The night was long, and full of terrors. They’d learnt that truth in blood.

  The monster's assault had been defeated, but the price had been steep. They hadn’t rested after earning their victory. They couldn’t. Another assault could’ve come quickly on the heels of the last, but with the dead and wounded amongst them, they couldn’t just run.

  So, they’d spent the entire night wrought in quiet tension. There were no watch-shifts. No one took turns. All eyes were kept open until dawn’s first light washed over them. Even then Flynn didn’t relax. Not truly, but there were things that needed to be done.

  Things he’d delayed all night because he hadn’t - couldn’t - face that reality. But there was no more running from it. Not a word had been said amongst them since the attack, but still they gathered, drawn together by the duty that remained to them.

  Flynn stared at the six corpses laid before him. Five from the Ozana warriors, and the last...

  Ohsthius had given his life to save Alsias, pushing the younger alf out of the way of a swipe that’d instead ripped a red smile right through his neck. Cheek had put the monster down a second later, but the damage had already been done. The elder had died with his knife still in hand, and a scream caught in his throat.

  Flynn couldn’t bare to look, but he forced himself to. To engrave the memory into his brain.

  Osthius, the quiet one. The meek one. No one had expected heroics from the reserved scribe, but he had proven himself every bit a hero in the end. They all had. Osiar, Evie, Gius, Sievieth, Rosae.

  They’d fought hard and well, and they’d died on their feet, fighting to their last.

  Flynn clenched his fists.

  He’d never known grief. Not truly. He knew hatred. He knew that feeling very, very well. He also knew solitude, and a deep desire to be left alone. He knew love for his aunt and uncle.

  He had known something approaching friendship for a while.

  But he had not known grief, and as he studied their bodies, it hurt him to realize that he did not feel grief even then. Six alves laid dead because he hadn’t been strong enough. Fast enough.

  And he did not feel grief.

  Logically, he knew that he wasn’t truly at fault. He was just one teen, and he couldn’t have slaughtered the monsters any faster than he’d already done so. Logically, he knew that holding himself responsible was just plain stupid. He wasn’t a God. He wasn’t even a proper warrior. All he’d been – all he’d ever been – was a guy in over his head.

  But he’d done his very best.

  And logically., he knew that.

  Logically.

  Flynn was in no mood for logic. No mood for grief.

  All he knew was a bubbling, simmering rage that egged him to move. To act. To find the creature responsible. And there was something responsible. Of that, he was sure. The attacks had been too coordinated. Too intelligent.

  There’d been a higher power at play.

  He would ask the others for all that they knew about the creatures, and then his hunt would begin.

  But that would be for later. For now, he would put his losses to rest. Lenny held their burial service and though Flynn had attended, only half his heart had been there. The other half had been at watch, waiting. Morning or night didn’t matter to the creatures, he knew. They’d attacked at both times, and expecting daylight to keep them safe was foolish.

  He had five Illusionary Selves always wandering the surrounding forest, and he kept them replenished despite the drain. He would not be caught unawares again.

  The service had been short as a matter of necessity. Alfs were a practical lot when it came to death, and standard practice was to bury them near the roots of a mushroom – a symbolic return to the cycle of the world.

  Usually, those mushrooms would’ve been one of meaning near their tribe’s burrow. The resting place of generations. They had no such place of sentiment, so they buried them beneath the largest stalk they could find near the bone-ring.

  Silthius carved words of mourning and remembrance for his five fallen on the stalk, and Illsien did the same for Ohsthius. The elder’s face was of stone, but Flynn could see the undercurrent of emotion in his gesture. As angry as he felt, he knew that they likely felt a thousand times worse. They’d known the fallen for years, maybe even decades. He hadn’t been just a sudden travelling companion, but a true friend. Comrades in arms.

  He could not measure up to their grief, so he didn’t even try.

  Flynn allowed them their time to mourn whilst he instead distracted himself with other things. Loot. The word rang hollow in his mind, and a part of him felt disgust as he eyed at the drops he’d earned from the slaughter.

  Two spellgems, one Lucky Gift, one item and a few monster bits.

  All bought with the blood of alves. He scrunched his brow. A part of him wanted to leave the drops behind, but another part knew that he couldn’t afford to pass up any amount of strength. He’d already seen first-hand what happened when he wasn’t good enough.

  Explosive Finale

  Rank 2 Spellgem

  The projectiles, constructs or illusions cast by this spell explode at the end of their duration.

  Fumble

  Rank 1 Spellgem

  Targets struck by the socketed spell are afflicted with [Fumble].

  When afflicted with Fumble, each cast of every spell by the target has a 10% chance to fail that stacks every 25s, up to a maximum of 40%. The affliction wears off on the first successful Fumble.

  Quietstep Footpads

  Armour - Feet

  Lesser Graded

  +3 SPD

  Leather shoes made from a taken-beast's hide. Softens footsteps.

