Chapter 70

Orion

Day 52 of First Landing

Population of Thornhill - 55

By noon, our party retreated to the village, driven back by the fierce cold on the dungeon’s fifth floor. Once there, the hum of crude industry picked up again—a quiet urgency settling over everything as people worked with focus, preparing for the coming raid. I handed my daggers to Bart, who would take them to the smithy, where they’d get the attention they needed, while I set about preparing for my mission.

I spent the rest of the day hunting, hauling in meat for smoking and whatever was left to add to the village stewpot. I also made a new batch of pemmican, adjusting the recipe with slight changes that I hoped would give me an extra edge for the mission ahead.

SPECIAL PEMMICAN - C

Firecracker Blast - 20% Increase Alertness and Energy (6 hours)

Boar Padding - 20% resistance against piercing and slashing attacks (6 hours)

Migration of the Elk - Stamina, and endurance decrease at a slower rate (6 hours)

Flight of the Scarlet Fowl: 20% increase in top sprinting speed (2 hours)

Grace of the Hare: Increases agility and reflexes (6 hours)

I swapped out the muskrat buff for some hare jerky, figuring my new cloak would hold up against the rain.

Afterward, I remembered an idea I’d had earlier and headed to the church. Outside, Larry and his younger wife by about two decades sat on a bench, chatting over tea, while Father Gallagher inspected his brewing barrels. Other projects, like piles of scarlet feathers, lay on pews next to arrow shafts, waiting to be assembled as the quarantined villagers kept themselves busy like everyone else.

They’d all come down with Covid-19, but thanks to Ethan, they looked to be on the mend. Inside, though, one of the village washers, a middle-aged black lady sat hunched over, coughing. Ethan hovered nearby, masked with a makeshift scarf as he checked her over. She wasn’t recovering as well as the others.

Her cough rasped through the room, a harsh, brittle sound, as Ethan draped a blanket over her shoulders. He looked up as I entered the church, more surprised than concerned.

“You shouldn’t be here, Orion. This is a quarantine area,” he said, half-resigned, like he already knew I wouldn’t leave.

“Could you spit in my mouth?” I asked the coughing woman directly.

Confused, she broke into a wide smile and then let out a soft laugh. "Oh, honey, you're a little young for me."

“Ethan,” I said, turning to him, dead serious. “How long can a virus survive on damp cloth?”

“If you’re asking about Covid… maybe two days,” he shrugged.

Two days. Not long enough. Giving myself Covid was risky, but I always had a potion for emergencies. If I could get infected, though, it could change the odds in our favor.

“I need you to give me Covid,” I said, my voice low.

Ethan froze, staring at me. “Why?”

“The Columbian Exchange,” I replied.

His eyes widened, his face plastered by worry and concern. “Orion, you’re talking about the virgin soil epidemic. The population here has no inherent immunity to the pathogens we carry. Exposure could… you might end up wiping out entire villages, maybe even cities.”

“I just need to infect the raiders,” I said, steady. “Nothing more.”

“But if any of them make it back to a village… if it spreads…” He trailed off, doubt clear. “The consequences could be… devastating.”

“No one will make it back,” I said coldly. “I’ll see to that.”

Ethan sighed, his face drawn in deliberation. “If you’re dead set on this, stay overnight. We’ve set up extra rolls for potential cases. And you’re leaving first thing tomorrow?”

“First thing.”

Ethan’s mouth pulled into a reluctant frown. “I can’t condone biological warfare or infecting yourself, but I suppose it’s unavoidable.”

I clapped his shoulder, took a seat beside the coughing washerwoman, and settled in, waiting for the fine mist of her coughs to do its work.

The morning came brisk and gray, and I was ready to head out to prepare for my trip. At the warehouse, I noticed several sacks of tea and berries were missing, and I realized Sophie must have taken them and already left for Kronfeldt. I knew that my time with her together at Kronfeldt would probably be a rare occurrence from now on, as we both had our own paths to follow. She would travel and do her own thing while I focused on my responsibilities at Thornhill. Somehow, I had to fight the twinge of disappointment at that.

I picked up my gear, and Liz, the warehouse worker, was already there, organizing bins of arrows for transport to the parapets. She had packed everything into my new Satchel of Feather, along with several hemp bags and my old rucksack. Inside were the essentials: extra waterskins, rope, and a bundle of clay jars filled with alcohol, each stoppered and ready to ignite.

