Rhea shook me awake just before dawn, boots scraping against the dirt. Her short, black hair was a mess, and her eyes had the dark rings of someone who hadn’t slept, but a small, proud smile tugged at her lips.

  “I… I think I found a way,” she said, voice low but certain. “The ritual… it can work. I spent most of the night poring over the fundamentals. I can downgrade it and work it at extreme inefficiency, but it’ll function.”

  I nodded, showing a smile for her efforts; it was good to have someone competent around. “Thank you, Rhea. Really. What do you need?”

  Her face twisted slightly. “Inefficient as it is, one person won’t be enough to heal Alya. We’ll need… more.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “More? You mean volunteers?”

  She hesitated. “Yes… but who would give years of their life for a stranger? Even after helping and fighting… nobody will do it.”

  I smirked. “We won’t make anyone do it. Not from the group.” I let the words hang, letting her curiosity grow before continuing. “We’ll use the gorgs. Or any monster we find.”

  Her eyes widened. “How… how do you plan to bring one here? You’ll probably need more than one too.”

  I looked at her straight in the eyes and said. “Leave that to me.”

  She blinked for a second, then refocused. “How long until the ritual is ready?”

  “At least four to five hours,” she replied. “I have some ingredients, but drawing it and studying it properly won’t be easy. And, I’ll need some… hearts, possibly.”

  I raised a brow. “Hearts?”

  “Yes,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “They’re a strong symbol and related to what we’re trying to do. At least five.”

  “I got you,” I said, nodding once. “Prepare it as soon as you can. I’ll go hunting.”

  She frowned. “Elias, I know you’re capable… but don’t kill yourself helping others.”

  I shrugged, nonchalant and confident, without needing to explain. “Thank you for your concern. But don’t worry about me; I’m going to be fine.”

  “Fine… I’m going to prepare then; there’s much to do.” She got up and made for a side of the clearing without any people; I let her go after waving goodbye.

  As she went, I lingered, conflicted. The cursed potions in my backpack, combined with the grimoire… it could give me another boost to my trait, maybe more than ever before. But not now. Not before my… double quest to save the damsel in distress and to gain a lead in levels. I shoved the thought aside and moved to check on the damsel in question.

  The girl looked worse than yesterday, if that was possible. Deathly pale, torso and leg swollen and darkened, the internal bleeding hadn’t abated despite the potions and the healer’s skills. It was a miracle she was still alive. She lay unconscious, fragile as a candle flame. I didn’t touch her; I let Mary tend to her.

  “Keep her alive another half day,” I said quietly.

  Mary looked unconvinced, exhaustion heavy in her eyes, but she nodded. She probably hadn’t slept a wink either.

  “How are the other wounded?”

  “Stable,” she replied. “Not healed despite everything, but in a couple of days they should be good enough to move again. It’s an incredible speed of recovery compared to what it was before magic, and our skills are improving and making things faster still. If it wasn’t for the dangers of this place… it would be a fantastic world to live in.”

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “I am afraid we just saw the tip of the iceberg, Mary. If what Aurelia said is true, this is nothing.” I said to Mary I wasn’t trying to be a defeatist, but the reality was what it was, and she was a hardy one; she knew the stakes were high.

  Next, I found Tom, still on watch, the dark valley stretching beneath us. I joined him, standing and watching the surroundings for a moment.

  “Yesterday…” I started, letting the words out slowly, “the battle, the people running. We had maybe eight competent fighters. Everyone else panicked.”

  Tom’s jaw tightened. “I know. We’re forming teams now, trying to keep the rest busy and active. Until the wounded are stable, either through healing or recovery, we’re not moving. Monsters like those… constantly moving won’t keep anyone alive. People need time to grow into their classes and their skills. Gain the power to continue the journey.”

  I nodded, on the surface agreeing, but inside I sneered. These people, now that they want to camp… they’ll never reach the pillar without a push. Not a chance.

  “Tom,” I said carefully, lowering my voice. “I have a plan. I’ll go hunt some monsters and bring them back. Rhea will use them for a ritual. The wounded… they’ll be fine soon if everything goes well.”

  His face hardened for a moment, considering. “Are you certain this is what you want to do?”

  “I need to,” I replied firmly. “I won’t let the only ones who fought valiantly die when I have the means to save them.”

  I felt the familiar sting of the curse press against my mind, a reminder that time wasn’t on my side. I had to move.

  Tom’s eyes softened, a mix of respect and concern. “You’re a good man… I would accompany you gladly, but I still have a limp; there were no more potions to go around yesterday, so I’ll have to pass this time. I’ll keep watch over the camp; that at least I can do.”

  I clapped him lightly on the arm. “Thanks, I know I can count on you.”

  Straightening, I strode to the centre of the camp. The survivors were still waking, groaning, rubbing their eyes, and trying to comprehend if the previous day was a dream or not. I wanted to call them to arms, to make them rise up to the occasion, but then the reality of the situation dawned on me. Of the entirety of the group, the only combat-oriented classes available were a grand total of eleven, me included. A pity that between these eleven people, the ones not injured were a single fighter, two mages, a middle-aged woman and a teenage boy, and our only rogue. And they were needed to defend the camp.

  My plan to rally some help went out of the window before it even began. I wanted at least another squad to go around and gather monsters, or at least to level up and become a reliable asset, but the conditions weren’t really optimal. No matter, I’ll do it myself. Well, with a little help.

  I moved through the camp, stepping around sleeping bodies and the mess of gear scattered everywhere. Quinn’s bedroll was near the edge, half-buried under blankets and someone’s discarded jacket. The kid was out cold, messy brown hair plastered over half his face. For a second he looked peaceful.

  Too peaceful for this place.

  I nudged him with the side of my boot. “Quinn.”

  The reaction was instant—too fast for someone who looked that dead asleep. The boy jolted awake with a gasp, hand shooting inside the bedroll and coming out with a knife. He went straight for my leg, pure instinct and terror, but I lifted my boot and pinned his wrist to the ground, the blade stopping just short of cutting into me.

  “Nice reflexes,” I said.

  He blinked hard, the fog clearing from his eyes. Colour rose to his cheeks: shame, embarrassment. He turned his face away. “Thanks. …Can you let me go now?”

  “Sure.”

  I took my foot off him, and he sat up, rubbing his wrist but saying nothing.

  “We’re going hunting,” I told him. “Monsters. If everything works out, we’re going to level a bunch and also drag a few back alive… or alive enough for Rhea to use. I need someone stealthy. Someone who can scout well. You in?”

  His head snapped up at the same time the word 'level' left my mouth. The brightness in his eyes was almost blinding – greed, hope, and hunger all rolled together. He didn’t even try to hide it.

  “When do we go?” he asked.

  “As soon as you’re ready.”

  He scrambled up immediately, gathering clothes and stuffing gear into the belt around his waist. I left him to it and stepped away from camp, relieving myself behind a cluster of trees, then choked down one of the tasteless ration bars. After that I checked my pack, potions, and the grimoire. I asked around and got some rope, an empty spare bag for the hearts, and water. Enough to get into trouble and maybe enough to get out of it.

  Quinn approached a minute later. I glanced at him; seven knives were on his belt now. Two longer ones at his hips, the other five smaller blades belonging to the fallen. He wore them like he’d always owned them.

  Good. The kid was gearing up for war.

  “Where do we go?” Quinn asked.

  “Where did you find the most traces yesterday?” I asked back.

  “When the trail split,” he said instantly. “About an hour before we made camp.”

  “Then lead the way.”

  He nodded, eager and wired, and I followed him out of camp, the forest yawning open before us like a hungry mouth.

  But today, we were hungrier.