AuthorShawnWilson

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 10

Francis had been expecting a little bit of a cheer or some kind of celebration at him bringing back three Frostfang Lynxkin corpses back, yet all he received were a few grunts and nods.

“You look… disappointed,” Kerhi said as they handed the bodies off to a pair of barbarians. “Like you were expecting something.”

“Was it that obvious?” Francis asked. “The last time I waded into the enemy territory and returned bloody and naked, I got a lot of cheers.”

“Well you didn’t return naked and that probably would only bring laughter,” Kerhi said. 

Francis wanted to reply, seeing how her face gave no hint of teasing or joking. Instead, he pulled at one of the torn pieces of hides and tapped a gash he had made to start bleeding again. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for some healing.”

This time, Kerhi laughed and shook her head. “We don’t waste that kind of power on cuts like that. Come, I’ll take you to the healing section and you can get someone to take care of you. After that I’m sure Glitvall will want to see you at some point.”

“Yeah… I was kind of expecting him to be here when we returned,” Francis said, following the shaman as she started to walk away. “I guess I’m not that special.”

She stopped, turned and drew close to him. He could see the look in her blue eyes as they narrowed. 

“Killing three of these and returning isn’t that great a feat,” Kerhi stated. “I have witnessed many barbarians slay dozens and return home. Some come with no cuts, and others return missing an arm or two. I believed you were… different, but perhaps you are not if you expect some kind of honor for killing the smallest of the beasts we face.”

“I… It’s not…” Francis found himself in a hard spot, having to look up at the towering woman, sensing the others who were nearby watching and listening to his chastising. With a slightly bloodied hand, Francis rubbed his face and sighed. “Forgive me. I am being foolish and acting in a way that doesn’t honor your people or mine.”

Kerhi stood there for a few seconds, not saying a word, and then nodded once. She spun on her heels and began walking in the direction of the camp, where the healing tents were located.

I'm going to have to get used to not being that important if I want to survive here… I wonder what someone must do to get at least a half-hearted cheer.

As he caught up with Kerhi, he remembered exactly what had been required. All he needed to do was let her rip his heart out.

***

“At least you don’t squirm or complain like some of them do,” the older healer, Hilde, said as she finished up stitching him together. “Those should leave nice scars. All you’ll need now is a few tattoos to speak about your character and a woman might consider you worth a night or two.”

“Only a night?” Francis asked, having endured the older woman's constant teasing for almost an hour. Her fingers were well-worn, but her skill with a needle and thread was impressive. 

“Bah, do you hear that?” Hilde said as she reached for more of the awful-smelling poultice and put some on the spot she had just stitched. “He thinks he can last longer than a single night!”

All throughout the tent, both men and women laughed with her. Some winced in pain as they did, but the fifty or so who were recovering all seemed to enjoy his constant teasing.

Frowning, Francis just stared at the blond and gray-haired woman. Her blue eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she grinned at him. 

“Oh, don’t be a sourwort,” Hilde teased. “You wouldn’t be the only one. Many of the men can’t last that long either.”

This time, it was only the dozen or so women in the tent who laughed.

“You’ll need to take a few days and let them heal,” the healer said. “Probably in three days, you should be fine to return to fighting. Just remember to come every morning and I’ll replace the old bandages.”

Three days? Stitches don’t usually heal that fast.

“So I’m good to go then?” Francis asked, sitting up as Hilde finished wrapping his waist.

“You are… though you might need to find some new furs. These are going to go into the cleaning tubs and need to be repaired or converted into something else.”

Francis nodded, not concerned that he was only wearing a thin pair of leather pants. “Well then, I guess I’ll be off. Thank you again for the gentle touch. Maybe next time you could kiss each of the spots before you wrap them up.”

He was surprised to see a slight hint of red shade the older woman’s cheeks and laughter came from all the others who had been in earshot.

“You best not tempt me,” Hilde replied, pointing a finger at him. “I might just pull out a few stitches when you come tomorrow and we’ll see how you handle it then.”

More laughter came and Francis shook his head, ready to escape the scent of blood, sweat and some kind of mixture of herbs that smelled horrible.

Leaving the tent reminded him that he was not accustomed to the cold.  Inside the healing tent, it was warm, with a small fire, lots of bodies, and no cold breeze.  Now his skin immediately goosebumps as the wind struck his naked skin.

A few barbarians chuckled when he shivered, but Francis didn’t see Kerhi or anyone else who seemed to be waiting for him.  Unsure what to do with himself, Francis quickly made his way to the tent he had been given.

Upon arriving, he found no one standing outside and was thankful for the warmth of the small fire and the small bowl of food that was waiting for him. It was colder than warm, but he was hungry and a bit frustrated as he sat there on his bed, eating.

What is it about these people? Sometimes I get right what should be said but then I am totally wrong about how to impress them. Confidence is important but looking for honor or praise is bad.  And the whole man and woman thing is intense. It’s like the women hold all the power and the guy just has to accept it. Michael would probably still thrive here. He always understood women better.

His bowl was empty faster than his thoughts and Francis looked at the pile sitting on the small table. Someone had dropped off a few new furs, but the truth was they didn’t look near as nice as the first set.

If I’m not careful, I might end up relegated to the quarters with all the other barbarians.

That thought made Francis shudder. Imagining himself being in a tent with fifty or more barbarians seemed worse than the training area he woke up in every time he died.

His spoon kept tapping the rim of the wooden bowl, his eyes focusing upon the furs sitting on the table.

Grunting, Francis knew what he needed to do. Sitting here, stewing wasn’t going to change a thing. 

***

Francis’s left leg wasn’t working as he tried to change positions. Even with Warrior’s resolve roaring like a furnace that could melt metal, his hamstring being sliced made it almost impossible to stay upright.

Half a dozen of the Lynxkins surrounded him, many of them nursing wounds and injuries.  Over twenty were dead as he carved a path toward the enemy camp.

Frustration was getting the better of him, but Francis needed time to think. Sitting in a tent wasn’t going to help and waiting around to see if Glitvall or Kerhi might swing by seemed like a stupid idea. 

He had considered going and watching them work metal, but the truth was, right now, Francis just needed to do what he was good at. Killing beastkin.

Less than a quarter of a mile toward the enemy lines, Francis had encountered pack upon pack of these Lynxkin that always seemed to be in groups of three or four.  Until recently, they seemed to stay back if he encountered another group while fighting a pack. But having killed at least five sets, the beastkin appeared unconcerned about whatever rules they operated under.

Two came from each side. A half-second behind them were more beastkin approaching at the angles.  They were content, clawing and slicing at him. Their white fur was stained red by their blood and his.  Yellow eyes seemed hungry to feast upon his flesh and Francis knew it wasn’t going to be that much longer before he fell.

Still, he fought back.

Every skill he had was used. He was at his limits, calling upon Warrior’s Resolve to not give up.  Claws ripped off more flesh, his new leather outfit torn to shreds. He didn’t feel the cold anymore. Even though his body was basically naked, loose shreds of leather stuck to the blood that froze on his skin, Francis hacked at the ones that drew close.  

Two more Lynxkin died to his blades as multiple claws ripped flesh and tendons from his legs.

This is how an animal feels when attacked by a pack.

His legs gave out, both of them injured beyond the ability of Warrior’s Resolve to keep him upright.  Even then, Francis swung and thrust, scoring more wounds and managing a strike that pierced a heart.

As he crashed into the icy ground, the Lynxkin pounced upon him, teeth and claws going after any flesh they could find.  Francis unleashed one last attack with a Power Strike charged fist, the sound of bone breaking under the impact silencing for a moment the cry of victory that came from the beasts.

***

“So you’re asking me for advice instead of doing what you always do,” Stenson said. “You’re that worked up about all this?”

Groaning, Francis nodded. He could see the way the general was looking at him. There wasn’t shock, or even displeasure. It was something else. “It feels worse than trying to figure out the Spires. At least there, I knew how our kingdom worked. Over there… It’s as if everything I do is either absolutely right or absolutely wrong. There’s no middle ground.”

“That’s the way things are here,” Stenson replied. “You’ll find that there is only right or wrong in life and the ability to stand in the middle is difficult.”

“But you can… at least for a while,” Francis said. “I mean… you’re doing it. I’m doing it.”

Stenson’s eyebrow rose. “I’m doing what? Standing in the middle?”

The tone of the older man had changed and Francis threw up both hands. “See! Right there. I just said something that you consider offensive.”

“Because it is,” the general stated. “I have never played the middle ground. I’ve told you what I care about, and based on the story you just told me, we have agreed to get what we both want. You desire your brother to be alive and safe. I desire our kingdom to survive, which means all the kingdoms must win. For that to happen, you must get stronger and I will help guide your path to get there. How is that the middle ground?”

“I… you… argh.” Francis shook his head in frustration. “I’m just… how did you learn to talk and make  friends with those in other kingdoms?”

Stenson shook his head and chuckled. “You use that word friend way too easily, son. I think we define it differently. I respect them. They respect me. We occasionally have goals that align and operate in those moments on the same path. Sometimes we are at odds and so we go in the direction we feel we must. There is respect in how we do it.”

“But what do I do?” Francis asked. “I can’t make friends like that. Whatever I do is limited to my time between deaths. How long can I go before I die?”

“Forgive me, but surely I must have told you that at some point you might need to find that out?” Stenson asked. “Have you or have you simply omitted telling me of a time like that?”

Shaking his head, Francis frowned. “But the war! My brother.”

“Will all still be there unless something drastically changes,” Stenson replied. “You’ve died thousands of times and nothing has changed.  I don’t see why you can’t try and live a week, two weeks, or longer. I’m fairly certain I’ve also mentioned it would be easier to do it on your own because if you and Michael ran, he would be your limiting factor'.”

The stupid binding… and the only way to break it is to find the mage who cast it and get them to remove it or ask someone like Priscilla to attempt to break it.

Francis knew that wasn’t the best option either, as Stenson had informed him once of how difficult a task it was. 

Feeling trapped, Francis stood. “What if I just want to go and throw myself back at our enemy? Or Glitvall’s enemy?”

“And do you have some kind of time frame in mind that you would be doing such a thing?” the general asked. 

“Until I work out the rage that is inside me or get strong enough, I come to a point where I need help to figure out the next step.”

Stenson chuckled, that slight smile of his appearing. “Well… I guess I would normally say, ‘have at it’.”

***

Francis panted, his breath unleashing a cloud of white as he stared at the army before him.  

Almost two hundred deaths to get this far…

Behind him lay a trail of frozen blood and corpses.  Francis had slain well over a hundred of the Lynxkin to get here. And now came a new foe. About twenty of the largest polar bears he had ever seen. A few deaths prior, he had seen them, waiting, almost as if they were challenging Francis to get to them.  The barbarians called them Ursaloth Brutes and had warned him that they were exceptionally difficult to bring down.

Each was easily ten feet tall and carried a weapon that was the same size. Some were hammers with massive stone heads, while others had giant stone axes.

Taking a deep breath, Francis smiled.  “Well, who wants to die first?”

BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 042

Three days passed in a blur of activity and recovery.

Einar spent the first day ensuring his warriors were properly healed and rested. Thorve worked tirelessly with the dwarven healers, sharing techniques and learning from each other in a cultural exchange that seemed to benefit both races. The wounded improved rapidly under their combined care, and by the second day, most had returned to their feet.

The five who'd returned from death took longer to recover. Not physically, but mentally. Einar recognized the signs, having died himself more than once. The disorientation, the phantom sensations, the lingering memory of pain that was no longer real. He made sure each of them had time to process what they'd experienced without pressure to return to duty immediately. Einar had promised a first rune to replace the one that had broke. 

All who fall for this deserve a replacement… Odin, did you know how hard this time would be?

Osvif spent his time cataloging their remaining equipment and working with Bartia to arrange trades. The dwarf had proven invaluable, negotiating better prices than they would have gotten on their own and steering them away from crafters who were more interested in taking advantage of foreigners than providing quality work.

"You'd think they'd be grateful," Osvif had complained on the second day. "We cleared their mines and brought them ore. Some of these smiths are still trying to charge us double."

"Not all dwarves are the same," Bartia had replied with a shrug. "Just like not all Vikings are honorable warriors. Some of my people are greedy bastards who'd sell their own beard for profit."

On the third day, Einar was summoned by Yulgas.

The Master Miner met him at the entrance to the guest quarters, his blonde beard freshly oiled and his chain mail polished to a shine. The dwarf's blue eyes were bright with barely contained excitement.

"Today is the day," Yulgas said without preamble. "The ore has been prepared. The forges are ready. And the smiths..." He paused, a grin splitting his face. "The smiths are like children on feast day. Come, we need to get you ready."

"Ready for what?" Einar asked, following as Yulgas set off at a brisk pace.

"The ceremony, of course. Did you think we simply toss ore into a furnace and hope for the best?" The dwarf glanced back, his expression mixing amusement with something deeper. "Smelting is sacred to my people, Einar. It is the transformation of earth's bones into tools of creation. When quality ore hasn't burned in our forges for months, when young smiths have only heard stories of how it looks when properly done... this becomes more than work. It becomes a celebration."

They wound through passages Einar was starting to recognize, heading deeper into the mountain. Other dwarves joined them along the way, all moving in the same direction. Some were smiths, identifiable by their heavy leather aprons and the distinctive burn scars on their forearms. Others were miners, their faces still bearing traces of stone dust that seemed permanently embedded in their skin. A few were obviously officials, wearing finer clothing and carrying ledgers or scrolls.

"How many will be there?" Einar asked.

"Everyone who can spare the time," Yulgas replied. "Word has spread. The Vikings brought ore from the deep veins. Quality ore, in quantities we haven't seen in... well, longer than I care to admit." He paused at an intersection, then took the left tunnel. "For the older smiths, this will be a reminder of better times. For the younger ones, it will be their first real chance to work with proper materials. And for all of us..." His voice softened. "It will be hope. Hope that perhaps the old ways aren't completely lost."

The tunnel opened into a massive chamber that took Einar's breath away.

The smelting hall was enormous, easily two hundred feet across and half again as tall. The ceiling was lost in shadow despite the hundreds of rune-lights mounted along the walls. But it was the forges themselves that dominated the space.

Twelve massive furnaces lined the chamber, each one built from stone blocks that had been fitted together with such precision that Einar couldn't see the seams. They ranged in size from merely large to absolutely colossal, the biggest easily twenty feet tall and fifteen feet across. Intricate carvings covered every surface, depicting scenes of dwarven history, legendary smiths, and what Einar assumed were prayers or invocations to whatever gods the dwarves held sacred.

Runes had also been carved into the stone, although these were functional rather than decorative. Einar could see heat-management runes, air-flow runes, and others whose purposes he could only guess at. The craftsmanship was breathtaking.

But what struck him most was how cold and empty the forges looked. They were dark,  lifeless, and waiting.

"They haven't burned in months," Yulgas said quietly, following Einar's gaze. "Oh, we've used the smaller forges for basic work. Repairs, simple tools, and items that don't require high-quality metal. But these..." He gestured to the massive furnaces. "These are for the real work. For making weapons and armor worthy of the name. For crafting items that will last generations. They require ore we haven't had until now."

Dwarves were gathering in the chamber, filling the space with quiet conversation. Einar spotted Stenri near one of the central forges, the quartermaster in deep discussion with several smiths. Bartia waved from across the room, standing with Stefi and a group of warriors. Akrini was there as well, the Captain of the Guard's plate armor gleaming in the rune-light.

"Your warriors should be here soon," Yulgas said. "I sent word for them to join us. They earned the right to witness this."

As if summoned by his words, Vikings began filing into the chamber. Thorodd came first, his eyes widening as he took in the massive forges. Avitue followed with her shield maidens, each woman's gaze tracking the dwarven warriors positioned around the room. Osvif appeared with his ledger, already making notes. Skardi had to duck through the entrance, straightening to his full height and letting out a low whistle.

"Now this," the giant Viking said, "is impressive."

More Vikings filtered in, and Einar did a quick count. All thirty-five were present, even those who'd recently returned from death. Ready to witness what they'd fought for.

A horn sounded, deep and resonant, silencing all conversation.

Yulgas moved to the center of the chamber, his voice carrying despite not shouting. "Brothers and sisters! We gather today for a purpose that fills my heart with joy! The Vikings standing among us have accomplished what many thought impossible! They ventured into the depths where even we dare not go! They faced the goblin hordes in their own warrens! And they brought back what we need most!"

He gestured, and a procession of dwarves entered the chamber. They pushed carts, but these were nothing like the rough mine carts that had carried the ore up from the depths. These were ornate, carved with the same precision as the forges themselves, and draped with cloth that had been dyed deep crimson.

The cloth was pulled back, revealing the ore.

Even from across the chamber, Einar could see the quality. The rough chunks gleamed with an inner light, veins of metal running through the stone in complex patterns. This wasn't the dull, lifeless rock he'd seen in other mines. This was ore from the deep earth, rich with minerals and magical properties.

Gasps came from the younger smiths. One actually had tears running down his face.

"Three carts full," Yulgas continued, his voice thick with emotion. "Enough to work the forges for weeks. Enough to craft weapons and armor that will be sung about in the halls of our ancestors. Enough to remind us all of what we can achieve when we remember who we are!"

Cheers erupted, but Yulgas wasn't finished. He raised his hands, and the crowd quieted.

"By our traditions, the one who brings the ore has the right to light the first forge. To begin the transformation. To witness the moment when stone becomes steel." The Master Miner turned, his blue eyes finding Einar in the crowd. "Einar Sibbison! Step forward! You have earned this honor!"

All eyes turned to him. Einar felt the weight of their gazes, the mixture of gratitude and curiosity and something that might have been hope. He moved through the crowd, Vikings and dwarves alike parting before him, until he stood beside Yulgas in the center of the chamber.

"I don't know the rituals," Einar said quietly, meant only for the Master Miner's ears.

"You don't need to," Yulgas replied, just as quietly. "Simply light the fire when I tell you. The rest will follow."

The dwarf raised his voice again. "Brothers and sisters! Bear witness to the sacred transformation! From earth to fire! From stone to steel! From the bones of the mountain to the tools that shape our future!"

The response was immediate and synchronized. Every dwarf in the chamber placed their right fist over their heart and struck once, a single unified sound that resonated through the space like a heartbeat.

Yulgas led Einar to the largest forge, the one in the very center of the chamber. Up close, it was even more impressive. The opening was easily six feet across, and Einar could see the carefully arranged fuel inside, ready to burn. A trough had been carved into the stone floor, leading from the forge to a collection area where the molten metal would eventually pool.

"The ore goes in once the forge reaches proper temperature," Yulgas explained, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Too cold, and the impurities won't separate. Too hot, and the metal itself becomes compromised. The runes help regulate it, but the smith must still judge the moment. It is art as much as science."

A younger dwarf approached, carrying a torch. His hands were shaking slightly, whether from excitement or nervousness, Einar couldn't tell.

"This is Broddi," Yulgas said. "He earned his journeyman status two months ago. He has never worked quality ore. Never seen a true smelting. Today, he will assist us and learn."

Broddi bowed his head to Einar, his brown beard barely long enough to braid. "It is an honor, Viking. What you have done... what you have brought us..." The young dwarf's voice cracked slightly. "I will remember this day for the rest of my life."

"As will I," Einar replied, taking the offered torch. The flames danced at the end, fed by whatever fuel the dwarves used. It burned with a clean, bright light.

Yulgas positioned himself on one side of the forge, with Broddi on the other. The Master Miner nodded to Einar.

"When you are ready."

Einar stepped forward, holding the torch high enough for everyone to see. The chamber had gone absolutely silent. Even the Vikings had stopped their fidgeting, sensing the solemnity of the moment.

For those who died in the dark. For those who returned diminished. For the alliance we're building, one impossible task at a time.

He lowered the torch into the forge.

The kindling caught immediately, flames spreading across the carefully arranged fuel with surprising speed. But it wasn't just normal fire. The flames burned with a blue-white intensity that spoke of magical enhancement, and as they spread, the runes carved into the forge began to glow.

Yulgas began to chant, his voice deep and rhythmic. Einar didn't understand the words, ancient dwarvish perhaps, but he understood the tone. Reverence. Gratitude. Hope.

Other dwarves joined the chant, their voices blending into a harmony that seemed to resonate with the very stone of the mountain. The flames grew higher, hotter, the magical fire responding to their words. Einar stepped back, letting the dwarves perform their ritual.

The heat was intense even at this distance. He could feel it on his face, in his lungs with each breath. The forge roared like a living thing, fire consuming fuel and growing stronger by the moment.

Yulgas raised both hands, his chant reaching a crescendo, and then lowered them sharply. Silence fell.

The Master Miner nodded to Broddi, and the younger dwarf moved with practiced efficiency despite his trembling hands. He lifted the first chunk of ore from the nearest cart, holding it with tongs that glowed faintly with protective runes. Moving to the forge, he placed the ore carefully into the flames.

The reaction was immediate and spectacular.

The ore didn't simply heat. It blazed with inner light, the veins of metal within it glowing brilliant white. The stone portions began to crack and separate, falling away as the heat intensified. The metal itself began to liquefy, transforming from a solid to a molten state in moments.

But it was the color that transfixed everyone. The molten metal glowed with a silver-blue sheen that Einar had never seen before, beautiful and somehow pure. This wasn't the dull orange of standard smelting. This was something more.

"Deep vein ore," Stenri said, appearing at Einar's shoulder. The quartermaster's voice was hushed, almost worshipful. "The finest quality in all the realms. This is what we use for legendary weapons. For armor that can turn aside giant blades. For items that become heirlooms passed down through generations."

More ore was added, chunk by carefully selected chunk. Each piece blazed and transformed, adding to the growing pool of molten metal at the base of the forge. The trough began to fill, the liquid metal flowing like quicksilver toward the collection area.

All around the chamber, other forges were being lit. Vikings were given torches and the honor of starting the fires, each one receiving instruction from a dwarven smith. The chamber filled with light and heat, and sound as twelve forges roared to life simultaneously.

Einar watched as Skardi lit one of the massive furnaces; the giant Viking grinned like a child, despite the solemnity of the occasion. Avitue was lighting another, her expression serious and focused. Thorodd worked with a smith who had to be at least a thousand years old, the ancient dwarf's hands were steady despite his age.

"This is what we fight for," a voice said.

Einar turned to find Bartia standing beside him. The female dwarf's black eyes were wet, tears running freely down her face and into her beard.

"Not just the metal," she continued. "Not just the weapons or the tools. This." She gestured to the chamber, to the dwarves and Vikings working together, to the forges burning bright after months of cold silence. "Community. Purpose. The knowledge that what we do matters. That we can still create beauty and strength even in dark times."

"We understand," Einar replied quietly. "Vikings may be warriors first, but we know the value of what craftsmen create. Every weapon we carry, every piece of armor we wear, was made by someone. Put their skill and soul into it. Without that, we're just men with sharp sticks."

Bartia laughed, a sound halfway between joy and grief. "You Vikings continue to surprise me. I expected barbarians. What I found was... something else."

The smelting continued for hours. Ore was added in carefully measured amounts, and the temperatures were monitored and adjusted by smiths who understood their craft with an intimacy that bordered on the mystical. The molten metal flowed and pooled, marking the beginning of a transformation that would ultimately result in bars ready for the forge.

But the smelting itself was only part of the ceremony. As the metal flowed, dwarves began to share stories. Tales of legendary smiths and the weapons they'd crafted. Histories of the deep mines and the riches found there. Songs of creation and transformation that had been old when the mountains were young.

Vikings listened, entranced. This was a side of dwarven culture they hadn't seen before. Not the warriors, the rangers, or the stern officials. This was the heart of what made dwarves who they were.

"They're happier than I've seen them," Yulgas said, rejoining Einar after checking on one of the other forges. "Look at Broddi. Look at the other young ones. They're seeing a possibility. A future. Things we worried were lost."

"The ore will run out eventually," Einar pointed out.

"Perhaps. However, we now know that the mines can be cleared. That goblins can be defeated. That the deep veins are still there, still rich with ore, just waiting for those brave enough to claim it." The Master Miner smiled. "You've given us more than metal, Einar. You've given us hope that we can reclaim what was lost."

As the day wore on, the first metal bars began to take shape. Smiths poured the molten steel into molds, each one designed for a specific purpose. Some would become sword blanks. Others would be hammered into armor plates. A few were destined for more specialized purposes, tools, and implements that required the finest materials.

Einar found himself standing with his pack leaders, all of them watching the process with varying degrees of fascination.

"I never thought I'd be excited about watching metal cool," Osvif said, his eyes tracking a smith who was carefully removing a bar from its mold.

"It's mesmerizing," Vidar agreed. "The precision. The care. Everything they do is deliberate."

"Makes me want to learn smithing," Jepi added. "Though I doubt I have the patience for it."

"You barely have the patience to sharpen your spear," Avitue teased.

"That's different. Sharpening is boring. This is... art."

Thorodd chuckled. "Never thought I'd hear you call anything art besides 'the art of stabbing things in the face.'"

The banter continued, easy and comfortable, but Einar's attention was elsewhere. He was watching the dwarven smiths, seeing how they worked together, how they taught the younger ones, how they celebrated each successful transformation. There was something beautiful in it. Something that transcended the mere mechanics of turning ore into metal.

This was their culture, their history, and their identity.

And for a few hours, Vikings had been invited to be part of it.

"Einar Sibbison!"

Stenri's voice cut through the ambient noise. The quartermaster was gesturing from near one of the central forges, beckoning him over.

When Einar arrived, he found the quartermaster standing with three other dwarves, all of them wearing the fine clothes of officials or masters of their crafts.

"These are the smiths who will be crafting your equipment," Stenri explained. "Master Smith Korin, who specializes in weapons. Mistress Crafter Halgra, our finest armor maker. And Runesmith Fotli, who will handle any magical enhancements."

Each dwarf nodded as they were introduced, their expressions ranging from curious to eager.

"We've heard what you need," Korin said, his voice gravelly. "Weapons for warriors of varying sizes. Some of you are as tall as we are, others..." He glanced at where Skardi stood near another forge. "Others would require equipment we usually make for our giants."

"Giants?" Einar asked.

"It is the nickname we have heard your people call him," Halgra explained. "Your larger vikings shouldn't be a problem."

"The ore you brought us," Fotli said, his eyes gleaming with the particular intensity of a craftsman seeing quality materials, "it will make exceptional weapons and armor. But the question is, how exceptional do you want to be? Basic enhancement? Advanced? Legendary?"

"We have a budget," Einar replied carefully.

Stenri laughed. "A budget that just increased significantly. The bounties for clearing the mines, the trade value of the goblin parts you brought back, and the goodwill you've earned... let's just say you can afford better than basic."

The three crafters shared glances, a silent communication passing between them.

"We'll need measurements," Korin said. "And to understand fighting styles. No point making a weapon the warrior can't use properly."

"We'll need time as well," Halgra added. "Quality work can't be rushed. But we'll make it worth the wait."

"And the rune enhancements," Fotli said, his expression becoming more serious. "Those require specific materials. Some of which you may have, some of which we'll need to acquire. But if you're willing to invest in it, we can create items worthy of the warriors who'll wield them."

Einar glanced back at his Vikings, seeing them mingling with the dwarves, sharing drinks and stories as the smelting continued. He thought of the battles ahead. Stenri's task. The third trial. Whatever came after.

They would need every advantage they could get.

"Do it right," Einar said, turning back to the crafters. "We'll wait as long as necessary for quality work. Our lives will depend on what you make."

All three smiths smiled at that, the particular satisfaction of craftsmen who'd been permitted to do their best work rather than compromise for speed or cost.

"Then we'll make you equipment worthy of the legends that will be told about you," Korin said.

As night fell and the forges continued to burn, the celebration evolved. Food was brought in, not the simple fare of soldiers but actual feasts. Roasted meats, fresh bread, and vegetables prepared in ways Einar had never seen. Dwarven ale flowed freely, and he was pleased to note that his Vikings could mostly keep pace with their hosts, though a few had to tap out after their third tankard.

Stories were told. Skalds sang. Dwarves demonstrated their crafts, showing Vikings the finer points of smithing, mining, and stonework. In return, Vikings taught combat techniques, shared tales of their own battles, and demonstrated the resurrection magic that still fascinated their hosts.

Einar found a quiet moment near one of the cooling forges, watching the metal bars cool from white to red to dull grey. Each one represented hours of work still to come, but also possibilities. Weapons that would protect his warriors. Armor that could mean the difference between life and death.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Yulgas joined him, carrying two tankards. He offered one to Einar, who accepted gratefully.

"All of it," Einar replied. "The ceremony, the craftsmanship, the way your people celebrate creation as much as we celebrate battle."

"Both have their place," Yulgas said. "One destroys, the other creates. But they're linked. The Warriors need smiths. Smiths need the materials that warriors can obtain. The cycle continues."

They drank in companionable silence for a moment.

"Three days from now," Yulgas said eventually, "Stenri will meet with you about his task. The caravan problem. It's more dangerous than clearing the mines."

"Everything's more dangerous than the last thing," Einar replied. "Until it's not."

"True enough." The Master Miner took another drink. "But this one... the creatures responsible are intelligent. Organized. That makes them far more dangerous than any goblin horde."

"Then we'll be intelligent and organized too."

Yulgas laughed. "I'm starting to believe you Vikings can do anything you set your minds to. Just... don't take unnecessary risks. Your resurrection magic is impressive, but the cost is real. I saw the faces of those who returned. They paid dearly for their second chance."

"We know," Einar said quietly. "But sometimes the cost is worth paying."

"For the right cause, yes." Yulgas raised his tankard. "To worthy causes and the warriors brave enough to pursue them."

Einar raised his own tankard, touching it to the dwarf's with a soft clink. "And to the crafters who arm them."

They drank, and around them, the celebration continued. Vikings and dwarves united by shared purpose, shared sacrifice, and shared hope for what tomorrow might bring.

The forges burned bright into the night, their fires a promise that even in the darkest times, creation could triumph over destruction.

And for now, that was enough.

***

The morning after the smelting ceremony arrived far too early for most of the Vikings.

Einar woke to the sound of groaning from the adjacent rooms as his warriors discovered that dwarven ale was significantly more potent than they'd realized. He'd stopped at three tankards himself, knowing he'd need a clear head for whatever came next.

Thorve was already moving through the quarters, her healing magic working overtime to cure hangovers and settle rebellious stomachs. The sounds of relief as she touched each afflicted warrior were almost comical.

"Never again," Skardi moaned from where he lay sprawled across a bed that was far too small for him.

"You said that last time," Thorodd pointed out, somehow looking completely unaffected despite having matched the giant tankard for tankard.

"I meant it last time, too."

Laughter, pained but genuine, rippled through the quarters.

By midday, most of the warriors had recovered enough to function. Osvif gathered the pack leaders for a status meeting, his ledger open and his expression serious.

"Equipment status," he began without preamble. "We lost significant gear in the mines. Four hammers destroyed, six spears broken beyond repair, three shields unusable. We've arranged trades for replacements with Bartia's help, but the new equipment won't be ready for another two days."

"The custom work?" Vidar asked.

"Longer. Two weeks minimum for the weapons, three for the armor." Osvif consulted his notes. "But the crafters assured us it will be worth the wait. They're using the deep vein ore we brought up."

"Can we wait that long?" Jepi asked, looking at Einar.

"We may not have a choice," Einar replied. "Stenri's task will take time to plan and execute. We'll need to scout, strategize, and prepare. The equipment should be ready by then."

"Speaking of Stenri's task," Thorodd said, "any word on what we're actually facing?"

"Karg-kin, according to rumor," Osvif replied, flipping to another page. "Hybrid creatures. Part troll, part giant, with enough human cunning to use actual tactics. They've been hitting the trade caravans between here and a satellite settlement."

"How many?" Avitue asked.

"Unknown. Estimates range from eight to fifteen. And they're supposedly led by something bigger and smarter."

The pack leaders exchanged glances, each one processing the implications.

"Right," Skardi said, breaking the silence. "So slightly worse than goblins, probably easier than a fire giant. Where does that rank on the 'things trying to kill us' scale?"

"Somewhere between 'very bad' and 'why do we keep doing this,'" Vidar replied.

More laughter, but Einar could hear the edge in it. His warriors were tired. They'd been in the dwarven realm for weeks now, fighting in tunnels, losing pack mates, pushing themselves to their limits.

And they still had at least two more tasks before they could even think about going home.

"Rest today," Einar said, standing. "Tomorrow we start planning for the caravan mission. We'll meet with Stenri, gather the full details, and determine how to address these Karg-kin. But today, we recover. Heal. Prepare ourselves mentally for what's coming."

Nods all around. The pack leaders dispersed to inform their warriors, leaving Einar alone with his thoughts.

Through the window, he could see smoke rising from the forges, still burning from the night before. The smelting would continue for days, transforming all the ore they'd brought up into usable metal. And eventually, that metal would become the tools they needed to survive.

One task down. Two more to go. And then the real test begins.

But that was tomorrow's problem.

Today, they would rest; tomorrow, they would plan.

And soon, they would fight again, because that's what Vikings did.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 9

Francis noticed that the sky had one color and it was a dull grey. The breakfast he had been offered was sweetened grains, similar in texture but with something he couldn’t figure out that made it thicker. Less than an hour after the sun had appeared, Glitvall had arrived with four guards and three other barbarians that Francis recognized from inside the Warchief’s tent.  

With barely any words, they had set out, and the differences between the sections of the camp were just like the ones in his kingdom.

The pavilion section had better paths, neat and straight. Upon leaving the section where the clan leaders and other important individuals were, the group soon found itself in the area where forges and healing tents were set up. The sound of metal being hammered was a steady rhythm, almost as if they were playing a song on instruments.

As they moved, Francis studied the various barbarians, noting the tattoos some of them had. Many bore animals, weapons, or runes. A few were distinct. One barbarian passed Francis’ group, barely moving to the side of the wider path, shirtless, his entire chest covered in blue, green, red, and black ink. Scars had ruined some of the tattoos, but the image that Francis believed had to be the god, Korvald, holding two swords and calling down an ice storm.

The scent of metal, ore, and smoke gave way to the smell of smoke and sweat as the group moved into the commons. The sound of thousands of barbarians living in cramped quarters quieted slightly as Francis’ group moved down a muddy and nasty path. Word had spread, and men and women lined both sides, eyes all fixed upon the small man with white hair.

None joked about Francis’s size as they had the first time he had come. It appeared that the presence of the Warchief muted those kinds of words, or at least for now.

Eventually, the tents faded, and a section of ice, snow, and death announced itself. Spiked logs, half-buried in snow, created a wall of defense around the camp. Frozen chunks of various beastkin were impaled upon them. Spread out between the different rows of spiked logs were fires that smoked, sending up the scent of burning pine and adding a black cloud to the already grey sky.

Past them, hedged between the two ice walls, was a section of land that was covered in red. 

It’s like someone went out there and used red paint on the ground.

A mile away through the mist and smoke, on the other side of the walls of ice was the camp for the beastkin.

“It’s rather hard to see,” Francis said, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. “It almost blends in with the snow.”

“You have no idea,” Glitvall replied, before holding up a fist and stopping the group. “Out there is an army that is nothing like I ever imagined. Before they came, I’ve faced creatures that would crush most men with a single strike, yet those beasts were nothing compared to some of the ones on that side. I–”

Glitvall’s head turned, his words stopping and Francis tried to see around the large man what had made him stop.

“Kerhi… You should not do that,” the warchief said. “Someone might mistake you for them.”

Francis finally saw the barbarian shaman. She almost seemed to rise from the ground near the warchief’s side. 

She was there? I didn’t sense her at all.

His Battle Sense had picked up many things, but her presence hadn’t been one of them.

Kerhi chuckled and shrugged. It was then that Francis noticed the hides she wore started to shift colors, no longer matching the dirty snow and ice.

“What kind of pelts are those?” Francis asked.

“A trophy from some of our foes,” Glitvall said, still frowning at the shaman who had appeared. “I had not planned on sharing that information, waiting to see if you were able to notice them.”

“Do you mind if I join him on this hunt?” Kerhi asked.

Glitvall’s frown grew, and the large barbarian turned to face Francis. “That decision is up to you.”

“She knows,” Francis said, waiting to see how the warchief would react.

“Then I see no point in holding her back,” Glitvall replied, not seeming surprised at all. “She will be a good partner to learn about what is out there and desires to feast upon your flesh.” 

The warchief clapped his hands and those gathered moved back, leaving Francis and Kerhi standing at the line of logs, which served as a small barrier before a desolate, cold battlefield before them.

“So… when can I get some weapons like yours?” Francis asked, pointing at the gloves and boots he had personally experienced. 

“Prove yourself worthy and you can earn a pair, though they are custom-made,” Kerhi replied, checking the straps once. “You will need to find a way to acquire pelts like mine if you hope to survive what we are about to do.”

“And that is?”

“Sneak as close as possible,” Kerhi said, as she bent her head to the side, a popping noise coming from her neck. “I would ruin the fun, but since you told me what you did, I believe you’ll do better by learning things the hard way.”

Francis pulled his swords free, watching as the dull light from the sky reflected off them. “I don’t suppose you have anything I could put on these to help stop the way the sun shows them?”

She chuckled and nodded, pointing at a pile of ash he had passed a little bit ago on his way here. “You could, but there’s no point now. They have already seen it and will be on alert.”

Francis was about to ask her how that was possible and then stopped.

Everything about this place is going to be different than what I’ve faced before.  I need to remember that… focus on learning and growing. 

“Well then, when do we set out?” he asked.

“I’m ready when you are,” Kerhi replied. “Just know that when I vanish from your sight, I am still there. Unless I need to, I won’t speak or help out. I’m only here to help if I must.”

“And on the off chance I survive?” 

She chuckled and stepped closer to the snow that was off the path.  “We shall cross that frozen stream if we get there. Good luck, Francis.”

He watched as her body seemed to shimmer, and she pulled a thin piece of cloth he hadn’t noticed up over her face.  Kerhi vanished as she bent down.

Battle Sense was desperately trying to find her, and Francis knew he would be able to do so if he spent time and she didn’t move much, but it was as if she had truly vanished.  His nose couldn’t detect anything over the scent of the burning pine and he realized suddenly why so much was always being burnt.

“The smoke hides your scent,” Francis whispered. 

A chuckle came from off to his left, helping him to get a better fix on where Kerhi was most likely at, but she was gone from his detection almost immediately.

This is going to suck…

Taking a deep breath, Francis closed his eyes, shutting out everything for a moment.

Michael… We need another moment by the stream. You’re going to laugh so hard when I tell you about all this.

With his mind cleared and focused, Francis moved along the path that weaved between the barrier of spiked logs.  No scent but the burning wood came; the pieces of flesh that had been impaled were frozen solid.

His eyes tried to watch the ground ahead of him, looking for patterns of anything that seemed out of place.  Like the practice he had done at night, there was a sense that something had to be out here, even if he couldn’t immediately see it.

Far across the bloody ice and snow was a camp with no smoke that shimmered as if it were a mirage.  He could see large shapes moving but was unable to determine what exactly they were. This enemy seemed to be less than a third of the size of the one his kingdom faced if what Francis thought he could make out was true.

I guess there might be fewer beasts who can handle the cold like this, but still… how hard must it be to–

Movement in the air cut off his thoughts, and Francis saw two shapes he recognized gliding across the sky between the two mountains of ice.  

Black birds… casters!

He remembered the tent with the birds and those feathers that almost killed them on the first day.  Stenson had said they hadn’t seen those beasts in a while, yet two were up above.

A half mile or so of open space ended along the walls of ice, and he considered the path he was on.

It would be better to limit the sides I can be attacked. 

Now about a hundred yards from the last set of spiked logs, Francis made his way slowly toward the towering wall of ice. He was careful with each step, making sure his padded hide boots had a firm grip as he moved across the snow and ice.

His steps let out a crunch almost every time, causing him to frown.

Slower… I need to focus on being quieter.

His Stealth skill hadn’t risen in what felt like ages and Francis knew he hadn’t felt the need to train it. Why worry about that when he could just rush headfirst into the enemy before him. Now he felt a twinge of remorse at overlooking what was obviously an important ability, finding himself on terrain that was far less forgiving than a forest floor.

Francis began to walk more slowly, transferring his weight at what felt like a snail's pace, grimacing each time the snow crunched. 

Minutes passed and what should have taken him no time at all to reach the ice wall instead took almost twenty minutes as Francis crept along.

[ Stealth Increased - 12 ]

After almost thirty steps without making a sound, he got a notification that he had been hoping for. The smile he allowed himself messed up his next step, causing a crunch to echo off the wall of ice.

He frowned, his eyes glancing everywhere, trying to pick up something that might announce the presence of a beastkin.  Chunks of frozen flesh were packed against the deep blue wall of ice, and yet there wasn’t as much as he had thought. Different colors of fur, most of them a variation of white or some kind of grey, could still be seen on a few of the pieces. 

But why aren’t there bones? Or more flesh? I’ll need to ask if the barbarians are bringing them back or if the beastkin are hauling them off. 

It was then that Francis froze mid-step. 

He couldn’t smell anything but the faint hint of the smoke that drifted through the pass with the wind.  He wasn’t sweating, the cold keeping him that, and to his knowledge, there wasn’t a scent he was giving off. 

Yet something tickled his nose. It was there.

Francis was certain that if Kerhi was close, she had to be behind him, most likely not leading. Yet his Battle Sense was telling him that about eight steps before him, something was off to his right.  

The ground looked misshapen as it did everywhere. Streaks of blood that had been frozen, small holes in the ice where something had struck it with enough force to create a pocket. Still, his mind screamed that he wasn’t alone.

With both swords ready, Francis did his best to try and look like he didn’t have a clue that an ambush was most likely about to be sprung.  

He kept his head turning, his eyes always scanning as he moved. Two steps later, Francis barely saw the shape that appeared from nowhere materialize before him like Kerhi had.

He brought his sword up, preparing to parry whatever it was that came, only to realize it wasn’t alone. There were three others, all coming at him from his front, right, and back sides.

Grinning, Francis met the ambush head-on, ready to learn what kind of beasts had come to claim his life.

Four cat-like creatures with fur that soon looked like the shimmering white ones that Kerhi and Glitvall had worn sliced at him with curved claws.  A pair attacked from the front, while the other two came at him from the back and side.

Each one was slightly smaller than him, but the speed at which they moved was remarkable. Their attack hadn’t made a sound, unlike his steps.

[ Iron Wall ]

[ Guarded Stance ]

Cuts came across his left side as Francis turned, deflecting the strike that had been aimed at his hamstring. He felt pain from the gash that the one on his right side landed on his quad. His left sword parried the attack aimed at his face, but Francis couldn’t do anything about the claws that tore through his hides, shredding them as if they were paper. His Thick Skin helped to minimize how deep they had sliced him, but their claws still did damage.

Blood flowed as all four retreated, reangling themselves to have a better position as Francis backed himself up to the ice wall.

Warrior’s Resolve had ignited with the first cut. Francis felt the thrill of battle overtaking him as four new foes all seemed to vanish again.

He could sense two of them, the scent of his own blood giving away their position.  Part of him wanted to attack, but the other part knew that doing so would mean exposing his back and making it harder for him to defend himself.

Knowing they could potentially wait him out, knowing he might bleed to death, Francis made his choice.

Lowering his sword into a less defensive position, he began moving toward the barbarian camp. His ploy worked as two steps into his change of direction, the four shapes appeared, all attacking in unison. Dashing toward the one between him and the camp, Francis attacked.

[ Riposte ]

[ Quick Attack ]

[ Flurry ]

His right blade sliced down the arm of the beast, the blade Stenson had given him, removing a foot of the appendage before it was yanked back.

Francis’s left blade caught the one that had sliced his claw in the chest. Surprisingly, the blow pierced deeper than he had expected, and the cat let out a scream.  With his blade stuck inside the one, the two closest to the beastkin camp swiped with both claws, carving flesh from his side and legs.

He ignored the pain, his skill muting it to a dull throb, turning his focus upon them as they continued their onslaught.

[ Riposte ]

[ Quick Attack ]

[ Flurry ]

[ Power Strike ]

Warrior’s Resolve roared inside him with every gash they had made, and Francis’s sword cut itself free from the beastkin he had run through. Before the closest one could react, its head had been removed. The fourth and only uninjured one tried to disengage, jumping backward as Francis’s sword came at it, but they had all underestimated his true strength and potential.

With a single step, Francis was on the beast as it tried to vanish into the battlefield.  His Battle Sense knew where it was, specks of its headless allies' blood having marked it. The gifts from Stenson and Baxter made short work of the beast, ending its life with two attacks.

Spinning, Francis turned to see the fourth one racing off across the field, holding it’s stump as blood dripped to the ice and snow.

He started to turn and chase it, until a voice called out.

“Don’t!” Kerhi said. 

Stopping his pursuit, Francis carefully retraced his steps to where he had killed the three beastkin.  A shape appeared from the wall of ice and Kerhi lowered the veil she had been wearing.

“It’s a trap, isn’t it?” Francis asked.

She nodded, a small smile growing larger. “You would have found yourself surrounded before you realized it by more of these Frostfang Lynxkin. And as impressive as you just were, I don’t think you’d have lasted that long.”

“And these are what those furs are made from?” Francis asked, pointing a bloody sword at one.

“They are. Now tell me. Are you going to continue searching for what else is out here or are you planning on taking these back?”

Francis was torn. Part of him wanted to keep pushing forward and see what else was out there. His injuries were not life-threatening at the moment, and the cold was helping his blood to clot. His other option was to return to camp with three corpses and see how long he might last this loop.

After a moment, he smiled, having made up his mind.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 085 -

Pain came in a way Max hadn’t imagined.  As his own flesh began to dissolve on his right hand, the room ignited into a light so bright it was as if he was standing inside the sun.

A howl of some kind came from the shape before him.  It writhed in pain as the Wildfire raced upward, not leaving a single section of what had been coiling around the table untouched.

The darkness that had surrounded him was also ignited; the white flame consumed everything in the room, the earth, and even the hallway they had burst into.

Everywhere, the presence of whatever had been living here was being devoured by his spell.

Max sensed it coming at him, the flat head lunging for him, splitting in half as if to swallow him.

It was slow, much slower than him, and so he shifted to the side, his artifact coming upward. His left hand guided the blade's edge into the creature's shape. Unlike every other time he had cut it, the wound didn’t vanish.

