“Mission briefing time!”

Half an hour later, the barbarian was hastening along towards the base of the Karvash Brotherhood’s hideout, guided by the bard.

Walking beside them but invisible to all but Agravain, Jophiel was in full battle mode.

The angel was still in the tracksuit from before, but around her there were now several floating transparent displays. All of it and herself appeared immaterial, phasing through people and obstacles in a ghost-like manner.

Even absorbed in the information presented on the various displays, the angel was talking animatedly and unceasingly.

“At your current state you are nothing to speak of,” she was droning one incomprehensible thing after another, “A blank slate, or even worse, a cracked, chipped, and ugly base without any redeeming value. But that you have no skills, no equipment, almost as naked as the day you were born only means you can get better. Even so, your condition is terrible. After exhausting your Rage bar yesterday, you have only recovered roughly five percent of it. What I’m saying is that...”

With a sweep of her hand, she dismissed all the displays. “...You will still breeze through this first challenge regardless. Putting aside other PCs, compared to the ordinary people born in this land, your potential is limitless, your starting point already dwarfed the common folk, you could snap the neck of a trained soldier with ease.”

“That’s good to hear,” Agravain grunted.

“What did you say?” Iranon asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about. Hurry along. And if you try to mislead me, I swear...”

“Yeah, yeah, you will crush my skull, I heard you yesternight, geez.”

But Jophiel wasn’t done. Yet another display she pulled up, this time a smaller one without any complicated information or numbers, only a neat checklist.

“It’s not good to hear.” Jophiel clicked her tongue. “You can breeze through this fight, yeah, but what is the point in that? Simply completing a mission is never the point. Opportunities like this only come around every so often, so you have to squeeze everything you can out of it. If you still can’t wrap your head around something so simple, just follow my instructions and don’t be stupid, okay? In the first place, you can’t just wade into the fray with your Rage on right away. At its current state, your rage bar wouldn’t last you a minute. It’s already fatigued after yesterday’s overspending. So swallow your anger!”

Agravain scoffed. If it was so simple to control one’s anger, the most violent of all emotions, most of the world’s problems wouldn’t exist. And at any rate, it would be a boring world, if a peaceful and happy one. Everyone would just be hanging around, making effective and sensible choices all the time. Not that they would make the right choices even then, so where’s the point?

“And don’t get all philosophical before the violence. It’s unbecoming. That’s my first instruction,” the angel added.

She really was just saying whatever she damn pleased.

This was really counterproductive if what she wanted was to keep him from getting angry.

Even as the barbarian thought this, his nose caught a salty scent in the air.

“Oh, there’s a port.”

“Of course it is, don’t you have any geographical sense at all?” Iranon eyed him strangely.

It was probably strange indeed not to know whether the capital of a nation was a coastal city or not.

But it was, and a very busy port too. The wharf was filled to the brim with porters, wagons and craters, and, as always with such places where seamen gathered, an air of abandon and decadence. In the middle of the day, merry carousing blared from saloons and ale houses, coins freely changed hands without a care after long voyages at sea. A place where men were almost as foul and filthy as their language.

Agravain found this place agreeable.

“Nice place.”

“I knew you would say that,” Iranon said, “Me? I prefer more civilized grounds for merry.”

Their destination appeared to be a wharf house at the waterfront. A fine estate made entirely of wood, which would have made a fine place to live in if not for the noisy neighbors. Compared to the other establishments nearby, even the large warehouses, it stood larger by a magnitude, and far cleaner looking. A ram skull was hung above the front door but no signboard.

“Is this it?” Agravain asked dubiously.

“Aye.” The bards looked around nervously. The two were standing behind a house just shy out of view of the guards at the entrance. Or rather, Iranon was, Agravain was not hiding so much as standing there. For once, he looked less out of place with his bare chest and imposing frame than the bard. There hadn’t been enough time to get him a new set of clothes. He had to make do with his set of trousers, which had also been torn in places.

“So what’s the plan?” asked Iranon, “don’t tell me you are just going to charge right in.”

“Jophiel?” the barbarian inquired.

“Sure, why not?” the angel looked up briefly from her checklist. “Only go about it in a calm and measured manner... And no raging!”

“We charge right in then,” he said.

“Not that I expected otherwise,” Iranon sighed, “best of luck to you, friend. I mean-” The bard’s eyes turned wary in a blink, “I can leave right?”

