Alan relished in his grand victory of winning over the Royal Horde. With his first War Title in check, the battle against the Red Pact no longer felt helpless.

Alan Right

Title: Merchant Bounty Hunter of the Horde*

Affinity: Mercantile

Saro: Colorless

Status:

*War Ready*

Titles with an asterisk bestow a unique Saro coating that amplifies the wearer’s power to contend against armies in times of war.

Note: Although traveling in large groups is common in times of war and yield benefits in holding Ojin territory and farming Ojin minions, a warrior equipped with a War Title will gain additional Saro coating the more warriors they are up against.

Note: Titles earned in times of peace still apply and fog hierarchies are unchanged. However, it is advised to Title-swap if hostile warriors attack.

Alan read prompt after prompt explaining this new threshold crossed. If he found himself face to face with an army, he wouldn’t have to cower. That was tomorrow’s problem, though. Today he stood beside a god as an esteemed ally, witnessing the Tower of Quest finale. The crowd was as loud as expected with every point won, but it might as well have all been background noise, since so much transpired behind the scenes.

Itsy was bestowed the epic Hand of the Royal Horde Title, which came with advanced governing abilities similar to what Alan possessed in his own realm. She confessed that she was too much of an idiot to really use them and had plans to delegate them out to her brother once his punishments were carried out.

Then there was Trish. She gushed over Alan’s skill in turning a god’s head, and his power in battle. It felt good to be vindicated after all that time, but his guard was still way up. Whether she had cheated or not, she’d still walked out on him—gave up when he needed her most.

Once the Tower of Quest event concluded, Gosfor snapped his glittery fingers to transform the awning outside the fiftieth-floor window into a curved golden carpet that rolled all the way down. Itsy hopped onto the magic slide first, gaining air in hilarious fashion and spreading all her limbs before crashing through the cloth top of a wagon. Everyone else followed suit, and once everyone was inside, the white-gold cloth covering magically stitched itself back together in lockstep with high-tier bodyguard Bladesmen marching up to either sides as escorts.

Beginning down their path, Alan explained the situation of Hightower Brack in great detail. As a sign of good faith, Gosfor offered a specialized crew that would help him infiltrate and carry out the rescue mission. Soon after, however, the god grew solemn in his corner.

“My heart is broken for Driten,” Gosfor sat across from Roland, who bowed his head in shame. “What to do with you? Leaving you in a cell to rot after all you’ve done for the Horde seems blasphemous. Perhaps a public humiliation.”

Alan waved to the Borai as they crossed the iron gates, then poked his head back into the cart. He glanced at Trish sitting at his side, leaning his way, then turned his attention to the god across from him. “Emotions are high, Gosfor. I think when things settle, you’ll agree that upsetting the public with Roland’s actions would only create instability during a time we need it most.”

“Hmm.” Gosfor rubbed his beard. “What say you, Itsy?”

“Yeah, the Merchant’s got his head screwed on tight about it. My brother tends to take things a step too far, ey? He’s not all bad though. I’ll keep that wild mind in line.”

“Keep things how they are, and punish him in silence,” Alan agreed.

They traveled through the town, where warriors gathered in the streets. Alan noticed many bowing through the waving cloth, while others tossed flower petals over the wagon. Gosfor was beloved. And now there was a chance that wouldn’t change.

“There is another matter,” Roland dared to interrupt. “Hyndole will return. And when he does with an open claw, then what?”

“Pay him.” Alan lifted his chin.

Roland scoffed. “So what? Now we have two tyrants to be indebted to?”

Itsy reached over and whacked her brother over the head. “Don’t you ever learn when to shut up?”

Alan smirked. “Until Unlikely Guds has the forces to contend, we must ensure the realm’s safety. Tell me, who did he bring when he arrived last?”

“He opened two massive portals to Ojin, showcasing armies waiting to pass through on the other side if needed. With his presence came great trepidation,” Roland admitted.

Gosfor squirmed in his seat. “A fine elite, that hand of Jaeger is. But I see it now, Alan. He is a conqueror.”

Alan nodded. “We must operate carefully until the time is right.”

“Yes, indeed,” Gosfor agreed.

“Damn right, dummy.” Itsy reached outside to grab a flower petal, then enlarged it to fan herself. “Gosh, setting up these prompts to keep you in check is a pain in my arse, Rolly. Couldn’t just behave yourself, could you?”

Gosfor cleared his throat. “And what of you, precious Stalker? I’ve only seen you whisper to noble Alan. Are you more the strong and silent type?”

“She’s part of the Iron Cellar.” Itsy tilted her head. “Not exactly picking flowers down there, are you, freckles?”

Trish shook her head.

“We are of the same Origin,” Alan said honestly. “And knew each other well back then. It’s good to be reunited.”

