“And what about them? You must know what our response will be if they rise against us. You are willing to throw away their lives for an idea?”
“That is their decision, not mine. If you kill them, their blood is on your hands.”
“But they will bleed regardless, and you will have achieved nothing.”
“You would not understand our desperation. Our answer remains unchanged.”
“How many of you will die in vain for this dream?”
“None of us. All of us.”
Discussion between unnamed slave and 1st Centurion Saccarius during the Breeze-Born Rebellion circa. 197, as described in the book ‘All I Have Witnessed’ by Scribe Julius of the Desolate Empire
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I did not wake from sleep gently, nor rise from unconsciousness in a flash. I simply saw again.
My eyes had been open, staring and occasionally blinking, but there was no ‘me’ to process and understand the image until now. The brown covering of pine needles and dirt was familiar, and the occasional patches of green moss stood proudly like islands amidst a sea of loam.
I lay on my side, my head rising from the ground as I twitched. Pain in my neck and shoulder told me I had been lying in one position for too long, and I gingerly sat up. My left arm was still dislocated but the swelling was no more dramatic than it had been immediately after my fight with the mountain lion, which told me I had not been insensate for too long.
There was no sign of the ants, and I shivered at even the thought of them, reaching towards my soul to activate Heart of the Hills. A calmness washed over me as the skill took hold, banishing my fears and smoothing out the peaks and troughs of my recent experiences until they lay flat before me like a map to be read, rather than a roller coaster to be experienced.
I noted absently that I had no trouble activating the skill, and the space within my soul that housed whatever substance powered my skills had returned. It was deeper than before, had more volume and the edges seemed more defined. It was filling slower though, and a few moments of careful attention showed that it was not just relative to the size of my soul-space but rather an absolute decrease in the speed that it filled.
Screw it, I was going to come up with actual names for these concepts. No point struggling to quantify things in my own head. I had a core, filling with mana, which I used to activate skills. There. Done.
So my mana was refilling slower, but my core was larger. A few more moments of attention made me reconsider. It wasn’t that the speed of my mana recovery had slowed, but my core was filling slower all the same. So, some of my mana was being used, consistently at a steady rate, for something.
Further examination of my core – and what a weird sensation that was, visualising something that didn’t exist and trying to rotate it without disrupting the mental image – showed me two faint siphons, sucking mana from my core and leading it towards….
My view expanded, and suddenly my core became a distant spec within my ‘vision’. A small pinprick of light within the galaxy that was my soul. Mana was dragged in a whirling pattern from that spec towards two distant constellations of twinkling lights.
I was shocked at the scale of them in comparison to my tiny core, and nearly cut the flow of mana in that moment. I hesitated though, as while the difference in size between the representation of my core and these skills was astronomical – literally – the skills were both still alight. Each tiny string of mana from my core was enough to light up each constellation, to illuminate the many twinkling lights that coalesced into recognisable patterns.
They were not of any language I could understand, but I knew them all the same. One was a swirling nebula that rotated constantly in every dimension. A kaleidoscope of whirling light and colour that resembled nothing so much as a giant ball. Each individual light would dance in dizzying patterns throughout the vast web of nothingness it was suspended within, but the constellation somehow stayed stationary and discrete. This was Heart of the Hills, and it swallowed mana greedily.
Dwarfing it in scale entirely by orders of magnitude was the constellation for Indomitable Prey. To take in its staggering complexity required several forced perspective shifts, as if zooming out of a screen. Despite my core being a pinprick to begin with before the change in scale, I could still see it in the centre of my view. Mana flowed steadily from my core to the titanic constellation that represented the active skill. It covered the background, dominating my core and the other skill constellations within my soul-space. Heart of the Hills stayed alight, burning merrily away, while wrapped in a twinkling embrace by the dancing stars of Indomitable Prey.
I couldn’t see the other skills I had, but I felt their presence nonetheless. They lurked in the void, awaiting an influx of mana to activate them and set their pathways alight with the fire of my will. Varied in shape and pattern, they nonetheless were dwarfed by the overwhelming dominion of Indomitable Prey. It’s complexity and scale were orders of magnitude above my other skills, but its mana-drain was incommensurate with its size. It was counter-intuitive in the extreme and I returned my vision to my core to puzzle it out.