“Yeah, I have no more use of you,” Agravain said.

The lean youth would just be a hindrance, and at any rate, Agravain did not much care for his harp or dubious ways of life. He had even begun to doubt the supposed culture of making friends after just a meal together. A meal with an ulterior motive at that. “We part ways here then,” he said.

“Wait, wait, wait! What are you talking about?” Jophiel exploded suddenly, “Keep the twink around, he may prove useful!”

Agravain raised an eyebrow.

Useful how?

But still, he nodded. “Fine.”

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The angel seemed to know what she was doing so far, and that was more than he could say about himself.

Agravain stooped and picked up a rock as big as his balled fist. “On second thought, you see this here?” he asked the bard.

Iranon nodded, then swallowed.

“Keep at my back and in my line of sight, yeah? Would you doubt it if I said I could smash your skull from a mile away with this?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He pocketed the rock.

Mission commenced.

What he did was strutting towards the entrance to the wharf house. He wasn’t trying to act imposing or anything. It was only the best he could think of to control his temper. If he could act as though it was just a video game...no, that wouldn’t work. Better to think of it as another day crunching away in the faculty office. Tapping a villain in the head would just be like grading test answers. Although even that benign task had sometimes sent him flying into immense wrath in the past.

The guards sprang to their feet as Agravain approached. Two shabbily dressed young men, the kinds forever stuck at the bottom rung of a crime organization, whose only merit was acting mean. They glared at Agravain with hatred as though he was their sworn enemy.

So far, treating it as just another monotonous task had worked. Agravain stared blankly at each of the men without any rising emotions. In fact, he was so calm something fairly close to a sensible approach occurred to him.

“Maybe I should ask them politely if the girl’s in there first?” he suggested to the angel.

“Hah?” Jophiel gave him a sidelong look of disgust, “What the hell would you do that for? What, you wanna talk your way out of loot and experience that freaking bad? Just deck them then collect the shitty loot!”

“You sure have a way with words.”

During this little, senseless exchange, one of the grunt, the largest and perhaps of the more inflated pride, had begun to size Agravain up. The grunt drew close until his face was a few inches away from the barbarian. “Hey savage, haul your ass off--”

Agravain punched him. It truly wasn’t out of anger. It still felt good regardless.

The man fell in the direction of the strike, and never got up again.

“Oops,” the angel made a sound.

“What do you mean, oops?!”

“I forgot to tell you to take it lightly, and by that I mean try not to knock them out right away. The more you punch a living target the better your gains get. It’s counterproductive to finish such an easy fight so quickly.”

That’s just how it works, she added.

“Fine.”

By then two more men had just rounded to the front of the wharf house to investigate the ruckus. They and the one sentry at the entrance stared aghast at the barbarian.

With angry roars they all came upon him at once. Daggers flashed.

It didn’t work out any better this time. Two went down with a punch just as with the first one. For the last, Agravain decided to elbow him in the stomach, hoping that would soften the blow. That one fell on his own weapon.

Jophiel clicked her tongue. “You really are useless. All muscles and no gray matter! Pointlessly strong! Well, there’s probably more inside. Don’t forget the loot. Tell the twink to do it.”

“Good idea.”

And he signaled the bard, who had stood quite dumbly a distance away, to examine the bodies.

For his part, Agravain picked up one of the daggers the grunts had wielded to no useful effect.

“Wait, don’t do that!” again the angel interjected.

“What now? You’re annoying.”

“Weapon skills matter, you know,” the angel pointed out, “and for your class, your weapon skill with the dagger is pretty much useless. For now, concentrate on using your fist to raise your unarmed skill.”

“Sounds dumb as hell,” he grumbled. “I will just pick up a better weapon later anyway.”

“You will, and should,” she insisted, “But listen, the plan is to rush your unarmed skills to level 5 as soon as possible. That threshold rewards 2 general defense points. That’s basically free magic resistance to compensate for your shitty Intelligence! So do as I say!”

“Still a dumb way to do things.”

“Only to idiots, it is. This is just the most optimized play, nothing wasted, every benefit exploited. Now stop complaining like a child, and onwards!”

Agravain kicked the door. The thing was not particularly heavy in the first place, but it was Agravain's overkill strength that sent it off the hinges and flying a good distance inward. They were greeted first thing upon entering the building by a crushed body under the door.

