Chapter 75

Orion

Day 63 of First Landing

Wenvale Pass

Five days. That’s how long Thornhill had to shore up its defenses. I was two days south of Kronfeldt, a half-hour from the farm where the Red Scythe camped. The news from Sophie, via JD, hadn’t come yet. Until it did, I could only wait and think about my next move to hinder the Red Scythe’s march.

JD had likely reached Kronfeldt by now, as I had sent him with word from James the day before. My familiar had flown by fifty raiders recruited in Kronfeldt to reinforce the main army led by one Eldrin. While I waited for my familiar to return, I rested and took stock of my inventory.

I moved through the dark, reaching my stash cave. Inside, I grabbed what I needed—a few clay Molotovs, bottles of alcohol, and poison. The plan was simple: stir up more trouble before they got reinforcements. The Red Scythe were tightening their marching formation. No more wandering stragglers. They scavenged in large groups of twenty now, led by one of the Eldrin and the human archer. Many raiders had died since they reached the farm—some to illness, some to desertion (which I dispatched), others to my ambushes. But tonight, fresh recruits would arrive, and by tomorrow, they’d march south, fully stocked with fresh casks of grains and wine.

And the wound. That damn archer. He’d caught me with an arrow, right through the calf. I cursed myself for not killing him when I had the chance. But killing another human? That was one red line I still hadn’t crossed. The pain in my leg was a reminder: mercy and hesitation weren’t an option. My refusal to kill that human archer led to this wound, maybe even my potential death, if he got off another shot.

The wound was in the one place I still hadn’t had much protection from. I would have to invest in leg gear. I pulled off the old bandages, wincing as pain shot through my shoulder and leg. The matcha-like elixir stung as I spread it over the wounds. Crocodilian Healing worked fast, but it wasn’t magic. I had to let it do its thing. The potion burned worse than the injury itself. I’d already used up half my supply—two doses gone when I carelessly yanked the arrowhead out. Too much blood. Too fast.

Despite the pain, I tore into the hardtack and jerky, shoving food into my mouth while Rudolph curled up behind me. He startled me, and I bit my lip in the process, too focused on recouping my energy to care. He was quiet, chewing on the roots he’d found, while I kept my eyes on the cave entrance. With no JD, there’d be no early warning. I’d have to doze through the evening before sunset.

Hours later, light filtered in from the cave mouth. The sun’s dying glare through the cave’s mouth jerked me awake. Rudolph stirred too, nuzzling me as he devoured the last of the roots.

I felt JD before I saw him, a familiar tug in my gut. Closing my eyes, I focused, pinpointing the bird’s flight path. I grabbed my gear, made water, and mounted Rudolph.

When we reunited, JD dove towards me and perched on an elk’s antler. Reliable, as always. A new message was tied to his leg.

“Back@Hill in 3

with supplies&men

- soph ❤ ”

With that taken care of and my flying scout back, I set out for the night’s ambush. The main camp had settled back at the farm, three hundred raiders strong. Their perimeter was rigged with caltrops and wards ever since my last attack, but their food supply had run dry thanks to my firebombing. That well was dry, and they’d tightened security since. Tonight, I’d go after the reinforcements—fifty men and their resupply wagons.

The wagons were a half-day march from the main camp, setting up to merge the two camps tomorrow. From there, they'd march south toward Thornhill, following the Turtle River. It made sense—word had likely come from Super, their inside informant. For some reason, though, and much to my chagrin, they never needed relays or runners. Their communication magic—probably something to do with their class or abilities—kept them in touch with no need to risk their messengers getting intercepted by me.

My plan for tonight was simple: destroy the resupply wagons and leave them marching for a few more days with empty stomachs. They’d have to send more men out to forage, giving me more chances to pick them off. I was running out of time. By the time they reached the river, they could freely scavenge from it. I wasn’t going to ruin our main river's water and risk harming the villagers.

