“Where’d you go off to?” Curzan questioned as Joel approached. Using an arrow to whittle, the scarred man laid leaning on his bag — legs crossed — close to the campfire. The archer raised a brow.

“Grabbing wood for the fire,” Joel replied plainly, his masked tone aloof. Squatting near the fire, he tossed his gathered wood onto their small stockpile. He looked between Boreth, tending to Flendel, and Bhas; the lunar elf was lying on the roof of the wagon, tossing and catching her knife. “I’m guessing you couldn’t track down the bear?”

“We didn’t want to get too far from camp,” the archer replied. He ran a hand through his greasy, dark hair and then motioned to Bhas. “If she couldn’t pick up the trail, we might as well regroup.” 

The dreadful elf was humming a sonorous tune. Despite the sing-song rhythm, it sounded like a lullaby at a funeral. Joel shuddered, recalling the dead druid from last night’s attack. A face twisted with anguish and fury, hope extinguished.

“Where’s Perri?” Curzan scratched his narrow chin with the arrow’s point.  

This question was expected, but it still managed to surprise Joel. For a brief moment, his heart dropped into his stomach. Thankfully, on his way here, he’d decided on the same explanation he used to lure Perri out. 

“He came to help me. But then he said he saw the bear out there. I didn’t see it,” he said, pointing back the way he’d come from. “Told him to head back with me but he insisted on tracking it from a distance. Something about being useful.”

“You let him go alone?”

Shrugging, Joel adjusted the firewood, nonchalant. “I told him I wasn’t going to leave Flendel and the wagon alone on something he thought he saw.”

Irritated, Curzan clicked his teeth. “That’s a tad gutsy of him, even for a buffoon like him.”

“Trust the lad,” Boreth said, finishing his check-up on Flendel. The salt dwarf covered him with another blanket. “We all know Perri’s exceptionally skilled at running away.”

It took a half hour for the sky to darken. The flames of the campfire hissed as heavy raindrops sizzled away. Rolling cloud overhead, the pitter patter of a drizzle followed. The shifting weather threatened to make a distant memory of the mild morning.

Everyone hurried to build makeshift covers, tying extra cloaks and blankets against the side of the wagon. Rudimentary at best, but it would suffice. Dragging Flendel’s feverish body under the improvised shelter, they huddled away from the rain. 

All except Bhas, who still remained on the wagon’s rooftop. Her rich voice mingled with the rain —  diffused into a ghostly dissonance. 

Holding his arm out, Joel let the rain massage his hand. “Perri’s been gone for long. Do you think he’s okay?”

Curzan pulled his cloak tighter, his scarred face unconcerned. “It’s not like we’d be able to find him in this piss.”

“I’ll go look for the lad after the rain passes,” grunted Boreth. Cutlass in hand, the dwarf was wiping down its edge with a cloth. It was a regular routine, though particularly meticulous today. 

Joel found it hard to blame him. Three dead, one incapacitated. The bears had extracted a heavy toll from the crew. 

And he was about to inflict his own toll on them.

“I’ll join you, just in case there’s trouble,” he said to Boreth, trying his utmost to avoid sounding too keen.”

Curzan turned away, tugging on his cloak again. “You two do whatever you want. Get back before dark. I need some damn sleep.”

Cupping his hands, Joel gathered rain into a small pool. He splashed the cold across his face. It cleared his head, exactly what he needed for the rest of this charade. The rescue depended on it. 

He took the moment to scour through more class creatures to consider. [Barbarian], [Bard], [Cleric], all the classes had several features to choose from — even at level 1. With 200 EXP left to spend, the only issue was what to choose.

Still, whenever he came across something useful, he smothered the urge to immediately acquire it. He figured it was wiser to delay. If he could reason with Boreth, convince him to join sides, it’d drastically alter his choice.

A quarter of an hour passed before the drizzle finally waned. 

