Along with the sun’s final rays, the commotion outside had begun to die out. The blond man’s head slipped off of his hand, jerking him awake. Confused, he looked around his wooden home and quickly calmed down upon seeing the bed in front of him. He got up from the chair and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. And as the girl underneath the blankets stirred, he parted the hair out of her eyes and smiled.
“Hank?” she asked, drowsily. “What time is it? Weren’t you supposed to leave?”
“In a moment, sis. I’m meeting the others at the outpost in half an hour, so I’ve got some time to spare.”
“Okay. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
Her warm smile was enough to make his heart ache. Simply nodding, he leaned his sister’s crutches against the bed and closed the bedside window. He then grabbed his sword and left, locking the door behind him.
The cool autumn breeze helped, his nerves finally settling as he reached the trading outpost just outside of Bord’s western gate. Staring at the torchlit face of the dwarven merchant he had to escort, he knew that composure would be essential.
“Move your ass!” yelled the dwarf, slamming his palm on the nearby cart. “I’m not paying you to waste my time.”
Hank bit his tongue and hurried inside the wagon at the back, joining the other three bodyguards. Everything now in place, the merchant climbed behind the coachman and gave the order to move out. And with a lengthy creak, the oxen-drawn caravan departed.
The cart’s old wood groaned above the uneven dirt road. Given the wealth of dwarven merchants, Hank couldn’t help but wonder why the dwarf chose to hire so few people. Apart from him, the dwarf had enlisted a warrior, an archer named Sam and an old friend of his, a rogue by the name of Marcus.
“Fucking parasites,” mumbled the warrior on Hank’s right, glancing in the dwarf’s direction. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the end of his spiked mace. “They’re free to do whatever the hell they want…”
“What do you expect?” said the rogue on the far end of the wagon, dragging the tip of his short sword along the floor. Hank stared for a second at the family crest tattooed on Marcus’s left cheek, that of Bord’s former nobles, the house of Jonathan Finch. “The court sold us out ages ago, and this king’s a feckless puppet. Even if you tried to stand up to their shit,” he said, covering the tattoo with his hand, “you’d just get… removed.”
“Nothing’s going to change, Marcus,” said the archer. “Not unless you get rid of the entire system. I mean, why would they try to fix it? They’re the ones reaping the benefits. Them and their friends,” he said, also turning to stare at the merchant’s back.
The warrior nodded. “Exactly.” He gripped his mace, pushing down on it until the old wagon began to creak beneath them. “They’ll only react if the Conclave forces them.”
Marcus sighed. “Really? Those fanatics? They’re too busy licking the Strangers' feet. And some did try to fix the system, Sam. But you can’t do anything if the people are scared. You need their backing…”
Hank closed his eyes for a second. He had no idea what to make of all this. Nor did he want to. Right now, the only thing he knew was that he had to take whatever job came up. Even if it meant protecting a dwarf.
The meager light given off by the caravan’s lamps did little to put his mind at ease, as the shadows of the surrounding trees seemed to loom closer. He hadn’t slept a wink the last two nights, his dreams haunted by faceless figures appearing out of nowhere. And then there was the boy.
‘Did he really not know anything…?’ The kid wasn’t much younger than his sister Sally and yet, seeing all those people just appear out of thin air… it terrified him. And of all the people to knock some sense into him, it just had to be that Stranger. ‘What the fuck was I thinking? He was just a k–’
A loud crash broke the silence. Ahead, a fallen tree barred the road. The dwarf cursed in front of the caravan as everyone jumped out, weapons at the ready. There was no going around. They had to move it out of the way.
Every flicker of the lamps made the tall shadows dance. They could hear rustles coming from the trees surrounding them. And then a branch snapped. Hank spun towards the sound, drawing his sword. A glimmer whizzed by him as the dwarf started to wail behind them, clutching his shoulder. Their gaze fell upon the arrow sticking out of the merchant’s arm.
“Bandits!” yelled the warrior, as the others took cover. A moment later, one of the attackers came barreling out of the bushes. The warrior raised his shield, its wood splintering as the bandit heaved his axe at him. The warrior rolled back and threw his broken shield at the scarred bandit in front of him, but then froze in place.
Hank ducked behind the wagon and stared transfixed at the warrior’s corpse, an arrow jutting out of his head. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest as he looked around. ‘Do they have us surrounded?’ Another arrow whistled over his head, hitting a tree in front of him. “Shit… Sam! Cover me!”
