After finishing their hearty meals, the group packed up and prepared to head out.
Looking at the sun, Galan'il estimated it was past three in the afternoon so they agreed to move with haste to make it to the nearby town before sunset.
“Ah, that reminds me. I owe you for the Vitality card,” John remembered as they jumped over a rotten fence surrounding the monastery's garden. “Here, take these,” He handed over six yellows to Galan'il.
“Right, thanks,” Galan'il nodded.
“The town should be somewhere behind that hill,” John pointed at the higher ground covered in brown trees.
“I don't like this. We should go around,” Galan'il frowned, looking at the small forest. “We are stronger in open ground and I am worried about new types of undead camouflaged in the branches.
“I agree,” Dilah'ec concurred.
“Okay, but we should hurry up.”
Avoiding packs of Rothounds and a few rare monstrosities that roamed the empty plains, the group took a shortcut on a narrow path through a sunflower field situated between the foot of the hill and a main highway.
“If I remember correctly, we will see the town just as we step out,” John noted as they were about to reach the end of the yellow sea surrounding them from both sides and true to his memory a small town soon came into their view, filling the valley between two hills surrounding its flat foundation.
Unexpectedly, the path was filled with tens of thousands of undead starting a couple hundred paces away from them and going all the way to the town's outskirts.
“Look over there,” Dilah'ec pointed to the eastern edge of the town near a large warehouse with a corrugated iron roof. “A group of survivors is fighting the zombies.”
“Another group is here, there, and over there,” added Galan'il, easily pointing to clusters of survivors flashing with bright lights as they advanced into the throng of zombies or tangled with a Rothound pack.
“Let's go meet them. Hopefully, they are inclined to a friendly conversation,” John asked.
“And if they attack us?”
Stopping, John realized that it was an important decision and that ignoring the unfortunate possibility would only put him and his companions in danger.
“What if they attack us…” he mumbled before looking around.
Over the past few days, Dilah'ec and Galan'il proved as trustworthy and reliable people, and as callous as it may sound, John would put their well-being above some random survivors with overaggressive attitudes.
“Try to de-escalate, but if you deem the situation too dangerous,” John briefly closed his eyes, feeling like delivering a death verdict, “we deal with them like we do with any other threat… swiftly and with overwhelming strength.”
Getting a small nod in return, they descended the few meters of the steep incline of hard-packed dirt and unleashed their abilities on an incoming pack.
“Let's keep our fights flashy so the natives have time to notice our presence,” advised Dilah'ec as she ruined Rothound Alpha's drooling maw with her disintegration beam.
“Good idea,” John agreed and smashed the tip of his hefty javelin on the downed Alpha, turning its mangled head into a shrapnel of bone and a shower of gore.
“I meant flashy, not fleshy…” She threw him a dirty look as black chunks slid off her robe.
“Oops, my bad,” John laughed, already sprinting toward the nearest hound.
His Storm Wisp remained hidden high in the sky, covered by the Minion Camouflage and ready to act in case the survivors turned hostile. In contrast to that his Desert Wraith floated a dozen feet above him, serving like a beacon to announce their approximate position as it rained down superheated gouts of sand on top of nearby zombies.
“We have eyes on our location, so how about we send them a message to take us seriously?” Galan'il suggested, swishing his glaive in the direction of a lone Rotfiend.
“The guy hiding on the warehouse roof?” John asked without looking over.
“And the one behind the leftmost window.”
“Oh, I haven't noticed that one. Good catch.”
Was it always this clumsy? He pondered as he ducked another wide swipe of its foot-long claws and delivered a deep stab into the side of its foreleg's knee joint.
His javelin's ability to be recalled from range without ever getting stuck allowed for stabs deep enough to grind between the bones and after a third such blow, a loud snap announced something important breaking up. Its left foreleg buckled sideways, making it lose balance.
Meanwhile, Galan'il harassed its other side and Dilah'ec kept to its rear, leaving sizzling gashes across its right hind leg.
Following its fumble, Galan'il pulled back, lit the edge of his glaive in bright light, and chopped into its right ankle like a lumberjack cutting into an old tree. The Rotfiend flailed around with its wide arms giving John a window to waylay its center leg.
Its roar was a mix of anger and pain, yet despite its size, it was unable to catch any of its attackers until its eyes locked on a figure running toward its front.
Unfortunately for it, that figure was merely a conjured illusion from Dilah'ec and as it swept claws through its intangible form like a pair of scissors, the illusion vanished with a soft pop.