Howls and screeches came that made his Sonar skill have to adjust itself, or it might overwhelm him.

What is this?!

No idea but it’s so full of life energy that it is basically imploding.

Max dashed backward toward the entrance to the room, watching as what Bob had said came true.  The creature started to shrink, almost as if it were compacting itself into a tighter form.  Gone was the long, large being and a few moments later the creature was barely ten feet long and no thicker than Max’s arm.

“No… promised… lies.”

Those words reached him, filled with pain and misery.  

Bob began to wrap stone around Max, wind rushing toward the room he had just left, tearing the damaged doors off and slamming them into the other wall.

What the–

Before Max could finish all the wind and force that had been pulled into that tiny space was redirected, forced out through the doorway and past Max, racing up the hallway.

When it had stopped, the silence was almost unsettling, and Max felt the stone armor Bob had erected begin to disappear.

[ Consume has Consumed 7 skills ]

[ Skills do not match entity type ]

[ Power stored for future use ]

Why did you do that? And why couldn’t we get anything from that?

Honestly, I was concerned. I… I know there are more of those, and that one was… like a baby? Somewhere, I just know that’s a world eater in an infant stage.

So you’re saying someone ‘deposited’ that thing here? Intentionally or unintentionally?

I’m certain we’re going to struggle to answer that question for a long time. We both heard it. Something was promised but by whom is the question.  Jazzjak might know more about what we just witnessed and faced, yet I have a sinking suspicion that whatever it was would be far stronger if it had a few centuries to grow and feed on a world. 

Your Barrier barely kept back the energy it was trying to absorb from you.  

So how would one defeat a creature like that without a barrier?

Bob remained silent and the sensation Max received from his skill didn’t put him at ease.

If the others faced that?

At their current stage and power? I don’t believe any of them could have won.  I’m not sure we could have won without finding a way to remove it from this place.  If those two centaurs were not in your dimensional space, we might have tried placing a portion of it in there, but even then, there is no guarantee that it would have worked.

Two skills… out of everything we can do, only two of my skills have a chance of defeating something like that…

Max glanced down at his arm, watching the muscle and skin regrow now that his Wildfire had run its course.  

Jazzjak, Phaius, Ockrim, and others have warned us that what we are going to face is far beyond what we currently are. Just because you have me doesn’t mean we are going to be able to devastate the god pantheon. There are bound to be countless beings like that one that I will not be able to acquire an ability for you from.  The sobering fact is that your stats are above whatever it had. 

Because it wasn’t matured and it appears that the abilities it had was the true strength for a new one.

Correct. Similar to how you were when you received me. Can you imagine if you had slain one person with real skills and stats before you ever left Alundra? What if you had given yourself over to me and we had terrorized that small adventuring town before moving to the next city and the next?

Even though you were weak, two skills made you stronger than most could ever hope to be.

Max knew Bob was talking about Berserker and Stealth.  One gained from an early boss kill and the other gained from an elf trying to kill him. Both had been the trump cards that had allowed him to punch above his level for so long.

Facing something that he struggled to defeat, especially when it was considered weak by Bob was another message being delivered by the System.

How do we train the others to face something like that?

The same way you have been training them to fight you. You show them that there isn’t anything they can do right now. You let them ignite a fire inside themselves to find ways to win.  

Currently, only a few of your friends pose any challenge. Rakonath can sense you and has the natural strength and stats that come from your bond with him. Illusory magic doesn’t fool him, and having outfitted him in armor, he is the second strongest of you all.

Fowl and Tanila are your next top contenders.  While I feel Sog has improved, his natural ferocity and the abilities that he does have doesn’t play well into certain areas.  Even that draining life ability of his has limits. 

Fowl can shrug off the aura with a few potions. The cost to use it eventually forces Sog into battle and once again Fowl can withstand his attacks.  And we both witnessed your friend's match against Tanila.

Max said nothing, recalling their last battle in his mind. Both had trained hard the past year, and each had grown stronger through consistent work. Yet all Tanila needed to do was draw out Fowl’s trump card and once the ability wore off, she could end his life.  Sure, it left her basically drained of all mana, but like the others, she had started bringing surprises into their matches.

Fowl was only a problem when they fought via melee. Twice, Max had killed himself on that thorn aura; the damage reflected was too much even for his hitpoints to handle when unleashing all of his abilities.  

His dwarven-half-brother had survived with a sliver of health, every one of his abilities used to negate as much damage as possible.

And yet none of them… most likely not even Rakonath could have defeated this creature.

I cannot say for certain if Rakonath would have won.  His dragon fire is different than standard fire and may have inflicted damage upon this creature.  Do not forget, he is also changing. Your bond, his godhood… Wekime played us as we both know.

The pit in his stomach that came every time Bob mentioned the God of Force threatened to send bile upward.  

Yet it may ultimately backfire on him. Rakonath is not a simple dragon Wekime can command.

That we know of… We can discuss all this again, but for now let us see if the area above is safe and then summon those two from your space.

Shouldn’t I activate the panel first?

No… ensure the taint isn’t still around. I don’t sense it but I think it might be wise to limit any exposure to your home world to it. 

Bob’s words felt like another weight. If a god could place the thing that was here upon their world, and he somehow provided its location, that mistake would cost Max more than he wanted to consider.

He took off running, passing through the tunnels and soon coming up a set of grand stairs that would have left most normal people tired to climb. 

A breeze came across the barren land, not a speck of life present, and as the small glow of the moon illuminated the location, Max couldn’t sense any of the evil that he had before.

It appears that we have rid this world of whatever that was.

Yes… and look at the ground. You can see it, can’t you?

Max let his Sonar show him what Bob was talking about. In the dirt before him was an indentation of a pair of hoof prints facing the steps. 

Moving a few steps further, Max stretched his Sonar to the limits, feeling the soil for more.  

There’s nothing. How is–

He stopped his thoughts and turned, seeing that the stairs he had just came up on were gone, replaced by solid ground.

That is interesting. A built-in way to hide. 

Max put his feet upon the hoofprints and the stairs appeared before him.

Where is the ground going? I mean… I can sense it’s real until the moment it’s gone.

Magic. Some kind of dimensional swap I would guess. Jazzjak most likely knows about it.  

Summoning his dimensional space, Max created a ball of fire and motioned for the two wide-eyed centaurs to come out.

“Is… where are we?” Aeacilles asked.

“At the place where our Maker lived,” Talanos replied as he moved to stand on normal ground. “The shadow is gone… yet… where are all those who cared for this place?”

“Gone,” Max stated. “I’m not sure what was growing here, but whatever it was, it drained the life of the world and those who came near it.”

A few tears appeared in the older centaur’s eyes and Max watched as his body trembled.

“Why? Why would something do this?” Talanos asked. “Why our people? Why our world?”

Dismissing his dimensional space, Max shrugged and motioned to the stairs. “I don’t have answers for any of those questions, but I have done what I can right now. Come, let me show you what lies beneath and I will see if my helper can assist me in getting your home to a place like it once was.”

Max turned and started descending the steps, not worried that it took the two centaurs a few moments before either followed.

***

“From what I can tell, you should be fine to activate those blessings now,” Jazzjak said over the communication ring. “It will probably take a full season before any major changes happen, but within a year, the world should see a boon of growth.”

“Understood,” Max said. “Make it so.”

His helper nodded and the ring went silent, the image of Jazzjak vanishing from above his hand.

“Is… was that really a dirt-hopper?” Talanos asked. “Usually they do not grow that large.”

Chuckling, Max motioned to the table, where a sheet of glass glowed a deep blue. “Yes… that one comes up to my chest. Now then, if you need me, someone can push right here, and I’ll come as quickly as I can. I won’t promise it will be in a minute or even a month, but I will come.” In his hand, he held out a ring to the younger centaur. “This is a treasure that you must guard. You can activate it as I showed you on mine. It will let me know you need to talk, but it must only be used in the gravest of moments. Do you understand?”

“Why me?” Talanos asked. “Why not Aeacilles? Surely I have not earned this honor.”

“You have not, but you will,” Max replied, motioning once more to the ring he held out. “Those who follow you will see the difference in how you talk about me. Show them you are a worthy leader, not just because you can defeat an old warrior.”

Aeacilles chuckled and shook his head. “I am not a warrior anymore. That title is long gone.”

“And yet you still led them,” Max stated. “Sometimes one doesn’t have to fight to lead. If this one is wise, he would soften his attitude toward you and let you pour wisdom into him.”

He watched as the pair stared at each other, both men scrunching their faces before the younger one surrendered first. 

“I would be honored for you to help me lead our pack,” Talanos said.

“And I would be honored to protect your flank and watch over our people,” Aeacilles replied.

The two centaurs moved close, clasped their hands on the other's forearms and touched their foreheads together.

“Good,” Max said. “Now, one last question before I go. The tower, where is it?”

“Tower?” Aeacilles asked, an eyebrow raised on one side. “That is a thing of legends. None has seen or entered it that I know of in ages.”

“You mean it’s real?” Talanos asked, a hint of hope present in his tone.

“It should be,” Max replied, waving off the question. “That’s a discussion for the next time I come. For now, heal your lands. I promise to return within a year.”

“I… am grateful,” Talanos said, bending both forelegs and almost lying face first on the floor.

Max said nothing until the young centaur looked up at him. “Then prove it by how you lead,” he said. “Now, I must return to my home world.”

“We understand,” Aeacilles said, bowing at his waist. “We will start the journey back to our pack in the morning.”

Chuckling, Max shook his head. “No, hold my hand for a moment. There is no need to make you be gone that long.”

The slight scream that came from Talanos’s lips had Max smiling for hours after he returned to his own home.

Chapter 23 - The Creation of Arin

Arin flowed through the forest like a liquid shadow, his form compressed to minimize visibility as Stealth wrapped around him. The skill drained essence steadily, but he had plenty to spare after weeks of hunting and the recent battles.

[-3 Essence per minute]

Ten minutes. That's what Captain Helda had given him. Ten minutes to eliminate as many goblins as possible without alerting the main group. It wasn't much time, but Arin had learned patience during his hunts. Learned that the difference between success and death was often just careful observation.

He moved through the canopy first, using his 360° vision to study the ambush formation. The goblins had positioned themselves well, he had to admit. They occupied both sides of the road where the trees grew thickest, creating a natural kill zone. Any cart passing through would be vulnerable from all angles.

Fifteen goblins that he could see. Most were common warriors and scouts, ranging from Level 2 to Level 5. Not individually threatening to him anymore, but dangerous in groups. And then there was the hobgoblin.

[Hobgoblin Warrior - Level 10]

The creature stood near the center of the formation on the north side of the road, directing its subordinates with guttural commands and hand gestures. It wore actual armor, leather reinforced with metal plates, and carried a sword that had clearly seen real combat. This was no random raid. This was organized, planned.

Someone commanded this attack. But who? And why target a woodcutter caravan?

The question would have to wait. Right now, Arin needed to focus on thinning their numbers without being detected.

He studied the ambush formation more carefully, looking for isolated targets. The goblins had spread out to cover more ground, which was tactically sound for an ambush but created opportunities. Three goblins on the southern edge were separated from the main group by maybe thirty yards. If he eliminated them quietly enough, the others might not even notice until the fight started.

Arin flowed down from the canopy, moving branch to branch with practiced ease. His time in the forest had taught him how to navigate the trees like they were his natural habitat. He positioned himself directly above the first target, a goblin scout crouched behind a fallen log.

[Goblin Scout - Level 3]

The creature was focused on the road, watching for the caravan's approach. Its bow rested across its knees, an arrow already nocked. Dangerous at range, but vulnerable up close.

Arin compressed his mass into a tight sphere and dropped silently to the ground. He struck the goblin's head with enough force to snap its neck instantly. Before the body could even slump forward, Arin's gelatinous form engulfed it, his acidic nature beginning the dissolution process immediately.

[+12 Mass]

[+9 Essence]

The entire attack took less than three seconds. The other two goblins in the group hadn't even noticed. They were facing in opposite directions, watching from different angles of approach.

One down. Fourteen to go.

Arin flowed toward the second target, a goblin warrior with a crude spear. This one was slightly more alert, its head turning periodically to scan the forest. Arin waited for the creature to look away, then struck from behind.

This time he used a different approach. Instead of crushing force, Arin flowed up the goblin's body from behind, engulfing its head and cutting off any chance to scream. The creature struggled, trying to claw at the gelatinous mass covering its face, but Arin's grip was absolute. Within seconds, the struggles weakened and then stopped.

[+14 Mass]

[+10 Essence]

Two down. 

The third goblin was the problem. It had finally noticed something was wrong, turning to look back at where its companions had been. Arin saw the moment of confusion on its face as it registered the missing scouts.

The goblin opened its mouth to shout a warning.

Arin used Charge.

[-5 Essence]

The skill propelled him forward with explosive force, crossing the distance between them in a fraction of a second. He struck the goblin mid-shout, the sound cutting off into a wet gurgle as Arin's mass slammed into its chest and throat simultaneously. They went down together in a tangle, Arin's form spreading to cover and dissolve the creature before it could make any more noise.

[+11 Mass]

[+8 Essence]

Arin paused, listening. Had anyone heard that final noise? He could see the main group of goblins through the trees, and none of them seemed alerted. The hobgoblin was still barking orders, positioning its forces.

Three down. Twelve left, plus the hobgoblin. I’ve got maybe seven minutes left… How many more can I take out in the time I got?

Arin studied the formation again. There were two more isolated goblins on the northern side, but they were closer to the main group. Riskier. However, there was a lone goblin acting as a rear guard, positioned behind the ambush line where it could watch for threats from that direction.

Ironic. The rear guard's job was to protect against exactly what Arin was doing.

He flowed through the trees toward the rear guard, taking his time now. No need to rush and make a mistake. The goblin was facing away from him, focused on the forest beyond the ambush site.

[Goblin Warrior - Level 4]

Arin dropped from above again, but this time he aimed for a different target. Instead of the head, he engulfed the goblin's weapon arm and torso simultaneously, pulling the creature off balance while his acidic nature went to work. The goblin tried to cry out, but Arin had already covered its mouth. The sound came out as a muffled grunt, barely audible over the normal forest noise.

[+13 Mass]

[+9 Essence]

I got about five minutes left.

Arin repositioned, moving back toward the main formation. He needed to be strategic now. Which goblins could he eliminate that would have the maximum impact on the coming battle?

The answer came as he watched the formation. Two goblins carried bows, positioned to provide ranged support during the ambush. Archers were always priority targets in any fight. If he could remove them, the guards would face fewer arrows when the battle started.

The first archer was partially isolated, crouched in some underbrush about fifteen yards from its nearest companion. Arin approached from above and behind, waiting for the perfect moment.

The goblin shifted position, adjusting its bow. That tiny movement gave Arin his opening. He dropped again, his form spreading as he fell to cover maximum area. He engulfed the goblin's upper body and head in one fluid motion, acid burning and mass constricting simultaneously.

The goblin managed one thrash of its legs before going still.

[+12 Mass]

[+10 Essence]

Five down! I’m doing it!

The second archer was more difficult. It stood near two other goblins, part of a cluster that included the hobgoblin just twenty feet away. Taking it out quietly would be nearly impossible without alerting the others.

But Arin noticed something. The archer kept glancing at the hobgoblin, waiting for orders. And every time it did, it turned slightly away from its current position, creating a brief blind spot.

Arin positioned himself in that blind spot, in the trees directly behind where the goblin stood. He waited, patient, watching the pattern repeat. Glance at the hobgoblin. Turn back. Glance at the hobgoblin. Turn back.

On the third repetition, Arin struck.

He dropped low and fast, his form compressed into a spear shape. He hit the goblin in the back of the neck with enough force to sever the spine. The creature dropped without a sound, and Arin immediately began pulling the body backward into the underbrush, away from the other goblins.

[+11 Mass]

[+8 Essence]

Six down. But now he was in the most dangerous position yet, less than twenty feet from the hobgoblin and surrounded by the main goblin force.

I’ve got two minutes left if I’m lucky.

Arin could feel the weight of his increased mass; his body was now significantly larger than his base form. He'd absorbed six goblins in less than eight minutes, and his Status reflected the growth.

[Current Mass: 143% of base]

[Current Essence: 175/160]

He was approaching maximum essence capacity again, and his mass was becoming unwieldy for stealth work. Moving through the trees would be much larger and more difficult.

Time to retreat.

Arin began flowing back through the canopy, putting distance between himself and the ambush site. He'd eliminated six goblins, including both archers, without alerting the main force. That was good. More importantly, he'd survived without taking significant damage.

As he returned to the caravan's position, Arin deactivated Stealth. The essence drain stopped immediately, leaving him with plenty in reserve for the coming fight.

[Stealth deactivated]

Captain Helda saw him approaching and stepped forward. "Well? How many?"

Arin formed letters on the ground quickly: S I X D E D B O T H A R C H R S

"Six goblins dead, including their archers," Helda translated for the others. A grim smile crossed her face. "That leaves nine goblins and the hobgoblin. Much better odds." She looked at Sergeant Marcus. "We can handle that."

"Can we, though?" Marcus asked quietly. "That hobgoblin is Level 10. It's going to be the real threat."

I C A N F I T I T, Arin formed. N O T A L O N B U T C A N H E L P

"You'll fight the hobgoblin?" Gareth asked, stepping forward. "Arin, that thing is two levels above you. It's got armor and a real weapon."

Y E S B U T I H A V S K I L S

It was true. The hobgoblin might be higher level, but Arin had advantages it didn't. His Stealth for positioning, his Charge for burst damage, and most importantly, his adaptive nature. He could take hits that would kill a human and keep fighting as long as he had mass to spare.

And he had plenty of mass now.

Captain Helda studied Arin for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. Here's the plan. The slime engages the hobgoblin and keeps it busy. My guards handle the remaining goblins. Civilians stay protected around the cart." She looked at her troops. "Remember your training. Goblins are cowards at heart. Break their line and they'll scatter."

"What about the hobgoblin?" one of the younger guards asked. "If the slime falls—"

Arin spelled out his reply slowly, making sure everyone understood, "R U N T O T O W N"

The stark honesty of it silenced any further questions. Everyone understood the stakes now. This wasn't a scouting mission or a minor skirmish. This was a real battle, with real danger, and not everyone might survive.

Jorin pushed his way to the front of the group, his face pale but determined. "Be careful," he said to Arin. "You promised to keep teaching me."

Arin formed a simple response: W I L T R Y

"That's all we can ask," Gareth said, placing a hand on Jorin's shoulder. He looked at Captain Helda. "We're ready when you are."

Helda drew her sword. "Form up. Weapons ready. We advance in formation. When we reach the ambush point, hit them hard and fast. Don't give them time to think." She raised her voice. "Forward!"

The caravan began moving again, slower now, more deliberate. The guards formed a tight protective formation around the civilians and cart. Arin flowed ahead, positioned to strike first when they reached the ambush point.

As they approached the bend in the road where the goblins waited, Arin could feel his core pulsing with anticipation. This was different from hunting alone in the forest. This time, he fought alongside others. This time, he had people depending on him.

People he cared about.

The ambush site came into view. Arin could see the goblins in their positions, still unaware that their numbers had been cut by nearly half. The hobgoblin stood in the center, confident and ready.

Captain Helda saw them too. She raised her sword high, then brought it down in a chopping motion.

"CHARGE!"

The battle began.

Arin activated Stealth and flowed forward at maximum speed, becoming a barely visible blur as he crossed the distance to the hobgoblin's position. The common goblins never saw him coming. They were focused on the charging guards, scrambling to their positions and shouting warnings to one another.

The hobgoblin did see him. At the last moment, its eyes widened and it raised its sword defensively. But Arin was already past that guard, flowing underneath the blade strike and slamming into the creature's legs with Charge.

[-5 Essence]

The hobgoblin stumbled but didn't fall. It was heavier than the goblins, more solid, better balanced. It recovered quickly and brought its sword down in a vicious arc that would have split Arin in half if he were a solid creature.

Instead, the blade passed through his gelatinous form, dispersing a portion of his mass but not stopping his attack. Arin flowed up the hobgoblin's body, going for its unarmored neck and face.

The creature was smart. It dropped its sword and grabbed at Arin with both hands, trying to pull him away. The armor protected its torso, but the gaps at the joints were vulnerable. Arin sent tendrils through those gaps, his acidic nature burning into flesh.

[-8 Mass]

The hobgoblin roared in pain and slammed Arin against a tree. The impact dispersed more of his mass, but also gave him better leverage. He wrapped himself around the creature's head, covering its eyes and nose, making it impossible for the creature to see or breathe.

[-12 Mass]

The hobgoblin thrashed, stronger than anything Arin had fought before. It was Level 10 for a reason. Its hands tore at Arin's mass, ripping away chunks, but Arin kept his core protected and continued the assault on the creature's vulnerable areas.

Around them, the battle raged. Arin could hear the clash of weapons, the shouts of guards, and the shrieks of dying goblins. But he couldn't focus on that now. The hobgoblin was his responsibility, and it was still fighting.

The creature managed to grab a significant portion of Arin's mass and throw it against the ground. For a moment, Arin's form was broken, scattered across ten feet of forest floor. The hobgoblin sucked in a desperate breath and reached for its fallen sword.

Arin reformed faster than the creature expected, flowing back together with practiced ease. Before the hobgoblin could grab its weapon, Arin used Charge again, slamming into its wounded legs and finally bringing it down.

[-5 Essence]

They went down together, rolling across the ground. The hobgoblin was still incredibly strong, still fighting with savage desperation. But Arin had learned something important during his time in the forest.

He'd learned that sometimes, winning wasn't about being the strongest or the fastest. Sometimes it was about being more willing to endure. About refusing to give up no matter how much it hurt.

Arin wrapped around the hobgoblin's head again, and this time when the creature tried to tear him away, Arin let portions of his mass be pulled free while keeping his core concentrated on his target. His acidic nature burned deeper into the gaps in the armor, into the creature's throat and face.

The hobgoblin's struggles became weaker. More frantic but less effective. It was drowning in Arin's gelatinous form, burning from his acid, dying despite its higher level and superior equipment.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably less than a minute, the struggles stopped.

[+45 Mass]

[+32 Essence]

[LEVEL UP!]

[You have reached Level 9]

[+1 Skill Points]

[New Essence Capacity: 180]

The notifications appeared, but Arin barely registered them. He reformed into his standard ball shape and looked around the battlefield.

The fight was over.

Dead goblins lay scattered across the road and forest floor. Captain Helda was cleaning her sword, her armor spattered with blood but the woman herself apparently uninjured. The guards were checking each other for wounds, and from the looks of it, everyone had survived.

One guard had a nasty cut on his arm. Another was limping slightly. But no one was down. No one was dying.

They'd won.

Gareth emerged from the protective formation around the cart, his hand axe bloody but his expression relieved. "Everyone alright?"

"Few minor injuries," Sergeant Marcus reported. "Nothing serious. The slime took down the hobgoblin."

All eyes turned to Arin. He was aware that his form was smaller now, reduced by the chunks he'd sacrificed during the fight. But he was alive. More than alive, he'd just leveled up.

Captain Helda approached him, her expression unreadable. "That was well done. The hobgoblin would have killed at least two of my men if you hadn't occupied it." She paused. "You saved lives today."

S A M T H I N G Y U D I D F O R U S

"Fair point." A slight smile crossed Helda's face. "I suppose we're even now."

"Can we move?" Gareth asked. "I'd rather not stay here longer than necessary. Where there's one ambush, there might be more."

"Agreed," Helda said. "Everyone back in formation. We're continuing to Greengate. Double-time march."

As the caravan reformed and began moving again, Jorin ran up to Arin. "That was amazing! You actually beat a Level 10 creature! How did you—"

"Later, boy," Marta called, pulling Jorin back toward the cart. "Let Arin rest. He's earned it."

Arin flowed alongside the cart as they moved, processing what had just happened. The battle, the victory, the level up. He'd fought alongside humans and won. Protected them. Proven his worth in the most fundamental way possible.

As Greengate drew closer with each step, Arin checked his Status, curious about his progress.

[Name: Arin]

[Species: Adaptive Slime]

[Level: 9]

[Mass: 153% of base]

[Essence: 27/180]

[Skills:]

- Charge (Tier 1)

- Darkvision (Tier 1)

- Stealth (Tier 1)

[Abilities:]

- Absorption (Tier 2)

- Acidic (Tier 1)

- Fire Resistance (Tier 1)

- Ice Resistance (Tier 1)

- Lightning Resistance (Tier 1)

- Physical Resistance (Tier 1)

- Shadow Resistance (Tier 1)

- Magical Resistance (Tier 1)

- Slime Control (Tier 1)

[Skill Points Available: 1]

He was now Level 9 and had another skill point. The possibilities ran through his consciousness. Soon he could upgrade one of his skills. What would Stealth be like at level two? 

But those were decisions for later. Right now, they had a journey to complete.

The road to Greengate stretched ahead, and for the first time since leaving the woodcutter camp, Arin felt genuinely optimistic about what waited there. He'd proven himself in battle. He showed he could protect others. Maybe the townspeople would see that. Perhaps they would accept him.

Or maybe they wouldn't. But either way, Arin had friends now. People who had fought beside him and seen his worth.

That had to count for something.

As the forest began to thin and the first signs of cultivated land appeared ahead, Arin allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. He'd come so far from the frightened creature that fled Vyrdan's sewers. He'd grown, learned, and evolved in ways that had nothing to do with his Status screen.

He was becoming someone. Someone who mattered.

And that journey was just beginning.

***

The rest of the day's travel was uneventful. The road improved as they left the deep forest behind, transitioning from packed dirt to actual cobblestones. Fields appeared on either side of them, crops growing in neat rows. Farmhouses dotted the landscape, and in the distance, Arin could see the walls of Greengate.

The town was larger than he'd imagined. Stone walls at least fifteen feet high surrounded it, with guard towers spaced at regular intervals. The gates were open, but guards watched everyone who entered. People moved in and out constantly, a steady stream of traffic that suggested Greengate was a prosperous, active place.

Arin felt nervous excitement building in his core. This was civilization. Real civilization, not just a camp in the woods. Hundreds of people lived here. People who had never seen a slime before, let alone one who could read and write and fight alongside humans.

"First time seeing a real town?" Gareth asked, noticing Arin's hesitation as they approached the gates.

Y E S, Arin spelled out. B I G

"It is that," Gareth agreed. "Greengate's the largest settlement for fifty miles in any direction. Trading hub, garrison town, and home to about eight hundred people." He paused. "They're going to stare at you. Some might be afraid. Just... remember that most people here are good folks. Give them time to adjust."

Arin appreciated the advice, even as his nervousness increased. Eight hundred people. That was more humans than he'd ever seen in one place. And they would all see him as a monster at first glance.

But he'd faced down a hobgoblin. He could face some stares.

The guard at the gate raised a hand as they approached, signaling them to stop. Captain Helda moved to the front of the formation.

"Captain Helda, Greengate Guard, returning with the Millbrook refugees," she announced formally.

The gate guard looked past her at the caravan, his eyes scanning the group. When his gaze reached Arin, he froze.

"Captain... is that a slime?"

"It is," Helda confirmed. "Name's Arin. He's with the refugees. Saved their lives multiple times and just helped us break a goblin ambush on the road."

The guard's expression cycled through disbelief, confusion, and finally professional acceptance. "I'll need to report this to the Captain of the Watch."

"Understood. Can we enter while you do that?"

The guard hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. But the slime stays visible and doesn't leave the main road until the captain approves."

"That's acceptable." Helda looked back at Arin. "You hear that? Stay where people can see you. Don't go wandering off."

W I L N O T W A N D R

The guard stepped aside, and the caravan entered the town of Greengate.

Arin's first impression of the town was overwhelming sensory input. There were so many humans. Even more interesting was the number of elves, half-orcs, and dwarves that were around. There was also the smell of food cooking, animals, and smoke from chimneys. The sound of hundreds of conversations, merchants calling out their wares, cart wheels on cobblestones. Buildings made of stone and wood, some two or even three stories tall.

And everyone was staring at him.

Conversations stopped as they passed. People pointed. Some backed away nervously. A few children's faces lit up with curiosity before their parents pulled them back. Arin heard fragments of worried conversations:

"—what is that thing—"

"—heard they're dangerous—"

"—why would the guard let a monster—"

"—look at the color, it's blood red—"

Arin kept his form small and non-threatening, flowing alongside the cart at Gareth's side. He didn't form letters or try to communicate. Better to let Captain Helda handle the explanations.

They'd made it about halfway through the town when a man in polished armor approached, flanked by two guards. His breastplate bore an insignia that suggested rank, and his bearing screamed authority.

"Captain Helda," the man said. "Report."

"Captain Thorne," Helda saluted. "We've successfully escorted the Millbrook refugees to Greengate. Encountered a goblin ambush on approach, fifteen hostiles, including a Level 10 hobgoblin. No casualties on our side, all hostiles eliminated."

"And the slime?"

"The slime, Arin, has been living with the refugees for several weeks. He's sapient, can read and write basic Common, and fought alongside us in the ambush. He personally killed the hobgoblin."

Captain Thorne's eyebrows rose slightly. "A sapient slime. That's... unusual." He approached Arin slowly, his hand near his sword but not in a threatening manner. "Can you understand me?"

Arin formed letters on the cobblestones: Y E S C A N U N D R S T A N D

"And you fought the hobgoblin?"

K I L D I T L E V L 1 0 I A M L E V L 9

"Interesting." Thorne studied Arin for a long moment. "I'm not sure what to do with you, honestly. We've never had a sapient monster in town before."

N O T M O N S T R, Arin spelled carefully. F R E N D

"He saved my daughter's life," Gareth spoke up. "Fought off bandits, killed a shadow cat, and protected our camp from kobold raids. Whatever you want to call him, he's not a threat to your town."

Captain Thorne considered this. Finally, he nodded. "Alright. Provisionally, the slime can stay in Greengate. But there are rules. You stay visible at all times. No sneaking around. No entering private homes without permission. And if there are any incidents, any problems at all, you're gone. Understood?"

Y E S U N D R S T O O D T H A N K Y U

"Don't thank me yet. You're going to be under constant scrutiny." Thorne looked at Helda. "Get these people settled. The usual refugee housing on Baker Street. I'll inform the council about our unusual guest."

As Captain Thorne walked away, the tension in the group relaxed slightly. Gareth clapped Arin on what would have been a shoulder if he were solid.

"Well, that went better than I expected," he said with a slight smile.

"Better than I expected," Helda admitted. "Thorne's a practical man. The fact that you killed the hobgoblin probably saved you from a much longer interrogation."

The caravan continued through town to Baker Street, where a row of well-maintained but straightforward houses waited. These were the refugee houses Thorne had mentioned, temporary housing for displaced people until they could find permanent arrangements.

As the woodcutters began unloading their belongings and claiming rooms, Arin found himself uncertain where he fit in this new environment. He'd had his tree hollow in the forest. Where did a slime sleep in a human town?

Marta seemed to read his concern. "You can stay with us, if you'd like," she offered. "We've got space in the cellar. It's cool and dark down there. Might be comfortable for you?"

The offer surprised and touched him. Even in this strange new place, the woodcutters were looking out for him.

Y E S T H A N K Y U W O U D L I K E T H A T

"Then it's settled," Marta said warmly. "Welcome to your new home, Arin."

As the sun set on Greengate and Arin descended into the cool darkness of Marta's cellar, he reflected on everything that had happened. The ambush. The battle. The level up. Entering a human town for the first time since his escape.

It had been a day of firsts. Of challenges met and overcome. And tomorrow would bring even more new experiences.

But for now, Arin was content. He was safe. His friends were safe. And he'd taken another step forward in becoming something more than just a creature.

He'd become a guardian. A protector. Someone who stood between the innocent and harm.

Somewhere in the darkness above, Levi would have been proud.

That thought brought Arin peace as he settled in and let sleep claim him.

Tomorrow would be another adventure. Another chance to learn, grow, and prove his worth.

But tonight, he could rest.

He'd earned it.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 8

“But you carry the seal of your King and his General,” Kerhi stated. “Our Warchief granted you a rank not given to those outside of someone of your King’s or General’s position. How can a man, your age or any age, be alone?”

Her question bothered Francis more than he had expected. She had somehow, in mere moments, pricked at a wound that was always raw.

He sighed, unsure if he wanted to spend the night sharing his feelings and position with a woman that he would most likely have to redo all of this with multiple times, or if he wanted to put it off until another loop, after he knew more.

I guess my only option is to shut her down and then deal with the Jarl outside or at least start this process now.

Knowing tonight was going to be a long night either way, Francis opted for the one that involved the barbarian across from him.

“I’m a ninth son,” Francis replied. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Kerhi winced, slowly nodding her head. “I do… which makes me even more curious. Don’t your people kill someone of your birth order and eat them?”

Francis felt his jaw open, trying to find the words to respond with when Kerhi’s face changed from the pained one to her roaring with laughter.

“Oh… your kind!” she exclaimed between laughs. “Believe… everything…”

“I’m not sure if that was honorable or not, but you got me,” Francis said, shaking his head and smiling. “No… they don’t usually eat their children. But it does mean I’m worthless in so many ways.”

“Yet you have the King’s and General’s seal,” Kerhi replied, tempering her laughter. “That is not something a worthless one has.”

“Special circumstances,” Francis replied. “The only family I have is my brother who is back with the army and everything I do is to keep him safe and alive.”

“A brother? Younger?”

“No, he’s older and technically my half-brother,” Francis said. “I’m sure you noticed my white hair.”

“We have a few who are close to that color. It is not uncommon, but I did notice it. White like a snow rabbit’s pelt.”

“Yeah…” Francis said, unsure if she was teasing or simply pointing out a fact. “So my mother slept with another man and my brother, Michael’s hair isn’t white. Every child born of my family’s blood is white.”

“So how does this matter?” Kerhi asked, leaning forward again.

Taking a deep breath, Francis prepared himself to talk about things he often didn’t like discussing. Yet for some reason, he felt he could with her.

***

“I understand now,” Kerhi said softly. “To live like that and to have endured so much. While my father is not known, the clan raised me and the Shamans took me in when I showed promise. For a while I had a family, but now… I am a lone wolf.”

“And why is that?” Francis asked, guessing at the answer. “Because of how strong you are?”

Kerhi winced and shook her head. “No… they like the power I possess. It is my hunger for battle and blood that scares them. When it overcomes me, I cannot stop until I have defeated whatever is before me. Sometimes I have pushed deeper into the enemy than I should and it has cost many of my brothers and sisters their lives.”

Francis could see the shame in her eyes as she sat there, staring up at the roof. 

“I… I long to hold the heart of my foe in my hands, and many times will eat part of it to absorb their power.”

“Wait… you do that often?” Francis asked, unsure if he should feel special that she had done that to him or it was a normal thing she did which meant nothing.

“I know… many fear me because of that. The whole camp knows to not dishonor me or challenge me. Even Warchief Glitvall would not do so. Not because I would win, but because he would have to kill or seriously injure me before I would leave the state I am in.”

So… simply knocking her out wasn’t going to be an option…

Francis chuckled and nodded. “I get it. Trust me I do.”

“Because you enter a state of rage and scare those closest to you?”

“No,” Francis replied, shaking his head. “Because I have a power that scares many and they know it’s useful. They try to shape how I use it to reach their goals, while I try to find a way to grow stronger and keep those that I love safe.”

Kerhi’s left eye had a tear form, the small droplet of liquid rolling down her cheek when she blinked.

“That is why you look at me differently,” she replied. “You know what it is like.”

Ready to kick himself for what he was about to do, Francis used a hand to rub his face, groaning softly. “No… it’s not just that. There’s more.”

“More?” Kerhi asked, a blond eyebrow lifting as she cocked her head.

“I’m… going to tell you something and share a secret. All I ask is that you swear to tell no one until I say you can. Only a few know this secret–”

“I swear by my life, my power, and my honor,” Kerhi said, placing a hand over her heart. “If I break it, my life is yours to do with as you wish and may our gods slay me if I break this oath.”

Francis felt a shift around Kerhi, as threads of some kind moved and somehow shaped themselves.

“Did something… magical just happen?” Francis asked.

“I swore an oath, and I invoked the three words,” Kerhi replied. “Our gods have heard and the oath will be held fast. If you call it magic, so be it. We call it the binding of our souls.”

Some weird stuff… I can’t even imagine what that would be like… sensing a god in my body.

“I guess that promise works then,” Francis stated. “So let me tell you what makes me special.”

He leaned forward, smiling as he spoke. “I can’t stay dead.”

***

Francis wasn’t certain how many hours had passed, but finally, the never-ending barrage of questions Kerhi unleashed ended.  Her last one was still there, and he needed to answer it.

“So… I wouldn’t say that I cheated by how I used your name or the previous loops against you,” Francis replied. “I earned it. Even if you ripped out my heart before I stabbed you in the back.”

“A fair exchange and a mistake on my part,” Kerhi replied. “One, I will do my best to remember if we fight again.”

“But you won’t,” Francis replied, frowning. He felt the pain of knowing that for a few hours, he had connected with someone in a way that he hadn’t for so long. All those deaths had been harder than he would admit. Seeing his brother every morning, hearing the same words, and having to endure the constant explaining of what was going on was harder than just dying. 

It was a reminder that, in some ways, he was alone in a way none would ever know.

“I realize that,” Kerhi stated, rolling her eyes. “I was just teasing you. Don’t people from your kingdom do that?”

Groaning, Francis couldn’t help but smile and nod. “We do… I guess I just wasn’t expecting so much joking from you.”

Kerhi shrugged and then stood. “It is later than I had intended to stay. I should leave before word spreads around the camp that I stayed all night in your place.”

“And that would be a bad thing?” Francis asked, standing also and suddenly closer than he had expected.

She smiled and lifted a hand, patting his cheek. “You are an interesting man, Francis, but it will take more than a few hours to pull that feat off. Even though I won’t remember it, I hope that you do seek me out. I can confirm this conversation was good. For both of us.”

Glabbing his chest, Francis winced as if he was in pain.

“Does something hurt?” Kerhi asked.

“Sorry,” Francis said, pretending to be hurt and holding up a hand. “It’s just… being put into the friend category so fast… it hurts.”

She shoved him, and his position had left him unprepared for the force that she used, finding himself flung onto the bed. Looking up at her, Francis saw her bite her lip for a moment before shaking her head and moving toward the tent flap.

“You best not tell stories of what took place in here,” Kerhi said. “Or I might just have to rip your heart out again.”

“Wait,” Francis said, holding up his hand as she was going to move the hides aside so she could leave.  “Would you…” He stopped himself and shook his head. “Never mind.”

Kerhi’s eyebrows scrunched into almost one as she frowned. “What were you going to say? Did you get cold feet?”

Shaking his head, Francis regained his composure and stood.

“I… I was going to ask you if there was something you could tell me. A pet name, a special word, some kind of phrase, so that we meet in another loop and talk, you’d know that what I say is true and that I have done this before. But then I decided I don’t want that from you. Not yet at least.”

The left side of her lips curled slighted upward. “And why is that?” Kerhi asked.

“I think I’d rather have more moments like this. Even if I have to endure you whining about no one liking you.”

Kheri turned around completely and moved to where Francis was, reached out, grabbed the shirt near the collar, and pulled him forward.

Francis didn’t fight it; unsure of what was going to happen, he found himself pulled on his tiptoes. For a brief moment, her lips were pressed against his and then he was flung backward again onto the bed.

“Do not believe that will happen often,” Kerhi said, a smile that almost looked devilish present as she spoke. “I do hope one day you prove yourself worthy of another.”

With that she turned and was out the tent flap before he could call out.

What the…

Francis started to laugh, finding himself looking forward to dying and trying this again, and not for a skill.

After about ten minutes, when he was considering lying down, a loud call came from outside his doorway.

“Sir Francis! Are you still awake?” a male voice asked. 

“It depends,” Francis shouted back. 

A muted chuckle could be heard, followed by a grunt a moment later. 

“Jarl Keara was wondering if you had time for another guest.”

Francis knew that his choices were getting a little bit of sleep or continuing to gain knowledge that he would need for the next loop.

Part of him really wanted to get some rest, the other part was content with how things had gone with Kerhi.

“I can spare a few moments,” Francis replied. “Send her in.”

The hides were moved aside and Jarl Keara entered, her face looking like she wasn’t happy at having been forced to wait.

“Jarl Keara,” Francis said, giving a small bow. “Forgive me for making you wait. I was ensuring I was presentable for you. Please come inside and take a seat.”

The older woman's lips were pressed firmly together but she gave him a nod. With what had to be a well-practiced flick of her head, the blond braid that had been resting on the front of her left shoulder was sent flying and landed on her back. “Thank you for allowing me the honor of visiting you,” she replied. “I had hoped to see you earlier in the evening, but it appears you had a visitor for a while. I take it things went well?”

“I learned much about your people and am grateful that my guest was willing to enlighten me. May I inquire what I can do for you?” Francis asked.

Moving to the chair he had offered, Keara sat and gave him an intense look, her blue eyes looking him up and down. “Our Warchief has said nothing of the things you two discussed beyond that you will be visiting the battlefield tomorrow. You both spoke for quite some time, and then you spent a considerable amount of the evening with a barbarian who has a history of… not doing such a thing. I find myself wondering what it is about you that has captured the attention of my people so easily.”

Francis stayed on his feet, not wanting to sit and assume a position that might make it seem like he was giving in. “All I can say is that I have sworn to help your people overcome the enemy you face. Glitvall had a long list of questions about how things fare in my kingdom and the battle there. Tomorrow I shall get a first-hand view of what you all face.”

“And Shaman Kerhi?” Keara asked, one of her eyebrows rising. 

“That is between her and me,” Francis said. “Now, I would prefer not to seem rude, but can I ask why you have really come? While I don’t pretend to play the games many leaders do, I prefer to attack head-on.”

She snorted and shook her head. “Either a good trait or a foolish one,” Keara replied. “I came for many reasons. The main reason is to ask if more of your people are coming?”

“Am I not enough?” Francis asked, grinning.

Keara frowned at his response. “I mean no disrespect… but you are young and have no scars that I can see. To believe that those responsible for your lands would consider you a… gift… or help in a fight they cannot win feels almost like a slight. Yet, Glitvall believes you will be. That combination of things has left me considering how a single person— be it a boy or a man — can make a difference.”

Sighing, Francis felt a portion of the joy he had been feeling from his time with Kerhi vanish, knowing that his time in this camp would be filled with others like Keara. Many would challenge him, and it appeared they had no problem doing so to his face.

“Jarl Keara, do not take this wrong, but I guess you’ll have to wait a few hours and see what kind of help I’ll be. Now then, forgive me if I seem to be rude, but I would like to rest.”

She snorted, standing immediately. “You will need more than a few hours of rest if you hope to prove your worth.” With those words spoken, she turned and left.

It seems I still haven’t lost my touch… 

Francis plopped down onto the bed, choosing not to bother undressing. Soon enough, he’d get to see what the Kingdom of Tules was facing. 

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 084 -

Max flew through the air, laughing slightly to himself as he occasionally stopped, opening his dimensional space and letting the pair of centaurs poke their head out again.

You know that would be a real punishment for someone back home. Making them clean out that place after Aeacilles did what he did.

I’m certain he feels bad enough. And besides, I’m not sure there’s anyone back home I dislike that much.

Max chuckled, the wind carrying his amusement away, still racing in the direction Talanos had directed him.

The sun was almost down, casting a red and orange hue over the sky as the section of land that was his target came into view.

Instead of the brown and earthy color of baked soil and no foliage, there was instead a section of land appearing that had black lines that radiated outward into the soil. From above it looked almost like a drop of paint had been splattered onto canvas. 

So this is more than just a simple drought… what is that?

A curse of some kind… something Jazzjak said might be in place.

Which means this was an attack by someone. The question is who or what… and the problem comes down to finding out who directed this path.

You seem to be making enemies faster than usual, Max. Tell me, what is this secret you are keeping from me? Did you acquire another black skill without telling me while I was imprisoned?

Even with the threat of what lay before him, Max laughed, knowing Bob was trying to lighten the mood of this moment.

It’s a skill… and I’m most likely a god at it.

They both stopped talking as Max got closer and descended toward the center of the area that was infecting the land. A four-mile-wide circle of darkness, almost like a shadow, took over the entire space.

Coming to a stop while still a good half mile above the center of this area, Max could sense the taint of something sickening even at this distance.

His dimensional space appeared next to him and the door swung open, revealing a pair of centaurs who seemed to be suffering from shaky legs.

“Don’t come out too far, but is this the right spot?” Max asked. “Something has appeared here and I’m not sure what.”

Both men glanced out over the edge and neither could hide the grimace that came upon seeing what lay below.

“What… is that?” Talanos asked, his voice almost breaking. “I can feel… death from it.”

“I think someone cursed this area,” Max replied. “I was warned this might be what caused such a rapid spreading of the problem that is afflicting this world.”

“Why would someone curse us like this?” Aeacilles asked.

“I don’t know,” Max stated. “Part of me would say it could be because I am the god of this world, but I have no way of proving that. The other truth is I’m new to this and what I know and can share is limited. Know that I’ll keep my promise and will do everything I can to resolve this issue. But for now, take a step back so I can descend and see if I can’t find what I’m looking for.”

Both centaurs moved backward immediately; neither seemed like they wanted to continue staring at the darkness below.

When his dimensional space vanished, Max equipped his armor and weapons.

We taking bets on if there’s something down there we’ll have to fight?

I’m not a demon who likes to risk stuff but I also have no idea what might be below. A part of me can sense something familiar… like I’ve tasted it before in a previous life… yet for now I cannot recall anything about it.

Max let himself descend into the area below.  As the sun set and darkness blotted out the sun, the space beneath him eagerly devoured the light that touched it.

A hundred yards above the ground, Max could sense tendrils of magic reaching upward, like tentacles of sea monsters, seeking him out.

One touched him and immediately splintered into nothingness. All the others that had been coming toward him quickly retracted.

[ Consume has Resisted - Curse - Drain Lifeforce ]

Huh… I wasn’t expecting that.

I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one. It wasn’t very strong but it was also a small fragment of power. What lies below is much denser and potentially dangerous.

A fireball illuminated his shape as Bob summoned the magic, pouring mana into it until it was a few feet wide and cast it downward at the ground.  It impacted with the darkness and was smothered, its light and power gone in a moment.

