Otai looked from the gnome to the vial of red liquid. The gnome, Polopp, noticed his gaze and smiled warily, “Would you believe me if I say that I’m feeding poison to the necromancer?”

The Battle Lord’s image flashed as he appeared before the gnome, his aura radiating, sending ripples through the air like disturbed water on the surface of a pond. His mana propelled the gnome backward, slamming him against the cave wall.

“In the Badlands, traveling sap gnomes come often to trade. For me, recognizing a health potion is easy,” Otai scoffed.

“My apologies, humongous, abundant, marvelous, audacious and handsome Badlander,” Polopp groveled, bowing over and over again.

The Badlander ignored the gnome, keeping his attention on the hooded body of the necromancer, splayed out on the straw bed like a dropped toy. A stone bounced off his wide chin, prompting Otai to turn to see a young woman in gray hurling rocks at him. Another person in gray rushed past the woman with a branch in hand that he broke against the Battle Lord’s back.

The slaves were revolting against their master. More slaves charged into the room and began assaulting him.

The slave leader stepped into the room with the only weapon of metal, a knife meant for food. Otai spotted the gleam of metal in his hands but soon became angered witnessing the slave leader bend down and pick up one of the bound and unconscious Badlanders.

“I’ll kill this one, Badlander!” the slave leader threatened, “Leave Mister Zini alone or else!”

Otai caught one of the rocks being thrown at him which he then flicked across the room, landing with it against the slave leader’s head, killing him. A sharp scream pierced the chaos as the young woman in gray witnessed a void look take hold within the slave leader’s eyes as he flopped to the ground.

“Dirk!” She screamed, cradling the man’s body carefully as if he were made of porcelain. “Dirk is dead!” In the face of death, the slaves began to back off, each fearful of their life being extinguished next. The good deeds of the necromancer toward them began to loosen in their hearts as the need for survival bubbled up.

“Don’t think you slave pests will get away easily,” Otai growled, his voice echoing in the cave, causing the slaves to tremble. He bent down and picked up another rock and took aim. A slave with his hair drenched in sweat, clinging to his face became the Badlander’s target.

With a flick of Otai's finger, the rock soared through the air faster than a ballista bolt. But instead of striking flesh, it gave a resounding ping as it bounced off a shield. Just above the shield, a pair of fierce blue eyes narrowed at the Battle Lord. Rose had entered the fray.

Armed and ready, Rose's team rushed through the entrance as she called out, 'Protect the slaves, Hunters!' The frightened slaves watched as they passed. Rose was determined to ensure that no innocent person was harmed while she still drew breath.

"Foolish slaves," Welsen grunted, running up a wall to avoid a strike from Otai, his hand moving in a blur as he fired arrow after arrow. "They should have simply followed us back to Soalde without causing any problems."

Dawrite landed a blow with his two-handed sword on the Badlander’s forearm, causing a shockwave that knocked the slaves off their feet.

Opalstein, holding vials of liquid, mixed concoctions while keeping an eye out for Otai’s attacks.

Hawl drew a glowing sage symbol in the air. From it, a beam of light shot out, which he used to blind the Battle Lord.

Welsen flipped off the wall over a clutching hand of Otai. As he was upside down in the air, he saw the slaves carrying the necromancer out, so he took aim and shot an arrow towards the necromancer's heart.

We can call this quest completed, he thought triumphantly.

However, a young woman in gray stepped in front of the arrow, which pierced through her chest. Her brown eyes blanked, and she fell backward, whispering, "Zini..."

“Welsen!” Rose's voice echoed through the cave as she used her silver shield to deflect a strike from Otai. “What did you do?”

Welsen landed on the ground, sliding to a stop and scratching the back of his head. He cursed when he saw the lifeless expression of the slave woman. Although he felt guilty, he knew there was nothing he could do to change the past. He turned away and rejoined the fight.

Opalstein frowned at Welsen's actions, becoming distracted and soon paid the price. He ran into the back of Otai's fist and his body reacted as if struck by a rampaging bull and crashed against the cave wall with a jarring smack.

“Opalstein is down!” Hawl cried out, struggling to keep the beam of light on the Badlander's face.

A gnome in a red cone cap, carrying a bundle of packs, appeared before Opalstein as his consciousness began to fade. “Drink this,” Polopp advised.

“Master…” Opalstein whispered.

“I told you I don’t take apprentices,” Polopp responded as he pushed the contents of a potion into Opalstein's mouth and emptied it. Opalstein stood back up, his injuries healed. Before he could express his gratitude, Polopp pointed at the Badlander and hurriedly urging him to rejoin the fight. The gnome then followed the slaves outside, carrying Zini's body.

In entering the laboratory, the gnome caught sight of the kickboxer lying atop one of the stone tables, napping and radiating a golden aura. Polopp swiftly slapped a tiny hand against the young man’s ribs.

The kickboxer stirred from his slumber and spotted the gnome beneath him. "Polps? Fancy meeting you here, dude," he yawned.

“What happened?” Polopp demanded, “And don’t call me ‘Polps’.”

“What do you mean, bra?”

