Path of the Slayer B3 6. Socialites & Crusaders

[You’ve entered the Final Rose Auction House: Rank 4 (Legendary).]

It was weird going through a mini dimensional gate without my greatsword on my back.

No armor. No helmet.

Just my ruined Rank 5 clothes that cost a Rare fortune regardless of how fragile they were. That and the personification of the Doom Brand hanging on my back.

Still, I let the spatial shift flow over me. Void-like darkness blinked over my vision before I was snapped forward into a glitzy foyer that opened into a spacious room.

My forward stride remained unbroken no matter what. My gaze swept from left to right, up and down, and all around, searching for threats.

My ears pricked for the snap and whoosh of every person in my squad while counting myself and our one Ranker: three, six, nine, fourteen. That was all of us.

Next, I let the loud music, flashy lights, and scantily dressed auction servants draw more of my attention. I was still wary of threats, but it didn’t seem like there were any.

Once I was certain there was no immediate attack, I reexamined my System Logs. There was more than just the usual entrance notification.

[Beware! This Auction House is a space of antiphysical violence! Resorting to direct and/or physical confrontation is highly unfavorable under normal System Parameters while inside.]

The words ‘under normal System Parameters’ stuck out to me the most.

Was there an abnormal set of parameters for conducting direct and physical confrontation?

Also, the System harped on the word ‘physical’ twice. If that wasn’t a warning of something other that could happen without being hands on, I didn’t know what was.

“Welcome, ye of fat bellies and endless hunger, of beady eyes and envious glares, of twitchy fingers and lustful touches. Welcome all who worship and honor the power of being rich and powerful and oh so connected,” Thumper said, his voice like a wicked merchant mogul.

Both me and Merlin turned toward the half-giant, almost expecting him to throw away his cover and become the lost prince. He remained slightly stooped over with waterfall black hair covering his face.

“Very well said, Elder Thumper,” Weaver commented, the drider striding forward with a gait that was on beat with the music.

He waved away a few of the scantily dressed servants who must’ve been drawn by his grace.

The Spider Pathwalker frowned. “In another life, this would be my destiny. In another life, I would’ve truly hated myself.”

“In this current life, this is my kingdom, my heaven.” Syleth swiveled her hips around to the beat of the music as she slithered up. Her festive clothing seemed even more colorful here, her jewelry gleaming under the glam and flashing lights.

The Charmer circled around me “Why is it I can tell Elder Arden’s not much of a party goer?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with how he’s always a stoic fossil in every situation,” Merlin said, barely loud enough to be heard under all the music. “Here I am trying not to reek of desperation or speak in the tongue of muggles. An academy dropout from a working class shouldn’t be around these types in a strictly social setting.”

Syleth giggled at that, her focus zeroing on Merlin more.

The manic smile on Noodles’ face dimmed a little.

Marnarka was the next to make herself stand out to me, which was a considerable effort from her. The half-minotaur was of few words, and those words were slow and bashful.

“Can I … help protect you?” Marnarka asked shyly. “So you don’t have to bother, sir?”

Withholding my judgment, I turned and looked beyond the music, the lights, the large space, dark corners, and the many servants offering various services, innocent and not.

I noticed the many hallways leading to different areas and the shifting auctioneers, many of which were adorned with enchanted masks to hide their identities. Others wore no masks.

I was like the latter, forgoing the option of being discreet.

The boldest course was our only course at this point.

There were plenty of auctioneers looking at us in return. Most of them were examining me. Others were looking at my squad as if aiming to pick off a weak link or two.

In most cases, it would be best to shore up all our defenses and remain airtight.

But there were hidden rules to being in an Auction House. Regardless of the antiviolence parameters, we were here to wage an economical war.

The Slayer in me wanted to make it easier for our prey to come to us.

Marnarka was slowly shuffling to the back when I snapped my metal fingers up at her. With a flick of my index, I beckoned for her to stand next to me.

Then I turned toward the others. “Zez, do as you please. Marnarka, Redfang, Brug, and Grimmy with me. We’re the warrior team. Velira, Weaver, and Noodles with Thumper. You’re the rogue team. Kroker and Syleth with Merlin for the caster team.”

Over half of the juniors looked confused, but they shifted toward their designated elder and teams anyway.

Despite Merlin’s discomfort and Thumper’s raw edge, my friends knew what to do from here. We could explain to the juniors on the way.

For now, we split apart with our separate teams.

It wasn’t a surprise that Veteran Zez hovered behind the warriors. I was taking all the upfront and less sociable Pathwalkers with me, after all. And other than Marnarka perhaps, my team didn’t have the sharpest weapons on the rack.

The half-minotaur gulped loudly as she realized the scenario I was placing them while casually strolling around the perimeter. Redfang was frolicking to my right with a big and toothy smile. To my left, Grimmy had greedy yellow eyes for all the displays that decorated the area with items worth more than our fashion. Brug was in the back with the cart holding our lost nomad.

“Sir … Arden,” Marnarka called nervously.

I thought about insisting on ‘The Nomad’ part, but then I realized that would get out of hand down the road. The entire name wasn’t needed all the time.

