The ‘rumbling’ coast of the continent was a crazy area to live. The weather was never kind, always high winds and spitting rain, and the geography of the area was equally hostile with high cliff faces and rocky ground. The very notion of trying to build a home here filled most people with dread. East coasters weren’t normal people; they were hardy, prickly, and just a little bit insane.

Everything was split up between three small Kingdoms. The Grand-Duchies of Balsand, Pascen and Payfun shared a common ancestry. They blocked the Federation from reaching the coast by land, but favourable trades deals and long running alliances meant that Federation ships could often be found in their ports. They could benefit from the trade and the military protection without having to pay any extra in tax money.

At various points in their history, all three had been integrated into the Federation, and eventually left for different reasons. This was usually the fault of Sull who distracted a huge share of the Federation’s military power in border scuffles. It was easy for them to break away without much of a fight.

I didn’t know the full extent of this ‘disbalance’ that Danton told me about. All I knew was that there were potentially creatures with powerful souls lurking in the wilds. If I could slay some of them, I could extend my clock even further. When we finally arrived at the coast, having taken the long, winding trail through the Federation’s territory, I only had a week and three days left. We hadn’t met a single bandit during the journey – for once I had to curse my good luck. It’d be even worse on the coast. The tundra like environment meant that few bandits could hide there.

I was placing a lot of faith in Danton’s claims, I’d be kicking myself if they didn’t turn out to be true.

Our first destination was Pascen. It had been so long since I lasted visited that my contacts would be severely out of date. They liked to move around to where the business was hot, and Pascen had cooled down significantly in recent years. That wasn’t the impression I got on the way in though. As we trudged through the sparse farmland that led to the city’s stone walls, I spotted several camps that had been established on unused land.

They mainly consisted of tents and a campfire in the centre. A few men stood guard, because it was also where they stored their weapons and supplies. A pair of vibrant, patterned banners waved in the blustery wind leading into the camp’s space.

Mercenaries.

They’d pay the farmer a fee to stay. Going from town to town, trying to find work for them and their band of warriors. They were a few levels above a rogue like me. And if the hunting was good and the price was right, they could make a pretty penny.

“Looks like Danton was onto something,” I admitted to Cali, “What do you think? Feel anything?” Cali closed her eyes and focused her magical energy, as a stiff breeze cut through my jacket and chilled my bones, she grunted.

“Yes. Something is very strange. An ill wind blows here.” Talented mages were more attuned to the shifting of the ‘tides,’ Cali could sense a disturbance in the magical energy that permeated the air.

“The real challenge is going to be killing one of these monsters.”

Indeed, if it was just me and her, we didn’t stand much of a chance. Each mercenary band consisted of several to a dozen members. The leader would be a part of a larger body or clan, and he’d pay tribute to that clan in return for protection and benefits.

“Perhaps it would be prudent to find assistance within the city, if your only desire is to consume the corpse after it is killed.”

I scratched the messy hair on my chin, “Or, I could shadow a band and move in when they clear out, steal the soul from under their noses. No need to fight anything.”

“But you’d rather receive payment as well.”

“I would. You learn fast.”

The gates were wide open. The titular city of Pascen jutted outwards into the sky like a dark spire. Heavy brick stonework blended into the dark granite of the cliffs that surrounded it above and below. Beyond the horizon a stormy, dark green sea churned and wailed. The sun broke through a spot in the clouds and provided a brief moment of respite from the cold air. The main avenue was busy, as ever, with traders and citizens going about their business – a world away from the war between the Federation and Sull. The brightly coloured tabards of warriors, mages and archers lined the sides of the road, haggling and planning together.

Maybe we should pick out a fetching colour and pattern, but a band of two wasn’t much of a band at all. A strong case of fake it until you make it. Becoming a mercenary sounded like a natural progression from a rogue, my skills were becoming increasingly diverse thanks to Stigma.

Speak of the devil.

“Master, are you sure this walk was worth it? You’ve burnt a significant amount of your life merely travelling here.” She spoke with all the intonation of an impatient child in the back of a moving car.

“It will be. I’ll make sure it is.”

I spotted a friendly face having a drink at a roadside tavern. I didn’t know him, but his rosy cheeks and jolly laughter, shared with a few of his fellow mercenaries made him a clear mark. I approached with a (fake) confused look on my face and spoke to him, “What’s with all the mercs?”

He turned to me, unperturbed about being called out, “It’s hunting season lad. Never seen so much work in one place before, everyone’s crawling out the woodwork to come get a piece.”

“What are you hunting?” I asked.

The leader laughed, “What aren’t we hunting? Golems, giants, ogres, cyclops. If it’s big and mean, it’s turned up on the coast for some reason. The King’s paying out the arse for any and all confirmed kills. He’s desperate.”

