image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/c883e6ba-1b32-4198-8a8b-83861c39a3c5/0_3.png]
Rarely did someone wake earlier than Vincent, yet that morning, clinking noises extracted him from sleep like a wine opener, a cork from a bottle. He jumped down from the bed, snatched the gun from the nightstand, and rolled on the carpet.
However, there was no immediate menace. Lukas was snoring with abandon, undisturbed by the clinks and clonks. Pulling an inch of the curtain, Vincent looked outside. In the courtyard, a group of six people were in the process of dressing in full metal armor, their helmets still off. Around their legs were pieces of foam cut from the bus's chairs, and the party's few shields were dressed similarly. Their weapons were two-handed war hammers.
Putting on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, Vincent ran down. "What are you doing?" he asked Irene, the obvious leader of the pack.
"Hunting monsters, of course," the young woman said with a smug smile.
"Orcs or something? Wait for me, I’ll—"
"Snakes, spiders, and rats."
"Oh…" It made sense now. The foam was a good idea, protecting them from bites. He decided to let them go by themselves. Hunting small game was a good way to learn how to fight. “Be careful, promise?” he couldn’t refrain from asking.
"Sure. We need to talk about something. It came to my attention you littered," Irene told him in a low voice, grabbing his shoulder and raising on her toes to reach his ear.
"I beg your pardon?" he jerked his head back.
"Hari, the elderly Filipino, told me threw your luggage in the wilds… tsk… tsk… tsk…" she continued, a reprobatory frown on her face.
"But the—"
"Suitcases are either glass or carbon fiber; we can use the materials. So… chop-chop, fetch it," Irene patted Vincent's shoulder with her metal gove. It hurt a little, but less than the idea of touching the soiled baggage… and taking back an object that brought painful memories.
Irene ignored him and led the group away with the rhythmic percussion of metal boots, stepping in cadence. Vincent entered the inn and checked If there was something for breakfast. There was an omelet, a good one.
"Hey," Jong said, descending the stairs. "Did Irene tell you we have a quest?"
"I'm the Guild Master," Vincent complained. "I'm supposed to give quests, not the other way around. And I don't need you to retrieve a suitcase. I can walk and pick up luggage on my own, thank you very much!"
"Irene asked me to supervise you in case you'd lie and say you didn't find it."
"Bloody hell!" Vincent yelped because it was exactly what he was planning to do.
"Yeah… Petite menace, that's her nickname. In French."
"And you guys let her boss you around?"
"Sure. The grant we get from her parents is a hundred thousand a year."
"Euros?"
"Swiss franks. Better… Guess it's history now," Jong's face saddened."At least I sent my parents the money…"
"And whatchu doing four thut amount of dough," Vincent asked with his mouth full of the delicious omelet and fresh bread.
"First year, it was just hanging around and brainstorming our projects…"
"You lucky bastards!"
"Second year, we were supposed to work together on said projects… after we returned from the teambuilding trip."
"You mean… doing exactly what we're doing now?" Vincent gasped. "You think—"
"The foundation is behind the kidnapping? No. Irene's folks are rich but not that rich. And they are into luxury products, not science. They wanted to make Irene happy by financing her pet project, that’s all. Fifty fledgling geniuses guinea pigs under her supervision."
"The group is only forty-six," Vincent pointed.
"A few didn't come. An epidemiologist from Nigeria, a South—"
"I don't care," Vincent waved his hand to stop Jong's rant. "Let's get over it."
"Let me grab my gear," Jong said.
"Ditto."
When they met again, the Korean had a bow in hand, but it was not his compound, but a wooden longbow, probably locally made. It looked much more sturdy and even had some spikes to allow hitting with it in close range, like the bows superheroes used in the movies.
"That's more like it," Vincent said while they walked toward the bridge.
"This?" Jong raised the bow. "It's garbage, but it unlocks skills easier."
"Like?"
