Chapter 15: Full moon
Monster formation… A phenomenon that has stumped researchers for many years. Why is it, that when mana in certain ratios accumulate in the world, they transform into powerful beasts and monsters?
And why, if they are formed from mana, do they have a form not composed of the elements that created them, and leave behind their flesh and blood after death?
Perhaps the world will never know. And perhaps the world will never care. Whatever, they all call me crazy anyway, I’ll still research it!
-An unknown scholar
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Dawn comes, the sun rising above the edge of the world and tinging the world with colour once again. With long, misshapen shadows, three silhouettes slowly progress down the road to Ginerbe city.
A closer look reveals three men, heavily laden with furs of various shades and sizes. The tall one speaks.
“You know, I really wish there were an easier way to carry these things. They aren’t too heavy, but,” He shifts his grip on the high stack. “There’s a lot of the darn things!”
Jakin replies, with some resignation, “A cart would be expensive and difficult to navigate through a forest like that, and it be bloody difficult to protect a beast of burden, like a mule, in a fight. They don’t know how to stay put, the stupid beasts. Run off at the first sign of danger, and then what happens? They just get mauled to death by some stray monster anyway!”
“There aren’t any monsters that can be tamed and used as a mount or to carry things?” Aaron asks with some surprise.
“Aye, there are,” says Jakin. “But the ones yeh can buy are even more expensive, and it be harder to tame one yourself than keepin’ yeh beard clean while mining!” He continues.
Aaron’s shoulders slump, the towering stack of furs comically following the motion.
Counting off at a solid forty-three pelts of ordinary wolves, eight pelts of the ironback alphas, and one black and forbidding pelt that dwarfs the others in comparison. One might think that being softer than the ironback alpha’s pelt, it would be worth less as well, but this evaluation would not be taking into consideration the large size of a werewolf.
A werewolf is two or perhaps three times the size of an ordinary wolf, and the dark colour of its fur makes it a luxury item. Unlike ordinary pelts, seamsters won’t have to stitch together multiple werewolf pelts to make a single article of clothing. This makes the clothing more comfortable, as well as much less likely to rip and tear.
And the colour makes for an impressive coat or cloak, as well.
Thus, it still sells for a greater amount than an ironback alpha’s.
…Although, they have to get it there first, and that is proving to be a hassle.
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Nevertheless, get them all there we do, and with not a few strange looks on the way.
Still, the guards and people of Ginerbe city are used to adventurers and their ways, and so we pass through to the guild relatively undisturbed. When we deposit our loot on the appraisal bench of the guild, it gives the workers there quite the shock.
There are a few similar benches in the area, a couple already populated with other adventurers getting their materials similarly appraised. It isn’t unusual for this part of the guild to be in use most of the day.
One of the guild staff sidles over to our bench and starts looking at the furs, spreading them out over the top of the bench. The bench is a monstrous thing, all thick, dark timber, low to the ground and… makes you wonder how they were able to move it here. Wide and long, the thing must weigh a tonne. Perhaps literally.
As he pokes and prods at the furs, nodding to himself and recording some numbers down on a piece of paper at one end of the bench, I find myself idly wondering if there are monsters large enough to fill that entire bench. I am soon startled out of my reverie as the man starts speaking.
“The wolf pelts are in good condition, apart from a few.” He points to a group of pelts that have large holes in them. The work of my spiked barrier, no doubt. Or their picks.
“I can give you five coppers each for the…” He looks down at his notes. “Twenty-seven undamaged ones, and three for the rest, totalling… two silvers sixteen coppers.” He starts stacking the furs into piles, separating the undamaged and damaged ones.
“As for these ironback alpha pelts…” He says, spreading them out on the table. “They all have varying degrees of damage. Normally, they’d be around thirty coppers, but as they are I can only give you twenty-five each, making two silvers.”
In the past couple of months, I’ve done some market research on the prices of monster materials found in this area, and that naturally includes the ironback alpha. The price is a good one, in comparison to some other places.
He continues, stretching out the pelt of the werewolf.