Yeah… that doesn’t look good at all.

Ice, lightning, and earth projectiles were all formed and launched as fireballs, and each had the same effect. The earth one took a little longer before the darkness seemed to devour it completely.

It would appear that the stone is not as easily defeated. I have a thought on how we can use that if you’re up for becoming a golem.

That would seem like a good solution. What’s our strategy?

Max could sense Bob working through the problem as he considered their options.

If it’s only at the surface, we could try and move through the ground, pushing past it and into the earth. That would give us some protection and we could aim for where we believe the spot we seek would be.

Perhaps. We won’t know until we attempt it. Whenever you’re ready, I am ready.

Max nodded and felt Bob pulling stone from his dimensional storage, creating a barrier around him. Then he sensed the Personal Barrier spell activating.

His vision vanished and yet Max could still sense things around himself for about half the normal distance.

How are you doing that?

I adjusted the stone's density so we could still use Sonar through it. Combined with some magical energy and your Barrier we should be safe to move through whatever curse that is. I just wouldn’t linger forever. 

Without waiting, Max descended until his stone foot touched the ground and as soon as it did, the darkness swarmed him.  Magical energy seemed to strike like a wave of water, trying to wash away his barrier and the stone Bob had surrounded them with.  

He didn’t wait, moving along the ground, letting his footsteps and the vibrations that came from them direct his path. In absolute darkness, Max moved, Bob handling the magical side of their defenses, while Max searched for the stairs that were supposed to be somewhere around here, and descended under the earth.

Seconds passed and soon a minute, the concern that Bob had not spoken of growing within his mind. Their mana pools had already been drained about 10% and Max knew they were going to need to be ready to either pull back and recover or find what they were looking for soon.

I can’t sense it. We’ve walked a specific path, making sure to loop backward and forward at the right spaces.

We can try the alternative of going beneath the soil, but I can sense this curse lies beneath us as well.

Max stopped walking.

Can you sense how deep it goes?

Immediately Bob chuckled and knew his thought.

I can. That is a brilliant idea.

Earth began to shift and they descended downward, surrounded by soil and the curse that continued to try and swallow them.

Almost three hundred yards had passed before the curse seemed to lessen in the earth.

It’s that way, isn’t it?

Yes. You can sense it now like I can. It would appear that what we’re seeking is probably where this curse originates.

Bob shifted the soil around them as they moved back towards the tainted section, following the curse, sensing the growing dread and filthiness that came with it.

After almost a quarter of a mile, they shifted slightly downward and the earth gave way, revealing a stone section before them.

We’ve found the hall or a path that leads to it.

Time to see what lies beyond this.

Bob moved the stones and a wave of magical energy assaulted them.  

Max wasn’t sure if he would have staggered from the power that came if the earth hadn’t surrounded him; they were moving through.  The intensity of it was multiple times greater than it had been on the surface.

You need to hurry.

Moving forward, Max pushed through the magical assault and turned to the right, sensing that they were in a large hallway. It was easily thirty feet wide and as tall.  As he moved toward the heart of this curse, he sensed more than just the magic around him, but also shapes began to appear.

What are–

His weapons materialized in both hands, each one a sword that swung through the oppressive spell. Something that had been moving toward him was cut with one, a pained cry echoing through the cavern as the other shapes that had been drawing close pulled back.

Hurry! 

Max sensed the buildup of something behind him from the way they had come.  Even though whatever had been moving through the darkness had scattered, it was like an avalanche of power racing toward him from behind.

[ Haste ]

Without wanting to waste a second, Max ran through the hallway, his stone armor slowly falling off, unable to resist both the magic eating at it and the vibrations of his movements.

Each step revealed more through his sonar and Max could sense hundreds of shapes within the darkness, each of them spiraling toward him as he dashed past them.

And then the hallway he had been traveling through ended, a large wall and door set before him.

[ Armored Warrior ]

[ Bulwark ]

Unsure what might protect a room like he expected to be behind this, Max charged into the metal door. He heard the sound of the hinges bending and popping as they broke, the twenty-foot-tall doors crashing to the side as he entered the room behind them.

There, surrounding the table where the panel Jazzjak had described, was the shape of something evil.

It was utter darkness, void of all light and yet when Max entered the room, a pair of eyes, somehow darker than its body focused on him.

“How? How did–”

Max didn’t stop to have a discussion. Whatever this thing before him was, it was easily twenty feet tall. Worse was it was coiled like a snake, a long body with a strange head that felt flat and yet somehow not to his sonar.

Bob unleashed blades of wind, summoning a tornado that pushed all the magical darkness he could from around them.

Its shape stayed the same, resisting the attempt to steal its form, and all of the wind blades seemed to bend when they struck, sliding off its body.

Max stored Sunderer and transformed his artifact into a massive two-handed sword.

Without hesitating, he swung, slicing through the being's body completely.  Multiple strikes took place in a moment and each one cut clean through, yet wherever he had damaged it, the wound was gone almost as fast as it had appeared.

A sound like laughter came from the being as it rose, strands of its body shrugging off his sword as it cut through it.

“Foolish one… I am not–”

Max sensed what Bob was thinking, knowing what would be attempted next.

Gritting his teeth, he prepared himself for what was about to come.

I really hate this…

[ Wildfire ]

BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 041

*****

[ V.A.L.H.A.L.L.A ]

Magnus / Einar Sibbison

Age: 32/19

Strength - 37+49

Endurance - 36+26

Agility - 37+21

Perception - 31+12

Wisdom - 29+4

Mysticism - 31+13

Runes:

Gungnir’s Strength (Chest) Legendary (Hidden) 

Max Training Stat for Strength, Endurance and Agility is racial limit plus 50. 2.5 x Growth Rate

25% Bonus to Perception - No Stat Limit

Max Training Stat for Wisdom and Mysticism is 50. 1.5 x Growth Rate

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 10% Bonus to Strength and Endurance

Lvl 2 + 10% Bonus to Agility and Perception

Lvl 3 Divine Protection. 50% Damage Reduction for 1 Minute. 5 Days

Lvl 4 Healing of the Gods - 100x Healing and Wyrd Regeneration Rate for 5 minutes. 3 Day Cooldown

Lvl 5 Thor’s Blessing - Summon one bolt of lightning to strike one target. 14 Day cooldown

Lvl 6 Rune Empower - 1 Minute 2x All Stats, seven-day cooldown

Lvl 7 Odin’s Strike - All attacks will hit. Cannot miss or be blocked for 30 seconds. 1 week cooldown

Experience 3%

Warrior’s Defense (Back) Advanced

10% Bonus to Endurance

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 5% Bonus to Endurance

Lvl 2 + 5% Bonus to Endurance

Lvl 3 + 5% Bonus to Endurance / Resist Damage

Lvl 4 + 10% Bonus to Resist Damage

Lvl 5 + 5% Bonus to Endurance

Experience 100%

Warrior’s Blessing (Stomach) Advanced

10% Bonus to Strength and Endurance

5% Bonus to Damage

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 4% Bonus to Strength and Endurance

Lvl 2 + 5% Bonus to Strength

Lvl 3 + 7% Bonus to Endurance

Lvl 4 + 5% Bonus to Damage

Lvl 5 + 10% Bonus to Strength and Endurance

Experience 100%

Might of the Viking (Right Arm) Advanced

10% Bonus to Strength

10% Bonus to Damage

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 10% Bonus to Strength 

Lvl 2 + 7% Bonus to Strength

Lvl 3 + 5% Bonus to Perception

Lvl 4 + 5% Bonus to Strength

Lvl 5 + 10% Bonus to Strength 

Experience 100%

Forked Rune of Elements (Head) Advanced

15% Bonus to Wisdom and Mysticism

Advanced Lightning Affinity

Intermediate Fire Affinity

Basic Ice Affinity

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 10% Bonus to Mysticism

Lvl 2 + 8% Bonus to Mysticism

Lvl 3 + 15% Bonus to Spell Damage

Lvl 4 + 25% Bonus to Wyrd Recovery

Lvl 5 + 10% Bonus to Mysticism

Experience 100%

Rune of Primal Body (Right Leg) Advanced

+7% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 6% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Lvl 2 + 7% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Lvl 3 + 8% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Lvl 4 + 9% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Lvl 5 + 10% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Experience 100%

Strength Milestone - Rank 1 - All damage done with melee weapons is increased by 25%.  Muscle is denser, resulting in a 10% decrease in damage taken from all attacks.

Endurance Milestone - Rank 1 - Resists Attacks as if twice normal height and weight. Health increased by 25%. Body is naturally more resistant, resulting in a 10% decrease in damage taken from all attacks.

Agility Milestone - Rank 1 - Attacks are 30% Faster. The ability to see incoming strikes and dodge or parry them is increased by 25%.

Mysticism Milestone - Rank 1 - Spell damage is increased by 20%.  Wyrd regeneration is increased by 20%. Casting time for spells is decreased by 10%.

Boon:

[ Controlled Rage - Thor has created a permanent bond with you, helping you to control the storms that threaten to burn you alive. Calling forth Lightning will be easier and less demanding on your wyrd. Caution is still advised as your body may not be strong enough to do this often. ]

*****

Einar couldn’t believe the way he felt. Two runes had leveled up during that fighting.  His Advanced rune of Primal Body had reached level 5, and Gungnirs had hit level 7, granting him a new skill as well.

[ Odin’s Strike ] - For thirty seconds, every attack you make in melee or in range will not miss. The All-Father will guide your strikes. A shield or weapon cannot block the attacks. The cooldown between uses is 1 week.

One more step closer to being ready for what's coming.

The thought was almost immediate, and yet it was tainted by the memory of everything that had just happened in those dark tunnels.

The cart jerked, wheels clattering against stone as they ascended. Einar gripped the wooden edge, feeling the vibration travel through his arms. The darkness around them began to lighten, faint at first, then growing stronger with each passing moment.

"Almost there," Yulgas said from the front of the cart, his blonde beard catching the increasing light. "Can you feel it?"

Einar could. The oppressive weight of the mountain was lifting, the stale air of the deep shafts giving way to something fresher. Behind him, other carts followed in a line, each one groaning under the weight of hard-won ore. And five wrapped corpses.

The cart burst into daylight.

Einar closed his eyes against the sudden brightness, feeling warmth on his face for the first time in what felt like forever. Around him, Vikings were doing the same, some laughing, others simply breathing deeply of air that didn't taste of goblin rot and stone dust.

"Never going underground again," Skardi muttered from the cart behind them.

"You said that last time," Thorodd replied.

"And I meant it last time, too."

Laughter rippled through the group, tired but genuine. The kind of laughter that came from men and women who had survived something they weren't sure they would.

Einar opened his eyes, squinting as they adjusted. The platform they'd ascended to was carved from the living mountain, wide enough for all six carts to gather. Rune-light illuminated the space, but it was the natural sunlight streaming in from the tunnel entrance ahead that drew every Viking's gaze.

Dwarves were already moving forward, Stefi and Bartia among them. More were emerging from side passages, drawn by word that had apparently spread faster than the carts could climb.

"They actually did it," one dwarf said, his voice carrying in the suddenly quiet space.

"Impossible," another muttered. "No one clears those shafts anymore."

Yulgas turned to face the gathering crowd, his blue eyes bright with something Einar recognized as pride mixed with disbelief.

"Not impossible," the Master Miner said, his voice carrying across the platform. "Difficult, dangerous, and costly." He paused, his gaze moving to the wrapped forms in the carts. "But not impossible. Not for Vikings who fight like the gods themselves sent them."

Einar climbed down from the cart, his legs protesting after days of fighting in cramped tunnels. Avitue was already there, her face smudged with dirt and dried blood, but her eyes were clear.

"Five," she said quietly. "Could have been worse."

"Could have been better," Einar replied.

She didn't argue. They both knew the truth of it.

The other Vikings were disembarking now, some moving stiffly from injuries, others helping comrades who could barely stand. Thorve moved among them, her hands glowing faintly as she assessed who needed immediate attention and who could wait.

Einar's gaze swept across his warriors. Thirty-five had descended into those tunnels. Thirty had returned on their own feet. Five rode in the carts, wrapped in white cloth that was already stained with the minerals of the deep earth.

Too many.

But dwelling on it wouldn't help. Not now.

"Einar Sibbison!"

The voice boomed across the platform, and every head turned. Stenri Ironpurse was striding toward them, his considerable bulk moving with surprising speed. Behind him came a small procession of dwarves, each one's expression shifting from skepticism to wonder as they saw the ore-laden carts.

The quartermaster stopped a few paces away, his green eyes locked on the nearest cart. Slowly, almost reverently, he approached. His hand reached out, fingers brushing across the rough ore.

"By the Stone Father's beard," Stenri breathed. "This is... this is..."

"Three carts full," Yulgas said, pride evident in his voice. "Just as you asked for. More, even. They cleared the goblins from the primary vein. Collapsed their warren. We can mine there safely now for the first time in months."

Stenri turned, his eyes finding Einar. For a long moment, the dwarf simply stared. Then, slowly, he bowed his head.

"You have my thanks, Viking. And more than that." The quartermaster straightened, his voice carrying across the platform. "You have earned the respect of every smith, miner, and craftsman in Kvellholl. This ore..." He gestured to the carts. "This changes everything."

Word was spreading. Einar could see it happening in real-time as dwarves emerged from tunnels and passages, drawn by the commotion. The crowd was growing, faces appearing at different levels of the carved stone structure.

"They brought ore," one whispered.

"Quality ore," another corrected. "Look at it. That's from the deep veins."

"The goblins..."

"Dead. The Vikings killed them all."

The murmurs grew louder, and Einar noticed something he hadn't seen before in the dwarves they'd encountered. Their eyes were bright with an emotion he was only beginning to understand.

They finally have hope.

"We need to move," Thorodd said quietly, appearing at Einar's shoulder. "Get the wounded to proper quarters. The dead need... attention."

Einar nodded. Logistics. Always logistics after a fight.

"Yulgas," Einar called out. "We need quarters for my warriors. Medical supplies for the wounded. And..." He paused, his gaze moving to the wrapped forms. "A place to perform our ceremony."

The Master Miner's expression sobered. "You can bring them back. I remember you said as much."

"We can."

"Then you shall have everything you need." Yulgas turned to the gathered dwarves. "Stefi! Bartia! Escort our guests to the temporary quarters. Ensure the healers have everything they need. And clear the courtyard near the guest halls. The Vikings have a ritual to perform."

As dwarves moved to comply, Stenri stepped closer to Einar. The quartermaster's voice was low, meant only for him.

"We will discuss payment and the next task soon. But for now, see to your warriors. They've earned their rest." He paused, his expression shifting to something that might have been sympathy. "And honor your dead. That is more important than any ore, no matter how valuable."

***

The quarters they were given were far better than Einar had expected. A large stone building with multiple rooms, each one furnished with actual beds instead of simple pallets. The dwarves had even provided clean water for bathing, a luxury after days in the tunnels.

Einar stood in the main hall, watching as his warriors moved about with the quiet efficiency of exhausted soldiers. The wounded were being tended to by Thorve and Samansa, their healing magic working to close the worst injuries. Others were cleaning weapons, repairing gear, or simply sitting in silence.

Osvif approached, a ledger in his hands. His red hair was plastered to his head with sweat and grime, but his eyes were sharp as ever.

"Final count," his friend said. "Five dead. Twelve seriously wounded, though Thorve says they'll all recover. Another fifteen with minor injuries. Equipment losses are significant. We lost four hammers, broke six spears, and three shields are completely unusable."

"The dead?"

"Geir, Bodalf, Starkard, Ulf, and Brandr." Osvif's voice was steady, but Einar could hear the strain in it. "All good warriors. Starkard and Bodalf, especially. They held the line when the goblins tried to overwhelm us in that collapsed section."

Einar closed his eyes, seeing their faces. Starkard with his gap-toothed grin. Bodalf who always had a story to tell around the fire. Geir who'd just earned his second rune. Ulf the youngest of them, barely twenty. Brandr who'd left a wife back home.

Five families who will grieve. Five warriors who died following my orders.

"When?" Osvif asked quietly.

"Tonight." Einar opened his eyes. "After we've rested. We'll perform the ceremony at dusk. Yulgas said he wants to watch. I think... I think he wants the other dwarves to see it too."

"Good." Osvif's jaw set. "Let them see what Vikings can do. Let them understand what we sacrifice and what we gain."

A commotion at the entrance made them both turn. Bartia was leading in a procession of dwarves carrying supplies. Food, fresh water, medical equipment, and...

"Is that ale?" Skardi's voice carried from across the hall.

Bartia grinned, her black eyes twinkling. "Dwarven ale. Not the weak stuff you Vikings make. This will put hair on your chest."

"My chest already has hair," Skardi replied.

"Then it will put more."

Laughter broke out, and Einar felt some of the tension ease. Not much, but enough.

As the dwarves distributed supplies and his warriors began to settle in for actual rest, Einar found himself standing alone near a window. The view looked out over part of Kvellholl, the dwarven city carved into and out of the mountain itself.

Avitue appeared beside him, her presence as natural as breathing.

"You're thinking too much," she said.

"Someone has to."

"And you're already planning the next fight." It wasn't a question. She knew him too well.

"Stenri mentioned the next task. We completed the mines. Whatever comes next..." Einar trailed off, his gaze distant. "I have a feeling it's going to make goblins look easy."

"Then we'll face it like we face everything else." Avitue's hand found his. "Together."

***

Dusk came faster than Einar expected, or perhaps he'd simply lost track of time while ensuring his warriors were properly settled. Now, as purple-orange light filtered through the mountain passages, Vikings and dwarves gathered in the courtyard Yulgas had cleared for them.

The space was circular, easily fifty feet across, with smooth stone floors worn by centuries of dwarven feet. Rune-light provided illumination from sconces mounted at regular intervals around the perimeter, but the fading natural light from a large opening above cast everything in twilight hues.

The portable binding stone had been placed in the center of the courtyard. It was smaller than the permanent one back in Einar's village, barely three feet tall and two feet wide, but the runes carved into its surface pulsed with the same ancient power.

Five bodies lay arranged around the stone, each wrapped in white cloth. Einar had helped carry them himself, refusing to delegate that responsibility. Starkard. Bodalf. Geir. Ulf. Brandr. Their names echoed in his mind like a litany.

The Vikings formed a circle around the stone and the dead, standing shoulder to shoulder. Thirty living warriors, their faces solemn in the fading light. Behind them, forming a second circle, were the dwarves.

Einar had expected a handful. Instead, dozens had come. Yulgas stood with Stenri, both their faces unreadable. Bartia was there, and Stefi, and Varanda who'd guided them through so much. Akrini, the Captain of the Guard, stood with her warriors. 

Thorve stepped forward, moving to stand beside the binding stone. She'd changed into clean robes, her blonde hair braided back, and her face composed into the expression of a healer performing sacred duty.

"Vikings!" Thorve's voice rang out across the courtyard. "We gather to honor our fallen and to call them home. Five warriors went into the darkness. Five warriors gave their lives in battle. Now we ask the All-Father to return what was lost."

She paused, her blue eyes scanning the circle of warriors.

"Those of you who have been marked, show your runes!"

Around the circle, Vikings moved. Shirts were lifted or removed, sleeves rolled up, and pant legs raised. Tattoos appeared, each one unique, each one glowing faintly in the rune-light.

Einar removed his shirt, feeling the evening air on his skin. His chest bore Gungnir's Strength, the legendary rune that marked him as chosen, yet it looked like a normal advanced one. On his back, Warrior's Defense. His stomach showed Warrior's Blessing. His right arm displayed the Might of the Viking. His head, though harder to see, bore the Forked Rune of Elements. And on his right leg, the Rune of Primal Body.

Six advanced runes. More than most warriors would ever achieve in a lifetime.

Around him, others displayed their marks. Thorodd with his three runes. Skardi with his two. Avitue with her hard-earned pair. Osvif showed his newest rune, recently acquired and already growing in power.

The dwarves watched in silence, their eyes tracking the display. Einar heard whispered comments.

"So many..."

"Advanced markings..."

"No wonder they could clear the mines..."

Thorve waited until everyone had displayed their runes, then nodded. "The cost of death is known to us all. Each warrior who fell today knew that risk. Each chose to face it anyway. Now we honor that choice by bringing them home."

She turned to face the binding stone, both hands rising to rest against its surface. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, power began to build.

It started as a faint shimmer, barely visible even in the dim light. Blue and yellow threads of wyrd began weaving around Thorve's hands, spiraling up her arms. The runes on the binding stone started to glow, each one lighting in sequence until the entire surface pulsed with ancient magic.

A hum filled the air. Low at first, almost below hearing, but rising steadily in pitch and volume. It resonated in Einar's chest, in his bones, in the very stone beneath his feet.

The Vikings began to hum in response. It was a tradition, older than any of them knew. When the binding stone called, the pack answered. Their voices blended with the magical resonance, creating a harmony that seemed to shake the very air.

Einar added his voice to the chorus, feeling the vibration in his throat as power continued to build. Beside him, Avitue hummed, and Thorodd, and Osvif. All around the circle, Vikings raised their voices in the ancient song of resurrection.

The dwarves stood transfixed, none of them making a sound. This was Viking magic, human magic, and they were witnessing something their kind could never achieve.

The hum reached a crescendo. Thorve's hands glowed so brightly that Einar had to squint to look at them. The binding stone blazed like a captured star, light pouring from every carved rune.

Then, like a wave breaking on a shore, the power was released.

Blue and yellow light exploded outward in a perfect circle, washing over the Vikings and extending to the very edges of the courtyard. Einar felt it pass through him, warm and electric, carrying with it the essence of Odin's gift to their people.

The light reached the five bodies, and they began to move.

Bones cracked. Not the sound of breaking, but of mending, of pieces finding each other and knitting back together. Bodalf's crushed chest reformed, ribs pushing outward beneath the white cloth. Starkard's severed arm reattached itself, muscle and sinew weaving like thread on a loom.

The wrapped forms writhed as bodies that had been torn and broken remade themselves. Flesh regrew. Blood pumped through new vessels. Hearts that had stopped beating began to beat again.

One of the dwarves gasped. Another muttered something that might have been a prayer.

The light faded, slowly at first, then more quickly, retreating back toward the binding stone until only a faint glow remained. The humming died away, replaced by the sound of breathing.

Five breaths. Ragged and harsh, but unmistakably alive.

The white cloths moved as hands pushed at them from inside. Vikings rushed forward, helping pull away the wrappings, revealing the warriors beneath.

Starkard sat up first, his eyes unfocused, his face twisted in remembered pain. "Hel's frozen tits," he gasped. "That goblin... it..."

"It's dead," Thorodd said, kneeling beside him. "They're all dead. You're back."

Bodalf was next, then Geir, then Ulf, each one emerging from the cloths with the disoriented expression of someone waking from a terrible dream. Brandr was last, sitting up slowly, his hand moving immediately to his chest where a goblin blade had pierced his heart.

"Did we... did we get the ore?" Brandr asked, his voice hoarse.

"Three carts full," Einar said, moving to help the warrior stand. "You died a hero, Brandr. All of you did."

But even as the words left his mouth, Einar saw the pain on their faces. Not physical pain, though that lingered as a memory. This was deeper. Each warrior was searching themselves, feeling for something that should be there but wasn't.

Geir let out a choked sob. His hand clutched at his left forearm, rubbing the skin there as if trying to find something lost. His first rune. Gone, consumed by death to fuel his return.

Ulf was crying silently. His rune that had been on his chest had been an advanced-level one. It had taken him three years to earn enough for it. Now there was only unmarked skin.

Starkard, Bodalf, and Brandr were each dealing with their own losses. Rune slots emptied. Progress erased, years of work gone in an instant.

This was the true cost of resurrection. Not the ceremony itself, which was simply expensive. The real price was paid by the dead, who returned diminished, who came back knowing they'd lost something precious.

Warriors moved to comfort their returned pack mates, offering clothes and quiet words. Einar stood back, letting them have that moment. His gaze swept across the dwarven observers.

Every dwarf was staring in open amazement. Yulgas found Einar in the crowd. The Master Miner's face was pale beneath his blonde beard.

"You truly can defy death itself," Yulgas said quietly. "The stories said as much, but seeing it..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "This is why you can attempt the impossible. Because even death is not the end for you."

"It's not without cost," Einar replied, nodding toward the five who'd returned. "They lost runes. Some lost advanced ones. Years of work, gone. We don't treat death lightly."

"No," Stenri said, appearing beside Yulgas. The quartermaster's usual jovial expression was gone, replaced by something more serious. "You simply refuse to let it be final. Your people... you are more formidable than I realized."

Bartia pushed her way through the crowd, stopping in front of Einar. The female dwarf's black eyes were bright with emotion.

"To die and return..." She shook her head. "Your gods are generous indeed. My people have no such gift. When a dwarf falls, they are gone. Forever."

"Then we fight for you as well," Avitue said, joining Einar. "When we clear these mines and face whatever else comes, we fight knowing that if we fall, we can return. But we also fight knowing that you cannot. That makes your warriors all the braver."

A murmur of agreement came from the Vikings around them.

Yulgas stopped ten feet from the binding stone. His gaze moved across the five returned warriors, then to Thorve who still stood beside the stone, exhausted from the ceremony. Finally, his golden eyes settled on Einar.

"I have lived a long time," Yulgas said, his voice resonating with age and power. "I have seen empires rise and fall. I have witnessed magic that would make gods weep. But this..." He gestured to the five warriors now being helped to their feet. "This is beyond anything I have seen. To call back the dead. To defy the natural order. To pay such a price and yet call it worth it." 

"You Vikings are worthy indeed, Einar Sibbison. Not just because you cleared our mines. Not just because you brought back ore when none thought it possible." Yulgas’s voice dropped, becoming almost gentle. "But because you understand sacrifice. You know the cost of victory and you pay it anyway. That is the mark of true warriors."

He raised his voice so all could hear. "Let it be known that the Vikings have proven themselves in the eyes of Kvellholl! They have faced the darkness beneath our mountain and emerged victorious! They have shown us magic we thought lost! And they have honored their dead in a way that brings tears to even my ancient eyes!"

Cheers erupted from the dwarves. Not the polite acknowledgment of earlier, but a genuine, heartfelt celebration. Fists pounded on chests. Weapons were raised. And for the first time since arriving in the dwarven realm, Einar heard them chanting not in dwarvish, but in broken Norse.

"Vi-kings! Vi-kings! Vi-kings!"

The sound echoed off the courtyard walls, growing louder with each repetition. Einar felt something shift in that moment. Not just respect, but kinship. The dwarves were seeing them not as outsiders or temporary allies, but as warriors worthy of standing beside them.

Yulgas raised a hand, and the cheering slowly died down. "Tonight, we celebrate! Tomorrow, there will be work to do. Stenri's task. The trials ahead. But tonight?" The Stone Father's stern face split into a rare smile. "Tonight we honor those who died and those who returned! Bring out the ale! Bring out the meat! Let Viking and dwarf drink together as brothers in arms!"

More cheers, and suddenly dwarves were moving, rushing off to fetch the promised supplies. Within moments, the courtyard was transforming from a place of solemn ritual into something approaching a festival.

Einar found himself being pulled into conversations, dwarves wanting to know about the resurrection magic, about the runes, about everything. Thorve was being swarmed by questions from dwarven healers who wanted to understand how it worked. Starkard and the others who'd returned were being treated like heroes, their loss of runes somehow making them more admirable rather than less.

"Three days," Yulgas said, appearing at Einar's elbow with a tankard of something that smelled strong enough to wake the dead. "In three days, we perform the smelting ceremony. The forges will burn bright for the first time in months. And you, Viking, will have the honor of lighting the first fire."

"Me?" Einar accepted the tankard, taking a cautious sip. The ale hit like a hammer, intense and complex and distinctly dwarven.

"You brought us the ore. You shed blood for it. You lost warriors for it." Stenri's green eyes were serious. "In our culture, that earns you the right. Besides," the quartermaster's expression softened into something approaching a smile, "it will make for a good story. The Viking who lit the forges of Kvellholl."

As the celebration grew around them, as ale flowed and stories were told, Einar found a quiet corner with his pack leaders. Thorodd, Avitue, Osvif, Vidar, Jepi, and Skardi gathered close, their faces showing the exhaustion and relief that came after surviving the impossible.

"One task down," Thorodd said, raising his tankard. "One step closer to the alliance we need."

"And one step closer to whatever hell comes next," Vidar added.

They drank to that, the bitter-sweet truth of warriors who knew that victory only meant another battle was waiting.

Einar looked around at his warriors, at the dwarves who now treated them as equals, at the five who'd returned from death bearing the scars of their sacrifice. He thought of the ore that would become weapons, of the forges that would burn, of the alliance they were building one impossible task at a time.

For Odin and for the Nine Realms. For every person who will need us when Ragnarök comes.

The celebration continued late into the night, Viking and dwarf united by shared blood, shared struggle, and shared respect. Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Tomorrow would bring Stenri's task and whatever lay beyond.

But tonight?

Tonight, they had earned their rest.

And they had earned their place among the dwarves of Kvellholl.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 083 -

Max sat, watching and waiting as the centaurs gathered, ate the food, and drank the drink he had provided.

“We are honored to have been given from your hearth,” Aeacilles. “Many will be jealous to hear they missed out on such a treat.”

“It is the least I can offer,” Max replied. “Tell me, what has happened here? It wasn’t like this when I last visited about… ninety years or so ago.”

The older centaur nodded while Talanos scoffed.

“For the last forty or so years, a drought has afflicted our world and we have been without water,” the younger centaur stated. “Our plains have decreased, our people have fallen in numbers and those who were once part of our gatherings can no longer cross the vast, barren area. Do you know what that means?”

Shaking his head, Max said nothing.

“We are forced to find mates within our herd. This causes problems if not fixed and soon we shall have children with deformities because of it!”

“It is not that bad,” Aeacilles said. “We are generations from that.”

“We may all be gone before that moment has a chance to arrive!” Talanos shouted, silencing the conversations that had been taking place nearby. “Look at our people! How many of our brothers and sisters have fallen ill, never to run again? How many of our children are born with no life in their lungs? How can you sit here and still blindly worship a god that doesn’t know our plight and fix it?”

“Because I am old and have faith!’ Aeacilles shouted, rising to his feet.

Both centaurs stood, each pressing their hairy chests against the other, the ground beneath their hooves being torn up as they began to assert dominance.

Should we intervene?

I doubt it. That would probably be worse as this is most likely their tradition for who is in charge. The last thing you want right now if you’re hoping to gain their trust is to break a tradition like that.

Keeping one eye on the pair who were now wrestling of sorts, Max looked up at the sky and considered what he had heard so far.

Can we fix this? I mean I could spend some Divine Points and purchase a few of the blessings. That would help to alleviate the problem… or should.

Unless it's more than just a drought, we’re going to be spending DP on something you can’t necessarily fix. Jazzjak might have a solution or some ideas.

The sound of something snapping made Max focus on the pair of centaurs who were wrestling, the older one on the ground, his front leg broken.  Talanos stood above Aeacilles, nostrils flaring as he towered over him. 

“You will no longer lead this pack.  For too long, we have followed and it has not led us anywhere.”

Max watched as the rest of the centaurs shifted, the division he hadn’t realized had been there widening as those who had been on the somewhat smaller side of the gathered horsemen all moved to the left, leaving less than a dozen milling about.

Keeping his temper, Max moved to where Aeacilles lay on the ground, unable to right himself yet.

“You’ve proved you're stronger than him,” Max said, getting into the younger one's space. “Let him be. If you care enough about your pack surviving, you’ll not let him suffer any more than he has to or die. Doing so just proves you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“You don’t–”

Max didn’t lift a hand as cords of air surrounded Talanos. He was lifted off the ground and bucked and kicked as like a fish out of water.

“Put me down!”

Max ignored him, moving to stand beside Aeacilles and holding out a potion toward him. “Drink it.”

A pair of black eyes glanced at the potion and then at Max. “I’m not worthy nor do I deserve to live. I have failed the pack and I have–”

The back of Max’s hand struck the older centaur, knocking him off his precariously perched position and onto his side.

“Do you wish for me to treat you as nothing and to leave, letting the rest of you all die?” Max growled. “I came because I saw the need to help. I would have come sooner had I known but I am here and I won’t play games with any of you. Drink this and live. Submit to Talanos if you want, but either two things are going to happen right now.”

Max looked up from the older centaur who was holding his cheek, a red area already appearing. He glared at the rest of those gathered and saw them back up a step. A few had bows or spears out but he doubted any of them were foolish enough to use them.

With his flight skill, Max rose from the ground and stopped a few feet from where Talanos was still struggling to move. The pair of them hovered fifteen feet above the rest.

“Put me–”

Max repeated the same action he had just done with Aeacilles, slapping Talanos and silencing him.

“Do not think for a moment that I will hold back if you cannot find enough wisdom to realize who you are to me,” Max said, glaring.

Those eyes of the centaur before him widened and for the first time since they had met, Max swore he saw something that looked like fear appear.

“I will either help you because I said I will or I will slaughter all of you except Aeacilles. I will then take him to another pack and let him tell them of what happened to the fool Talanos when he spoke to a god wrong.”

The gentle breeze that was blowing was the only sound the centaur before him made. After a few seconds had passed, Max nodded and Talanos fell to the ground, removing the bonds when his hooves touched.  He then moved to where Aecilles was and held out the potion once more.

“Drink it and do not argue. I won’t offer it again.”

The older centaur's hand shook for just a moment as he reached out, taking the offered gift and drinking it.  In moments, he was back on all four hooves, looking better than he had minutes ago.

I like this version of you. Well done. Now then, what path will we take from here?

With a little bit of effort, Max kept himself from smiling at Bob’s comment.

“Now listen, all of you. I will do what I can to help, but if you think for a moment that this is a conversation where you get to dictate to me how things will happen, I will not hold back like I did when I struck those two.”

He watched as the pack before him all glanced at each other and knelt almost as one, their front halves bent to the ground while their flanks were perched high in the air.

Talanos and Aeacilles repeated the gesture a few seconds after the others, and when Max grunted, they all slowly rose.

“Now listen, I need to talk with someone on one of my other worlds. In the meantime, you will wait, not fight, and make peace,” Max stated. “I do not have time for petty quarrels. Wait here. I will return shortly.”

Without waiting for an answer, Max flew upward a quarter of a mile, hovering in place.

[ Celestial Gate ]

***

“That is an interesting predicament,” Jazzjak said, his red eyes focused upon the tablet in his hand. “A world that is suffering under some sort of affliction and yet you don’t know what or from where. The timing is also strange since it coincides with some of your previous incidents with other gods.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Max said, watching as their helper continued to work on the problem at hand.”

“But why summon us?” Fowl asked. “It’s not our world?”

“For experience, you oaf,” Batrire muttered. “Someday it might be.”

“She’s right,” Max said. “Everything I do now is going to be shared as much as possible. Each of you will someday hopefully suffer the problem of having multiple worlds that require your attention. Just as we sent Miranna, Shale Spark, and the rest of her team with all the knowledge and help that we could, I want you to have that chance as well.  Who’s to say you won’t win a world in the arena or find one you created, dealing with something similar? How can we best fix what we’re not aware of or why it took place?”

“But how often does something like this happen?” Cordellia asked. 

“More than you realize,” Jazzjak said, not looking up from his tablet. “Don’t forget, Max spent that DP early on and ensured your world was under the blessing that all of you enjoy. Not only that, your world has seven Oblesiks that grant a bonus to everyone here.  Based on the information I can gather from the data I’ve stored, this other world appears to be a single god world, barely having been given much aid at all. I don’t believe it was a secondary world and most likely was a god who came out of their protection period and was immediately killed by Kherbann.”

A display appeared, showing a graph of the decline in Divine Points coming from Radiant Steppes.  

“Max is correct,” their helper continued, “that almost fifty years ago the decline of DP began, and it was so slight that I didn’t notice, even when I should have.”

“So how does Max fix it? Have him spend points here on that same blessing, and everything will suddenly be better?” Tanila asked.

“If only,” Jazzjak replied. “Instead, he’ll have to locate the room like this one on that world and then touch the panel. That will then give me access to it back here and I can then find out more information.”

“Uh… that’s a bit of a pain,” Sog stated. “Why make things so hard?”

The vorpal rabbit burst out in laughter and Max could sense everyone reacting differently to his apparent amusement.

“I’m not sure that was… that funny,” the demon said.

Wiping a tear from his eye, Jazzjak nodded. “You… don’t realize that the System doesn’t make things easy, do you? I mean, look at the learning curve each of you has already experienced. Consider the potential death that awaits every god after 300 years. Factor in how hard it is to get DP, and then ask yourself the real question most of you haven’t considered yet.”

What happens if you get a helper who doesn’t care?

Bob’s words echoed the thought Max had had a few times already.

Sog glanced at the others and then appeared to see the look on Max’s face. “Do you know?”

“I think I do,” Max replied. “I think the real question is ‘what happens if your helper doesn’t help or doesn’t care?’”

Jazzjak chuckled and bobbed his head. “Exactly! Imagine if you pissed me off from day one and I didn’t think you were worthy of my time! What’s 300 years for someone like me who is over 80,000 years old? Or the gods who abused me? Why do you think they didn’t make it long?”

“Wait… are you saying you allowed those under you to die by giving bad advice?” Fowl asked, leaning onto the table. 

“Give, didn’t give, allowed to fail, what’s the difference?” their helper answered. “I haven’t mentioned it because it would probably make you think less of me… and for the first time in a very long time, I actually care about that. I won’t ask a question I know the answer to already, but I have been abused for longer than I wish to admit. The things I’ve witnessed and experienced at the hands of gods with no regard for life are atrocious.” Jazzjak’s fist pounded the table softly. “The character you all display is beyond impossible to describe… I mean… Max is–”

Jazzjak’s words were cut off as he watched Cordellia moving around the table and coming to where he was.

“I’m sorry you’ve been hurt. You know I only understand a fraction of that, but I’m here if you need,” she said softly before pulling the vorpal rabbit in for a hug.

Max felt something he hadn’t felt in a few years tug at his heart. A few hours earlier, he was going to wipe out a few centaurs to prove a point. Yet in this moment, Cordellia reminded him that sometimes when we’ve been hurt, we act the wrong way.

A hand touched his and squeezed. Turning, Max saw Tanila smiling at him.

Wiping a tear that had formed and slowly escaping down his cheek with a thumb, he smiled back, taking a deep breath.

It appears that I may need to apologize for my earlier actions.

Imagine a god who apologizes. Those centaurs may die from a heart attack instead of by your hand.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 7

Glitvall played with the brown braid of hair that he had pulled from behind his back.  “I… had not expected so much. And those creatures you describe, which are that strong… we’ve faced one, but to know there are more… that is disheartening.”

“And I still don’t know what killed Baxter and me the one time we basically defeated the army,” Francis said. “I wanted to try and do it again, but Stenson was adamant that I forget that for now. The knowledge we could make it that far was enough and acquiring the skills to survive that battle was more important.”

A grunt came from the warchief as he shrugged. “That is his call. I might choose a different path but I see the wisdom in it. Stenson is looking at the larger picture. You are very lucky that he has taken a liken to you and mapped out your growth so well.”

“So well? In what way?” Francis asked.

“You like it when you get a new skill, don’t you?” Glitvall asked, grinning.

“Yah,” Francis replied. “Who doesn’t?”

“But how many deaths did you need to gain some of them? Two hundred? Four hundred? A thousand?” the warchief replied. “Yet even with that kind of obstacle before you, Stenson kept you motivated, using your own natural desire to get stronger and save your brother to keep enduring it. He also had you switch up methods, giving you a break, acquiring growth and knowledge before returning you to the grind as you called it.”

Francis knew Glitvall was right and hearing the way the warchief described Stenson’s plans made him appreciate the general even more. There were moments he had wanted to quit or try something different, and yet, Steonson had done just that, directing him in new ways and down other paths, always focused on something else before giving out another goal.

“So what, you’re going to do the same?”

“In some ways,” Glitvall replied. “In other ways, no. I’m a bit disappointed you haven’t learned any crafting skills yet.”

“What’s the point?” Francis huffed. “I mean, it’s not like I have the time to make and use something.”

“That’s because you are focused on the short term and not the long term,” Glitvall stated. “You mentioned Stenson said you should try and learn something, or even find the comfort of another. Tell me, did you ever do that?”

Francis smiled, the memory of the waitress he had gotten to know. “Once.”

“I can see from how your face has lit up that it was worth it,” Glitvall said. “Perhaps you can find one, two, or ten here who will provide you warmth on a cold night. Trust me, many will offer themselves to you when they learn of your strength.”

“Yeah, I’m not a huge fan of those,” Francis replied.

The warchief winked at him. “A wise man finds a woman worthy of a chase and earns her honor. To hear you are that kind of man is another mark of the quality you possess that few do. Now, let me discuss a few final things before I send you to a tent for the evening. Tomorrow I will show you the battlefield and let you cross it.”

“Uh… by myself?”

“Is that a problem?” Glitvall asked. “You told me that you spent many lives fighting an army by yourself. Why would this one be different?”

“Oh… I… it just caught me off guard,” Francis replied. “I guess you and Stenson are more alike than I had thought.”

“Some might take that as an insult, but I see it as a compliment,” Glitvall stated. “You need to see what we face firsthand. You also need to try to fight them on your own. The way my people fight isn’t like your kind and the foes we face are a lot… tougher and resilient than the weak beastkin you slew.”

“Even the rhinokins?” Francis asked.

Glitvall shrugged. “Those sound similar but different. Fighting in snow and ice isn’t like the battlefield you are used to. Besides, you’ll get to see if those swords are worth keeping. Something tells me you’re going to be spending a lot of time learning how to use an axe sooner than you realize.”

Choosing not to groan, Francis nodded.

I guess it’s better than having a Mace skill that’s so low.

“What about the armor and weapons Kerhi uses?” Francis asked. “Can I get something like that as well?”

The warchief tsked his tongue. “That is a question for the shamans. I am certain you could convince them to train you after a few of those loops, as you call them.”

“So then what?” Francis asked. “Tomorrow I’ll see the battlefield, try to learn what I can and then return to you?”

“Correct,” Glitvall replied, rising to his feet. “Going forward, you will find that I may ask you to do things differently than you have before. I’m also certain that you will, at times, not tell me everything and simply bash your head against our enemies. I need you to remember that at some point, I will want you to meet our High Shaman Vornak. I promise you that our gods might not be like the other one you experienced in Reevortort.”

“So he wouldn’t have me stabbed from behind?” Francis asked.

“No, he would rip your head off while you watched,” Glitvall stated. “Similar to what I did but a little bit slower.”

Yeah… because I still can’t recall seeing how fast that happened.

Stretching, Francis began putting on the furs that he had taken off, and once finished, was led by the warchief to the covering over the opening.

“Be safe, Francis,” Glitvall said, holding out his massive hand. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

Stepping out of the tent, Francis felt the cold even through his layer of furs. Two guards stood outside, neither of whom seemed affected by the temperature.

“Take him to a guest house in my pavilion,” Glitvall ordered. “Secure a little extra wood for him.”

Both warriors nodded and one motioned with their hand for Francis. “Come, I shall take you to your den.”

Francis followed the barbarian, feeling the size difference immediately, as both warriors were at least a foot taller. Fires illuminated the camp, with a few large bonfires further down casting a substantial amount of light. Around them were shapes of barbarians, some dancing, others standing still like statues. 

The cold wind blew and the scent of burning pine was stronger than it had been upon his arrival. 

Francis was thankful the trip didn’t take long. He could feel the cold seeping into his body. A small square structure, covered in furs like the tent the warchief and the clan leaders had been in, was where he was dropped off. Inside a fire was already going in a fireplace built from stone.

The temperature difference between the harsh reality outside those walls and where Francis stood was going to be one of his first tests he knew would need overcoming.

How long will it take to learn some kind of resistance… or whatever it is where the cold doesn’t affect me?

He scanned the small space, maybe twelve feet squared, and saw he had a bed, a simple desk and a bowl of near the fireplace.  Fur rugs lined the floor and Francis wondered what kind of luxury this might be considered compared to the rest of the barbarians in this land.

His nose detected a sweet scent, and Francis followed it, finding out that the bowl was actually filled with a thick stew of some kind. Grains and a few chunks of meat that looked ready to be consumed made his stomach growl. Nearby was a towel and in it was a single spoon.

“I guess Glitvall is giving me my last meal,” Francis joked to himself, scooping up a spoonful and putting the entire bite in his mouth. It was warm, and felt hearty. Some spice was there, adding heat that gradually grew as he chewed the cooked grains.  They had a weird texture, almost like dough that had been cooked.

Holding the bowl in one hand, Francis devoured the remainder of the offered meal as he walked to where the bed was and sat on it.  Once finished eating, he touched the fur blankets, surprised at how soft they felt.

Knowing that he would soon be facing something he never imagined, Francis considered going outside and testing himself in the darkness. He knew that most likely his ability to evade guards would fail, the snow would give him away, plus his size would stand out.

Setting the empty bowl on the floor, Francis started to undress, about to take his shirt off when a loud cough came from outside his tent.

“Francis Lancaster. May I enter?” a female voice called out.

Sitting there on the bed, with only a single chair in the room, half undressed, Francis tried to consider what was about to happen. He smiled knowing what Michael would be hoping for, but instead, put his shirt back on.

“One moment please,” he called out, trying to hurry up and get his outfit back in order.  When he had on enough covering, Francis said, “You can enter.”

That sounded stupid.

The hanging set of furs pulled aside and Kerhi appeared in the doorway, stomping her feet once before entering.

“Forgive me for coming so late,” she said, standing at the entrance to his new accommodations. “I waited until word reached me that you and the Warchief were finished. It appears I barely reached you first.”

“Reached me first?” Francis asked.

“Yes,” Kerhi replied, grinning. “Outside is Jarl Keara. No doubt she has many questions for you. She did not look pleased that my people reached me first.”

Francis felt weird, knowing that suddenly he had two women waiting to meet him and not sure of the intentions of either. 

“So what can I do for you, Kerhi?” Francis asked. 

She stood there, and after saying nothing, he motioned to the chair. “Sorry, please sit.”

“Thank you. I am honored to share your tent.”

