The tree’s extensive roots felt pleasantly solid under Linlin’s bare feet, the grass closed in a natural embrace around his ankles, as the ground gave way a little with every lithe step he took.
Except for a few thorns and some sharp stones here and there piercing through his thin protective layer, it was pure bliss romping through an untouched virgin forest.
With but the wind whistling past one’s ears all the while growing aware of the melodious birds’ concerts, monsters trampling a safe distance away as they ran rampant, leaves rustling in the breeze and one’s very own heart pumping liquid energy through the whole body, Linlin was content.
Our white-haired, lean hero had left some very annoying sandals behind hours ago and was since then enjoying unobstructed contact with the soil. As he so did, he couldn’t help but marvel from time to time the Queen’s well-meant advice.
Honestly, what a stupid idea Azariah had proposed! Wearing sandals? It’d served one purpose only, namely to extensively savour the feeling of how leather cut deep into tender skin. Wooden soles mistreated his feet as blisters pooped up one after another like mushrooms on a hot rainy day.
Yet suffering from the torturous sandals' disgusting aftereffects was not the worst. ‘What’ll become of us?’ The energetic agent jumped from a fluid-covered ledge, brachiated down gently swaying lianas and continued his way unresponsively as if the nagging in his head had never been there and the ten-metre (33') difference in altitude was but a stone’s throw.
‘I’m worried here, Stupid, and it’s not very becoming.’ Linlin’s lack of response did not change his bubbling annoyance with pessimistic Pansy caught up in philosopher-mode.
Pansy was replaying the same questions like fourteen times in a row, giving varying answers each try. It was already a miracle in and of itself that our annoyed hero didn’t erupt after the first three repetitions, but… 'well, just Pansy’s ludicrous antics. Just hope a master plan comes out of it in the end...'
Linlin's attitude only showed how accustomed he'd grown when it came to the inescapable alter ego’s nagging personality. It was the most straightforward downside if two distinct egos were locked away in a single body. There. Was. No. Escape!
'We munched on a three-kilo (7 Ibs) fish for supper. And earlier this morning, we turned that into two four-kilo (9 Ibs) fish filling us just fine.’ Linlin would prefer not to remember this morning’s ordeal dubbed a filling meal, if given the choice.
Yesterday’s splendid specimen of a moray-salmon tasted delicious on the spit, but the two foul-smelling eels this morning going by the visual appearance of animated rugs not so… The smell and taste remained the same even after being burned to ash. Seemed glued to his tongue as of now...
But something had to fill one’s stomach whether that horrid abomination suited taste buds or did so less. ‘Can you believe it? A whopping 8-kilo (18 Ibs) worth of seafood less than five hours ago–––and you’re on ‘bout sucking bucks!'
‘Stomach growls, warriors eat. What a chore.’ ‘Rather, stomach growls, scholar scowls.’ ‘…it wasn’t you that had to snack on rug in dishwater sauce but poor me, so please–––I tell you–––keep it.'
Linlin filed a mental complaint not even worth a grunt compared to the ridiculous, ever-growing collection there was in his mind about his alter ego’s opportunistic laziness at picking the right time to take over.
Or, in this case, to excuse himself by feigning tiredness. If Linlin had gotten a free meal for each ridiculously fantastical excuse he'd heard over the years, possibly a small-scale town could be fed for a day on his expenses.
Truth be told, both may share one body, yes, but that didn’t mean everything Linlin felt spilt over to Pansy and vice versa. Rather, whoever was in charge had to endure on his own both pleasures and pains alike.
Only important situations and rare discussions called for an exception, but that is a thing for another time. ‘Dimwit, that’s not how I meant it, Stupid! Argh! You ought to know!’
As Linlin raced past one hibiscus-cum-fig-like, cloud-breaking vine extending to the beyond going by the funny moniker of Worm-Infused Neck Wringer, our always hungry hero caught himself red-handed enjoying the sweet aroma of ripe fruits.
A pity, though, Hungerblaze was as addictive as nasty when consumed raw–––but made for a good fruit liquor base and supplement ingredient in alchemy. ‘What reason for my musing can there be other than our Core assortment running low?
17 bucks remaining, and your appetite’s growing by the minute.’ ‘I've been meaning to ask, why bucks? Cores ain’t money.’ ‘Our lifeline, Stupid. Worse than good ol’ money ever was.’