  The monster bits were stored in the bag whilst the Lucky Gift turned out to be another limerick which he discarded without a thought. The shoes were more useful, though he still wanted to discard them all the same. A part of him warred against the idea of putting any part of the bloodthirsty monsters on his person, but another part thoroughly enjoyed the idea of skinning the wretched things for clothes. At least, that way some good could come out of their lives.

  He idly wondered if the creatures would know that he was wearing them. He wondered if they would loathe him for it. He dearly hoped so.

  Turning to the spellgems, he found Fumble interesting as an effect. It wasn’t immediately useful given that he’d yet to fight a monster that had spells, except for maybe the boss. But he suspected that it’d prove its worth in the days to come. The monsters were only getting tougher, and magical enemies were an eventuality. Especially once he was back in the school.

  Eustace’s betrayal still rang fresh in his mind, and he doubted that he’d be the last person to try and stab him in the back. Only next time, he’d be better prepared.

  He summoned his book and replaced Status Extension with Fumble. Useful as it was, Fumble had no duration to extend, and he’d rather have Cheek throw down two statuses rather than one slightly longer status. So, Status Extension went into the bag for future use, leaving only Explosive Finale to be slotted.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  It was a rank two spellgem and by and large seemed no different from the others, save for maybe a slightly brighter lustre. Testing proved one key difference though. It would not allow itself to be slotted into a rank one slot. Rank one spellgems fit perfectly fine in a rank two slot, but not vice-versa. It could only go in the second slot, which meant that it could only be socketed into a rank two spell at the minimum. That was fine. He had the perfect place for it anyway.

  Slotting it into his Illusionary Self, he imagined the destruction he could rain on the taken-beasts by sending out hordes of exploding clones. The thought brought a great smile to his face. Though it meant that he could no longer use the spell for scouting, and only situationally for distractions. It was likely not the intended use for the spell, nor for his class.

  Explosions and stealth didn’t really match, but he sorely needed the firepower it provided.

  Flynn Killwen

  Lvl. 11

  Initiate

  Traits:

  [Forerunner: Monster Slayer] [Hide and Seek Professional] [Forerunner: Monster Slayer II] [Lead-Nosed] [Battle-Salved] [The David] [Slavedriver]

  Stats:

  STR:35 | SPD:43 | END:39 | PERC:32 | MPO:28 | MCP:28 | MAL:29 | MCT:24

  Unallocated Stat Points: 1

  Syscoins:

  787

  Class Spells:

  Illusionary Archer

  [Spectacle Arrow] [Illusionary Self] [Summon Bowst] [Veiled Arrow]

  Trait Spells:

  [Monster Sense] [Study Monster] [Know Slave]

  Item Spells:

  [Goliath’s Rage]

  Quests:

  1. An In-The-Body Experience

  His character sheet had really filled out in just two days. All his stats were twice what they’d been at the start with some being nearly four times as big, and he’d collected traits like a hobbyist collecting bugs. His syscoin count had especially ballooned to almost eight hundred, though that meant little when he had no idea what the value of a coin was, or even how to spend it.

  The only aspect of the sheet to not change since he'd started were his quests, and his title.

  His unallocated stat point was spent on improving his mana potency, and afterwards Flynn spent fifteen minutes doing a round of the surrounding forest, pushing his Illusionary Selves further afield to check for any monsters lurking by. He found some, but they were little more than critters scrambling around the underbrush.

  The funeral rites were over by the time he returned, and Lenny had been the one to find him first. The elder priest looked many times older than he usually did, his creases and wrinkles so much more defined on his face without his usual calm smile to bear its weight.

  He looked to Flynn, dark eyes so full of sadness. “It is customary for a master to speak during the Mourning. Would you, great Flynn?”

  Flynn shifted uncomfortably, his unease evident. The alf seemed to understand and turned away without another word. Looking at the elder’s back, Flynn felt a wave of guilt surge through him, thick and potent. “I will.” he finally said.

  The elder stopped and turned to give him a grateful look but said nothing else in return. He quietly trailed after the youth as he joined with the rest of the group. Flynn stood mutely before the stalk that had become the final resting place for people that just a day ago had been stood by his side and tried to think of something to say.

  Something that would provide the survivors with hope. With confidence.

  A slight wind caressed his hair, tussling his black locks as it swept past.

  He’d never been good at this kind of thing, even back during his over-achieving days.

  He’d been good at faking it with an easy smile and a practiced speech, but he’d never been a natural, and he’d always hated the attention. Flynn had discovered long ago that he was a man of silences, not sentences.

  But there’d been enough silence amongst the group all night long. He didn't think that he could bear with any more of it. Not when it was so suffocatingly thick, like a shroud over them all.

  The words bubbled up his throat slowly, like molasses. Flynn turned his gaze towards his group and seeing them all assembled under the light of day, the absence of the dead became all the more palpable. His gut churned painfully at the sight.