His cheeks felt a little warmer as the tall woman took the chair he had offered.  With nowhere else to sit, he moved back to his bed and plopped down.

They sat there for a few moments, staring at each other, until she spoke up. “You… are an interesting man, Francis,” Kerhi said, her words very slow and deliberate. “Unlike so many of your kingdom you act like one who has seen battle and death, yet the shadow that often shrouds their minds isn’t there. Even when facing all of the clan leaders and our Warchief, you did not flinch.”

She paused, her lips dancing as she clenched her teeth together. “And then you somehow knew not only Dravik’s name, but that he was going to dishonor himself. Tell me are you a shaman of some kind or an oracle? Your actions seem impossible to explain any other way.”

“Is it that hard to believe that I’m just well prepared and trained in your ways?” Francis asked, keeping his face neutral.

“It is. I spoke with some of the others… those who know what Glitvall looks like in your kingdom would only tell you if the need was great. Very few outside of your King and General would know the test that is given to all who enter that tent. For you to know who he is… either means you are here because the need is that great and the King broke a promise, or that you have some other way… a divination of some kind.”

Kerhi stood, took her chair and moved closer to him, sitting just a foot away.

“Has Nyrla spoken to you? Or perhaps Velra?” she asked.

Shaking his head, Francis wondered what kind of religious beliefs the barbarians had. He knew they were a bit more fanatical or devoted, depending upon how one looked at it. Unlike many of his people back home, the gods were more of a being you prayed to only in times of desperation or when hoping for some kind of luck. Their lack of involvement and the price it cost to be granted an audience with anyone of importance made that connection impossible for all but the top of the kingdom.

“None of your gods or goddesses spoke with me,” Francis replied. “I would tell you if they did.”

A frown appeared on Kerha’s face. “Then tell me… why do you look at me like you know me?”

Francis coughed and shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“Your eyes…  your speech. How you look but don’t stare,” Kerhi replied. “There is no fear, no mocking, nothing that most have when they see me. Even my own people often look at me differently. Some might consider me… a threat. Others might consider me an opportunity. You just… look at me in a way I haven’t experienced before.”

Fuck… how do I handle this?

His mind raced. Part of him was intrigued and the other wondered how obvious his signs must have been for Kerhi to notice. Francis was sure he didn't look at her any differently than he did Captain Vella.

Which means she’s accustomed to being treated in a certain way.

“You’re alone, aren’t you?” Francis said.

She frowned, shifting a little bit on her chair. “That is not an honorable question to ask. We do not know each other well enough for such a question.”

Holding up his hand, Francis kept his palm out. “I don’t mean it as an offensive thing. Simply that the way I look at you is different because everyone keeps you at bay. Even your own group of Shamans.”

Kerhi’s eyes widened, then she leaned forward. “How do you know that?!”

Sighing, Francis sat back a little. “Because other than my brother, I’m also alone.”

Chapter 22 - The Creation of Arin

The next three days passed in a whirlwind of activity.

Arin had never seen the camp so busy. Everyone had a task, from the youngest children sorting through belongings to determine what could be taken, to the adults repairing the cart and organizing supplies. The sense of purpose was palpable, driven by both excitement for safety in Greengate and sadness at leaving the home they'd built.

Arin helped where he could, using his unique abilities to assist with tasks that would have been difficult or impossible for humans alone. He moved heavy logs that needed to be repositioned for the guard post that would remain. He scouted the surrounding forest multiple times each day, ensuring no threats were gathering near the camp. He even helped Karel reinforce the cart's wheels, holding them steady while the man hammered in new supports.

"You're stronger than you look," Karel commented during one of these sessions, wiping sweat from his brow. "No offense meant, of course. It's just... well, you're a blob. Didn't expect you to have this much raw strength."

Arin formed letters in the air: G E T  S T R O N G R  W I T H  L E V L S

"Levels, huh?" Karel studied him with interest. "Like in the old stories about adventurers. You really are something special, aren't you?"

S T I L  L E R N I N G

"Aren't we all," Karel replied with a chuckle. He returned to his work, and Arin held the wheel steady for another round of hammering.

During these busy days, Arin also continued his lessons with Jorin and the children. The reading sessions had become a daily routine, something Arin looked forward to with an eagerness that surprised him. Each new word he learned, each spelling rule he mastered, felt like another step toward becoming more than just a slime. Toward becoming truly sapient in a way that others could recognize and respect.

On the second day of preparations, Mira participated in the reading sessions. She'd been watching from a distance before, still processing everything that had happened to her. But now she sat with the other children, and Arin noticed she was helping Elara with some of the harder words.

"You're a good teacher," Jorin told Mira during a break. "Have you been to school in your town?"

"Papa hired a tutor for Marcus and me," Mira explained. "He says reading and numbers are important for the merchant trade. That way we can help with the business when we're older."

The mention of her father made her expression falter, the reminder of her missing family a constant weight on her small shoulders. But she recovered quickly, turning back to the primer with determination.

Arin found himself thinking about Mira's situation often during those three days. What would they find in Greengate? Would her parents be there, having made it to safety? Or would they discover the worst, that the bandits had killed them on that road?

He'd made a promise to help her find out, and he intended to keep it. But the uncertainty gnawed at him, the knowledge that he might have to help a child process the death of her parents. That was a kind of guardian duty he wasn't sure he was ready for.

On the third day, as preparations neared completion, Captain Helda arrived with the promised escort. Six guards in total, all wearing the simple but effective armor of the Greengate militia. They were professional, efficient, and clearly experienced with escorting civilians through dangerous territory.

Captain Helda herself was a woman in her forties, with iron-gray hair tied back in a practical braid and eyes that missed nothing. She surveyed the camp with an appraising look, nodded in satisfaction at what she saw, then turned her attention to Gareth.

"Your message said you had everything ready," she said without preamble. "Is that accurate?"

"It is," Gareth confirmed. "We can leave at dawn tomorrow if that suits your schedule."

"It does." Helda's gaze swept across the assembled woodcutters and their families, then stopped abruptly when she spotted Arin. Her hand didn't go to her weapon, but Arin saw her posture shift, becoming more alert. "That's a slime."

"That's Arin," Gareth corrected, his tone firm but respectful. "He's the one I mentioned in my message. Our guardian. He's saved this camp more times than I can count, including rescuing a child from bandits just days ago."

Helda studied Arin for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she took several steps closer, stopping about ten feet away. "Can you understand me?" she asked directly.

Arin formed letters in the air: Y E S  C A N  U N D R S T A N D

The captain's eyebrows rose slightly. "Literate. That's... unexpected." She glanced at Gareth. "You're certain it's safe to travel with? Slimes are typically mindless creatures. Aggressive when hungry."

N O T  M I N D L E S, Arin formed, trying not to feel insulted by being called 'it.' W I L  P R O T E C T  P E P U L

"He will protect people," Helda translated, her tone thoughtful. She studied Arin for another moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well. If Gareth vouches for you, I'll accept your presence. But understand this, Arin." Her voice became harder, more commanding. "If you threaten any of these civilians or my guards, I will put you down myself. Are we clear?"

Y E S  U N D R S T A N D  N O  T H R E T  T O  A N Y

"Good." Helda turned back to Gareth. "Show me your supply inventory. I need to know what we're working with for the journey."

As Gareth led the captain away to review their preparations, Arin felt a mix of emotions swirling through his core. Relief that she hadn't simply ordered him to leave or tried to kill him on sight. 

Why would she call me an ‘it’? I’m alive… not something like a rock or tree.

Arin could also see things from her perspective; he was an unknown variable. A creature that shouldn't be intelligent but somehow was based on what she had said and the memories he could recall from the arena fights.

He would have to prove himself to her and to the guards. Just as he'd proven himself to the woodcutters. The thought was exhausting, but necessary.

Mira approached Arin later that afternoon, finding him resting near his tree after another scouting run. She sat down next to him, her injured leg clearly much better than it had been days ago.

"The captain lady seems scary," Mira said conversationally. "But I think she's nice underneath. She smiled at me when she saw me helping pack supplies."

Arin formed: S H E  I S  C A R F U L  N O T  S C A R E

"Careful," Mira corrected gently, the way she'd started doing whenever Arin misspelled something. "C-A-R-E-F-U-L."

C A R E F U L

"Better!" Mira smiled, then her expression became more serious. "Arin, do you think... do you think my parents are in Greengate? Or do you think they're..."

She couldn't finish the sentence, but Arin understood what she was asking. He'd been dreading this conversation, knowing he couldn't give her false promises but also not wanting to crush her hope.

D O  N O T  K N O W, he formed honestly. B U T  W I L  F I N D  O U T  T O G E T H R

"Together," she repeated, then nodded. "Okay. That's... that's good enough." She was quiet for a moment, then added, "Even if they're not there, even if something bad happened, I'm glad you found me. I don't think I would have made it without you."

Y U  A R E  S T R O N G  W O U D  H A V  F O U N D  W A Y

"Maybe," Mira said, though she didn't sound convinced. "But I'm still glad it was you who found me." She stood up and brushed dirt from her borrowed dress. "I should go help Marta with dinner. She said I could learn to make her stew."

Arin watched her walk away, marveling at her resilience. She'd been through a traumatic experience, lost her parents in one way or another, and yet she was still finding ways to be helpful, to learn, to move forward. Children were remarkable in that way.

That evening, as the camp gathered for what would be their last meal in this place, there was a bittersweet atmosphere present. Stories were shared, memories recounted, and laughter mixed with a few tears. The woodcutters had built something here, and leaving it behind hurt even though they knew it was the right choice.

Gareth stood to address everyone after the meal was finished. "Tomorrow we start a new chapter," he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the camp. "Greengate will be different. Safer, yes, but also more crowded, with more rules and expectations. Some of you have lived in towns before. For others, this will be new."

He glanced at Arin, and there was something meaningful in that look. "We'll face challenges. Questions from townspeople who don't understand our situation. Adjustment to a different way of life. But we'll face it together, as we've faced everything else."

"Here's to new beginnings," Karel called out, raising a cup of ale.

"To new beginnings," the camp echoed, and the sentiment spread through the gathered people.

Arin didn't have a cup to raise, but he bobbed his mass in solidarity with the gesture. Tomorrow, they would leave this place, this first real home he'd known since becoming sapient. It was both exciting and terrifying in equal measure.

After the meal, as people began settling in for their last night in the forest camp, Jorin approached Arin with the primer under his arm.

"One more lesson before we leave?" the boy asked hopefully. "I found a section about adjectives I thought you might like."

Arin formed: Y E S  P L E A S E

They sat beneath Arin's oak tree, the primer open between them, and Jorin explained how adjectives worked to describe things. Arin absorbed every word, asking questions through his crude letter formation, and slowly built a more complete understanding of language structure.

"You're going to be reading full books before long," Jorin said as they finished the lesson. "Maybe even writing your own stories someday."

The idea seemed impossible, but then again, so had being sapient. So had forming letters and becoming a guardian to a camp of humans. If Arin had learned anything over the past weeks, it was that 'impossible' was just another word for 'not yet achieved.'

M A Y B E  S O M E  D A Y

"I'd like to read your stories," Jorin said seriously. "I bet they'd be really interesting. Things from a perspective no one else has."

The boy stood and stretched, clearly tired from the long day of preparations. "Goodnight, Arin. See you at dawn."

G O O D  N I G H T  J O R I N

Arin flowed up to his hollow one last time, settling into the familiar space that had been his sanctuary. He looked out at the camp below, memorizing the sight of it. The rough structures, the central fire pit, and the way the moonlight filtered through the trees. This place had given him a sense of belonging, purpose, and friends.

Tomorrow they would leave it behind and venture into the unknown.

Arin activated his Status for the first time in days, curious about where he stood after all that had happened.

[Name: Arin]
[Species: Adaptive Slime]
[Level: 8]
[Mass: 118% of base]
[Essence: 126/160]

[Skills:]
- Charge (Tier 1)
- Darkvision (Tier 1)
- Stealth (Tier 1)

[Abilities:]
- Absorption (Tier 2)
- Acidic (Tier 1)
- Fire Resistance (Tier 1)
- Ice Resistance (Tier 1)
- Lightning Resistance (Tier 1)
- Physical Resistance (Tier 1)
- Shadow Resistance (Tier 1)
- Magical Resistance (Tier 1)
- Slime Control (Tier 1)

[Skill Points Available: 0]

He'd grown stronger, that much was clear. Level 8, three useful skills, and a variety of resistances Arin was certain had saved his life multiple times. Even though he wasn’t sure what they did, any resistance was better than none. But more than the numbers, he'd grown in ways the Status couldn't measure. He could read now, at least at a basic level. He could communicate more effectively. He understood complex concepts like responsibility, friendship, and sacrifice.

He was becoming more than just a creature. He was becoming a person in the ways that mattered most.

As sleep began to claim him, Arin thought about what tomorrow would bring. The journey to Greengate. The townspeople's reactions to him. Finding out what happened to Mira's parents. Beginning a new phase of his existence.

It was all uncertain, all potentially dangerous. But he wouldn't face it alone. He had friends now. People who cared about him and whom he cared about in return.

That made all the difference.

***

Dawn came too quickly.

Arin woke to the sounds of the camp dismantling itself. Structures were being dismantled for their usable materials. The cart was being loaded with supplies and personal belongings. Children were being dressed in their traveling clothes, excited and nervous in equal measure.

Captain Helda and her guards were already up and moving, establishing a perimeter while the civilians finished their preparations. The captain caught Arin's eye as he descended from his tree and gave him a curt nod. Not friendly, but not hostile either. Professional acknowledgment of his presence.

I'll take it.

Marta was distributing travel rations to everyone, wrapped parcels of dried meat, bread, and preserved vegetables that would sustain them during the day's journey. She handed one to Arin with a smile.

"Not sure if you'll need it, but take it anyway. You've earned it."

T H A N K  Y U

The preparations took another hour, with everyone double-checking their packs and ensuring nothing essential was forgotten. The cart was loaded efficiently, with the heaviest items at the bottom and lighter, more frequently needed supplies accessible on top.

Finally, Gareth gave the signal. "Everyone ready? Then let's move out."

The procession formed naturally. Two guards in front, led by a stern-faced man, Captain Helda, called Sergeant Marcus. Then came the cart, pulled by two sturdy horses and driven by Karel. The civilians walked alongside and behind the cart, with children keeping close to their parents. Two more guards flanked the group on either side. Finally, Captain Helda and two guards brought up the rear, watching for threats from behind.

Arin wasn't sure where he fit in this formation until Gareth gestured for him to move near the front with Sergeant Marcus. "You've got the best senses of any of us," Gareth explained. "If something's ahead, you'll spot it first."

Arin flowed forward, positioning himself slightly ahead and to the side of the front guards. Sergeant Marcus glanced at him, and his expression was skeptical but not openly hostile.

"Can you scout ahead without getting too far from the group?" the sergeant asked. "We need early warning, but I don't want you so far out that you can't get back if something happens."

C A N  S C O U T  S T A Y  C L O S

"Good. Keep your eyes open. These woods are dangerous, and bandits aren't the only threat."

With that, they began moving. The camp they'd called home for weeks disappeared behind them, swallowed by the forest. Ahead lay the unknown, represented by a dusty road that wound through the trees toward Greengate.

The journey had begun.

For the first hour, travel was uneventful. The road was well-maintained enough for the cart, and the pace was steady if not particularly fast. Arin ranged ahead of the group, using his enhanced senses and 360° vision to scout for threats. He found nothing worse than a few deer and a fox that darted away at their approach.

But as they moved deeper into the forest, approaching the area where the lumber trail joined the main road to Greengate, Arin began to feel uneasy. The forest was too quiet. No bird songs, no small animals rustling in the undergrowth. The same silence that had warned him of the goblin patrol when he'd been traveling with Mira.

He returned to Sergeant Marcus quickly and formed letters: S O M E  T H I N G  W R O N G  T O  Q U I E T

The sergeant's hand went to his sword immediately. "How far ahead?"

N O T  S U R  B U T  S O M E  T H I N G  T H E R

"Helda!" Marcus called back to the captain. "We've got a potential situation ahead. The slime says something's wrong."

Captain Helda moved up the line quickly, her expression all business. "What kind of threat?"

Arin formed: F O R E S T  T O  Q U I E T  M E A N S  P R E D A T O R  N E R B Y

"Predator nearby," Helda translated. She scanned the forest, then called out orders. "Halt! Defensive formation! Civilians to the center, guards on the perimeter!"

The group responded with practiced efficiency. The cart came to a stop, and the civilians gathered around it. The six guards formed a loose circle, weapons drawn. Captain Helda positioned herself where she could see the road ahead, and Sergeant Marcus covered the rear.

Gareth moved to stand with Marta and the children, a hand axe in his grip. "Stay close to me," he told them. "Don't run unless I say to."

Arin activated Stealth and flowed forward, becoming nearly invisible as he moved toward the source of that ominous silence. His essence drained slowly as he maintained the skill, but he needed to know what they were facing.

[-3 Essence per minute]

He moved carefully, using every bit of cover available to him. As he rounded a bend in the road, he saw them.

Goblins. A lot of goblins.

They were setting up an ambush, positioning themselves on both sides of the road where the forest was thickest. Arin counted at least fifteen of them, and there might be more hidden deeper in the trees. They had crude weapons, yes, but they also had numbers and the advantage of prepared ground.

And leading them was something worse. A hobgoblin, larger and better equipped than any goblin, wearing actual armor and carrying a sword that looked like it had seen real combat.

[Hobgoblin Warrior - Level 10]

Level 10. Two levels higher than Arin. And it had over a dozen goblins under its command.

This was bad. Really bad.

Arin retreated carefully, making sure not to alert the ambush party. When he was far enough away, he deactivated Stealth and returned to the group as quickly as possible.

Captain Helda saw him coming and called out, "Report!"

G O B L I N  A M B U S H  A H E D  1 5  M A Y B  M O R

"Fifteen goblins?" Helda's jaw tightened. "We can handle that. Marcus, get everyone ready for—"

H O B G O B L I N  L E D R  L E V L  1 0

That made Helda pause. "A hobgoblin. Level 10." She looked at her guards, calculating odds. Six guards, all probably Level 5-7 based on their experience. Gareth and a few of the other woodcutters could fight, but they were civilians first and fighters second. And they had children to protect.

This fight could go very badly, very quickly.

"Can we go around?" Gareth asked. "Take another route?"

Captain Helda shook her head. "This is the only road to Greengate that can handle the cart. Any other path would take days longer and be even more dangerous." She looked at Arin. "You said they're setting up an ambush. Does that mean they haven't seen us yet?"

N O T  Y E T  T H E Y  W A I T  F O R  U S

"Then we have a choice," Helda said grimly. "We can try to push through the ambush and hope we break their line before they overwhelm us. Or we can set up our own counter-ambush and try to even the odds before the main fight starts."

"Counter-ambush how?" Sergeant Marcus asked.

Helda looked at Arin. "You have that Stealth ability. Could you take out some of them quietly before they know we're coming? Thin their numbers so the fight is more even?"

Arin considered. It was risky. If he were discovered, the entire ambush would be alerted, and they'd lose any advantage of surprise. But if he could eliminate even three or four goblins silently, that could be the difference between victory and disaster.

And he had something the goblins didn't expect. He was Level 8 now, with three skills and combat experience against creatures far more dangerous than common goblins.

Y E S  C A N  T R Y

"Then do it," Captain Helda ordered. "We'll give you ten minutes. Take out as many as you can without alerting the main group. When you're done, or if you're discovered, get back here immediately. We'll advance and engage them together."

Arin bobbed his mass in acknowledgment, then turned back toward the ambush site. Behind him, he heard Captain Helda giving orders to her guards, preparing them for the fight ahead.

Jorin's voice called out quietly, "Be careful, Arin!"

Arin formed quick letters where only Jorin could see: W I L  B E  C A R F U L

Then he activated Stealth and disappeared into the forest, becoming a shadow among shadows.

Time to prove what a Level 8 slime with Stealth could do.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 082 -

“This… arena is probably one of the greatest treasures you have ever given us,” Edward said as he stood next to Max watching a pair of adventurers fight. “Everyone who has had a chance to train cannot wait for the next opportunity that comes.”

“I’m glad,” Max replied, his eyes already reading the flow of the battle and knowing how it was going to end. “Trust me, in the year we’ve had this myself and the others have gotten just as much as you have from it.”

Edward let out a chuckle and shook his head. “I doubt that. I’ve felt the vibrations through the stone above this. I know there have been moments I wondered if what has taken place in here might ever destroy this place. What has surprised me even more is the way the others are acting. They carry themselves…. Differently.”

“In a good way or bad way?” Max asked, turning his attention to the conversation as the two men sat in the observation room.

“A good way,” the King of Sunreach replied. “It’s almost like… when a parent realizes that they are not their child's friend and has to be the parent.  I know that you and the others enjoy the way you engage and interact with everyone, but I think the people of our kingdom and of the others are finally starting to see you all as… gods.”

“And we weren’t before?” 

“Not like you are now,” Edward stated. “Now you all move with an assurance and confidence that you didn’t have before. While Miranna was here, you tried to live with us as one of us and as a god. That moment is gone and now you are all just filling the other role.” The man frowned and then stroked his beard. “Forgive me, I feel like I am not explaining this well.”

Max put a hand on the king’s shoulder and squeezed. 

“You have explained it better than you can imagine,” Max replied. “I understand what you are saying and I also agree. We are trying to find a way to prepare for what is coming.”

“Ahh, yes, I’ve read about that part,” Edward replied. “Still feels weird that we can’t speak about it around others, but I won’t argue with the System. How do you think that will go?”

Max blew a raspberry and shrugged. “I have no idea. I have hopes and desires but the truth is we won’t know until that moment comes.”

“And your other worlds? If I remember correctly, you’re supposed to be visiting one of them in the coming month.”

Nodding, Max heard a cry and turned to see that the mage had taken down the warrior as he had expected.

“Yes… I cannot imagine having dozens of worlds that I’m actively engaging with at the same time. Part of me would feel guilty for not being a part like I want to.”

“And yet, you have no choice but to entrust the ones you choose to lead as you require,” Edward replied. “I believe you mentioned your own world had problems with some of the ruling humans and how they acted. Did the god… Phaius, not let them work those things out?”

A chuckle echoed inside his head as Bob laughed.

Every time we discuss things with this one, I am still surprised at how fortunate you are to have found a man like him. He is correct, and you know it.

Just because he is right doesn’t mean I want to rule like Phaius did. I mean, he did try to kill me.

Ignoring the laughter from Bob that continued to grow, Max turned his focus back to Edward.

“He did. But I’m not him,” Max stated. “Still… you are wise, and I appreciate the advice.  Perhaps I will eventually be able to trust the processes.”

“I’m sorry if I’m ruining everything by being as successful as I am,” Edward said. “And if I ever overstep, let me know.”

Max shook his head and motioned toward the pair who were waiting in the center of the underground arena. “No, you are fine. I enjoy the candid nature of our talks, and I find your opinion helpful in reminding me to see things from your perspective. Like you said, one day I may forget what it is like to be in your spot and I’ll need men and women who are willing and able to tell me what I need to hear and not what I want to hear.”

***

“You going to be okay?” Tanila asked, giving Max a quick kiss after asking a question they both knew the answer to.

“I should be,” he replied with a wink. “If it wasn’t for the fact the DP has been slowly decreasing on that world, I’d probably ignore it like I do all the others. Jazzjak pointed out I should be cultivating my relationships with each world that I own.”

“You did ask for his opinion, and he’s given it. I guess you’ll have to trust him,” she replied.

You’ve been receiving that kind of constant affirmation a lot lately. It would appear that you are on the right path now. A time to lead but not from the front line.

Which is a very different place for me to be. I didn’t want to be the king of Peltagow and I don’t want to be the king of anywhere else.

And yet you are a god and are required to act like one. Especially if you want to survive and reach the heights you hope to achieve.

Max winked at Tanila and tapped his forehead. “Getting a pep talk as I go. I love you, and I’ll be back soon. Remind Fowl not to complain when Sog beats him again.”

She laughed and nodded. “That has been a fun rematch to watch. Both of them have grown and yet Sog always finds a way to take out Fowl at the very end.”

Nodding, he took a step back and activated his ability.

[ Celestial Gate ]

A vast open plain appeared through the portal and Max stepped into it, waving at his wife before it vanished.

The breeze that washed over Max was warmer than it had been the previous time he had visited. A glance at the sky revealed the sun to be directly overhead, with not a single cloud in sight.  

What had once been a thick, lush green area of grass was now dry. Gone was the view of land filled with life that extended forever. It was replaced with barren trees and dried-up roots.

What happened here?

It appears to be negligence or something worse. You can sense the thread to which you are bound, off to the southeast. Perhaps we can find answers there.

Max rose into the sky, his view of what was below him expanding and grimaced, seeing that the harsh conditions covered a large section of the space below.  He had to fly for almost an hour, finally seeing enough green vegetation in the direction he was headed to believe there might be life down below.  

A thread that told him those he was responsible for directed his path and as Max descended, he saw a small group of the centaurs he was the god of hunting on a grassy plain. They were trying to bring down a creature that was the size of a grown dragon.

Is that… a dinosaur?

From the looks of it, yes. But that is a plant-eating kind. Still, I am afraid that group might suffer some casualties trying to kill something like that.

Knowing that Bob was right, Max sped toward one of the three groups of centaurs that were surrounding and herding the creature toward some large trees far off.

As he drew close, one of the centaurs slowed down, an older one with silver hair compared to most of the others with darker hair.

The centaur froze mid-stride, almost tripping as he came to a quick stop, holding up both hands and whistling.  The ones closest to him, and within range of hearing, turned to see why that whistle had come and they too stopped their chasing of the dinosaur.

“Father,” the older centaur said as Max came to land before them. “We… forgive me. It has been so long. I know not your name but I can feel the connection.”

“That has been my fault,” Max said. “Call me Max. Please. Tell me, do you all need help in slaying this beast?”

A look of surprise came upon the centaur and then he shook his head, bowing it low once again. “Oh… no, we are not looking to kill this one. It is a female. We are trying to push her back toward the forest so that she will find food and be able to survive and hopefully find a male.”

The sounds of hooves approaching caused the older centaur to pause. When the obviously younger ones stood, stamping their feet, he motioned for them to all bow.

“This is our Father… Max. Show him the honor he is due.”

One of the larger centaurs took a step forward, his black hair tied back in braids. The warrior spat to the side. “Honor? What honor is he due? Where has he been while we–”

“Silence, Talanos!” the older centaur snapped. “We will not speak to a god like this.”

“God?” Talanos scoffed. “Are your eyes and your teeth both bad, Aeacilles? This god doesn’t even have four legs. How can he be our Father? Has he ever ridden with us across the plains? Does he–”

The sound of thunder boomed from the sky and the younger centaur went silent as a bolt of lightning struck the ground about ten yards from his position.

“You may be correct about some things,” Max said, his voice having lost any hint of warmth. “But if you wish to question who or what I am, do not direct it to the elder before you.”

Max rose from the ground just enough that he could be a foot above Talanos’s head and flew slowly toward him, watching as the younger centaur glanced at the others who had all backed away, their heads lowered.

“Ask me those same questions and this time, try to remember who you are.”

A pair of black eyes shook and Max could see that they were not ones with fear. The bow in the centaur’s hand was shaking as Talanos glared at him.

“I would rather be struck down than to bend my neck to a god who has shown no love for his people, nor cared for them in their time of need. I have lost my running mate because of the sickness that has spread across the world.” Talanos spat once more to the side, his black eyes locked upon Max. “If I die, then I shall join her to race across the stars for eternity. Strike me down if you wish, but until you prove you are worthy of my worship and honor, there will be none from me.”

This one has quite the pair.

And yet he is right. I can imagine I might act like this if I were in his shoes… er hooves.

“Forgive him, Father. He–”

Max held up a hand, cutting off Aeacilles. “No. Let him speak. While some might find him disrespectful, I can find honor in one who cares for his people and his family. Tell me, what has befallen your plains and what can I do to help?”

For the first time since Talanos’s eyes had met his, the centaur blinked. 

“You… would listen and try to help?” Talanos asked. “Why now?”

Keeping himself from making any noises or acting ungodly, Max motioned to the land around him. “I was only made aware of the plight of this world recently. That is why I am here. I cannot promise I can fix it immediately, but I will do what I can to help if it is within my power.”

The sounds of hundreds of hooves came and Max could see that the other two parties of centaurs were arriving.

You should not make a promise like that.

And yet I must, if we are to have a world that provides DP for another 200 years or more.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 6

Francis stared at the warchief, who looked disheartened after having cursed. “I’m sorry, why is my request such a bad thing?”

Glitvall crossed his two arms and leaned back in his oversized wooden chair. “The skill you are desiring isn’t one that most talk about or even know. It has three different names or variations, and each one is almost impossible to acquire.  The one you’re seeking is often referred to by names such as regeneration or a lesser version. Life Well is the legendary skill you’re seeking and acquiring it has been… impossible.”

“What… why…” Francis was lost for words, confused by what the large man was telling him and the general's belief that this was where it could be learned. “Then why did Stenson say that if I came here, you could help me acquire it?”

A large finger scratched the warchief’s nose as he frowned. “How many times have you died?” 

“I don’t have an exact number, but thousands,” Francis replied. “I’ve come from nothing, fighting against people and beasts that were far stronger than me, putting in the time and effort to get every skill that I now have as well as the gains I’ve acquired for my body and mind.”

He could see the look of shock on the barbarian leader’s face. Those brown eyes blinked a few times at the number given.

“You say thousands,” Glitvall said, leaning forward. “What would drive a man to endure such things? Power? Wealth? Women?”

“My brother,” Francis replied immediately.

“Your brother?”

Nodding, Francis massaged his eyes for a moment with his fingers. “I have a brother… a half-brother, but one I consider the only real family I have. You know how the nobles work in our kingdom as well as the birth order?”

Glitvall snorted as he nodded. “A foolish thing, but yes, we are all aware of it.”

“I’m the ninth son,” Francis replied.

“The ninth son?” Glitvall repeated. A few seconds later, he burst into laughter, rising from his chair and started pacing in the small area of the tent. “A ninth son! With this kind of power?! How, when, I need to know everything!”

“Because you want to be entertained or because you’re going to help me acquire what I came for?”

The warchief paused his movement, approached Francis and kneeled. Their eyes were at the same level, almost as Francis sat in the chair, leaning backward.

“I asked ‘why you do what you do?’ because I need to know the fire that warms the heart of a man who claims he can do what you do,” Glitvall said. “To have a chance to grasp what you seek will not be easy. Many men and women have tried, spending their whole lives suffering and never tasting the sweetness of success. Yet their reasons were all… selfish. You, Francis, have a spark inside you that I can see and feel. Even though you are young, you carry yourself with confidence that most wouldn’t have unless they had lived. It is obvious you have died as many times as you have to have gained that.”

The warchief took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reaching out with his massive hand and setting it upon Francis’s shoulder. “I have trained many warriors and tamed beasts. I rule a nation that is dying, fighting a foe like nothing we have ever seen. Every clan leader is here, working together, a feat that hasn’t happened since the great war, because we all know the cost if we don’t. Even worse, our hope to hold out lessens by the rising of the sun each day.”

Francis felt the large hand squeeze, not one meant to crush, but to announce its presence and confer something simply. 

“You, boy, may be what Stenson says you are,” Glitvall stated. “We have prayed to Korvald, the Winter Father, that we might endure as he does. The Hearth Mother, Verla, has not given us the warmth that we seek, yet we will not let our fires go cold. Like Skarn, the Iron Gale, we will be the storm that our foes face and not end until the life of every one of my people is gone. And when that moment comes, our prayers to Nyrla is that she will carry our souls and reward us for the honor we have earned.”

The large man pulled at a leather cord around his neck, revealing a piece of broken tusk wrapped in leather.

“This is the symbol for Korvald,” Glitvall stated. “Most outside of our kingdom do not know what this means or how special it is. You will learn what it means to bleed and not fall. Like Korvald, you will be forged of ice, bleeding from every step you take, cracking from that which strikes, yet not shattering or dying. You, Francis Lancaster, will face a test far worse than any you have ever known before, and you must decide right now if that brother you say is the reason you do this is worth that which is about to come.”

Laughing, Francis rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, but that… speech… was funny.”

Glitvall leaned back, frowning. “You mock the truth that I speak?”

Francis slid his chair back, moving away from the warchief and stood. He then undid the rest of his clothes, pulling off his shirt and pants until he stood there almost naked before Glitvall. “Look at me. There are no scars on my body, yet I have been burnt to death, my skin flayed off with lightning, and frozen so that chunks of muscle shatter at a single touch. I have been poisoned, beaten to death, had my head ripped off, as well as bitten off. The ways in which I have died would make most warriors run away in fear. My own father has killed me, my other brothers have tried to beat me, and yet I stand here untouched on the outside.”

A few tears fell as Francis spoke. He tapped his chest where his heart was. “Inside… I carry those scars, but the love I have for my stupid brother, Michael, is what drives me. He saved me, helped me learn what love was and is the only family I really have. I will die for him ten thousand, or a hundred thousand times or more if that is what it takes to ensure that he lives.”

Francis was getting worked up, his voice growing louder, and he moved closer to the kneeling warchief. “So don’t tell me I’m going to suffer in ways I can’t imagine. I’ve already faced Kerhi and had her rip my heart from my chest.”

A smile formed on Francis’s lips when Glitvall’s eyes widened. “But don’t worry. When she turned, showing off her prize to all those gathered around the circle of frozen dirt, I slid my sword into her spine, paralyzing her from the waist down before I died.”

Francis shook his head, chuckling twice before leaning his face so close to the older man that he could butt heads if he wanted to. “Don’t think I’m some coward or believe I won’t give everything I have. What you should do is fear who I am because there’s one thing you and Stenson have to realize and wonder when I’m not nearby.”

Glitvall’s hand came forward, slowly and pushed Francis back, allowing the older man to stand. A frown formed as the warchief stood, and he shook his head a few times.

“You don’t tell us everything when you return,” the warchief stated.

Francis nodded. “I’ve been fair, honest and tried to do right by Stenson,” he replied. “I know the man is playing a game, trying to use me as a weapon or some tool. I was bothered by it… angry at first when I realized that, but then I also figured out why he was doing it. Stenson cares about the Kingdom. I care about my brother. For both of us to see each of those things survive, he needs me to defeat his army and yours. After that, I have no doubt I’ll have to go help with the other kingdoms as well.”

“That is no small task,” Glitvall said. “And you feel up to that task? One that would crush any other man?”

“I have no choice,” Francis replied. “If I don’t, then my brother will be gone and that is not something I can live with. Especially if I have the power within me to keep him alive.”

A full set of teeth appeared as Glitvall smiled before clapping his hands a few times. “You, Francis, are a man like no other… Stenson is right. And you are right. I am… in awe of one so young who has conviction like you. Very well. I will do everything I can to help you try and acquire this skill. Just know the warning I gave earlier wasn’t me trying to scare you. I was being truthful.  Our land is harsh. Children, adults, and elders die every day without war because it does not coddle the weak. No one cares who is born first or in your case, ninth. All they care about is strength.”

“So what do we do now?” Francis asked. “When can we start?”

A sigh came from Glitvall as he pointed at the stack of clothing behind Francis. “Get dressed. There are still a few things I need to learn and I need you to promise me you’ll try to be honest each time you return.”

“I’ll do my best,” Francis said, still not moving toward his clothes. “But I cannot promise that I won’t leave things out or attempt other paths by changing what I say or do between them.”

The warchief’s head bobbed a few times. “I can accept that from you. Now get dressed. You need to tell me everything you’ve faced so far and where you are right now, skill and stat-wise.”

“That could take a while,” Francis stated. “Surely you’re not going to want to do this same song and dance every time we meet?”

Shaking his head, Glitvall moved to where his chair was and sat. “No. I’ll tell you what to say, and then show me. That will prevent me from needing to earn your trust. Knowing those three words means more than you can imagine. But for me to understand what you can become, I need to know where you have been.”

Francis nodded and then retrieved his clothes, happy to put them back on, as the small fire in the tent didn’t completely stop the cold. “Where do you want me to start?” he asked.

A large hand waved in the air, a sign that the warchief didn’t have a particular spot in mind. “You have obviously had this talk with Stenson multiple times. I’ll trust you to know where to start.”

Chuckling, Francis nodded, quickly getting dressed and retrieving his seat.

“Well then, I guess I’ll start at the beginning. Back when I was a baby…”

A deep grunt came from the warchief and Francis laughed, knowing that regardless of how many times he died, Glitvall was going to be a bit more entertaining than Stenson ever was.

BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 040

The final hour felt like it crawled by.

Einar stood at the edge of the defensive circle, his eyes never leaving the tunnel entrances. The goblins hadn't returned, but he could feel them out there. Watching and waiting.

Behind him, the steady rhythm of picks continued. Each strike brought them closer to the goal and closer to escaping this cursed mine.

Thorve moved among the wounded, her experienced hands checking bandages and administering what aid she could. The older healer's face was drawn with exhaustion, but her movements remained steady. Years of practice had taught her how to work through the fatigue she was enduring by being almost out of wyrd.

"How are they?" Einar asked as she passed near him.

"They'll live," Thorve replied, wiping sweat from her shaved head. "Though a few will need proper rest once we're back on the surface. Kojala and I have done what we can down here."

Einar nodded. Five dead total. Fifteen were wounded to varying degrees. The cost had been high, but they had managed to hold on.

Osvif approached, his red hair matted with sweat and dust. "The carts are almost full. Yulgas says another twenty minutes at most."

"Good. Start preparing for the retreat. I want everyone ready to move the moment the last piece of ore is loaded."

"You think they'll try one more time?" his friend asked.

"I would," Einar replied. "They know we're leaving. This is their last chance to stop us."

Osvif studied the tunnel entrances with his green eyes, then nodded slowly. "I'll spread the word."

As his friend moved away, Einar felt the familiar pull of his rune system. The notification from the war boss kill still lingered at the edge of his consciousness. His Primal Body rune had leveled, reaching its maximum potential. The power thrummed through him, a reminder that growth came through struggle.

Worth the pain. Always worth the pain.

Skardi appeared beside him, the massive Viking somehow managing to move quietly despite his size. "The men are getting anxious. We've been down here too long."

"We leave soon," Einar assured him. "How's your section holding up?"

"Tired but ready. Hallad took a nasty cut to his shoulder, but he refuses to leave the line. Says he's not letting goblins make him look weak."

Einar couldn't help but smile. The round, muscular warrior had proven himself repeatedly today. "Tell him I said he's earned his rest, but if he wants to stay in formation, I won't stop him."

"Will do." Skardi hesitated, then added, "You know, when we were coming down here, I thought this would be easy. Fight some goblins, grab some ore, and head home. I didn't expect it to be this hard."

"Nothing worth having comes easy," Einar replied. "The dwarves needed warriors who could adapt to fight in ways they couldn't. Unlike them, we’re not afraid of death. The pain of it hurts, and the risks we take for growth aren’t ones they can match. Today, we proved we're those warriors."

The large Viking nodded and returned to his position.

Einar moved around the circle, checking on each section. Vidar's warriors looked exhausted but determined. The pack leader from Kopanes had fought well, his brown eyes alert despite the fatigue. Kubadar, one of his men, had a bandage wrapped around his head but still gripped his spear with steady hands.

Jepi's section was in similar condition. The broad-shouldered pack leader with red hair had taken several minor wounds but ignored them all. Beside him, Eskil leaned against his spear, his red hair crusted with goblin blood. Gylfi was sharpening his blade in preparation for whatever came next.

These warriors had earned their place in this warband.

A sound echoed from the main tunnel. Everyone tensed, weapons rising.

But it was only Bartia, returning from a scouting mission Einar had sent her on an hour ago. The dwarf looked grim.

"They're massing a force," she reported. "In the chamber we passed through earlier. I counted at least sixty, maybe more. They're waiting for something."

"Waiting for us to leave," Einar said. "They'll hit us during the retreat."

"That's my guess," Bartia agreed. "The tunnel is narrow. If they catch us strung out..."

She didn't need to finish. Everyone understood the danger.

Thorodd joined them, his massive frame casting a shadow in the dim light. "So what's the plan? We can't fight our way through sixty goblins while pushing loaded mine carts."

Einar's mind raced through options. They could abandon the carts and fight their way out, but that would mean the entire mission would be for nothing. They could try to hold this chamber longer, but eventually exhaustion would claim them all. Or they could take the fight to the goblins before the retreat began.

"Bartia," Einar said. "That chamber where they're gathering. How many entrances?"

"Three," the dwarf replied. "Same as this one. Two smaller tunnels and the main passage."

"And the ceiling?"

"High enough. Maybe fifteen feet. Why?"

An idea was forming, dangerous and risky, but it might work.

"Because we're going to collapse it on them."

Everyone stared at him.

"You want to bring the ceiling down?" Thorodd asked slowly. "In a mine? While we're still inside?"

"Not the whole ceiling," Einar explained. "Just enough to block the main passage and trap them in that chamber. Yulgas, is it possible?"

The dwarf had been listening from where he worked. He set down his pick and approached, studying Einar with his blue eyes.

"It's possible," Yulgas said carefully. "There are support pillars in that chamber. If we damage enough of them, the ceiling will come down. But it's dangerous. If it collapses wrong, it could seal us in too."

"Could you control it?" Einar pressed. "Make sure only that section falls?"

Yulgas was quiet for a long moment. "Maybe. I'd need Stefi's help. And we'd have to be quick about it."

"How long?"

"To set it up? Ten minutes. To get clear after we trigger it? Less than one."

Einar looked at his warriors. They were exhausted, wounded, and at the edge of their endurance. But he saw determination in their eyes. They trusted him to lead them out of this.

"We do it," Einar decided. "Yulgas, Stefi, Bartia, you three come with me. We'll set the trap. Thorodd, you're in command here. The moment you hear the collapse, start moving. Get these carts to the platform and don't stop for anything."

"And if more goblins come while you're gone?" his second in command asked.

"Then you hold until we get back," Einar replied simply.

Thorodd nodded, accepting the burden.

Einar selected five more warriors to accompany him. Osvif, naturally, for his quick mind. Skardi, because his size and strength might be needed. Geir, whose confidence and skill with all weapons made him invaluable. Bodalf, whose spear work was among the best. And Hogni, whose skill with a bow might prove helpful.

"Move quietly," Einar instructed. "We're not there to fight. We set the trap and get out."

They left the defensive circle and entered the tunnel leading back toward the goblin chamber. The darkness seemed deeper now, more oppressive. Every shadow held potential danger.

Stefi led the way, her crystal providing minimal light. They moved in single file, weapons ready, each step carefully placed to avoid making noise.

After ten minutes of tense movement, they reached the edge of the chamber. Stefi motioned for them to stop, then crept forward to scout.

She returned moments later, her expression troubled. "Seventy at least. Maybe more. They're organized, too. Arranged in groups, weapons ready. They're definitely waiting for us."

"Show me the pillars," Yulgas whispered.

They moved to where they could see into the chamber without being spotted. Einar counted six stone pillars supporting the ceiling, each one carved from the mountain itself. The goblins had gathered in the center, leaving the edges relatively clear.

"Those two," Yulgas said, pointing to pillars on opposite sides of the chamber. "And that one near the back. If we damage those three simultaneously, the ceiling will come down in the center."

"Will it be enough to block the passage?" Einar asked.

"More than enough. It'll seal that chamber completely."

"Then let's do it."

They split into three groups. Yulgas and Stefi took the left pillar. Bartia took the right. Einar, Osvif, and Skardi approached the rear pillar. The others stayed back, ready to cover their retreat.

Moving along the chamber's edge, staying in the shadows, they reached their targets. Einar studied the pillar before him. It was thick, maybe four feet across, covered in ancient dwarf runes.

I hope Yulgas knows what he's doing.

He glanced across the chamber. Yulgas had his pick ready at the base of his pillar. Bartia waited by hers. They were all in position.

Yulgas raised his hand. Three fingers. Two. One.

They struck as one.

The sound of metal on stone echoed through the chamber. The goblins screeched in alarm, their yellow eyes turning toward the noise.

"Again!" Yulgas shouted, abandoning stealth.

They struck again, and again. The pillars began to crack, deep fissures spreading from where the picks bit into stone.

The goblins charged toward them, weapons raised.

"Keep hitting it!" Einar roared, channeling wyrd into his strikes.

The pillar before him shattered. Across the chamber, the other two gave way at nearly the same moment.

The ceiling groaned.

"Run!" Yulgas screamed.

They ran as they had been ordered.

Behind them, the sound of splitting stone filled the air. The ceiling came down with a roar that drowned out even the goblin screeches. Dust exploded outward, a cloud of choking debris that engulfed them as they sprinted for the tunnel.

Einar grabbed Osvif's arm and pulled him forward as a chunk of ceiling crashed down where his friend had been standing. Skardi's massive form appeared through the dust, carrying both Geir and Bodalf.

They burst into the tunnel as the chamber behind them collapsed completely. The sound was deafening, a thunder that seemed to shake the entire mountain.

Then silence.

Einar turned, coughing from the dust. The entrance to the chamber was completely sealed, tons of rock blocking any passage. No goblin would be following them through that.

"Everyone alive?" he gasped.

"Somehow," Osvif replied, his face white with dust.

Yulgas was laughing, a slightly mad sound. "That was either the bravest or stupidest thing I've ever done!"

"Probably both," Stefi agreed, but she was grinning too.

"Come on," Einar said. "We need to get back before Thorodd thinks we're dead."

They made their way through the tunnel, moving as quickly as exhaustion allowed. When they reached the ore chamber, Thorodd was already organizing the retreat. The mine carts were loaded, the wounded were being prepared for transport, and the defensive positions were being dismantled.

"Good timing," Thorodd said when he saw them. "Another minute and I was coming to find you."

"Let's just get out of here," Einar replied.

The journey back to the platform was tense but uneventful. The goblins didn't return. Perhaps they had learned their lesson. Perhaps they were simply gathering their strength for another attack. Einar didn't care. They had what they came for.

When they finally reached the platform where the mine carts waited to carry them back up, Einar allowed himself a moment of relief. They had done it. Against impossible odds, in the belly of the mountain, they had completed the first task.

As they loaded the ore carts for the ascent, Yulgas approached Einar.