“He’s still yet to return. Now that’s troublesome,” Boreth said, sheathing his polished cutlass. He rose to his feet, giving the hilt a pat and turning to Joel. “Best we head out then?”

Getting up, Joel nodded back. “I’ll show you where we split up.”

Bhas’ nearby voice startled him half to death. 

“Give me the keys,” the lunar elf said flatly, poking Curzan’s bundled form with the toe of her boot. A devious smile emerged across her face. “I’m bored. I want to check the goods.”

Joel’s blood ran cold. 

Curzan sighed. “After what you did last time? You think that’s the best idea?”

“The keys, Curzan.” Her tone tightened. 

“Okay, okay. At least check on Flendel before you have your fun.” The set of keys jingled as she caught them.

“Work before play,” she muttered in melodic Elvish. 

“You coming?” Boreth said, already heading off. 

“Y-yeah!” Joel replied, picking up his bag and shouldering it. As he followed, his gaze lingered on Bhas, kneeling next to Flendel. 

The bearded dwarf motioned off in the distance. “Where are we off to?”

Taking a scan over the horizon briefly, Joel searched for a separate patch of trees. One without a half-naked man tied to a tree. He chose one further northwest, a handful of minutes closer. 

He wanted privacy to talk but the ‘fun’ that Bhas intended worried him. For now, he’d do his best to convince Boreth quickly. Reason and honor might be enough to sway him.

While they walked, he rehearsed several imaginary situations, preparing his arguments and rebuttals. He knew that Boreth liked him well enough. But was it enough to persuade the stout dwarf? 

The canopy of branches periodically wept upon them, clinging waterdrops trickling down. With each step, their footing sunk slightly, the forest floor softened by the rain. Around them, the greenery exhaled the smell of damp leaves and wet bark. 

Several paces further into the cover of trees —  out of sight from camp —  Joel continued to tread forward. He readied a smile. Being pleasant and amiable was easy enough. But persuasive enough to convince him to turn on the so-called Burton gang? That was different. 

Keep it simple. Be calm and friendly. And if Boreth can’t be convinced…

The smooth scrape of an unsheathing sword interrupted his thoughts. For a brief moment, fear rooted him in his spot.

“This seems like a good spot for a proper duel,” Boreth said matter-of-factly. 

Instinct taking over, Joel spun and let the quarterstaff slide in his palm; the arc of the swing became wider as he turned. Moving with the momentum, he slid back into a fighting stance, wooden stave in both hands. 

The salt dwarf stood there casually. Cutlass resting in his bandaged hand, a bemused smile flashed across his stern features. His bushy eyebrow arched briefly in tandem. 

“So were you going to ambush me here?” he said, a hint of mock incredulity. Seashells, decorating his beard, rattled against each other as his laugh rumbled. 

Joel tensed, eyes locked on the glint of the blade. “I was hoping to talk.”

“You saw inside the cart,” Boreth replied, his grin vanishing. The look on his face marked the surprise on Joel’s. “I noticed Flendel’s key was missing. Curzan trusts him with giving the meals after all.”

Mouth twitching, Joel felt his stomach roll.

“Why are you doing this? I figured you’d be above this,” he said, steadying his voice. The sounds of the woods started to echo in his ears. “All that talk about being a good person. Why even care while you're trudging along with slaves in your cart?”

It was the dwarf’s turn to be surprised, only exposed by a nearly imperceptible tremble from his held sword.

“If you think I’m a good person, then work with me,” Joel continued. His features softened though his stance didn’t. “Together, we can free them. Why fight me?”

“The only thing I have left is my word, my duty to it.”

“Duty? To what? To pieces of shit like Curzan? You said it yourself, he’s a coward.”

“Curzan is nothing. My oath is to the eldest.”

“And they have you doing this? Slaving? You’re better than this.”

“You are a good pers—”

“Come on!” Joel interjected, exasperated. Rising anger let his voice get away from him. “Don’t give me that nonsense when you’re standing right there!”

