Chapter 2: Like A Very Lost Soul

~ Part 2: Peaceful Aftermath Camping ~

I’ve set up camp about half-an-hour away from the area of devastation.

The once peaceful-looking [Sacred Oak Grove] is now a thoroughly trashed clearing, about a mile in diameter, unnaturally circular in shape and littered with fallen trees, uprooted stomps, piles of charred/smashed/pierced corpses and broken bones half sunken into a sticky layer of blood-mixed mud.

Maybe I went a little overboard.

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………

“…Naaaaaah.”

Rule 38 of “Elric’s little Travel Guide, Philosophy of Life and Deaths”: There’s no such thing as too much.

When I left the battlegrounds, burning trees and shrubbery were still lighting up the darkness. But it started to rain a short while ago, so I don’t think there’s much risk of the flames spreading to the rest of the forest. Much.

But then, I’m fireproof, so who cares.

Yeah! Fuck you Nature!

I didn’t say that. And don’t be vulgar.

Sitting under a tree near my own little campfire, and protected by a [Cleansing Waters Shield] – dark magic, rainwater, it’s really an all-purpose spell – I’m going through the measly loot I gathered from the remains of my nutty adversary’s smelly henchmen.

Most of it isn’t really useful to me. Or useful, period. I might have already mentioned this, or not, but undead loot is as rotten as the monsters it comes from. Just trash items really. Well, [Feathered Tentacle of the little Quacken] can probably be sold as a collectible…

Are people at Whatever’s paid to come up with those names?

Sounds like someone Googled “duck pun” and picked up the first or second thing that popped up.

Who would be that desperate?

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………

Why do I hear whistling?

It’s only in your head. I know. I’m there.

O-kaaay…

That said, there’s one object that catches my attention: the spoils of war obtained from Its Squeakiness Itself. I take the small black nut out of my inventory and it immediately starts producing a heavy black smoke that falls to the ground through my fingers.

“Command. Inspect.”

Fated Acorn of Power Types: Artefact, Locked accessory Restriction: Dark Mage Power: ???? Durability: ∞

An ancient relic from the Age of Gods. It may look like an average dried fruit, but it is said to have caused the collapse of mountains, the death of entire species and even the end of an ice age.

It’s cursed, like might suggest the black miasma oozing from it.

You lack experience in the Dark Arts to understand the awesomity of this acorn.

Bonus Info:

Due to your amazing affinity with the Divine, you feel the power of the Goddess of Fate’s anger in the curse attached to this item. Misfortune will follow the owner of this acorn everywhere. You are currently unaffected by the curse, either because you aren’t the registered owner, or maybe because Fate Herself thought you were too pitiful already. You know, one of the two.

Is it me, or is the system purposely trying to piss me off?

I don’t think it’s you.

With a sigh, I inventory the evil nut, which in the end is as useless to me as the rest of this junk fest.

I stand up to throw another piece of wood in the fire. I don’t really need to, since my clothes are enchanted to keep me warm. But it’s for the ambience, you know? And it does lit up the surroundings. Plus there’s an undeniable charm in cooking over a campfire in the middle of a rainstorm, surrounded by a big bubble.

I’ve changed out of my armour. It’s not really comfortable to rest in and I’ve already genocided the majority of the monsters nearby, so this place is relatively safe.

Famous last words.

Shut up.

I’m not completely disregarding safety though. I put up some protective wards. Because I plan on taking a short nap and there’s nothing more annoying than having your beauty sleep interrupted by a monster rudely trying to kill you. Those creatures have no sense of etiquette. On the other hand, I shouldn’t have any problem handling whatever might come. My health and mana have both fully recovered from the fight.

Apparently, I fainted after defeating Nutrek earlier because I ran out of mana. I had forgotten that could happen. Because the undead are usually so easy to deal with, it’s been a while since I encountered an opportunities to completely empty my mana pool.

Not to mention emptying your mana-pool in the middle of a fight is freaking dumb.

What did I say about vulgarity? Besides, it wasn’t in the middle of the fight, but at the end.

And what would have you done if that pesky crittomancer had evaded your “O so mighty” last punch?

I…

…would have died like a little shit.

Well… yeah.

But, hey! Rule 6: “It’s the end result that matters.”

And: Language!

…What am I going to do with you?

Endure? And tell yourself it could always be worse. Rule 10. That’s what I do every morning when I look in the mirror and realise I’m still me.

That’s depressing.

It is.

*sigh*

*sigh*

You know you’re getting depressed when your sassy imaginary friend feels down too.

I sit back down by the fire and pull a frying pan out of my inventory. There are quite a few indentations in the cooking implement, including one that looks suspiciously like the face of Prince Sunflower. I knew forging this thing in orichalcum would pay off. That metal conducts heat surprisingly well. I don’t get why people aren’t making more orichalcum cooking gear.