“This one’s a bit rarer, but you’ve made a right mess of it. Look at all these holes and slices into it!” He points out the various places the pelt is damaged. There are quite a few.
“I know it’s a tough monster, but did you really have to put so many holes in it? Surely you could have just waited a bit for it to bleed out with just a few. Still, we don’t have many of these in storage, so I can give you forty coppers for it.”
Forty coppers, eh? It looks like hunting werewolves isn’t efficient at our current strength.
“That all adds up to four silvers, fifty-six coppers. Is that price agreeable to you?”
I look at the dwarves and shrug. “Sounds good to me.”
“Aye, that price be fine.” Boaz nods.
“Very well then.” The man claps his hands, causing a group of men standing to one side to start moving the materials on the bench through a door and out of sight.
Reaching into a pouch on his belt, he counts out four silvers. Reaching into another pouch, he painstakingly counts out the fifty-six coppers. I’d hate for anything to ever cost ninety-nine coppers. Hey, doesn’t that mean that the commonplace marketing strategy of selling something for 99c instead of $1 would backfire here because of how much time it takes to count it all out?
And does he have a pouch for each different coin? I want a pouch for each different coin. I want another pouch. That looks very convenient.
“Now, if you’ll humour me, can I see your weapons?”
Such a strange request, but it’s hardly any trouble. I don’t want to cause any trouble, especially here, so I just half draw my sword to show him. The twins also present their weapons.
“I see… And which one of you can use earth magic?”
How could he possibly know that?
“That would be me. How can you tell?”
He laughs.
“I’ve had this job for over a decade. I’ve seen thousands, tens of thousands, of monster corpses and hides. I can tell the difference between the wounds left by a stabbing sword, a spear, the spike of a mace, the spike of a war hammer, a dagger, you name it. And magic. No burns and bloody wounds eliminates fire, water and ice. Only other element that can do this kind of damage is earth.”
That’s impressive. Still, why does he care?
“What rank are you all?”
Before today, it had just been wolves and boars, so I was still copper.
“Copper.”
““Iron.””
He turns to me.
“Then congratulations, you’re now iron rank. Most of these ironbacks have wounds caused by earth magic, as do many of the ordinary wolves. And many with sword wounds as well. With this amount, it’s enough to promote you.”
He fishes out an iron token from somewhere and flicks it at me. With my almighty reflexes and stunning hand-eye co-ordination, I nearly fumble the catch. Nearly.
“I’ll get one of the lads to update the register in a minute. What’s your name?”
“Aaron.”
He grins, proffering his hand, which I promptly shake.
“Mine’s Tork. With any luck, we’ll get to know each other over the years.”
“I’ll try my best not to die, but no promises. I might get bored one day.”
He laughs. I’m not joking.
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Splitting the money is a bother. Four isn’t divisible by three, not when you’re talking coins. It ends up with the twins taking three silvers and four coppers, and me getting one silver fifty-two coppers. They say they usually share their money anyway.
After that, Jakin and Boaz manage to convince me into a celebration at the adventurer guild’s pub. I have no clue how, and I am regretting it to this moment as I gingerly sip at a tankard of what tastes like pure alcohol mixed with fruit juice. Drifting about in the liquid are flecks of… something.
Hm. This goes on my list of the few things I miss about the old planet. Other articles include peanut butter and purified water. Seriously, If I find peanuts in this world, I AM going to make peanut butter. Almost everything can be made tastier with peanut butter.
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What was I saying before peanut butter?
…I’m drawing a complete blank.
Let’s see, I was drinking… Oh, the beer. The beer. Should I finish this beer? I look over at the twins.
There is froth all over their beards, and they somehow already have an empty tankard in front of each of them, and another being chugged down. The atmosphere in the pub is lively, with many adventurers celebrating a successful hunt or consoling themselves over a depressing failure.
Or just plain ol’ drinking.
Wh, what? How are they already on their next drink? Wait, there’s six tankards on the table, and they’re downing another couple… They finished off two drinks apiece while I wasn’t looking? My god, with that capacity for drink, I wouldn’t be surprised if over half of their innards consist of stomach and liver.
