Hushed voices whispered over a crackling fire. The forest canopy was above his head, the branches and leaves muddy smears to his eyes. Grant’s ears rang, and his entire head throbbed, his forehead worst of all. His Notifications’ incessant cries for attention were making it worse.
[-71 Health (Blunt Force)]
[+24 Health (Life Leech)]
[…]
[You have slain Rune Elk!]
[You have gained 1,142 Experience and 114 Points!]
[You have reached level 2!]
[You have reached level 3!]
[Agility has increased to 28!]
[Perception has increased to 25!]
[Wisdom has increased to 19!]
[…]
[You have been Healed by Soothing Winds!]
He tried to groan, but it came out more like a shrill whimper. Consciousness was good, as was the agony that came with it. His head itched and was sticky to the touch, and it left speckles of dried blood on his fingertips when he scratched it. Also good. It meant he wasn’t dead yet.
The dagger’s Leech effect had probably saved his life, along with a Spell called Soothing Winds.
“Soothing Winds?” he tried to mumble. He couldn’t hear his own voice, but the words probably sounded more like a wet blubbering sound, judging by the drool that leaked down his cheek. If a Spell had been cast on him, that could only mean—
He jolted upright, and the world spun in a dizzy haze. His eyes swept slowly over the landscape, looking for the prisoners but finding three blurry figures seated around the campfire he had built.
He tried to activate Perfect Invisibility.
[No time remaining. Recharging in 7 hours, 19 minutes, and 26 seconds.]
He lay back down, rubbing his head. There was a pillow under his neck and a blanket draped over his body. He was Invisible when the elk’s kick landed, and his time on the Skill must have run out when he was unconscious. If there were only seven hours left on its Recharge time, did that mean he had been out for 16 hours? Judging by his bladder not being on the verge of bursting, only minutes had passed.
Grant took a long, steady breath, letting his arms and legs go slack. If the three wanted him dead, they could have easily killed him a thousand times, and they certainly wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of making him so comfortable before it. His tossing and rustling had attracted their attention, and a figure rushed over, placing a cool hand on his forehead.
[You have been Healed by Soothing Winds!]
His vision sharpened, and he focused on the feminine face above his. Sharp green eyes on a pale white face were full of concern and sympathy. “Borei shi’aara!” she yelled to the two behind her, waving them over.
Thinking was still like wading through knee-deep mud, but even in Grant’s current state, he could tell that wasn’t a language he had ever heard. They rushed to his side, and the three of them began shouting at the same time.
As his gaze darted from person to person, everything about them was out of place. Of course, all foreign languages sounded fast to a non-native speaker—especially one with potential brain damage—but theirs was seemingly composed of nearly all vowel sounds that bled together in rapid strings. The two women and the man spoke over each other, but they weren’t fighting; it was as if they could speak while listening.
Eventually, they stopped and stared down at him. The second woman ran her fingers through her blonde hair and clicked her tongue, her face screwed up in a pained grimace.
I know what that means, Grant thought. He was sure uncertainty and anxiety were splattered across his face.
“Where are you from?” she asked in perfect Evenonian. The words did not come out harsh or demanding; they were casual—almost friendly, Grant would dare say.
“Lyria?” he tried. To some, it would be a meaningless word. To those from certain areas of his world, saying he was from Evenon could earn him a sword through the heart, and for good reason too. He wouldn’t trust a man from the Gracian Empire to watch his back any more than he would trust a cat to guard a bucket of fish.
He realized he’d gripped the blanket tight enough to make his hands shake and let go, then realized the people he was talking to probably had no idea what Lyria, Gracia, Evenon or Iori even were.
She nodded, and the three went back to their native language.
The woman pointed to the side, where the elk’s lifeless body lay. “Did you do that?”
Grant let his head roll in the direction of her finger. The elk had collapsed on its belly, lying limply in a pool of blood that had frozen, a web of white ice sprawling across its surface. Its lower jaw sagged, and its eyes were dark.
“Uh, yes. I guess I got lucky?” He paused, wondering if he should have lied, then decided there wasn’t much point to it.
The fire crackled as the three regarded him expressionlessly.
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“We were sent to deal with this creature,” she continued. “I am Nevara, the woman who Healed you is Vaeri, and this man is Erlan. We are experienced in fiend hunting, and we prepared for this expedition for days.”
Grant didn’t know what to say about that. Was she angry that he had taken the Experience and Points? Happy that he had done their work for them? He settled on a question.
“What is a fiend?” he asked. “Oh, and I’m Grant,” he added.
All three of them stared blankly at him, as if he had asked what the moon was. It was the man, Erlan, who eventually answered.
“A fiend is anything which has been afflicted with the Curse of the Tomb Fiend. When his Curse sinks its claws into a living creature, even death provides no release. Listen.” Erlan pointed toward the elk.
As if on cue, the elk let out a nearly inaudible guttural moan. Its tongue dangled out, slack as an untied rope in the wind, and white bubbles of saliva frothed from its mouth. When Grant looked closely, he could see its throat still moved, as if it yet gasped for air. A fresh wave of unease rolled over him, and he swallowed nervously.
“The beast is dead, but the Curse lives,” Erlan continued. He slowly shook his head, long hair swaying. “When the carcass rots beyond recognition and its bones disintegrate to time, its Curse will remain, spreading to any weak-willed beings within a certain range.”
The throbbing in Grant’s head had mostly subsided, and in its place remained countless questions. “Not to ask too much, but could I have some water? Also, where are we? I’m not exactly from around here.”
Vaeri, their Healer, pulled a paper map from her pocket and unfolded it while Erlan handed him a water skin. As Grant drank, still woozy from the kick, spilling water onto their blanket and wiping his mouth, she pointed out landmarks on the map.