I saw the well of mana reducing fast, and realised I would quickly lose all I regained while insensate if I kept both skills active. I cut off the flow to Heart of the Hills and instantly my core began to refill faster. It would still take many long moments to fill – completely unworkable during a fight – but the change of pace was noticeable all the same.
Without the careful regulation from my calming skill, my mind whirled with possibilities in response to what I was seeing, and I lost the mental focus necessary to stay within this inner world of my soul. I had learned so much in such little time!
My nomenclature was probably completely off, and my visualisation was likely just as flawed, to say nothing at all of the theoretical underpinnings of my musings. I was like an ant poking at a leaf and trying to comprehend the shape of the forest above.
And yet I was excited. Despite all the impossible things I had witnessed so far, this felt the most like magic to me. I had been plagued by the fear that while these attribute gains were incredible, they could simply be taken away at a moment’s notice. The permanent changes seemed too good to be true, and I was half convinced they must be ephemeral in nature because of it.
But the vision of my soul – and who cared if it wasn’t actually a soul? – seemed to hint at these changes being truly mine. If I could understand how things worked through simple introspection…
A crashing in the woods behind me interrupted my excitement and made me spin in place, and I saw the tusks of a large boar come barrelling from between the trees. It locked beady eyes with me and stuttered to a halt. I dropped to a crouch, ready to dive to the side, but my shoulder protested the movement and pain shot through me, making me flinch.
Instead of capitalising on the momentary distraction, the boar turned tail and fled from site with a snorting bellow. I paused, wondering at the bizarre behaviour before recalling the description of my newest skill. “…use this skill to remind all who would seek to make you prey, that you are not to be taken lightly.”
It was still active, had likely been so continuously since I had faced the swarm and activated it the first time, and it seemed to be acting as some sort of aura skill to scare off any would-be assailants. I took notice of the sun’s location, marking its position to my eye against the canopy above, and waited patiently for my core to fill. I focused on my breathing and let the sun wash over me as I waited, satisfied to note that the sun hadn’t moved in the sky by the time I was topped off once more.
I drew a final steadying breath before activating Heart of the Hills once more. I welcomed the sense of distance from the world outside and stepped calmly towards a nearby tree. Gripping my limp arm, I positioned it carefully before slamming my shoulder into the tree.
A loud pop sounded, and pain flared to life in my shoulder, but it washed over me in moments – a spring welling over grasses.
A new fire lit in my belly as I considered the final leg of my journey. I was closing in on The Breach, and I knew that that must be to blame for the increased density of the creatures and their aggressiveness.
Jorge had mentioned that there was a constant stream of fighting monsters in this place, and that it would take a few extra days to detour around. They would have simply cut their way through the creatures, and with my new skill scaring away all before me, I was planning to do the same. I would waste no more time in this valley.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
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Days passed in a blur of fighting, running, and hunting.
I gained another three levels and invested the earned points into cognition, perception, and agility. I also gained a few skill levels and lost most of my gear in the process. My jury-rigged backpack – meaning my bundled cloak lashed together by vines – finally gave up as I was forced to run from a group of badgers.
I felt the sting of losing the firelighter pebble and eating knife the most, but once I recognised the small mammals as badgers I decided to cut my losses. I would happily fight wolves and cougars, snakes and boar. But badgers? Fuck no. I couldn’t remember the details clearly – like much of my previous life it was faded and indistinct, a sense of distance pervading all my memories of before and making them slip from my mind – but I knew there was something about badgers and honey, and my instincts warned of danger.
I had passed The Breach and the battlefield that flowed out around it in a whirl of activity, and I was now within sight of the plains below. I could actually see the ridgeline on either side of the valley flowing towards the open plains. A few dozen miles and I would be in settled lands. I glanced at my status in appreciation, realising I should be able to make the journey in a single day.
Ancestry: Human (unevolved)
Level: 22
Class: Blood of the Hills
Titles: God-touched
Attribute allocation:
Strength: 21
Agility: 20
Endurance: 18
Perception: 18
Cognition: 18
Available attributes: 0
Current skills:
Guerrilla Warfare: Level 7. Passive.