“Why haven’t you dealt with the Badlander yet?”

The kickboxer rolled over on his stomach and propped up his chin on his hands. "You've met big bro Otai? He says I can go with him to the Badlands and fight all I want. No more slumming it with these squares for me."

“The Lorn Badlands? Have you gone leave of your senses, human? How am I supposed to conduct my research in a war-torn land like the Badlands?” Polop fumed. “Why are you making decisions for Red, entity? Bring Red out and have him talk to me.”

“I am Red,” the kickboxer sneered. “I have his best interest at heart, unlike you posers who pretend to care.” His brown eyes honed in on the small figure of the gnome. “Do you think I don’t know you just want to poke around Red and stuff, turn him into a lab rat?”

Were the entities growing more intelligent? Polopp couldn’t be sure without the proper experiments and tests.

“Let me talk to Mister Red. Now,” he demanded.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"You can't," the kickboxer replied, rolling onto his back and resting his head on his hands. "The necromancer used a toy that rendered Red and the others unable to move," he explained.

“The Soul Expropriator,” Polopp mused, recalling the artifact the necromancer used to try and enslave Red. He never imagined the consequences would be so impactful. With a reproachful tone, he looked back at the kickboxer and questioned, "You said you wanted to assist those 'helpful bros'. Why the sudden change of heart?"

“I’m going to let them duke it out with big bro Otai without me interfering. My debt is cleared, homie.”

“And our deal about helping me in my research?”

“I never said where I’d help you, bra. You can do your science in the badlands, can’t you?” The kickboxer laughed.

“‘Totally Righteous’,” the gnome muttered under his breath, remembering the kickboxer’s earlier words, “As righteous as a fox, I’d say.” He then turned to the slaves huddled around the necromancer at another stone table.

One of them had walked over and said to Polopp, “You said you’d help, sir gnome. Can you keep your word?”

"Unlike certain individuals," Polopp stated firmly, his blue-eyed gaze briefly flickering towards the kickboxer, “I keep my word. I will still help heal the necromancer.”

Earlier, when the slaves retrieved the unconscious Zini in the forest and aimed to carry him away, they stumbled upon the gnome tending to some of the forest's intruders. Seeing the gnome as a neutral party, they beseeched him for assistance, which was how Polopp ended up here in the first place.

“What of Franlye?” asked one of the slaves, holding a young woman with a chest wound. The group of slaves looked from Zini to the young woman known as Franlye, unable to make a decision who should be helped.

With a smile that turned his white beard upward, Polopp reassured the slave, "I'll heal them both." Upon hearing his words, the slaves as a whole let out a sigh of relief.

From behind the gnome, the kickboxer grinned at Polopp, “Maybe they should call you ‘Totally Righteous’ instead of me.”

Polopp might have ignored the kickboxer if it hadn't been for the reproachful tone in his voice. As he glanced at the young man, Polopp noticed a knowing look in his eyes, and when their gazes met, the kickboxer's eyebrows wiggled up and down, conveying he knew something was afoot.

“You’re getting smarter, entity,” Polopp surmised. The kickboxer only responded with a single finger tapping the temple on his head.

Could my soul enhancing potion have caused this change to the entities? The gnome wondered.

“Honorable gnome…?” One of the slaves prompted, refocusing Polopp on the dying pair of slave and necromancer. The gnome then hopped lively into motion and began his alchemist work, unfolding his equipment from his bundle of packs and began creating potions.

The color slowly returned to the faces of the necromancer and the slave woman within a matter of minutes as Polopp deftly tended to their wounds. The commotion in the adjacent room had grown louder, drowning out the sounds of the alchemist's work. Metallic clanging of weapons and the thuds of bodies slamming into cave walls echoed through the chamber, punctuated by occasional cries of pain.

The offers of thanks to the gnome from the slaves couldn’t be heard over the nearby battle. Polopp eyed the room where the fight was taking place. His red pointy shoes began to move toward the room.

"Got more in store, Polps?" the kickboxer inquired with a knowing look, stopping the gnome in his tracks.

“I’ll let Red know about what you’ve been up to, entity,” the gnome promised, solemnly looking back over his shoulder at the young man lounging.

“You wade in deep waters, Polps. Dangerous monsters swim here,” the kickboxer warned, his golden glow intensifying. “You better not mess with Red because the next time I come out, I won’t be so nice.”

A shiver ran down Polopp's spine as he realized the potential consequences of his actions. Egging on the entity may have been a mistake, and the long-lasting effects of his potion were unknown, potentially even causing an unforeseen intelligence boost.

The gnome scurried into the adjacent chamber and found one of the five warriors lying unconscious on the ground already. Disregarding the chaotic brawl around him, Polopp darted past a flurry of attacks and arrived at the side of a woman whose mind was trapped by magic and body bound by rope. He recognized her as someone he and "the champ" had encountered before.

With nimble fingers, Polopp rummaged through the woman's pockets until he found what he was searching for. Then he sprinted towards a man with a square-shaped jaw and pulled on the hem of his leather alchemist smock.

“Master?” Opalstein sputtered, seeing the gnome pulling on his clothes.