"Instinctive aiming, for instance. Fast reload, fast shooting, and so on. But it's bad because the people here don't understand the physics. The spikes make the limbs heavy and rigid, the tillering is rubbish—"
"The what?"
"How it thins up. They patched a couple of enchantments on it to make the bow stay in one piece and shoot more or less straight. But what if," Jong's voice became animated, "we'd build proper composite or compound bows and put enchantments on those? That would be something."
"What if we build guns?" Vincent shrugged.
"Each weapon has its purpose. Bows are silent. I don't mean Earth silent, but magically silent," Jong said. "And even on Earth, people were hitting a target up to five hundred yards."
"Really?"
"Yep. Technically, some devices allow you to shoot over a mile, but smaller arrows and you can't really aim. Nevertheless—"
"That's fascinating, but let's concentrate on not being eaten by beasts." They had exited the town, mechanically saluting and being saluted by the guards, and they were approaching the forest.
Preventively, Jong nocked an arrow, and Vincent took the horn in his left hand, keeping his right on the revolver's grip. They entered the woods silently, Jong two steps ahead to have a clear line of sight. No animal disturbed them, though, and Vincent's senses didn't detect anything unusual.
They reached the clearing safely. The suitcase was still there, opened, and unfortunately, soaked. The tiger had taken revenge on the innocent luggage more times than once, and the last attack was recent.
"Oh, my God!" Jong retched under the musky odor.
"I can't, I just can't!" Vincent shook his head and hands in protest. "I’ll bury it."
"Irene will be pissed," Jong argued.
"We'd be pissed. For real. And why do you fear her so much?"
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
"I don't fear her… it's just… she's so pretty!" Jong sighed.
"I noticed," Vincent grimaced. "That's not a reason to let her bully you, man. I'll teach you a secret. When a pretty girl scolds you, imagine being back in the army and the sarge screaming at you. She'll appear less threatening. Then, you smile, take her in your arms, and say she’s pretty when angry, and all it's forgotten."
"Yeah, thank you, Freud… C'mon, dude, please! I brought garbage bags," Jong pleaded. "I'll open it, and you put it inside. Pick it up with a stick or something."
"O… K…" Vincent agreed. His reluctance was still high, but victory was possible with two or three plastic layers between him and the abomination. He went to the hazelnut copse and broke a smaller sapling he inserted in the handle, raising the suitcase up.
It was a faint change in light that warned him. A flock of birds took off, passing over the sun. Panicking. Then there was a faint change in the air, an increase in pressure, a distant hiss approaching.
"Duck!" Vincent yelled. Jong threw himself on the ground, and he followed, but the luggage was on the way.
A bang resounded against the suitcase, pushing the item against him, sprinkling Vincent's T-shirt with tiger pee in the process. He fell backward, instinctively raising the suitcase as a shield. Another bang followed. Broken bits of wood, metal, and feathers fell on the ground beside him. An arrow.
"Where is he?" he screamed at Jong, who crawled in the grass to get behind an earth mound.
"That's sexist! Maybe it's a she," the Korean blurted, making Vincent throw a dagger stare in his direction. "What? The Bogomils have Amazons."
"Fucking stupid alien world," Vincent cursed, keeping his head low. Folded in two, the suitcase lay before him like a rampart. The urine stench was still there, but that wasn't the main problem any longer. He tried to peek over the luggage, but another arrow brushed against his hair.
"Behind a tree, fifty yards west," Jong said.
"Why don't you do something? Shoot back," Vincent yelled at the Korean.
"You know how much space you need to fire a bow? If I raise up, I'm dead."
"Give a pink thing, and you live!" a voice shouted in a very bad Common Tongue.
"He wants the suitcase," Jong yelled.
"Stop shooting at us. You're welcome to have it!" Vincent screamed.
"Come to me with pink in hands above head!" came an order. "You ten seconds have."