The dwarf firmly continued. “You are a good person. I am not. I dishonored myself, my sword, long ago. The best this old one can hope for is a chance to die at the hands of a good person.”

Grimacing, Joel shook his head. “I’m not going to kill you, Boreth.”

 “Lad, you are doubtlessly skilled. But if you do not attack me with the intent to kill, you will die.”

Joel glanced at his [Status] menu. His HP sat at 73%. Power of spiced cheese and rest. He’d recovered substantially from last night, but was it enough?

Beyond overcoming Boreth, there were the others at the campsite. 

Flendel, sick and sleeping, wouldn’t be a problem. The brawny man had originally given him the keys to the wagon anyway. Hopefully he’d stay asleep, or at least pretend to.

Weasel-faced Curzan, the posse’s leader, appeared like a decent shot with a bow. Archers were incredibly frustrating to deal with, especially in an open field. Fortunately, he’d be likely to flee if truly threatened. 

Then there was the ever foreboding Bhas. Though able to access strange, druidic magic — it was more than the lunar elf’s spells that worried Joel. The way her obsidian eyes shimmered in glee, not from the thrill of battle or competition, but a released joy from taking a life. 

He hoped that it was practicality, not fear, that pushed the sadistic elf to the back of his mind. None of this mattered if he couldn’t get past Boreth and his cutlass. Gripping the quarterstaff with both hands, he expertly spun it, shifting into a different stance. The length of the staff was held out between the two of them.

“You could leave,” Boreth said, his eyes locked on Joel. “I won’t chase after you. I can even tell the others you got cold feet and headed home. I suppose you took care of Perri, but we can chalk that up to the bear.”

The pause must have given him away to the dwarf.

Shaking his head, Boreth’s face cracked with a brief smile. “You didn’t kill that idiot. Perhaps you are too good-hearted. Maybe you should consider a job in the clergy instead.” 

“I’m not leaving without the ones in the cart,” Joel replied, ignoring the jape. 

“You sure? I don’t want to fight you either.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re choosing this, Boreth. This ‘good person’ over here is telling you: this type of honor is worthless.”

Nodding, Boreth’s smile faded away, disappearing behind the long braids of his dark beard. He gave a tidy salute with the cutlass, bringing the blade in front of himself.

The dwarf’s face turned grim. “Ready?”

There wasn’t a need to respond.

Dropping the front of the cutlass down into a familiar grip, the dwarf circled around, each of his paces matching Joel’s. They circled each other like wolves carefully dancing — studying each other —  before their clash.

Joel took the initiative, sprinting forward as his feet pushed against the wet grass. With his own rush, Boreth met him halfway. A loud crack echoed in the grove, wood against steel, as the end of the quarterstaff met the flat of the cutlass. 

The range and weight of his quarterstaff gave him an advantage, his swing knocking the cutlass aside. He followed it with a short, swift thrust at the dwarf’s throat. The blow fell short, slipped by a leaning back step. 

Yanking the staff back like a pool cue, he fired off another sharp jab. This time, the cutlass parried his blow, smacking the staff aside. 

Suddenly, the blade’s edge appeared in front of his eye. A practiced counter riposte. He snapped his head out of the way; his cheekbone catching a bloody gash. 

He leaped back, encouraged to do so by the stinging pain. Another notification of received damage and remaining HP flashed. Like a fool, he almost glanced over at it until he realized the dwarf’s attacks chased after him. 

Three consecutive slashes struck out towards him. As if hunting him, each one forced a step further backwards. He scarcely parried the first two, the third catching him on the shoulder. 

A dull ache followed, the pain muted by the adrenaline. Still wet from the rain, his sleeve dripped crimson. He swung his staff wide, as if it was a baseball bat, forcing the dwarf back. He needed the space to regroup, to think.

Boreth stood there, his calm eyes trailing Joel. The former sailor wasn’t even breathing hard. How obnoxious.

Joel hated to admit it; Boreth was better than him.