Dakota placed his hand on the circle again, eyes hardening. He appeared in the valley and crushed the first three waves with ease. The fourth wave proved a challenge like always but he managed to beat them in record time whilst conserving more energy than he had before. The constructs’ movements baffled him. What could be causing such a drastic decrease in their speed? The puzzle was missing a piece and he didn't know where it was.

The fifth wave spawned, twenty misty forms coalescing on the edge of the hill. Dakota slung the hoe across his shoulders. Time to do or die. Literally.

The grey-men spread out, trying to pin him against the boulder in the creek bed. Jogging, he sidestepped their maneuver and began thinning the ranks. A quick slash to the calf of one construct sent it to the ground. It wouldn’t fade… but a downed construct was ultimately a dead construct.

Sweat ran across his face, stinging his eyes. This style of fight drained him, even with the constructs moving slowly.

This was probably the last wave…right? The thought jarred him so much he nearly stumbled into a haymaker. He had simply assumed there would only be five waves. Five was a good number to end on after all. But what if there was a sixth? The idea opened a whole new pit of despair.

He ducked a kick and sprinted a short distance to give himself some breathing room. Another wave would be disastrous. He was already worn out. The idea of tanking twenty-five or thirty constructs made him nauseous.

The crowd of constructs adjusted and gave chase.

No, he couldn’t afford to feed that thought. If there was another wave so be it.

He seized a stone from the creekbed and hurled it behind him. It cracked into the head of the lead construct, sending deep red throughout its body. The construct fell to its knees before slowly fading into nothing.

The momentary distraction let him sweep forward cutting a jagged line across a construct’s cheek and eyes. Another received the handle followed by a standing elbow across its chin, doubling it over. Unfortunately, it didn't fade. He looped the hoe in an overhead arc clipping another across the back of the head. The rest converged on him, hands scrabbling for a grip on his body.

With a tear, his shirt was ripped off of him, exposing his sweaty chest.

Stolen story; please report.

He seized the fingers of a construct trying to wrap its arms around him and bent them backwards.

*pop

The construct suddenly released him. He swung around and decked it in the face for good measure.

Ten grey-men left.

He sent another two to the ground with straight kicks to their knees, hyperextending the leg backwards before finishing them with a nearby rock. It felt brutal fighting like this, barbaric… but winning meant fighting in a manner he would never have dreamed he was capable of. There was a dangerous side to him he was discovering. It wasn't a side he was familiar with. Back home he inputted numbers and prepared financial statements. He was a normal guy. But here, something inside of him - a dragon just beneath the surface - roared every time he went into combat. It had helped him with the goblins in his first meetings, and now it was helping him defeat the constructs here. A part of him hoped it would help when he finally came face-to-face with the chief.

But that wasn't yet. He still had work to do, training to complete, and preparations to make.

The final three contracts backed away from him.

Sand ground against his palm as he clenched the rock. It was light as a feather but heavy as a mountain.

The final construct’s head exploded into mist, the rock barely slowing as he smashed it down. He let it roll from his fingers grateful to be free from it. He sat, legs spent. It was done. Weeks of training had led to this moment. He should be feeling elated, even if there was another wave, he had accomplished his goal.

So why did he feel empty?

He glanced around the valley. It was a picturesque scene a part of him knew but like the muted colours, his appreciation just felt…empty.

The fight had brought him halfway up the hillside. No enemies spawned, nothing moved except for a gentle breeze blowing the long grasses in shifting waves. That was the last wave. He knew it.

A door formed from the mist on the opposite hill, confirming his hunch. +

Blue Lines twirled around the stone arch while a circle glowed on the center of the door with the number three emblazoned in the middle of it.

Another room. Another challenge. Another opportunity for him to repeatedly die. Weariness dragged on his bones as he tried to stand.

Knees shaking, he slid to the ground. Maybe a quick nap wouldn’t hurt. The valley didn’t appear to be going anywhere.

Head sinking into the soft grass, Dakota let his mind relax, thoughts drifting to and fro. Accomplishing goals was great and all but without someone to share it with, everything felt hollow.

A single tear forced itself from his eye as darkness crept across his vision. He was lonely…

He wanted to go home.

[Frontier Farmer - Level 13]

[New Skill - Quick Step]