Luke separated himself from Elnora after the display of affection.
He pushed away the feeling of bashfulness from his spur-of-the-moment action. One of the two monic women took it as a shoo-in for conversation, “You never told me you snagged a man, Elnora,” She teased.
“I, um, Luke, you’re great and all, but…” Elnora lost her words. Pink tinged her cheeks, but she slowly took on a worried appearance.
Luke patted her shoulder, “That’s not what this is, Elnora. To put it shortly, your group saved my backside.”
Elnora observed the intersection once more, “Wasn’t someone else here with you just now?” She turned back and squinted her eyes. “And where’s Sooty? Don’t tell me you lost her?”
“Not at all, it’s….complicated. She’ll be back within the hour. You weren’t seeing things; another person was here. Not sure who they were exactly. Other than being a wildly powerful guy with hundreds of deaths under his belt. His aura was practically composed of death and blood.”
Luke experienced the change someone undergoes after constant combat. The monic man had similar features. His posture, eyes, sharp instinct, and measured positioning all painted a picture of expertise to Luke. But mostly, the aura he exerted was a dead giveaway.
The maelstrom of deaths that monic man caused had forever altered his aura, its very signature. Luke subtly noted Devil’s Needle. He was still to stay here. The pressure in the back of his head had subsided, but Luke wouldn’t take any chances.
He nodded over to the two monic women, “Are these your other party members I missed that day? Before I forget,” Luke waved, “Hey Terga, Kite, didn’t imagine our next encounter would turn out this way.”
Kite waved back but said nothing, anticipating Terga would take over the interaction.
The Tora woman strutted over; she flicked Luke on the forehead, “Can’t have you seducing my innocent healer here, but it’s nice to see you again, Luke.”
Luke rubbed his forehead a bit. He said, “Noted. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
The other three members of the Blue Tigers surrounded Luke, one of the two monic women casually greeted him, “I’m Lilac; this is my younger sister, Mona,” she whispered in his ear, placing a hand next to her mouth, “if you’re trying to get with Elnora, she’s a sucker for flowers, especially Moonbloom…”
The Reaver smiled incredulously, “I’ll keep it in mind. Where’s your group headed? To the left?”
Terga pulled back Lilac, who plastered herself a little too close to Luke, “Normally, we would, but we’re trying to clear out Orlan’s Raid bosses before the others set out in the morning for it.”
Luke made circles in the road with his boot, “About that…you see…”
Kite started to drink out his water skin. Elnora sported an angry smile as she stalked toward Lilac. Mona tried to appease the she-elf for her sister’s sake.
Terga’s ears flattened back. “Spit it out, Luke, no need to hold back.”
“I killed Onelius already.”
Kite spat out his water, getting a decent amount onto Mona due to her unfortunate positioning.
“You did what? How do you expect us to believe that?” Kite said.
“I don’t particularly. To give you the half of it, I spawned in the wrong area, ran into a raid group led by an incompetent noble elf girl, and got blackmailed into saving the remnants.”
Terga raised an eyebrow, “Blackmailed? With what?”
Luke breathed in, “Maybe not physically blackmailed or even intentional, but it certainly felt that way. No more details about it. Thinking about that lady irritates me.” He dusted off his shoulders, “I met a powerful archer named Veyri; she’s busy hunting down the other raid boss, Selandus, right now. Up to you if you think you can snag him from her in time.”
Elnora stopped chiding Lilac, “You met Lady Veyri? Do you even know who she is? Why would someone of her ability waste time at the Beast Divide?”
Blinking, Luke stood still in thought. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He speed ran through his interactions with Veyri and came up with an answer, “She was power-leveling a curseweaver named Melen, curing her boredom, and trying to cradle rob a spell-sword with potential all at the same time. She even took his sigil contact info, sly woman.” He tapped his chin, then added one more detail, “She bitch-slapped an assassin with her arrows. The fellow had absolutely no chance.”
Kite pinched his nose when Terga seemed too flabbergasted to respond, “Best to not speak about Lady Veyri so casually. She was once a noble, you know.”
Luke shrugged, standing by his answer, “I know what I saw.”
Terga shook her head, “That’s not what is important. Are you sure Onelius is dead and that Lady Veyri is hunting down Selandus?”
Observing the continued doubt in Terga’s eyes, Luke instead asked a question first, “Are you positive no one else is around?”
Befuddled by the question, Terga nudged Mona, “It’s only us and this madman around, right?”
Mona widened her stance and closed her eyes. She clapped her two hands together hard, and white mystical lines curled around her forehead. A pulse of sunlight rippled through hundreds of yards. She slowly opened her eyes, “The nearest people are the guards at Sylen’s gate. It’s a graveyard out here otherwise.”
Terga tapped her foot while looking at Luke expectantly.
Luke equipped the Black Ice Mantle from the Inventory. The black patterned cloak attached to his body fluttered against the wind. Once the Blue Tiger’s hunter team noticed the item, they realized Luke wasn’t talking out of his ass.