“In a calm and collected manner,” Jophiel gritted her teeth. “What a damn waste.”

As the barbarian now advanced into the wharf house, the angel kept pace with him, tapping away at her checklist. “By my estimation, if you can afford two hits on every one foe, it will take fourteen to fifteen of them to get to Unarmed Level 3. Should be the most realistic quota for the day.”

In the first place, he doubted there were so many men in this building, let alone if he could avoid knocking them out after the first contact. He was also getting more and more annoyed by the constant nagging by his side. It was not his style to punch people unangrily. No matter how you put it, it was an oxymoron of a task.

And so, to the angel’s chagrin, he simply went with the flow.

Beyond the door was a long hall with a hearth in the middle for heating and cooking. Long benches were laid along this hearth, whereupon lounging men were still in stupor at the sight of the lone assailant and their crushed comrade under the door.

There were in truth a lot more of them than he had reckoned. It seemed to be the hour of the day when they just lounged around here, waiting for more fools like Iranon to pawn their things, or for night to come when they would go out to harass the cityfolk.

What deplorable business.

Which was not the least of Agravain’s concerns. He was here for a different reason, a far more personal reason.

Instead of organizing a concerted attack as had the thugs in the tavern done yesterday, the suddenly roused men came disorganized from all corners of the house, often in angry groups of no more than two or three.

Agravain could only think of the fighting ensued as using a batting cage.

Back in the day, it had been one of the barbarian’s favorite means to relieve his anger.

The machine’s rapidly discharging balls. His unceasingly swinging arms. All sizzling aggression concentrated on the solid bat, methodically and monotonously batting away.

One hell of a way to work off one’s steam.

One naked fist for each of the thugs, one after the next. Saved for a bit of footwork to clear off the lifeless bodies, and to provide more predictable pathing for the mindless charge of the thugs, the barbarian never moved much from his spot, once his foes had arranged themselves into a predictable pattern of attack.

A more gruesome, and perhaps more apt comparison would be the charge of a sword-wielding army across an open field versus a machine gunner in a pill box. It was a slaughter, and a ridiculous one at that.

By the end of it, Jophiel had completely lost her mind. She had dashed her list to the ground and was stomping on it. “Why. Can’t. You. Just. Listen.”

“Calm yourself,” Agravain said dispassionately. “I beat up at least twenty of them there, just count. It works either way.”

Looking at him sidelong and darkly, the angel pulled up another display, then sullenly informed him that his Unarmed Skill had only barely passed level 2. Whatever that meant.

“Well, I guess even this is part of the challenge, dealing with a meathead, that is.” She crossed off a line on her list once it had become apparent that none more of the thugs would come out. “Let’s check our loot.”

By then Iranon had per command ruminated through the pockets of the victims of the barbarian’s slaughter. The booty numbered in meager coins and trinkets of dubious values: cheap rings, silver lockets, and shiny buckles.

What were they, magpies?

Agravain sighed.

“Let’s just get further in. See if Este--that girl is kept somewhere in this building.”

“Why do you care so much about that girl, anyway? Is she an acquaintance of yours?” Iranon asked while pulling a ring out of a body on the floor.

“What? You don’t know? Isn’t she this country’s princess?”

“What princess?” Iranon was equally surprised, “Sure the little princess is disabled too, I guess, think I heard something like that, but don’t you think if it was really her the Paladin would have already been storming this place? A realm’s princess doesn’t need you to come to her rescue, you know.”

“Well, I don’t know. I think she sneaked out of the palace. You said that girl was caught while roaming the street last night, right?”

“Still a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

But enough with that. Agravain proceeded to search the house. The long halls were flanked with rooms in the wings: kitchen, storage, pastry, and even a kennel. But no princess.

Still, there was a door at the end of the long hall, he checked it last.

The previous room was big, but this one was also nothing to scoff at, perhaps spacious enough to hold a dancing party. But before anything else about the room’s function could be gleaned, the thing in the middle of it had captured all of his attention.

Jophiel’s eyes were gleaming, her mouth dropping like a child at the sight of her Christmas present. “Oh, oh, oh, OH. GOD!”

Behind them Iranon let out a scream that was almost inhuman.

The terrible creature in the middle of the room jerked at its fetters, snarling with hate, before loosing a howl to shake the whole building and hearts of men.