I’d scouted the resupply caravan from Kronfeldt earlier—fifty men, fresh off the piers from Kronfeldt. Sailors, mostly, and a few recruits coming in to take advantage of the gold rush Sophie was stirring up. One Eldrin captain, however. They were tight around their camp, secured by wolves and hounds, the perimeter guarded by men who kept watch near the fires where the rest of the caravan unloaded and rested. Still, with only fifty men, they were far more vulnerable to a night raid than the main army of three hundred.

Knives coated in Anika’s poison were carefully wrapped in leaves before I tucked them away in a special pocket. As always, I rechecked my gear before the raid: four Molotovs (three clay, one glass), fourteen throwing knives (having lost several throughout this campaign), a single dose of potion, two bandages, and three days’ worth of food.

I exhaled deeply, my nerves tight and my head throbbing from the blood loss the arrow had caused. The pain was sharp, but I pushed it aside. It was dusk now, and a herd of elk grazed near the camp, just before a meadow. A thicket of trees bordered the camp’s edge, half a mile away.

Riding Rudolph, I guided him toward the other side of the herd, careful to let the male bulls take notice. They began raising their heads, challenging one another. I didn’t wait.

I focused, summoning Cyclopean Beam. My eyes flared with red-hot magic, and the energy shot out in a stream, crashing into a giant oak. The tree groaned and fell toward the herd. The elk scattered, the stampede beginning as the trees crashed into their grazing ground. JD, ever watchful, followed behind me, letting out sharp alarm caws that scattered the herd toward the encampment. Perfect.

Reaching into Rudolph’s saddlebags, my hands trembled as I grabbed a glass Molotov. The pain in my shoulder didn’t help steady my grip. I lit it with the Ring of Ignition and hurled it toward the parked wagons.

The camp erupted in chaos. Wolves and dogs howled, adding to the confusion, and the elk charged through the camp like a flood. Men scrambled, disoriented, as fire bloomed from every direction. I threw Molotov after Molotov, setting fire to tents, wagons, and scattered supplies. Anything they had, I set alight with the Firewielder skill, feeding the flames until the night crackled with heat and screams.

The wine casks, meant to lift the soldiers' morale, fell victim to my dagger. Slashed open, they tumbled from the flaming wagons, spilling streams of alcohol onto the ground. Seizing a nearby torch, I ignited the trails, sending flames racing toward the tents and other wagons.

With Cyclopean Beam and Acid Spit off cooldown, I unleashed them on groups of Beastkin, carving through their ranks with fiery blasts and acidic fury. My throwing knives followed, a hail of iron machine-gunning through men’s unprotected foreheads as they scrambled out of their tents, half-dressed and coughing from the thick smoke. Confusion clouded their movements, and I used it to my advantage, mowing them down one by one.

The flood of elk had finally passed, leaving destruction in its wake. Taking advantage of the chaos, I shadowed the last few elk to the far side of the camp. But my work wasn’t finished. I still needed to retrieve my knives and ensure no survivors were left to spread word of what had happened here.

I dismounted Rudolph under the cover of the darkened woods, leaving him hidden. Creeping back toward the smoldering camp, I used Shadow Walk. Through JD’s eyes, I saw deserters fleeing the carnage while others desperately tried to extinguish the flames.

These shouldn’t be infected with Covid, so they should be okay to flee back to Kronfeldt and maybe find less dangerous work.

As I approached, a chained hound’s relentless barking broke through the cacophony. Its nose caught my scent despite Shadow Walk. It bared its fangs, but I tossed it some dried meat from my bag, soothing its aggression. Quiet returned.

Two gnolls, distracted by the chaos, were looting a caravan’s coffers from the captain’s tent. They didn’t even see me coming. A knife to the back of the neck ended their spree, my blade driving deep into their skulls.

Patrolling the camp, I retrieved my throwing knives from the fallen bodies. My focus was sharp until a prickle at the back of my neck made me freeze.

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I’m being hunted.

I melted behind tent covers just as I noticed them: yellow feline eyes gleaming in the dark. A man stepped into the firelight. Dull red hair, tied back in a ponytail, framed his long, thin beard. He carried a massive polearm, his glowing orange eyes staring straight at me. Five black panthers flanked him, their growls reverberating in the smoky air.

