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Calaf of Riverglen tanked another blow from a Cultivator who'd put all their eggs into the ‘Strength” basket. His shield and Squirely guard won out, but only just.
Who knew there were so many pilgrims and wanderers in their sub-teen levels willing to drop everything and wander out into the hinterlands to pop strange-colored baubles for days on end.
“Isen’s probably livin’ it up back in a Firefield gambling hall!” Mikail complained, having just eviscerated another mage. “Wish I’d run off with him right now!”
They’d been fighting for hours. Holding their own, but with no signs of breaking out anytime soon. Dozens of Cultivators lay strewn across the watering hole, squat valley, and adjacent hills. Corpses were beginning to decay well beyond the ability to consecrate. Negative-6, negative-12, negative-20, and with nobody in any condition to dispose of the bodies.
The party was beginning to tire. They could keep the lower-leveled marauders at bay but spellcasting required a bit of stamina and time to mutter out an incantation.
All the while, Honest John, traveling merchant and rebel cult leader, looked on with that dead-eyed smile.
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“Mikail. Break out!” Jedd ordered between shield bashes to unarmored nobodies. “Get back to Plains Junction, rally up the church guards and city watch.”
There were far more glory-hound leveling addicts here than was anticipated. And this shouldn’t even be the brunt of their force! Reinforcements would be needed. Hell, the Junction itself could be at risk with enemy numbers this high.
Nimble Vanguard Mikail took off to the east, only to swiftly reverse course as a squadron of Agility-maxing pursuers, wearing the minimal possible amount of clothing, ran him down at the limits of realistic human speed.
Was there truly no escape? Calaf hazarded a look at that shifty merchant from back in Port Town. Honest John. He was the leader of this pack at least. Shifty creeper must’ve been performing reconnaissance on the church-raised armies. An enemy commander hiding right under their noses! Regardless, he was most certainly the ringleader of this current band bearing down upon the party.
Calaf cast his Tautological Defense, beefing up the toughness of himself and the rest of the party (save for Mikail, who was out of range). Defenses at max, Calaf stashed his shield and took off as fast as his heavy armor would allow.
With a swish, Calaf extinguished the flame-enhancement on his spear. The extra damage would be nice, but he had another plan in mind.
Honest John stood up on the high ground, prepping his stabbing knives. Calaf approached holding his spear in a two-handed stance and attacked with a simple thrust.
With an arrogant smirk, Honest John performed an acrobatic backflip. Of course, he wouldn’t stand and fight with honor. And then, on the counterattack…
Special Technique: Triple Stab
Effect: Stab Three Times. Pierces Defense.
Three knife thrusts jabbed in quick succession. They hit Calaf unshielded, striking through his armor. Damage compounded.
Name:
Calaf, Crusader
Rank:
Squire
Level
40
Status:
84/120 (Gut-Punch)
“Ahh.” Calaf knelt to one knee.
Honest John prepped the stabbing knife for another attack.
Calaf readjusted the grip on his spear and stabbed again. John did not stay still to tank the blow, but Calaf didn’t expect him to. Instead, the Squire jammed his spear into the dry hilltop and, with a motion like an undertaker’s shovel, threw up a clod of dirt into John’s face.
Blind! The debuff appeared on the not-so-honest businessman’s Status screen. His arms went up towards his face, incapable of blocking or thrusting once more. Then, with a follow-up attack, Calaf readjusted his spear and brought the steel-banded butt-end into Honest John’s ribcage.
Name:
Honest John, Humble Cult Leader
Rank:
Trailblazer
Level
13
Status:
8/24 (Broken Rib, Still Smiling)
Weapons:
Merchant’s Ordinary Stabbing Knife (x1) (Str: 2, Agl: 20)
“Oof.” Now it was Honest John who wound up on one knee.
“Yield!” Calaf declared, bringing his spear around.
One good spear hit would have ended John. But if he could be taken prisoner or call the cult off John could well be more valuable alive than dead.
The lull in the battle only allowed Honest John to pull out a second weapon:
Name:
Honest John, Humble Cult Leader
Rank:
Trailblazer
Level
13
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Status:
8/24 (Broken Rib, Smile Growing Wider And More Uncanny)
Weapons:
- Merchant’s Ordinary Stabbing Knife (x1) (Str: 2, Agl: 20)
- Poisoned Gunknife (x1) (Agl: 48, Arcane: 7)
Back on his feet, John twirled one knife, then the other. Calaf pulled his shield out, ready to slug it out. He’d just need some more damage mitigation against that armor-piercing knife. Effect Resistance should at least give him some protection against poison. Calaf would only need to land one good hit…
The pair prepared to slug it out. Until…
A war horn echoed along the hills and valleys of the hinterlands. It came from the East, numerous Agility-maxed Cultivator types fleeing west and north in the call’s wake.