Putting aside the biological difficulties of such a feat, of course.
For a while, I simply engage myself in the raucous ambience.
In time, I finish my drink… and another is pushed into my hand. And then another.
If this wasn’t cheap beer, I’d be worried about the cost right now.
…And if I wasn’t becoming drunk. Still, the sensation is somewhat pleasant, even if my thoughts are becoming a bit muddled.
The day wears on, people pass through, people pass out, crude jokes are exchanged, and stories are told. It is relaxing, to spend some time not exercising, hunting or training.
It was dawn when we left camp; took us a few hours to get back to town after that. Add another few hours with all this indulgence, and that makes it about mid-day when they wandered in.
Made quite the scene, too. It’s not every day that 34 people with identical equipment wander into the guild; most adventurers wear mismatched equipment.
After all, say you can buy a single piece of armour, perhaps some greaves. Will you wait until you can afford the whole set? No! That single piece of equipment could save you from a life-threatening injury while you’re hunting.
So, you can imagine how much they stand out. Honestly, I had expected them to come over a bit earlier. At the start they were all ‘let’s leave as soon as possible’, and now they take a couple more months. As they are now, they should be vastly more powerful than me.
At least equivalent to steel rank, probably mithril.
Excellent.
I watch in amusement as the eyes of the man at the counter grow progressively wider and wider as he writes down their details. It’s to the point that he faints from shock and has to be replaced by another member of staff.
When the captain said multiple affinities and fusion affinities aren’t that rare, he may have been exaggerating. According to what I’ve heard on the streets, they aren’t that rare – but only in stories. It’s the kind of thing where you know a guy who knows a guy with a fusion affinity, but you’ve never heard of or seen anyone else with it.
So, when a group of 30+ people came along, most with multiple affinities… it was just too much for the poor guy.
It’s to the extent that drinkers are getting up and greeting them, hoping to get in the good books of people who could, one day, be among the world’s strongest.
Jakin and Boaz aren’t exceptions, and neither am I. After all, Phil was dead. And it isn’t like I won’t be interacting with them in the future, so better to be known to them now.
Roaming among the group, I introduce myself to many of the members. Including Greg, of course. It is most amusing, seeing his eyebrows knit in confusion. Most likely, I’m reminding him of me, but he can’t quite pick it.
My mannerisms and way of speaking haven’t changed, after all.
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So, they’ll be hanging around this city for a while. That’s a thing. And they’ll be killing all the monsters…
‘Maybe we should move cities soon?’, I idly ponder as I swing my sword. Honestly, just swinging it is rather boring. Strenuous, but boring.
Solution: magic. Setting a few sticks on the ground in front of me, I continue to try not to burn them, all the while swinging the sword.
More efficient, and more realistic. You hardly have time to pause in a battle to cast magic. Have I said this before? I’m getting a faint sense of déjà vu.
No matter.
Now that’s a weird saying. No… matter? As in space? No subject matter? That makes more sense. Ah well.
I’ve been accumulating cash over the past two months. Nothing big, but I have a few silvers saved up. And I got myself a spare set of clothes. Darn useful, spare clothing. Awkward washing your dirty clothes when you don’t have a spare set…
In the distance, I hear a faint voice shouting. I can’t quite make out the words, but I think it might’ve been something along the lines of ‘get on with it…’
Strange. Well, if you insist, I’ll stop waffling.
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Later that evening, in the very same cave, a very bored man is repeating his exercises yet again.
“Why can’t getting stronger be a bit more fun? Endlessly repeating the same thing, over and over and over and over and over… Why is this so much more fun in games!?”
Suddenly, a surge of mana converges, shining bright in the relatively dark cave. Then another surge of brown earth mana, covering the light.
Out of it steps… An imposing figure of hulking sto- or not, it looks like one of those natural rock formations where a bunch of rocks are perfectly balanced on top of one another. Except rounder. And smaller.