The archer nodded and nocked an arrow, his eyes trained on the trees behind the caravan. Hank scurried to the dwarf, keeping his head low, and dragged the sobbing merchant by his good arm.
Nearby, two figures tumbled onto the road. They landed in front of each other as Marcus got up first. He focused on his foe, a lightly armored bowman. He grinned at the dagger sticking out of the bandit archer’s left side and charged. The bandit swung his bow, but hit air as the rogue dropped and slid behind him. The bowman cursed and collapsed sideways, a bright, neon-red line marking the wound on his calf.
“Marcus! Dodge!” yelled Hank, rushing to his teammate from behind the wagon. The rogue sidestepped as a spiked mace missed him, pulverizing a stone at his feet. Hank lurched and thrust his sword forward, forcing back the other bandit. “Shit… they’re Strangers!” he yelled as he saw the archer’s wound begin to fade.
Sam loosed an arrow and nocked another as the first landed just short of the mace-wielder. But before he could fire his second shot, a blow to his back bashed him face first into the ground. Ears ringing, his eyes darted around as he struggled to get up. However, he couldn’t even move a finger. He only heard a muffled voice above him.
“Thanks for holding this for me,” said the scarred axeman as he clutched the handle of the axe sticking out of Sam’s back. A scream and several crunches ripped through the air as he tore his weapon out, the archer’s limbs convulsing helplessly against his will. The man grinned at the now motionless body at his feet, as if it was some grand achievement.
Stunned, Hank could only stare at the one who had already butchered two of them. And the smile on the man’s face made his skin crawl. He wasn’t even looking at them. Instead, he just stood there, staring at a point in front of him, as if reading something in midair.
“Heh… this’ll be useful later,” he mumbled, moving his focus to the dwarf sobbing near the wagon. “You, on the other hand, are of no use to me.”
“Please… I’ll give you anything you want, just spare me!”
“Sorry, pal,” he said, stopping at the merchant’s feet and raising his axe. “It’s not really up to me. People want you dead and I want what they’re offering. No hard feelings.”
‘Shit…' With Marcus busy fighting the mace-wielder, Hank turned to the now empty spot where the enemy archer had collapsed and then back at the wagon. He shot towards the axeman, ready to strike. ‘I won’t make it!’
The axe’s edge began to drop as a whistling blue orb slammed into the man’s side, forcing him a step sideways. “What the fuck…?”
Hank had stopped halfway, transfixed at the sight of the last person he ever expected to see right then: The Stranger that stopped him on the day of the Arrival. And as he struggled to make sense of it, his own voice seemed alien to himself. “You…”
Drake had followed behind the eight people that had left the church, maintaining enough distance to not be spotted. They soon left Bord and delved into the forest, which made matters a lot more difficult. The crackling of fallen leaves and branches threatened to expose him at every step of the way. But somehow, he had managed to avoid detection. And as they ventured further, the setting darkness came to his aid.
The group soon split up. Four stayed behind while the others continued the trek. Drake decided to remain close to the rearguard, so he wouldn’t risk getting caught in a pincer. However, not long after the vanguard had disappeared, the four men that stayed behind turned around and backtracked half an hour’s worth of distance. What’s more, they walked slowly, always paying attention to the dirt road on their right.
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You have activated Xelian Meditation.
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Drake could at least rely on his new skill since whatever shreds of moonlight managed to get through the thick canopy did little to illuminate his surroundings. And although the four men were too far away for him to actually perceive their energy, the trees lit up around him like tall, blue pillars of floating particles.
For a while now, the sound of the leader’s axe reverberated throughout the woods. They had picked out a tree next to the road and then chopped a wedge out of it. ‘Are they setting up an ambush or something?’ The thought itself made sense, especially if one were to consider how the group had split up earlier. What he couldn’t understand, however, was their decision to backtrack so much.
He laid in wait, channeling a small amount of mana into the Link Sphere in his hand. With nothing better to do, he took a better look at the group of players before him. The original trio he had pursued seemed composed of two melee fighters, the axe-wielding leader along with a warrior equipped with a mace, and an archer with a longbow.
Drake couldn’t exactly place the fourth addition, a shorter young man wearing a cloak. But judging by his lack of an already equipped weapon, the chance of him being a healer or a mage seemed pretty high.