At Anika's makeshift apothecary, a small shed with drying racks of herbs and a garden nearby, located outside Shelter Two near the warehouse, she handed me a small bundle wrapped in an elkskin tarp—several vials of poison, a health potion, a handful of bandages, and a few elixirs wrapped in banana leaf.

“This one,” Anika said, pointing to a green-tinted demijohn bottle wrapped in brown wicker, about the size of a fist and half-filled with red liquid, “is your standard health potion. D-tier. I’m still perfecting it, but you should be able to get four doses from it.”

Next, she pointed to a long, thin test tube made of black-tinted glass. “This is the sedative you asked for. Only use a little, or you might paralyze or kill your target. It’s made of nightshade, mixed with a bit of valerian root for a calmer effect.”

Then she pointed to a dark green ale bottle with a thick, wax-sealed cork. “This here’s the real deal,” she said, her tone shifted to something more serious. “A deadly poison, made from a blend of belladonna, wolf’s bane, and a touch of arsenic. A single drop’s enough to kill within minutes. Handle it carefully.”

“You are a goddess, Ani,” I grinned, securing the tarp with a leather tie.

“I wish I could’ve stocked you better,” she said with a frown. “Stay a few more days, Rye. I’ll sleep better knowing you have more health potions.”

“I’ll be fine. Got a new healing skill up my sleeve,” I said, giving her a reassuring nod. “These are just for emergencies.”

“Take care of yourself. And use those poisons carefully,” she said, and her cool, clinical demeanor softened in a rare instance. I nodded in reply, saluted her, and set off.

My next stop in the village was at Astrid’s animal pens. In the pigpen, the two sows had already given birth to a litter of nearly a dozen piglets. The boar, with long, gnarly tusks, appeared freshly shaven, its skin a cream color with splotches of brown.

At the coop, I saw Ruth collecting eggs in a wicker basket. When she spotted me, she shot me a sour look. The chicks had grown into full-grown fowl by now, and there were ten birds in total, eight of them perched on the nestboxes.

Meanwhile, Astrid was grooming Rudolph, my elk, muttering in that familiar way, shaking her head like I’d already done something wrong. When she noticed me, her eyes narrowed.

“What do you want, Orion?”

“My jar of honey. You’re a week late on your payment.”

She snorted, not even bothering to look up. “Sorry, didn’t have time. Some of us have real work to do. We’re not all off gallivanting.”

I cracked a smile. “Guess I’ll grant you an extension—unusual circumstances and all. I’ll just take my elk and go.”

She stepped in front of Rudolph protectively, folding her arms. “Leaving already? Look at him, Orion. You’re riding him to death. Give him a break—take Dancer instead.”

I gave Rudolph a once-over, impressed by how much he'd grown. His antlers spread wide like the branches of an ancient oak, still rough with the remnants of velvet. His coat gleamed midnight-black, and new saddlebags hung from his sides. The saddle was also new, expertly crafted by a leatherworker whose skills had clearly improved. I reached up to rub the thick ruff of his neck.

“Dancer’s a good elk, but she doesn’t have Rudolph’s strength or speed.”

Astrid clenched her jaw, holding her ground. “Just give him a few days to recover. If you keep pushing him, he’ll be crippled. Please, Orion… a few days.”

I met her gaze, unfazed. “Astrid, we had a deal, remember? This is my elk. If it’s for the safety of the village, I’ll grind him down to glue.”

Astrid’s expression hardened, a sneer creeping onto her face. “It doesn’t have to be that way! Why do you psychos all talk the same? You can protect Rudolph and keep this place safe at the same time—it’s not an either-or situation.”

Ignoring her protests, I unhitched Rudolph, saddling him up despite Astrid’s glare. “Ask Bianca for your fee,” I said, patting Rudolph’s neck. “I won’t push him past his limit. I’m just as fond of the animal as you are, but if we have no other choice, we need to use up everything.”

“So just like that, you're going to ride my elk into the ground and leave?” She trembled with frustration. “We need you here, Orion! Instead, you'll just ride off on another adventure, leaving us to fend for ourselves?”

I gave a helpless shrug, adjusted the straps, and rode off, feeling the weight of her gaze on my back.

One last check and I tucked my supplies into Rudolph’s saddlebags. His eyes were sharp, his steps eager—both of us feeling the pull of open ground ahead. Heading uphill and north, I made one last stop before leaving the village.