"The Stone Father will hear of this," the dwarf said. "What you and your warriors accomplished today. Many dwarves have died in these tunnels. You lost five and still completed the mission."

"Five is still too many," Einar replied quietly.

"Perhaps. But they died as warriors. We both know that you will bring them back. That's more than my kind could ever hope for. When the time comes, let me know. I would like to watch the ceremony if you allow me. Your warriors deserve all the honor due to them."

The blonde dwarf extended his hand. Einar clasped it, feeling the strength in that grip.

"One task down," Yulgas said. "Two more to go."

"One step at a time," Einar replied.

As the carts began their ascent, carrying the exhausted Vikings and hard-won ore back toward the surface, Einar closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest.

They had survived. They had succeeded. And soon, they would see the sun again.

That was enough for now.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 081 -

Every part of her wanted to shout that this fight wasn’t fair and everyone knew how it was going to end.  Yet Cordellia didn’t complain at all. Watching Batrire as she faced down Rakonath, not flinching as the silver dragon’s mouth had bit into her, ending their match immediately.

“Quit yer dancing and come fight me!” Fowl shouted, banging his hammer on his shield. “I don’t want to play chase the elf around the arena for another day!”

She ignored the dwarf’s taunts. The scowl on his face told her that her plan was working.

Fights don’t have to be won in a few seconds or in an hour.

Over a day had passed as she shot arrows occasionally at Fowl, ignoring the pain she felt whenever one connected, and slowly let the poison shots she managed to land take effect.

Fowl had already drank two potions, and she knew he was holding back.  He was playing for his moment.  After having tried to charge her once and failing to land a solid blow, he had even pulled out a stool for a while, sitting in it and blocked all the arrows she had sent with his shield.

That forced her to get close, trading attacks until she used the bomb Max had let her acquire from him.

Max had laughed longer than she had expected when she had approached him.  Part of her had felt embarrassed at asking for help, but he had been happy to. Cordellia realized that he was waiting for someone to think outside the box and so they had spent a few days coming up with different items that might help against Fowl and his insanely large health pool.

Cordellia only had one ensnaring trap left. She had run out of the elemental bombs Max had made her.  The truth was, she was starting to understand why Max had pitted them together.

Fowl was a monster when it came to the defense game.  His armor and shield blocked or deflected every attack she tried to use unless she relied upon one of Max’s items.  His problem was that he couldn’t catch her.  His taunt was a problem at first, having caught her off guard, but thankfully, she was able to free herself from it quickly and escape before taking more than two hits from that stupid weapon Max had made their warrior.

Her choices were limited. She could waste another boss arrow on Fowl, but it wouldn’t do anything if she couldn’t get it into one of the small weak points in that plate armor. Without being able to immobilize the dwarf, that wasn’t going to happen again either.

I guess this means I’m down to plan G or H or whatever… Neither of which is going to be fun.

Storing her bow, she summoned a pair of short swords and ran at Fowl.

“Finally!” the dwarf exclaimed, lowering himself slightly.

Cordellia went in for a feint with both swords, choosing to leap over Fowl and drive both weapons down at the area around his neck.

The lip of his shield caught one blade, pushing it off target and harmlessly scratching his plate armor.  Her other blade managed to push past the section of thick metal and cut his skin.

Pain radiated through her arm and hand, as his Torn Aura struck back, telling her that she had managed to do actual damage again.

Fowl didn’t wait; a wave of pressure assaulted her mind as she started to land on the ground.  Both of her eyes and all of her attention were focused on him, fighting to break free of the Taunt ability he had used again.

A spiked black tip crashed into her side, sending her tumbling half a dozen yards.

His power wasn’t that great, but she had managed to free herself enough to react and move with the impact she couldn’t dodge.

Cordellia rose, a new pair of swords ready, a smile on her lips as she watched the dwarf store his weapon and reach up to yank the sword still stuck in his neck.

“That was a good attempt,” Fowl said. “You…” He paused, and she watched his eyes look at the blade, noticing the purple liquid that was coating the last few inches. “Did you seriously poison me again?!” 

A scowl appeared on Fowl’s face as his beard danced due to his facial movements. “You… what did…”

Cordellia waited, taking a few steps back as she watched the sword fall from Fowl’s armored hand. It clattered against the stone, and he staggered a few steps.

“Poison… I need…” As he spoke, a vial appeared in his hand and Cordelllia pounced, knowing this was the moment she had been waiting for. She summoned her purple wolf and sent it charging at Fowl’s left side while she went for his right.

Both blades moved with all the speed she could put into the attack, and as Cordellia moved close, ready to break the vial and drive the other sword into the throat of her dwarven friend, everything changed, inches from her plan working.

Fowl glowed gold, and before she could curse or say anything, his hand snaked out and grabbed her arm with the blade coming for his throat. He was smiling, the scowl gone, and his eyes shone with power.

“It was a good attempt, but you lose,” the dwarf said as he brought his shield toward her face. 

Lifting her hands did nothing as the overwhelming power difference in that moment played out and everything she had tried fell apart. 

Pain came and finally it stopped when the room seemed to shift and buckle and Fowl stopped his beating, letting go of her and letting her fall to the floor.

Gasping for air, Cordellia felt the pain of what had just happened. 

I was beaten to death… with a shield…

She looked up at Fowl and saw him holding out a hand, his smile gone, and a softness to his eyes.

“Forgive me… I… I can’t lose.”

His words took away the sting of what she felt, and as he took her hand, she let him help her stand.

A warmth filled her body and Cordellia turned to see Batrire lowering her hand, the soft green glow already fading.

“You played me this whole time,” Cordellia said. “Did anything I do to you actually hurt?”

Fowl chuckled and shook his head. “No… I mean, the poison wasn’t fun, but nothing you used was going to overcome my resistances.  That last blade was covered in something you got from Max, but I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that I’ve been slowly training my poison resistance with him.”

“You’ve been what?!” she exclaimed, glancing at Max and seeing a toothy grin upon their bald friend. “How?”

“Talk to Jazzjak and Max. It’s all possible with a little bit of DP and a lot of pain. Though it has only been about forty years that I’ve been training it and a few other abilities.”

“Why didn’t someone tell me you could train resistances?” Cordellia asked, feeling her frustration rising.

“Because you can’t,” Jazzjak replied. “You don’t have what Fowl has, which is natural resistances to certain things. You could try and train your natural resistances to emotional and mental attacks but I’m not sure we have anyone here with the ability to inflict that kind of pain and suffering upon you.”

Cordellia pointed at Rakonath, her finger shaking. “Are you training some also?”

The silver dragon chuckled, and his humanoid figure almost seemed to stand taller as he shook his head. “No. Only Fowl has that ability. I’m not spending any DP to try and acquire such a thing. Not when my own resistances are already naturally high.”

“Not high enough,” their helper muttered. “You all still don’t get it. What you’re facing right now is just a drop in the bucket. I mentioned it once, and I’ll mention it again. I know why you don’t want to spend Divine Points, but it would be better to have spent some and acquired a few skills to help live longer than to find yourself on the receiving end of an ability that could have been negated.”

Cordellia remembered that conversation. It had been a casual discussion about how to spend their DP and how tight the race to Tier Four was going to be.  Back then, it was easy to say no to everything, yet seeing how Fowl had overcome what she was certain would help change the tide of this match made her consider that choice.

“Don’t worry about it,” Max said as he came to stand beside her and Fowl. “You two gave us all exactly the match we were hoping for.  Fowl demonstrated the power of pretending to be weak and letting you believe what you’re doing is working until the moment the trap they set triggers.  You showed everyone that it is smart to prepare for potential fights and have a variety of things on hand to help even the odds.”

“That’s my husband,” Batrire said, coming over and grabbing Fowl’s beard. She then kissed him, causing everyone to look away as a few grunts were uttered.

“Does the sensation that fills my stomach when they do that ever lessen?” Sog asked.

“I wish,” Cordellia muttered. “I’m just…” She paused, her eyes widening as she realized what she had been missing. “Tanila, did you spend DP to help make those runes and cast them like that?”

“I did,” her friend replied, smiling. “I think it was worth it.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” Batrire said, having freed her lips from Fowl’s. “I’m going to spend some time with Jazzjak and look at a few things I might purchase to help even the odds of a fight or two.”

Rubbing her face and groaning, Cordellia felt the frustration that had been rising start to decrease.  Pointing an accusing finger at Max, she growled. “You planned all this, didn’t you?”

“Planned what? For you all to realize, like I did, that spending some Divine Points might be worth it in the long run? That I just said you should do so would have been met with hesitation and reservation? Please… we both know I’m not smart enough to do such a thing.”

Chuckles came from the others as she realized that Max was once again teaching them, but in a different way.

“You’re a… arg… go hump an ogre!”

“Wouldn’t Tanila find that upsetting?” Jazzjak asked, causing everyone except their archer to burst out laughing.

“Why do I feel like I’m the only one who missed out on something?” Cordellia asked. “I even spent time preparing with Max, and yet I feel like I was somehow kept in the dark.”

“You aren’t,” Sog stated, tapping his chest with his fist. “I’m the one who played and got killed for it. I’m also the one who thought I didn’t need to take this serious. That’s all changed. Don’t forget who I get to face next week.”

Cordellia snorted and nodded, knowing that Jazzjak had offered horrible odds if anyone wanted to bet something on Max losing.

“Don’t be upset,” Tanila said, patting Cordellia’s shoulder. “Max convinced me only because he has a way of doing so… and not like that.” 

Fowl said nothing, holding up both hands, not hiding the grin he displayed.

Clearing her throat, Tanila turned her attention back to their ranger. 

“Now you know. You’ve got some time to work with Jazzjak and figure out what you might acquire for a little bit of the DP you’ve been saving. Eventually, you’re going to have to spend it, and I’d rather have a chance to train with it before then.

Taking a deep breath, Cordellia let it out slowly. “I guess that means I’ll have some time to train and prepare for my rematch against Fowl.”

“Anytime you want me, I’m here,” their dwarf replied, receiving a bonk with Batrire’s staff on his shoulder.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 5

Francis felt the gazes of everyone on him as Glitvall read the letter from Stenson. To his credit the warchief didn’t react at all, simply rolling the paper up, tucking both into his clothes.

“It would appear that the General has sent us someone to assist in our war,” Glitvall said. “He will be given all respect and honor as if he were a fourth rank.”

A couple of those gathered around the fire coughed.

“Are you certain?” the Jarl asked. “To give an untested–”

“I have spoken. For me to do anything less is an insult to the trust I have placed in the rare few outside of our kingdom,” Glitvall said. “Francis has earned the honor to know my name and by default all will honor him with theirs when asked.”

Doing his best to appear strong and yet not concerned about the fact they were speaking about him right in front of him, Francis saw Kerhi looking at him from the other side of the tent. Her blue eyes were bright enough that he could tell she was using magic.

“I will not go against the Warchief,” the Jarl said. She turned toward Francis and gave a slight nod of her head. “I am Jarl Keara. For now I would suggest that all questions and needs you might have come to me. In time you may find the other clan leaders and seek their specific aid.”

“I am honored,” Francis replied. “Thank you for yours.”

He watched as Keara looked him up and down, her lip curling up on one side. She too had blond hair and blue eyes like many of the barbarians he had seen. In fact most were either brown or blond with very few red headed ones or black.

I guess that might stand out a little too much in the snow.

The sound of bench being granted mercy came from beside him and Francis turned to see Glitvall rising from his seat. 

“I shall return to my tent, taking Francis with me. There are things that I must discuss with him.”

“Alone?” one of the men around the fire asked.

“Alone,” Glitvall replied. “One day if you hold my position, you can determine who is worthy of a visit in your tent alone. Until then tread carefully upon questioning mine, lest you dishonor us both.”

Francis saw the large man with blond hair frown but not say another word.

Without asking or telling him to come, Glitvall turned and moved toward the entrance to the tent.  Francis gave a slight bow to the others and quickly fell in next to the large man, feeling so tiny.

He’s like three feet taller than me.

Glitvall stopped as they drew near Kerhi. 

“Sister… this one earned your name, you said.”

“He did,” Kerhi replied.

“Then he is yours to watch after when we are done. Follow behind but say nothing.”

Francis smiled as she moved behind them and they made their way outside.

Once the tent flap was open, cold air assaulted Francis’s face. 

“Just two,” Glitvall informed the guard who moved forward. “To my tent.”

No reply came as a pair of guards fell in behind, neither men saying a word as they followed.

“You are young… too young to be what Stenson wrote,” Glitvall said as they moved along a brown path of snow. “Yet I pray he is right. Something must change and soon.”

“I wish I knew what he said about me,” Francis replied, “But I am serious when I say I have come to help.”

“For a price,” Glitvall muttered. “Always a price.”

Unsure how to respond, Francis remained silent. 

Everywhere they went, the barbarians who saw Glitvall and him walking together stared. None said a word, simply pausing whatever task they were doing for a moment before returning to it.

“I guess they must think I am your child,” Francis joked, trying to break the silence.

A single chuckle was all Glitvall let out, but his face softened. “They would feel sorry for me if that were the case.”

“And why is that?” Francis asked.

“Because your mother would be extremely ugly, and short,” the warchief replied.

Francis felt his temper rising but behind him came a trio of laughter.

Obviously talking about one’s mother isn’t against the rules… or maybe it’s allowed if  you’re the warchief.

Choosing to not let his temper go uncheck, Francis smiled, saying nothing at all.

***

Sitting in the small tent, much similar to Stensons, Francis watched as the older man began to undo the bundle of furs that he wore.  

A fire was stoked and Glitvall motioned at Francis. “Take your furs off before you sweat and then freeze later. We have much to discuss and I need to know what I have in my tent.”

Francis quickly undid the top layer of furs, setting them down near his seat and then waited until Glitvall motioned for him to take it.

“Read this,” the warchief said, holding out the letter Stenson had sent.

*****

Glitvall,

You’re an ugly bastard with an ugly mother.

This one is a gift. He can help us find victory if you help him learn what he must.

- S

*****

“Uh… that’s way less than I expected,” Francis said. “And this top line?”

“A way I know it’s him,” Glitvall replied, shifting on his chair. “So tell me, Francis, how can you help us find victory? I sense… power, yet I’m not sure how to measure it.”

Francis studied the large man before him.  It felt like it would be such an easy thing for the warchief to grab him with both hands and snap him like a twig. There was a sense of power similar to Stenson or Baxter and yet almost a reluctance of some kind.

“Do you want the honest answer or simply what I’m here for?”

“So you do want something,” Glitvall said. “Give me the truth and then I’ll see if you're worth whatever it is you want.”

Francis smiled and nodded. He didn’t pull any punches. He just told the truth. “When I die, I wake up at the same place and day. I’ve died thousands of times and have gained multiple skills. Stenson sent me here because I need to learn how to heal from my injuries and he said you’re my only hope.”

He waited, watching as Glitvall stared at him with brown eyes that gave no hint of what the man was thinking.  The popping of sap and the scent it gave off filled the silent tent.  Minutes passed and Francis wondered if he needed to say more or do something.

“You swear by that? On your life?” Glitvall finally asked.

“I do.”

The warchief nodded. “Remember Grok.”

“Grok?” Francis asked. “What–”

Those were the only two words Francis got out before the world went black.

***

The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis lay there in shock.

"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"

“Uh…” it took a moment for Francis’s brain to work, still trying to remember what had happened.

Did he kill me? I mean he did, but how?

“You okay?” Michael asked. “You sound… stupider?”

“Fuck you,” Francis said, climbing out of bed.

“What the hell happened to you?!” Michael exclaimed. 

Sighing, Francis shook his head. “It’s a long story. But don’t worry, we've got all the time in the world.”

***

Days later, Francis found himself in Glitvall’s tent, sitting in the same chair he had before.

“You don’t want to read the letter?” the warchief asked, waving it once more before Francis.

“No,” Francis replied. “I can tell you what it says and I can also say something I believe you want me to tell you, which will make what I say next make you believe I’m telling you the truth.”

“And what is that?” Glitvall asked.

“When I die, I wake up at the same place and day. I’ve died thousands of times and have gained multiple skills. Stenson sent me here because I need to learn how to heal from my injuries and he said you’re my only hope. Then you’re going to sit there and try to make sure I’m telling the truth and will finally tell me to remember Grok before you kill me.”

Glitvall’s eyes widened and the man leaned back in his chair. “Is your memory good?” 

“What?” Francis asked. “That’s the question you ask me?”

Nodding, the warchief leaned forward. “Remember Grok, Rok, Mua.”

Sighing, Francis glared, feeling the rage inside him rise. “Grok, Rok, Mua.”

***

The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis lay there in shock.

"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"

Resisting the urge to punch the wall, Francis sat up. “I know, I’m bigger, no, you can’t have any, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What the–”

“Later,” Francis said. “I need to talk to Phillip.”

***

Once again, Francis found himself inside Glitvall’s tent, unable to hold back the scowl that appeared the moment they were alone.

“You do realize that you are being dishonorable,” the warchief said. “I have invited you into my tent and you–”

“Listen,” Francis growled, moving close enough he could lift an arm and poke Glitvall’s stomach. “I don’t want to read Stenson’s letter, I know what it says and I swear to my gods, your gods and any other fucking gods that if you kill me again I will make your life miserable.”

Glitvall looked down at Francis’ finger that was poking him and shook his head. “You’re crazy, boy. I haven’t–”

“Grok, Rok, Mua,” Francis said, freezing the older man mid-sentence.

“What… you… how…” 

“I’ve told you twice, and each time you’ve killed me to prove that I’m being honest,” Francis growled. “When I die, I always come back on the same day and place. I remember everything, and keep my skills and grow stronger. You’ve killed me twice! The first time, I said just 'Grok,' and the second time, I said 'Grok, Rok, Mua.' Now sit down, and help me become what I came for!”

Francis was a little surprised when the warchief reached for the chair behind him and plopped down into it.  Huffing, Francis moved to his and mimicked the older man.

“What have you come for?” Glitvall asked.

“Wait, that’s it?” Francis replied, feeling angrier than he had before. “You’ve killed me twice, making me remember three stupid words and you just–”

Before Francis knew what happened, he was in the air, a single hand holding him by the collar. Glitvall’s eyes glowed in a way that seemed impossible, red fire of sorts in the middle of his iris.

“Two people, both dead, now with the spirits know those three words in that order,” the warchief said slowly, his voice somehow calm. “I will kill you a third time and wait for you to come again if you ever call those words stupid or foolish. Do you understand?”

Grabbing the massive wrist that was connected to the hand that had ahold of him, Francis pulled himself up, nodding after he got some air. “Forgive me, I didn’t–”

Glitvall let go of him, and Francis twisted mid-air, barely managing to land in a crouch position.

“You have spirit and coordination,” Glitvall said, studying him. “Now you know how to get my attention when you come here. Say those words, with respect, and I will believe what you just said.”

Francis took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He moved to the chair that had been overturned and put it back into position, and then sat. 

He wanted to ask why the warchief had done what he did, but Francis knew the answer. The only real way to prove his ability was to say what he had been told. It worked with Stenson and Captain Vella.

Maybe I avoided a few dozen deaths by figuring that out on my own last time.

“I mean no dishonor to those you loved,” Francis said.

Glitvall chuckled and shook his head. “There is no love for those two. Those were words that confirmed they were traitors. No one would be foolish to ever speak them to me if they weren’t told to.”

“You just… I mean…” Francis wanted to groan but instead he joined the warchief in laughing. “Fine… I need you to help me learn whatever legendary skill there is that will let me heal my injuries.”

Glitvall’s face went blank and the warchief sighed. “Well fuck us both then…”

Amazon Review Update

I got a few questions from some via PM asking why UL1 book 10 ranking was so bad (if it was the change of story or what).

For whatever reason right now, Amazon isn't showing reviews that don't have actual reviews. All across our genre books are struggling because if someone just gives a rating without a review, it doesn't appear to be getting weighted.

So if you do leave reviews on amazon, if you could take a few seconds and just add a few words, that would help a ton because right now a lot of books have been getting gutted from the changes.

Thanks!

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 080a -

Sog stared at the pages before him. Seven slips of paper, each with notes from the others as well as one from Jazzjak.  He had read them each multiple times, and the fact that they all basically had the same point frustrated him.

*****

You played around and didn’t take it seriously. Had you pressed your advantage from the start, I would have most likely lost.

*****

Tanila’s point hit home as he had held back far more than most of them even realized.

*****

It seemed like you were having fun, as if this were a game, and forgot that this was a battle that determines life and death.

*****

Sog snorted at Fowl’s assessment, knowing that the dwarf he liked to drink with was absolutely correct. He had seen it as simply something fun to partake in.  

*****

You have faced death before and survived. The cost of regaining the strength you lost was tremendous. I wasn’t sure if you’d play around or go all out, but I needed to see how you’d react when chosen first, and against an opponent you should be able to defeat.

*****

Max’s words stung the most.  His friend was right. Facing the others in the arena on Igarra’s world should have made him realize this wasn’t a game. Knowing how many Divine Points Max had spent to provide this training area was for this reason alone.

“You going to frown all day, or are you going to say something?” Cordellia asked.

Looking up, the demon saw the six other gods and their helper watching him.

Organizing the papers into a neat pile, Sog nodded. “I messed up and you’re all absolutely correct. I didn’t take this seriously. I’m sorry. Some of the points you all mentioned were really good ones. Take, for instance, Rakonath telling me that I’m too focused on charging head-on.”

“There’s a time for that,” the dragon said, “but part of your problem was you weren’t taking it seriously, so you ran at Tanila even when you knew she was laying traps for you. I think the hardest part in all this is that we cannot judge our opponent by how they look or what we think they can do.”

“Yeah… I get that,” Sog replied. “Still… I’m sorry I let you all down.”

Max chuckled and it made the demon look at his friend, who was shaking his head.

“You didn’t let us down,” Max stated. “Part of this was for everyone here to learn from that fight. If you haven’t realized it yet, I’ve watched all the others write down a few things for themselves, even Fowl.”

“Hey… that seems like you’re saying I don’t write down things that often,” their dwarven warrior replied. “I’ll have you know I keep meticulous notes on my beer crafting.”

A snort came from Batrire, who nodded in apparent agreement.

“I guess the real question I have is when do I get another turn?” Sog asked. “I mean, I feel like I need to prove myself.”

Max motioned to Jazzjak, who tapped on his tablet, pulling up a list for everyone to see.

***

Arena Matches

Sog vs Tanila - Winner Tanila

Rakonath vs Batrire -

Cordellia vs Fowl - 

Sog vs Max

Tanila vs Cordellia

Fowl vs Rakonath

…

***

Dozens of fights were listed out and a few grunts and whistles came from those around the table.

“Wait… why do I have to fight Rakonath?” Batrire asked. “I mean… he’s a dragon and I’m a healer? How is that fair?”

Sog felt a twinge of sadness for the group's healer but immediately sensed he knew why Max was doing this.

“Arena matches aren’t fair,” Max replied, his face harder than usual. “When we reach past the sixth tier and are fighting on worlds and have gods invading our homes, we’ll not get to blueberry-pick who we fight. Whatever you’re faced against, you’ll have to find a way to survive.”

“But a dragon,” Fowl muttered. “That’s like putting one of us against a Void god, or–”

“And then what will you do?” Max replied, cutting him off. “Lie down? Quit? Give up? Or will you do whatever you can to try and win or hold them off until help might arrive?”

Sog watched the others at the table all grimace and frown, realizing how painful and hard Max was about to make it for them.

“I get it,” Sog said in that quiet moment. “I had heard the stories of how you all trained back in that other place on your world. Fowl told me about when Max and Tanila had to fight and how hard that first match was between the two of you.”

Sighing, the demon tapped one of his sharp nails against the table. “Getting my arse handed to me because I wasn’t being serious was… is a bit humbling. Each of you is right. I need to not hold back any longer.  I mean, you can all complain about who you’re facing, but I’m looking forward to when I fight Max. Do I expect to win? No… but you can bet every Divine Point you have that I’m going to give everything I have this next time.”

He watched as Max smiled, nodding once at him. 

“That’s… what I’m looking for,” their bald friend said. “That right there. I don’t care if you win or lose; what I care about is that you don’t hold back. I want you to cheat. I want you to take a pound of flesh whenever you can. The only way we’ll survive is if we show every other god out there, we’re not going to let them walk over us.”

A fire stirred in Sog’s chest. Max’s words were kindling something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

I guess I’ll have to let go when Max and I finally face off.

Chapter 21 - The Creation of Arin

Arin woke up to the sound of children's laughter.

For a moment, he was disoriented, his mind still processing the events of the previous two days. His desperate hunt, driven by a desire for a skill. The bandits and Mira. Everything felt like it might have been a fever dream brought on by exhaustion.

Then he flowed to the opening of his hollow and saw her.

Mira was sitting near the fire pit with Elara and Tam, the three of them playing some kind of game with small stones. The girl's dress had been cleaned as much as possible, and someone had given her a shawl to wrap around her shoulders against the morning chill. She was smiling, actually smiling, as Elara explained the rules of whatever game they were playing.

It was real. She's safe.

Arin descended from his tree, and Jorin noticed him immediately. The boy was hauling water from the stream with another bucket in hand, but he paused when he saw Arin.

"Morning," Jorin called. "Marta saved you some breakfast if you want it."

Arin flowed toward the fire pit, where Marta was stirring a pot of what smelled like porridge. She glanced up at his approach and smiled.

"There he is," she said. "Our wandering guardian. How are you feeling?"

Arin considered the question. He was still smaller than he'd been before the shadow cat hunt, his mass not quite recovered from all the fighting. His core ached in ways he didn't fully understand, a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. But he was alive, and Mira was safe, and that mattered more than anything.

B E T R

"Good," Marta replied. She ladled some of the porridge into a wooden bowl and set it on a flat stone near Arin. "Not sure if you eat this kind of thing, but it's there if you want it."

Arin extended a tendril and touched the porridge. His acidic nature began breaking it down immediately, though the process was slow and inefficient compared to consuming living or just killed prey. Still, the gesture of being included in the meal felt important.

T H A N K

Mira looked up from her game and waved at Arin. "Good morning!" she called, her voice carrying none of the terror from yesterday. Children were resilient in ways that surprised him.

Arin formed letters in the air: G O O D  M O R N I N G

"Can you play stones with us?" Elara asked excitedly. "Mira knows a different version from her town!"

Arin wasn't sure how a slime would play a game involving small stones, but before he could figure out how to respond, Gareth's voice cut through the morning air.

"Arin. When you're done with breakfast, we need to talk."

The tone wasn't angry, but it was serious. Arin had known this conversation was coming. He'd disappeared for over a day without warning, fought bandits, and returned with a strange child. Of course, Gareth would want explanations.

O K A Y

Arin finished absorbing what he could of the porridge and flowed toward where Gareth stood near the edge of camp. The man was checking the perimeter, his eyes scanning the forest with practiced wariness.

"Walk with me," Gareth said, gesturing toward the tree line.

They moved into the forest, staying close enough to see the camp but far enough for private conversation. Gareth was silent for a moment, apparently choosing his words carefully.

"I'm not angry," he finally said. "But I need to understand what happened. You left to hunt the shadow cat two nights ago, and you didn't come back. We thought you were dead or injured somewhere. Then you show up with a child you saved from bandits, looking like you've been through a war."

Arin had been practicing his letter-forming during the walk back with Mira yesterday, trying to think of how to explain everything. Now he formed the words carefully, making them as clear as possible.

F O U N D  S K I L L  C O U D  L O S E  I T

"A skill?" Gareth's eyebrows rose. "Like your charging attack or your night vision?"

Y E S  S T E L T H  S K I L L

"Stealth..." Gareth processed this. "And you could lose it? How?"

This was harder to explain. How could Arin describe the system's mechanics to someone who didn't have access to it? The skill points, the temporary storage, the desperate need to level up before time ran out?

H A D  O N E  D A Y  T O  G E T  S T R O N G R  O R  L O S E  S K I L L

Gareth was quiet for a long moment, his expression troubled. "So you went hunting. Desperately. Recklessly, from the look of you. Fought everything you could find to get stronger before time ran out."

Y E S

"And did you? Get the skill?"

Y E S  B U T  N O T  H O W  I  T H O U G H T

"What do you mean?"

Arin struggled with how to explain the lesson he'd learned. That grinding for power hadn't worked, but choosing to help Mira had. That the system had rewarded him for protecting someone in need rather than for pure self-advancement.

F O U N D  M I R A  S A V D  H E R  G O T  S T R O N G R  T H E N

Gareth's expression softened. "You got stronger by saving her. Not by hunting for power, but by using it to help someone."

Y E S

"That's..." Gareth rubbed his jaw, thinking. "That's actually a good lesson. One I wish more people understood." He looked at Arin directly. "But next time you need to do something like this, tell someone. Leave a message. Something. We were preparing to search for you, and if we'd gone looking in the wrong direction..." He shook his head. "We could have wasted days while you were out here dying."

Arin felt the weight of guilt settle over him. Gareth was right. He'd been so focused on his own quest that he hadn't thought about how his absence would affect the people who cared about him.

S O R E  W I L  T E L  N E X T  T I M E

"Good." Gareth's stern expression eased into something more like approval. "Now, about Mira. She told us some of what happened last night, but I want to hear it from you. How many bandits were there?"

F I V E  A L L  D E D

"All dead," Gareth repeated. "What levels?"

Arin formed the numbers: 3  4  4  5  7

"Seven was the leader, I'm guessing." Gareth whistled low. "That's above your level. You're what, Level 7 now?"

8  N O W

"Eight." Gareth studied Arin with what might have been respect. "You took on five bandits, including one above your level, while already exhausted from hunting all day and night. And you won."

B A R E L Y  A L M O S T  D I D  N O T

"But you did. And you saved that girl's life in the process." Gareth put a hand on Arin's gelatinous form. "You're becoming something special, Arin. Not just strong, but wise. That matters more than power alone."

The praise made Arin's core pulse with warmth. This was what Levi would have wanted. Not just to be strong, but to be good. To use strength to protect others.

"Now," Gareth continued, his tone becoming more businesslike, "we need to figure out what to do about Mira. She said her family was traveling to Greengate when the bandits attacked. We're only about a day's travel from there ourselves. We could take her with us when we relocate."

R E L O C A T E?

"You've been gone," Gareth reminded him. "We made the decision while you were hunting. The attack from the war band did too much damage. We're moving the families to Greengate for safety. The guard will establish a post here to protect the lumber operations, but the children and non-workers are going to town."

Arin felt a mix of emotions at this news. The camp had been his home, the first real place he'd belonged since Levi's death. But he understood the logic. The forest was too dangerous for families with children. The kobold and goblin raids had proven that.

W H E N?

"Three days," Gareth replied. "We need time to finish repairs on the cart and pack up everything worth taking. Captain Helda is sending a proper escort, consisting of six guards in total. Should be safe enough with that many armed men." He paused. "You're welcome to come with us. To Greengate. If you want."

The offer hung in the air between them. Greengate. A real town, with walls and guards and hundreds of people. Arin had avoided going to town before, afraid of how people would react to him. But things were different now. He'd proven himself. Saved Mira. Earned the respect of the woodcutters.

And more importantly, he was stronger. More confident. Ready to face whatever came next.

Y E S  W I L  C O M E

Gareth smiled. "Good. The children would be heartbroken if you didn't. Especially Jorin. That boy sees you as some kind of mentor, you know."

The revelation surprised Arin. Jorin, the serious twelve-year-old who'd lost his sister and taken on too much responsibility too young, saw him as a mentor?

D I D  N O T  K N O W

"Well, you are. You've shown him that strength isn't just about fighting. It's about protecting others, about making hard choices, about being willing to learn and grow." 

Gareth was quiet for a moment, studying Arin with an expression that had shifted from businesslike to something more personal.

Gareth was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Can I ask you something? Jorin mentioned that a friend taught you to write. That they're gone now."

Arin's core pulsed at the memory.

M Y C R E A T O R H I S N A M E W A S L E V I

"Your creator." Gareth nodded slowly. 

Y E S I N V Y R D A N

"Vyrdan. That's a long way from here." Gareth didn't press for details about what happened to Levi, and Arin was grateful for that. Some wounds were too fresh to share with someone he'd known for only a few weeks. "Is that where you're trying to get back to eventually? Vyrdan?"

S O M E D A Y W H E N I A M R E A D Y

"Well, when that day comes, I hope you find what you're looking for." Gareth's tone made it clear he understood there was more to the story, but he wasn't going to pry. "Until then, you've got people here who care about you."

T H A N K Y U

Gareth turned back toward camp. "Come on. Let's get back before Marta thinks we've wandered off to fight more bandits."

They returned to find the camp had fully come alive with morning activity. The woodcutters were organizing their tools, preparing for another day of work. The children had finished their stone game and were now helping with various chores. Mira was assisting Marta with sorting vegetables, the girl seeming eager to be useful.

Jorin approached Arin as they entered the clearing. "Can we do letters later?" he asked. "I found a new page in the primer that I think you'd like. It's about compound words."

Arin formed letters: Y E S  W O U D  L I K E  T H A T

"Great!" Jorin's face lit up in a way that made him look younger than his years. "After midday meal?"

Y E S

The boy ran off to continue his chores, leaving Arin to settle near his tree. He was about to flow up to his hollow for some rest when Mira approached, walking carefully on her injured leg.

"Arin?" she said quietly. "Can I ask you something?"

Arin bobbed his mass in what he hoped was an encouraging gesture.

"The people here," Mira continued, glancing around the camp. "They're really nice. But they're not my family. What if..." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "What if my parents didn't make it? What if the bandits hurt them too badly?"

Arin hadn't wanted to think about that possibility, but it was real. The bandits had attacked Mira's family on the road. Her father had tried to fight and been struck down. Her mother had screamed. Neither was mentioned as having been taken captive, like Mira had been.

But he couldn't tell her that. Not without knowing for sure. False hope was cruel, but so was crushing what little hope she had.

W I L  F I N D  O U T  I N  G R E E N G A T E

"You promise?" Mira asked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

P R O M I S  W I L  H E L P  Y U

She nodded and wiped at her eyes. "Thank you. For everything. For saving me, for bringing me here, for not leaving me alone in the forest."

Arin wanted to tell her that he'd do it again in a heartbeat, that protecting people was what gave his existence meaning. But he didn't have the words, couldn't form the complex thoughts into crude letters fast enough.

Instead, he formed something simple: Y U  S A F E  N O W

Mira smiled through her tears and reached out to touch his gelatinous form, her small hand sinking slightly into his mass. "I believe you," she said. Then she turned and went back to help Marta with the vegetables.

Arin watched her go, feeling that same sense of purpose he'd felt when fighting the bandits. This was why he existed. This was what Levi had wanted for him. Not just to survive, but to make a difference in the lives of others.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity. Arin helped where he could, moving heavy objects that would take two men to lift, scouting the perimeter for threats, and even attempting to assist with some repairs by using his mass to hold boards in place while Karel hammered nails.

After the midday meal, true to his word, Jorin gathered Arin and the other children for a reading lesson. They sat in the shade of Arin's oak tree, the primer open on Jorin's lap.

"Okay," Jorin said, pointing to a page. "This is about compound words. When you put two words together to make a new word. Like 'sun' and 'light' become 'sunlight.'"

Arin absorbed the lesson eagerly. This was more complex than simple letters, an actual linguistic structure. The way words could combine and create new meanings fascinated him.

Jorin worked through several examples, then asked Arin to try forming compound words in the air.

"How about 'fire' and 'wood'?" Jorin suggested.

Arin thought for a moment, then formed: F I R E W O O D

"Good! Now try 'rain' and 'bow.'"

R A I N B O

Arin paused, sensing he'd missed something. The children giggled.

"You forgot the W," Elara said helpfully. "Rainbow!"

R A I N B O W

"Perfect!" Jorin beamed. "You're getting better at this. Your spelling is way better than it was a week ago."

The praise made Arin's core pulse with satisfaction. He was learning. Growing. Becoming more than just a simple slime that could form basic words. He was developing actual literacy.

They continued the lesson until the sun began descending toward the horizon. The woodcutters returned from their work site, tired but in good spirits. Dinner was prepared, and the camp settled into its evening routine.

Arin found himself sitting near the fire pit again, surrounded by people who'd accepted him as one of their own. Mira was teaching Elara and Tam a hand-clapping game from her hometown. Jorin was discussing something with Karel about proper axe maintenance. Marta and the other women were mending clothes and talking quietly.

It was peaceful. Ordinary. Exactly the kind of life Levi had wanted to protect through his alchemy.

As darkness fell and the fire burned brighter against the night, Gareth stood and raised his voice to address the camp.

"Tomorrow we start final preparations for the move to Greengate," he announced. "I know this is hard, leaving the home we've built here. But it's the right choice for our families. Captain Helda has promised us support, and with Arin coming along, I feel confident we'll make it safely."

All eyes turned to Arin, and he felt the weight of their trust. They were counting on him. Not just as a weapon or a hunter, but as their guardian.

The responsibility should have felt crushing. Instead, it felt right.

Gareth continued, "We'll need everyone's help. Pack only what you can carry or fit in the cart. Tools, food supplies, and personal items. The heavy furniture stays. The guard post will use this place as a base, and maybe someday we'll come back."

A murmur ran through the assembled people. Some looked sad, others relieved. All of them understood the necessity.

"Get some rest," Gareth finished. "Tomorrow starts early."

The camp began to disperse, people heading to their structures for sleep. Arin was about to return to his hollow when Jorin approached.

"Arin?" the boy said. "Can I ask you something?"

Y E S

"In Greengate..." Jorin hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Will people be okay with you? I mean, you're obviously not human, and some people don't like things that are different."

The question cut closer to Arin's fears than Jorin probably realized. Would the townspeople accept him? Or would they see him as a monster, something to be driven away or killed?

D O  N O T  K N O W  H O P E  S O

"I hope so, too," Jorin said. "Because you're one of the best people I know. Even if you're not technically a person." He smiled at his own awkward phrasing. "You know what I mean."

Y E S  T H A N K  Y U

"Goodnight, Arin."

G O O D  N I G H T

Arin watched Jorin disappear into his family's structure, then flowed up to his hollow. He settled in, his form spreading across the interior of his sanctuary, and looked out at the camp below.

Three days until they moved to Greengate. Three days until he faced his next great challenge, one that had nothing to do with fighting or hunting.

Three days until he had to prove he could exist in human civilization without being seen as a threat.

The thought should have terrified him. Instead, Arin felt something closer to determination. He'd come so far from the frightened slime that fled Vyrdan's sewers. He'd learned, grown, protected, and saved lives.

He would face Greengate the same way he'd faced everything else. One challenge at a time, always trying to be what Levi had wanted him to be.

A guardian. A protector. Someone who used strength to help others rather than harm them.

As sleep began to claim him, Arin's last conscious thought was of Mira's smile when she'd touched his gelatinous form and said she believed he would keep her safe.

That trust was precious. Worth protecting.

Worth everything.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 4

“It appears we have a visitor,” Kerhi’s voice said as Francis appeared in the building of ice. “Tell me, what are you here for?

Francis studied the woman, ignoring the temptation to laugh as he recalled the words Michael had spoken a day ago.

She is attractive… especially if you like them able to crush you.

Pulling the two sealed letters out, Francis smiled. “I have come to offer aid and help with the fight your people are currently caught in.” She began to speak, but he raised a hand. “No, we are not requesting aid, and I would prefer to see Warchief Glitvall sooner rather than later.”

Kerhi scoffed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell me, who is it that comes to see the chieftain and is so full of himself?”

“I am afraid you have not earned the honor of knowing my name yet,” Francis said. “Perhaps if you carry out your duty in a timely manner, I will share it with you.”

Her laughter echoed off the walls as she motioned to the door made of pelts. “Well at least you know enough to respond as one should and to wear clothes fitting of our home.”

Francis nodded, thankful that Stenson had been able to produce a set of furs that stopped the cold from reaching him. It had been awfully hot as he waited for Pricilla to open the portal to here, but he would gladly endure that little bit of suffering over the alternative.

As they moved out of the building, Francis made sure to walk beside her, partially leading the way.

Kerhi slowed, not coming to a full stop and Francis turned after getting a few strides ahead.

“Are you not going to take me to the chieftain?” Francis asked.

“I would, but you appear to be leading us instead. Is there a reason why?”

Francis reflected on what had transpired when he was here last time.

Was she taking me to Glitvall? Or was it some other path?

“Ahh, forgive me,” Francis said. “I figured someone would want to take me to where you craft weapons and heal your injured, to show me a different section of the camp.”

Her blue eyes seemed to darken, and Francis watched as she grinned just slightly. “What kind of barbarian would do such a thing?” she asked, her voice sweeter than he had ever heard before. 

“Yes,” Francis said, smiling. “What kind of barbarian indeed? Surely not one who is part of the shaman sect.”

Her face froze and Francis wondered if he had pushed too hard, too fast. 

Well… what’s another death?

As they stood there in silence for a few seconds, neither flinched, the cold air blowing over them both.

“You speak about things most would not know, and yet I sense a knowledge you should not have,” Kerhi said slowly. “You come with letters, wearing the right clothing, giving the right greeting, and walking a path… some might be led down. I am curious to know what I must do to learn your name.”

“Take me to the warchief,” Francis replied. “But I don’t mind if we take this path. It will give us a chance for every barbarian we pass to wonder whose child I am.”

Kerhi snorted and then held a hand to her face. A hint of red made her face go flush, but having learned a few things in a thousand deaths, Francis said nothing.

“Come, let us go,” Kerhi stated, walking in the direction Francis had been heading.

Not much time had passed before the first joke at his expense came, and Francis laughed, earning a chuckle from the barbarian beside him.

“You do not get embarrassed as some would,” Kerhi said. “Have the men from your kingdom finally grown a spine?”

“Some do, while others don’t,” Francis replied. “But…” he waited, knowing what was about to happen as they arrived at the spot and he saw the shirtless barbarian approaching.

“Do not call out her name or ask if you can watch over me!” Francis shouted, stopping the barbarian with his mouth open.

Kerhi’s eyes widened and once again, the space around them went silent.

“I… I–” Dravik stuttered.

“You were going to give away her name, not knowing if I had earned it,” Francis repeated. “And if the stories I have heard are true… You must be Dravik Frostbane.”

The barbarian grunted and stood there, glancing at Kerhi who shook her head. “I have told him no stories,” she said.

“She has not dishonored you as you would have her,” Francis said, seizing the moment and moving closer to the barbarian. “Do you deny that I am wrong?”

Once again, Dravik stood there, his mouth open, words seeming impossible for the large warrior to utter. Finally, he shook his head after a few seconds. “No…. you are right. I was going to say exactly what you just said.”

Murmurs came from those watching, the onlookers drawing closer with each passing second.

“Dravik… you… did not dishonor me but were going to,” Kerhi said, her voice carrying a hint of anger. “Seek out those whom you should and let them determine the price.”

The warrior nodded, stealing one last glance at Francis before turning and jogging away.

Francis turned and saw the way that his escort was studying him.

“Are you… some kind of mystic… a mage I believe they call them?” Kerhi asked.

“Do I look like one?” Francis replied, twirling once.

She chuckled and shook her head. “No… the stories say they are like branches that snap in half if the wind is too strong. You are not like that.” Kerhi paused, slowly nodding. “You… have earned the right to my name. Just my first thought. I am Kerhi.”

I guess I will owe Stenson for sharing this one thing.

Francis gave a slight bow, sensing the reaction of those who were still watching and listening. “Then I am honored to learn it. I wish to share that honor, and share mine. I am called Francis.”

A few barbarians near them coughed and went silent once more.

“Not a mage, yet you know the words and about honor,” Kerhi almost whispered. “Whoever has sent you must have taught you well. That means what you carry must be important.”

“I didn’t lie,” Francis stated. “I am here to help. If you'd like, we can continue walking this path and pass by the blacksmiths. Perhaps one will have a dagger their baby has outgrown.”

Laughter came from all of those still listening, but when Kerhi gave them a look, each one went back to whatever they had been doing before, soon leaving just her and Francis on the path alone.

“We will not waste time,” Kerhi said. “I will take you straight to him.”

***

Francis found himself outside a circular tent that was covered in mammoth hides. He could see the large bones that helped frame the structure.  Besides the entrance, two of Glitvall Stormrend’s banners snapped in the cold wind. 

What is it with people in charge wanting to have wolves as their image?

A wolf’s skull, split with an axe, was etched in red on a faded piece of tan cloth.  Six barbarians stood in the snow on each side of the entrance.  One barbarian on each side had a large snow-wolf, easily four feet tall, lounging on the ground beside them. 

Probably elite warriors if I had to guess.

The wolves didn’t move, their silver eyes resting upon Francis for a moment before closing them.

“It is good that they didn’t protest,” Kerhi said as she led the way up the path. “Sometimes they do not like someone and if they block your path, that is seen as a sign from the gods you shouldn’t be allowed in.”

“Perhaps I should make sure to always carry some meat with me, just in case,” Francis joked.

She frowned, and Francis lodged that look away, certain he would find out what mistake he had just made.

None of the guards stopped them as they came; a single glance at Kerhi was all it took to get them past.  One reached over and pulled away a thick mammoth hide, and warmth immediately began to come from the entrance to the low tent.

Kerhi didn’t pause and neither did Francis, stepping over the cord that was circling the tent.

The darkness inside was heavy, but with his ability to sense and see in the dark, Francis didn’t have a problem noticing the thirteen individuals seated around a large fire in the center.

Benches surrounded the fire, and every man and woman present turned, looking in their direction.

“Sister, why have you come and who is this child that comes with you?” a woman sitting beside Glitvall called out.

“A messenger and one who walks in our ways,” Kerhi replied. “He has earned my name and just arrived.”

Grunts came, as those who hadn’t paid much attention at first, turned to get a real look at him.

“A messenger? From where?” the woman asked again.

“Reevorort,” Kerhi replied. “He has a letter from both their King and General.”

“We will not come to help them,” one of the men around the fire blurted out.

“Aye, they can–” another man started.

“Silence!” the woman shouted, cutting off the group. “We are dishonoring ourselves before we know what the letters say. Let us read them and then make our decision.”

Francis produced them both, moving closer to where the gathered group was. “I was given instructions to give them to Warchief Glitvall Stormrend. If he decides to share them with his Jarls, that is his choice.”