Touching the disgusting item was revulsing, and there was no guarantee the archer would keep his word. Vincent's training was totally against the idea of walking toward an armed enemy with hands up before exhausting all other options. "I'm coming, I'm coming," Vincent yelled to keep the archer waiting. Three feet away was the horn, where he had left it to deal with the suitcase. Pretending he raised the luggage, he stretched his left hand and pressed the button.
The honking sent echoes in the forest. It was indeed a loud and unpleasant sound. A silhouette jerked in the treeline, covering their ears. Vincent rushed forward, firing on the way. The archer was hit by the first bullet but stayed on his feet and tried to nock an arrow, making himself more visible. The second and third bullets hit the neck and head, killing him on the spot.
You have killed Mongol Raider (Rare tier, Level 30). You have leveled x6. +2 levels in the Battle Instinct skill.
The gap in levels seems not to be too important against bullets… There were more notifications, but they disappeared from Vincent's view the second he frowned, annoyed by the distraction. Vincent approached the body, looking for any sign of more foes. There were none. A small horse was grazing on a bush it was tied to, indifferent to what happened, emanating a feeling of total placidity.
"That's a fine weapon," Jong said, arriving at the scene and taking the bow out of the Mongol's cold hands.
"It looks fragile," Vincent wrinkled his nose, disappointed by the lack of spikes and cool-looking stuff.
"Mongol bows are very strong despite looking delicate. What you see in the movies are bad props. Try to pull back the string," Jong said, forwarding the bow.
"What the fuck!" Vincent groaned. He was barely able to pull the string back a few inches.
"You have to use your back's muscle, not the hands. "
"Oh, I get it now…" Vincent nodded after giving it a second try and succeeding. "Yeah, it's like for climbing… the proper muscles and technique—"
"Let's scram. What if he has some friends coming to check on him?"
"Let's loot him first, I bet that armor is valuable.” Texamining the body, Vincent noticed the first bullet had impacted the man's chest, yet there was only an indentation in the leather armor. "Go wrap the suitcase, I'll take care of him."
"Have you… killed people before?" Jong asked, looking pale. Vincent had often seen that expression. At first, the adrenaline had stopped the Korean from puking at the sight of a brained individual, but the reality started to catch back.
"This is my sixth," Vincent said. "Tip. If you get in a situation where your life depends on killing someone, act, don't think. There's time to feel bad about it later… And believe me, you will feel bad,” he sighed. “What are you waiting for? Go pick up the luggage."
Once alone, Vincent grabbed the body and put it transversally on the horse, tying it with the rope he found attached to the saddle. A few soft noises attracted his attention, and he turned on his hands, revolver in hand. Twenty yards away, the tiger was looking at him with large eyes.
Behind the animal, near the suitcase, Jong had the Mongol bow in his trembling hand, his eyes staring at Vincent, waiting for instructions. Vincent shook his head. Getting in another fight was risky. "You're really a pest," he groaned, putting himself behind the horse. The latter was still grazing, oblivious to the danger.
A wave of impressions washed over Vincent's mind. Hunger. Gastric acid going up the throat, yearning to bite into raw flesh, a struggle to keep lucid against an overwhelming desire to rush forward.
"Sorry, I don't feel like letting myself be eaten today," Vincent said, cocking the revolver. "Go away, last warning."
The tiger leaned his head sideways… confused? Suddenly, Vincent understood. "You want to eat the raider?" he whispered, more to himself, putting the revolver back in its holster. Obviously, the beast would have preferred the horse, but Vincent frowned, and the feline whimpered, lowering its head. Behind, Jong started to pull the string back. "Don't shoot, he's just begging for food!" Vincent yelled. "I can read his intentions."
"You what?" Jong exclaimed, slowly relaxing his stance.
"Skill, don't ask. I'll give him something to eat."
"We didn't bring any food."
"Just take care of the suitcase," Vincent rolled his eyes.
The Korean kept the bow in his left hand while trying to envelop the pink luggage in a large plastic bag. Meanwhile, the tiger took some distance, resting on the grass near the tree line.