Riding towards the blacksmith, I waited while Jesus hammered the glowing blade of a glaive on the anvil, his strikes steady and rhythmic. Bart worked the bellows, pumping air into the forge, the flames flaring up as the heat intensified. After wiping the sweat from his brow, Jesus set aside the weapon before smiling at me and presenting me with my new dagger.

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“Same hilt, I replaced the blade,” Jesus said, scratching his short beard as he watched me pick up my newly forged stiletto. “Still can’t get it hot enough for steel, but this is much better, ese.”

The blade was longer now, nearly the length of a short sword, its slender form gleaming with a polished black finish. It felt as light as a feather in my hand, perfectly balanced. The crossguard was simple, adorned with a small, rounded pommel. With the enchantment of Knife’s Edge, the blade needed no honing—its edge would remain razor-sharp, ready for whatever came next.

Feather Stiletto - C

Weighs 80% less

Bart came over and handed me the throwing knives that he and Jesus had crafted. I’d ordered them in the same design: long, hand-length lances. Both blacksmiths had made ten each, each one imbued with armor penetration or enhanced accuracy.

Thanking them, I tried to tip with coppers, but they refused, saying the village was already covering the cost. Instead, I reached into my bag for some cheese I'd received from the mouse farmers back in Kronfeldt and handed each of them a small wedge. It made their day, and they bickered over who had the bigger piece as I left.

Near the main stockpile, I paused and watched Cass trying to strike up a conversation with Edith and Ulf, the former slaves. None of them were strong enough to help dig the trenches, so instead, they braided hemp rope from spools Sophie had bought.

Cass’s long, unruly blonde hair was freshly trimmed, and his old baseball cap was nowhere in sight. With the weather warming, he’d swapped to a plain t-shirt under a bronze cuirass. He brightened when he spotted me, eyes narrowing in assessment, while the former slaves got up and bowed in appreciation to me.

Cass dropped what he was doing right away and fell in step beside me as I made my way to the North Gate, keeping a cautious distance, aware of the virus I might be carrying.

“It’s almost time, Cass. I didn’t want to rely on you this early, but they’ll have magic users,” I muttered, slowing Rudolph to a steady walk. I glanced around, using my Tracking skill to scan the area for any eavesdroppers. “We’ll need to draw them all in before you activate it.”

“We’ll destroy them all once I block their magic,” Cass whispered, his eyes sparking with anticipation.

“I’ll come for you a few days before the attack; we’ll ride out together to deal with their mages.”

“I’ll be ready, Rye. I’m level four now—maybe level five by the time they get here.” Cass’s voice held a quiet pride as we reached the edge of the gate and I dismounted.

“I told the dungeon crew you can go up to level two. Just don’t reveal any of your abilities.”

I looked him over. His skinny frame was starting to fill out, lean muscles forming where he used to be scrawny. His gaze, once curious, was now sharp, determined. “When you reach level five, pick something that’ll help you defend yourself.”

Cass clenched his jaw, and his face twisted with a surge of anger. “I found out what happened with the freed slaves. I won’t let that happen to anyone else. I have the power to free them all.”

“For now, focus on staying alive.” I smiled, trying to cut through the tension. “Cass, this is war. It’s not a game anymore. Even if we win this battle, we'll lose it all if anything happens to you.”

His eyes burned with a new fire. “There have to be others like us in this world. Slaves. People trapped. That’s why we’re here, right? It’s our destiny, Rye! That’s why the Void gave me this class. We have to save our people.”

Our people?

Destiny, fate—whatever he wanted to call it. I shook my head. “For now, just survive. Take care of yourself.” I climbed back onto Rudolph and nodded to Cass, leaving him with a look of quiet disappointment as I rode off alone.

Heading for the open road, I caught sight of Bianca, Alex, and Cade at the North Gate, busy reinforcing our defenses. Bianca was setting up wooden targets along the limestone walls, marking them with paint I’d brought back from Kronfeldt. I felt a pang of guilt watching them work, hands deep in the dirt, while I was riding away.

Before I could slip out unnoticed, Bianca spotted me and jogged over. “Rye, hold on.”

“Best keep your distance,” I said, pulling up short. “I’ve got Covid.”

She frowned. “You shouldn’t be riding off sick then.”

“No choice,” I replied, avoiding her eyes.

Bianca folded her arms, her expression one of genuine worry. “Rye… please don’t go. What do you think you’ll do out there alone? They’ve got mages, scouts, probably hundreds of fighters. We don’t even know their numbers yet. Stay here. Help us get ready. We can face them together.”