  “I... I didn’t know them as well as most of you did, so I won’t lie and say that my pain is as deep as yours. I can’t say that I’ll miss them as much as some of you will or feel their loss as much as you do. I... I just didn’t know them enough. Maybe I would have.” he paused, staring intently at the disturbed ground where their graves laid. “Maybe in a few weeks or a few months from now, I’d have known them enough to care as much as all of you do. But I can’t now, and that’s what they took from me. My friends of the future.”

  Flynn sucked in a breath. “Friends.” he repeated slowly. “I don’t have many of those. None, actually, and I’d thought that was fine. But thinking on how I was robbed of them... it pisses me off, weirdly enough. It really just... just fills me up with so much rage that I feel like I’m choking sometimes. I know you all feel the same way in that, at least. So, here’s my promise to you. I will get revenge for Ohsthius. For Osiar, Evie, Gius, Sievieth and Rosae. I'll find whatever was responsible for the monsters, and I’ll destroy everything it loves, everything it cares for, or considers its own. I’ll take everything away from it until it’s alone in the world and then maybe it’ll understand then what it took from me.”

  Flynn stopped with a breath and felt a strange sense of aloofness flood his bones. He smiled slightly and knelt low, a hand sweeping gently through the fleshy ground around the grave. "And when it’s alone and miserable, then... I’ll finally kill it. So that my friends of the future can rest in peace.” he finished quietly.

  Studying his companions, he found them all quietly contemplative. Silthius and Alsias both gave him looks of firm confidence. Whatever path he walked, he knew that he’d have their spears by his side. Illsien, surprisingly, was more muted. The former warrior’s gaze was distant.

  You have received a quest: A Vengeful Distraction

  A Vengeful Distraction

  Discover and destroy the being(s) responsible for the death of your slaves.

  Reward:

  1 Spellgem | 1 Trait | 1 Item

  Flynn studied the page, his brow furrowed before he dismissed it. He didn’t like that the book had made a game of his promise. He didn’t need any more motivation to do what needed to be done than he already had. Putting the quest from his mind, he broke their gathering and allowed everyone to return to their spots save for Alsias, Silthius and Illsien.

  Of the three, he asked them to tell him everything they knew of the taken-beasts.

  As it turned out, they knew less than he’d have hoped. Taken-beasts were, as he’d suspected, monsters under the sway of something called the spirit of the forest. They didn’t know what the spirit was, or where it resided, but the beasts had plagued them for centuries and were frequent sights up in the northern domain, often assaulting villages and holdings in bulk.

  The tribes to the north likely knew more than they did, they said. It was disappointing, but it’d have to do for now. He told them to get everyone ready to leave in ten minutes. He didn’t want to dawdle unnecessarily here. The map spoke of a tribe not too far from their location. The last before they entered the middle domain.

  Their wounded had been patched up thanks to the supplies provided by the Ozana, and aside from their losses, the survivors hadn’t been too battered to walk.

  They set off cloaked in a sullen quiet, no one in the mood for conversation. Though some tried. Mielvieu, bless his heart, kept commenting about the environs around them as they walked. It was just meaningless blather for the most part, but it helped choke the dismay from the quiet and for that Flynn was grateful. Eventually, others joined in, some of the spearmen or Lenny for a bit.

  A hint of normalcy returned, even if it was just a facade cast over darker thoughts.

  But it made the journey more tolerable. It was an hour later of cautious trekking that they finally arrived within spitting range of the Aleysi tribe’s burrow. They were apparently a more martially inclined tribe, apparent by the fact that he’d sensed their scouts quietly tracking their movements twenty minutes away from the actual burrow. When they arrived, they were greeted by a welcoming part of twenty warriors, all of them armed to the teeth, as well as the leadership council.

  Flynn had allowed Illsien to take the lead in the conversation, largely because the elder’s word would be more easily digested than his, but also because it gave him a reason to hear the man’s voice again. He’d been too quiet thus far.

  The discussion was amiable. They’d informed the Aleysi of the two attacks by the taken-beasts, to which the tribal leader had responded with a grim frown. The woman had been unsurprised. She’d received word from the Ozana tribe of their previous attack and had sent word further north, but that was all she could offer.

  It would be enough. They were allowed to restock some minor supplies, and their wounded received a more intensive go-over by the tribe’s healers. They rested for five hours near the tribe’s burrow, catching what sleep they could under their watchful eyes before they were finally sent on their way again.

  The journey through the middle-domain would take at least two days, said Alsias after referencing the map. He was fine with that. It would give him time to institute some changes once everyone was fully healed again.

  “What changes?” Mielvieu had asked when he’d mentioned it.

  “Training. All of us, together. No more fuckin’ about, especially if we’re headed into danger country. I'm not arrogant enough to say that we won’t suffer any more losses going forward, but at least I can say that we were as prepared as we could be.”