It was true, finding the stone smiths was extremely difficult. Many of the houses that served as storefronts had been packed up and hidden away from plain sight. The Kingdom was one of the main buyers of luxury statues and other stonework, but the war had put a freeze to all of that. Now they were out of pocket and out of customers. It was nothing a few pointed questions couldn’t fix – and I eventually found someone who knew where one of them used to be.

We trudged our way over there and knocked. Thankfully the smith was willing to answer my questions – as the dragon had started causing serious problems in the supply of materials from Noel’s Chapel. They were hoping that I’d go up there and sort it out. In the end, all they could say was that the drake was real as they'd heard about it first-hand from a friend.

As we headed back to our lodgings to plan the next move - Cali spoke up, “Do you know aught of the drakes, Ren?”

“Not really.”

“Most people simply treat them as a natural disaster. You can count on one hand the number of fighters on this continent capable of piercing their hide. They’re large and wicked beasts. The continued existence of society can be attributed to their inability to breed quickly. Them encroaching on human territory is rare, they don’t like the noise.”

“Anything else?”

“Despite their reptilian appearance, drakes have extremely high body temperatures. If they were to travel any further south than Noel’s Chapel and the Cerwail Mountains, it is speculated that they would die from the heat.”

 “There’s an idea. Put a collar on it and drag it down here.”

Cali tilted her head, “Not only would acquiring a collar that large be difficult, but the drake also has incredible strength and stamina and…” she paused. Her eyes narrowed, “That was a joke, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Well done for noticing.”

Cali steamed, “I could say that for half of the words you speak to me.”

Whether Cali thought it was funny or not – I was pleased to see that she had started to understand sarcasm and double meanings. She always took everything I said literally, and was incapable of reading people’s tone of voice.

We squeezed up the narrow stairway of the boarding house and unlocked the door to our present lodgings. The room I had rented was a cut above my usual picks. There was actual furniture, a small hob to warm the place, and beds with a full complement of covers and sheets. Tahar and Cali went to sit by the fire and get it going. If they thought it was cold here in Dalston, they’d have a hell of a time up north.

I had other things to worry about. I pulled up my stats and studied them in detail.

Progress was bound to be slow at a high level like this. Ever since I killed the burrowing terror in Versia I had only gained a handful of levels, and that came about after killing dozens of human fighters, a dryad, and more besides. The dryad was the likely culprit behind the increase. The average person would struggle to hit level thirty at standard military age. That stolen XP was a drop in the bucket.

The box that perched atop the wardrobe like a crow, the box that contained the dagger that I had retrieved from that same dryad. If things didn’t go my way the only recourse I would have would be to consume it to try to increase my strength. But if it knocked me out cold again, I couldn’t rely on whatever I was fighting to leave me alone and unmolested. They’d take their chance and finish me off. A drake would swallow me whole if I gave it the chance.

But doing that would engrave Stigma’s influence even deeper into my body and consciousness. She could already freeze me solid by seizing control of my nervous system – how much effort would it take for her to do the same to my lungs and kill me? Ultimately the difference was negligible. The only thing to consider was whether it would speed up my impending demise.

Before I knew it, I was wandering over to standing on my toes. The box threatened to tip over the edge and bludgeon me, but I corrected myself and cradled it like a baby until my feet met the ground again. Stigma was interested in what I was doing, as she appeared and hovering over my shoulder. I suppose in a sense she was the devil on my left, if only I could have found an angel to go with her.

“Oh, is your strong front cracking under the pressure, Master?”

I ignored her for the time being and unlocked the wooden casket. The dagger had a curious design, it was very similar to Stigma. Black steel and a curled iron hilt. Unlike Stigma, it didn’t seem to glow with crimson magical energy. The distinctive stylings of the objects I had seen thus far suggested that they had all come from the same place, and perhaps that they were even crafted by the same hands. The brainwashing book we found in Blackwake bore a strong resemblance to this aesthetic style as well.

I posted another question back at her, “You’re never forthcoming with the details, are you?”

She crossed her arms, “I already told you – I cannot remember much of anything.”

“And you could easily be lying to me.”

“Would the truth change the fact of the matter? We are bound together and the only escape I know of is your death. If you wish to see an alternate resolution, extracting more information from the Absolver seems like your only option. If I recover my memories through this process I may also know of a solution that I do not have at this moment.”

I was between a rock and a hard place. Stigma had her own reasons to want me to do this, but the logic was somewhat sound. I was counting down the days and weeks until my death and nobody had any idea on how to fix it.

“Do you think we could kill a wyvern?”