Her concern caught me off guard. When I’d first explained my plans, she’d appeared supportive, almost approving. But now her worry felt sincere—something new that hadn’t been there before.

“Did Sophie tell you something before she left?” I asked, trying to understand the shift.

Bianca hesitated. “She mentioned… you two met a fortune teller—”

I let out an exasperated sigh, cutting her off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Rye…”

"No. We’re not basing our defense policy on the words of a psychic. What's next—throwing dice for tax brackets?"

"In a world full of crazy stuff like golems and spell cards, you’re not even the least bit open to fortune-telling?" She sounded more hurt than angry.

“And how would knowing my future help? Knowing might hold me back. Those doubts—a single hesitation would mean death for me.”

“I don’t need a fortune teller to see that you are pushing yourself too hard. Remember the last time you got sick before an attack? And now you’re riding out, alone, with Covid?”

“I’m stronger now.”

“But not invincible. You’re not alone, Rye. We’re in this together. Let's fight side by side.”

I gave a small nod, as if weighing her words. “There are things I can do riding out on my own. I know my piece on the chessboard. I know what I have to do.”

Her brow creased. “What piece is that? A sacrificial pawn?”

I let a faint smile slip. “I’d like to think I’m a bit more important than that. I’m more like a knight. I’ll move forward, cross the lines, disrupt things.”

She looked away, then back. “And what about me? What piece am I?”

“The Queen. Without you, we’d lose a lot of our strength. It’d be nearly impossible to win if you don’t survive.”

“And the King?”

I trusted Bianca more than anyone, but if I couldn’t keep Cass’ secret between two people, how could I keep it between three?

“The children here,” I said truthfully, unwilling to lie. “We’re setting the foundation so they can win, Bianca. It won’t be us who finish this war. It’ll be the children of Thornhill.”

“Maybe…” she murmured, her voice soft, “maybe your board is just how you see it. On Alex’s board, maybe Sasha’s the king. On Marek’s, it’s his wife and children. And on Cass’s board—maybe it’s you.” Her eyes glistened, wet with restrained emotion.

“It’d be a nice thought,” I said softly, “but not an objective one.”

“You know I could order you to stay,” her voice hardened.

“I know.”

“Should I?”

“If you trust me, you’ll let me go. It’s best for the village.”

She frowned, but finally turned away. “Come back in one piece, Rye. I won’t forgive you if you get captured or hurt.”

And just like that, she was gone, melting back into the crowd, directing Slate and Crag, managing the fortifications.

I turned my elk and continued north, my heart heavy as I had to leave my home once more. I headed northeast, following the river, then veered east through a forest clearing with a compass and a faded pirate’s map in hand. A pass opened between two hills, leading into boar-filled meadows.

Soon, JD, my bird familiar, joined me, having followed James and flying above like a northern star, guiding me toward the enemy.

I scouted the pass, searching for a camp. One cave seemed promising—no signs of troglodytes. I used my Strike of Iron skill to dig a small cache for supplies to lighten Rudolph’s load. As dusk fell, Rudolph settled by my side, with JD keeping watch. I laid my bedroll against Rudolph’s warm back and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I practiced my knife-throwing skills on elkback, bringing down a rabbit, which I roasted over a small fire. As I ate, I used my mind’s eye, tapping into JD’s view of the open plains. Rocky hills lay to the south, blocking the beach, and forested slopes rose to the north. I marked possible campsites and used JD to search for another place to set up.

Then I spotted him—a lone white horse with a human-like rider perched on its back. JD’s sharp eye picked him out in the hills. The rider scanned the horizon with a copper spyglass, then made notations on his map. He wore light leather armor, painted red, designed for both speed and agility on horseback. His black hair was slicked back, streaked with red, and his long, pointed ears and piercing gaze marked him, as did the Crimson Scythe badge pinned to his chest.

A Crimson Scythe scout.

The scout stopped, scanning the forest with narrowed eyes before slipping down a narrow path between the hills. Not wanting to endanger Rudolph, I tethered him behind a thicket and moved forward alone. Keeping to the shadows, I tracked the scout with my Stealth and Shadow Walk skills. In the meadow pass, he paused, frowning and peering around as if he’d sensed a presence.

Then, with a strange, knowing smile, he drew a card from his palms and nodded to himself.

“Come out. I know you’re there.” In Lokan, his voice was smooth, playful, almost too light. “From the farm, right? Thornhill?” His tone turned mocking. “A lost chattel? I won’t hurt you. Come on out.”

Crap, I got too close. I’d need to be careful around these scouts.