Untying the body and letting it fall on the ground, Vincent started to undress it. The helmet, body armor—a leather jacket—and the boots were in good condition, but underneath, the raider was dressed in rags.
"Hm… old Mongol religion, probably," Jong said, arriving with the now suitcase in tow, dragging the package on the grass with a rope.
"How do you know?" Vincent asked.
"On our Earth, before they converted to other religions, they didn't wash and wear their clothes until they fell by themselves. They feared to insult the spirits of the water… But I bet this one was a sinner, washing in secret."
"Yeah, or his clothes would have stunk… They have a fetish for tiger pee or something?"
"Don't think so. The suitcase must've looked precious."
"Shit… for them, is like an alien artifact, true," Vincent rubbed the nape of his neck.
"And seeing us trying to protect it by wrapping it into some other strange material… you get the picture."
Vincent stared into nothingness. The stranger he killed was prepared to murder and died for a pink carbon fiber suitcase. He shrugged his sadness away and dragged the raider ten yards further, pulling it by the legs, retreating slowly while the tiger advanced.
The beast stretched his paw, grabbed the body, and retreated backward. Putting down the dead man after entering the forest, it let out a roar. A smaller feline and three cubs appeared out of nowhere, and the group began feasting with growls of satisfaction and noises of crunched bones. Jong retched.
"What the heck?" Vincent screamed, slapping the air in front of his eyes. A shiny blue notification framed by a confetti emoji had blinded him.
Your group has reached the quota of slain monsters.
Reward: free unlock of the Inspect skill (Active, Rare). Analyze objects or living beings. Cost: 25 Concentration Points/use. Evolvable at levels 50 and 100. Current skill level: 25.
The message disappeared, leaving behind a blinking bothersome afterimage. When it went away, everything around had tags and explanations. The trees, the grass, Jong, even the horse. Over the latter, the words said:
Zen Mount, level 36. A horse bred to keep calm in every situation, no matter how dangerous. The opposite of a War Mount.
"We should go back," Jong said, putting his old bow on a special saddle on the horse.
"Right… Give me a moment to finish packing." Vincent had brought rope, but there was a better one in the horse's saddle bags. Tying the suitcase on the mount's back, he was rewarded with another strange notification.
Unknown Artifact (??? Tier). This alien object has been brought to Earth by a group of summoned heroes and repeatedly subjected to an Elite Tiger's Mana, gaining the following elements: Malice, Elite-tier Toughness.
What the heck does that mean?
Postponing his curiosity for a better time, Vincent took the horse by the reins and pulled it after him. Before leaving the clearing, though, the beast reappeared, holding a cub by the neck. He put the cub on the ground, ten feet in front of the two men, and pushed it forward with a gentle paw kick. The feeling Vincent's empathy sent was a call for help. The cub had a blinking !!! sign over his head, and his tag read: Elite Tiger Cub. Status: Malnourished, Sick.
"I think he wants us to take care of the cub," Jong said.
"You peed on my suitcase, and now I'm your babysitter?" Vincent sneered. The cub looked up at him and meaowled, making puppy eyes. Vincent's surrender was total and abrupt. "Fine, stop the emotional blackmail already. I'll see if there's a veterinarian in town." Grabbing the cub, Vincent put it on the saddle in a nook formed by the looted gear. "You're lucky I'm not an asshole like some of us present," Vincent sneered, turning his back on the larger beast and leaving the meadow for good this time.
By interacting positively with a creature of the forest, you have gained two levels in Animal Empathy and +1 Spirit.
The trip back took an hour because they had to stop twice to allow the cub to barf, warned by Vincent's senses just in time.
The central square was full of people. No wonder, considering the bus had been moved near the Town Hall, its engine running. An electric cable exited the engine and entered a black cube, from which more cables stretched up to a canvas tent set in the middle of the square.
"What the fuck?" Vincent and Jong blurted simultaneously.