John and Galan'il used that moment to deliver a pair of devastating blows on two of the four remaining legs, ruining its last resemblance of stability and it toppled to its side.
After that, it was only a matter of time before the maimed monstrosity succumbed to its injuries.
“Good job,” John nodded.
“By the way, the one behind the window left shortly after we finished it off,” noted Galan'il as he cleaned the edge of his glaive with a leather cloth.
“Okay. I think we gave them enough time to prepare so let's cut through the wall of zombies and see what they have to say.”
Going through the zombies after his second evolution made him feel like he was pushing his way through a crowd of angry children. Sure, they were trying to claw at him with their broken nails, but hey, angry children can be dangerous too.
“Hey, we come in peace,” he yelled after breaking through the last couple of mindless undead and came into view to a group of a dozen survivors.
They were a mix of rugged-looking adventurers equipped with mismatched sets of familiar medieval items.
Seems like they have access to the Zagratix’s Hoard, John noted and slowly walked toward them.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Asked an older gentleman with a salt-and-pepper beard.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
He radiated a sort of presence, something similar to Duraq'er yet many times less powerful.
“I am John Miles and these two are my companions, lady Dilah'ec and her Knight-Protector Sir Galan'il.”
“Are you one of them aliens, the System…” A bulky man with a prominent bald spot atop his head asked but was interrupted by an elbow from a stocky woman holding a large club.
“Shhhh! Let Michael talk with them like we agreed,” she hushed him in an authoritative voice with a deep frown on her sun-kissed face.
Reminds me of Grandma berating Grandpa when I was little, John lightly smiled before answering that man's question.
“They are called Aerilians and yes, they are from a force that arrived at the city I was living in. I am as much a human as it gets in this… mess.”
The leader—likely named Michael—eyed him with a questioning glance. “A bit grey for a human, aren't you?”
Looking at his ashen-grey hands, John could only shake his head at how much he had changed from the beginning of the Apocalypse.
“Yeah, I am a bit grey for a human,” he sighed. “It turns out that some body-modification cards of Epic rarity can change significant parts of your body.”
His casual mention of the card was intentional and by their widened eyes, it had the desired effect so he added just a few more details to hopefully discourage any stupid mistakes.
“Makes me almost immune to poisons and most other dangerous substances, plus it gives me incredible self-healing capabilities,” he smiled, looking deep in thought. “Definitely worth the slight change of my skin color.”
“Hm,” Michael grunted, looking a little uncomfortable. “And what is the reason for your visit?”
“We have a proposition to your leader. Could you take us to them?”
“And what if we are not interested in any propositions,” countered Michael, making the other survivors clutch their weapons and look at them with weary eyes.
“Then we'll seek out a different group and try our luck with them,” John patiently explained. “But let me give you a warning. There is a valuable place close to your town and the fact that we are the first to arrive doesn't mean that the others won't as well, and unfortunately, not everyone will be willing to go with the diplomatic solution.”
“Are ya tryin' to threaten us, boy?” A middle-aged man wearing cracked plate armor stomped a few steps toward them.
“Richard!?” Michael snapped, making him freeze mid-step.
“Sorry boss,” Richard hung his head and walked back.
“Give me your word that you won't go battle crazy if we invite you in,” Michel added, looking John in the eyes.
That's fair, but I should be careful with my promises. Who knows what cards someone else can have.
“I won't go battle crazy for as long as no one tries anything stupid against me or my companions. Of that, you have our word.”
He felt Michael's stare for a couple of seconds before the man gave a slight nod.
“Come.”
“You believe 'em, boss?” A woman in her thirties leaned into their leader and whispered, but John easily caught every word with his increased Perception.
“Doesn't matter. They clearly need something and as it pains me to admit, they are very likely strong enough to take it whether we like it or not.”
With the preliminary agreement in place, the group of survivors parted and led them into the town.
Hmm, looks like four Shelters and no Bastion, John noted, counting the four beams of blue light as they revealed themselves the moment he stepped into the town proper. That gives us more bargaining power.
Throwing a quick look at his companions, it was clear they realized the same thing.
“You said you came from a city?” Asked a younger guy rocking a typical fantasy wizard outfit.
"Mhm, we came up here from Brno after we..."
Spending the time with a simple conversation, they eventually arrived at the nearest Shelter's gates. It was in the center of an industrial part of the town, sandwiched between two factory buildings.
“Boss,” the guards saluted and opened the gate, letting their group through a gate in the familiar grey wall.