None of those on the benches spoke, and finally, the woman who had done all the talking rose. “You say you have been given letters for the Warchief. Then give them to him.”  She gestured at all those gathered around the fire on a bench.  

There were thirteen total, six women and seven men.  Francis assumed that the person talking was the Jarl Stenson had mentioned. Anyone else speaking with the authority she did had to mean that.

Smiling, Francis took the bait, sensing the test that was before him.

Of the seven men gathered, four of them matched Glitvall in size and stature. Each one held the air of a man who could easily be considered the warchief. 

Part of him wanted to play and have fun, yet not knowing the rules or etiquette, he also didn’t want to end up dead and having to repeat this process again. So he simply moved toward the woman who had been speaking and bowed.

“I thank you for letting me give the letters to the Warchief. From what I know, and have been told, you most likely are the Jarl.”

She said nothing, but her blue eyes widened enough to let Francis know he was right.

“But since time is important, I will just go ahead and hand these to Glitvall Stormrend,” Francis said, turning and holding out the two letters to the man he knew was the warchief.

A grunt came from the man as he looked at the two letters and the seals upon them. “You are certain that I am the one you are seeking?”

“While I am not completely aware of all the etiquette your people follow in how you live and speak, I will speak freely about General Stenson,” Francis stated. “He’s not the kind of man to tell me anything, making me learn it myself, suffering and enduring pain to do so. I didn’t choose you because he gave me a description and you match it. The truth is, others around this fire carry the air of someone who might be the warchief, but the truth is, you are Glitvall Stormren, Warchief of Tules and I am Francis Lancaster, here to help in your fight against the army you face.”

The sound of wood popping as the fire ignited sap inside was all that came as he locked eyes with the large barbarian.  Seconds passed and finally Glitvall reached out with a scarred hand and took the two letters. 

“You have earned the right to know my name, Francis Lancaster,” the man said. “I am Glitvall Stormren, and I agree, General Stenson is an ass.”

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 080 -

“One.”

Tanila let out the breath she had been holding for the last three seconds. She lowered herself slightly, her center of gravity just how it needed to be for her feet to stay light. Sog came at her the moment Max had spoken that last word.

The demon crossed about a quarter mile in what felt like an instant.

[ Air Wall ]

Her mind acted on instinct, casting spells with barely a thought. All those fights in the tower and the moments in Dagon’s training area had prepared her for this. Air hardened and absorbed Sog’s first slash. The blade bounced off the wall, and the demon sidestepped, his second sword aimed at her knee.

[ Stone Wall ]

A block of stone appeared, part of it shattering from the impact it had been struck by. Tanila stepped back slightly, the blade missing her by inches.

Sog never stopped his onslaught. He continued to attack, both blades moving in a crisscross pattern. Everything he did was an attempt to find an opening and cut her. Tanila likewise used her battle experience and spells to avoid the flurry of blades. Sog was fast and strong. Every strike that struck one of her spells had force behind it. The demon wasn’t playing around. Each attack that came at her already had a second one lined up to follow.

Tanila kept him on her left front shoulder, twisting and turning to make herself a smaller target. Not once did she let herself become centered on him. Doing so would mean, both blades could catch her in the middle. She kept shifting in different directions, staying slightly ahead of him.

His left sword went for her belly with a half-turn feint she had seen Max and Miranna use a few times.

He’s just like Max. He’s probing to see how I’ll respond.

[ Air Wall ] 

She turned the wall into an attack, using it to push back instead of blocking it. Sog slid back a step as the wall impacted his chest before the demon dug his feet into the stone floor. Then he attacked again. Now, a row of sharp teeth was present as he grinned at her..

“Running already?” Sog taunted between attacks.

“Just learning your style,” Tanila replied, moving as she spoke. Her golden eyes were fixed upon the mountain of muscle housed beneath black skin.

She swung her staff, sweeping up in a broad arc. It was an awful attack, and he took the opening, stepping inside the swing to cut her thigh.

The staff vanished from her hands.

[ Ice Wall ]

[ Ice Nova ]

The rune she’d set behind her, activated as she moved. A wall of ice rose between them right as the wave of magic washed out around her. His foot slipped when he tried to stand on the ice-covered stone. Sog didn’t fall, but the shift in his step made him lose his momentum; the wall that separated them provided Tanila with the distraction she had needed.

[ Ice Spear ]

A spear as thick as a tree trunk tore out of the floor under his ribs. Sog twisted, able to dodge the main part of the attack, only having to sacrifice the outside of his left arm. The ice exploded into tiny shards. Black blood created steam as the cold spell connected with the demon’s life force. 

Sog’s eyes widened, a glimmer of something that looked like madness. “Finally, a real fight!”

Heat gathered around the demon, and a black flame, shaped like a fan, appeared. It erupted from his chest like a blanket; the spell covered hers as it raced along the ground toward Tanila. 

[ Air Dome ]

The air around Tanila hardened and curved, forming a barrier she hoped would stand up against her first taste of this demon’s magic. The flame washed over the dome, flowing around it. The stone under her boots seemed almost to buzz as the magic they unleashed at each other covered it. Tanila ignored it, knowing that focusing on anything but this moment would lead to pain and losing if she misjudged anything. 

Sog drove a sword into the side of her dome and then slammed his chest against the pommel. Her protective barrier struggled against the force being applied and started to separate. The moment an opening appeared, Sog’s second blade slid into the gap, point first. It came at her, missing her by a few inches as the dome finally broke.

[ Blink ]

Tanila vanished and reappeared fifty yards left, completing the spell she had been working on before she had fled.

[ Rune — Bind ]

All those lessons she had been teaching the new mages weren’t just for them. Tanila had practiced and adapted, honing her own magic. The understanding of what she could do and what it could become was born in those moments. The sigil she had created was set in the stone where she’d been standing. When Sog’s foot touched that spot, bands of power rose and tightened around his calves and thighs. The demon grunted, and the cords strained under the power he exerted. She had earned a second, maybe a moment more.

Sog was strong, and whatever pressure he exuded was enough to break the bindings. They snapped, and he tore free, charging at her again.

At least he seems to have a one-track mind.

Tanila gave up ground and made him follow the path she set. Short bursts of magic were her reply to a pair of swords that would easily cut through her flesh if given a chance. Every step he took was marked with runes that Tanila was prepared to activate later.

Realization must have set in as she saw his eyes narrow, and she focused on the ground for a moment. Sog suddenly changed his approach, using a short hop to move elsewhere.

Tanila wanted to smile, but she didn’t. Sog hadn’t seen the second rune she had just created.

[ Rune — Delay Fire ]

The rune pulsed, waiting for his weight to activate it. When Sog crossed that spot, the rune erupted, venting straight up like a volcanic fountain. Bright white flames covered the demon's chest and head. Sog moved through the spell without reacting, still coming at her, his left blade held high, while his right blade was low.

While Tanila had moved toward this spot for this fight, she had spent time deciding where and how to hurt her demonic friend. There was no hate or anger toward him, yet an inferno of power raged within her.  In her mind, Sog was trying to take something from her. Max, her daughter, and the people in her city.  She willed that intent, praying Bob was right, and felt the power of her bloodline roaring through her.

[ Mage Shield ]

The shield formed right before the metal cut her robe. It absorbed the low attack and diverted the blade. 

Sog didn’t look surprised, his face still appearing to enjoy this moment. He knew partially what she could do. Instead, he continued his onslaught. 

[ Ice Spear ]

She put the spear where the right sword attack had pulled Sog’s weight down slightly. The icy shaft caught his left calf, the frozen point driving through and pinning him to the stone. His body jerked and his movement was altered. His left blade came downward, but it was off. Tanila danced clear of the attack, gaining a little distance from her opponent.

Sog tore free a moment later. The room was filled with the sound of tearing flesh. Yet not once did the demon stop his advance.

Three Imps appeared in the air beside him—winged and ugly, with claws like knives.

They shrieked at her before spreading out. Two came at her from the air, while one darted near the ground toward her back.

[ Frost Nova ]

Tanila was surprised that Sog could summon these creatures since he had never done so before. A white wave of ice washed out from her and covered the floor. The imp near the floor couldn’t dodge it. Its body froze, shattering when it tumbled to the floor. The remaining two imps in the air avoided the spell and came at her, spitting black bolts of something nasty and wet.

Tanila unleashed a bolt of lightning at the closest imp. It popped like a pimple, vanishing as the bolt arced toward the second one, finding its fate ending the same way as the first.

“Nice children,” Tanila taunted. “They look just like you.”

Sog didn’t reply, simply taking the opening the trio had created. He closed the distance, and both swords became a single attack from above. The two blades came down with what appeared to be all the force he could give.

Choosing not to see how that might feel, Tanila used her spells to aid in her escape.

[ Air Wall ]

The protective barrier she knew wouldn’t stop that attack, instead shoved her backwards along the floor.  The blades struck the stone, sending a shock through the room. The new arena didn’t even seem to notice the strike. No chip was sent flying from the force that it had just been hit with. 

Tanila reset her feet and activated two of the runes she had set earlier. Everywhere her feet had touched, a rune was set. She was pouring mana into them at an alarming rate. It was one of the reasons why she wasn’t using Blink more.

[ Rune — Delay Frost ]
[ Rune — Delay Stone ]

Sog’s ankle hit the frost rune, and it caused the demon to skid. His heel was slightly off and he couldn’t pivot how he wanted. Next came the stone rune, erupting into a waist-high pillar under his hip. The combination threw him off-balance, and Tanila didn’t waste the moment.

[ Stone Lance ]

A sharp point surged up from the floor toward his planted foot. Sog flung himself sideways, the stone spell only tearing into his foot instead of piercing all the way through his ankle. The demon fell another step behind in the battle, Tanila gladly accepting every moment she could gain..

Sog scowled, his eyes locked on her. He rotated his shoulders once, setting himself again as his wounds pulled closed faster than a normal body should. 

Demonic flesh. Not as fast as Max’s, but still, I figured it would be a problem.

“Come on,” he said, regripping his swords. “Stop dancing around like a dwarf.”

“Make me,” she replied, setting more traps as she continued to move.

Tanila held out her staff at an odd angle again. Sog stepped inside the space she created once more, one sword aimed at her staff. Max had taught her many things about fighting over the time they had spent together. Their old trainer, Tom, had shown her methods of using her spells that she had never considered.  With a hundred years to do nothing but find ways to spend the time, Tanila had discovered the true potential of her spells. Staves weren’t for hitting. Sure, they could be used for that but they could serve as so much more. They could be anchors. Anchors for walls and air she could move off of.

Sog’s blade came for her shoulder.

[ Air Wall ] 

The wall slammed into her as she used the compressed air against herself. Sog’s blade moved through empty space. Tanila was already traveling backward and to the right—never straight back. As she twisted, Tanila found out that while math was great and the idea that one might be able to figure out how far a sword can really reach, one’s calculations can be wrong. Sog’s second blade had created a red line across her forearm as he attacked. Tanila used another air wall to move her further back. She didn’t look at the wound, knowing it wasn’t deep, yet it burned with a lingering pain.

[ Demonic Magic - Resisted ]

His reach was more than she had realized, and the smirk on the demon’s face showed that he hadn’t been attacking with everything. His blades could have reached further on those earlier strikes. Just like she was setting him up for what she wanted to do, Sog was doing the same.

He’s not mindless… he’s trying to plan something.

Tanila set a pair of delayed runes and kept working him in the direction she wanted to go. His feet barely made a sound now as he glided across the stone floor. Unlike when he had been walking down the hallways earlier, Sog chose to be light on his feet..His eyes had that bright glow demons sometimes had.

He made his adjustments as the fight drew on. Sog stopped chasing her down the path she wanted him to. Instead, he forged his own path, taking diagonal steps and committing to a new approach. It was the right call, and any well-trained fighter would have pivoted out of such an approach. Tanila didn’t.

[ Stone Prison ]

Four columns punched up in a square where she’d been moving, surrounding her. They locked in like fingers closing and made a box. Sog's sword stopped its swing as Tanila vanished inside. Quickly, he ducked partially inside, and she smiled.

Sog realized a half beat too late that the prison wasn’t a protective area for her.

[ Frost Spike ]

The prison served as walls for the next spell. Ice erupted inward from all sides, converged, and filled the box in a moment with a chunk of ice that would have frozen a normal man solid. Sog wasn’t a normal man, and he also wasn’t completely in the box. Only his torso and right arm were within the trap when it was sprung..

Ice cracked and steamed as Sog roared, jerking backwards, ripping himself free from the ice and stone prison. He staggered back, resetting himself again. His right forearm hung in pieces, reforming as he snarled.

Tanila swallowed the curse she had almost let out, choosing instead to keep moving. She’d planned it as a way to injure him, not kill him. It had done its job. Anything extra would have been a bonus. She had just delivered a message that what she could do was more than Sog had imagined.

Even with a right arm that didn’t work and a body that was dripping blood, Sog came again at her, faster, and lower. He didn’t talk now. She didn’t either.

He summoned three more imps and sent them on a wide circle. This time, they stayed high as they launched an attack. Tanila knew they were simply distractions. The blade in his left hand was the real threat.

Tanila charged two more hidden runes. She needed him to commit to one path. He’d stopped committing after her prison had torn away some of his flesh.

Sog feinted right and thrust at her. He gave her the line she needed. He slipped his left blade between her staff and her ribs and held it there to pin her angle. Tanila realized it hadn’t been meant to impale her but instead trap her. It was a wedge. His regrowing arm and hand came at her, a black blade appearing as it moved.

[ Ice Spear ]

At that range, with the wedge locking them both in place, the spear didn’t have to travel. It formed under his right foot and drove upward through his thigh. It lifted him two feet off the ground and pinned him against the curved wall they had moved next to.

He growled and tried to kick off the stone wall.

[ Rune — Bind ]

The rune under his other heel ignited and took hold. Bands snapped around that leg and locked him in place. Sog tore one, and then another. The spear kept him pinned for a moment as black blood ran down along the icy shaft.

Tanila changed the dance they had been taking part in, knowing the moment for the end was at hand.

[ Lightning Lash ]

The bolt arced along both swords at once, the current of electricity flowed through the metal and into his body. Sog arched backward, letting out a curse she didn’t know..

[ Flame Snap ]

She burned the three imps as they came to help their summoner.

Sog ripped himself off the spear, landing on the ground and let out a growl that echoed through the room. This new wound closed more slowly than the others. He was still dangerous, and Tanila didn’t make the mistake of assuming danger was gone.

He lowered his shoulders and charged through the air wall she had erected between them. It broke, and he stepped into her range with both swords.

She gave up ground and used the last of the runes she’d set.

[ Rune — Delay Stone ]
[ Rune — Delay Frost ]

Tanila figured Sog must have felt the pulse, as he suddenly hopped to the side, avoiding the first rune. He missed the second by a hair, and ice locked down only his left ankle, making his attacks go wide. 

[ Air Wall ]

The hardened air shoved him into the wall of the arena, and he bounced off, recovering faster than she had expected. Chuckling for a second.

His laughter was lower than before. “You’re making this funnier than I had hoped.”

He flicked a hand, and another curtain of black fire came at her. Tanila had to step outside the path she had wanted to follow, but her choices were limited. Get burned or avoid it. Sog’s blades came at her, and Tanila barely had to react.

[ Stone Wall ]

Her boot shoved off the summoned stone, and Tanila used her own strength to dodge the black blades.

Sog changed the rhythm of his attacks. Both swords now moved in a chopping motion, no longer the elegant or smooth patterns they had been before. How they appeared didn’t matter because they would be deadly if either blade cut a thigh or knee.

She didn’t give him that chance.

[ Air Wall ]

His attacks slashed through the space her legs had been, and as her own spell pushed her to safety, Tanila hit him with the spell she had been forming near the ceiling of the arena.

[ Stone Boulder ]

It fell like a rock, a rock the size of a horse, and slammed into his clavicle and shoulder that had taken the ice spear earlier. The impact of stone and demon thudded through the room. For the first time in this fight, Sog dropped to a knee.

This was her window, the moment Tanila had been waiting for.

[ Ice Pillar ]

It erupted upward from under his bent knee. Sog’s reforming right hand smashed the pillar with two hard blows. Tanila thought it should have sheared his leg completely off, but he had managed to salvage the upper part, escaping with only a massive hole that had removed the back half of his leg. He slowly stood on one working leg, his breathing becoming less steady.

She knew demons didn’t tire like men. Sog was even worse because he was a god. But Tanila also knew that eventually, you could wear down a mountain with enough time and force.

[ Stone Root ]

The simple spell so many mages learned to help their parties deal with multiple monsters rose around his ankles and locked like solid metal. Sog slashed at it, and his blade took pieces off.

[ Lightning Pike ]

It pierced his body, a bolt of hot, blazing energy, running Sog through from his hip to the floor. He arched backward and roared. With his healing right hand, the demon reached backward, yanking the magical attack out, freeing himself. The demon’s eyes glowed brighter than Tanila could ever recall.

Sog charged again. She was waiting and hoping he would.

[ Air Wall ] 

[ Air Wall ] 

[ Air Wall ]

She set three of them, not to stop him but to make a path. He slashed through the first and the second and slid off the third at an angle that carried him exactly where she wanted him.

Now.

[ Rune — Delay Stone ] 

[ Rune — Delay Frost ] 

[ Rune — Delay Fire ]

All three went off at once. The stone rose from under his back foot, upsetting his stride. Ice made his front foot slide, while flames erupted along his left side.

But Sog didn’t fall. He only stumbled a single step. But where his foot landed was where Tanila had set this next part.

[ Ice Spear ]

This one wasn’t thick. Instead, it was narrow, long, and compressed, aimed at the joint of his left hip. It pierced the spot Tanila had aimed for, making moving on the left side almost impossible for the demon. The spell was designed to serve as another piece in her final move.

[ Stone Chain ]

She summoned chains from the ground that wrapped his sword wrists with two loops of rock that tightened when he pulled. He ripped one arm free, but the second held firm.

[ Ice Spear ]

Point-blank. Center mass. The spear formed in the space between them and slammed into his chest, going upward and left. It was the kind of attack you didn’t come back from. The room seemed to howl and absorb the spell that would have been a kill.. The spear vanished just as quickly as it had penetrated his chest.

Sog dropped to both knees, his blades gone, and his breathing sounded labored. His wounds vanished from the strike that had ended his life. Through it all, Sog’s eyes were focused on her, never once lowering his head.

Tanila felt the blood running down her own forearm. She steadied her breathing, knowing what had just happened. It would be far worse when they fought outside of this place Max had built. That was the point of all this.

Sog planted one foot and pushed to stand. He made it halfway. He tried again. He got to one knee and laughed under his breath.

“You won,” he said. 

The room vibrated for a moment, and then the white line that had appeared at the start flashed once and vanished.  She could feel the magic of the room lessen.

Tanila’s hands were shaking. She didn’t try to hide that fact. She rolled her wrist once and saw that the cut was deeper than she had thought it might be. 

Sog stood under his own power a moment later. He looked at the spot where the last spear had hit, then at her.

“You’re a monster,” he said, smiling.

“Only when I need to be,” she replied, allowing herself to grin. “You should never have played safe at the start. That was when I was the weakest.”

Sog laughed and shook his head. “I doubt you were ever weak.”

The glow of healing magic washed over both of them, and their wounds vanished completely.

Tanila turned and saw her friends approaching. Only Max seemed to have a slight grin.

I guess the rest of them realize how bad this is going to be.

And then Tanila laughed. She would be more than happy to go again and see just what she had learned.

How much have I grown? Obviously, not enough for this fight to be that close.

[ Base Stats Only Status Check ]

*****

Tanila Hoste

  Base With Bloodline

STR:           389 584

DEX:           427 641

CON:          518 777

INT:             821 1232

WIS:            574 861

 *****

She knew they weren’t anything compared to Max’s and she hadn’t reached the third tier yet in her intelligence.  Knowing what Max had faced and the power the gods he had fought commanded, there was a lot of work to be done.

Chapter 20 - The Creation of Arin

Arin moved through the forest with his new Stealth skill active, his form barely visible even in the morning light. The skill felt different from his other abilities. It wasn't just about being quiet or hiding. It was about becoming part of the shadows themselves, about existing in the spaces between notice and attention.

[Stealth Activated - 3 Essence per minute]

The essence drain was manageable, especially now that his maximum capacity had increased to 160. He could maintain Stealth for over forty minutes before running dry, plenty of time to search for the girl.

Which direction did she run off in?

Arin returned to where the girl had been tied, studying the ground for clues. There. Small footprints in the soft earth, heading northwest. Away from the bandits, which made sense, but also away from any settlements Arin knew about.

She's running blind. Just trying to get away.

He followed the trail, moving quickly but carefully. The girl had a significant head start, and she was motivated by fear. She could have covered a lot of ground while Arin was fighting the bandits.

The footprints showed signs of panic in the first hundred yards. Long strides, deep impressions where she'd pushed hard off each step. Then they became more erratic, suggesting exhaustion was setting in. A child couldn't maintain that pace for long.

Arin found where she'd stumbled over a root, the disturbed earth showing where she'd fallen and gotten back up. Further on, he saw a small piece of torn fabric caught on a thorn bush. She was bleeding somewhere, probably scraped when she fell.

The trail led deeper into unfamiliar territory. Arin kept his awareness spread wide, watching for threats while following the footprints. The forest here was older, with massive and ancient trees. Less undergrowth because the canopy blocked so much sunlight.

Then he heard it. A soft sound, almost lost among the normal forest noises. A child crying while trying to stay quiet, but unable to suppress their fear completely.

Arin adjusted his direction and found her.

The girl had wedged herself into a hollow at the base of a massive oak tree, partially hidden by exposed roots. She was curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her knees, and her face buried. Her dress was torn, mud-stained, and there were scratches on her exposed arms and legs.

Arin approached slowly, maintaining Stealth. He didn't want to scare her by suddenly appearing. Instead, he moved to a spot where she might see him if she looked up, then deactivated the skill.

His red gelatinous form materialized about ten feet away.

The girl's head snapped up, eyes wide with terror. She tried to scramble deeper into the hollow, but there was nowhere to go.

"Don't hurt me!" she sobbed. "Please don't hurt me!"

Arin froze. He'd forgotten how he must look to her. A blob of red slime, the same color as blood, appearing out of nowhere. After everything she'd been through with the bandits, seeing him must be terrifying.

How do I show her I'm safe?

He needed to communicate, but his letter-forming was crude at best. Still, it was all he had. Arin carefully extended a tendril and began forming letters in the air between them.

S A F E

The girl stared at the floating letters, confusion mixing with fear. "What... what are you?"

Arin formed more letters: F R E N D  H E L P D  Y U

"You... helped me?" The girl's voice was shaky but cautious hope crept in. "You're the thing that fought the bad men?"

Y E S

She studied him for a long moment, her young mind trying to process what she was seeing. Arin could almost see the thoughts crossing her face. He'd saved her from the bandits. He was forming words, which meant he could think. And he hadn't attacked her, even though she was small and vulnerable.

"Are you going to eat me?" she asked, voice small.

N O  P R O T E C T  Y U

"Like... like a guardian?" Something shifted in her expression. "My papa told me stories about guardians. Magic creatures that protect people."

Arin bobbed his mass in what he hoped was a reassuring way: Y E S  L I K E  T H A T

The girl slowly uncurled from her defensive position, though she stayed pressed against the tree. "I'm Mira," she said. "Those men... they took me from the road. My family was traveling to Greengate and they..." Her voice broke. "I don't know what happened to my parents."

Arin felt a pang of sympathy. This child had been torn from her family, held captive by bandits, and now was lost in the forest. His own memories of Levi's death, of being suddenly alone, echoed in her story.

W I L  H E L P  F I N D  F A M L E

"You will?" Hope bloomed on Mira's face. "Really?"

Y E S  F O L O  M E

"Where are we going?"

T O  C A M P  P E P U L  T H E R

Mira hesitated, then slowly emerged from the hollow. She was perhaps eight or nine years old, with dark hair and brown eyes that had seen too much fear for someone so young. Her dress was once nice, probably bought specifically for the journey, but now it was ruined.

Arin began moving back the way he'd come, keeping his pace slow so Mira could follow. The girl limped slightly, favoring her right leg where she'd scraped it during her flight from the bandits.

They traveled in silence for a few minutes before Mira spoke again. "What's your name?"

Arin stopped and formed letters: A R I N

"Arin," she repeated. "That's a nice name. Did someone give it to you?"

The question hit harder than Arin expected. Yes, someone had given him that name. Levi had named him after... after someone important. His creator's father, maybe? Arin wasn't entirely sure. But the name meant something. It was a gift, like the wooden carving from Elara still held within his mass.

Y E S  F R E N D  G A V  N A M E

"Where is your friend now?"

G O N

Mira's face fell. "Oh. I'm sorry." She walked in silence for a moment, then asked, "Did they... did the bad men hurt your friend?"

Arin paused. How could he explain what had happened? That his friend had been murdered by other students who couldn't accept losing to a commoner? That Levi's last act had been to give Arin life, consciousness, and a chance to survive?

Y E S  B A D  P E P U L  H U R T  H I M

"That's why you saved me," Mira said softly. "Because you couldn't save your friend."

The insight surprised Arin. This child understood something that he'd barely admitted to himself. Part of why he'd attacked those bandits so recklessly, why he'd been willing to die to save Mira, was because he couldn't save Levi. Couldn't stop the three students from murdering his creator.

But maybe he could stop other tragedies. Maybe that's what being a guardian meant.

Y E S

They continued walking, the forest gradually becoming more familiar to Arin. He was leading them back toward the woodcutter camp, the closest safe place he knew. It would take most of the day to reach it, but Mira would be safe there until they could figure out what happened to her parents.

As they traveled, Arin noticed Mira growing more tired. Her limp became more pronounced, and she kept having to stop to catch her breath. The fear and exhaustion were catching up to her.

When they reached a small stream, Arin stopped and gestured for Mira to rest.

"Can I drink from this?" she asked, eyeing the water.

Y E S  C L E E N

Mira knelt by the stream and cupped her hands, drinking deeply. She splashed water on her face, washing away some of the dirt and tears. Then she sat back against a tree, clearly exhausted.

"I'm really tired," she said. "Can we rest for a bit?"

Arin looked at the sun's position. They still had hours of travel ahead, but pushing Mira beyond her limits would be counterproductive. And this spot was relatively safe, with clear sightlines and the stream providing fresh water.

Y E S  R E S T

Mira curled up against the tree, her eyes already drooping. "Will you keep watch?" she asked. "Like a guardian is supposed to?"

Arin bobbed his mass in agreement, positioning himself where he could see all approaches to their resting spot. Within minutes, Mira was asleep, her small body finally relaxing after the trauma of captivity and escape.

Arin kept watch, his awareness spread wide. He thought about everything that had happened in the last day. The desperate hunt for levels. The reckless fighting. The moment he'd almost become like Levi's murderers, chasing power for its own sake.

And then the choice to save Mira instead of continuing to grind for experience.

The system had rewarded him anyway. Not for the grinding, but for the choice to help someone in need. Was that the lesson? That the system valued protecting others over pure self-advancement?

Or was it just a coincidence that he'd leveled up during that fight?

Arin didn't know. But he knew what Levi would have thought. His creator would have been proud that Arin had chosen to save Mira. Would have said that using power to protect others was what made someone truly strong, not just the power itself.

I'm learning. Slowly. But I'm learning what it means to live, not just survive.

An hour passed, then two. Mira slept deeply, her body recovering from the ordeal. Arin remained vigilant, watching the forest for threats.

He spotted a few animals. A deer drinking from the stream downstream. Squirrels chittering in the trees. A fox trotting past with a rabbit in its jaws. Normal forest life, nothing dangerous.

When Mira finally stirred, the sun had moved significantly across the sky. She blinked sleepily, then sat up with a start, momentarily confused about where she was.

"It's okay," Arin formed quickly. "S A F E"

Memory returned to her face, along with relief. "I thought maybe it was a dream," she said. "That you weren't real. But you are."

R E E L

Mira smiled slightly, the first real smile Arin had seen from her. "You spell funny. But I can understand you."

Arin would have blushed if slimes could blush. His spelling was terrible, he knew. But it was improving, thanks to Jorin's lessons. Perhaps when they returned to camp, he could continue learning properly.

R E D Y  T O  W A K?

"Walk," Mira corrected gently. "W-A-L-K. But yes, I'm ready." She stood and stretched, testing her injured leg. It still hurt, Arin could tell, but she didn't complain.

They resumed their journey, moving at a steady but comfortable pace. Arin kept them on easier terrain, avoiding thick undergrowth or steep slopes that would tire Mira more quickly.

As they traveled, Mira talked. About her family. About where they were going. About her life before the bandits.

"Papa is a merchant," she explained. "We travel between towns selling cloth and spices. Mama doesn't like the traveling, but Papa says we make more money this way. My brother Marcus usually comes with us, but he's sick, so he stayed with Grandma."

Arin listened, forming occasional responses to keep her talking. It seemed to help her stay calm by processing the trauma through talking about it.

"When the bandits attacked, Papa tried to fight them," Mira continued, her voice getting quieter. "But there were too many. They hit him and he fell down. Mama screamed and they..." She stopped walking, tears forming. "I don't know if they're okay."

Arin approached her carefully and formed letters: W I L  F I N D  O U T

"Promise?"

P R O M I S

Mira wiped her eyes and nodded. They kept walking.

The sun was descending toward the horizon when Arin finally recognized the area near the woodcutter camp. They were close now, maybe another hour of travel.

But something felt wrong. The forest was too quiet. No bird songs, no small animals rustling in the undergrowth. The kind of silence that meant predators were near.

Arin activated Stealth immediately, his form fading from view.

Mira looked around in confusion. "Arin? Where did you go?"

S T A Y  Q I E T, he formed quickly, the letters barely visible. D A N G R

To her credit, Mira froze immediately and stayed silent. Arin scanned the area, searching for whatever had silenced the forest.

There. Movement in the trees ahead. Multiple shapes, moving with purpose. Not animals. Too coordinated.

Goblins.

A patrol, maybe six of them, moving through the forest. They hadn't seen Mira yet, but they were heading in a direction that would bring them right past where she stood.

Arin had a choice to make. He could try to lead Mira away quietly, hoping the goblins didn't notice them. Or he could deal with the patrol now, before they became a problem.

With Stealth active and his new Level 8 strength, he could probably take them. But it would alert anything else in the area that something was happening. And Mira might see things she shouldn't have to see.

The goblins drew closer, their guttural voices carrying through the trees.

Arin made his decision. He formed letters right next to Mira, as quietly as possible: H I D E  B E H I N D  T R E E

Mira nodded and quickly moved behind a large oak, making herself as small as possible.

Arin flowed forward, staying in Stealth, positioning himself between the goblins and Mira's hiding spot. If they tried to investigate this area, they would have to go through him first.

The patrol came closer. Five goblins, all Level 3-4, armed with crude spears and carrying what looked like stolen goods. They were laughing about something, completely unaware of the threat nearby.

They passed within twenty feet of Mira's tree. One goblin paused, sniffing the air, but then shrugged and kept moving with the others.

Arin waited until they were completely out of sight before deactivating Stealth. The essence drain had been minimal. Only a few minutes active.

[Current Essence: 119/160]

He returned to Mira's hiding spot and formed: S A F E  N O W

Mira emerged, her face pale. "Were those...?"

G O B L I N S

"They were really close," she whispered. "I could hear them talking."

Y E S  B U T  G O N  N O W

They gave the area where the patrol had passed a wide berth and continued toward the camp. Arin was now more cautious, constantly using his 360° vision and ready to activate Stealth again if needed.

Finally, just as twilight was settling over the forest, they reached familiar territory. Arin could see the woodcutter camp in the distance, smoke rising from the central fire pit.

But there was a problem. Mira had no connection to this camp. They didn't know her, and she didn't know them. How would they react to a strange child appearing out of the forest?

More importantly, how would they react when Arin appeared with her? He'd been gone for over a day without explanation. They must be worried, maybe even angry.

W A I T  H E R E, Arin formed to Mira. I  C H E K  C A M P

"You're coming back, right?" Mira asked, fear creeping back into her voice.

Y E S  P R O M I S

Arin moved toward the camp, staying in the tree line. He could see people moving about in their evening routines. Marta at the cooking fire. Karel and Tomas repairing something near one of the structures. Gareth speaking with another woodcutter, his expression serious.

The children were there too. Jorin helping carry water. Elara and Tam playing near their mother.

Everyone looked normal. Healthy. Safe.

Good. The camp was fine while I was gone.

Arin was about to emerge from the trees when Gareth's voice carried across the clearing.

"If Arin isn't back by tomorrow, we start looking for him," the man said to Karel. "He's never been gone this long without checking in."

"You think something happened to him?" Karel asked.

"I think that shadow cat hunt took more out of him than he let on," Gareth replied. "He might be injured somewhere, unable to make it back. Or worse."

Guilt washed through Arin. They'd been worried about him. Of course, they had. He was part of their community now, and he'd disappeared without explanation for an entire day and night.

Time to face the consequences of his choices.

Arin moved out of the tree line and into the clearing, making himself visible.

Elara saw him first. "ARIN!" she shrieked, running toward him.

Instantly, the entire camp's attention turned to him. Gareth's expression shifted from worry to relief to something that might have been anger.

Elara reached Arin and tried to hug him, her arms passing through his gelatinous form, but the gesture was clear. "You were gone forever! We thought you were dead!"

Jorin followed, more reserved but clearly relieved. "Where have you been?"

Gareth approached, his face unreadable. "Arin. We need to talk. Now."

Before Arin could respond, Mira's voice called out from the tree line. "Arin? Is it safe?"

Every adult in the camp immediately grabbed weapons, eyes turning toward the source of the voice.

Mira emerged from the trees, dirty and scared but trying to be brave.

"Who is that?" Marta demanded, bow half-raised.

Arin quickly formed letters: S A V D  H E R  F R O M  B A D  M E N

Gareth's expression shifted again, this time to understanding. He lowered his hand, signaling the others to stand down. "You saved her from bandits," he said. "That's where you've been."

Y E S

"And that's why you look..." Gareth studied Arin's form carefully. "You're smaller than you were. You've been fighting."

A L O T

Mira walked toward the camp slowly, clearly nervous about all the attention. "He saved me," she said, voice shaky but determined. "The bad men had me tied up, and Arin killed them and helped me get here."

Marta lowered her bow completely and rushed toward Mira. "You poor thing. Come here, sweetheart. Let's get you cleaned up and fed."

Mira looked back at Arin, seeking permission. He bobbed his mass encouragingly, and she allowed Marta to lead her toward the fire.

Gareth watched them go, then turned back to Arin. "We'll talk later about you disappearing without a word. But for now... good work. Bandits are a plague in these woods, and if you took down a group of them, that's one less threat to everyone."

"Did you really kill bad men?" Elara asked, eyes wide.

P R O T E C T D  H E R

"Like a guardian," Jorin said quietly. "Just like you're supposed to."

Arin felt something warm in his core. Pride, maybe. Or satisfaction. He'd nearly lost himself chasing power, but in the end, he'd done something that mattered. 

I saved someone who needed saving. Am I becoming what Levi had wanted him to be?

And he'd gained the Stealth skill in the process. Not from grinding or desperate hunting, but from choosing to help others even when it meant risking everything.

Maybe that was the real lesson. Power was a tool, and what mattered was how you used it.

Gareth put a hand on Arin's gelatinous form, the gesture awkward but genuine. "Get some rest. You've earned it. Tomorrow we'll figure out where that girl came from and how to get her home."

Arin bobbed his agreement and flowed toward his tree hollow. He was exhausted, body and mind both pushed beyond their limits.

But as he settled into his hollow and watched the camp below, where Mira was being fed and cared for by people who didn't even know her but helped anyway, Arin felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Peace.

He'd made the right choices. Finally.

And tomorrow, he would start learning to use his new Stealth skill properly. Learn to be a better guardian. Learn to protect those who needed protecting.

Just like Levi would have wanted.

Arin let sleep claim him, his consciousness fading into rest for the first time in two days.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges. But tonight, he could rest knowing he'd done something good.

Something that mattered.

Chapter 19 - The Creation of Arin

Dawn was still hours away when Arin entered deeper into the forest, moving east toward territories he'd only scouted from a distance. The notification blinked at the edge of his awareness, persistent and demanding.

[Stealth (Tier 1) - Temporary Storage: 22 hours remaining]

Twenty-two hours. Less than a day to gain enough essence to level up, earn that fifth skill point, and unlock the third slot he desperately needed. Every minute that passed was a minute closer to losing Stealth forever.

Arin pushed the thought aside and focused on hunting. He knew where the goblins had their camps. He'd seen their patrols during his scouting missions, watched their movements, learned their patterns. Now he would use that knowledge.

The forest changed as he moved deeper. The trees grew denser, the undergrowth thicker. This was territory claimed by creatures who didn't fear humans, who saw the woodcutter camp as distant prey rather than an immediate threat.

It was also dangerous. More dangerous than anywhere Arin had been since leaving Vyrdan.

He didn't care. He needed essence. He needed to level up. Nothing else mattered.

***

The goblin patrol was easy to spot once Arin knew what to look for. Three of them, moving through the forest with crude spears and leather armor scavenged from who knows where. They talked in their guttural language, laughing about something, completely unaware they were being hunted.

[Goblin Scout - Level 3]

[Goblin Warrior - Level 4]

[Goblin Warrior - Level 4]

Arin studied them from the canopy above, calculating. Three opponents. One scout, lighter and faster. Two warriors, stronger but slower. If he attacked from above, took out the scout first, the warriors would be isolated.

It was a simple plan; all he needed to do was execute it flawlessly.

He positioned himself over the goblin scout, waiting for the patrol to pass beneath his branch. When they did, Arin dropped silently, his mass compressing into a wedge shape as he fell.

The scout never saw him coming. Arin's wedge form struck the creature's head with enough force to snap its neck. Before the body even hit the ground, Arin was flowing over it, dissolving, absorbing.

[+14 Mass]

[+10 Essence]

The two warriors spun around, weapons raised, eyes searching for an enemy they couldn't see in the darkness. One of them barked something in goblin speech, probably a warning or question.

Arin was already moving. He flowed across the ground faster than the goblins could track, coming up behind the nearest warrior. This time, he didn't use finesse. He simply engulfed the creature's legs, pulling it down as his acidic nature took effect.

The goblin screamed and tried to stab at Arin with its spear. The weapon passed through his gelatinous form harmlessly, and seconds later the screaming stopped.

[+12 Mass]

[+8 Essence]

The third goblin ran. Arin pursued without hesitation, flowing through the undergrowth with single-minded focus. The goblin was fast, but Arin was faster. He caught it within fifty yards, pulling it down from behind.

[+10 Mass]

[+6 Essence]

Three goblins dead in less than two minutes. Efficient. Brutal. Necessary.

Arin checked his status. Essence was rising, but not fast enough. He needed more.

[Current Essence: 134/140]

Close to maximum capacity, but nowhere near enough for a level up. The shadow cat had given him 28 essence and that plus the beetle in the sewers had been enough to go from Level 6 to 7. He probably needed forty or fifty more essence to reach Level 8.

[Stealth - Temporary Storage: 21 hours, 15 minutes remaining]

I have to keep moving and keep hunting. 

***

By midday, Arin had found and destroyed two more goblin patrols. His mass had grown beyond where he'd started the night; his essence was at maximum capacity, but still no level notification.

[Current Mass: 142% of base]

[Current Essence: 140/140]

He was full and couldn't absorb any more essence until he spent some or leveled up. But the level wasn't coming. How much more did he need?

Frustration burned through Arin's core. He'd killed eight goblins. Eight. And still nothing. The system was supposed to be predictable. Kill creatures, gain essence, level up. Why wasn't it working?

Maybe he needed stronger prey. The goblins were Level 3 and 4. Weak targets. Maybe the system wanted him to challenge himself more.

Arin's thoughts turned to the goblin encampment he'd seen during his earlier scouting. The large one, with maybe fifteen or twenty goblins total. That was reckless. Suicidal, even.

But he had essence to burn now. And the clock was ticking.

[Stealth - Temporary Storage: 18 hours, 30 minutes remaining]

He headed toward the encampment, moving faster now. Desperate.

***

The goblin camp was exactly where Arin remembered it. A clearing with crude shelters made from branches and animal hides. A fire pit in the center, currently smoldering. Goblins were moving about their daily activities, completely unaware of the threat approaching.

Arin counted fourteen visible targets. He knew there might be more inside the shelters.

This was insane. Even at his current size and with maximum essence, attacking this many at once could get him killed.

But Stealth... that skill that would let him become invisible in shadows. The skill that would make him a true hunter instead of just a survivor. He couldn't lose it.

Arin positioned himself at the camp's edge and used Charge on the nearest goblin, a warrior standing guard.

[-5 Essence]

The attack came from nowhere, a red mass slamming into the goblin with enough force to crush bones. Before the creature could scream, Arin had engulfed its head and silenced it permanently.

[+14 Mass]

[+10 Essence]

The noise attracted attention. Two more goblins came running, weapons drawn. Arin didn't wait for them to reach him. He flowed forward, meeting them head-on.

One goblin managed to swing its club before Arin reached it. The weapon connected with his mass, dispersing a chunk but not stopping his momentum. Arin engulfed the goblin's weapon arm and pulled, acid burning through flesh until the creature dropped its club with a shriek.

[-8 Mass]

[+12 Mass]

[+8 Essence]

The second goblin tried to run. Arin caught it, absorbed it, and moved on.

[+10 Mass]

[+6 Essence]

Now the entire camp was aware of his presence. Goblins poured out of shelters, grabbing weapons, forming a defensive circle around the fire pit. They were scared but also angry. This was their home, and something was attacking it.

Arin should have retreated. He should have taken the wins he'd already earned and escaped. But the notification kept blinking, kept reminding him.

[Stealth - Temporary Storage: 18 hours, 5 minutes remaining]

He attacked again.

The next few minutes were chaos. Arin flowed through the camp like a red wave, striking targets of opportunity, using Charge repeatedly to break through defenses.

[-5 Essence]

[-5 Essence]

[-5 Essence]

But there were too many. For every goblin he killed, two more attacked. Spears stabbed into his mass, clubs dispersed chunks of his body, crude arrows passed through him but still tore away pieces.

[-12 Mass]

[-10 Mass]

[-15 Mass]

[-8 Mass]

The goblins were learning to fight him. They spread out, attacked from multiple directions simultaneously. Arin couldn't protect himself from all angles at once.

He managed to kill three more before his essence ran dangerously low, and his mass had been reduced to barely above his starting size.

[Current Mass: 108% of base]

[Current Essence: 56/140]

He had to retreat now or die here.

Arin compressed his remaining mass and raced toward the forest edge, abandoning the fight. Goblins chased him for a dozen yards before giving up, their angry screeches following him into the darkness.

He'd survived. Barely. But he hadn't leveled up.

[Stealth - Temporary Storage: 17 hours, 50 minutes remaining]

The worst was that he'd wasted essence and mass in the process. Arin rested in a hollow tree, processing what had just happened. He'd been reckless and stupid. Let desperation override tactical thinking.

But he couldn't stop now. Not when he was this close. The goblins had given him essence even if he'd lost mass in the exchange. He just needed to be smarter about his next fights.

He needed to hunt weaker targets and rebuild mass. Arin had to learn to be patient.

Except patience meant time. And time was the one thing he didn't have.

[Stealth - Temporary Storage: 17 hours, 42 minutes remaining]

Arin forced himself to rest for an hour, hunting small prey to rebuild some of his lost mass. Rabbits, squirrels, and a fox that wandered too close. Nothing that gave much essence, but every bit helped restore his size.

[Current Mass: 118% of base]
[Current Essence: 64/140]

But it wasn't enough. He needed bigger prey. Arin needed stronger creatures that gave more essence per kill.

His thoughts turned to the dire wolves. He'd seen their territory during his travels. Dangerous, yes. But also predictable. Wolves hunted in specific patterns, den locations that could be found and exploited.

And they were worth more essence than goblins.

[Stealth - Temporary Storage: 16 hours, 20 minutes remaining]

Arin headed north, toward wolf territory and danger.

***

Night fell again, and Arin's body ached in ways he hadn't thought possible for a slime. Every part of him felt strained, stretched thin by constant fighting and regeneration. But he couldn't stop.

The dire wolf den was hidden in a rocky outcropping, exactly where Arin had remembered seeing tracks days ago. Two wolves, sleeping just inside the entrance. Adult specimens, powerful and dangerous.

[Dire Wolf - Level 6]

[Dire Wolf - Level 5]

Higher level than the goblins. This would give significant essence if he could win. However, they were also much more dangerous, especially when combined.

Arin knew he should scout more. Watch their patterns. Plan his approach carefully.

Yet for some reason, the thought of losing a skill he believed he needed made him do the opposite. Arin attacked immediately.

He dropped from above, landing on the Level 5 wolf before it could fully wake. His mass engulfed the creature's head, blocking air while his acidic nature burned into its snout and eyes.

The wolf thrashed violently, throwing itself against the den walls in an attempt to dislodge him. Its claws raked through Arin's mass, tearing away chunks with each desperate swipe.

[-15 Mass]

But Arin held on, just as he'd held on to the shadow cat. Held on through the pain, through the fear, through the certainty that this might be the fight that finally killed him.

The Level 6 wolf woke and lunged, jaws snapping at Arin's exposed mass. He couldn't defend against both wolves at once. All he could do was finish the first one before the second one finished him.

The Level 5 wolf's struggles weakened. Stopped. Arin absorbed it quickly.

[+22 Mass]

[+18 Essence]

Then the second wolf's jaws closed around a large section of his body.

Pain exploded through Arin's consciousness as teeth tore into his core, threatening to rip him apart completely. This was worse than the shadow cat. Worse than anything since the original wolf pack that nearly killed him weeks ago.

[-20 Mass]

Arin split his mass again, sacrificing the chunk caught in the wolf's jaws to save his core. The wolf bit down on the decoy while Arin's true self flowed up its body from behind.

He didn't try to engulf the head this time. Instead, he flowed into the wolf's mouth while it was occupied with the decoy, sliding down its throat before it could bite or shake him loose.