Trish took the opportunity to hook Alan’s arm, which sent tingles webbing throughout his body. Perhaps it was a mistake to say that, but at least it should dispel any ill notions of disrupting the tower. Itsy shot Alan an accusatory look.

“Oh, I do enjoy bringing those back together.” Gosfor clapped, glitter sprinkling all over the wagon floor.

Alan glanced at the color of the glitter, noticing a shift since he revealed Roland’s crime. First it sparkled gold, but now it all appeared matte purple. That wasn’t all—the sunlight shifted from amber to cloudy gray, and above all, Gosfor acted less subservient. Was this another form similar to Junos? If so, he preferred it.

“Which Stalker are you assigning the task?” Roland spoke meekly to his sister.

“Nastaf Ohnroth, ‘course.” Itsy folded her arms. “He’s the one who can get it done without fail.”

“Head chieftain?” Trish perked up. “I’ve never had the honor.”

“Foolish. You’d leave the covenant leaderless,” Roland found some of his confidence.

“Your isolationist obsession ain’t going to work any longer, Rolly. We’ve got to make moves if we’re going to survive out there. Keep to our oaths. Something you forgot all about, apparently.”

Roland turned away sharply like he’d been slapped.

“Will be a quick in and out. Bang. Bang.” Itsy snapped her fingers. “Then Nast will be back whipping his assassins, or whatever it is he does.”

Once they traveled past the city bounds, Alan peeked out the window—brushing the cloth aside—to see the Bladesmen bent as if ready to sprint.

“Hold onto your nickers,” Itsy warned.

Each Bladesman cut what looked to be the threads of a slipstream, and in a flash, the wagon accelerated like a loosed arrow.

“Weehoo!” Itsy roared.

“Ha ha!” Gosfor pumped his fist.

Trish gripped Alan tight. “Never expected to be on a date like this one.”

“Trish…”

“Hm?” She looked up at him with her big brown eyes. Being this close brought back dangerous memories of comfort. His Green Saro spilled out of him like a wrapping blanket. “Don’t give me that look, Alan. This is a one-in-a-trillion chance. Just give me this ride.” She rested her head on his shoulder.

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The wagon took flight, hovering inches over the ground as the Bladesmen continued to slice at slipstreams, guiding them into the next area of the realm. Rocky roads turned to high greens. A forest of old oak trees looked healthier than he’d ever seen. Elven-style tents with gold-clasped tips rested in between, and hammocks were filled with resting warriors. These must be the green lands Itsy mentioned when they first arrived.

He wondered what kind of quests Roland and Gosfor laid out for those who decided to set up camp in this section. Judging by the quality of gear laid up against trees, this was high-tier territory.

“Creating your own minions, Roland?” Alan asked.

“Hmph. Gosfor has many tributes ready to be earned by those worthy. Why not challenge our warriors? Traditional tower duels aren’t for everyone.”

“I don’t disagree. But there is something about the danger of Ojin that can’t be replicated,” Alan declared.

“Says who?” Roland arced an eyebrow.

“Says the Merchant who brought you to your knees,” Alan shot right back, the Green Saro curling back into his palms.

“Boys, boys.” Itsy pretended to break up a mounting fight.

“Gosfor,” Alan changed focus. “Are there any realms with gateway portals close to yours in Ojin?”

“According to our patrol, Hivelands of the void Knights are two fogs over to the east,” Gosfor said.

“Friendly relations?” Alan asked.

“Enough,” Gosfor tilted his head. “I had carts of maple dew shipped as a welcome gift when the realm was formed centuries ago. Since then, our people have had relatively passive interactions with them.”

Alan nodded. “Chances are Hyndole made his rounds already, since the realms are so close.”

“I’d bet your blade on it, Merchant,” Roland said.

“Trying to recruit them will be well worth the risk,” Alan replied. “Having allied armies on call nearby would mean having access to a flank if the need ever arose.”

“If they do not deceive you,” Roland seethed.

“In war risks must be taken, idiot. You’re the one who taught me that in our Origin, Rolly. Or did the thin air in that lofty tower air scramble your brain?” Itsy winked.

“I didn’t miss you, sister,” Roland said with a sad smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, we all knew why you sent me away with Bubbin. He’s going to fall on his arse when he figures out I’m Gos’ hand now, ey?”

The wagon made a sharp turn, landing abruptly back on its wheels as the sound of footsteps trudging through grass kicked up on both sides. The front flaps of the cloth were flipped up by the center Bladesmen, revealing a gigantic crater in the middle of the forest.

“Permission to enter, Your Excellence?” a Bladesman with a golden samurai ponytail called.

Gosfor nodded for Itsy to answer.

“Yeah, hottie. Take the dive.” Itsy winked. “Oo, I like calling the shots.”