Linlin clicked his tongue at Pansy’s stinging sarcasm. That was not a subject he was ready to broach. Yet. ‘Reminds me, I’m really looking for food since the beginning, but…’
‘You’d think in a forest as gigantic in size as diverse in danger, at least a plentiful supply of fruit should be a given. But hey, hell no, either harmful in some exaggerated way, or guarded by foul-mouthed screamers.’
Pansy finished the sentence by giving voice to his artificial rage. In truth, he quite welcomed the cute drum-like roars, for they were forever preferable over silent lurkers in the thicket ready to murder in cold blood at any time of the day.
‘Might I remind you another ticket for [Gluttony]’s troublesome lottery is cause for alarm?’ ‘What alarming thing’s there ‘bout a new skill? It comes into play where you fail: It helps.’ ‘Very funny, Stupid. The welcome fact by itself is not quite. More likely the unfortunate event happening immediately before.’
‘Huh? Whaddaya talking ‘bout?’ Linlin happened to lose himself to the conversation’ flow, promptly miscalculated the distance to the next branch and was taken for a ride ending in a heap of hopefully sufficiently dried-up poop.
‘Would've come as a big surprise, was the dunce found interpreting the last instances without the need of good old me... Lucky for you, I cannot bear such circus and–––sadly–––that’s my damn ungrateful job to boot, so the least you can do is listen with due care and praise this Lord....’
Linlin couldn’t help but endure Pansy’s unnecessary banter, since to date a potential shutdown or mute button tenaciously eluded him still. ‘…whose probability states…’
But for Pete’s sake, that better end fast before he totally lost any resemblance of coordination between his various bodily facilities due to sheer annoyance. ‘…after analysis’s done and things said, we’ll most likely pass out cold.’
The way his alter ego stated the dangerous hypothesis sounded more like the celebration of a ground-breaking discovery when in truth it was merely derived from lacking samples. Two samples. The fallacy of making bold conclusions of questionable use...
That much Linlin knew, regardless of how little he’d paid attention in school. ‘Suit yourself, you’re the think-tanker after all.’
Our irritated hero saw no other way to liberate his shit-caked feet from undesired cloaking than to get all too close and personal with an orange, fur-covered, giant hare-shaped bush going by the comical name of Orange Haremare, before he felt comfortable again and preserved in his efforts.
‘Shit, let’s just hope there’s no giant hare in my nightmare tonight…’ ‘That’s more like it. You might even learn how to pay attention.’ His alter ego sounded much too elated for his tastes. Could it be that he was too sensitive today? Or was he impressed by his silly thoughts?
'Quite possible,' or so our simple-minded hero believed. Though he was soon bound to come to terms with reality, for Master Strategist Pansy simply ignored his little comment and spoke only about the upcoming endeavour.
‘Any other choice would be downright moronic.’ ‘Whatever you say, Pansy, whatever you say. Yet... which choice are we speaking 'bout?’ Linlin was quite surprised at how tired his emotionless voice sounded as he failed to keep track of the behaviour Pansy considered downright moronic.
The list was nearly endless. ‘Dare tell the same to an orcish cook in whose camp you happen to fall unconscious?’ A cold shiver ran down Linlin’s spine due to a sudden dark promotion he tried his best to shake off. ‘…mere rumours from a book.’
‘with but a grain of truth. Rain does not fall from a clear sky.’ ‘…’ Grimacing for less than ten seconds, Linlin was found scrunching down behind a tree stump overgrown with lichen and mushrooms the next moment, his muscles strained to the utmost as his instincts tingled.
‘Meat incoming.’ 'Deadly? Toxic? Inedible? Stinky? Intended for… consumption, in short?' Linlin ignored the scathing remark and promptly fished out Azariah’s gift as he prepared for a surprise attack.
It was not in his nature to charge in and kill as long as he was not in serious danger or had been unwisely provoked. Still, in his books, an empty stomach counted as lethal danger and overruled every other moral consideration.
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The prey unveiled itself as it came limping from the eves: A tiny lizard with a bat in its maw–––that’s what it was. ‘…it eluded me that we were Chinese all along. Hope there’s no Corona here.’
Linlin rolled his eyes, swallowed an unbefitting remark and focused on the task at hand. When he felt ready, the hunter launched himself forward like a rocket.
Exhausted from struggles past, the terror-stricken reptile had just enough time to lash out with its barbed tiny tail, before two sharp ceremonial knives separated head from body in but an instance.
