"Are you hungry?"
"Of course, I am," the Amazonian answered, with a glint in her eyes that betrayed her thoughts. Alice could read her like an open book.
"We should be close to solving both issues, do not worry. Let's keep going."
Alice had no idea what was coming; for God's sake, her Premonition only extended 30 seconds into the future. But she had a very good guess that The Game would offer some sort of solution to both issues very soon. After all, The Game, in its own way, maintained balance, especially in this initial challenge they faced, termed the Tutorial—a sort of initiation and preparation for what would be the grander new world when they completed it. And that made her certain that a solution for a new sword and food would be presented soon. Telling Thaleia served to cement her role as a Seer and increase the blind trust the Amazonian had in her.
Unfortunately for Alice's display as a Seer, the solution was not immediately offered; they had to go through several more rounds of combat until they saw him.
That pesky staff-wielding nuisance had turned out to be far more trouble than initially anticipated. Its ability to vanish into thin air amidst the heat of battle was wreaking havoc on every carefully laid plan. This siege was supposed to be a straightforward affair, a simple conquest of a dilapidated fort tucked away in the most inconsequential of locations. The Halberd Knight had confidently assured his lord that, under his leadership, even a fortified position would crumble with ease. After all, it was he at the helm.
Yet, the arrival of that audacious staff wielder marked the beginning of complications. Daringly leaping from the fort's walls, the foe demonstrated a level of strength that, albeit grudgingly, the knight had to acknowledge mirrored his own attainment of that realm. He was also a tier 2 presence. However, the idea of single-handedly confronting an army of over two hundred seemed nothing short of lunacy, unless you were someone like his own father—an existence on ‘that’ realm.
And as expected, reality swiftly validated his assessment. Despite the staff wielder's strength and ease in dispatching numerous minions, he was inevitably encircled, teetering on the brink of defeat. But then, in a moment that defied belief, he vanished.
The knight was taken aback, having assumed the enemy still possessed some vestige of health when the disappearance occurred so abruptly. He rationalized it as the foe having been defeated, albeit in an unconventional manner, and moved on. Yet, to his astonishment, there was the adversary again, descending the fort walls shortly after his catapults had bombarded the stronghold. There he stood, unscathed, as if the prior events were but a minor inconvenience.
His confusion deepened. Tracking the enemy's movements, he noted a direct assault towards one of his catapults. The knight realized he could not remain a passive observer; it was time to intervene personally and eliminate this irritant once and for all. Alas, distance was not on his side, and he found himself too far from the targeted catapult to intervene in time. Nevertheless, his resolve hardened; he had set his sights on the staff-wielding adversary. This time, he vowed, there would be an end to the interference.
He locked onto the skeletal peasant brandishing his oversized stick. For the skeletal knight, retreat was not an option for his adversary. He advanced with his trusty mount, "Bon Steve," determined to conclude this mockery with a duel. However, the stick-wielder proved unnervingly nimble, its dodges and weaves a thorn in the knight's side. Finishing the job would take some effort, but it was only a matter of time before this clown's performance came to an end.
As the confrontation unfolded, the knight methodically pushed the jester back, steadily depleting its HP. Unexpectedly, the castle gates began to creak open. Were reinforcements on their way? Was this staff-wielder nothing more than a distraction? The knight split his attention, keeping an eye on the gate while maintaining his assault on the peasant.
What emerged next, however, defied his expectations: a formation of over 200 skeletons, their posture bold and their chins held high. In any other situation, their entrance might have been met with respect, but there was a catch—they were all Level 1s.
To the knight, the enemy's ranks were composed of the weakest soldiers he had ever seen. The feeblest member of his own forces could effortlessly dispatch ten of these pretenders. They resembled jesters more than warriors. Was this some joke? Was the enemy mocking him?
Regardless, the knight's immediate task remained unchanged—to eliminate this bigger clown first. But in an instant, confusion ensued. Where had the staff-wielder vanished? Such disappearance defied logic; the knight was sure he would have detected any attempt to flee. Could the adversary possess some manner of invisibility? Memories of goblin subterfuge suggested such feats were possible. With this in mind, the knight steeled himself to remain vigilant, especially since he anticipated the staff-wielder's next objective—the remaining catapult. For now, he instructed his forces to swiftly eliminate the buffoons spilling from the gate, all while preparing to apprehend the stick-wielder upon its reappearance.
