The melodic elvish words made his shoulders go tight. 

His eyes darted to the prison wagon. Standing in front of an opened door, Bhas’ pale face was stretched with an abhorrent smile. Her hand glowed with a strange emerald light, the same she had used to restrain the bear last night. 

The vines spread downward from Joel’s elbow, wrapping around his hand and the sword’s hilt. Clinging like a vice, whenever he tried to pull his arm away, the restraints seemed to become more rigid. Panic was pounding in his ear.

A familiar, knowing hum came from the elf as she returned to the common tongue. “It’s one thing for you to survive when Boreth didn’t. Let’s call that luck. But why does your staff look like it’s been hacked at with a blade?” Bhas motioned to the chipped quarterstaff at her feet. 

A manic smile creeping across her face, she tilted her head to the wagon door. “What’s most damning is the way they screamed for someone to save them. That stopped two weeks ago. Unless someone gave them a sliver of hope.”

His chest tightened at the words.

“Oh, don’t fret. They’re fine.” A soft chuckle. “Mostly.”

Fright fading from his face, Curzan’s expression warped into a bemused sneer. “So this shit got a look inside at the goods? And what? Got some heroic aspirations or something?” The archer shot a dark glance at Joel, picking up his bow.

Joel gave another desperate tug with his sword arm, pivoting to pull at another angle. For a brief moment, it felt like he could free himself. Another set of vines climbed up his ankle, clamping his foot to the ground. 

Damn magic. Once caught, without breaking Bhas’ concentration, escape was highly unlikely. But there was nothing else he could do but try to rip away from the creeping tendrils.

Curzan cackled dryly at the struggling. “You ain’t getting out of that. That monstrous bear couldn’t. Neither are you, so stay still.” The greasy thug notched an arrow and drew his bowstring back, squinting his aim. 

The arrow whistled past Joel’s face, nicking his ear as he jerked his head away. He felt a hot sting that subsided to a wet throbbing. The notification that his HP was dropping rang strange, muted by the pain. 

“Squirmy rat,” Curzan growled, grabbing another arrow. 

The lunar elf interrupted him. “You’re being a bore. Don’t go for the killshot right away. We might as well enjoy this. It’s not often we get to have fun like this.”

Curzan gave a grim smirk, taking aim again. “Alright, alright. Stop getting so excited.”

The bastard was going to stick him like a pincushion. Joel couldn’t count on another miss. He had to do something, anything, to preserve himself. 

Reluctant as he was to use it now, Joel activated his last available charge of [Berserk]. 

Battle fury flooded into him; a roar of righteous rage tore past his lips. The visage of his enemies repulsed him, as if he hated them since birth, as if nothing else mattered than smashing their head in. He thrashed wildly against his binds, clawing at the archer like a dog held back by a leash. A sharp pain went through his hand as an arrow pierced the outstretched palm, lodging itself. It was a lie to say he didn’t feel it, but he didn’t care. 

Whether it was from the Barbarian ability or sheer desperation, he bit down near the arrow head and yanked the shaft through his hand. He spat the bloody arrow out, only to receive another in the shoulder. The debacle delighted Bhas enough to giggle, a sickening sound. An infuriating noise. 

He’d see her dead for it.

Using his punctured hand, he wrenched that arrow away. Blood dribbled out like water from a loose faucet. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered other than getting to either of them and ripping them apart. 

A renewed fear came across Curzan’s face, momentarily unsure whether Joel would break free. The scarred archer regained his courage — face hardening —  with an arrow launched into Joel’s side. 

The now familiar, muffled ache rippled through Joel again. Yet both the pain and his mind were sharpening. Was the minute-long duration, and his physical resistance, already coming to an end?

He had to do something other than just get shot at. The vines. The damn fucking vines.

As if those thought words were magic themselves, he heard a loud crack behind him. The vines suddenly released him from their grasp. 

He saw Curzan’s eyes go wide. It was all he needed to take the split second to channel his anger. With a murderous roar, he surged towards Curzan. The archer was halfway to taking a step back, but it was already too late. 

One swing of the gleaming cutlass sliced through the upper limb of the shortbow. Moving so fast that he skidded past Curzan, Joel spun around to deliver a second strike. A sideways slash mustered from his remaining berserker rage.

Curzan’s head tumbled next to his feet, mouth agape and eyes wide.