“Yes?” I slowed down and looked up at her.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and whisper-shouted. “The nobles. They’re watching us. Like coyotes looking into the chicken coop. And, um…” She trailed off.

I raised an eyebrow. I hadn’t done that in a while.

Marnarka stuttered. “We don’t have a Velira or Syleth or Elder Thumper to help us. And, um, the Elder Veteran isn’t supposed to help much unless it’s against another Veteran.”

I smiled warmly as I spoke with the words of the devil. “Congrats, Young Marnarka. Thank you for volunteering to be our team’s face. Your concern for our social wellbeing is well noted.”

“No, please!” She bellowed over the music before letting out a bovine squeak. “Eek! I’m sorry for being loud. But I can’t be the face. I’m … too big. And I’m … too ugly.”

“No, you’re not! You’re pretty! And you’re way smarter than me, Marnarka!” Redfang snapped.

“Yeah! And if someone bullies you … I’ll scare them worse than Doomie!” Grimmy exclaimed.

“Wait, Doomie?” I questioned.

The juniors completely ignored me as Brug tapped his fist on Marnarka’s big arm. “You’re a protector. And protectors are smart. Me, I’m not smart. And because I can’t hit these nobles, I’ll need your protection.”

“Seriously, who came up with Doomie?” I pestered. “That’s a terrible name. We cannot go with Doomie.”

Again, they ignored me. I would’ve been more irritated if it wasn’t for Marnarka’s confidence rising from the others’ encouragement.

Sighing, I let the Doomie name go for now and watch Marnarka be a different type of Bulwark.

She gently grasped the hem of her fluffy light purple ball gown. Then she raised her dress off the floor enough for her lengthy stride to move with more poise.

With her large, eight-foot frame leading our warrior team, I could hold back and be in the middle of them. It felt easier to instruct from here.

“I’d dealt with nobles before,” I said. “When you’re someone who puts more attention on your blade or claws or whatever it takes to make the enemy bleed, you may think you aren’t equipped to deal with nobles and their sharp tongues. But you are.”

“But isn’t it true? We can’t match a noble in talking. And I can’t hit them like you can,” Brug said.

“What if … I bite them? But only a little? Just enough to warn them?” Redfang offered.

“Can I poke them with the sharp end of my sword and then run away?” Grimmy asked.

“Can we try being kind? Maybe if we talk it out, we can all see past our differences?” Marnarka asked as we strolled through an area filled with standing tables and fountains of alcohol.

Having Marnarka up front truly acted as a decent deterrent.

They must’ve known about the display outside. I didn’t need someone to protect me, yet Marnarka had the honor of doing so, warding away the weakest vultures.

“Kindness is reserved for those who can reciprocate and are deserving,” I answered. “This is not truly a social event. This is a battlefield. Thus, you must focus all of your brutality, your killing intent, your savage attitude, your warrior ethos, and everything you’ve trained for…

“And you take all of that and direct it into your attitude. Let your words feel as if you’re on the verge of killing whoever dares disrespects you. And you can do it without yelling, cursing, or making an overt threat. You can even do so while speaking in a pleasant tone. It’s all in how you focus it.”

“Is this natural intimidation?” Brug piped up.

“Advanced intimidation!” Redfang cheered.

“Is that really necessary?” Marnarka asked.

“I want to see it,” Grimmy demanded. “Show us, sir, show us.”

“No. You’ve seen this from me plenty already.” I suppressed the smile that wanted to show on my face as I spotted an easy target. “Marnarka. You are on Path of the Bulwark. You want to protect. Well, here’s your opportunity. This kid coming up is going to try forcing his way to reach me. Are you really going to let that happen?”

Before Marnarka could openly doubt herself, a sharply dressed and youthful noble stepped toward us while we were among some art displays.

A bit of panic appeared in Marnarka’s eyes.

The noble saw blood in the water and quickened his pace to walk around the half-minotaur’s big frame. Before Redfang or Grimmy could intervene, Marnarka’s soft brown eyes hardened.

She stepped up and seemed to grow even larger.

“Pardon, young master, but you shouldn’t approach Sir Arden the Nomad unannounced. We are still getting our bearings in this new space. It would be welcoming of you to be patient until we are more ready for conversation.”

Marnarka’s tone was prim, proper, and slightly stiff. I could hear the nervousness squeaking through her words, and she was standing tensely.

The noble boy recognized the same quickly. With a growing sneer, he prepared to say something sharp.

Marnarka made one subtle step forward and seemed to transform before our eyes. She seemed to grow even larger, if not physically, but with her mere presence.

“Do note, to offend me, who is the Bulwark of my elder, is to offend he who has chosen me. And to offend him is not allowable. I’m to protect him. And those who dare challenge my protection will find no mercy.”

She seemed bigger, weightier, and more powerful, her words shaking the air with minimum energy used. She towered over the noble who shrank into himself and couldn’t utter a word.

Turning quickly, the young master made for a sweaty retreat while Marnarka watched him go with a crushing glare and a moody huff. Then her expression broke down as she gasped and shivered.