Each of the enemy's ‘soldiers’ was incredibly easy to dispatch. A mere stray arrow or a casual jab with a spear from his troops sufficed to reduce them to dust. However, there were a lot of them, and they began to scatter in all directions like headless chickens—a curious analogy, given he had no idea what a chicken was. Consequently, his soldiers broke ranks to expedite the cleanup process. He, on the other hand, remained vigilant, anticipating the return of the shabbily clad staff-wielder. It was at that moment he caught sight of him.
Somehow, the stick-wielder had managed to approach the catapult from an unanticipated angle. Prepared for any eventuality, he was determined to prevent his foe from reaching the siege weapon. He urged Bon Steve, his steadfast mount, into a gallop, but as he neared his target, a skeleton materialized out of nowhere, halting his charge. This unexpected apparition prompted a crucial question: was he confronting yet another invisible adversary? Or, more disturbingly, could the staff-wielder be a summoner like the Spine Bishop? And if that were the case, why would he engage in combat alone, staff in hand? Regardless, he observed that the newly summoned minion seemed distinctly frail, perhaps not as much as the buffoons running around, yet unmistakably weaker than his own soldiers. A quick strike with his halberd, he deduced, should easily resolve the matter.
Advancing, he struck with his halberd, but the skeletal foe proved more resilient than anticipated, surviving the assault, albeit just barely. Time was of the essence, so without further delay, he directed his charge towards the 'probable' summoner, though he feared he might already be too late.
That pesky chicken - whatever a chicken may be - was already there. The scenario did not bode well for him, as the stick-wielder was nimble, and he had to be cautious not to damage the catapult himself. After all, that thing was as flimsy as they come, being older than he was - even though he did not know his own age.
And so, the more-wretched-than-a-goblin, more cowardly than a level 1, poorly dressed, and irritable peasant actually had the audacity to toy with him around the catapult, and eventually took it down along with all the crew. This was preposterous! When had this ever happened to him, the Halberd Knight? He was fuming, and he could see the rascal staring at him, gloating over this victory as if he had truly won. He would finish this swiftly, charging straight at him, even if he suddenly turned invisible; he would still be hit nevertheless. But then… he disappeared. Again!
This was bad! Having already lost two catapults was bad enough, but if he let that jester run loose, then the losses might even escalate. He had to do something. He saw him again, descending from the wall on the other end, obviously afraid of his mighty self. He charged at him, but the losses during that time were great. And to make it even worse, some level 1 buffoons were still running around! This would be the biggest joke of his career! He had to sort this out, and quickly.
The siege towers were way too slow; even his great-grandma, Bonesy McKnitwit, walked faster than those things. But he had to calm his head; anger would just make him fall into his opponent's trap. There must be something making that 'fake summoner' reappear time and time again inside the castle. And then it clicked: inside the castle!
There must be something there giving the stick-wielder that power. He set his eyes on the gates, which, for some reason, remained open after the buffoons came out. He was pleased with himself for figuring this out. Now, all that remained was to rampage through this feeble fort and destroy whatever gave the 'summoner' its power to disappear and reappear time and time again. It was time to end this.
In the dim glow of the tent, a cloaked figure lounged in a chair, a large, enigmatic sack resting before him. His sudden appearance took Thaleia by surprise, prompting her to draw her sword with swift readiness. Yet, the figure sat undisturbed, leisurely exhaling smoke from a peculiar device clasped to his lips, his calm demeanor casting a veil of mystery. Thaleia, her wariness mounting, took a cautious step back and demanded his identity, her voice echoing slightly in the tent's confines. Her inquiry was met with nothing but the thick silence that seemed to cloak the figure more densely than his own garments. He remained as still as stone, utterly indifferent to Thaleia's aggressive stance, as if the prospect of imminent danger was a distant thought. Unperturbed, he merely continued his obscure ritual, enveloped in a shroud of smoke and secrecy.
Thaleia was surprised when she heard a thump on the floor behind her. She looked back and saw it was the Seer, who had written:
"He is not an enemy. Let me handle this."
Thaleia was still hesitant and about to voice her concerns about safety but decided to remain quiet and sheathed her sword, giving way to Alice. 'She is a Seer, after all. She would know,' she thought.
Alice slowly walked forward until she reached the tent. There was smoke in the air, carrying a strange odor not quite like the familiar scent of burning wood. Although she found the smell distasteful, she refrained from writing any complaints to the figure in front of her responsible for it. After all, she was mostly certain about the identity of the entity before her—the one that had not appeared when she cast Clairvoyance, the entity she had foreseen herself communicating with safely in the future through Premonition.
"A pleasure to meet you, dear Merchant. May I see your wares?"