That was enough for me. This scout wasn’t getting away. I dug into my pack for a strip of pemmican, chewing slowly as I summoned Acid Spit. The ball of green acid flew, striking the white stallion in the neck. The horse screamed, a sickening sound as flesh melted, nearly tearing the head from the body. The rider leaped off, his gaze hardening.

“You leave me no choice, chattel!” He snarled, eyes gleaming with a strange hunger as he licked his lips. He raised his arm and hurled a blast of air toward my hiding spot.

I activated Flight of the Harpy, leaping just in time as a vortex of wind tore into the underbrush. My wings beat once, then twice, lifting me to the safety of a high branch. Below, the scout scanned the shadows, unaware of my position. I drew a throwing knife, activated Deadly Shot, and let it fly—a black iron blade aimed straight for the unprotected crease at his neck.

At the last instant, he raised a bronze buckler, deflecting the knife with an inhumanly fast reaction. He drew a slender estoc as long as his arm and a half, his eyes narrowing as he activated another skill. His next attack was more than a strike; it was a violent gust of air, a razor-thin current that cut through branches like paper. The branch beneath me shattered, and I dropped, wings faltering as the last breath of Flight of the Harpy gave out.

I landed hard, instantly releasing an armor-piercing throwing knife. It struck his buckler again with a loud clang, denting it, the metal groaning under the impact. Without a moment’s pause, he sprinted for me and lunged, estoc gleaming, aiming for a clean thrust. I activated Parry, managing to turn his blade enough to avoid a fatal strike.

But he didn’t slow or even react to the effect of Parry.

What the hell? That’s not fair!

Seizing on my moment of astonishment, his next attack landed, the estoc slicing through my leather shoulder spaulder with brutal speed. I bit back a scream, struggling to keep my footing against the sharp pain.

Gritting my teeth, I reached with my left hand and drew the Cyclopean Beam skill card. In one fluid motion, I tapped it, feeling the power surge through me. Then, with my gloved hand, I snatched the scout's outstretched wrist. Blood ran hot down my right arm, but I held the scout’s arm firm, locking him in place.

Fear flashed in his eyes as he realized he was stuck to me. A searing red light ignited in mine, as bright and hot as the sun itself. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as the beam unleashed, intense and blinding. The scout’s right arm melted away, flesh and sinew reduced to charred ruin, his shoulder and chest smoldering from the blast.

He staggered back, dropping to the grass, breaths shallow and ragged. His eyes were wide, stunned with disbelief, his torso half-missing.

“Hadrelian… must know… they have someone like…” His words faded, and with a final breath, he collapsed.

One down, hundreds more to go.

With a steady breath, I felt the adrenaline settle as I kneeled to loot the scout’s body. First, the estoc—it was too cumbersome to carry for now, but it had potential. I’d stash it at my supply drop and retrieve it later, saving Rudolph from the extra weight.

His coin purse was next, then a potion hanging from his belt. I tucked it away, opting to let my shoulder heal naturally, rather than cure the wound along with my Covid. Instead, I relied on some strong alcohol, herb-laden bandages, and my passive skill, Crocodilian Healing, to mend the wound over time. His spyglass, the map marked with his scouting notes, a ration of salted pork, and a waterskin were useful finds. I slipped on his well-worn leather gloves, their warmth and dexterity making the switch worthwhile.

One last thing caught my eye—a simple necklace strung with iron. The pendant was odd: a marble-like pearl, golden-hued and shaped like a frog’s eye.

Amulet of Steady - D

Blocks one status effect caused by a skill.

900-second cooldown.

Satisfied, I turned to the horse’s carcass. Not one to waste, I cut thin steaks from the meat, saving it for later. Slow-cooking the cuts over the campfire, I ended up with a hearty pile of horse jerky. For all my minimal effort, it granted a valuable buff—a C-rank boost I hadn’t expected.

Roast Stallion Steak - C

Horse’s Resolve: Improves movement speed and stamina (6 hours).

The meat was excellent—sweet and mild. It spoke to the skill of the breeders who raised these animals, the kind of quality that allowed me to turn a simple steak into a C-rank meal.

JD eagerly shared in the meal, nuzzling me for each bite I passed to him. As he took the night watch, Rudolph and I settled in a hidden nook, sheltered and secure for the night.

The next day was relentless. With every step eastward, my body bore the strain, and by evening, a dry cough caught up with me, leaving me winded but resolute as we drew nearer to the enemy camp.