I've never been more exhausted in my life—or lives, whether real or imagined. All my mana depleted, my satchels empty, and my legs trembling like Elvis, I leaned on Gloria for support as we entered the village.
A horn blared in greeting, and it seemed as though the entire community—humans, creatures, and indescribables alike—had been waiting for us. A child handed me a satchel of water, and the taste was heavenly. After two marathon-length battles, fighting off fiery apparitions, rehydration felt like a miracle. As I surveyed the faces around us, I realized that for the first time since arriving in Purgatory, I felt like a real hero.
"I heard you lost your weapon," Merlin said as soon as we were seated at our trusted but worn table in the inn.
"Didn't lose it, it melted," I replied, surprised by how much I missed my flimsy rapier.
"I've brought you a new weapon. One that won't melt in the face of fire," Merlin lay a long, wrapped package on the table. I felt a thrill I hadn't experienced since I was twelve ripping into Christmas presents as I unwrapped the package ceremonially and found a sword aglow with an otherworldly orange hue. My first legendary weapon! Though slender, it felt powerful and perfectly balanced. As I held it, I knew we were going to have many great adventures together. My old rapier already a distant memory.
"This is a Srin blade. It's forged from elements found on the moon Srin, so earthly elements won't touch it," Merlin said, his voice tinged with an unusual seriousness. "The blade possesses unique powers. With proper attunement, it will adapt to its wielder's needs. Take good care of this one, Mr. Tim."
I was tempted to point out that I had, in fact, taken good care of my previous weapon—until it decided to go all melty on me. But the excitement over my new blade, which I had already named Glomrinerym, made that point moot.
"Thank you," I said, sheathing Glomrinerym in my belt. Throughout our subsequent discussion, I kept patting my side to ensure it was still there. We'd had a plan and executed it to perfection by taking down Volcanics' two lieutenants, but what now?
"When do you think Volcanic will know we've killed Fønix and Pyrolia?" I asked Merlin.
"He already knows. But don't expect any rash moves from him. Volcanic is a cunning elemental."
"Do you think he'll come here?" Gloria asked, looking around the inn with concern. I knew exactly what she was wondering: Had we just slapped a “Kick my” sign on Duckville?
"No, he's far weaker away from his portal, and I don't think he'd risk straying too far from his precious gateway. Plus, I'd sense if there was a shift in the force. So far, nothing," Merlin reassured.
I couldn't resist and waved my hand in a Star Wars fashion. Blank stares met my gaze.
After all the songs of our bravery were sung, and downed the drinks that kept coming our way, my eyelids grew heavy. It was time to call it a night so I stood up to head to bed.
"Hold on a minute, Tim," Lurin said, gently pulling me away from the table.
"This is for you. My last scroll," Lurins tone unnervingly sober in a room that spun like those nauseating teacups at Tivoli. I couldn't help but wonder why he'd waited until now to hand it over. This one felt heftier than the others. I reached to take it, but Lurin's grip held firm.
"This scroll is special. It's going to make you take some weighty decisions—decisions that only you can make, alone. Read it in your room, but don't act on it until tomorrow. This isn't the kind of choice you make after downing a barrel of beer," Lurin said, his stone-like expression briefly cracking into what could be described as a smile, before hardening once more. "I'm proud of you, kid. We wouldn't have made it without you. Thank you."
"We're all part of this win," I said, just as I was engulfed in a bear hug. Lurin's body shook, and I heard the muffled sound of sobs. Maybe he wasn't as sober as he let on. Regardless, the warmth of a genuine hug from my newfound friend and mentor felt damn good.
Once I reached my room, I sat on the bed and unfurled the scroll. The weight of its content enough to sober me up a fair bit.
Congratulation’s! You have gained a new level. You are now a level 10 bard of the Highland clan. You have just gotten your first path choice. You are able to pick one of these paths to follow. Be mindful of your choice, because it’s not possible to undo your choice :
* Lightfooted – You are lighter on your foot, being able to dodge more easily and run for longer. You will also take reduced damage from projectiles.
* The Bard’s best friend – You are given a small companion. A monkey – You are able to pick two abilities for your pet. Your pet is passive and will not contribute to fighting. The abilities you can choose between are:
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
* Mocking glare – Enemies in close proximity to your Monkey take more damage
* Clapping monkey – You get two more stats in each of your stats for 50 breaths.
* Songbird – Your monkey sings a song, giving you more charisma and dexterity.
* Dancing monkey – Your monkey gives you lightfooted, you will move faster for 25 breaths.
* The singing chef – You get accustomed to one-handed blades, your skills with the blade match that of a rogue.
* Eagle eye – your bow skills make you a great archer. Giving you extra attack and dexterity. Your arrows will fly farther and faster.
* Jack of all trade – “The tide will make all boats float.” You are a balanced bard, adept in all aspects, never brilliant in one. A versatile bard is better than a dead bard. As a Jack of all trades, you may choose two of the following:
* Melody of the Forgotten Souls – Your song sends you to the pane of the lost, being able to escape the physical world for 10 breaths. Just enough to shift the tide of battle.
