It was one thing to decide to hunt a dangerous monster capable of killing you in a flash, it was another to actually accomplish it.
First, he took stock of what was available to him. He had an empty vessel and a hefty metal pipe that made for a respectable club. The others had given him one of their spare white robes to keep the sunlight off him, but they didn't carry around spare armour.
In addition to himself, there were three eager and capable warriors hungry for vengeance against the monster.
Safiya was short but fast, likely the only one who had a chance of dodging an attack from the razor stalker. She was constantly playing with her daggers, flipping and catching them or spinning them around from a small ring at the base of their hilt. Three thick scars passed over her left eye, which was permanently screwed shut. He was slightly curious if it was missing or just damaged, but didn't feel it was important enough to ask such a personal question. When he had the vitality to spare, maybe he could see if it was something he could help with.
Despite her small stature, she had some impressive muscles, causing Symon to look down at his own body and sigh. He hadn't been healthy for long enough in his first life to properly work out, but hopefully he could change that around in his second life.
Serik had a short sword and what Symon had originally thought was a quarterstaff, but now knew was a massive bow that had been unstrung when he'd first seen it. The archer had a quiver filled with equally massive arrows, each one looking more like a short javelin than something he'd expect a bow to shoot. Like all the others, he had an impressive physique marred by plenty of scars. In contrast with the rest of his battle-hardened appearance, he possessed a rounded, youthful face. They were all young, 20 years or so — the same as Symon — but Serik had an extra layer of youthful innocence to him.
Despite his kind smile, Symon knew that an arrow launched by that bow would go right through him. It was a good thing they were all so impressed by Symon's healing.
Atabek still lay unconscious on the ground, his great axe by his side and bloodied robes removed. Even like this he exuded a dangerous aura. This was largely due to his impressive height and physique, even compared to the others in his group. He was built like a powerlifter, a layer of fat over an even bigger layer of muscles. With biceps that must have been as big as Symon's thigh, he would surely have wielded that massive axe to great effect against the stalker were he not injured.
Finally, the leader Aslan stood furthest away, keeping a vigilant watch for the return of the razor stalker. He wielded a shield and short spear, and while the others seemed to specialise, he was more of an all-rounder. He was surpassed by his teammates in their individual areas of expertise, but something about his ability to adapt to any situation appealed to Symon. He was also the only member of the group with a better than bare minimum grasp of the Common language, meaning he was the only one Symon could have anything approaching a proper conversation with.
Symon found him polite and soft-spoken, bordering on deferential. It was actually a little uncomfortable just how much the man listened to Symon. Of course, it would be normal for the man to be grateful after he saved the life of his friend, but Symon wasn't sure why it was so strong. The man was a similar age to Symon and had obviously seen his fair share of adventures already, making him feel woefully underprepared for this new situation by his previous suburban life.
Symon knew something was up when Aslan expressed his "Deepest and most profound amazement at your incredible hunting techniques." All he'd said was "how about we set a trap for this thing?" and he was being called a military genius.
Yeah, something is definitely going on. Keelgrave was even laughing in his mind.
"Um, you don't have to try and be so respectful to me man, we're all in this together, right? I'm sure you've killed more monsters than I've even seen."
"You honour me with your modesty, noble warrior monk of the sands!" the man half-shouted half-whispered, trying to contain his excitement as he pressed both his fists together and bowed deeply.
"See, that's what I mean. I'm just a... normal guy. Maybe, maybe you could say I have a noble spirit, but I'm not a warrior or anything else like that."
"You're... not a warrior?"
"Not even slightly. Two days ago, I almost got killed by a single centipede. Like, I'm pretty sure my heart stopped for a bit. I'm trying to just not think about that."
"For you to survive such a long journey through the sands, surely you must be a hidden master! Fear not, for I would sooner die than share your secret with another!"
"No man, no, I'm really not anything special! I woke up in the desert without any memories only two days ago, you and your group are the first human beings I've seen." Once again, he repeated his lie of being an amnesiac. They seemed like good people, but he had no way of knowing how they'd react to him being from another world. Why risk it?
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"You really don't remember anything?"
He shook his head in response. He didn't feel good lying to these people who had been nothing but nice to him, but he'd seen too many movies about the government wanting to experiment on people with strange powers to stop.
"Then... you are a hidden master who has removed their memories to challenge themselves!"
Symon's sigh was drowned out by Keelgrave's laughter.
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Eventually, he convinced Aslan that no, it was not a test when he asked what they knew about razor stalkers, and he was in fact legitimately in need of information. As it turned out, they knew very little beyond that it was a dangerous monster that their mothers would sometimes use as a cautionary tale as to why little children shouldn't wander off alone.