“We meet at last, Stalker,” he said, his tone unnervingly amused. “Drudus warned me you might strike.”

My mask—crap, I’d forgotten to put it on. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the cat mask from Kronfeldt, slipping it over my face. Not that it mattered—this man wasn’t leaving here alive.

“Oh my, it seems you’re a Chattel. You must have a powerful class to cause such destruction. I can’t wait to bring you back to Dr—”

Before he could finish whatever smug speech he had prepared, I launched a knife at him. He deflected it with his polearm’s staff, but I followed up with Acid Spit. The orb of sizzling green acid landed among his panthers, reducing one to a charred, smoking heap. The others sprang into attack mode.

Activating Harpy’s Flight, the skill surging like a short-duration jetpack, I launched myself into the air just as the remaining panthers sprang. Their claws grazed the air beneath my feet, but I retaliated mid-flight with Cyclopean Beam, incinerating them all in a blazing arc.

I landed on their bodies which disintegrated into blue wisps and then I immediately bolted into the darkness. My instincts screamed at me to keep moving. Pain shot up my leg.

A screeching symphony erupted behind me. I turned to see the Eldrin pull a card from his robes, summoning a swarm of bats. They poured from the void, a cloud of flapping, biting chaos. Their tiny teeth tore at my neck and ears as they swarmed around me.

Slashing wildly with both knives, I hacked through the chaos. It felt like breaststroking through a storm of flying rodents, my blades carving through the dense swarm of bats. Blood and shredded wings clung to my arms as I fought to break free. JD dove into the fray, tearing out bat eyes and scattering them. Together, we cleared the air, but not before I was left bleeding and utterly spent.

Chugging a potion, I steadied myself, but the ground trembled beneath me. The Eldrin was coming with a new summon.

Through the gloom, Amber Nightstalker revealed his mount: a massive, armored beast with a single horn jutting from its snout. A rhino—its silver hide gleamed in the moonlight as it barreled toward me, the Eldrin atop it, halberd raised like a lance.

I whistled for Rudolph, praying he’d come. The rhino smashed through the trees like they were twigs, each step reverberating through the earth. Just as I spotted the familiar outline of antlers charging toward me, I vaulted onto Rudolph’s back in one smooth motion.

We sped off through the forest, weaving through the tight maze of trees. The rhino, unbothered by obstacles, simply plowed through. Splinters and branches exploded around us, the Eldrin’s relentless pursuit echoing behind. My cooldowns were still ticking. I had to think fast.

When Acid Spit finally came off cooldown, I executed a quick rollback and hurled the green orb at the rhino’s legs. The acidic projectile struck its knees, causing the beast to stumble. Its immense weight crashed forward, leaving a dust cloud as it tumbled. In the chaos, I reached into my bag, grabbed my last clay, Molotov, ignited it with my ring, and hurled it at the downed rider and his mount. Flames erupted, engulfing them in a fiery explosion. The Molotov lacked enough fuel to finish off the rider and beast.

The rider, his long red ponytail singed and his once-bronze armor blackened with soot, leaped free of the inferno. His halberd was raised high as he charged at me, his eyes burning with fury. He brought the weapon down in a hammer strike aimed at severing my left arm, gripping a long knife that activated a Parry.

The impact sent him stumbling back, and I seized the opportunity of the daze effect left by Parry. With Deadly Shot primed, I aimed a poison-coated dagger and launched it straight at his exposed collar. The blade struck true, sinking into flesh. Blood gushed from the wound as he grimaced, but he quickly yanked the dagger out, his hand fumbling for a potion at his side which JD swooped in and swiped right off his hands.

“Not so fast,” I muttered, urging Rudolph forward. My mount lowered his antlers and charged. The Eldrin barely had time to react before Rudolph's antlers struck his chest, bruising his armor and sending him sprawling backward in a loud thud that sent dirt and mud flying.

Desperate, he reached for another potion again, but a throwing knife pinned his wrist to the ground. His teeth clenched, his eyes filled with hate as black veins crept up his neck and face, the poison from my dagger working through his body.