‘Victory’s mine!’ 'Hohohohahahah~!' Despite one hell of hysterical laughter making it difficult to distinguish left from right due to all the shaking, Linlin took on a joyful, although less fitting pose. It was something he copy-pasted from an anime he’d once chanced upon.
Admittedly, the feeling was fleeting and double so for the cynical strategist who just had to butt in once he’d regained his wits. ‘Lizard blood frying grass and one half-fluttering trophy covered in nasty warts–––I wish the gourmet bon appétit!
His Grace shall wake me up once shit’s done, shan’t he?’ Good feelings gone for sure, Linlin stared beaten at his game, his face somewhat blushing in shame if that was a thing.
The pile of gore was–––as Pansy rightly pointed out–––not something he dared choke down, hungry or not. And now he didn’t know what to do with nor expect from the carcass.
There were some anecdotes underlining the usefulness of organs for alchemy, true. But the main problem remained unchanged. No utensils, no alchemy. No means of preservation, no staple ingredients. Linlin pulled out a cigar and lit it.
As he'd discovered by pure chance, smoking replenished energy too. The higher the grade of the herbs used in rolling the cigar, the more energy he recuperated and the greater the chance of a permanent increase of his bioenergy.
To our valiant hero’s defence, he’d never intended to chew on roasted lizard or slurping bat soup but did it for the Cores. Everything that survived in this darn forest that was no weak-ass fish preyed on by all was in one way or another a magical lifeform in possession of a juicy Core.
The only saving grace...
Eventually, Linlin began to systematically cut through both carcasses in search of their respective Cores and shortly after, he speedily left, leaving behind a dismembered gory mess.
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Once noon came, tired Linlin stopped his endless race against time and went on to prepare three cactus-like snails the size of a chihuahua after having survived another deafening fit of hysterical laughter.
Granted, beyond the shadow of a doubt, it qualified not for fine French cuisine. Nor would he accept anything the like in a restaurant without stuffing it down the daring cook’s throat once and checking if he was still twitching afterwards.
Nevertheless, the outcome was that as long as both eyes were kept shut it turned out to be... edible. After ending his less sumptuous meal with lightning speed, Linlin slumped down at the roots of a strategically grown tree.
The clearing–––or more like the space left behind by a truly giant treeline that must have magically dissipated one fine day–––welcomed his lazy stretch.
Covered in fine moss, stinky fern, some bed-sized odd mushroom–––Bluffrooms their name was–––and surrounded by comparatively small trees that were locked against each other in an age-old struggle for dominance, it proved to be a nice resting place. Far from ideal, though.
Traces of deadly predators’ scrambles were still visible, signalling clearly that the place was not as calm and peaceful as Linlin was erroneously made to believe. ‘According to Azariah’s parlour trick, we covered much distance northwards.' 'It's a problem because...?'
'Stupid, I’m just not quite sure myself if our definitions of near match. As far as I’m concerned, there are only trees, trees and more trees. No landmark proclaiming clearly we’re in the presence of the true owners of these lands. Nor ruins of any sort. Nothing.
Besides, with how vast this wooden hell is, we can easily miss them altogether and run northwards to our doom.’ Linlin listened disinterestedly, no longer feeling like contributing to the conversation that'd turned into a fool's errand.
Not that his input was strictly necessary. Pansy could very well hold a conversation on his own. A lit cigar in his mouth, crossed arms behind his head and bare left foot casually bobbing in the air at irregular intervals, Linlin silently rebelled.
This time around, Linlin certainly didn’t have anything against Pansy’s endless rants. The more the latter spoke, the longer the break was. Perfect too, his alter ego could never tell if he was paying attention or not.
One of the very few advantages he had. The young man’s abyssal black eyes with an uncommon lustre of gold hidden in them that came and went like a ghost stared absentmindedly at the remaining stash piled up beside the fireplace.
Grabbing the next cigar, he lit it with relish. Lunch and three Cores were needed to fill his belly, and a new variety of cigars did a great job in calming down taut nerves. Liquorice-cabbage taste, among other examples he'd savoured, was a novel blend.
Unfortunately, no Funktrunks grew nearby, so proper relaxation was a pipe dream. ‘...and 18 bucks is not sufficient either. We know little of how overconsumption messes up bodily functions, yet something tells me the effects won’t be to our liking. You shouldn’t have eaten 4 in half a day.’
‘Probably just bratty nagging. ‘Too reckless–’ ‘Starve or chew hard gel–––your preference?’ ‘…don’t always blaze this, go hunting instead. Do something productive for Pete’s sake! Look at this mess you're responsible for!’
