[Bounty: ISSUED]
[OBJECTIVE: SLAY THE ARCHON!]
Reward: 10000 Spirit Cores
Gotta say, didn’t realize I’d be worth that much.
Ethan yawned as he picked away at the open ribcage of a slain wolf that had wandered so willingly into his den.
In fairness, it was the den of the forest wolves first, but the creature’s disregard for the ancient adage of "Finders Keepers" meant Ethan was more than justified in standing his ground and pummeling the creature into the earth.
He chewed away at his fallen prey, his great claws covered in blood and viscera from his almost week-long grind/camping session.
You know, this place ain’t so bad, really, he thought atop his chewing troll Host. Seems like this troll’s stomach is so strong I don’t even have to cook these wolves—and believe me, they hit the spot. Nice to know that I inherit the taste buds and stomachs of my Hosts as well as their eyes and limbs.
Oh, yes. After your thirty-fifth, I can see you have developed a taste for wolf.
How nice for you.
They do nothing for my waistline, let me tell you, Ethan told the dismissive Sys. But at least I can move on if my boy here gets a little too big.
The last few hours had been… interesting, to say the least. He’d expected entire legions of warriors to come floundering to his lair, seeking out this "Archon" to destroy it once and for all. Instead, all he’d gotten were a bunch of wolves and the occasional boar going crazy as they tried to gore him or take him down.
All of them he’d repelled with a little dose of [Slam], [Roar] and a few well-timed [Hide]s when things got rough.
And the strangest thing was that it seemed like Sys was disappointed with his many victories.
Sys? Where are these people you said would be coming to find me and help me out here?
Hm? Oh.
Well… perhaps they are otherwise engaged.
Ethan narrowed his eyes. You holding out on me, Sys? I get the feeling you’re waiting for something I don’t know about.
…
The Bounty has been issued, Ethan.
My job now is simply to track your survival when he… or they… come for you.
Anyone ever tell you you’re addicted to foreshadowing? Ethan asked with another crunch on wolf bone. He then took a moment to peruse his new stats.
They spoke for themselves:
Host: Cave Troll {Level 30}
Stats:
HP: 90/90
MP: 0
WILL: 35/35
STR: 20
PER: 8
SPD: 30
CHA: 1
[Skills known]
* Slam (Grade E)
* Roar (Grade E)
* Climb (Grade E)
* Hide (Grade E)
Current Spirit Cores: 55
Ethan smiled to himself atop the troll’s bloody head, eminently satisfied with his progress. It had been a busy few days of almost constant combat—fighting, resting, recuperating, and restoring his health using the flesh of his foes. At times, he required sleep to restore more of his HP when he’d been accosted by groups of the Grenbelm wolves or the giant boars that made their homes here. Many creatures had come and gone—interlopers assaulting his new little cave lair—and each of them had been repulsed with a roar and a slam. It looked like the creatures of Grenbelm Forest were all of way too low a level to deal with the monster he’d possessed—and slowly but surely, he noted the dwindling numbers of animals who dared poke their heads through the long grass and bushes to spy on his happy slaughtering.
Death and destruction. I expected nothing less of you.
Hey, hey! Ethan balked as he wiped his Host’s gooey lips. You know this isn’t just to satiate my own desire for bloodshed, right? Ever heard of grinding? Camping? These are holy, tried-and-true RPG mechanics, my dear Sys. I’m just saving up till I can upgrade [Roar] again and then I’ll be well on my way.
To do what?
To find something even stronger, Ethan shrugged.
When no reply from Sys was forthcoming, Ethan decided to drop the subject. He looked over the crimson-streaked walls of his den, seeing fly-ridden animal carcasses piled on top of each other that were probably beginning to stink like hell. Fortunately, the trolls of this world had a distinct lack of noses.
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The sun was starting to set over the tops of the lush trees above, and Ethan found himself oddly at peace.
He tried to fight against the desire to sleep. Now wasn't the time. Not even when he felt safe. The fact of the matter was, there would still be enemies coming for him.
But...also the chance of some allies, right, Sys?
...
I will tell you that your best chances of survival, and of getting rid of your [Bounty], is currently staying put.