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Honest John looked to the East.
“Damn. If I wasn’t distracted by this brat.”
Pitched battle continued down in the valley. Jedd swung his shield in a wide arc, sending three foes flying, belatedly ruing their lack of Endurance stat.
From up on the hill, Calaf and Honest John could see the formations spewing forth from the direction of Plains Junction. Moving up into the higher ground of the hinterlands. Entire parties of mid and high-level Scout-types ran ahead of the group, outmaneuvering all but the swiftest Agility-maxing type Cultivators.
“Bah. Everyone back to the tower,” Honest John bellowed to all who were in earshot.
The cultists slunk off, with Honest John suddenly side-stepping Calaf’s next spear thrust and rushing off with his prodigious Agility stat. Calaf applied an Intermediate Heal to himself – no small feat, as he was winded at this point.
Enough Cultivators took off – the fast ones sprinting away, those with prodigious Arcane stats warping off to parts unknown, the big ones lumbering off with a slow gait that would prove easy to track.
“They’re tough but lack the discipline of a proper fighting force.” Jedd removed his Longsword of Duran from the nearest Endurance-Cultivator.
The day was saved. But Honest John got away. Mikail went to work tracking him while Jedd had the party wait atop the hill with Calaf while they rendezvoused with the main army.
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They were met by a church-raised contingent from Plains Junction, the closest city being the first to head out. Port Town and Firefield brigades, with their comparatively higher level bases to pull from, were coming in on either flank.
“Where’s the Riverglen contingent?” Calaf asked the first party of scouts that approached.
“In the back,” said a Scout.
Riverglen was, of course, the city with the lowest level range of dire-animals and other threats. The result was two wings of armies that were high-level enough to mop up with any loosely organized band of Cultivators, while the central formation was made of two lower-level armies that compensated for the lack of a level delta with their foe by sheer numbers.
Jedd was the one with the responsibilities. He reported to a Plains Junction cleric operating as Colonel for the lead contingent. Karol, meanwhile, rested on the nearest provided box just as soon as the supply parties arrived to drop some heavy boxes from their Inventories. The young redheaded woman breathed heavily.
“Whew. Now I’ve fought bandits and dire-creatures.” Karol huffed. “But that… was intense.”
“Only just begun, lassie!” Gael said, the hours of heavy combat having surprisingly little effect on the old man’s stamina.
Calaf blessed Karol with an Intermediate Heal. Her health maxed out, healing only a paltry fifteen hit points.
“Ah. That wasn’t necessary.” Karol smiled. “Just winded. Whew.”
“Think nothing of it,” Calaf said.
She could consider it his good, chivalrous deed for the day.
“These hills should be defensible enough,” Gael said as the pair recuperated. “By tomorrow we’ll reach the Battletower. They’ll be swarming around it like a bunch of dire-hornets.”
“Not much siege equipment…” Calaf mentioned.
Mikail walked up to where the group would pitch their tents when Jedd returned.
“An extended siege won’t be necessary,” said the Vanguard.
“Aye.” Gael nodded. “The Battletower is blessed with immunity to all siege craft, be it catapult or magical fireball. But it was not meant to operate as a fortress. Nay, it’s a place of learning; a college for Interface-craft. There are entire wings of nothing but books. Newer tomes puzzle out every intricacy of the System. And before that, great treatises about demons. Thesis about the basics and origins of magic in the time before any such Menu Brand allowed us to just use it. And that’s just the lower levels. The tower itself is an ancient relic unto itself, a spiraling, shifting house of traps that will test anyone’s magical and dexterous capabilities, it will.”
“Pre-Interface magic?” Calaf asked. “How was that done?”
“That’s the kicker – it wasn’t! Calculations for summoning forth even a whiff of flame were so complex as to be functionally impossible for even the most learned of scholars.”
“They’ve got some kinda demon bestiary in there?” Karol asked. “Keep hearing rumors about demons in the Fellmarsh. That could be useful one day.”
Gael nodded. “There one be, aye. Hmm. Though now that you mention it I don’t recall anything it mentioned at all.”
There was a quiet pause. With night rapidly approaching, the various campsites were arranged, activated by a handy Menu item. Each ‘Campsite’ item came with a convenient campfire for illumination and cooking right in the middle of some standard-issue tents. Warm lights cropped up along the hills and valleys. Mikail took the opportunity to lend his own Campsite item to the cause.
It was well into the evening when Jedd returned.
“Hey, brother. What’re the marching orders?” Karol asked.
Having rested up, she’d taken to lounging about on a more cushioned cot.
“We’re to travel with the Plains and Riverglen contingents.” The Paladin entered one of the tents earmarked for him.
That would put Calaf closer to Gorman in the Riverglen battalions. He rose.