“The continent we’re on is Celand, and we’re here,” she said as she pointed, “at the tip of the Aanor Peninsula.” Her face was close enough that he could smell the sweetness on her breath, but she seemed completely unbothered by the lack of personal space. “The town to our west is Estreia,” she continued, and Grant’s eyes followed as her long finger slid down the paper, about three-quarters of the way to the southern edge of the continent. “And this is where the capital city Ospen is.”
Grant ran the names through his head again. Celand is the continent, Aanor the peninsula, Ospen is the capital, and Estreia is the nearest town. He wished he could copy the map. Maybe he could ask for a copy. “I believe I saw Estreia from atop a tree. Reckoned it would take no more than a few hours on foot to get there.” He scratched his head. “What is the name of this world?”
“Kethari,” said Erlan.
He inspected the map and found the cliffs extended from coast to coast. His index finger landed on them. “How can you get over the cliffs to the south? If my friends are on the same continent as I am, they’re probably down there.”
“You can’t,” said Nevara. She gave a tight smile, shaking her head. “That’s wyrm territory. It is controlled by Bay’kol, her whelps, and her fanatics. The only way through is around by ship.”
Grant sighed. “So, please correct me if I’m wrong. This forest has creatures infected with the Fiend Curse. To the north is nothing but seas, and to the south are unscalable cliffs with a dragon guarding them?”
“A wyrm, not a dragon,” corrected Erlan.
“A wyrm,” repeated Grant. He didn’t know the difference. “So the only way to go is west, toward…” he started, but he struggled to remember the town name.
“Estreia,” said Nevara.
“Right, toward Estreia,” said Grant. “Or I could go east, deeper into the forest.”
Nevara held up a hand. “Do not go east. The Curse has invaded these lands, and its influence is the thickest there.”
None of it made any sense to Grant. “Why would there be an isolated town in this region, surrounded by wyrms, fanatics, and a fiend’s Curse?” The dead elk moaned again, as if it were reacting to mention of its affliction.
“The Curse only began spreading here months ago, and the Cult of Bay’kol mostly keep to themselves,” said Nevara. “Or at least now they do. The townsfolk remain because this region has the richest farmland on the continent. It is one of the few places where Mana orchards can flourish. A week of farming here can feed a family of four for a year, and a single basket of the fruit these lands bear can enhance a soldier’s Attributes more than a month of training.”
Erlan grabbed her arm tightly, cutting her off with a sharp look. Her lips straightened and she nodded.
“We were waiting for the Campaign to purge it from the lands,” he continued for her. “Do you have any comrades capable of taking on this task?” His expression was eager, his voice hopeful.
Grant barked out a laugh. “You mean the 49 prisoners who tried to murder me the second I arrived?”
The looks on their faces turned into pure horror. Nevara just stared with her mouth hanging open, Vaeri looked at the ground and clutched her brown hair, and Erlan’s lip curled. Any friendliness he had just moments before had evaporated, and he looked at Grant as he might a man who had just spat on his boot.
I… shouldn’t have said that.
“Does this mean you are among these prisoners?” Erlan asked. His voice was as sharp and cold as a blade.
Grant hesitated. He could see how this would make him look, and he knew that Erlan would see through any lie he tried to pass off in a second. “I made some officers angry.” He swallowed and released his grip on the blankets. “As punishment, I was sent through the Portal with the worst of the worst, and they were the ones designated to this region.”
The water skin was jerked out of his hand. Erlan stood up to gather his belongings. “We’ve heard enough.” Nevara and Vaeri hesitated and tried to reason with the man for a moment in their native language, but he wasn’t interested in discussion.
“Where are we going?” Grant asked.
“We,” Erlan started, pointing toward himself and his party members, “are going to return to town to begin evacuation procedures. We prayed for a raid to rid us of the Curse, but it seems our God was in a humorous mood when he sent us prisoners.” He shoved their belongings into a satchel and gestured for Grant to get off the blanket. “As for you, I do not care. But do not assume you will be welcome in the town.”
Anger bubbled up from Grant's belly. “I am not a prisoner. I am guilty of no crime but refusing to roll over for my world’s officers.”
“Insubordination is a high crime,” Erlan snapped.
“They tried to have me killed!”
Erlan ignored him, shoving more items into his satchel, pressing down on the inside so more would fit, growing frustrated as he had to remove and rearrange some. “Because you did the realm and Estreia a service, we will allow you to leave. We have Healed and provided you with water and information, which is more than adequate return for what you did for us.”
He stopped packing for a moment and turned his body towards Grant. “I will also give you one more piece of information, not for your benefit, but for ours. The thicker the Curse in the area is, the more likely you are to be afflicted by it. Your Wisdom is the greatest defense against its worst effects, and if it is under five, I suggest you find any way out of the area you can.” He nodded toward the cliffs. “Do not approach the cliffs of Bay’kol either, as they will force you to join their cult. I would rather not have to put you down.”
“My Wisdom is fine,” snapped Grant, “and I would rather die than join a cult.” He looked toward the women, seeking something between a desperate and pitiful look. “I can’t go east. I can’t go south or west. Where am I supposed to go?”
Nevara wore a hesitant expression on her white face, and for a short moment, he felt she may argue on his behalf. She opened her mouth, then closed it when Erlan glared at her. “I follow my commanding officer’s orders,” she said, stepping to his side. Vaeri just nodded, eyes still on the ground.
“Now, if you are quite finished trying to turn my soldiers against me,” Erlan continued, “we will be on our way.” They turned west toward the town, leaving the fire and Grant behind.