Wilderness Endurance Hunter: Level 4. Passive.
Cloven-Hooved: Level 5. Passive.
Heart of the Hills: Level 3. Active.
Check Step: Level 4. Active.
Hill-Folk: Level 5. Passive.
Indomitable Prey: Level 5. Active.
Open skill slot
My appearance was ragged, and I was in dire need of a wash, but my excitement buoyed me onwards regardless. Tattered red robes clung to my body, strips of cloth wrapped my forearms and shins, and my leather boots were patchy and beaten. The jagged opening in the robes had been ripped further, exposing the hard muscle of my abdomen to the elements, and one arm was missing an entire sleave from an overzealous lunge from a Juvenile Vampiric Deer.
My hair was hanging in unkempt knots and a beard had colonised my lower face entirely, but even it couldn’t hide my grin as I ran whooping towards the end of the valley. Hours passed in a blur as I flowed through trees and followed goat-tracks, disturbing nesting birds with the occasional hoot of exhilaration.
The ridges on either side of the forest were fading, their stark majesty settling into a more stately dignity as they descended in a gentle decline before merging with the rolling plains of grassland beyond. The forest erupted from the confines of the valley like a flash-flood, surging into the plains and expanding rapidly to either side before losing steam as the rolling hills gave way to steady flatlands. The grasses that had been kept in check by the forest canopy then began to dominate, rising into the air and flowing with the winds till the flatlands looked like nothing so much as a sea of green rippling waves.
And there, standing proud and alone within the green sea was a small clutter of buildings. Not downed trees, not rock formations or caves. Buildings, wrought by hands guided by intelligence. An outpost, humans, and the promise of civilisation. My laughter bubbled up and spilled out of my mouth as I ran and skipped and dashed down towards the grasslands in a mile-eating stride. The closer I drew, the more excited I became until with a start I realised I could make out details on the buildings.
They were no longer below me in the distance, but in front of me at the same level and only a mile away. I slowed and began to walk through the long grass rather than rush. I used my calming skill to keep the excitement at bay and started to really think things through.
I would be unlikely to find my previous companions, since I’d taken at least 6-8 weeks by my estimate to cross the endless valleys – it was hard to keep track of time effectively with nothing to mark its passage with, especially at first.
Jorge’s original estimate had put it at a month-long trip for me and I didn’t expect them to wait around for an entire month extra at what was apparently a small outpost in the middle of nowhere, for a man they’d met for less than two hours in total.
On the flip-side, Jorge had said they’d meet me here. They were far more competent than me and Nathlan apparently had some sort of warding/tracking magic so perhaps they knew exactly where I was and had done since they’d left. Maybe they’d be waiting for me now at the inn with a bath drawn and a steaming plate of gravy-covered vegetables.
The thought brought a grin to my face, but that expression quickly soured as my inner cynic reared its unwelcome head and told me in no uncertain terms that they were likely gone, or possibly even dead. I couldn’t have nice things happen to me after all: No no no, that would be a travesty!
I pushed away the cruel thoughts and tried to consider things in good faith. I was right that it would be unlikely to see them here and now, but perhaps they had left instructions for me – or a message at least – with one of the people who worked or lived here, before they had left? Asking around would do no harm anyway.
If that was the case, I could follow on after them and meet them somewhere further afield. Or I could just leave by myself, go somewhere else after restocking with some basic necessities. I had demonstrated my survival skills in the wilderness already for an entire two months or so. A few weeks travelling on actual roads couldn’t be any harder surely?
First things first, find out if they had been here and left any details, I could decide what I truly wanted afterwards.
I was God-Touched and that seemed to confer some ability to communicate with people regardless of the language they used. Vera had mentioned something about scholar’s tongue now that I thought about it – was that a skill? No matter; I could communicate with the locals and had coins of some variety so I should probably be fine. Worst case scenario I would work for board and information for a few weeks.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn’t notice the figure in front of me until her voice rang out into my ears with a sharp command.