Elnora’s eyes widened, and Lilac whistled. Kite looked forlorn while inspecting his own cloak. Mona chuckled to herself while Terga felt the cloak.
“It’s new, no more than that, it’s brand new. No signs of aging at all.” She gazed at Luke, “You have too much trust in us, Luke; this cape would make anyone below tier 2 jump for joy when they acquire it. Be careful who you show it to.”
Luke noticed Devil’s Needle slowly starting to point towards Sylen’s gate, and he prepared to leave. Taking Terga’s advice, he put the mantle back in his Inventory.
“I figure Elnora’s team-mates would be good people. Maybe it’s the ‘crush’ in me talking.” He winked at Elnora but turned serious after, “Can’t you all loot or create better items from the tier 1 materials?”
“We can, but it's not easy, and as a raid boss, Onelius’s drop is about as good as the middle-quality rare tier 1 cloaks. It’s not until you gather plenty of rare materials, paired with an ascended tailor, that you can make something slightly better. Drops for certain items slots can be fickle, cloaks being one of them.”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
That was new to Luke. He had no issue obtaining a cloak. His luck must be better than he thought. Wayfinder rose to the air, and his needle pointed ramrod straight to Sylen’s gate. Luke dashed off, waving as he descended the road toward the gate, “Good luck trying to snag a boss from Veyri. Thanks again.”
Elnora’s team exchanged glances. The elf spoke first, “Now what do we do? I’m inclined to believe Luke.”
Terga held up a hand, preventing the rest from speaking. She massaged one of her temples, “This throws our plans for the day to the wayside. That cloak is undeniable proof that Onelius was cleared recently. With Selandus, if Lady Veyri really is hunting it down, that slimy Salamander won’t be breathing for much longer.” She released a low tiger’s growl, “Forget it, back to Sylen; we’ll rest and return to the Ruined Realm once the twenty-four-hour lock has expired.”
Lilac kicked a rock; it flew through the air and shattered against a boulder lodged in the nearby grassland, “The easy upgrades slipped through our fingers again.”
Mona patted her older sister on the back, “With this, we should have a pin-point time for Onelius’s next spawn. Two more weeks, sister. We’ll clear it for sure next time.” She clenched her fist and pumped it toward her body once.
----------------------------------------
Luke approached Sylen’s gate, a small squad of guards manned it. The shored up defense no thinner compared to when he passed through during the day. Perhaps it was due to the night, but the guards stopped Luke and scrutinized him far more.
“Terrible time of day to be walking out by your lonesome, peasant boy.” A guard began.
“Good to know peasant boys are clean in this world,” Luke replied.
“A provisional?” The guard took out his scanning crystal, “Reveal your sigil stone, slowly.”
Luke felt perplexed at the difference in treatment compared to when he left the city. Still, he chalked it up to night wariness, potentially entering the town more laborious under particular circumstances. His sigil stone appeared out of thin air, coming out of his Inventory; it landed in his right hand, he politely offered it, “Here.”
“An Inventory as well, I see. Definitely a provisional citizen, says here you’re a spell sword, yet you’ve only a wand on you.” The guard's eyes tightened when he read the next piece of information, “Level twenty-five, outside the city, yet no relevant combat gear to your class. Either you’re lying or a fool who courts death at this time of night.”
Whoops. Should’ve saw that coming.
Luke began to tap his foot, “Thought the black-silver tower got rid of any chance of high-level monsters in the area, with the three dungeons preventing almost all the rest?”
The guard laughed, “What makes you think we were talking about the monsters? Your intent of contribution duration is nearly up, spell sword Luke Wallace. Considering the crystal has cleared you of any surface-level criminal intent, we’ll let you into the city.” The guard stabbed his spear into the ground, “Don’t make the city guard regret the lenient policy in light of the coming Tide.”
Suppressing his annoyance, Luke nodded, saying nothing.
“Let this one in, he’s cleared for now.” The guard walked back, returning to his straight standing position, his spear upright. His eyes followed Luke as he walked past the gate back into the city.
Luke sucked in the city air, lower quality than outside the walls but far from polluted. Immediately, he felt various gazes land on his body, many with thinly concealed malicious intent.
Street thugs, unsavory types, and beggars observed him from their alleyways. To the city’s credit, the main streets were regularly cleared, even in the dead of night. A guard patrol was dozens of yards away from Luke, holding torches.
The storefronts and homes displayed a mishmash of lighting sources; some crystals radiated light, others used regular lanterns, and conjured magical light floated at the entryway of a minority.
“At least the wind gust is taken care of,” he brought Wayfinder up and inspected him; Devil’s Needle was still ongoing, “Not over?” he said.
The Needle pointed in a direction opposite of the Jolly Cat Inn.
No bedtime for me yet, huh? Wayfinder’s rarely been wrong. I’ll see where he takes me. Luke thought.