They all had semitransparent health and mana bars floating over their heads, and no distinguishable level indicator. ‘While I’ve been cooped up inside a library, they must’ve gained at least a couple of levels.’ Their gear also put his to shame, his clothes providing almost no protection compared to their studded leather armor. ‘That tailor wasn’t kidding… they struck gold with the Conclave.’
“Are you perhaps envious of their choice?”
Drake clamped his palm over his mouth, smothering a scream that struggled to escape him. He scanned the perimeter but saw no one. His gaze then fell on the faint glow of the Link Sphere he had held just moments earlier, resting in between the blades of grass at his feet.
“Arthur?” he thought, scooping up the crystal.
“The very same. Are you alright?”
“Yeah. I’m keeping an eye on some of the guys I followed.”
“I have been brought up to speed. Sit tight. Percy and master Roy are headed your way.”
“Master… Roy?”
“Yes. Sufficed to say, we suspect that the Conclave is going to attack a caravan that left Bord earlier today, on its way to Terasborg.”
“I see…” He peeked at the men lying in wait and then at the road further ahead, swallowed by the sea of green. “They haven’t spotted me yet, and there are at least another four of them further down. I doubt I’d be able to…”
The distant sound of hoofbeats cut off his train of thought as the men got up and approached the road, taking cover behind the trees.
| Shadows of the Strangers (II) – Completed | |||
| The group you followed seems to be planning an ambush on an approaching caravan. While their intent is clear, their motivation eludes you. | |||
| Experience Gained | 300 | ||
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You have reached level 3!
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| Shadows of the Strangers (III) | |||
| You have discovered Conclave sympathizers preparing to seize a nearby caravan. Thwart their plans and defend the caravan until reinforcements arrive at the scene. Quest Difficulty: C | |||
| Do you accept this quest? | |||
| YES | NO | ||
“Shit… caravan’s already here, Arthur. I’ve got to go.”
“Be careful, Drake. Try to not get yourself killed…”
“Heh, if that’s the case, I’ll see you in three days.”
Accepting the quest, he quickly opened the game’s menu and allocated half of his newly acquired stat points into Endurance and half into Strength. This brought his total hit points up to 250. ‘No use saving these now.’
Meanwhile, the two melee fighters had begun pushing the hollowed-out tree. And as the wood crackled and gave way, crashing onto the road, Drake dashed closer and hid behind a tree, near the fourth member, the robed man. The next moments flew by as the archer shot the dwarf and then, together with the scarred leader, killed the warrior protecting the dwarf.
As their archer fought the rogue, Drake’s attention turned towards the swirling particles flowing through and then into the robed man’s palms. The energy itself seemed very different from what Arthur had shown him. And the more he channeled it, the energy began to shift from the pure, blue glow that Drake was familiar with to a bright, green hue.
‘This is it. If he’s a healer, he’s got to go.’ With everyone else distracted, he channeled his own mana into his hand, a vivid vision of swirling bullets burned into his mind. He rushed the guy, tackling him and pinning him to the ground. His hand slammed over the healer’s open mouth, holding his head firmly in place.
“Sorry,” he whispered, staring into the widening eyes aimed at him.
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You have dealt a critical hit!
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You have dealt a critical hit!
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You have dealt a critical hit!
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You have gained 60 experience points.
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The insides of the healer’s mouth lit up as Drake fired consecutive Manabolts into his throat, the health bar above his head vanishing.
He lifted his hand and stared at the body underneath him. His breath quickened as he squeezed his legs, desperate to get up. But they gave out right away, bringing his face right next to that of the dead healer. He gasped, choking his instinct to scream, as he then noticed a small indicator next to the depleted health bar. ‘Level 3…’ Drake took a deep breath and clenched his fists, finally finding his footing as a tear streamed down his cheek. ‘Shit… It’s just a game… it’s just a game.’
Nerves somewhat in check, he watched transfixed as the healer’s body disappeared in a crimson cloud of red sparks. A scream cut through the forest’s silence, wrenching his focus towards the caravan. He crept near the tree line and stopped, a whirlwind of nausea mounting inside of him as his nails dug into the bark of a tree. Sprawled at the base of a wagon was the bloodied corpse of a man. And next to it stood the silhouette of the lanky leader Drake had followed all the way from the in, his axe raised above the dwarf groveling at his feet.