I could see her face twisting in deep thought as she formulated her conclusion, “With an applicable strategy, support from your companions, and some good luck, perhaps. You have a knack for overcoming improbable odds.”

I couldn’t touch it, not unless I wanted my soul to be bound to another freeloading spirit. I moved over to the table and placed the box on top of it. I had a lot of things to consider. If I was going to consume the dagger, I needed to decide before I was put into a tough spot. Stigma continued to stick close to my back as I stared at it in contemplation. Tahar and Cali’s discussion filtered through the white noise.

“The north will be much colder than here,” Cali murmured, “Do you have experience with this type of weather?”

“Yes. It becomes cold in the village sometimes.”

“So cold that it snows?”

“Snow?”

“White, cold, falls from the sky.”

“Oh, yes! It snows. We must hunt for heavier furs and make coats for ourselves.”

Tahar reached down into her bag and unfurled a boar’s pelt that she had taken from one of her recent kills. Tahar hated wasting any one part of an animal after felling it. Bones, fat and fur would all be gathered and reused if she could manage it. The biggest limitation was carrying space. We were always on the move and she couldn’t bring everything with us. Furs were always a priority, and now I knew why.

“Do you know how to make your own clothes?”

“Yes. Every member of the tribe must learn important skills! That way, we can survive even on our own. I can make something good for all of us with this. I have even made my own tools. Ren, would you like something as well?”

I snapped back to reality and nodded, “Sure. Thanks Tahar.”

She smiled, “Making clothes for your mate is an important tradition for us. I hope you are okay with that.”

“It’s fine.”

She was in a much better mood now that we weren’t hunting a person. It was really night and day. I had gotten too used to Cali’s unflinching approach to any of the crazy ideas or plans I ended up becoming involved in. Someone with a moral compass north of a psychopathic killer or desperate thief was a liberty I hadn’t experienced in years. Tahar dived into the task with a fervour that was greater than any chore she had undertaken previously. She was relishing the chance to finally fulfil a wifely duty for me.

She was damn good at it too. She wrangled the bristly material into shape and punctured it, bringing out some treated leather to make an interior lining. Her clawed fingers danced with precision and intent. For a second all of my worrying about whether to eat the dagger or not fell away as I watched her work with interest. The smile on her face highlighted what a beauty she was.

“You’re stalling,” Stigma teased in a sing-song voice.

Cali picked up on what I was doing from afar; “Are you going to finally consume that dagger you retrieved?”

I shrugged, “I’ll feel like I’m doing what the Absolver wants if I do.”

“The Absolver doesn’t know what he wants. He may have his pet theories about how things will go from here – but that doesn’t mean he’s in control. Those are the types of people who allow things to turn into anarchy.”

“And why do you think that?”

Cali’s face hardened and she said nothing. Clearly that came from some personal experience. Cali was pushing me to do it. The last bit of resistance I held gave way. I was going to end up using the damn thing eventually – I may as well do it on my own terms. I hoisted myself over to the edge of the bed and retrieved the sword.

“Finally!” Stigma cheered.

“If this kills me, I’m going to be furious.”

She rolled her eyes, “The last one didn’t kill you, Master.”

The genre savvy part of my head was telling me that I’d have to wait until we found the last one for anything like that. I lifted Stigma into the air and pressed the tip of the blade against the flat surface of the dagger. This was going to hurt like crazy and I knew it. I braced myself for the stabbing pain and muttered the magic word.

“Consume.”

I gritted my teeth so hard that it felt like they were going to shatter into pieces. My entire body tensed up as I lost total control over my muscles. My vision flashed white, and before I knew it the floor was coming at me. Before I smashed my face into the nearest wooden board, Cali swept underneath me and cushioned my fall from behind. We fell on top of each other into a jumble of arms and legs.

Maybe the massacre in Blackwake had changed my perspective on things. The old me would have never willingly done something this stupid. Now, I was either going to live long or burn out in a glorious fireball, all piss and thunder. Cali pushed me off of her legs and climbed back onto her feet. I couldn’t move.

“Ren?”

I croaked back, “Yeah?”

“Oh, you aren’t dead. Good.”

“I’m fine. Just let me lie here and… enjoy the agony.”

Cali didn’t offer any more assistance. She returned to her previous seat at the table and continued to observe Tahar. I eventually found enough power to prop myself up against one of the beds. Stigma leered over me like a mischievous child. “Well done, Master. I’ll be sure to tell you if I remember anything.”

“Leave me alone.”

She giggled menacingly and disappeared into a cloud of dust that only I could see.

DWS

Ren's title has changed since last time. Fun fact: Like some other things in the setting, people's opinions of Ren are what controls his stat screen title, as it is a form of perceptive magic.