* Melody of inspiration – Your song inspires everyone within 3 breaths from you, making all the stats get doubled for 25 breaths.
* Melody of extermination – Your song deals massive damage, killing most creatures instantly. This drains you of all energy and uses one moon’s orbit to replenish.
* Sharp tongue – Your stories are so captivating that anyone listening gets mesmerized. When they wake, they believe your story and are willing to do anything to follow.
Choose your path carefully; it will shape your destiny.
I sat there, agonizing over the choices before me. In most RPGs, there were always a couple of dud talents that you'd never pick, but each of these paths seemed perfect. Tempting as it was to make a snap decision, my throbbing head told me it was better to heed Lurin's advice: sleep on it, and decide with a clear mind.
----------------------------------------
"So, made your path choice yet?" Lurin asked when I approached his shed in The Round. Merlin was perched on a stool by the counter, casually puffing on a pipe. Gloria had been plucking at one of the stringed instruments lying around but paused to look at me.
"Yes, I have," I said, grinning from ear to ear. The curiosity was palpable on Lurin's face. "I chose Jack of All Trades. Every path had its merits, but I was granted this class for a reason. I intend to embrace it fully." I couldn't be sure, but I'd wager Lurin's eyes sparkled just a tad more than usual at that moment.
"An excellent choice, Mr. Tim," Merlin said, nodding approvingly through a cloud of pipe smoke. "Congratulations on becoming a pathed bard."
I didn't have the foggiest clue what that meant, but it sounded cool.
"Thanks. Are you heading out?" I asked, nodding toward the overstuffed backpack at Merlin's feet.
"Yes, I must be on my way. However, rest assured, I'll still be able to alert you if there's a shift in power. So far, all's quiet," Merlin said, his gaze suddenly fixating on something beyond our little gathering.
Following his eyes, I saw an elderly man shambling towards us, his back hunched and his hand gripping a gnarled cane for support. As Merlin stowed his pipe, I sensed tension in the air.
"Ah, greetings, greetings. Pardon my intrusion, I just wished to offer my salutations to my fellow traders," the elderly man said, his voice frail but his eyes alert.
"Nice to meet you!" Lurin began, stepping out from behind the counter to welcome him, but stopped abruptly when Merlin's hand shot out to block him. The air suddenly felt laden with an unspoken gravity. I glanced from one to the other, then back to the old merchant. Gloria had moved to stand beside me, her eyes narrowing.
"How?" Merlin's voice a whisper, tinged with something that sounded like fear, something I'd never heard from him before.
"How what, my dear wizard?" the old man queried, a curious tilt to his brows.
"How did you do it?" Merlin pressed, his eyes narrowing into slits.
"I am afra—"
"Stop!" Merlin hissed, cutting off the old man. He muttered an incantation beneath his breath as he advanced cautiously towards the merchant. "Why hasn’t the power shifted?"
My concern for Merlin's mental health evaporated when the merchant released his grip on the stick and stood up tall, his face stretching into a malicious grin.
His voice, now deep and growling, shattered the illusion of frailty. "Ah, I have my ways. You're Merlin, aren't you?"
"Volcanic," Merlin spat the name like a curse.
Gloria's knives were out in a heartbeat. Lurin gripped his flute as if preparing to summon an army, and I... well, I was stuck in a moment of disbelief. This was Volcanic? The notorious fire elemental terrorizing Highland? He was nowhere near as large, or red, as I'd pictured him.
"Ah, greetings," he sneered. "I presume you three are the culprits who killed my children?" His eyes shifted from a glint of perverse delight to a glower of pure malice. I unsheathed Glomrinerym, and stepped forward.
"Hold, Mr. Tim," Merlin instructed in a hard voice, his eyes never leaving Volcanic. Another incantation slipped from his lips, and the air around us changed—it became stagnant, heavy, as if time itself was holding its breath.
"Look around, Volcanic. This town is filled with innocent people. Let's take this beyond the village borders," Merlin suggested, his voice laced with restrained tension.
"Why should I?" Volcanic sneered. "You're not allowed to interfere anyway; that's the law. Besides, why should I heed your wishes? Did you show any consideration for my son and daughter?"
"Your so-called children were merely slaves to you—don't pretend otherwise. I've seen their true selves; they were once villagers here, lives you claimed when you scorched the forest," Merlin said. My mind raced with questions. How could Merlin know this? Had he witnessed it firsthand? And what did Volcanic mean that Merlin couldn't intervene?
"Enough chatter," Volcanic growled. "I'm here to claim what's mine. You have two options: the easy way or the hard way. Either way, you're going to pay for my loss."
Then, all hell broke loose—quite literally. Volcanic's clothes ignited as if soaked in gasoline. He did this dramatic 'Hulk' move, throwing his arms back and letting out a scream that I'm pretty sure alerted every living creature in Highland. In a matter of seconds, he transformed into a gargantuan fire elemental—more akin to the monster I had envisioned, but exponentially larger and far more terrifying. Anything combustible nearby burst into flames; the intense heat forcing us to retreat. Lurin's shed was the first to catch fire, followed swiftly by his tent. I scanned the area for Merlin but found no sign of him.
This was it.
The final boss.