“Where did they all come from?”

He took another swig of his beer, “Nobody knows and nobody really cares. The pay’s too good to ask questions or look for solutions. Why, are you interested in claiming a few of them yourself?”

I humbly shook my head, “I’m just a rogue with a big sword. Nowhere near talented or trained enough to kill something like that.”

I was telling the truth for once. The average giant could peak at around level 100, more than double my own.

“It’s not about talent son, it’s about preparation. The best fight is one where the enemy never gets a chance to strike back.”

“Still, I don’t think I can make a trap sturdy enough to trip a giant.”

“Some of the others just dug a big pit! Let them fall in, and let them have it.”

Now that was something I wanted to see. But tagalongs weren’t welcomed by mercenaries. It would make them very suspicious if I started angling to come along with them. The only person who does anything like that is a glory hog looking to steal a bounty for themselves. I didn’t want the bounty, I wanted the giant’s soul.

“Thanks for the info, I’ll keep it in mind.”

“No problem son. Stay safe.”

I exited the tavern and reunited with Cali, who was standing guard on the left side of the doorway. “Did you learn anything?”

“Nothing much. He says there’s a load of giants wandering around, every colour and variety.”

“How strange.”

Danton was right then. Something strange was going on, but nobody seemed much interested in finding out what it was. When everyone was getting high on their own success the party wouldn’t stop until something bad happened, and with giants running around ‘bad’ was an inevitability. They were huge, dangerous, powerful. Some of them commanded elemental magic that could burn you to a crisp in an instant. I had to feel for the poor farmers, who were surely under the constant fear of having their homes flattened or livelihoods destroyed.

Cali and I made a quick stop at a nearby store to purchase fresh supplies of rations for the road. Cali had insisted on paying for them, even though I had more than enough money to do it myself. I didn’t want to get into another lengthy argument about the issue – so I let her be and accepted the gift. I could pay her back for it later.

“Stigma, how long could I live off the soul of a giant?”

The naked spirit leaned against one of the shelves in front of me, “It depends. I’d say six months each, ideally.”

“That’s good. Get a few of them, relieve a lot of pressure to keep killing.”

“Master. I suggest ‘filling your boots’ with as many as possible while they’re still here. This is an opportunity to potentially extend your life for years to come. A chance like this comes along very rarely.”

“The problem is killing them Stigma. I can’t tag along with a band, they’ll get suspicious.”

A band of mercenaries on alert would be hard to sneak up on too. Part of my stealth skill was knowing when it was appropriate to tail someone. It’d be nearly impossible to follow them all the way to the mark, and sneak in to consume its soul without them noticing. There was so little foliage cover around the coast that you could see people for miles around.

As we left the store, I noticed someone waving to me from across the way.

The first thing that struck me about her was her height. She didn’t even reach up to the top half of my chest. Strangely, she wasn’t short enough to be a dwarf, or a ‘Stallin,” as they called them in this world. She had rusty red hair tied into a high ponytail, thick, aggressive eyebrows and a curvy body. She was wearing a white wool jumper covered in black soot stains and a thick leather apron.

The stall set up behind her featured racks of weapons and armour, made by hand. A small black anvil and a hammer lay unused beside her. She was one of the town’s blacksmiths. Blacksmiths were highly respected artisans, because armour in this world had more benefits than merely protecting from weapons. The science behind affixed armour was a mystery to me, though I had a vague idea that it was something like aerodynamics.

A lot of the affixed equipment I’d seen made use of channels or ridges, seemingly to direct the flow of magic passing over the rune. In a sense, affixed armour looked more otherworldly than the mass-produced iron that I was wearing, sleek, menacing. They were often commissioned by high level nobles or warriors, meaning they were also personalized to their taste.

But what did she want with us? I dragged Cali with me and approached her. The short woman looked me up and down with a keen eye - before speaking in a thick and rumbling accent, “Medalie’s me bloody name. You look like a fella’ in the market for a job.”

Things weren’t that simple, but I sensed that she knew something that I didn’t. I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to get her to spill it.

“That I am.”

“Good! None of these small-cocked mercs know the first thing about how valuable some of this stuff is. And you and your friend here look like you know how to handle yourselves, come with me, have a seat.”

We rounded the counter of her stall and found a table and chairs set up just behind it. Me and Cali sat down as Medalie hung a small sign declaring that the store was temporarily closed.

This was going to be interesting.

DWS

PATREON | TWITTER

Welcome to the second arc! Thank you for sticking with it thus far. I hope you're enjoying it, and if you're not - I'm always open to constructive critique. Who do you like? Who do you not? Etc. Just sound off in the comments.