I should make myself an orichalcum Dutch oven. Except I wouldn’t call it a Dutch oven. Because that name is stupid.

So I have the fire, the utensil, the appetite… the only thing missing is the food.

Misère…

I have a healthy appetite, and I like to eat. Weeks of unnecessarily copious meals have thusly taken their toll on my reserves, which are now reduced to three loafs of rancid bread and some edible herbs I’ve picked along the way. I feel like crying. It is to the point where “cooking” sounds a bit like an overstatement. “Softening solid bricks in a pallid broth” would still be too kind.

Well, it does fill my satiety bar, I guess.

“Yopiti-woo~ Ahhhhh… I miss my meat.”

What would I give for a bloody steak marinade? What wouldn’t I give? The simple thought of that tender flesh makes my mouth water. And the notion I can’t have it makes my eyes water too. Lots of fluids involved.

Bottom line? I’m hungry. Of course, I could log out and eat, if I so decided. But that’s beside the point. I would still be hungry when logging back in. One of the “perks” of high realism, I suppose?

At night, my starving carnivorous self dreams of raining boar-steaks, flying deer-skewers, rivers of rabbit stew, spiralling rib-nadoes and sexy chicks dancing the cancan. Roasted chicks. I would normally hunt for meat, however, that isn’t possible at my current location, plagued with unappetising undead – not even tempting when they were fluffy and gothic cute.

In this Kingdom, all wildlife has fled long ago – or been devoured – leaving only corpses wandering around. You could argue that in Erwyin, the undead are the wildlife. And no one in their right mind would dare consume undead flesh, as it’s highly poisonous… and tastes horrible, even cooked.

Trust him. He knows.

Do you need to comment on everything?

Er, yes? Wait. Was that a question or a statement?

…I’m not sure myself.

Never mind.

The only place around here where I’ll be able to find a “decent” solid meal is in one of the fortified townships. Their inns aren’t four stars hotels, but on the other hand, roaches add a lot of proteins to the simplest dishes. Roaches. Because who needs spices?

Left with little choice on the matter, I satisfy myself with my very, very diet meal, then spent some time dry-cleaning my tableware with holy fire before taking out my sleeping bag.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Now. On a side note. This may seem a rather simple action, taking out a sleeping bag. But most players would look at me funny for even owning such a piece of equipment. Sleeping in-game is something most people simply do not do. The vast majority of players deem it rather pointless because it doesn’t relieve much actual fatigue, especially the mental kind, and it takes time away from hunting and levelling. So why bother?

I, however, make a point of deep-napping at least four hours every night.

First, because I like sleeping outdoors.

What? Monsters? That’s what wards are for, duh.

As a solo player, I make my own schedule, so I do whatever I want, without the interference of those annoyingly attention-demanding beings known as… “people”.

I’m not misanthrope per say… just not much of a social animal either.

Understatement of the year...

Didn’t ask for your opinion.

You can’t escape your own thoughts.

…That sounded uselessly profound.

Really, I do enjoy the company of others, I truly do, but not so much what they expect of me. Although I’m rather good at ignoring said expectations.

Which is precisely why people call you rude.

Am I conspiring against myself?

…No you’re not.

Oh. Good to know.

Yeah. Sure. Trussssst in meeeee~

Second reason: because my [Solar Knight] class depends much on daylight. I lose many buffs after sundown – like a plumber out of shrooms. I can deal with clouds, even lots of them, but night really doesn’t look good on me. I thus prefer to sleep off the hours during which I’m at my weakest. Of course, again, I could have logged off, but please refer to reason one. Plus your avatar doesn’t actually just poof out when you exit the game, but kind of just… stay there… comatose.

It’s actually pretty dangerous.

Errr… What else? …Ah. There’s also a whole lot of minor… stuff. Kind of like… bonuses in health regeneration? Yeah. And mana and stamina too. Something like one hour of +5% for each hour of sleep… I mean after waking up… the bonuses… I think.

Well, that was accurate…

Didn’t I tell you to shut up at some point today?

I never really bothered with checking these kinds of details, because there’s a truckload of parameters influencing the extent of the boosts and deboosts. Like, on this specific matter, the potential buffs depends on whether you’re sleeping outside, in a bed, in the mouth of a drake – bad memories –, in the cold, if the drake is awake or not, in the rain, missing a limb or not, alone, sick, if the drake is breathing fire, et cetera.

Most aspects of UT are like this, very complex in their inner workings but relatively intuitive. Stats and percentages are just indicative values, really. Don’t take them as gospel truth. I don’t.

The effects are nothing fancy, but they can be felt everywhere. Punching someone from a higher ground will have more impact, for example. Or sirens can’t as easily control creatures who don’t consider them… err… suitable mating partners – to say it politely – regardless of the exact amount of [Willpower] one possessed. A treant wouldn’t give a pollination.