The wolf's eyes widened in panic as it realized what was happening. It coughed, gagged, and tried to vomit up the foreign mass invading its body. But Arin was already inside, already burning through soft tissue with his acidic nature, already claiming the kill from within.

The wolf collapsed, choking, dying slowly from the inside out.

[+20 Mass]

[+18 Essence]

Arin emerged from the corpse, reforming outside the den. His entire being trembled with exhaustion. He'd won, but only barely. Another fight like that and he wouldn't survive.

[Current Mass: 125% of base]

[Current Essence: 100/140]

It’s still not enough for a level?! How much more I need?

[Stealth - Temporary Storage: 14 hours, 10 minutes remaining]

Arin's core pulsed with a mix of rage and despair. He'd fought all day and all night. He had killed dozens of creatures and nearly died multiple times. Yet still the level wouldn't come.

Maybe I should give up? I could just return to camp. They might be wondering if I'm still alive.

But then he remembered the shadow cat. Arin remembered how Stealth would have made that fight so much easier. He also knew that all the future threats would require him to be stronger, faster, and better.

No. I can’t give up. Levi wanted me to live… to help protect others. Stealth would help me to do that.

Arin forced himself to move, hunting through the remainder of the night. More goblins died to his slime. A wild boar gored him badly but eventually fell, unable to overcome his power. A giant spider, whose venom slowed Arin down, died before it could paralyze him.

Each fight took something from him. Mass, essence, pieces of his consciousness that felt like they might never fully heal. But he kept going because stopping meant failure, and failure meant losing Stealth forever.

***

Dawn approached, and Arin found himself in a part of the forest he didn't recognize. He'd wandered too far during his desperate hunt, chasing prey without tracking his location. Now he was lost, exhausted, and running out of time.

[Current Mass: 132% of base]

[Current Essence: 138/140]

[Stealth - Temporary Storage: 4 hours, 22 minutes remaining]

I only have four hours, and I still haven’t leveled up.

Arin's thoughts were becoming fragmented and difficult to hold together. Was this what dying felt like? Not from injury, but from pushing too hard for too long?

He needed to rest. He needed to stop and recover, but the clock continued to tick.

A sound caught his attention. Heavy footfalls, moving through the undergrowth. It was something big.

Arin turned his vision toward the sound and saw it emerge from between the trees.

A bear. Not just any bear, but a massive specimen easily twice the size of the dire wolves. Its fur was dark brown, almost black, and scars covered its muzzle and shoulders from countless fights.

[Forest Bear - Level 8]

It was higher than anything Arin had fought except the shadow cat. This creature would most likely kill him easily in his current state.

But Level 8 meant essence. Probably enough essence to finally push him over the threshold to Level 8 himself.

The bear saw Arin and paused. It didn't appear to be afraid. 

Why would it be afraid of me? It probably thinks I’m not a threat… I might not even be food to it.

Arin knew he should retreat and try to find easier prey. But easier prey hadn't been enough. He needed this. Arin needed something big enough to finish the grind toward his next level.

The bear took a step forward. Arin compressed his mass, preparing for what might be his final fight.

Then something unexpected happened. The bear stopped, sniffed the air, and turned away. It lumbered off into the forest, apparently deciding Arin wasn't worth the effort.

Relief flooded through him. He'd been spared by the bear's disinterest.

But he'd also lost his chance at the essence it represented.

Arin watched the bear disappear into the forest and made a decision. 

What am I doing? If I keep chasing after a level or a skill, I’m going to die. Maybe not today, but someday.  It’s like I’m… losing myself to a hunger for power.  Is this what Levi had meant when he talked about those who were foolish and fought above their level?

A memory of a slip of paper Levi read, talking about some adventurers who had died, trying to take on a quest that was above their level. His maker had seemed sad and muttered about how foolish it was to pursue power that blindly.

Yet there was one more memory that bubbled up.

Just like Levi's murderers had been obsessed with winning at any cost.

The thought hit him like a physical blow. Was he becoming like them? So focused on gaining power that he'd sacrifice everything, even his own survival?

No. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

Arin turned away from the direction the bear had gone and started moving west. Back toward camp. Back toward the people who cared if he lived or died. Back toward being something more than just a hunter chasing the next level.

The Stealth skill would expire. He would lose it. That hurt, but it was better than losing himself.

[Stealth - Temporary Storage: 4 hours, 5 minutes remaining]

He traveled for two hours, moving slowly, conserving what little essence he had left. The forest began to look familiar again. He was close to camp now. Close to home.

Then he heard them. Voices, human voices, coming from ahead. But not woodcutter voices. These were harsher, meaner. Laughter that held no warmth.

Arin crept closer, using the last of his caution, and saw them.

Bandits. Five of them, sitting around a small campfire, dividing up loot. And there, tied to a tree, was a child. A girl, maybe eight or nine years old, with tears streaming down her face.

The bandits were arguing about what to do with her. One wanted to ransom her. Another suggested selling her. A third just wanted to kill her and be done with it.

Arin's core burned with sudden fury. This wasn't about levels anymore. This wasn't about Stealth. This was about something more fundamental.

These were predators. And Arin was a guardian.

He studied the bandits, assessing threat levels.

[Bandit - Level 4]

[Bandit - Level 5]

[Bandit - Level 3]

[Bandit Leader - Level 7]

[Bandit - Level 4]

Five opponents. Too many to take at once, especially in his current state. But he had the element of surprise. And he had something they didn't: nothing left to lose. If he couldn’t save this girl, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Arin waited for the right moment. When three of the bandits moved away from the fire to set up their sleeping area, he struck.

He dropped from the trees onto the Level 3 bandit, engulfing the man's head before he could scream. The bandit thrashed, trying to alert his companions, but Arin's acidic nature worked quickly.

[+16 Mass]

[+12 Essence]

The Level 4 bandit nearby turned at the sound of the struggle and saw Arin. He opened his mouth to shout a warning.

Arin compressed into a wedge and launched himself at the man's throat using his Charge skill.

[-5 Essence]

The impact crushed the bandit's windpipe and he fell, choking silently.

[+14 Mass]

[+10 Essence]

Now the others were aware. The remaining three bandits grabbed weapons and formed up, the Level 7 leader in front.

"What the hell is that thing?" one of them shouted.

"Kill it!" the leader ordered. "Before it kills us!"

They attacked as a cohesive unit, demonstrating effective training and coordination. These weren't random thugs, they were experienced fighters who'd learned to work together.

The leader had a sword while the other two carried axes. All three weapons came at Arin from different angles, trying to force him to defend against attacks he couldn't all block.

Arin split his mass again, creating two separate forms. The decoy took the leader's sword strike while the real Arin flowed around to attack from behind.

But the leader was smarter than the goblins. Somehow, the man recognized what Arin was doing, and he spun immediately, his sword cutting through Arin's real body.

[-18 Mass]

One of the axe-wielding bandits struck next, his weapon dispersing another chunk of Arin's form.

[-12 Mass]

This was going badly. Arin was losing mass faster than he could regenerate, and his essence was depleting with each defensive maneuver.

But then he saw it. The tied girl had been working at her ropes, using the distraction of the fight to try and free herself. If Arin could just hold these three off for a few more seconds, she might escape.

That became his new goal. Not victory, just buying time.

Arin flowed between the three bandits, taking hits deliberately to draw their attention away from the girl. Swords and axes tore through him repeatedly, each strike removing more of his mass.

[-10 Mass]

[-15 Mass]

[-8 Mass]

He was dying. His slime was dissolving, and his core was barely holding together.

But the girl's ropes came free.

"RUN!" Arin tried to form the letters in the air, but he didn't have enough mass left for clear communication. Just a rough "R" shape before even that dissolved.

The girl understood anyway. She ran, disappearing into the forest faster than the bandits could react.

"Forget the brat!" the leader shouted. "Kill this thing!"

The three bandits turned back toward Arin who made his way toward the bushes. He wasn’t sure he could do much. His mind was starting to wander, and a memory of Levi, his maker’s face, bubbled up into his mind.

Footsteps drew close as Arin rolled into the bush and saw movement. A snake was coiled up, it’s glassy eyes focused upon the three men charging the bush. 

Without hesitating, he places his whole body upon the snake, feeling his acid disolve flesh and scales.

“Where is it?” one of the bandits shouted.

An axe struck some of the branches but Arin ignored it.

[+7 Mass]

[+6 Essence]

[Level Up! You are now Level 8]

[+1 Skill Point]

[You now have 5 Skill Points]

His core pulsed, and Arin felt power flow through him. Leveling up stabilized his mas,s and his mind felt alert.

The timing was perfect. Arin immediately spent the skill points.

[Spend 5 Skill Points to unlock 3rd Skill Slot? Y/N]
[YES]

[Skill Slot Unlocked!]

[Accept Stealth (Tier 1)? Y/N]
[YES]

[Stealth (Tier 1) Acquired!]

Power flooded through him. Not just the essence restoration, but the new skill activated immediately. Arin's form seemed to fade, becoming translucent, harder to see even in broad daylight.

[Stealth Activated - 3 Essence per minute]

The bandits lost track of him. Their weapons hacked at the bush, one metal edge almost nicking his stealthed form.

"Where'd it go?" one shouted.

"There! No, there!"

They couldn't find him. He felt strong, no longer afraid.

Arin wasn’t prey anymore, he had become the hunter. 

Arin moved like a shadow among them, striking from angles they couldn't predict, fading away before they could counterattack.

[-3 Essence per minute - ongoing]

One bandit fell, and then the second. Finally, only the Level 7 leader remained, spinning in circles, trying to locate an enemy he couldn't see.

Arin dropped stealth just long enough to strike, engulfing the leader's sword arm and pulling. The man screamed as acid burned through his wrist, forcing him to drop the weapon.

Then Arin engulfed him completely.

[+20 Mass]

[+18 Essence]

It was over. All five bandits were dead. The girl escaped. And somehow, against all odds, Arin had survived.

He collapsed, his form barely holding together despite the gains in essence and mass. He'd pushed too far, taken too much damage. Even with the level-up, his body was on the edge of failure.

[Current Mass: 115% of base]

[Current Essence: 128/160] 

Arin lay there in the bandit camp, too exhausted to move, and tried to process what had just happened.

He'd spent twenty-four hours hunting desperately, nearly killed himself multiple times, all for a skill. And in the end, he'd gotten it not by grinding for experience, but by saving someone who needed help.

Just like Levi would have wanted.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

Arin rested for several minutes before forcing himself to move. He needed to get back to camp. Needed to show Gareth and the others he was alive. Even more, Arin needed to process everything that had happened.

But first, he had to find that girl. He had to make sure she'd actually reached safety. A child alone in the forest wouldn't last long, even without bandits chasing her.

Arin activated his new Stealth skill and began searching.

[Stealth Activated - 3 Essence per minute]

The skill felt natural, like it had always been part of him. He moved through shadows without disturbing them, his presence barely registering to the forest's other inhabitants. This was what he'd needed. What he'd nearly died to acquire.

Was it worth it?

He didn't know, but he had it now. And he would use it to help others, to protect the camp, to become the guardian he'd promised to be.

Starting with finding one lost girl and getting them both home safely.

Chapter 18 - The Creation of Arin

Two nights later, the shadow cat struck again.

Arin woke to the sound of panicked squawking from the chicken coop, followed by abrupt silence. He flowed from his hollow instantly, arriving at the coop in seconds to find three more chickens dead, their bodies shredded with surgical precision.

But it was the message that made his core pulse with cold understanding.

Claw marks, deep and deliberate, carved into the wooden support beam. Not random damage from a feeding frenzy. These were purposeful, methodical. A signature.

I was here. I can come whenever I want. You cannot stop me.

It was different from the wolves he had faced. This creature seemed to enjoy playing with its prey beforehand.

Gareth emerged from his structure, bow in hand, eyes scanning the darkness. "Again?"

Y E S  T H R E E  M O R

"It's escalating." Gareth approached the coop carefully, studying the scene. "Getting bolder. Testing how close it can get before we react."

The shadow cat was smart. Too smart. It knew the camp's rhythms now, knew when guards changed shifts, knew the blind spots in their defenses. And it was playing with them.

K I L  I T  T O N I T

Gareth looked at Arin, his expression grim. "You sure? These things are patient hunters. It might be watching us right now, waiting for you to make a mistake."

Arin scanned the forest edge with his 360° vision, searching for any shimmer in the darkness, any distortion that might betray the predator's position. Nothing. But that didn't mean it wasn't there.

Y E S  N O  C H O I S

"Alright." Gareth straightened. "But we do this smart. You know where the eastern trail is? The one we use for lumber?"

Arin bobbed his mass. He'd followed the woodcutters often enough to know their routes.

"We set rabbit snares along that trail. Three of them, placed on the game paths where deer and smaller prey travel. If you can lead the shadow cat there, maybe you can use those traps against it."

Arin considered. The snares weren't designed for something as large as a shadow cat, but they might slow it down, give him an opening. And anything was better than trying to fight it in open forest where it could vanish into shadows at will.

Y E S  G O O D  P L A N

"One more thing." Gareth pulled a small cloth pouch from his belt. "Dried meat. Not for bait, but if you need to mark a trail or distract it, might help. You can carry this, right?"

Arin extended a tendril, wrapping it around the pouch and pulling it into his mass, holding it near his surface where he could access it quickly. The weight was minimal, barely noticeable.

T H A N K

"Be smart, Arin. If it looks like you can't win, retreat. We'll find another way."

But they both knew there wasn't another way. The shadow cat had chosen them as prey. It would keep coming until it was driven off or killed. And Arin had seen enough hunters to know this one wouldn't be driven off by anything short of death.

He flowed toward the forest edge, Gareth's voice following him.

"Come back safe. The children would be devastated if anything happened to you."

Arin didn't respond. He was already moving into the darkness, darkvision active, every sense alert for the predator he knew was out there somewhere.

***

The forest was alive with the sounds of night. Crickets chirped, an owl hooted somewhere in the distance, small creatures rustled through the undergrowth. All normal sounds that should have been reassuring.

But Arin knew better. The shadow cat was here. He couldn't see it, couldn't hear it, but he felt its presence like a weight on his awareness. The way prey must feel when a predator's eyes locked onto them.

He moved through the canopy, flowing from branch to branch, heading toward the eastern trail where the snares waited. His plan was simple. Make himself visible. Make himself look vulnerable. Draw the shadow cat into pursuing him, then lead it straight into the traps.

Simple plans were often the most effective. They were also the most dangerous.

Arin reached a thick branch overlooking a small clearing and deliberately made himself obvious. He formed his mass into a more compact shape, sitting still in plain view. Waiting.

The forest sounds continued for several minutes. Then, gradually, they began to fade. The crickets went silent. The owl stopped hooting. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

The shadow cat was moving.

Arin's vision swept the clearing below, searching for any hint of movement. Nothing. But the absence of sound told him everything he needed to know. The predator was close.

There. A shimmer in the darkness at the clearing's edge. Barely visible, like heat distortion over warm stones, but unmistakable once you knew what to look for. The shadow cat was circling, studying him, deciding if he was worth the effort.

Arin remained perfectly still. Bait didn't move. Bait looked helpless.

The shimmer moved closer. Then closer still. The shadow cat was confident now, certain of its prey. Arin could almost feel its anticipation, the moment before the strike when a hunter knew victory was inevitable.

Then it lunged.

The shadow cat burst from the darkness with terrifying speed, claws extended, aiming for the branch where Arin sat. But he was already moving, launching himself toward the next tree with a burst of motion.

He felt claws rake through the spot where he'd been a heartbeat before. Arin heard the shadow cat screech in frustration as it realized its prey had escaped.

The game of cat and slime began.

Arin flowed through the canopy, moving as fast as his gelatinous body could manage. Behind him, the shadow cat followed, leaping from branch to branch with supernatural grace. It was faster than him in short bursts, but Arin had an advantage. He could flow around obstacles, through gaps too small for a solid body, and his 360° vision meant he never lost track of his pursuer.

He angled toward the eastern trail, counting the landmarks he'd memorized. The old lightning-struck pine. The fallen maple with the hollow trunk. The boulder shaped like a turtle's shell.

The shadow cat was gaining. Arin could hear it now, the soft pad of paws on wood, the rustle of leaves as it closed the distance. It wanted him to hear. Wanted him to panic and make a mistake.

Instead, Arin did something the shadow cat didn't expect. He deliberately slowed down.

Not much. Just enough to make it seem like he was tiring, like the chase was taking its toll. The shadow cat sensed weakness and pushed harder, claws tearing gouges in the branches as it accelerated.

Fifteen more seconds. That's all Arin needed. Just fifteen seconds to reach the trail where the snares waited.

The shadow cat closed to within a body length. Arin felt its breath, hot and rank, felt the displacement of air as claws swiped at his trailing edge.

Contact. Pain lanced through him as claws raked across his mass, tearing away a chunk.

[-12 Mass]

But he'd reached the trail.

Arin dropped from the canopy, deliberately making the fall look uncontrolled, like he'd lost his grip. He hit the ground and reformed quickly, but not too quickly. Still playing the wounded prey.

The shadow cat landed behind him with a heavy thud. It didn't pursue Arin immediately. Instead, it circled, visible now in the open, studying him with intelligence that was almost human.

It was beautiful in a deadly way. Sleek black fur that seemed to absorb light, golden eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness, muscles coiled beneath skin like compressed springs. A perfect predator.

[Shadow Cat - Level 9]

The notification reminded Arin of the level gap. This creature was stronger, faster, and more experienced than him. If he fought it straight on, he would lose.

Good thing he wasn't planning to fight fair.

Arin began moving down the trail, staying low to the ground, making his movements erratic and pained. The shadow cat followed, confident now. It had wounded him. Tasted his mass. Knew he couldn't escape.

The first snare was twenty feet ahead, hidden in the undergrowth near a game path. Arin angled toward it, moving just fast enough to keep the shadow cat interested but not so fast that it would suspect a trap.

The cat pounced.

Arin dodged at the last second, the movement looking panicked but perfectly timed. The shadow cat's momentum carried it forward, right over the concealed snare.

But the cat was too light. Too agile. It landed past the snare without triggering it, then spun to face Arin, frustration clear in its growl.

Damn. Too smart for that.

The shadow cat didn't wait this time. It charged straight at Arin, no more playing, no more circling. Just raw predatory violence.

Arin compressed his mass and shot backward, using every bit of speed he could muster. The shadow cat's claws missed by inches.

He flowed around a tree trunk, trying to put obstacles between them. The shadow cat followed effortlessly, its supernatural agility making mockery of Arin's attempts to gain distance.

Another strike connected, and more mass was torn away.

[-8 Mass]

Arin was losing this fight. He needed to change tactics and needed to think of something the shadow cat wouldn't expect.

He remembered the dried meat pouch still held within his mass. And he remembered something else. Shadow cats were ambush predators. They liked certainty. They liked knowing where their prey would be.

What if he gave it that certainty but made it a lie?

Arin stopped running. He compressed his mass into a tight ball and went absolutely still right in the middle of the trail.

The shadow cat slowed, suspicious. This wasn't normal prey behavior. Prey didn't stop and wait to die.

But the temptation was too great. Arin was wounded, smaller than before, and sitting completely exposed. Easy prey.

The shadow cat approached cautiously, circling once, twice. Looking for the trap it was certain must exist.

Arin remained motionless. Waiting.

The cat struck from above, launching itself from a low branch directly at Arin's position.

And Arin split his mass.

In an instant, he divided himself into two separate blobs. The smaller one, maybe thirty percent of his total mass, stayed where it was. The larger portion flowed sideways with desperate speed, moving to the cat's blind spot.

The shadow cat's claws tore through the decoy blob, shredding it into useless globs that splattered across the trail. The cat landed and spun, searching for the real Arin.

It found him faster than expected.

But Arin was already moving, not away but toward. He compressed into a wedge shape and drove himself at the shadow cat's hind legs, using every bit of momentum he could generate.

His attack connected, and Arin's acidic nature activated automatically, burning into fur and flesh.

[Acidic Trait Activated]

The shadow cat screeched and tried to leap away, but Arin was wrapped around its hind leg now, flowing up toward the body, trying to engulf the creature's head where he could suffocate it like he'd done with so many other prey.

But the shadow cat was Level 9 for a reason.

It twisted in a way that shouldn't have been possible, bending nearly in half to bite at Arin's mass. Fangs sank deep, tearing away chunks with savage efficiency.

[-18 Mass]

Pain erupted inside. It was sharp and overwhelming, threatening to break Arin's concentration. He lost his grip and fell away, reforming several feet distant.

Both combatants stopped their attacks, each assessing the damage the other had inflicted.

The shadow cat limped on its wounded hind leg, fur burned away to reveal angry red flesh. But it was still strong, still capable of killing him.

Arin was much worse off. He'd lost nearly forty percent of his starting mass. He was smaller, weaker, and slower. Another exchange like that and he wouldn't survive.

The shadow cat knew it too. It began circling again, but this time in a different way. It stayed a little further back and moved slower. It was benign careful. The cat now respected the danger Arin represented even in his weakened state.

They were near the second snare now. Arin could see it hidden in the brush, the rope loop barely visible in the darkness. But he couldn't just lead the cat to it. That had already failed.

He needed to make the cat chase him over it. Make it move fast enough that it wouldn't notice until too late.

Arin drew on the dried meat still held within his mass and squeezed, crushing the pouch and releasing the strong scent. He pushed the remnants out onto the trail behind him as he moved.

The shadow cat's nostrils flared. Food scent. Prey scent. Distraction.

Arin moved parallel to the second snare, staying just out of range, making himself look weaker than he was. The shadow cat stalked forward, drawn by the combination of injury and food scent.

It was working. The cat was focused on him, not on the ground beneath its paws.

Three more steps. Two more. One.

The shadow cat's hind paw came down directly on the concealed trigger.

The snare activated, rope looping around the injured leg and yanking tight. The cat yowled and thrashed, trying to pull free.

Now.

Arin charged, using the last of his essence to activate his Charge skill.

[-5 Essence]

He hit the shadow cat with his full mass and momentum, the wedge form driving into the creature's chest. Bones cracked beneath the impact, and the cat's struggles became more frantic.

But the snare was breaking. The rope wasn't designed to hold something this strong. It was already fraying, ready to snap.

Arin didn't give it a chance. He flowed over the shadow cat's head, covering its mouth and nostrils, blocking air while his acidic nature burned into sensitive flesh.

The cat thrashed violently, claws raking through Arin's mass, tearing away more and more of his body with each desperate swipe.

[-12 Mass]

[-8 Mass]  

[-6 Mass]

But Arin held on. This was it. If he let go now, he would die. The shadow cat would recover and finish him in seconds.

So he held on through the pain, through the mass loss, through the fear that he might dissolve completely before the cat suffocated.

The struggles grew weaker. The claws slowed. The shadow cat's powerful body began to go limp beneath him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the creature went still.

[Shadow Cat - Level 9 Defeated]

Arin didn't release immediately. Couldn't. He was too exhausted, too damaged. He simply lay there on top of the dead predator, his gelatinous form barely holding together.

Then the notifications came.

[+35 Mass]

[+28 Essence]

[Level Up! You are now Level 7]

[+1 Skill Point]

[Skill Available: Stealth (Tier 1)]

[Warning: All skill slots occupied. Accept skill? This will replace existing skill.]

Arin stared at the notification. Stealth. The ability that would have made this hunt so much easier. The skill that could help him survive future threats.

But all his skill slots were full. Charge and Darkvision were both essential. He couldn't replace either of them.

Unless he unlocked a third slot. That cost five skill points, and he only had four now. Three saved plus one from this level up.

Can I wait to choose?

As the question flowed through his being, Arin saw words appear that answered that thought.

[Skill Selection Waiting - Temporary Storage Available: 24 hours]

Twenty-four hours. He had one day to advance to the next level and earn the fifth skill point he needed. If he didn't, the Stealth skill would be lost forever.

Arin began absorbing the shadow cat's body, slowly pulling the mass and essence into himself. His form filled out, growing stronger, healing the damage he'd taken.

[Current Mass: 128% of base]

[Current Essence: 108/140]

It was better, but he was smaller than he had been before the fight. 

He needed to return to camp, report his success. But more than that, he needed to think. Twenty-four hours to gain a level. That meant hunting, fighting, and risking himself again while still injured.

Was the Stealth skill worth it? Or should he let it go, focus on recovery instead?

Arin formed a tendril and touched the small wooden carving that Elara had given him, still visible within his mass. A promise to return safely.

But if he returned now, he would lose the skill. And the forest was full of dangers that Stealth could help him survive. Full of threats to the camp that he needed to be stronger to face.

The shadow cat had been Level 9. There were things out there even more dangerous. Things he would need every advantage to defeat.

He made his choice, and Arin began moving deeper into the forest. Not toward camp. Toward the areas where goblins and other creatures lived.

He had twenty-four hours to level up.

And he wasn't going to waste a single second.

BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 039

The sound of picks against stone had become a constant, almost soothing rhythm in its repetition. Einar watched the pile of ore grow, each chunk adding to what would eventually fill three mine carts. The dwarves worked with an efficiency born of lifetimes of practice, their movements precise and economical.

Around them, the Vikings maintained their defensive positions. Eyes scanned the tunnel entrances. Hands gripped weapons that had already tasted goblin blood. The tension was so thick it could be cut.

Two hours had passed since the first attack.

Einar moved between the defensive positions, checking on his warriors. Most bore minor wounds, cuts, and scrapes that the healers had already tended. A few had deeper injuries, gashes that would scar but wouldn't slow them down.

The two dead Vikings lay wrapped in cloth near the mine carts. Their weapons rested on their chests, ready to be returned to them once they were revived. Einar paused beside them, offering a silent prayer to Odin.

They gave everything. We won't let it be in vain.

"They're being too quiet," Thorodd said, approaching from his position at the rear tunnel. "It's been two hours. They should have attacked again by now."

"I know," Einar replied. "They're planning something."

"Or gathering reinforcements," Osvif added, joining them. "That war boss you killed... it might have been just one of several."

The thought wasn't comforting.

Stefi appeared from where she had been scouting one of the blocked tunnels. The eight-foot-tall dwarf's expression was troubled.

"I can hear them," she said quietly. "In the walls. They're moving through sections we blocked off years ago. Tunnels too small for dwarves but perfect for goblins."

"How many?" Einar asked.

"Impossible to say. But it sounds like more than before."

Einar turned to survey the chamber. The defensive positions they had set up were good for frontal attacks, but if the goblins came through the walls, through cracks and crevices they couldn't see...

We need to change our approach.

"Thorodd, pull everyone back to the center of the chamber. Form a circle around the miners. Shields out, spears ready."

"You want to give up the tunnel entrances?" his second in command asked.

"I want to make sure we can defend from all sides when they come through the walls."

Understanding dawned on Thorodd's face. He immediately began shouting orders, and the Vikings started repositioning. The defensive formation shifted, becoming a ring of steel around the working dwarves.

Yulgas looked up from his work, sweat streaming down his face. "How much longer do you need?" Einar asked.

"Two more hours. Maybe three. The ore is dense here, and we want to get the best pieces."

"Take the time you need. We'll hold."

The dwarf nodded and returned to his work, his pick striking with renewed determination.

Einar took position on the outer ring of the formation, his axes ready. Beside him, Avitue checked the edge on her sword.

"This reminds me of the troll attack," she said quietly. "Surrounded, outnumbered, fighting for our lives."

"At least this time we know what we're facing," Einar replied.

"Do we?" she asked, her eyes scanning the shadows. "Because I have a feeling we haven't seen everything they can throw at us."

A scraping sound echoed from somewhere above. Everyone looked up, weapons raised, but nothing emerged from the ceiling.

Then another sound, this time from the left wall. Then the right. Then behind them.

The goblins were in the walls, all around them, and they were getting closer.

"Hold formation!" Einar commanded. "Wait for them to show themselves!"

The scraping grew louder. Stone dust began to fall from dozens of small cracks in the walls. The goblins were digging, expanding old passages, and creating new entry points.

Smart. Very smart.

"Einar!" Skardi shouted from across the circle. "We can't defend against attacks from everywhere at once!"

"We don't have to defend everywhere," Einar replied. "We just have to make sure they can't break through our wall."

The first goblin emerged from a crack near the floor, squeezing through an opening that looked too small for anything larger than a rat. It scrambled forward, only to be met by a spear thrust from the nearest Viking. The creature died before it could even screech.

Then another appeared. And another. Soon, goblins were pouring from a dozen different openings, their small bodies allowing them to fit through gaps the Vikings hadn't even noticed.

"Rotate positions!" Einar shouted. "Front rank holds, second rank strikes!"

The formation shifted like a living thing. Vikings in the outer ring braced with shields while those behind them thrust spears through gaps. The goblins that made it past the first line found themselves facing a wall of steel.

But there were so many of them.

The creatures kept coming, an endless stream of twisted bodies and yellow eyes. They clawed at shields, bit at exposed flesh, threw themselves at the defensive line with suicidal abandon.

Einar's axes moved in constant motion. Fire erupted along the blades as he channeled wyrd, the flames making the goblins shriek. But for every one he killed, two more took its place.

A section of the wall to his left suddenly crumbled, revealing a larger opening. Through it came goblins carrying crude shields made from scavenged metal and bone. They formed a wedge and charged.

"Vidar!" Einar shouted. "Left side, now!"

The pack leader and his warriors surged forward, meeting the goblin charge head-on. The impact sent both sides reeling, but the Vikings held their ground. Vidar's hammer rose and fell like a smithy's tool, each strike crushing a goblin skull.

To the right, another section of wall collapsed. More goblins poured through, and Jepi's section moved to meet them. The pack leader fought with controlled fury, his spear finding goblin hearts with lethal precision.

The circle of Vikings contracted slightly, tightening around the miners who continued their work despite the chaos erupting around them. The sound of picks never stopped, never slowed.

Einar found himself back to back with Thorodd, both warriors fighting against an endless tide. His arms burned from the constant motion. Sweat trickled into his eyes. Blood covered his armor, most of it goblin but some of his own.

"This is getting old!" Thorodd growled, his hammer pulverizing another goblin.

"Just a few more hours!" Einar replied, his axe taking a creature's head off.

"If we last a few more hours!"

A roar echoed through the chamber, deeper and more menacing than the goblin screeches. Einar's blood went cold as he recognized the sound.

Another war boss.

The creature emerged from the largest tunnel entrance, towering over the smaller goblins. This one was even bigger than the first, nearly seven feet tall and covered in crude armor made from stolen dwarven plate. It carried a massive cleaver that had been forged for someone three times its size.

Behind it came more goblins, these ones carrying torches. They spread out, surrounding the Viking defensive circle, their yellow eyes gleaming in the firelight.

The war boss raised its cleaver and roared again. The goblins responded with their own screeches, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.

"Einar!" Avitue shouted over the noise. "We can't hold against that thing and all these others!"

She was right. The war boss alone would take several warriors to bring down, and they couldn't spare anyone from the defensive line.

Think. There has to be a way.

The war boss began to move forward, its heavy footsteps shaking the ground. The goblins parted before it, creating a path straight toward the Viking formation.

Einar made his decision.

"Thorodd, take command! Hold the line no matter what!"

"Where are you going?" his second in command demanded.

"To kill that thing before it reaches us!"

Before Thorodd could protest, Einar broke from the formation and charged. His axes blazed with fire as he poured wyrd into them, the flames creating a trail of light in his wake.

The war boss saw him coming and raised its cleaver. They met with a crash that sent shockwaves through the chamber.

The force of the impact nearly drove Einar to his knees. The war boss was strong, stronger than anything he had faced in these tunnels. Its cleaver came down again, and Einar barely managed to cross his axes to block the blow.

Metal screeched against metal. Sparks flew. Einar's arms trembled from the strain.

The war boss pressed its advantage, driving Einar backward with a series of powerful strikes. Each blow was calculated to kill, aimed at weak points in his armor. This creature had fought warriors before and knew where to strike.

Einar ducked under a horizontal swing and rolled to the side, coming up behind the war boss. His axes struck at the creature's legs, but the stolen dwarven armor held. The blades barely scratched the metal.

The war boss spun with surprising speed for something its size. Its cleaver swept in a wide arc, forcing Einar to dive and roll again.

I need to find a weakness. Something that armor doesn't cover.

He studied the war boss as they circled each other. The armor covered its torso and legs, but the joints were exposed. The neck had a gap where the helmet met the chest plate. And the face was bare except for a crude metal mask that protected its nose and mouth.

There. The eyes.

Einar feinted left, then darted right. As the war boss turned to follow, he threw one of his axes. The weapon spun through the air, the flames making it look like a falling star.

The war boss raised its cleaver to block, but Einar had anticipated that. While the creature was distracted, he closed the distance and drove his remaining axe into the exposed joint at its elbow.

The war boss roared in pain. Its grip on the cleaver loosened, and the weapon fell from suddenly nerveless fingers.

Einar didn't give it time to recover. He retrieved his thrown axe and struck again, this time at the knee joint. The blade bit deep, cutting through leather and sinew. The war boss dropped to one knee.

With a roar of his own, Einar channeled more wyrd into both axes. The flames erupted, engulfing the blades in an inferno. He leaped, bringing both weapons down on the exposed neck of the war boss.

The creature's head separated from its body and rolled across the stone floor.

[ Rune Experience Gained ]

[ Rune Leveled Up ]

The silence that followed was absolute.

Every goblin in the chamber stopped fighting. They stared at their fallen war boss, their yellow eyes wide with something that might have been fear.

Then, as one, they fled.

The creatures scrambled back into their holes and tunnels, abandoning the fight. Within seconds, the chamber was empty except for the bodies of the fallen and the exhausted Vikings still holding their defensive positions.

Einar stood over the corpse of the war boss, his chest heaving with each breath. His wyrd was nearly depleted, and his arms felt like lead. But they had survived.

"Status!" he called out.

"Three more dead," Thorodd reported, his voice heavy. "Ten wounded, two critically. But we held."

Einar nodded, too exhausted to say more. He made his way back to the defensive circle; his legs felt tired in a way they hadn’t in ages.

Yulgas approached, his face covered in stone dust. "We're almost done. One more hour, maybe less."

"Then we finish this," Einar said. "We came for ore, and we're not leaving without it."

He looked at his warriors. They were battered, bloodied, and exhausted. But they were still standing. Still ready to fight if needed.

These are true Vikings. Warriors who refuse to break.

"One more hour," he repeated, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Then we get out of here and never look back."

The picks resumed their steady rhythm. The Vikings tightened their formation. And deep in the mountain, surrounded by darkness and death, they held their ground.

Because that's what Vikings did.

They endured.

Chapter 17 - The Creation of Arin

Three days had passed since the kobold fight, and Arin found himself settling into a routine he'd never imagined possible.

His hollow in the old oak tree had become home, a concept that still felt strange to contemplate. Each morning, he'd wake to the sounds of the camp stirring below. It followed a routine of axes being sharpened, children laughing, and the crackle of the cooking fire being stoked. The rhythms of human life had become as familiar as the forest's own patterns.

This morning was no different. Arin flowed to the opening of his hollow and observed the camp below. Marta was already at the fire pit, stirring a large pot that sent savory smells drifting through the cool air. Two of the younger children, Elara and her brother Tam played near the vegetable garden, using sticks as swords in some imaginary battle.

Gareth emerged from his structure, stretching and yawning. His eyes lifted toward Arin's tree, and when they met Arin's vision, the man offered a slight nod. A greeting. An acknowledgment of presence.

I'm part of this now. The realization both comforting and terrifying. They expect me to be here. They'd notice if I was gone.

Movement near the fire caught his attention. Marta was walking toward his tree, carrying something wrapped in cloth. She stopped about ten feet from the base and looked up.

"Morning, Arin," she called. "Thought you might like to try something."

She set the cloth bundle on a flat stone and unwrapped it, revealing chunks of cooked meat, some vegetables, and a piece of bread. Then she stepped back, watching him with curious eyes.

"Don't know if slimes eat solid food," she said. "But seemed rude not to offer."

Arin descended from his hollow, flowing down the trunk in a controlled spiral. When he reached the ground, he approached the offering cautiously. The smells were strong—roasted meat, earthy vegetables, the yeasty scent of bread.

He extended a small tendril and touched the meat. His acidic nature immediately began breaking it down, the texture dissolving into nutrients he could absorb. But it was slow, inefficient compared to consuming living prey. Still, the gesture meant something.

Arin formed letters in the air: T H A N K  Y U

Marta smiled. "You're welcome and keep the rest if you want. The children have been asking about you."

As if summoned by her words, footsteps approached. Arin turned to see three children emerging from between the structures, led by an older boy he'd seen before but hadn't properly met.

The boy was maybe twelve, with dark hair and serious eyes that seemed older than his years. He held a stick in one hand, not as a weapon but as a tool, and he studied Arin with open curiosity rather than fear.

"Mama said we could talk to him," the boy said to Marta. "If he wants."

Marta glanced at Arin. "Do you mind? They've been pestering me since the kobold fight."

Arin looked at the children. Elara, the five-year-old who'd pointed him out that first day. Tam, her brother, maybe seven. And this older boy, who carried himself with the careful responsibility of someone forced to grow up too fast.

Y E S  O K A

The older boy's eyes widened. "You can write! I mean, I heard you could, but seeing it..."

He stepped closer, and the younger children followed his lead. Elara bounced excitedly.

"Can you write more words?" she asked. "Can you write my name?"

Arin paused, then carefully formed letters: E L A R A

The girl squealed with delight. "He knows my name! Tam, ask him to do yours!"

"Can you write Tam?" the boy asked shyly.

T A M

"What about mine?" the older boy asked. "I'm Jorin."

J O R I N

Jorin stared at the letters, then looked up at Arin with something like wonder. "How do you know how to spell? Who taught you?"

Levi taught me, Arin thought. During training sessions, forming letters in the air, learning to communicate. He wanted me to be more than just a mindless creation.

But he couldn't explain all that. Instead, he formed: F R E N D  T A U G H T

"Your friend?" Jorin asked. "Where are they?"

G O N

The boy's expression shifted to understanding. "Oh. I'm sorry."

An awkward silence fell. Elara, oblivious to the mood, tugged on Jorin's sleeve.

"Can we teach him more words? Mama said I should practice my letters anyway."

Jorin looked at Arin questioningly. "Would you want to? Learn to read and write properly? I could help."

The offer surprised Arin. The chance to learn and grow meant becoming more than he currently was. Wasn't that what sapience meant? The ability to improve, to change, to become something greater?

Y E S  P L E E S

Jorin smiled at the misspelling but didn't correct it. "Alright. Let me get my primer. We can start after morning chores."

The children ran off, Elara chattering excitedly about teaching the slime. Marta chuckled from where she'd been watching.

"They like you," she said. "Children are good judges of character. Better than adults, sometimes."

She headed back to the fire, leaving Arin alone with his thoughts and the cooling food she'd brought. He absorbed more of the meat, the nutrients spreading through his mass. It wasn't necessary because he could hunt for sustenance but accepting it felt important somehow. A gesture of belonging.

The morning passed in a blur of activity. Arin watched as the woodcutters prepared for their day's work, loading tools onto a cart and heading out to their cutting site. Marta and the other women tended the garden and repaired clothing. The children did their chores that included fetching water, feeding the few chickens the camp kept, and sweeping out the structures.

It was peaceful. Ordinary. The kind of life Levi had talked about helping, the simple rhythm of people trying to survive and build something stable.

When Jorin returned with his primer, a worn book with a cracked leather cover Arin flowed down from his observation post in the tree. The boy had brought Elara and Tam with him, and they settled in a shaded spot near Arin's tree.

"Okay," Jorin said, opening the book. "Let's start with the alphabet. Do you know all the letters?"

Arin considered. Levi had taught him letters, but inconsistently. He knew enough to spell simple words, but not in any organized way.

S U M

"Some. S O M E," Jorin translated. "That's fine. We'll go through them all."

He pointed to the first page, which showed a large letter 'A' with a picture of an apple beside it.

"This is A. It makes the 'ah' sound, like in apple."

Arin formed the letter in the air: A

"Good! Now B..."

They worked through the alphabet slowly. Arin absorbed it quickly, his enhanced mind processing the patterns faster than Jorin expected. By the time they reached M, the boy was staring at him with undisguised amazement.

"You're learning so fast," Jorin said. "It took my sister weeks to get this far."

Sister. Past tense again. Arin noticed but didn't ask.

They continued until Marta called the children for midday meal. Jorin closed the book reluctantly.

"Can we do more later?" he asked. "I like teaching you. It's... it's nice to be useful."

Y E S  T H A N K  Y U

After the children left, Arin practiced forming the letters he'd learned, writing them in the dirt near his tree. A, B, C, D... Each one felt like a small victory, a step toward being more than just a hunter or guardian.

Evening approached, and Gareth returned to camp before the other woodcutters. He approached Arin's tree with purposeful strides, his expression serious.

"Arin," he called up. "Got a moment?"

Arin descended, reforming at ground level. Gareth studied him for a moment, then pulled out a small wooden token from his pocket. It was carved with a simple symbol—a tree with strong roots.

"This is a camp marker," Gareth explained. "We use them to mark trails, safe paths, boundaries. I want you to have one."

He held it out. Arin extended a tendril, wrapping it around the token and pulling it closer, absorbing it partially into his mass for safekeeping.

"You've been helping us," Gareth continued. "Keeping watch, hunting nearby threats. We're grateful. But I need to ask you something more." He paused, apparently choosing his words carefully. "Something's been watching us. Not kobolds… Something else. Whatever it is, is bigger. We've found tracks, signs of a predator circling the camp. I need you to scout further out, see what's there."

Arin felt a chill run through his core. Another threat. Of course there was. The forest was full of dangers.

D A N J R U S

"Dangerous?" Gareth nodded. "Probably. But you're the only one fast enough to scout and escape if needed. And..." He hesitated. "You've proven you can handle yourself."

Y E S  W I L  S C O U T

"Be careful," Gareth said. "Whatever it is, it's smart. It's been watching, learning our patterns. Don't engage unless you have to. Just find out what it is and come back."

Arin bobbed his mass in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Gareth smiled slightly.

"You're a strange one, Arin. But I'm glad you're here."

The man returned to the fire, leaving Arin to prepare for the night's patrol.

***

Darkness fell, and Arin activated his darkvision. The world transformed into shades of gray and silver, every shadow distinct, every movement clear. He moved through the trees silently, flowing from branch to branch, staying high where most predators couldn't reach.

The camp's perimeter was quiet at first. He found the usual signs of rabbit tracks, deer trails, the occasional fox den. But as he moved further out, roughly a mile from camp, he found something else.

Large, four-toed tracks, with deep claw marks. Too big for a wolf, too purposeful in their placement. The creature had been moving in a wide circle around the camp, stopping occasionally to observe from cover.

Arin followed the trail cautiously. It led to a vantage point on a low hill overlooking the camp. From here, someone or something could watch the entire settlement without being seen.

The tracks continued, and Arin's core pulsed with growing alarm. This wasn't random hunting. This was reconnaissance. The creature was studying them.

He found more evidence of whatever was watching them. There were claw marks on trees at specific heights, territorial markings based on the other creatures he had tracked made. And then he found something that made him freeze completely.

A carcass. It was a partially eaten deer. But the way it had been killed wasn't natural. The bite marks were too precise, the consumption too methodical. And there, in the dirt beside it, fresh tracks.

Arin studied them carefully. The creature had been here recently. Within hours, maybe less.

A sound made him go still. A low growl, barely audible, coming from somewhere in the darkness ahead.

His 360° vision caught it, a shimmer in the shadows, something moving that he couldn't quite focus on. It was there and not there, visible only as a distortion in the darkness.

[ Shadow Cat - Level 9 ]

The notification appeared, and Arin felt cold certainty wash through him. He'd heard of shadow cats from Levi's books. Rare, intelligent, deadly hunters that could blend with darkness itself. They hunted alone, stalking prey for days before striking.

And this one had been stalking the camp.

Arin didn't move. The shadow cat couldn't see him clearly in the tree, and as long as he remained still, he had the advantage. But the creature knew something was wrong. It sensed him, somehow, through whatever supernatural senses it possessed.

The shimmer moved, circling. Testing. Looking for a clear view of whatever had disturbed it.

Arin made his decision. 

Don't engage. Report back. 

That was the smart choice.

He flowed backward slowly, retreating branch by branch, never taking his vision off the distortion in the darkness. The shadow cat didn't pursue, but he felt its attention following him, tracking his movement.

When he finally put distance between himself and the predator, Arin moved faster, racing back toward camp through the canopy. The forest blurred past, branches and leaves parting for his gelatinous form.

He reached the camp just before dawn, flowing down to where Gareth was taking his turn at watch. The man startled at Arin's sudden appearance.

"What did you find?"

Arin formed letters quickly: B I G  C A T  L E V L  9  W A C H I N G  U S

Gareth's face went pale. "Shadow cat?"

Y E S

"Damn." Gareth ran a hand through his hair. "Those things... they're smart. Patient. If it's been watching us, it's planning something."

He looked at Arin, his expression grim. "We'll need to deal with it. Drive it off or... or kill it, if we can. Can't have something like that stalking the children."

Arin thought of Elara and Tam playing with their stick swords. Of Jorin teaching him letters with patient dedication. Of Marta offering him food in simple kindness.

The shadow cat was a threat to all of them. And guardians protected their people.

Y E S  W I L  H E L P

"Not alone," Gareth said firmly. "We plan this properly. Shadow cats are dangerous even for trained hunters. We—"

A scream cut through the dawn air.

Both of them turned toward the sound. Near the chicken coop, one of the women was backing away from something, her hand over her mouth.

Arin reached the coop first, flowing across the ground faster than Gareth could run. He found two dead chickens, their bodies torn apart. And there, clear in the dirt, were fresh tracks.

The shadow cat had struck while Arin was reporting to Gareth. It had come right into the camp, killed, and left a message.

You can't protect them. I can reach them whenever I want.

Gareth arrived, breathing hard. He looked at the dead chickens, the claw marks scratched deliberately into the wooden structure, and his jaw tightened.

"It's toying with us," he said. "Testing our defenses."

The camp was waking up now, people emerging to see what had happened. Children's faces appeared in doorways, curious and frightened.

Gareth raised his voice, addressing everyone. "We have a shadow cat problem. No one travels alone. No one goes outside the perimeter after dark. We double the watch and—"

"Let me hunt it," Arin formed quickly in the air.