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*Nathlan*
Nathlan nursed his mead and stretched out his legs under the thick oak table. To be back in civilisation was always a nice experience, but to return after over a month of constant travel and bloodshed? It was glorious.
This was his second week back at the trading outpost known to the locals as Gunthur’s Rest and to everyone else as ‘Trading Post 17’. He’d spent much of the first week in a delightful haze of food and sleep, and it had felt almost like a holiday. The happy atmosphere of a successful escape invigorated the group as they met for long lunches in the tavern and had a few friendly games.
He had managed to convince Vera to let him spectate a few of her races with Jorge, who promised to limit himself to her attribute allocation as well as practicable. That was a fun experience in a lot of ways, and he congratulated himself on only feeling the barest hint of jealously and bitterness as they blasted through the trees near the outpost at speeds he could only dream of, in a laughing conflagration of loops, twists and jumps.
They completed the course he had set out in moments, despite it taking him half the morning to mark out – the benefit of higher levels and not wasting half your life investing in the wrong skills and class. Still, he enjoyed seeing them compete and the friendly ribbing from Vera when she won was a balm for his bitter soul.
He continued to train diligently throughout the second week. While it was important to give yourself rest after hardship – what would be the point of pushing on if success only ever led to more work after all – he couldn’t allow himself more than a week without working on himself. He had been fanatical when he first found The Shepard, and it took Jorge a fair few months and some very pointed lectures before he let go of the belief that pain led to progress and rest was for those who lacked drive.
So, now he worked and he rested. He forced his body to new heights and then spent long bells relaxing afterwards. He read the few texts he had with him that he’d not yet devoured, and spent long evenings working on his skills, pushing closer to the merge he knew would herald his readiness to take the next step.
He swirled the dregs around his tankard before taking another small sip as the door opened. He looked up and noted the grimy hunter in the doorway before dismissing him just as quickly, returning his focus to the treatise on the table before him.
Another attempt at exposing Nathlan the Ancient – his namesake – but just like the hundreds of other such attempts, it seemed to ring hollow. The greatest scholar in the world drew criticism like a flame drew moths in the southern evenings, and yet most seemed to be written more out of personal enmity and spite than any substantial academic disagreement. He was the father of modern scholastic practice, and quite literally wrote the books that most of his critics were raised on-
His train of thought was interrupted as he felt a presence approach the outpost from the direction of the valley, brushing past one of his wards. He immediately broke the warding link he kept on Vera and Jorge, and started to gather up his scroll, carefully wrapping the papyrus back in its waxy covering before returning it to the solid bamboo case.
He then walked to the bar and handed over the case to the man cleaning behind it, exchanging a nod and single coin before striding out of the tavern. His hand rested on the handle of his sword, and he strode swiftly off, ducking behind the tavern and cutting along a small track at the back of the large four-story building.
He linked up with Vera halfway down the small path and debriefed her as they walked together. “My outer ward broke, about a mile outside the outpost and heading this way from the valley.”
“Not broken through any of your others though yet?” Vera asked.
“No, they’re moving slowly. Most likely to be that young girl with the silence domain who slipped us a couple weeks back. How do you want to handle this? And where’s Jorge?” Nathlan explained. He was flexing his hand on the handle of his blade repeatedly, and the taller woman noticed the unconscious action. She placed a hand on his shoulder as she replied.
“Good, that makes this easier. I’ll take the front, you stay back and cover yourself and Jorge from sight. He’ll be hiding to my right in the grasses with his spear ready, and I’ll do the talking. Easy lad.” She clapped him on the shoulder with her last words, and Nathlan just shook his head.
“Sure you don’t want to try the accent too? Might be more authentic.”
Vera scowled at that and bumped him with her shoulder before giving a brief chuckle and speaking in a strong brogue; “Aye lad, is that better?” She laughed and shook her head before continuing in her normal voice “Ah it’s hard to strike the balance. I want to learn from him, but my mind seems determined to just copy you know?”
“I understand Vera, trust me. Second ward just broke, they’re a few hundred meters out so I’ll wait here and get started. Shout if you need something.” He stopped and knelt to the floor as he spoke.
Vera continued for a few dozen meters before planting herself firmly on the worn grass and staring grimly towards the forest and valley above.