Luke stuck to the roads with more foot traffic. At this time of night, even humans were sparse, at least the types Luke was sure wouldn’t immediately try to rob him. A moderate amount of monic civilians wandered about, going from one nightlife establishment to the next. Most were in pairs or groups of friends.
I miss Sooty already.
The Reaver overheard conservation as he made his way into the city, Wayfinder’s needle guiding him to the eastern quarter of Sylen, but not in a direct route.
“What’chu mean ‘not that one?’ he’s only got a bloody wand for Pete’s sake. Ye a scared gnat with the professionals now?” A rough voice spoke. By the particular sound, it likely belonged to a middle-aged human man.
“Jack, when you pick someone out, you can’t pay attention to only their outside gear. That man’s posture, his body language, he’s a battle-hardened combat class.” Fear leaked out this voice, “If by dumb luck my read is wrong and he’s a professional combat type instead, it still wouldn’t matter, bastard would sink the entire gang before we took that wand away. Pick someone else, you blind fool.” This voice sounded closer to a monic; Luke couldn’t be positive; his experience around the new race was too shallow for any certainty.
Luke heard spit hit the ground, “I’m done listenin’ to you, Lendrid; once I nick this one, boss’ll take me to the gathering with them velty hands or whatevers they’re called.”
The other voice grew more distant, the slap of steps going in the direction opposite Luke, “I’m not going to the grave with you, Jack; count me out. Think I’ll sit out this night entirely. Too many fingers about.”
Not even attempting to whisper, the voice yelled out the alleyway connecting next to the cobbled road Luke stepped down, “Spineless monics the lot of you. More for me then.”
Luke exhaled exaggeratedly, closed his eyes then reopened them. He waited a moment before passing the alleyway. He double-checked Wayfinder; the needle pointed straight down this road.
“Here goes nothing.”
The Reaver took Xera out but kept her in wand form. Worse case, he would use his trusty ‘Frostbolt I’, otherwise known as Essence Lance. Luke had avoided killing other humans in cold blood, but the writing on the wall spelled out an amoral future. Not that he was naive enough to keep believing he could keep his hands clean in this mess of a city. Especially after the last few hours.
Once he passed the alleyway opening, a man attempted to grab Luke. The attempted action felt hilariously slow to Luke; he stepped to the side by half a pace, and the man missed his grapple.
Luke turned his head slightly, and out of his peripheral, he noticed a small dagger in the man’s left hand. The man looked overweight, balding, and roughly clothed but clean, like most people in the city.
“An average leveled thug is trying this on me? How did you survive natural selection so long in a world like this.” Luke flipped Xera in his right hand, then used the butt of the wand to smash into the thug’s forehead.
The movement was too swift for the everyday thug, and Luke unfortunately didn’t hold back quite enough. His strike partially caved in the guy’s skull. The thug knocked back, falling into the alleyway, half-conscious.
Twitching all over his body, the man spouted incomprehensible obscenities; Luke didn’t think he’d be called a Barmy Wanker Chav out in the wild. He had to recall his dilapidated understanding of British English here.
Rather than feel insulted, he felt surprised to run into another transfer, at least in such an aggressive manner. He surged frost essence to his left hand and clamped it onto the idiot’s skull. White frost slowly spread over the man’s head. The thief made an effort with his dagger; Luke smashed that hand with Xera without holding back his strength stat.
After the strike, the extremity became pulverized, looking closer to processed meat than anything else. The man screamed his lungs out. With the gruesome display, Luke sensed a considerable decrease in malicious intent going his way.
Might may not make right, but it certainly buys you deterrence at night.
Luke released the man’s head to place his hand over the thief’s chest next.
“You bugger, hands off the clobber, I’ll sod off; let me keep my knickers.” The man had frozen sweat rip into his face.
Luke’s expression grew cold, “No use. I’ll let you live since you’re a transfer. But this city has made me a mark one too many times.” Frost essence began to flood his left hand, “You must be a second wave, a last piece of advice for whenever you wake up next time. Adapt better to this world, or you’ll piss off someone worse than me one day.”
Frigid mist brushed onto the thug’s face from Luke’s breath, “You’ll set a nice example for the rest. Now, freeze.”
Frost Essence glaciated the man; Luke had grown more adept in elementalization and when that increase in skill met a low-level target without frost resistance, the result was not a pretty sight.
A several-inch thick ice sheet encapsulated the aggressive bandit. Fear finally dominated his eyes in the fleeting moment before being enclosed in frost. Luke slowly pressed the iced body back against an alley wall. The mortar also began to freeze over. An expression of horror painted the man’s features.
Luke felt all intent on him dropping. Only fear drifted in the area; the citizenry adapted to the change and scurried away.
“Rest of the path shown by Wayfinder better be a cakewalk after this.”
He looked down on the man, reading his expression, then at his now-free left hand.
“Sorry, but this city devours the weak. I should know.”