In fact, it’s a bit smaller than me… and it’s slowly rolling its way towards me. Strangely, each rock that composes it is rolling individually in separate directions, and yet it is still retaining its stacked form.
…What? It’s so… slow. Picking up a stick, I place it parallel to its movement.
…
…
…
Well, not quite snail pace, but pretty darn close.
I kick at the thing.
“OW!”
Feels like a damn wall! But no time to nur- Oh wait, there is. Retreating a few steps, I take off my boot. No blood, good.
Okay, now what? Sword is a no-go, I’ll just damage the edge, and it already has a few nicks as it is. And I’ve already tested the boot. Magic it is, then.
I create a war hammer of earth and compress it. Compress it further. And further… it looks like a small mallet now…
More mana, more compression, and I finally have a sturdy war hammer.
I look back at the rock… thing.
It’s slowly making its way towards me, a low grinding sound emanating from the ground as it keeps rolling.
Okay, let’s see… I’ve not used a war hammer before, is this how you grip it?
Heavy… Or it would be if I wasn’t using magic to lift it up. If it’s like this, I should be able to put some good power into it.
I take a stance with the hammer, holding it behind me as I wind up for a home run. As I start to swing it around at the thing, I take a step forward. Twist my body with the motion, gathering momentum, I slam it into the monster with a resounding CRASH, smashing a few of the rocks.
Not bad for a first try, if I do say so myself.
It doesn’t seem to be moving, so it should be dead now. Although it could be argued that it wasn’t ‘alive’ in the first place, it is a pile of rocks after all. Speaking of… What do I do with these?
Eh, they’re just rocks. Shoo into a corner for me.
Aw, this hammer cost me a good quarter of my mana, what with its size and all that compression.
Eugh, that’s it, I’m going back to the city to sleep.
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Laying on my ‘bed’, slowly drifting into sleep…
*AAWWOOOOOOOO!*
A long howl splits the quiet, getting louder as more howls join the bestial chorus.
Seriously, I’m trying to sleep here…
A short while later, the sounds stop, and the world lapses back into silence. For a while it stays that way, until a bell starts to toll. Loudly.
Damn, I can’t sleep like this… Wait, that’s the alarm bell. Something’s wrong.
In a flash, I snap out of my sleepy stupor, and start strapping on my equipment. A few moments later I’m combat ready. First order of business is meeting up with the dwarves. Thankfully, I know where they’re staying.
As I rush outside; into streets busier than during the day, I catch a glimpse of the sky and can’t help but curse. A full moon and howling. This isn’t good.
As evidenced by our combat yesterday, the monsters known as werewolves are not restricted to full moons. However, they only spawn on a full moon, and during one their physical abilities are strengthened, moving them up from being among the weaker steel rank monsters to being among the strongest.
I can hear the sounds of combat coming from the front gates as I hurry towards the twins’ place.
A few minutes later we meet up… and the sounds are getting conspicuously louder. We start heading towards the gate.
Another bell starts tolling.
“Emergency evacuation!”, Jakin exclaims in shock. “How is it that bad already!? What’s happening out there!?”
His question is answered soon enough. When we get close to the gate, we see dozens of werewolves swarming over the walls. Guards, adventurers and mercenaries alike are doing their best to defend the gates, but with little success. There are just too many, and they’re too strong.
Joining the fight, it is all we can do to keep one busy. Werewolves are everywhere, and warriors start to fall, grievously wounded… or dead. The battle grows more and more chaotic, and more hopeless.
More and more keep crawling over the walls, and the precarious shield wall holding back the tide is getting pushed further and further back, moving from enclosing and open area to blocking the streets, lined with buildings of brick and stone.
Brick and stone?
Did I just say brick and stone!?
I take another look when I have a moment to breathe. They are indeed.
A savage grin grows on my face. Fire magic, finally.
Pulling most of my mana out, I convert it to fire attributed mana in a massive blazin’ ball above my head.
Then I splash it down onto the horde of werewolves. A good portion of them are set on fire, and they let out yowls of pain.
But to my disappointment, they put themselves out after rolling around for a bit. Still, it surely did something.
