After Wes checked all the bodies for money, and got an amount he also didn't know the real significance of, he had a thought.
If he could get 'points' from the wolf thing, or rift wolf he'd killed...what about people? Wes hesitated, his fingers hovering over the nearest corpse's cooling flesh. The idea repulsed him on some fundamental level—this wasn't some alien monster, but a man. A thief and slaver, yes, but still human. He clenched his jaw and pressed his palm against the dead man's chest.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then—
The same prompt he'd received from the rift wolf.
Wes exhaled sharply through his nose. His thumb hovered over the dead man's collarbone, the flesh already cooling beneath his touch. The choice felt heavier this time—more deliberate. With the rift wolf, it had been instinct, or maybe experiment. This was calculation, using bodies as a resource.
He chose yes.
Power surged into him like a lightning strike, different than what he'd taken from the wolf.
It felt...maybe half of what he normally gets per day, so about 50 points of energy. Feeling ghoulish, but excited, he went to the other two bodies and did the same, giving himself another 100 energy, for about 150 energy stolen, total.
Next, he went to the three other bodies, collecting their energy, bringing his "on hand" energy from the would-be ambushers up to 300 points.
With a moment of thought, hiding what he was doing from the other men, he used the points to activate Cosmic Vending. Then he manifested a nice, budget pocket knife, and a few boxes of 9mm ammo.
He barely had any more resources left after that, and the boxes of bullets were heavy in his pockets. Once that was done, he returned to the bodies of the flankers and grabbed the dead enemies' weapons, figuring the crossbows in particular might be worth something.
Wes moved back to the campsite. Harken and Jorn stood frozen as Wes approached, the stolen crossbows slung over his shoulder. The firelight painted their faces in flickering amber, highlighting the deep lines of tension around Harken's eyes and the way Jorn's throat worked as he swallowed hard. Lissa peeked from behind her brother, her fingers twisted in the fabric of his tunic.
"You took their weapons." Harken's voice was flat.
"I figured they are worth something, right?"
The grizzled man nodded toward the crossbows. "Aye. Mercosa's arms dealers pay decent coin for serviceable weapons. Copper to silver, but that’s how it always is." His gaze flicked to the distant pyre of the Crostlik camp still burning against the night sky. "But looting dead men brings trouble."
Jorn stepped forward, his own crossbow now slung across his back. "Trouble's already here." He reached for one of the weapons, testing the draw weight with a practiced motion. Then the younger man looked up from the looted crossbow and swallowed. "Why did you go to their camp and...do what you did there?"
Wes sighed. "The attackers intended to kill you--us--men, and take Lissa. I confirmed that those in the other camp knew about it. But even if I hadn't confirmed it, I would have taken them out. For something like this, with a group that is proven enemies, I wanted no witnesses."
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"There are the other groups, though!" Jorn points to the fires further out in the night in the other direction.
Wes nodded. "Yes, but all they saw was flashes of lights and booms in the night. They will likely be on edge, guarding, but why would they come over here? Even if they did, they’d bring torches and we’d see them, be able to think of something. But they also knew where the Crostliks camped and that the campsite is currently on fire. In the morning, we can just do what you implied the Crostliks do; lie about what happened. Say monsters did it. Whatever. None of that is possible with other witnesses. So you three can figure out what our story will be if anyone asks us, and I will go along with it."
Harken's fingers drummed against his cudgel, the rhythm uneven. "Crostlik raids get blamed on rift wolves often enough." His gaze drifted to the still-burning camp downstream. "But fire or rift wolves doesn't explain those wounds."
Jorn tested the draw on one of the scavenged crossbows again, the string creaking under tension. "We say we don't know. That we heard fighting, saw flashes—"
"Exactly," said Wes. "It's flashes and noises in the night. If we said we knew what it was, that would be stranger than just being confused, right?"
Harven gave Wes a long look. "You take to all of this a little too well, stranger."
"Stranger? Not ‘Wes?’ I just saved your family." Wes sat down, suddenly exhausted, mind, body, and spirit.
Harken spat into the fire, the embers hissing. "Aye. You did. Doesn't make you any less dangerous” He paused. “Although, I, we, are grateful.”
Jorn shifted uneasily, glancing between his father and Wes. The stolen crossbow hung heavy in his hands. "We should...we should check their animals before they wander off. Might be worth something."
"I already let the ones at the camp go. Or at least, I cut their lines,” said Wes. “It wouldn't make sense to blame the attack on monsters if the horses weren't spooked or eaten."
Harken grunted, rubbing his calloused palms together near the fire. "Smart. Animals spook easy when rift wolves come near." His gaze flicked to the distant glow of the other travelers' campfires. "Those merchants won't poke their noses in before morning. Too scared of what they heard."
With a sigh, Wes said, "I didn't take weapons from the Crostlik camp. It makes most sense for you to say we were petrified in fear in our camp, and wouldn't even go out with a torch. Taking the crossbows and such from the three flankers I can say I did in the morning. I didn't want anything from the three who were acting as distractions, the spearmen."
Harken's nodded slowly, his eyebrows moving as he thought. "Can’t fault anything. Smart thinking." The firelight carved deep shadows under his eyes as he glanced at Jorn. "Pack what we can carry. We move at first light—before the others work up courage to investigate."
Jorn opened his mouth to protest, but Lissa tugged his sleeve. "They'll have questions," she whispered.
Her brother's jaw clenched. "Better questions later than a grave now. And Pa’s right. If we move out early, maybe we can dodge more attention." He turned away.
Wes watched the exchange silently. The adrenaline had bled out of him, leaving hollow exhaustion in its wake. His fingers traced the outline of the Dungeon Core Fragment in his pocket.
He noticed that despite Jorn's brave words, his hands were shaking.
***
The rest of the night passed quickly and uneventfully. Wes left and broke camp with Harken and his children right at first light, and he breathed a sigh of relief that they beat all the other campers in the area this way.
As they left, he felt a pang of regret for not "farming" the other dead bodies for points, but he'd already decided not to go back to the Crostlik campsite for a variety of reasons. The wagon wheels clacked as they rolled away from the riverbank, the rising sun casting long shadows across the road. Lissa sat huddled in the back, her usual chatter silenced since the night's events. She clutched the fidget spinner like a talisman, its plastic edges digging into her palm.
Harken guided the horse with practiced ease, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon. "We'll reach Mercosa by midday."
Wes nodded, not entirely sure what to expect. In some ways this world was medieval, or maybe quasi-renaissance, but it also had magic, and some weird, anachronistic practices and technology. For instance, he'd heard of running water in the larger cities.
The wagon wheels kicked up dust as the road widened, gradually showing signs of more frequent travel—deep ruts from cart wheels, hoofprints pressed into sunbaked earth. The plains gave way to scattered farmsteads, their simple roofs peeking above low stone walls. Workers in rough clothing straightened from their labors to watch the wagon pass, eyes lingering on Wes's strange clothing.
And then, finally, Wes got his first look at Mercosa in the distance.