“Have some friends I can try to visit before turning in,” Calaf said.
Jedd stopped him before Calaf could slink off.
“You did good, trying to rush up and pick off the leader.” Jedd had his gauntlet on Calf’s shoulder. “Just… maybe try not to break formation next time.”
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“Hey!” Gorman waved from a Riverglen-based party. “Moving up in the world? I’d have expected you to gain a level or two, with all the combat that the vanguard and scouts have been reporting.”
Calaf found Gorman near the front of the Riverglen camps.
Campsites had the insignia of the region or town of origin. Being the first stop on the pilgrimage route, Riverglen’s tents were a little… austere. Private adventurers such as Jedd’s group had far more extensive campsite infrastructure. Calaf didn’t tell Gorman that. Instead, he only shrugged.
“Eh. We’ve seen plenty of combat, but the enemies are low-level.”
“I see.” Gorman nodded understandably. “Heard rumors they somehow managed to manipulate their stats Interface? How?”
“Some kind of item. Like a bauble, or small stone. They use it, it gives some experience and builds up increases in one of the key stats come the next level up. I’ve seen level twelves with Endurance or Intellect that ought not to be possible until Fort Duran!”
Gorman’s eyes widened. “That’s rough, buddy.”
The pair went ahead and ate their rations for the evening over the campfire.
“We, ah, still outnumber them, right?”
Five people per party. One party per campfire. Maybe two-hundred fifty campfires in the Riverglen contingent – one of the smaller armies here.
“I don’t know,” Calaf admitted. “Ah, we’re probably betraying our numbers out here in the open. But what we fought this morning was comparable to the Riverglen army.”
Silence reigned around the campfire.
“Well,” Gorman began. “Guess we’d best not be splitting the armies up then.”
The pair shared a chuckle.
“Certainly going to be harder than impaling Rat Kings back home,” Gorman added after a time.
“Say, where’s Charlotte?” Calaf looked around for the primary healer’s tent.
“Back in Plains Junction. Most of the healers are down here, but she’s got administrative duties. She’ll be coming down with the reinforcements in a day or so.”
Calaf nodded.
“Why, opening skirmishes get your blood boiling?” Gorman smirked. “Hoping to dispel your ol’ ‘Virgin’ status effects on the eve of battle?”
“Am not!” Calaf protested. “I was just hoping to meet her again.”
It felt like a lifetime since they’d last met in the Riverglen Cathedral.
And it’s not like Charlotte would dare engage in such… pre-wedlock… activities. Statuses and titles come with such indiscretion! Those who break their vows to their loved ones or the church were easily revealed by their Interface name windows. Any lapse in judgment resulting in physical actions would be immediately apparent, particularly for a holy deaconess!
Gorman raised an eyebrow. “You, eh, really are serious about keeping things to premarital handholding, eh?”
“But of course.” Calaf puffed his chest up. “She is a holy woman and I an aspiring beacon of chivalry. Why, that sounds more like the actions of…”
His voice trailed off. It sounded more like the actions of a certain suave, one-eyed criminal whose temptations he had so nobly resisted. Calaf blushed. Every conversation kept coming back to her, it seemed.
Why do I keep thinking about her? Calaf thought to himself, flustered.
Why, Jelena was the very reason why he was here at this moment. Were it not for the former Sister Turandot, he’d have still been in the sewer. Beating rats with his Basic Iron Spear. Listening to Pryor Yordan and Deaconess Charlotte’s revolving sermons about the early days of the Heroes of Yore...
“Say, Gorman.” The Squire attempted to change the subject. “Some of my party are from Autumn’s Redoubt, but I’ve noticed no full contingents come from north of the desert.”
The lower-level Battlemage aspirant nodded. “Haven’t heard anything but rumors. Word around the Firefield camp is that there’s another uprising up north. More Cultivators. But… well, again, just rumors. They say there’s…”
“Yes?” Calaf raised an eyebrow.
“There’s a more… official, component to it. Someone high up in the old nobility.”
The pair of former sewer guards let the punctuation hang in the air.
“But again, only rumors.” Gorman pulled up an Interface and rekindled the fire with a bit of wood.
“Right.” Calaf got up. “I should be leaving anyway. Almost time to turn in.”
“It’s said the free companies will be the tip of the spear.” Gorman nodded. “I’m sure you’ll be okay, considering all the levels you’ve gotten under your belt now.”
“I happen to be an expert with regards to offensive spear tips.” With a surprisingly cocky smile, Calaf motioned to his trusty Steel Spear ‘o The Plains, still in use since the last time he’d been in the Junction.
“Good luck out there,” Gorman said. “And Calaf?”
“Hmm?”
“May the System be in your favor. Praise be the Interface and all that.”
Calaf nodded sagely.
“Hallowed be,” he said, and returned to the northernmost camps.
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