Chapter 52
Samar
In the dim light of the day, the air was thick with an acrid stench that clung to every breath. The once vibrant forest clearing had turned into a grim tableau of death and retribution. Bodies of the fallen gankers lay strewn across the blood-soaked earth, their lifeless eyes staring into the void and flies already enjoying their feast at their expense. Zara and Assia methodically stripped the gear from the corpses, salvaging anything of value with a practiced efficiency that spoke of hard-earned survival skills.
The crackling sound of fire broke the eerie silence as they began the somber task of burning the bodies. Flames hungrily consumed the flesh, sending plumes of dark smoke into the sky. The smell of burning flesh, mixed with the unmistakable odor of piss and shit released in death, permeated the air. It was a smell Adom knew all too well, a stark reminder of the many battlefields he had seen.
Bruni, his expression a blend of disgust and resignation, turned to Adom, holding a particularly fine dagger he had found. "You sure you don't want something? This one's quite a find," he offered, trying to break the morbid tension.
Adom politely shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. "No, thank you. I have everything I need." He answered, his gaze sweeping over the grim scene.
His refusal was met with a moment of silence, the crackling of the fire punctuating his words. Adom couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at the irony of the situation. Here they were, condemning the gankers for their ruthless ways, yet in the aftermath, they found themselves not entirely different, scavenging and burning bodies just as their enemies would have.
Zara caught his eye, her face hard to read in the flickering light. "It's not the same, Rey," she said, her voice firm. "We didn't seek this fight. They came for us, and we defended ourselves. It's the law of the land here."
Assia nodded in agreement, her hands pausing in their work. "It's survival. Us or them. And I choose us, every time."
Adom nodded, acknowledging their point. "I understand. And I don't judge you for it. In these times, we do what we must to survive..." He trailed off, his gaze returning to the burning pyres.
"The world has a way of blurring the lines between right and wrong, doesn't it?" Bruni interjected, the light from the fire reflecting in his eyes.
"Yes," Adom agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It certainly does."
Once the grim task was completed, the group wasted no time in documenting the aftermath. Borgen and Jace, with practiced hands, took detailed images of the charred corpses, ensuring every necessary detail was captured. The images, alongside a succinct yet thorough report of the incident, were sent to the central authority for their records. This was a part of their duty, a way to ensure accountability and to inform their superiors of the dangers lurking within the forest's shadows.
Borgen, ever vigilant, was the first to break the somber mood. "We should move," he said, his voice carrying the weight of command. "The smell will draw unwanted attention soon enough." His concern was well-founded; predators, both animal and not, were drawn to the scent of death like moths to a flame.
They made their way back to Brunilda. The mood was noticeably lighter as they set off towards Samar, the village that marked the end of their shared journey.
The journey to Samar was markedly different from their earlier travels. Laughter and jokes replaced the tense silence, each member of the group seemingly trying to wash away the memories of the day's earlier events with light-hearted banter. Adom found himself caught up in the camaraderie, his laughter genuine as he exchanged jests with his companions.
As the outlines of Samar came into view, the group was greeted by an imposing sight. The village, or rather, the fortress that Samar had become, stood as a bastion of civilization amidst the chaos of the wildlands. High walls and watchtowers loomed over the landscape, with soldiers patrolling the ramparts, their vigilant eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger.
Yet, within the fortress's sturdy walls, a surprising scene of harmony unfolded. The streets of Samar were bustling with life, a melting pot of races and cultures mingling in peaceful coexistence. Elves exchanged goods with dwarves, humans shared laughs with goblins, and even the more elusive races, like the nimble fae and stoic goliaths, could be seen contributing to the vibrant tapestry of Samar's community.
Adom felt a sense of awe at the sight, a stark contrast to the divisions and conflicts that seemed so prevalent outside these walls.
As the group approached the formidable gates of Samar, the atmosphere shifted palpably. The usual open welcome seemed replaced by an air of caution, underscored by the stern presence of guards who scrutinized every newcomer with an intensity that spoke of heightened alertness.