“I’m no one’s master,” Polopp snapped, handing a glass vial to him. “Make sure this explodes in the Badlander’s face, and then escape into the other room.” With those words, Polopp hopped back out of the doorway.

Opalstein called out, “Welsen! Do you have any sage symbol arrows left?”

Welsen, bleeding from his nose and mouth, spat, “Idiot, I already tried using those arrows against the Badlander before and they didn’t work! Such a waste of gold…” Sage symbol tools were far from cheap, even for Welsen, who came from a successful merchant family.

“No, use it on this!” The square-jawed alchemist showed the vial to the archer, and a massive fist suddenly hit him, causing his skin to ripple like water before he was sent flying. The Badlander had taken him out.

As the vial began to fall to the ground, about to break, Rose appeared from under it, caught it, and tossed it without a second thought. “Welsen!” she cried out. As a leader, Rose was always aware of what was happening around her and overheard the gnome’s words to Opalstein.

“There goes forty gold,” Welsen grumbled and shot an arrow.

Just as the thrown vial became just above Otai’s head, an arrow wrapped in light went through it, igniting the vial and its contents with an explosion of magic.

A gray cloud formed almost instantaneously.

At the appearance of the gray smoke, Rose shouted, “Move!” and her group jumped backward through the entryway, Opalstein in Rose’s hands, with Welsen and Dawrite close behind, Dawrite carrying a sleeping Hawl over a shoulder.

“Loderan tricks!” Battle Lord Otai roared before the gray smoke filled his lungs and caused him to collapse.

Upon arriving at the behest of the slaves, Polopp discovered the unconscious smugglers who had been defeated by "the champ" lying in the same room as the Badlanders, all captured by the necromancer's skeletons. Polopp remembered the paralysis poison that he had seen one of the smugglers had used against the champ and correctly guessed that the rest of the group likely had it as well. With this knowledge, he combined the poison with Rose's team's presence to create a plan to stop the rampaging Battle Lord.

Rose and her team collapsed outside of the room, their bodies covered in sweat and their breaths heavy. Seeing the Badlander lying unconscious on the floor sent a wave of relief through them.

“Damned savage,” Welsen spat between gasps, his face drawn with exhaustion.

Kneeling on the ground with her pale blond hair disheveled, Rose saw Polopp and the slaves looking at her. She hauled herself up, her tired body protesting with every movement, and said to the gnome, “Thank you, sir gnome. Once again, you have saved us.”

Polopp stroked his white beard and replied, “It was my pleasure. You five brilliant, grand, hardy, lovely humans have held up your end of the bargain and defeated the Badlander.”

“Don’t break out the champagne just yet, dudes,” a voice said. They turned their heads to see the kickboxer kick off the stone table where he had been lying, flip through the air, and land before them. “You still have to surf these waves.” He put up his hands and spread his feet, assuming a fighting stance.

The kickboxer’s golden glow grew and seemed to fill the entire space, bathing them all in light like the sun.

“Peasant bastard,” Welsen grumbled.

The kickboxer grinned at the archer. “You’re obviously going to be the first one I’m going to crash against the rocky shore, broseph.”

“Good sir,” Rose pleaded, her exhausted body barely able to stand, “Is there any reason to go this far?” She then held up the Hunter badge he had dropped earlier. “I don’t believe in chance. I believe there’s a reason for everything. There is a reason why you joined the Hunter’s Guild. It’s because you’re no Badlander. I believe you’re a hero.”

The kickboxer turned to Rose and shook his head. “No, I’m a slum rat, slum trash, slum dweller, and what did you call me?” he asked Welsen. “Peasant bastard, was it?” The archer was silent. “I’ll make you all pay for looking down on Red and his mama.”

Rose heard that name again. She wondered who exactly Red was.

“You have any more tricks up your sleeve?” the old servant, Dawrite, asked Polopp.

The gnome shook his head and answered, “Any tricks would be hard to pull on someone as fast as Mister Kickboxer here. But there’s no need to worry.” Rose’s team looked at the gnome as if he had gone mad. Clearly, the kickboxer was going to tear them apart. There seemed to be plenty to worry about.

When the kickboxer took his first step towards them, his golden glow abruptly dispersed, and he fell face first onto the floor, remaining there, unmoving.

“Huh?” Rose sputtered in shock, as the mouths of her two remaining conscious team members popped open.

Polopp walked up to the unconscious young man and checked his pulse before nodding, satisfied to see that his research subject was still breathing.

“Sir gnome?” Rose implored, seeking reasons behind the quickest end to a battle she had ever been a part of.

“Oh, right,” Polopp answered, and thumbed towards the young man. “He had consumed a soul enhancing potion earlier, the most powerful enhancement potion in alchemy that enhances every aspect of the body down to its very essence, including the soul. However, such an enhancement comes at a steep cost.” His small body hopped over to check Red’s eyes and inside the young man’s mouth. “As you can see, the aftereffects have left him debilitated to the point of becoming unresponsive.”

“I told you, didn’t I?” the gnome smiled, “There’s no need to worry.”