Hmm, Emporium, Inn, Hoard, Challenge board, Trinkets, the tree house for healing… They are well-developed.
“Let's head over there for our talks,” Michael pointed out a two-story brick house built close to the far wall of the Shelter. “Just, would you mind leaving those… things… outside?” He added, pointing at the swirling form of his Sand Wraith and the azure Flameling floating above him.
“Oh, right. Of course. By the way, you are the owner of this Shelter?” John asked after stepping into the cozy building that seemed far more luxurious from the inside and unfit to be found in a place between two old factories.
“Leave us, Vik,” Michael ordered the guard who followed them up to a study on the first floor. “Make sure no one disturbs us unless the situation is critical.”
“You got it, boss.”
The moment they entered, John's smell was assaulted by a rich aroma of aged leather, a faint but distinct fragrance of fine tobacco, and an unmistakable scent of old books.
“Have a seat, please,” Michael gestured at a brown couch next to a table made out of a single piece of polished wood. “Usually, I offer a bottle of bourbon, but…”
“There is no need,” John rejected the offer after seeing that neither Dilah'ec nor Galan'il was keen to take a sip of unknown substance. “We appreciate the gesture, but… these are dangerous times and it's better to be careful.”
“Perfectly reasonable,” Michael agreed and sat on a smaller couch across from them. “If I may be so bold to ask, what is the valuable place that you spoke of, and who are the others that you mentioned?”
“Could you…?”John looked at Dilah'ec who nodded and began her simplified explanation of the Aerilian politics.
John, meanwhile, leaned back into the crispy leather and enjoyed a moment of peaceful rest.
“Very well, that explains who the others are, but what is so valuable that everyone would race toward it? I believe that we deserve to know what it is that you all so desperately need.”
Noticing a questioning glance from Dilah'ec, John shrugged and took over the conversation.
“To give you a better explanation, let me first ask you this. Is there a more powerful group of undead somewhere in your city?”
“What does that have to do with…” his sharp eyes squinted in concentration as he began connecting the dots. “Are you implying that… Is there a connection between the big zombie that rewarded the Shelter, the thing in our town, and that place you spoke of?”
“There is. Slaying the thing in your town will grant you a card to promote one of the town's Shelters into Bastion, a place with authority over the remaining Shelters in your town. The same thing but across our whole country will repeat after killing the monster hidden near your town. That is why you are in both a fortunate and unfortunate position.”
“What is stopping me from making a better deal with one of the competing factions?” Michael asked back, exploring how far he could push.
“Hmm, I'd say two simple things,” John sighed. “First, they aren't here, and second, you have no guarantees that they won't just take over. Can I be frank with you?”
"You can?" Michael half asked and half answered, uncertain where John was going with his question.
“I am not well suited for this. I try when absolutely necessary, but I hate politics and negotiations and all the other stuff…” John gestured around him. “We need to establish a beachhead somewhere in this area and your town is one of the most suitable for it. In return, I can kill the Sector Overlord in your town and give you the card. The rest you can negotiate with Prince Melis'ar after he arrives through a teleportation network. If you refuse, I'll approach the other Shelters, and if all of them refuse… We'll leave and visit the other towns. There is one a little north of here so it's not a great difference either way.”
While both Dilah'ec and Galan'il had pained expressions on their faces, Michael only stared for a moment before his lips stretched into a smile.
“A blunt request from a blunt man, I can respect that. Before I answer, let me ask you this, are you the one in charge or is it the prince Melis'ar?”
“Oh, Melis'ar is the one in charge,” John immediately agreed. “I never cared about leadership or influence over others. Personal power and strength to protect those I care about is good enough for me. However, that brings up a similar question of my own. Are you capable of making decisions for the whole town?”
“Eh, I deserved that. Anyway, I'll convince the other three leaders later. Besides, didn't you say that the Bastion grants authority over the remaining Shelters?” He countered with a wide grin.
“Fair enough.”
It's not like we are trying to do something different.
“Will the three of you handle the Overlord on your own?”
Giving it a moment of thought, John decided to get it over with as soon as possible and throw the remaining responsibility into Melis'ar's capable hands.
“Do you want to come with me or should I take care of it by myself?” He asked, looking at his companions.
“Of course, we come with you. We can't let you have all the fun to yourself,” Both Dilah'ec and Galan'il agreed.
“Great, I'll have one of my men lead you there,” Michael clapped twice and a moment later his guard, Vik, stepped into his study.
“Please, tell Mitch to show these fine folk the entrance to the central cistern.”
“You got it, boss.”