The stats matter, of course, but in a duel between closely matched opponents, the smallest circumstances might end up influencing heavily the outcome. Just like in real life.

I also take advantage of this side note to point out sirens and mermaids are not, in fact, the same creature. Mermaids are half-fish women, while the sirens are historically half-bird and sing to attract sailors to their doom. Go check your Greek mythology. Somehow they got mixed up along the line. Probably because having sexy sea creature who can swim and have an enticing voice made more sense when it comes to killing innocent fishermen.

In Untold Tales, the creators went along with the more pop-cultural contemporary interpretation of having both species be this half-fish, half human-ish hybrid – though their skin is kind of greenish brownish bluish… seaweed coloured.

However, they are still different clans. Merfolk have both male and female individuals, and are more civilised and pacifistic, while sirens are only females – like lamias, arachnes, harpies – and… well… I wouldn’t recommend trying and French kiss a siren if you like having your tongue attached to the inside of your mouth.

That tongue was totally worth it.

Oh so worth it.

Not all sirens are flesh-hungry barbarian though. Some are very… er… if not friendly, at least reasonable. Mermaid royalty even employs several of them as personal guards, because they’re badasses… bad-tails? I don’t know. There’s actually an interesting anecdote that happened to me, which involves the mermaid crowned princess and her–

I think you’re getting majorly off track.

Right.

“Well, that story will be for another time, kids.”

Who are you talking to?

What? You jealous?

I yawn and stretch. I also adjust my nightcap, which is falling over my eyes. I tailored that nightcap myself. Along with the matching wizardly sleeping-robe – both blue with little smiling stars – and the pair of fluffy white slippers, made from the skin and fur of my own very first pair of [Horned Rabbits] – the horns are still there. These fluffies pack a mean kick.

Honestly, this outfit serves no real purpose, besides being sinfully comfortable.

Well, as per rule number two: “Comfortableness and style have to be prioritized over efficiency.” Not that I had much of a fashion sense, but that’s beside the point.

And I guess the ensemble does repel cold and doesn’t get dirty or tear easily. Magic. What a convenient thing. Tailors are lucky adventurers suck at taking care of their gear, or they would be out of business after everyone buys a single set of clothes.

I remove my slippers and wriggle my way into the sleeping bag. I lay on the mossy ground, staring up at the heavy drops that crash against my magical bubble. I’ve always felt a strange sensation of peace when watching the rain from a dry warm place. Rain can be extremely soothing when you’re not soaked to the bone and a breath away from hypothermia. If I had a cup of warm chocolate and a handful of cookies, right now would be perfect.

It’s funny how cursed places never seem to have a welcoming climate. An undead would still be an undead, even under the sun… Well, maybe not… That would often be a pile of ashes, but still…

“Is there like… yawn... a side clause about the weather in every daaa-awn… dark evil spell or… something? That’d be… pretty… stu…”

Mumbling to myself, I close my eyes and slowly drift off to sleep.

Wait. Are we going to completely ignore what happened earlier?

Darn it, Brain. I’m trying to sleep. What do I mean “what happened earlier”?

Little girl? Pink room? Tea? Overpowered prude probably virgin mammoth? Fuck. I can now add the virginity of a fifteen thousand pounds hairy pachyderm to my lists of things I could have died happily without ever wondering about.

Oh, that. Nah. It’s no big deal.

We’re still bald though.

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Where are we anyway?

You’re dodging. But that’s a good point to raise.

I haven’t just gone senile. I know I am somewhere in the [Lost Woods], in the [Kingdom of Erwyn], inside a game, but the question of “where” exactly in these blasted woods is a question worth asking.

My memories of the previous day are confused, to say the least. That happens sometimes when I’m enjoying myself too much. Everything else – time, places, people – tends to fade to the back of my mind, if they even still register. That said, I’m quite sure that in my happy bloodlust-induced frenzy, I crossed the road at least once or twice, meaning the town of Cali could be in any direction by now.

Well, I know it’s probably West-South-West of my position, but that poses the subsidiary question.

Where is North?

Can I make a joke about how things are seriously starting to go South?

No.

I still believe we should address the matter of ending up in a crazy dimension at the end of a fight with a squirrel lich.

Not now. I’m tired.

But–

I cooked old bread and weeds with a frying pan.

Point taken. Good night.

Good night.

I turn inside the sleeping back and lay on my side. I can distinguish the lights of the fire through my closed eyelids. It feels rather nice, if a bit lonely. It’s at times like this that wish I had someone sleeping beside me.

Oh well, tomorrow is another day.

Isn’t that what you said yesterday?

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*sigh*

*sigh*

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