One of the guards, clad in armor that gleamed even in the waning light, stepped forward, raising a hand for them to halt. "State your names, your purpose here, and the duration of your stay," he demanded, his voice firm and devoid of any welcoming tone.
The adventurers, well-versed in such protocols, presented their badges without hesitation, symbols of their status and intent that usually eased such encounters. Adom, lacking such credentials, felt a momentary flicker of unease but was quickly vouched for by his companions. "He's with us," Borgen asserted confidently. "Claims kin in Samar."
The guard took a moment to verify their identities with a scrutinous gaze before nodding curtly, a silent acknowledgment of their legitimacy. It was then that Borgen, sensing the unusual tightness in security, ventured a question. "We've passed through Samar's gates many a time, yet never have we seen such vigilance. What stirs the village to such caution?"
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The guard's expression, previously etched with the professionalism of duty, softened slightly, hinting at a shared concern. "Aye, the times grow darker," he began, his voice lowering to a more confidential tone. "The ganker menace, as you know, has surged, breeding unease. But beyond their threat, the Great Forest itself seems... changed. The Beast Glades, in particular, have grown perilous beyond measure."
He paused, as if weighing his next words. "Merely two days ago, a horror unfolded. A party of five adventurers, not unlike yourselves, met their end within the forest. Only fragments of their bodies returned to us, borne in the belly of a beast that dared assault our walls."
A heavy silence followed the guard's words, the gravity of the situation settling upon the group like a shroud. The dangers of the wilderness were no strangers to them, yet the thought of such ferocity at their doorstep was a chilling prospect.
"Be on your guard," the guard added, his tone somber. "Samar stands strong, but the shadows that encroach upon us are not to be underestimated."
With a final nod of acknowledgment, the guard stepped aside, allowing them passage into Samar.
As the group made their way through the gates, their steps eventually led them to the familiar warmth of the local tavern, where Borgen said they would find the rest of their party at. However, upon reaching the entrance, Adom halted, his sudden stoppage drawing the group's attention.
Borgen, ever observant, was quick to voice his concern. "Something amiss, lad?" he inquired, his gaze searching Adom's face for any sign of distress.
Adom quickly composed himself. "It's nothing grave," he began, his mind racing to conjure a plausible reason for his abrupt departure. "It's just that, with the night drawing close, I promised my uncle I'd visit him upon my arrival. He's... not been in the best of health, and I fear he may not forgive me if I delay our reunion any further."
His excuse, woven with just enough detail and concern, seemed to resonate with Borgen, who seemed to have a strong sense of duty and family. "Ah, I understand," Borgen replied, albeit with a hint of disappointment. "Family comes first, after all. We were hoping to have you with us for a bit longer, but such matters cannot wait."
Adom nodded, grateful for Borgen's understanding. "I appreciate your kindness, really. But I must see him tonight. It's been far too long, and with the times being what they are, I don't want to leave things to chance."
Borgen let out a resigned sigh, clapping Adom on the shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. "Well, can't be helped then, eh? Just remember, we'll be here for at least three days. Don't be a stranger; come find us when you can."
Adom expressed his gratitude with a sincere smile. "Thank you, Borgen. I will. Take care of yourselves tonight," he said.
Bruni, with a touch of unexpected warmth, expressed a regret. "Shame you have to leave so soon, lad. Would've liked to share a pint with you, get to know you a bit better."
Lyria, ever the voice of reason in the group, couldn't help but interject. "He's just a boy, Bruni! Proposing alcohol, really?" she chided, her tone light yet firm.
Bruni's response was a hearty laugh, one that seemed to resonate with stories untold. "Ha! I was but a wee lad of three when I had my first taste of ale, courtesy of tumbling into the local brewery's barrel!" he recounted, his eyes twinkling with the fondness of the memory.
Enolar, seizing the moment for a jest, added, "So, that's the secret behind your... unique disposition, huh?".