“That was too scary,” she moaned.

“Are you kidding? That was fantastic!” Redfang cheered.

“I told ma in her death shack I’ll marry a proper half-orc woman. I might consider a half-minotaur now,” Brug said.

“I wanted to see Marnarka step on him.” Grimmy let out an evil snicker. “I bet she can make him go splat, splat!”

I shook my head at the half-goblin in the tutu before looking up at the half-minotaur. I smiled. “That was perfect. If you can keep doing that, I can show you a different side of me.”

They all looked shocked as I smiled more and added a bit more levity to my attitude. It almost felt like I became that adventurer instructor in the classrooms again.

I chuckled at their gobsmacked reactions. “What? I’m not serious all the time.” I waved them off. “Now, come. I think I see someone who’s actually worth my time.”

A middle-aged man stood out from all the rest. He was dressed in heavy plated armor that was functional while adorned with badges of honor. He wore no helmet, but he had on a dark tricorn hat. When the flashing lights caught his face, I noticed an ugly scar running along it.

There was a distance to cross over to reach the scarred older man.

I turned to my warrior team. “All of you, practice what Marnarka pulled off. Speak like you’re a noble warrior on the verge of going savage while also being polite.”

As we crossed the space, I let my juniors act like well-trained attack dogs, diverting nobles who weren’t worth my time. I ignored the offer of drinks from the scantily dressed servants and continued to make my measured approach.

Nothing went perfectly, of course.

Grimmy got too animated and nearly smacked at the hand of a noble woman. Keeping the parameters in mind, I settled a hand on Grimmy’s shoulder as the noble woman – a bone-skinny elf – screamed about an attack on her person.

The older man in heavy plate armor stepped in. “Quiet your tongue or I’ll quiet it for you. Believe me, I’ve stocked up more than enough positive karma to waste it here, you knife-eared devil!”

The elf girl clenched her jaw and stepped back. She retreated quickly while shooting glares over her shoulder.

I patted Marnarka’s arm, and she instantly relaxed and stepped aside. Once the way was cleared, I smiled at the scarred older man and let a joke roll out at his expense.

“You must be into some sinful crap if silencing her is going to strip you of positive karma.”

“I have no love for sin,” he grunted back.

“Weren’t you proposing to shove your old tongue down her throat to quiet her?” I stuck a thumb over my shoulder in the direction the elf woman went.

To my surprise, the older man blushed. “I would never. I swore off such things.” He glared around at our shared space. “I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t in the service of those more chosen than me. There are certain types here I must monitor.”

“What types would those be?” I asked.

“That depends. Are you truly a servant of the Dragon Princess? Or a mercenary? Because if it’s the latter, surely you can find more gain by aligning your services with the bastion of humanity.”

I looked at my party before meeting the Crusader’s eyes again. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m very welcoming to different folks.”

“And that is perfectly fine as long as they know their place,” the Crusader replied automatically.

Marnarka and Grimmy shifted uncomfortably. Redfang and Brug didn’t seem to mind, but it was obvious they were watching me more closely.

That was fine. I would’ve done the same if I were in their position.

I kept the conversation curt. “I’m going to auction something. A weapon that the Dragon Princess wanted. Something rarely seen outside of conceptual designs.”

The Crusader’s stance became more assertive without being a threat. “Whatever it is, it shouldn’t be left in the hands of the Dragon Princess. Don’t auction it. Let us operatives of the Chosen Prince buy it directly.”

I leaned into Warrior Nomad Mentality and checked for any subtle manipulations – ah, there it was!

The bastard was tricky. His manipulative magic was so subtle, I would’ve thought everything he said was strictly reasonable.

Now that I was aware, I could tell the others were getting pulled into this old Crusader’s faux charm – except for Marnarka.

She must’ve activated her Path Magic: Mental Reinforcement. The growing tension in her body spoke of barely contained violence that wanted to break out against the old Crusader.

We couldn’t resort to physical violence, though. But there were other options.

Path Magic activated: Tyrannosaurus Roar (alternated by Slayer Intent and Cursed User Control).

One quick step forward, I let out a quiet and focused roar into the side of his face. I also drew in cursed energy from Hooker and doom energy from the avatar to enhance my roar.

The Crusader rocked backward, eyes spiraling in his sockets, his strict composure failing him. He gasped as madness, fear, and doom assaulted him.

“Don’t mess with my juniors’ heads.” I pointed my half ripper claw at him. “Or I’ll fuck with your head. Now run along and tell your masters to prepare themselves for the next auction.”

With a tight smile and nod, I ignored the Crusaders’ protests and threats as I led my party around the festive space for another loop. I waited until there was more space and louder music to cover most of my words – it wasn’t really enough, but I made the attempt anyway.

“Sometimes, you have to strike fast,” I said. “Sometimes, you might even have to strike first, even if it seems wrong. Just make sure you got the upper hand somehow. Or you better be really lucky.”

Though, I doubted there were many opportunities where a Pathwalker could have Golden Hound Fortune in their System Profile. Still, the advice was useful to my juniors, and they all seemed to take it to heart.