Drake’s arm shot up, taking aim and bracing himself. The blue bolt of mana rammed into the man’s side, jolting him aside.
“What the fuck…?” The leader’s health had barely gone down by a sliver, the Level 6 indicator floating ominously next to it.
“You…”
Hearing the voice, Drake glanced to the side. Stuck in the middle of the road, he recognized the tall, blond man that had attacked Liam a couple of days ago. “Their archer’s gone,” he yelled at the man, all the while focused on the scarred leader. “Find him!”
For a moment, Hank blinked incredulously at his words before snapping back towards the tree line. “Shit… on it!”
“Not cool, dude,” grinned the leader clutching his side. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to kill steal?”
His hand raised, Drake conjured another bolt of mana. “Sorry. I kind of missed orientation day.” He fired, shattering part of the wagon as the scarred man rolled away from the dwarf. Two more shots forced even more distance between the axeman and his target.
Drake glanced at his mana bar, half of it gone already. And as he did so, the leader dashed towards him, almost erasing the gap between them. But he didn’t bother running. Instead, he stood his ground, maintaining the Manabolt between his fingers.
The scarred man stomped his foot and came to a standstill as he pivoted, applying his entire weight into a diagonal hew. “Giving up?!” he screamed.
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You have been hit! -41 HP.
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The axe grazed Drake who barely managed to sidestep. At the same time, he shoved the axeman, using his momentum against him. The leader tumbled to the ground as three Manabolts blasted him in the back. But even with the almost pointblank shots, his health hadn’t dipped below half. Drake’s mana, however, had almost run out. The neon-red mark on his chest also did him no favors, the sharp pain finally subsiding after a few moments. ‘A couple more hits and I’m done for…’
“Hah, ran out of juice?” grinned the scarred man, pulling out another axe from his inventory. He then cocked his arm back, taking aim, and threw one of his weapons.
Drake lunged and rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the spinning axe. But the leader was rushing towards him again. He then slammed his palm against the ground, casting another Manabolt. Dust rose all around him as the scarred man screeched to a halt.
“Hide and seek?!” he laughed, scanning the dust cloud and grinning as he made out a figure to his side. He swung his axe, expecting to feel the crunch of bones. But instead, he recoiled and howled, clutching his shoulder. He took a step back, but the sensation persisted.
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You have dealt a critical hit!
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“Y’know something?” Drake hissed through his clenched teeth. And as the dust finally settled, he tightened his grip on longsword he held with both his hands. “You talk too fucking much…” He twisted the blade and pulled it back as the scarred man staggered, his health finally below the halfway mark.
The leader, however, burst into laughter, lowering his axe. “Aren’t you full of surprises,” he wheezed, wiping away a tear. “A level three spell sword. Not bad! The old fucker in the church took some convincing to actually hand me something that gave me a class.”
Drake kept his stance and maintained a safe distance. With the sword he had borrowed from the Guild’s armory, he now held the range advantage even in close quarters.
Grinning, the man took out another axe from a holster near his leg. “Fuck’s sake, dude, lighten up. It’s just a game. Nothing personal, right?” he asked, staring at the mage initiate in front of him. “Or are you the ‘strong and silent’ type?”
A moment was enough to make Drake’s stomach churn as his sight fell on the archer’s mangled body. ‘Fun and games…' He’d heard enough of the guy’s drivel. His mana had recharged a bit, but it still only afforded him a couple of shots at most. ‘He’s eager to talk, so I might as well… But if I interrupt it before its finished, that backlash is gonna rip through a quarter of my health…'
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You have activated Xelian Trance.
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“You say it’s just a game,” he sighed, narrowing his eyes as they began to glow faintly. “But ever since we got here, I swear, it’s one fucked up situation after another.” Maintaining his concentration while talking proved difficult, however, he was more worried about the leader noticing his rapidly replenishing Mana.
“Oh, come on,” said the leader, rolling his eyes. “Tone down the role-play. True, shit’s insanely realistic, but just take a look at fatty over there.” The grin on his face widened as he turned to watch the merchant crawling towards the cart upfront. “I mean, come on! He’s literally a walking, talking caricature of our real-life leeches. Them, we can’t touch. But hey,” he said, raising one of his axes above his head. “At least we can vent… in here!”
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Xelian Trance has ended.