“Dive?” Alan asked, holding onto the chair ledge.

As soon as he asked the question, the wagon lifted off its wheels once more and plummeted into the black abyss below. It caught onto a familiar film that Alan remembered in Lucius’ cove back in Strangey Town, passing into a Stalkers’ home once again.

Gravity shifted and the wagon found its floor on the wall, where train tracks spiraled all the way down the crater, giving the impression of a diamond mine.

Stalkers chipped away at ore on the ceiling, while others practiced their Saro abilities on one another.

“This is what you’re part of?” Alan asked Trish.

“I’m of the ninth wing, under Captain Solevun. We operate in Strive Town, underground. I’ve never had contact with anyone of the first wing. Then again, I don’t remember much other than my training and my Origins.”

“Hmm.” Gosfor rubbed his soft chin. “Is the captain practicing dark arts?”

Trish waved her hands back and forth. “N—no, Your Excellence. I did not mention it as a complaint.”

“Mm. I cannot have my citizens struck with amnesia. It is not healthy for a free society,” Gosfor said.

As they rode deeper into the core of the sinkhole, the wagon slowed to zigzag around campfires and curse incantations. Doomsayers prayed in batches here, swaying in circles to summon angry-faced demons that burst into flames on the ceiling. Dancing and cheering was had all around, while eyes began to sift to the wagon too bright for such a dark cove. Until, finally, they rolled to a stop.

Shnnk!

All eight Bladesmen drew their swords to create a perimeter, while one carefully lifted the cloth to help Alan and company out. Gosfor hopped out last and the entire cove gasped. Low hymns broke out by Doomsayers, and Stalker clans bowed at the presence of their god.

“Gosuun Bafsoon Ohhhmmm,” the Doomsayers chanted, activating some of Alan’s darker Saro.

It was a strange sensation to be tempered just by words. It reminded Alan of fighting alongside similar types against Shiva a time ago.

“Ooohm!” The chanting continued, until a silhouette strutted out of the shadows in front of them.

Krch. Krch. Krch.

Boots scrunched under gravel, where a tall man wrapped in a tight black scarf revealed himself. Tanned skin was outlined in white tattoos circling unblinking black eyes and one fist-weapon growing hotly Orange. He threw sparks into the fires, bolstering them for attention.

“Ah, Nastaf. There you are.” Gosfor waddled over and grabbed him for a hug. The glitter trailing him was turning gold again, true to his shift in personality.

Nastaf grabbed Gosfor by the shoulders and promptly removed himself from the hug. “I have not seen you in my domain since the last spat in the palace lands ages ago. What is it that you require, Excellence?” He had a nasty lisp that made him sound like a snake.

“Ey now.” Itsy grabbed a piece of burnt wood from a campfire and molded it into a rival fist-weapon. She held it up to Nastaf’s chest and kept her smirk intact. “My brother might’ve been too worried about frizzing his hair to come down these parts. But there’s a new hand in town, hm? Best find your manners in front of ol’ Gos here.”

“I am one of the four builders of this realm, Knight. Best remember where you are,” Nastaf growled.

“Oh yeh?” Itsy turned away and hummed to herself, obviously clicking around prompts. “Well I just made ore pickings require seventy swings instead of thirty. Don’t think your Iron Cellar covenant will enjoy the extra quest steps.”

Gasps came all around.

“Oh, Itsy,” Gosfor ran over to her and tugged on her shirt like a kid. “Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe…”

“It’s alright, Gos. He’ll get the picture soon.”

Nastaf gritted his teeth. “Reverse that notion.”

“Say pretty please.” Itsy raised her eyebrows.

“I’ll open your throat and make that red gurgling smile mouth the words.” His eyes grew even wider, which Alan didn’t think was possible.

“Whoa, okay. We get it, you’re an angry badass.” Alan held his hands up, coming between them.

“And who is this Merchant?”

“I’m Alan Right, your newest ally—”

“Oh don’t be so humble, noble Alan.” Gosfor bowed to him, then sprung up. “This is the savior of the universe!”

Alan scratched the back of his head when the Stalkers tilted their heads at him. “If you would entertain us, Nastaf, we need you and five of your finest for a stealth mission into another realm.”

“Hmph. The covenant doesn’t possess War Titles. Our operations are internal,” Nastaf hissed.

“Not a problem, we will provide escort through Ojin. Once inside the realm, all of your elite Titles should be just as potent as usual,” Alan recalled the rules of his prompts. “Just stay away from large groups. Particularly armies.”

“What’s in it for usss?” Nastaf brightened his fist-weapon.

Alan looked to Itsy, who was having way too much fun messing with her prompts. He leaned for her ear. “Ten-swing reduction on ore and all the loot they can claim from Brack empty castles?”