"It’s you or me," I thought grimly, my grip tightening on my knife. Killing never got easier—but hesitation meant death.

I stared at the potion just out of his grip.

Should I… I should probably keep him alive to question. I don’t want to do that. But…

The decision was out of my hands as the poison took hold. He convulsed, choking on black ichor as he tried to sound his final words. At last, his chest heaved one final time, and he lay still. The rhino summon, which had just risen to charge at me, vanished into blue wisps.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding in my ears. Pain and aches radiated through my body, but the worst was in my leg, which had been pushed to its limit through that sprint. A searing, white-hot agony shot through it with every movement, like fire burning through bone. My head felt light, and it was all I could do to keep myself standing. My mouth felt like sandpaper. Lost too much blood. A potion can’t fix that. I wiped the sweat from my brow, trying to focus.

Something compelled me to check my cards, which I did while I gave myself a moment to recover, and I noticed one of them had crossed a threshold.

Throwing Weapons - 6

A new skill card pack was unlocked, offering three choices:

Boomerang - C

A weapon you throw will return to command.

Cooldown: 90 seconds

Poison Edged - C

Coat a weapon with a poison that deals damage over time.

Cooldown: 300 seconds

Ricochet - C

Your weapon bounces between targets if they are five meters from each other (up to 4 targets)

Cooldown: 200 Seconds

The options shimmered before me, waiting for my choice.

Ruling out Poison Edged was an easy decision, I could always coat my knives manually. As for Boomerang and Ricochet, I weighed my options carefully. Ricochet was powerful, no doubt, but it didn’t quite fit my hit-and-run style. I wasn’t aiming to be the kind of fighter who stood toe-to-toe with multiple opponents. That’s what my Cyclopean Beam and Molotovs were for. Boomerang, though? It aligned perfectly with my preference for striking and retreating—a weapon that could return to me would save time and resources. I locked in Boomerang.

That night, I stayed to clean up the wrecked camp. With their leader gone and most of the soldiers dead or scattered, I hunted down the remaining stragglers who hadn’t fled. Looting the boss’s tent turned up a small chest containing two hundred First mints and one hundred Second mints—the funds meant to pay the main army. I doubt they’ll be pleased about going unpaid.

What am I going to do with all this money?

The other intriguing find in the captain’s tent was a book, its pages filled with a language I couldn’t read. I’d hand it off to James when I got the chance; he could decipher it.

As I prepared to leave, I stumbled across a young man near my age trying desperately to put out the fires. His curly flaxen hair was matted with sweat and ash, and dirt streaked his hands and face. Something about him felt… off. A strange pull inside me stopped me from turning away. Then I realized: that by defeating his former master, I’d unintentionally claimed ownership of him.

A Slave card materialized in my hand, displaying my claim as his new owner. At that moment, he froze mid-action, almost as if commanded by an unseen force, and turned to face me.

“Y-you… you’re my new Master. But you’re a Chattel?” he stammered, his voice filled with awe and fear.

I sighed, already exhausted from the night’s events, and replied curtly in Lokan, “Gather your things. You’re coming with me.”

“W-what?” His confusion was almost palpable.

“Hop on,” I said, gesturing to Rudolph.

Hesitantly, he obeyed, climbing onto Rudolph behind me. As we rode off through the camp ruins to search for loot, I wanted to know how he could help me.

“Do you know how to fish?” I asked, wondering if he might contribute to the final trap I was about to set up before I returned to Thornhill to pick up Cass.

“Oh yes, Master, I’m a great fisher. I can farm too... even cook a little,” he replied eagerly as if trying to prove his worth.

“Don’t call me or anyone else ‘Master,’” I said sharply, cringing at the title. “My name is Orion.”

“I’m Leowin... Mas—uh, I mean... sire.”

“Pick up whatever crossbows and loot what you can. We’ll need it where we’re going.”

He hesitated, then asked nervously, “Where are we going... um, sire?”

“Sanctuary.”