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‘Shit!’ Drake immediately blasted three Manabolts into the leader’s back, but his axe was already whirling through the air. It bit into the base of the dwarf’s neck, toppling him to the ground as the scarred man braced and turned himself towards him.
“Dude! Enough with the fireworks,” he groaned, grabbing his remaining axe with his other hand. “With that at least, you should be out of…”
Sword raised, Drake cast another Manabolt while rushing him. He cleaved air as the leader stepped back with his arms crossed defensively. But Drake stopped mid-swing and followed through with a forward thrust, stabbing through the leader’s side.
However, when he tried to pull his sword back, the axeman grabbed ahold of his blade and stepped forward, impaling himself further, as he then hacked into Drake’s leg.
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You have been hit! -86 HP.
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Slowed by opponent’s Maim.
-50% Movement Speed for 15 seconds. |
Searing pain, followed by a dull, aching numbness overcame Drake as he fell to his knees. He groaned and yanked his sword back, pointing a shaky arm at the leader who had hobbled back a few steps. The blue orb developing in his palm dispersed, his vision tilting towards the canopy above him. A moment later, he finally registered the throbbing ache in his left shoulder.
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You have been dealt a critical hit! -139 HP.
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Stunned by opponent’s Axe Throw.
Movement impaired for 5 seconds. |
The man’s scarred face popped into his field of view. His eyes, half hidden by ruffled strands of brown hair, didn’t show the hostility that he had seen in them before.
“I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t fun,” he smiled, holding down Drake’s right hand with his boot. “But I’ve got a quest to finish, and I can’t have the others showing up here to one-up me.” Even more surprisingly, he seemed to remove his axe as gently as possible from Drake’s shoulder. The leader then aligned it with the side of his neck. “You’re pretty damn resourceful, spell sword. The name’s Correy. If you ever want to team up, meet me at that inn.”
Unable to even move, Drake glared at the man above him. “The hell’s wrong with you?” he grumbled while trying to move his free hand.
“Hah! Pretty much the same thing that’s wrong with you,” he sighed, the grin on his lips disappearing for the first time. “The only difference is that I’m probably a bit more aware of it.”
‘What is he even–’
But before he could even finish his thought, his gaze fell on the person now standing behind the winded leader. Blood gushed from Correy’s chest as Hank’s sword ran him through. Adrenaline surging through his veins, Drake’s hand shot up. He cast four more Manabolts into his abdomen, extinguishing the last shred of the man’s health. And as he watched Correy’s body dissolve into a puff of red flickers, he could have sworn that the guy was grinning.
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You have gained 90 experience points.
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You have reached level 4!
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Overlooking him, Hank still held his sword where the Strangers’ body had been merely a moment ago. Drake slowly lowered his arm, unsure of the other’s intention. A moment later, however, the blond man slowly offered his hand while sheathing his weapon.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting Hank’s help. He scanned the site, noticing the rogue shambling out of the forest. The two examined him quietly, exchanging glances between themselves.
“No… thank you,” said Hank, as he began walking towards the merchant. He grabbed the dwarf’s wrist and sighed. “Shit…”
Marcus limped passed Drake, stopping in front of the cart. “Well, so much for this job. The hell are we gonna do about his cargo?”
“Backup from the Mages’ Guild is on its way,” said Drake, taking out the Link Sphere from his pocket. “I guess they’ll handle it somehow. We just have to wait a little while and…”
His words trailed off as he took a step back, sword raised and eyes trained on the road in front of them. “Those guys weren’t the only ones…” he said, circling behind the wagon. “Take cover…”
The other four Drake had followed emerged from the trees, their sights set on him and the other two. ‘Seriously…?’
But as their foes advanced, spreading out on both sides of the road, the two on their left collapsed. Neon-red marks appeared all over their bodies. And behind them, seemingly out of nowhere, stood a grim, older man with silver hair. His sword and the metal plating covering his chest and limbs glinted ominously in the bloody light, given off by the vanishing remains of the two Strangers.
The eerie stillness that had settled over the battlefield shattered again as the silver-haired man zipped towards the other two. Before they could react, he cleaved one in half, blue light trailing his sword. His runed gauntlet then shimmered as a gust of violent wind blew the other one back, shredding him from head to toe.
The man then turned to face them, his runed sword and armor illuminated by the two puffs of red sparks behind him.
“Hello, Drake,” he said, a thin smile etched across his lips.
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