Bruni's feigned indignation was immediate. "And what do you mean by that?" he demanded, though the twinkle in his eye betrayed his enjoyment of the banter.
Laughter filled the air as the group shared this moment of levity, a brief respite from the uncertainties that lay ahead. As they bid their farewells, Adom noticed the absence of Zara, her silent departure not having escaped his notice.
Borgen, catching Adom's glance, offered an explanation. "Ah, don't mind Zara. She's never been one for long goodbyes," he said, understanding the unasked question. "But between you and me, I reckon she took a bit of a shine to you, lad." His wink was conspiratorial, a shared secret in the fading light.
Adom couldn't help but chuckle at the thought, It was the second time he was told something similar. "Well, if you see her, tell her goodbye for me, will you?" he requested, his tone sincere.
Adom's departure from the camaraderie of the tavern marked the beginning of a solitary journey, one that would test his wits and skills. As the shadows of dusk stretched across Samar, he knew the cover of night provided both an opportunity for stealth and the inherent risks of darkness. The decision to leave under the veil of night was not taken lightly, but Adom was well aware that the fewer eyes that saw him depart, the better.
To navigate the perils of the night, Adom resorted to his skill, [Aetheric Echo], a strategic tool in his arsenal that allowed him to sense his surroundings without revealing his position. Understanding the toll continuous use of this skill could exact on his body and mind, he opted for a methodical approach. He would activate [Aetheric Echo] at predetermined intervals, casting a wide net over the surrounding area to detect any immediate threats. This intermittent scanning allowed him to conserve his energy while staying informed of potential dangers.
Each pulse of [Aetheric Echo] was like casting a stone into a pond, the ripples revealing the contours of the landscape and the creatures within it. By adjusting the frequency and range of these pulses, Adom could effectively map his path, avoiding unnecessary confrontations and conserving his strength for when it was truly needed.
As Adom moved with purpose through the village, his thoughts were interrupted by a commotion that sliced through the night's relative calm. A man's desperate screams for help cut through the air, a stark contrast to the raucous laughter and cheers that accompanied them. The scene that unfolded before Adom was one of chaotic revelry; a crowd had gathered around a man writhing on the ground, his actions frantic as if in battle with an unseen foe.
"Help! Someone, anyone! Fuck! He's gonna kill me!" the man's pleas were desperate, his body contorting in a futile attempt to rid himself of an invisible assailant.
Yet, the crowd's reaction was far from sympathetic. Their cheers of "The rat! The rat!" painted a picture of a spectacle rather than a plea for aid, their entertainment derived from the man's distress.
Adom's decision to pause and observe the unfolding chaos revealed a spectacle far removed from the ordinary. The frenetic scene that had initially appeared to be a case of desperate struggle morphed into something entirely unexpected with the crowd's singular shout: "Just yield, for God's sake!"
The moment the tormented man conceded, crying out his surrender with a fervent, "I yield! I fucking yield! Y'hear me?! Let go, you monster!" the bizarre torment he endured ceased abruptly. The crowd's tension broke, replaced by an anticipatory silence, as if the outcome was both dreaded and eagerly awaited.
From the folds of the man's tattered garments, a creature emerged, one so small and yet so daunting in the context of what had just transpired. It was a Mice beastkin, diminutive in size, not so far from the very rodents it resembled, but its demeanor and the blood that stained its mouth spoke of a ferocity that belied its stature. Adom watched, feelings of horror and fascination gripping him, as he imagined the terror of feeling such a creature gnawing at him, unseen and relentless.
The mouse beastkin, evidently regaining its composure, raised a fist in a triumphant gesture that seemed ludicrously comical given its tiny frame. Yet, the crowd's reaction was immediate and uproarious, a mixture of cheers and the clinking of coins, as bets were won and lost on this peculiar contest.
One enthusiast's voice rose above the din, laden with admiration and the thrill of victory. "I told ya! He's the best! Valiant! I love you!" The man's exuberance for the victorious Mice beastkin, named Valiant, punctuated the surreal nature of the event.