[Gluttony Works Overtime (56.804)]–––urgh...
[Gluttony Works Overtime (5.47)]–––idiot, it's hard on the hardware!!!
[Gluttony Works Overtime (1.75)]–––moron, you're frying me alife...
[Gluttony Works Overtime (0.09)]–––ya have a death wish, oi?? STOP THIS FRIGGIN' INSTANT!!!!!!!
‘Unimportant stuff for now... Be clear. Make me trot northwards or hunt–––I can’t do both at the same time. Or do you expect my game to conveniently follow our wishes and escape northwards?
Depending on your answer, I need not suck on Cores as I do now. Then again, the same problem. Either gather information or go on an assassination. The mind must be prepared, lest things are doomed from the start.
Decide. Should we adapt more to our current circumstances with extensive training or go straight to the frontline? Time ain't endless. Time waits for nobody. Time is what we lack the most... according to you. For me, it's food, by the way.’
‘Do you have to be so serious? Every fucking time?' 'Jokes kill, man. I've learned my lesson.' 'Contrary to you and what you might believe, I actually do differentiate insane ideas from sane ones. Mostly. Did you seriously just make me admit that??! Forget it. Immediately.
Does it please you to burst my hard-to-come-by daydreams, hmm?’ The suns peeked timidly between the leaves of the young tree, their afternoon rays gently licking Linlin's expressionless face. He took another deep puff.
‘I shall grace you with another 30 minutes.’ ‘As you command, slave driver, as you command.’ ‘...stop pulling my leg,’ sighed his alter ego in vexation. ‘Try to be in my shoes for once, you weedaholic simpleton.
No useful information available, and on top of that, I haven’t gotten the slightest clue on how we’re supposed to converse with the orcs. If we even find them, that is. You know, meeting Azariah down that shithole has given me a lot of stuff to think about.
The System comes with an inbuilt translation feature that makes life easier at first glance. Yet the most noteworthy drawback is also impossible to gloss over. Just how are we supposed to explain our expertise in most obscure languages?
Any punk-ass with half a brain will grow suspicious. And that’s not what we desire. If the worst comes to the worst we immediately lose everything. A raffle is not something we can partake in willy-nilly!’ Linlin let the remark go through his mind and had to admit he wouldn’t have come up with this tricky issue on his own.
By the way, one thing was clear even to him: Pansy was a lifesaver. The Master Strategist’s crucial role in doing what he was best at was of tremendous help more than ever. As a natural consequence, mutual exchanges of their respective views became much rarer as Linlin deferred more to him.
‘If I imagine them as humans, then…?’ ’Point taken. It’s worth remembering, yet no time for trial and error and failure means death. So no, can’t do. Why do I suddenly feel like keep running day in day out is the best choice we have? A paradox, of all things! Damn it!’
The sleepy man was distracted by his own unreasonable stomach’s growling, which heralded the end of an insanely fast metabolism and the beginning of his pitiful stash’s accelerated demise.
The small bag he wore was as full of ingredients as it was lacking in Cores. '...think less, smoke more. That's the spirit.' 'No, it's not!'
Linlin truly didn’t understand where the huge amount of food disappeared to, considering he hardly ever had to make a beeline for the bushes. But that was a question for another time. To be considered when he wasn't rushed for results...
‘Your feelings on bioenergy levels? 98 is a lot compared to before.’ Linlin flicked the accumulated ash from the cigar’s smoking end and took a deep puff yet again, savouring the taste as the smoke inflated his lungs.
No connoisseur of cigars would indulge in such harmful practice, yet Linlin never cared that much. Pansy must've come to an impasse in his strategic planning. Only precious inspiration ever helped in that case.
‘Though strange, I appreciate the ever-increasing possible stunts supported by vaster energy reserves.' ‘Thought so. You certainly keep surprising me with the varying parlour tricks you’ve shown so far. Makes you look like a circus magician.’
‘Just admit it, I’m a genius–’ “Krugga!” The word meaning more or less freeze in someone else’s guttural language tore Linlin out of his reverie. Just in time to find a blunt hatchet scratching his throat and causing the skin near the aorta to shiver from the cold touch.
'What the...?!' ‘Great, the how part of the issue just solved itself. Plan A can also be scrapped. B possibly too... Stupid, I’m compelled to admit our luck's certainly unsurpassable.’ Before Linlin could utter a vituperative retort, a savage palm bigger than his head sent him back to nightmare’s embrace.
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End of Part II