She shrugged. “Seems fair enough. You’re the negotiator.”

Alan cleared his throat. “To entice you, we will not only reverse the threat of a forty-swing increase on ore, but offer a five-swing reduction as well, covenant-wide.”

Chatter broke out around him.

“Mm.” Nastaf paced. “Mmm. That is all?”

“To ensure you choose the most elite, I offer access to all unowned loot you can uncover during the mission.”

“I see. Interesting,” Nastaf lowered his voice. “Ten-swing reduction, and all loot we uncover.”

Alan held up his finger. “Master Stalker, be reasonable. The purpose of the mission is rescue. Many of these citizens lost precious invaluable items which they hope to find one day again. Had they found you wearing some of their abandoned treasure, we’d start a whole new war.”

Nastaf licked his yellowing teeth.

“Seven-swing reduction, and firm stance on unowned loot.” Alan held out his hand, stepping into Nastaf’s space.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” Nastaf shook his hand, then whistled for his elites to skulk out of the shadows. “When do we start?”

xxx

Alan and crew said their goodbyes to Gosfor, thanking him for supporting Unlikely Guds at the end. Watching him grovel and stumble over his words again was cause for some concern, especially considering they were leaving him with someone stripped of his Title. But Itsy was all smiles.

“Not the first time I had to give my pretty brother a spanking, ey?” she whispered to Alan on the way out of the portal. “Don’t worry, dummy. He’ll do us proud.”

The trudge through Ojin was easy with Itsy leading the way through her cleared path of fog, while Alan felt infinitely more useful with his new War Title intact.

Nastaf and his chosen remained as shadowy puddles zigzagging to follow closely behind. Alan noticed two of the Stalkers used clairvoyant Blue, while the two others showcased instinctive Red. Nastaf must’ve been the assassin with hard Orange ready at his fingertips. Watching how they moved, they were a well-oiled machine, which gave Alan some hope that the Brack rescue mission could be a success.

“Maybe I can join them.” Trish hopped over a stone and crouched beside a tree next to Alan.

“Their Titles are three tiers above yours,” he said. “You still have some training to go, Trish.”

“Shooting me down,” she pretended to pout. “Never in a million years would I have expected that.”

“Things have changed,” he started off harshly, noticing her gaze drop to the floor. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring.”

The trepidation came for good reason. Ever since Roland’s euphoria faded, the dark thoughts came rolling back. She used to pick fights right before he went to work, acting high and mighty that she was finishing her master’s degree to make something of herself… making him feel less than her because he was content. The same person was still in there, even if there was a sense of beauty that they’d found each other a lifetime later.

It could’ve been utopia, actually.

But as Alan said aloud—things had changed. Neesha was waiting for him back in Token. They’ve been growing closer since Greg’s absence, and there might actually be a real chance at his crush turning into something more. Should he throw all that away for a second chance with Trish?

Glancing at her big brown eyes, thinking of their reunion on the steps. His heart pumped hard for her, while his belly grew weak at the thought of Neesha.

“You seem reserved all of a sudden.” Trish leapt up a tree to follow Alan, using a rope to whip herself up, landing perched on a branch beside him.

“There’s much waiting at home, and armies will march against us once they realize what I’m doing.”

“That should be all the more reason to let me in.” Trish tilted her head to catch Alan’s gaze. “All I’ve been doing is training with no memory. To be freed by you… I owe you everything.”

Alan felt a pang in his gut that stretched between two worlds. She was never satisfied back then. “I wonder if you’re acting this way only because you see how powerful I’ve become.”

“Is it a crime to admire a man reaching his potential?” she tested.

Alan sighed. He still hated compliments. “Anyway. Now that we have some time in between fogs, tell me about the covenant. Or what you remember of it, anyway.” He peered down to the shadowy puddles rumbling at the base of the tree as if disturbed he was asking. “Some privacy please, Nastaf. Go follow Itsy, and try to refrain from stabbing her in the back.”

A low cackle vibrated through the tree as the puddles zipped ahead in the forest.

She shrugged. “My sect sends me for errands in the town. Intercepting thieves or trespassers. I generally travel with a four-person squad of three Stalkers and one Doomsayer. Then when the job is done, I’m fed and tossed back into training. My mind is all warped though. I can’t tell how much time I’ve been down there. I want to ask my sect chief to take me with him, but I’m not sure if I’m overstepping.”

“Well why don’t we ask Nastaf?” Alan said.

“No.” Trish grabbed his arm. “No. That would make me look weak. We of the covenant do not ask for handouts. We earn our stripes.”

“Hm. Did they beat that into you too? The Trish I knew lived on favors, as a student should.”

Trish smirked at him and pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “As you told me, things have changed.”