Helpfully, Keelgrave had something more detailed. He should have expected he'd have something to share, considering he'd recognised the creature the second he saw it. He explained that the stalker is named as such due to its hunting pattern; it picks a single target to stealthily follow until it has an opportunity to quickly kill them and abscond with the body. He inferred that it wasn't targeting Symon or Atabek, considering it had plenty of chances to kill them and hadn't taken it.
One of the three remaining adventurers were being targeted, and they had to kill the stalker before it succeeded. The cover of night would give the creature a large advantage, not that it really needed help hiding. They still weren't sure how the creature was so easily able to hide in the grass in broad daylight.
In response, the group huddled together to form a plan. Well, the rest of them huddled with an awkwardly large gap for Symon to stand in, far enough to not start draining them. They were fairly confident that the creature wouldn't try anything as long as they were all together, but if they were ever separated it was sure to strike. Perhaps they could use that to their advantage.
"Dammit Keelgrave, we aren't sacrificing our new friends!" he thought back at him. This was something they'd recently learned Symon could do as well — their telepathic communication was two way.
Symon's lifesaving healing probably bumped up their view of him, but that didn't mean they were using him. They probably wouldn't have been so trusting, but he seriously doubted they'd try to offer him up to the stalker even if he didn't have any helpful abilities. He barely knew this group, and the language barrier made things clunky, but he could tell they weren't that type of people.
Symon refocused on the group, doing his best to ignore Keelgrave's less-than-moral ideas. He'd gotten pretty good at it by now.
"We know the stalker is targeting one of you, but it won't try anything unless its sure of its success. As long as we watch each other's backs, it won't be able to get the drop on us,'' he said in Common. The translation was pretty fast by now, Symon thinking what he wanted to say and Keelgrave instantly providing the right words. It required an annoying amount of concentration, and his pronunciation was probably atrocious, but it worked well all things considered.
"The problems is," he continued, "that even if we sleep in shifts, it'll be too easy for the stalker to rip through us while half of us are asleep or recovering. We have to kill something that we can't see and can't catch before it gets the advantage of night on its side."
That was easier said than done, something even the most optimistic member of the group picked up on.
"We strong. Monster stronger," Safiya said succinctly. She had a point; even if they could face the monster in a fair fight, there was a considerable risk they wouldn't win. They would have stood a better chance if Atabek was in fighting shape, but even if that were true the odds weren't great. It would be better than slowly and inevitably being picked off, but that wasn't saying much.
Although, maybe Keelgrave's idea to use someone as bait wasn't entirely unreasonable. Only, they would be used to lure the monster into an advantageous position, instead of being sacrificed so everyone else could run away.
He would have been the bait, but frankly put he was by far the weakest of the group. The abilities he had gave him incredible potential, but he'd been starved of vitality and unable to fully unleash it. Plus, he hadn't been benefitting from the magical improvements of the Ledger for even two full days, while the others had some twenty odd years of experience. Granted, they probably weren't making massive gains as babies, but who knew how it influenced childhood?
Even if he had a full vessel, the healing wouldn't count for anything if the monster killed him straight away — something that he found scarily likely. He had no armour, no supernatural speed to avoid damage, and a Constitution that hadn't even surpassed some of the people back on Earth. His healing was fast relative to normal people, but such life-or-death fights were measured in seconds or scant few minutes. Much too quick for his low level healing to save him from a continued assault.
It seemed that if his plan was to work, someone else would have to be the bait.
Symon was hesitant to suggest this plan — after all, he knew he probably wouldn't react well to being told he would make excellent monster bait. It turned out this reluctance was misplaced, as Serik instantly and enthusiastically volunteered for the role.
This was in turn immediately vetoed by Aslan, who proved he was the leader for a reason when he said, in no uncertain terms, that the archer of the group would be the worst possible choice to deliberately send into melee range of a lightning-fast monster. Said archer begrudgingly conceded, but not before claiming that Aslan just wanted all the glory that came from being bait for himself.
Symon thought he was making a joke at first, but Serik was dead serious. The whole reason they were even on this adventuring journey far from their home was to slay a mighty monster and prove their strength, and what better way to show your courage than to lure it using your own life. He didn't follow this logic, but it made perfect sense to Serik.
Symon would rather be a living coward than a dead hero, but to each their own.
Aslan was the clear best choice, the reach from his spear meaning he might be able to keep the monster at bay for a few moments, and his shield meaning he could hopefully block a few hits. It was very uncertain though, considering the razor stalker was named as such for its massive scythe arms — they'd already seen the way they could dent metal.
If they couldn't win in a fair fight, then they'd just have to play dirty.
"Hey guys, adventurers carry around rope, right?"