Everyone turned to stare at the floating letters.

"Arin, that thing is level nine," Gareth said. "You're—"

S I X  B U T  F A S T  S M A R T

Karel, who'd just emerged from his structure, stepped forward. "You sure about this? Shadow cats have killed grown men. Trained fighters."

Y E S  P R O T E C T  K I D S

A murmur ran through the gathered adults. Marta looked at Arin, her expression conflicted.

"If you're going after it," she said quietly, "then you come back. Understand? The children would miss you."

Elara pushed past her mother, running to Arin. She held out a small carved figure, a crude wooden slime that Jorin must have made.

"For luck," she said, pressing it against Arin's gelatinous side. "So you come back safe."

Arin carefully absorbed the carving partially into his mass, holding it visible just beneath his surface. A promise, made tangible.

I  P R O M I S

Gareth sighed. "Fine. But we do this smart. You'll need bait, and a way to trap it if you can. Shadow cats are ambush predators, they don't like fair fights."

He looked around at the other woodcutters. "We set this up properly. Give Arin every advantage we can. Because if he fails..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Everyone understood. If Arin failed, the shadow cat would keep coming. And eventually, it wouldn't stop at chickens.

The sun rose fully, bathing the camp in golden light. But Arin could only think of the coming night, when darkness would return and the real hunt would begin.

Somewhere in the forest, a shadow cat was watching and waiting.

And Arin would make sure it wouldn’t wait much longer.

UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 079 -

The steps the group descended upon under Sunreach’s castle were new. They weren’t the usual stones that Max had pulled from the same veins he used for the vault room under the castle, either. Everyone’s pace changed when the passageway narrowed and the old air turned cool and still.

“Keep coming,” Max said, the ball of light he had summoned casting shadows all around. “It’s just ahead.”

Fowl snorted. “You’ve said that like five corners ago. Just where in the gods are we headed?”

Tanila’s fingers brushed his sleeve once. Max had told her about this decision, and she understood why he had done what he did. Cordellia walked behind them, silent as usual until she picked a fight with Fowl. Sog’s steps echoed as his massive foot didn’t contain the element of stealth their ranger did. 

The last door wasn’t wood or iron. It looked like a blank slab of stone set into a metal frame. Max placed his palm on it and forced mana into the seam. The slab opened like it weighed nothing.

They stepped into an oval chamber half a mile wide and a hundred feet tall. There were no pillars or doors beyond the one behind them. The floor was a single, smooth piece of off-white stone. The ceiling’s glow came from the stone itself. Only two other things were noticeable upon entry. First, it was the silence, and second was the power that seemed to hum from the floor.

Fowl whispered the first curse. “Ogre nuts. Is this what I think it is?”

“An empty and blank room,” Cordellia asked. “I mean it’s huge… but then again it is Max.”

Batrire took two slow steps onto the floor, looking like she was testing the stone each time her boot touched it. “The room feels… dead.”

“Almost as if the room is dead and yet not,” Sog stated.

“It’s not dead,” Max replied. “It’s layered with multiple threads of magic and help from the system. It’s like my dimensional pocket stone, but denser. Nothing we do should fracture it unless we’re idiots.” He motioned toward the wall next to them. “The walls are the same.”

Rakonath moved to the stone wall and sniffed. 

You two mentioned doing this… but… I understand why they are acting this way. Something about this place feels… off.

That is the point of this room. No one can die here because it's both within and also outside of the system. Well… they can die but there is less chance of stupid deaths.

“Is this what you’ve been working on for the last month?” Fowl asked. “You built a training area like the one back in Nalgrun?”

“He what?!” Cordellia exclaimed. “How… How do you know what this is?”

Their dwarven warrior shrugged. “How do you know what kind of tree you’re touching or looking at? To me, they’re all just a tree, but you talk about how each one is different. I’m like that with stone. This entire room feels like the one Dagon has because the stone is similar.”

“Fowl’s correct,” Max stated. “Jazzjak and I discussed this for a bit and then I spoke with Tanila and Bob. We all agreed that building this was worth the cost.”

He walked them in until the door behind them had blended into the curve. When he stopped, he lifted his hand and drew a circle of light on the wall. It parted like someone had rolled a huge coin to the side, revealing a small area with five seats.

“It cost me fifty million,” Max said. “Divine Points, in case you weren’t sure what.”

That got the reactions he’d expected.

“Fifty—” Cordellia started to stay, choking on the very word.

“You spent fifty million!” Batrire exclaimed.

“Are you insane?” Fowl added. “Do you know how much—”

“Enough,” Tanila said, cutting them off before turning to Max, “Tell them why you spent that much on this.”

Max rubbed his thumb along his knuckles. “We’ve got three hundred years of protection. Well, less now. You’ve all seen how the arena fights are. You saw what a world-eater could do and what some of the gods who are out there, looking for easy prey, can do. In less than two hundred years, this room is the difference between ‘we thought about fighting a god’ and ‘we know what that costs’.”

No one spoke for a moment, their eyes shifting between each other. The room, once again, became a silent tomb.

“It isn’t like Ockrim’s training chamber that saved us in the dwarven capital,” Max continued. “That one was tethered to a god. This one isn’t, but it borrows the rules from that idea. You fight in here, and you won’t die if a death blow lands. Just like Dagon’s, you can’t gain experience, and your skills won’t improve. The only difference is that your cooldowns aren’t reset either. But you’ll get to experience the pain of dying. You’ll get a chance to experience the fear of knowing you're about to lose if you don’t give it everything you have. What’s great about this is that we’ll be able to practice our timing and learn to stand up to whatever comes our way.  This is going to be unlike any of the sparring we’ve done on the topside. Once again, we don’t hold anything back.”

“Fifty million Divine Points to feel afraid?” Cordellia asked.

“Fifty million to make sure fear doesn’t break you when it matters,” Max reply. “And before anyone lectures me, yeah, I’m hoarding DP. I’m counting every point that each of my worlds gives me, but Bob agrees. So does our helper.”

Tell them what I said and don’t hold back. Let them call me a monster; it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done so. We both know your friends are lagging behind your enemies, not behind you. You cannot solo what comes next and keep them alive unless they learn to fight how they must.

Max repeated what Bob said, and a few of his friends winced at the words that came out of his mouth.

“For the record,” Jazzjak said, “I told him to buy it. He argued for almost two hours because of the cost. Then he bought it anyway after Bob and I managed to convince Max it was worth it.”

Fowl’s face looked like he was sucking a lemon. “Fifty million DP. That’s… that’s a lot to spend on us. Thank you.”

Jazzjak didn’t wait for Max to reply. “I know Max hates spending DP on anything that he doesn’t have to. Each of you is aware of what is to come and that the deadline draws closer every day.  While you’re concerned about fifty million, that amount won’t be as much when he’s chasing tier six. You all need this. Even Max needs this. But the truth is, you all must learn what the arena is going to be like. Even Sog’s small time on that dragon’s planet doesn’t compare.  There is a reason why he lost so easily.”

Their helper grunted and shook his head, a single ear flopping to the side. “This simulated battle is going to give you a chance to experience how outmatched you are or the things you need to do to win. And you need it with one safety net left in this world. If you miss this window that Max has created for you… When your protection drops, that first real fight in the arena can put one of you down for good. So don’t nod at me like you agree, as you do sometimes. Instead, get in here and practice.”

Max let their helpers' words sink in before he let out the breath he had been holding.

“There are rules for a place like this,” Max stated. “Only two gods can battle in here at once, that’s it. No two-on-one or anything else. There is also a one-week cooldown after any god-on-god session before the room can be used again. It burns out the layers and needs time to regenerate.” He looked at the far wall. “Also… if we keep growing at the pace we plan, this room won’t hold us for long. There’s an upgradeable version of this room but I don’t think we’ll get it anytime soon.  It costs one billion DP. If we buy it, the room stays viable through tier six. Past that, there isn’t a purchase we can make to practice with domains or that kind of power. After tier six, if you die and someone destroys your core,” he paused and looked at Tanila, then Sog, “you die for real.”

Rakonath let out small thrum that seemed louder due to the way it reverberated off the stone.

“So… if we want to keep from dying when a fight comes, we train,” Fowl said. “But if we want to have the next version to practice fighting in our domains…

“We grind a billion,” Batrire joked. “In our spare time, of course.”

Cordellia grunted. “I get it. I hate that it cost you so much, Max, but I do like what this room offers.”

Sog rolled his shoulders before popping his neck. “Finally. Someplace we can let go… It does get boring not being able to go all out. Still, it’s a shame the ceiling is so low. Poor Rakonath won’t be able to fly as he should. ”

Batrire’s eyes tracked the curve of the ceiling. “How does it work? I mean, the… not dying part.”

“If a blow would end a life, it negates that blow at impact,” Max replied. “It won’t stop the attack before that moment. Like Dagon’s training area, you will feel it. Then it will release the energy back into the stone. Your head gets to stay attached and you’ll get to think about what went wrong or how to fix that.” He held out a hand. “There are no rewards for fighting here and no arena tricks. The point is to make us learn to fight with everything we have but at a whole new level.”

Fowl stroked his beard, smiling the entire time. “Bob’s got a mean streak. Funny how I seem to enjoy that now.”

I prefer an alive streak.

“This place is going to teach you how to fight,” Max said. “And that’s what we need when it’s you and a god in a box with nowhere to go.”

“Even though this is under Sunreach, can our people use it?” Batrire asked.

“When the week is up and there are no god fights scheduled, we’ll open it to trained groups,” Max said. “Guard rotations, champion trials, the youth squads. To them, this place will be like Dagon’s. They’ll get skill resets and everything else. But they’ll also learn, like we did, the importance of fighting with everything you have. It’ll change how all of our champions and future tower climbers train.”

“That’s… huge,” Cordellia said. “Imagine if we had access to Dagon’s place a lot earlier.”

“It needs to be a game changer for ourselves and for our people,” Max said. “We’re trying to earn as much DP as possible and I know some of you are enjoying that small trickle of DP that Miranna and her team are sending each day from their success on their world.  Unlike others, we need to focus on helping as many adventurers as possible defeat the tower.”

Jazzjak’s nose twitched. “There’s also politics you’ll need to consider. For now, I agree with Max. Giving people a place to learn without flattening half a district means fewer angry citizens when a certain god-child happens to flatten a building by accident after tossing a dwarf into it.”

Fowl tried to look innocent and failed.

Batrire hip checked him, smiling. “That was funny and you know it.”

Sog grinned and glanced at the others. “So who bleeds first?”

Max could almost feel those words move through his friends. The honest answer was everyone. The right answer was to start with two who’ll give you the right kind of fight.

He looked at Fowl. “Not you.”

“What—why?” the dwarf exclaimed.

“No one wants to watch you sit there and absorb whatever comes your way,” Max said. “It needs to happen, but I don’t want to waste a day or a week with a battle of attrition. Don’t worry, everyone will get a chance to feel the pain of your thorn aura. Right now we need to watch a fight that's a bit faster and more… exciting. Those of us who don’t fight can watch for ways to coach and improve, while also secretly preparing for our own chance.”

Max turned to Tanila and Sog.

The demon’s grin was immediate. Tanila’s slight inhale was quiet enough that his Sonar caught it. She didn’t look at him after the first glance. Instead, she gazed out across the room. A few seconds later, her gold eyes focused on Sog. 

She’s measuring him.

Max knew that Sog could hit like an avalanche. Tanila’s power was just as strong but she was precise. He’d been waiting to see that collision since the decision to build this place had been made.

“You up for this?” Max asked her.

“I am,” Tanila replied.

Sog’s grin widened. “Try not to cry when I win.”

“Promise not to whine when I clip your horns,” Tanila replied, winking.

“Oh, this is going to be so good,” Fowl said. “I’ve got the drinks while we watch!”

Batrire rolled her eyes, but she kept smiling. “Behave.”

Jazzjak flicked an ear. “For the record, I uh… might have placed a wager with Max on who wins.”

Everyone laughed as the vorpal rabbit winked at Sog.

The demon groaned, knowing that the joke was meant just for him.

Max raised a finger and drew a thin circle of light at the edge of the practice field. It rippled, then sank, then came back faint. “Once I lock the circle, no one crosses it except the two inside.”

“Then stop talking and lock it,” Sog said.

Max closed his eyes for a heartbeat, sensing his skill stirring. 

Anything else?

Do not underestimate the first ten seconds. Everyone burns hot at the start. These two are the perfect choice.

Max breathed out. “Alright,” he said. “We’re on the clock after this. You two step in, you don’t step out until the room says you lost, or you both call it. We stop if I say stop. I’d say no spells like wildfire as I’m not sure how that would work here, and I don’t want to risk it. Everything else is legal.”

“Understood,” Tanila said.

Sog nodded once.

Max motioned for the others to move into the room with the seats, waiting till they all found a chair that suited them. He drew the ward circle. The faint glow rose to ankle height and hummed. The room seemed to be waking up from a deep slumber. Max felt the strands that would take a killing blow prevent it from ending their life. He didn’t like the sensation. He liked what it bought.

“Positions,” he said.

Sog jogged to the far edge of the circle, swords sliding into his hands with a sound from nowhere. He didn’t have flames appear like Max had expected.

Tanila moved to the opposite side. She touched the spot on her wrist where a band once hid her true self. A smile appeared as her hair brightened, her gold eyes glowing to match. 

Max lifted his hand, stepping into the room with the others behind the room's ward.

“Three,” he said, taking his seat

“Two.”

Max’s sonar let him sense Batrire’s lips moving in count with his. Cordellia was leaning, her left leg bouncing. Rakonath’s eyes were focused on the duo before them.

“One.”

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 3

“I’m sorry, you what? Got your ass handed to you by a girl?” Michael teased. “Seriously?”

Giving his brother the finger, Francis nodded, glad to see he had finally found a path to convince Michael that he was different. Sometimes it was hard to tell his brother the full truth, but every time he came back to life, it was impossible to hide the physical changes. 

“She wasn’t a girl… this woman… Kerhi… she is a monster,” Francis said. “She uses magic of some kind to enhance her body and the punches she sends… they hurt.”

Michael’s eyes widened, then his brother pointed at the wooden mess on the floor. “Well, I hit you with that table leg as hard as I could and you didn’t even flinch, so to hear what she did to you must mean she’s strong. Stronger than our side?”

Francis shrugged, enjoying the last few hours he was going to have with his brother before heading out early to seek out Stenson. “Some but not all. She had a lot of respect from her people so I’m guessing she’s probably one of the stronger ones.”

A whistle came from his brother. “And you like her, don’t you?”

“What?” Francis said, feeling his cheeks pull back. “How can you say that?”

Michael started to laugh, pointing a finger at him. “The way you talk! You’ve never been one to go after women who seemed… weak. If they don’t make a move or something, you usually ignore them.”

He wanted to argue that Michael was wrong, but the truth was his brother wasn’t. Still, he didn’t have time to consider that right now. Perhaps one loop he might see about that, but at the moment, getting stronger was all that was on his mind.

“Maybe… And thank you for this. I needed it.”

His brother nodded, then shifted on the bed so he could lean his back against the wall. “I… I still can’t believe it all, but seeing how you look and watching what you did to that Cutter guy… how could I argue against that?”

Francis clenched his hand, touching the spot where he had knocked Cutter out. Unlike the times before, he didn’t kill the man. Over so many deaths, he had worked out that anger and just ended the fight, and collected the money. “That reminds me, don’t go wasting those coins on stupid stuff. I’m not sure how long I’ll manage to live, but at least you’ll be able to enjoy life until I die again.”

“And those two women?” Michael asked.

Rolling his eyes, Francis shrugged. “I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned it, but every time I do you seem to accept things better.”

“What can I say?” his brother asked. “I’m an easy man to please.”

***

“It appears that your first trip went well,” Stenson stated, the smirk on his face telling Francis that his intuition was right. “Part of me wants to laugh at how I must be handling all of these moments we spend together and the other part is still so surprised by the young man before me.”

Francis sipped on the wine the general had offered, enjoying something he rarely did, but knowing that whatever came next, a treat like this would most likely not come. “I get why you didn’t tell me more, but sending me over in that armor… I mean that was just ugly.”

A chuckle escaped from the older man as he nodded. “Yes… I wonder if the other me feared what you might say or do after freezing like that but it also will help you see the importance of acquiring a basic skill all barbarians are born with.”

“Born with?” Francis asked, feeling his eyes widen at those words. “Wait, how can they be born with a skill? Is it true that we’re not alike?”

The general paused for a moment, his eyes landing on his bookshelf. Rising, he went over and pulled out a book, opening it.  After a moment, the older man brought it back with him and sat. “I’d show you what’s written in here, but since you can’t read the language it's in, I’ll just translate. The four kingdoms are all comprised of what some would call an… original version of man. Legends, rumors, stories, or whatever else you want to call them, talk about how the gods each took a group of them and had sex with them, giving birth to a different race of man.”

“Wait, what? No one’s–”

“It’s not taught to anyone until the very end of the Spires,” Stenson said. “There is a reason why the little bit that is shared is kept quiet. Our kingdom doesn’t share the same view of its gods as some of the other kingdoms do.  The four we worship and gain our power from are different than the ones the other kingdoms do.  You’ll be surprised to learn that each kingdom considers its gods the ‘better’ ones.”

“Whose are the strongest?” Francis asked.

“No one knows,” Stenson replied, opening the book. “The last great war showed that our land can’t have the involvement of the gods without causing destruction that could easily wipe out all the kingdoms. That’s why we haven’t seen much from them in so long.”

Before Francis could speak, the general tapped some lines in the book that were written in symbols he had never seen before.

“This says that the barbarians were granted a special seed, a blessing, because of the land they hold. Most other kingdoms would struggle to survive in the area they do, and yet… somehow they have tamed it. Grains that won’t grow anywhere else grow in caves in that harsh environment, fed by light from fungus.  The beasts they kill are stronger than most here, and they have also tamed snow-wolves and elk that they ride like horses. Their bodies are hardier and stronger as well.”

“This sounds like they have an advantage over the other kingdoms,” Francis stated. “I mean, an ability on birth, plus their size and strength. How does that work?”

Stenson tapped a few lines below the ones he had just read. “Their weakness is that they cannot cast magic like most of the other kingdoms. You won’t find mages sending out plumes of fire or calling down lightning from the sky. Their magic is here,” the general said, tapping his chest. “As you witnessed firsthand, their shamans have learned how to harness the magic within. They can augment their body in different ways.”

“So wait,” Francis said, holding up a hand. “Are you sending me there to learn magic or gain an ability to heal myself?”

The older man shrugged, then closed the book. “I don’t know the answer to that question. All I know is that they are the only ones who have a record of one of their people learning what you’re seeking. But you’re forgetting the most important thing about magic.”

Shaking his head, Francis frowned. “I haven’t forgotten. Men rarely can cast it. Why is that? Our gods or something else?”

“That’s a question for the kingdom of Shenzen,” the general replied. “The practitioners of magic over there are almost equally male and female.  They’re not as strong as the other three kingdoms when it comes to physical things, but their ability to harness magic is incredible.”

“And yet they cannot defeat the army they face,” Francis muttered. “Which means whatever they’re facing can withstand it.”

Stenson nodded. “I will say, I’m not sure if my other version of me in the previous loop expected you to die so soon after arriving. I’ve considered it, and would say I probably gave it a 50% chance of happening. Part of me had hoped you’d get a chance to see the enemy they face over there.”

“Do you know what their fighting against?” Francis asked.

“Not all of it, just some. Beastkin, except ones designed for that environment,” Stenson replied. “However, this is all taking place, it appears that the army we each face is designed specifically for us.”

“Yeah, we discussed that before,” Francis said. “Not that I’m trying to be a jerk when I say that.”

“I’m not worried,” the general said. “So tell me, what are you going to do different this time?”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to give me any tips or education on their kingdom?” Francis asked.

“You’ve learned they are honor-driven, albeit the hard way,” Stenson said. “When you are dealing with them, know that sometimes the smallest offence here would result in great shame or a potential duel. Choose your words carefully as you might just end up challenging someone, as you learned.”

Francis grunted in agreement. 

“Glitvall is a lot like King Baxter, but he’s… involved more in the day-to-day things,” the general stated. “They don’t have as many people but I’d trade a half dozen warriors for one of theirs. I’m not sure who the main Jarl is right now, but that position is somewhat similar to mine, yet different. There are multiple clans, each with its own leader, and then you have Glitvall. Plus, there are shamans and that is a whole different sect as you kind of mentioned in your story.”

“The ones who were surrounding Kerhi?” Francis asked.

“Most likely,” Stenson replied. “If the others were giving them a wide berth as you described, and she used magic like she did, then yeah, that’s probably a sect of them.”

“What about their gods? Should I avoid anyone specifically, like I do here?” 

Clearing his throat, Stenson tapped a finger on the closed book a few times. “I don’t know. Their gods are different from ours. You’ll find out rather quickly if you meet one that they don’t like you or whatever is inside you. The real fun is when you meet one of the stronger shamans and see what they can do.”

“I’m sorry, there are stronger ones? Stronger than Kerhi?” Francis asked, his eyes widening.

“I won’t try to judge her power or ability but if she was one of the stronger ones, she might have held back quite a bit. Spoiling the surprise isn’t something I want to do.”

Francis groaned, pointing a finger at the older man across from him. “I swear, one day you’re going to give me knowledge without making me learn it the hard way?”

“But would you really want that?” Stenson asked, his face completely serious. “Has anything you’ve gained and been worthwhile been something I’ve given or something you’ve earned? What would you be like if I had hand-fed you all the knowledge you now possess, and equipped you with the few magical items we have?”

“A lot weaker,” Francis replied. “I get it… It’s just… sometimes I’m not sure if you’re intentionally being a bastard or it’s just the way you are.”

“It’s both,” the general stated, smiling. “You mentioned Kels… how much do you know about him?”

“Besides his father being Nehemiah, or him having the Physical Fast Learner skill, or that you’re teaching him the Way of the–”

A hand rose and cut Francis off.

“Obviously, you know more than I was certain of,” Stenson said, his other hand tapping his ear. “Some things I don’t casually talk about and you should be aware of that. Even if you’re going to reset after death, I prefer to think you’d learn tact and keep it between each death.”

“You’re right. That was my bad. So what about Kels then?”

“I train him harder and in ways that make learning slower,” Stenson said. “I could help him learn the patterns and movements, but the truth is that wouldn’t help him in the long run. The Way isn’t about knowing the movements. It’s about understanding that the sword you wield is an actual part of you.  The truth is…” the general paused, set the book down and moved to his writing table. He returned with a simple pencil, assuming the stance Kels used when practicing the movements.

“There will be a time, I am certain you’ll learn how to do this, Francis Lancaster,” Stenson said, closing his eyes. 

Francis could feel some kind of power build up in the pencil the older man held. The general’s wrist flicked and a blade of something surged forward, striking the rug and ground where he had aimed. Dust filled the air and when it settled, Francis saw that there was a gouge in the ground.

He looked back at Stenson and saw that the pencil was no longer there.

“What happened to it? How did–”

“Some items cannot survive you empowering it like I just did,” Stenson replied. “So that pencil is no more. Yet if I needed to do such a thing, I am never unarmed.”

“Because you’re just an arm,” Francis said, emphasizing the singular.

He started to laugh, unable to hold back as the general’s face deadpanned, clearly not enjoying the joke of his singular appendage.

Loopbreaker - Book 2 - Chapter 2

Less than ten minutes passed before Francis found himself in a section of the camp where a circle of frozen dirt was. Unlike the rest of the camp, there wasn’t any snow here. Just dark, black dirt, with the frozen areas of red. 

“What kind of fool are you?” Dravik asked, handing Francis a cup of steaming liquid. “Challenging Kerhi? No one challenges her?”

“And why is that?” Francis asked, taking the offered drink and sniffing it. He could smell a hint of some kind of plant, something fresh and perhaps a mint of some kind. “And what is this?”

“Drink it,” the barbarian grunted. “It will help dull the pain she is about to inflict upon you. Perhaps she’ll be kind and not carve too much of your flesh off if you surrender and promise to serve her for a period of time.”

“Serve her? What–”

A hand waved off his question. “Drink. There is no time for me to teach you what you should know. Now then, I see you have two swords. Can you really use them?”

Francis dipped his finger into the liquid, finding the warmth it gave to his flesh pleasant. Shaking his head, he handed the drink back to Dravik as he tasted the flavor off his warmed finger. “I can. What I really could use is some tips on how to fight her.”

Chuckles and full-out roars of laughter came from the nearby barbarians who had quickly formed around the thirty-yard circle of dirt. 

“Yeah… don’t get hit,” the warrior replied, causing those gathered to laugh harder. 

Shaking his head, Francis turned his attention to Kerhi and where she was. Her eyes were locked upon him as she stretched.  Nearby was a group of barbarians who were given some space on both sides of the section. In the middle of them was an older man and woman, both with grey hair. While they were easily the oldest ones out here, Francis could tell from how they stood that they weren’t weak.

Maybe I should have taken the drink… these people are crazy.

Cheers and shouts rang out as movement off to the right prompted the gathered group to start parting.  Soon, a group of barbarians, all a few inches taller than most, broke through the section of onlookers. Francis noticed one head that was a foot taller than the rest.

“Ahh, it appears you have caused Glitvall to leave his fire,” Dravik said, smiling. “Not many can do that.”

Hearing the barbarian inform him that the warchief he had come to meet was present, Francis studied the mountain of flesh that soon arrived at the edge of the circle.  He was broad-shouldered, easily twice as wide as Francis and covered in fur that almost seemed to be changing colors as he moved.  His beard was braided into two sections and a mohawk of hair formed a braid down his back. Each side of Glitvall’s head was shaved, covered in tattoos.  From behind his back came a shaft that looked thicker than a tent pole and Francis wondered what was connected to the other end.

I guess out here to be the warchief, you’d have to look like that.

Glitvall frowned at him, shaking his head for a moment before turning to look at Kerhi. A smile appeared before he clapped his massive hands, silencing the noise all around.

“A challenge was made?” Glitvall called out.

“Yes!” Kerhi exclaimed, bouncing slightly on her feet. “I have witnesses.”

Half a dozen hands rose and Glitvall nodded. “Little one from Reevotort. You have made a challenge. It has been accepted. Do you wish to continue or offer yourself as a servant for a period of time?”

Every barbarian present was looking at him and Francis could feel the ones behind him leaning forward. His Battle Presence skill was going full tilt, telling him that they all wanted him to select the first option.

Taking a few steps from where he had been, Francis planted his feet, doing his best to appear confident and perhaps taller. “I have come from my Kingdom to offer aid, bearing a letter from both my King and his General. She dishonored me every moment since I arrived and so I told her I would defeat her and earn her respect.”

A murmur moved through those gathered, but Francis focused on the warchief. 

He nodded slowly, his lips curling just a little bit. “Then a challenge has been made and accepted. The price for winning is being honored. The price for losing is what?”

Kerhi moved as Francis had, standing tall and pointing a finger at him. “Death.”

The wind suddenly sounded so much louder as everyone went silent. No one spoke and Francis felt a chill run up his spine.

Gone was Glitvall’s slight smile. His jaw clenched a few times, cheeks and lips dancing before he sighed. “You have heard the cost if you lose. Tell me, do you accept or do you forfeit?”

Francis could see the expressions on those gathered. Everyone of them believed he was going to die and that meant that whoever Kerhi was, she had to have earned her reputation. 

He, however, didn’t care what they thought or believed he should do. Turning toward the woman he was about to fight, Francis started to laugh.  He couldn’t help it. For a solid ten seconds or more, he let out the emotions that swelled inside him.

Stenson had sent him here to get stronger. The man had intentionally withheld information that would have proved useful for this trip. It was so obvious that Stenson wasn’t doing this to be a jerk, but to teach a lesson Francis needed to experience. He had gotten mad at the older man, knowing that the general was playing a game for himself and the kingdom.

Every action Stenson took was for one purpose and that was to prepare Francis to be strong enough to stop the army that threatened Reevotort and the other kingdoms. Like every other fight he had been in, the greatest lessons had come through pain and death. Stenson knew that Francis didn’t fear death. That bastard even seemed to realize that sometimes Francis enjoyed the thrill of it. 

Stenson… you’re a crazy bastard, but you know me too well.

Ignoring the strange look that even Kerhi gave him, Francis grinned. “I am fine with those terms. Only a coward fears death.”

His opponent’s face had been like a frozen block of ice while he had laughed. No emotion, and simply blank. Yet after his words, Kerhi’s lips curled into a wicked smile and she started to laugh, making a fist and shaking it. “Yes! Perhaps the children to the south aren’t cowards after all!”

Cheers came, and Glitvall stood there, shaking his head slightly. Finally, he held his hand and silenced the crowd. “Then it shall be to the death or admitting defeat. One will die or one will be humbled. The words have been spoken and thus cannot be stopped. Warriors to your spot.”

Francis moved when he saw Kerhi turn and walk to where she had been.  Dravik had a perplexed look on his face as he walked toward the barbarian.

“You surprise me. Tell me, may I ask your name so that I can carve it into wood when we send your body back?”

“I’m afraid not,” Francis replied. “You haven’t earned that honor yet.”

A chuckle came from the large man, who nodded and then pointed at the swords on Francis’s hip. “You should make sure you can still use those. I’d hate to see you lose so quickly.”

Frowning, Francis grasped the hilt of one of his swords and started to pull, realizing what Dravik had meant when it didn’t come free. Instead, the scabbard pulled upward, tugging at the belt that held it.

“What the–”

“Frozen,” Dravik said. “That’s why we use axes. One doesn’t want their blade not coming free when they need it.”

Using both hands, Francis twisted the scabbard and the sword, breaking the ice he hadn’t realized had formed on each of the weapons.

“Francis,” he said, holding out a hand. 

Dravik grasped it and smiled. “Die well, young one.”

Pulling both weapons free, Francis turned and saw that Kerhi didn’t have any weapons. She had wrapped her hands with leather and had some metal spiked tips on them.  On her arms were some kind of wrappings with small spikes, also. Two other barbarians were at her feet, strapping what appeared to be similar things to her knees, shins, and boots.

“Uh…”

Laughter came from behind and Francis stood there, not feeling the cold as much as before, knowing that he was about to get pummeled to death most likely by a woman.

After the pair of barbarians had finished attaching the armor Kerhi now wore, the war chief clapped his hands and silenced everyone. 

“On the horn. May your blood, which stains the ground, prove to our gods that we will bleed to protect that which they have given us.”

His mind raced with dozens of questions but Francis pushed them all down, lowering his stance slightly, trying to sense what his opponent was about to do. He could see the light in her eyes, yet no threads were coming at him from her.

A horn rang out and as he cautiously took two steps forward, Kerhi came at him, moving with a speed that seemed impossible.

Franci’s mind barely had time to register what was happening, and Iron Wall and Guarded Stance were both activated as a fist came at him. His sword got in the path of the punch, the impact sending him backward and slamming him into the barbarian wall behind.

They absorbed the impact and pushed him back into the circle.

“Yes!” Kerhi shouted as Francis shook his head. “Come to the middle to die. I don’t want to hurt my brothers or sisters.”

Time wasn’t on his side as the two abilities he had activated to handle that punch were already using up their time, so Francis charged, using combinations of attacks. Kerhi used her forearms and fists to deflect and stop his attacks. Not once did she bother to dodge. She let him push her backward, creating room between Francis and those gathered to watch.

She stopped her controlled retreat when they reached the middle and began to go on the offensive, deflecting his strikes and punching or kicking at him.  She moved with a speed and grace that rivaled that of Kels. Where the man used a sword to inflict pain and suffering, her body alone was all the woman appeared to need.

One punch came at him, and Francis felt the opening, his Battle Sense telling him she was toying with him.

[ Riposte ]

[ Power Strike ]

[ Quick Attack ]

[ Flurry ]

His blade moved with speed and power, deflecting her punch and piercing her stomach. Or that’s what Francis believed was going to happen. Instead, as the tip of his weapon struck her fur, it cut through the animal skins but didn’t go any deeper.

A wicked grin appeared upon Kerhi’s lips as a fist came at him. He couldn’t dodge it as the woman’s speed of movement increased.  Faint threads of magic could be sensed around her arm and fist as she hit his left shoulder. The impact sent him tumbling backward.

Pain came, but was ignored. Francis grinned as he saw the notifications that appeared for a moment.

[ Strong Bones Increased - 57 ]

[ Pain Resistance Increased - 59 ]

He didn’t have time to celebrate as Kerhi pressed her attack, not letting him get up. A foot with a two-inch metal spike at the tip impacted his ribs, sending him rolling and once more into the crowd of those gathered.  This time, they pushed Francis back into the circle, a little kinder than they had been before.

Blinking and ignoring the pain that wanted him to acknowledge the damage Kerhi had done, Francis chuckled.  There was a hole in his armor. The woman had managed to puncture the suit Stenson had given him.  Warmth started to flow down his waist, and Francis couldn’t help but enjoy the sensation that was growing.

Warrior’s Resolve was filling him with power and the injuries she had given weren’t life-threatening yet. She would need to land more blows for that to happen.

Francis stood, only the sword in his right hand still with him, the other a dozen yards away, having skidded across the frozen ground.

“Impressive,” Kerhi said, moving a little bit like Cutter had in that small fighting area.  She drifted to the side, light on her feet, motioning at him with a hand to come.

“Next time, I’ll have to try some of those when we fight,” Francis stated, moving like he was seriously injured.

Kerhi and those who were gathered all laughed. 

“Next time he says!” she shouted. “Oh, little one, there won’t be a next time.”

The barbarian came at him, darting to the side, placing herself between him and those gathered.  Francis’s left arm worked, albeit not as well as he wanted.  Warrior’s Resolve helped him to overcome some of the injury, but she had broken or shattered something. 

Punches and kicks came, and more holes were created in his armor and flesh.  Soon, wherever Francis moved or was sent, rolling had spots of blood, freezing quickly against the dark soil.

His lifeforce was burning.  Francis felt the power of his ability flooding him with strength beyond what he should have. Only from experience could he tell that his life force had dropped to about twenty percent. From the amount of blood he was losing and the potential damage a few more attacks might do, time wasn’t on his side.

Limping and holding his sword like he might drop it at any moment, Francis spat at her. “Stop toying with me and end this like a real warrior. Unless you’re–”

Kerhi came at him; gone was the smile she had been wearing, replaced by a serious look of anger.

Her fists moved with even more power and speed but Francis had been waiting, buying his time, wanting to see if he could do any real damage to the woman.

[ Iron Wall ]

He got the ability up before the first fist reached him and Francis went all out.

[ Riposte ]

[ Power Strike ]

[ Quick Attack ] 

[ Flurry ]

Three times, he activated those abilities in succession, drawing upon the power that Warrior’s Resolve fed him.  Each time his blade moved faster than it had before.

Out of all the attacks, five of them struck, and three drew blood.  One to Kerhi’s stomach, one to her left leg, and the other to her chest. Each one pierced a solid inch, somehow stopped by whatever magical threads Francis could sense that covered her body.

Kerhi seemed enthralled at his blows that landed, and then her hand came forward, a hint of something different than before.

Francis couldn’t dodge it or stop the attack and felt a claw of some kind pierce his sternum, grabbing his heart and yanking it free. At the same time, she cried out, and Francis wanted to grin when a notification came.

[ Magic Feedback Increased - 22 ]

With a wet squelch, Kerhi ripped her hand from his chest, a beating heart in her hand, blood flowing everywhere.  The crowd roared, and she laughed, turning to show it off.

Warrior’s Resolve honored her action and her stupidity.  

Francis felt the power that flowed through him and knew it was moments like this, where those who were stronger and believed they couldn’t be hurt showed off. They would come and he needed to use those moments to make them suffer. But he was also here to find some way to overcome the injury she had done. 

Everything Francis had expected this trip to be like didn’t happen.

But still he smiled as he lunged forward, his sword attacking from behind.

[ Power Strike ]

The metal tip pierced the fur covering of her back, striking the spot he had been aiming for, and slid between the bones.

As before, the blade didn’t pierce more than an inch, but where he struck, that inch was all he needed.

Kerhi’s body spasmed as she fell to the ground. His blade had pierced her spine, and her legs buckled like a newborn colt.

“You win,” Francis got out as the world began to darken. “But I earned the right to know your name.”

Chapter 16 - The Creation of Arin

Morning came with the sound of axes striking wood.

Arin woke in his hollow, his awareness immediately drawn to the rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk echoing through the forest. The woodcutters were already at work, felling trees somewhere beyond the camp's perimeter.

He flowed to the opening of his hollow and observed the camp below. The fire had been built up, smoke rising steadily into the morning air. Several people moved about their morning routines, hauling water from a nearby stream, tending to what looked like a small vegetable garden, preparing breakfast.

The children from last night were playing again, their laughter carrying through the crisp air. An older boy was teaching them something with sticks, showing them how to hold them properly. Weapons training, Arin realized. Even the children needed to know how to defend themselves out here.

Gareth emerged from one of the structures, stretching and yawning. He glanced up at Arin's tree, seemed to spot him, and offered a cautious nod before moving to the fire pit.

He remembers I'm here. Hasn't changed his mind about letting me stay.

The woman from last night, the one who'd been cooking, began ladling stew into wooden bowls. The people gathered, eating quickly before returning to their tasks. It was efficient, practiced, the routine of people who couldn't afford to waste daylight.

Arin watched, fascinated by the simple domesticity of it all. This was what Levi had wanted to experience, what he'd dreamed about when reading his adventure stories. Not the monster hunting or dungeon delving, but the simple act of helping people live their lives.

After breakfast, Gareth approached Arin's tree. He stopped about fifteen feet away, hands visible and empty.

"Morning, Arin," he called up. "Hope you rested well. We're heading out to the cutting site soon. You're welcome to follow if you're curious, or you can stay here. Just... maybe avoid going into the structures? The women and children are nervous enough as it is."

Arin formed letters on the tree bark where Gareth could see them: O K A

Gareth smiled slightly. "Your spelling's a bit rough, but I appreciate the effort. We'll be back by sundown. There's a stream about fifty paces that way if you need water, though I'm not sure if slimes drink."

W A T R B A D

"Water's bad for you?" Gareth's eyebrows rose. "That's... unusual. Good to know, though. We'll keep that in mind."

The tall man returned to camp, calling out instructions to several other men who were gathering tools. Within minutes, a group of five had assembled, each carrying axes or saws. They headed into the forest, following a well-worn trail.

Arin debated for a moment, then decided to follow at a distance. He was curious about what they were doing, and staying near people who knew the forest seemed safer than wandering alone while still recovering.

The woodcutters moved with purpose through the undergrowth, talking quietly among themselves. Arin kept to the trees, following from above, staying far enough back that he wouldn't be a distraction.

After about twenty minutes, they reached a section of forest where several trees had already been felled. Stumps dotted the area, and partially processed logs lay stacked in organized piles. A large cart, currently empty, waited nearby.

"Alright, same as yesterday," Gareth said. "Tomas and Jeren, you're on the ash tree. Karel and I will finish sectioning that oak. Meric, you're on watch."

The youngest of the five men, probably in his early twenties, nodded and moved to the edge of the clearing. He carried a bow and had a horn hanging from his belt.

Watch for what? Monsters? Bandits?

The work began in earnest. Two men positioned themselves on opposite sides of a large ash tree, their axes rising and falling in coordinated rhythm. Gareth and Karel worked on a felled oak, using a long saw to cut it into manageable sections.

Arin watched, impressed by their efficiency. Each stroke of the axe was purposeful, angled to maximize the cut. The saw moved in steady pulls, neither man rushing or forcing it. This was skilled labor, honed by years of practice.

An hour passed. Then two. The sun climbed higher, and the men took a brief break, drinking from water skins and wiping sweat from their faces despite the cool morning air.

That's when Meric's horn blared.

The woodcutters dropped their tools immediately, grabbing weapons. Gareth had a hand axe in one hand and a hunting knife in the other. The others similarly armed themselves with whatever they'd brought.

"How many?" Gareth called out to Meric.

"Three! Maybe four! Coming from the east!"

"Goblins?"

"Can't tell yet. Moving fast through the brush!"

The men formed a loose defensive line, facing east, weapons ready. Arin moved through the trees to get a better view, his core pulsing with alarm.

Shapes burst from the undergrowth. Not goblins. Kobolds.

[ Kobold Warrior - Level 4 ] 

[ Kobold Warrior - Level 4 ] 

[ Kobold Scout - Level 3 ] 

[ Kobold Shaman - Level 5 ]

Four of them, just as Meric had said. They were smaller than goblins, more reptilian, with scaled skin ranging from rust-red to muddy brown. Each carried crude weapons, spears and stone axes, and the shaman had a bone fetish that glowed faintly with some kind of magic.

"Kobolds!" Gareth shouted. "Formation!"

The woodcutters tightened their line, but Arin could see they were outmatched. These were laborers, not soldiers. They knew how to defend themselves, but fighting kobolds wasn't their trade.

The kobolds charged, screeching in their harsh, yipping language. One of the warriors hurled its spear, the weapon flying toward Karel. The man tried to dodge, but the spear caught his shoulder, spinning him around.

Gareth roared and charged forward, meeting the closest kobold warrior with his hand axe. Metal met stone, and the kobold's weapon shattered. Gareth's follow-up strike caught the creature in the chest, dropping it.

But the other warrior was on Tomas, its stone axe swinging wildly. Tomas blocked with his saw, the improvised defense barely holding. The kobold scout circled around, trying to flank him.

The shaman began chanting, its fetish glowing brighter. A ball of green light formed in its clawed hand.

They're going to lose. The shaman's going to turn the fight, and at least one of them will die.

Arin hesitated. These humans weren't his responsibility. He could flee, could leave them to their fate. Survival meant not taking unnecessary risks.

But Levi's voice echoed in his mind, clear as if his creator stood beside him: "I want to help people, Arin. I want to make a difference."

And these people had offered Arin hospitality. Had treated him with caution but also kindness. Had not attacked him despite their fear.

The decision crystallized in an instant.

Arin dropped from the tree.

He used Charge mid-fall, his mass compressing and shooting forward faster than gravity alone would carry him. He aimed for the shaman, the biggest threat, the one that would turn this fight into a massacre.

[ -5 Essence ]

The kobold shaman sensed movement at the last second and turned, its yellow eyes widening in alarm. The green spell in its hand flickered, incomplete.

Arin struck the shaman with his full mass, his wedge form driving into the creature's chest. Bones cracked, and the shaman went down hard, the spell dissipating harmlessly into the air.

Before the creature could recover, Arin flowed over its head, covering mouth and nostrils. The shaman thrashed, clawing at him, but Arin's acidic nature was already burning through scales.

[ Acidic Trait Activated ]

The woodcutters stood frozen for half a heartbeat, shocked by the red slime's sudden intervention. Then Gareth shouted, "Don't just stand there! Finish them!"

The remaining kobolds, seeing their shaman under attack, lost cohesion. The warrior fighting Tomas turned to help its shaman, which gave Tomas the opening he needed. His saw came down on the kobold's exposed back, and the creature fell with a shriek.

The scout tried to flee, but Meric's arrow caught it in the leg. It stumbled, and Jeren was on it immediately, his axe ending the fight.

Beneath Arin, the shaman's struggles weakened, then stopped. He continued the dissolution process, his mass flowing over the creature's body.

[ +20 Mass ] 

[ +16 Essence ] 

[ Skill Available for Absorption ]

[ Skill Available: Nature's Hex - Tier 1 ]

[ Warning: All skill slots occupied. Accept skill? This will replace existing skill. ]

Arin examined the skill briefly. Nature's Hex allowed the user to channel harmful magic through a focus object, weakening enemies with curses of pain and confusion. The shaman had been preparing exactly such a spell when Arin had struck.

But even if he had an open skill slot, he couldn't use it. The skill required verbal incantations and a physical focus, neither of which a slime could provide. Some skills simply weren't compatible with his nature.

[ Skill Declined ]

The notification appeared, but Arin ignored it for the time being. He reformed into a ball shape and rolled away from the dead shaman, not wanting to appear threatening to the woodcutters.

The clearing was silent, except for the sound of heavy breathing. Karel sat on the ground, clutching his wounded shoulder. Blood seeped between his fingers, but the wound didn't look fatal.

Gareth stared at Arin, his expression unreadable. The other men looked between their leader and the slime, weapons still held ready.

"You saved our lives," Gareth finally said. "That shaman would have killed at least two of us with that spell."

Arin formed letters on the ground: F R E N D S H E L P

"Friends help," Gareth repeated, and slowly, a smile spread across his weathered face. "Yes. Yes, they do." He lowered his weapons and turned to his men. "Karel, how bad is it?"

"I'll live," Karel grunted. "But I need it stitched and cleaned. We all know how filthy kobold spears are."

"Right. We're done for today. Load what we've already cut, and let's get back to camp. Arin, you're welcome to come with us properly now. I think you've more than earned your place."

The woodcutters worked quickly, loading the cart with processed lumber. Karel was helped to his feet, one arm around Jeren's shoulders for support. They began the journey back to camp, moving slower than they'd come.

Arin followed in the trees, but closer now, not trying to hide. Several of the men glanced up at him occasionally, their expressions a mix of gratitude and curiosity.

When they reached camp, the women rushed out, alarmed by Karel's injury. The graying woman from before, who Arin learned was called Marta, immediately began tending to the wound with practiced efficiency.

Gareth gathered everyone around the fire and explained what had happened. The story grew slightly in the telling, but the essential truth remained: the strange red slime had saved them from the kobolds.

"So it stays?" one of the women asked, eyeing Arin warily.

"It stays," Gareth confirmed. "And its name is Arin. He's proven himself today."

The children, who'd been kept inside during the initial excitement, peeked out from the structures. The younger one, a girl maybe five years old, pointed at Arin.

"Is he like a pet?" she asked.

"No, sweetling," Marta said gently. "He's more like... a guardian. Someone who watches over us."

Guardian. The word resonated with something deep in Arin's consciousness. That was Levi's word, what he'd wanted to be. A guardian who helped those in need.

Maybe I can be that. Maybe that's what living means.

As the sun set and the camp settled into evening routines, Arin remained at the edge of the clearing, watching the humans go about their lives. For the first time since Levi's death, he felt something that might have been purpose.

He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was part of something. Small, fragile, but real.

And that made all the difference.