A moment later, a bright light shines above the battlefield, and a storm of stone and ice rains down upon the pack, drawing yelps of surprise and pain.
The cavalry has arrived. Sure, they may not be the most powerful people in the world, not even close, but in a small city like this? They may as well be.
Lightning sparks between werewolves; water encapsulates their heads, drowning them; air magic covers toothy jaws and noses, depriving them of oxygen and slowly draining their strength. Darkness creeps in and light shines in their eyes, blinding. Bolts of fire chars fur and shocks senses.
The characteristic scents of burnt fur and melting flesh wafts around the battlefield as the vanguard charges into battle. A solid ten men, muscles visible even under leather armour and wielding bastard swords of tempered steel; these are no longer mere trainees.
More surprising to most would be the woman who leaps out with them, fair features and slender figure standing in stark contrast to the boorish men who traditionally dominate the battlefield. Still, it isn’t her face that eyes are drawn to. Long and wide; thick, with a handle that allowed for a two-handed grip: a great sword in all its massive glory is gripped in her hands.
Dextrously she spins it, sending a light cut at the sensitive nose of the monster in front of her, stunning it as she brings it around again for a stronger strike, cleaving through its side.
It’s down for the count.
Arrows arc down in thickets from nearby rooftops.
Captain Pierce isn’t so narrow-minded as to not recognise the strategic advantage of such a skill. He must have started teaching them basic archery after they were used to using melee weapons. After all, if you’re useless in close combat, there are many situations where you can even become a hindrance to your comrades.
For some, it apparently took. They might not be confident or strong enough for melee combat, or perhaps not magically talented. Indeed, archery is an excellent method in these circumstances. With no need to fear immediate retaliation or the gruesome feeling of viscera upon your blade, it’s the best choice if one has difficulty with these things.
Blood, guts and bodies litter the ground, and now the majority aren’t human. Nevertheless, the numbers of the werewolves are greater than the defenders, and the defenders are also dwindling in population.
The battle wears on.
Mages run out of mana.
Archers run out of arrows.
Warriors are running out of steam.
A scream of despair echoes on the battlefield, a woman holding the broken body of an old friend. One of the werewolves had managed to break away unnoticed, and it is wreaking havoc amongst the ranged units.
The first casualty among the summoned, since that day.
And not the last.
A warrior slips on the bloody soil. He joins the others in eternal rest. Holding his heart aloft, his opponent stands victorious before loping off to find another opponent.
Still, slowly – ever so slowly – the werewolves are being pushed back.
A howl pierces through the clashing of swords and claws, and they start swarming back over the walls.
Panting, I slouch against a wall. Exhausted, I tilt my head and look at my sword. Or what’s left of it. I hadn’t had the time to notice it during combat, but it’s more nicks and scratches than it is edge and iron. A conspicuous crack runs from the tip to halfway down the blade. Forget monsters, I wouldn’t cut cheese with this piece of scrap.
I’m not sure this can be used even after melting it down. I need a new weapon…
And that’s as far as I can think before I lapse into a blank state of mindless recuperation.
But not for long.
“What now? No, it can’t be…”
At some point Jakin and Boaz had plonked themselves down beside me; I was just too tired to notice.
With great effort, I follow their gazes to the top of the city walls.
Upon them stand five figures, tall and… regal.
Two have fur of faded grey. Various lines cross their bodies, creating a lattice of lighter fur: old scars. They are hunched with age, and yet they stand taller than their brethren who fled earlier.
Two with fur a bloody red which dimly glow, ominous and powerful. Their eyes radiate a bestial desire for battle, carnage. Slaughter. Their claws are black and their hearts, blacker.
In the middle. Tallest of them all. Strongest of them all. Claws a radiant white. Fur of blackest night. Eyes like rubies, clear and bright. Teeth of shining gold, tougher than even the hardest steel. An image of a full moon nefariously glinting on its forehead. And a blatant disregard for the strength of man, woman and dwarf alike as it sits casually on its haunches atop the wall.
The night isn’t over yet.