Ethan curled up to rest on a free space between his chewed corpses. Despite the ruinous environment he’d carved into the earth around him, he went to sleep almost instantly wearing a goofy smirk upon his furry face.
...Maybe...just for a little while...
His eyes started to glaze over.
…I really hope I get some companions beside you soon, he whispered to Sys.
…
I’m not good enough for you?
You’re as fun as a disembodied voice can be, Sys. But even a demon hat gets lonely, y’know…
…I do.
----------------------------------------
“I saw it, so I did! I saw it with me own two eyes!”
The village of Carmorgh was in an uproar. In the last ten hours, a general alarm had thundered through the people, and a tense atmosphere had overcome the normally mundane goings-on of the sleepy hamlet. Ever since the [BOUNTY] notice, madness had descended on the people.
Everyone had seen it - even the children. System screens were crying out to even the lowliest [Farmer] or [Baker] with combat skills that hadn't ever been improved beyond LVL 1 that the new Arch-demon had risen. And with such a revelation, they couldn't simply go back to their simple, orderly lives.
Some of them still remembered stories of the last Archon...and the damage she'd dealt to not only Westerweald, but the whole world...
Mothers ran with their babes in the streets, crying out for heroes to save them from the beast that was coming to slay them all. Fathers busily plying their trade in the fields of barley wheat took up their hoes and promised that they’d be the one to slay the Archon that had made its home in the forest beside their village.
And yet others asked more heretical questions: another Archon? There’d been four already. Wasn’t there only supposed to be four? Kaedmon’s Law said so. The last one was meant to be the final Archon, was it not?
Where was this daft little hat that called itself Archon coming from?
The local chapel had no answers. Morning prayers were canceled. The head priest had deigned not to venture out for evening mass as the day rolled on.
And some more adventurous children reported a very strong, very alcoholic smell emanating from the now barricaded church windows.
Presently, the men of action had gathered in the town tavern—The Tipsy Tart—and were arguing about who exactly would be the one to take the beast’s head. Others shared their stories of seeing the beast as they went hunting in the forest, many barely making it back home before the monster tore them to shreds.
“It was as big as a camel, with twice the hitting power of a Stone Elemental!”
“I looked in its eyes and couldn’t move!”
“It’s a wizard, so it is! I saw it cast a fireball out its bare arsehole!”
“It’s waitin’ there, bidin’ its time while we sit here like weak little ducklings! We gots ta take the fight to the beast! Put its head on a spike!”
“Well then, what are you waiting for?”
All heads turned towards the man who asked that question—the man who had just entered the village inn, eyes blazing like two burning sapphires. He stared them down, his single arm holding the hilt of a blade that glinted in the darkness of descending night.
Instantly, the once-brave people of Carmorgh were cowed.
“L-L-Lightborn...” one of the farmers whispered.
Artorious walked briskly into the tavern, ignoring the sounds of awe that escaped from the throats of every villager once his title had been mentioned.
“Sir Artorious!” the innkeeper exclaimed. “It—it is a great honor, Sir! To have the Greycloak of legend in my inn, well, it’s—we—we all thought that you were retir-”
Artorious slammed his fist on the bar table and cut the man off. His eyes were not those of a valiant warrior looking to save the world from evil. No—the people of Carmorgh saw what was truly burning in those eyes on this day.
His eyes were like those of a predator.
And when he fixed the entire crowd with those piercing eyes, the voice he spoke in was as dark as the fears in each and every villager’s heart.
“Stay out of my way,” he said. “The Archon’s mine.”
"B-but, Sir Artorious...didn't...I mean...didn't you kill the last one? How is it that..."
The brave little potbellied man who uttered these words regretted them almost instantly as the silver-haired warrior appeared like a teleporting wraith before him, his unbelievably scarred features mere inches from the little man's eyes.
"Go home," he said. "Lock your doors. And pray. Pray that Kaedmon did not hear you question me."
Artorious then stomped past the man with little fanfare after putting the fear of God into him.
Outside, a storm had begun raging, and yet as the one-armed man marched out of the village, he barely paid any heed to the rain lashing off his pearl-white hair and skin. He said nothing as he marched out of the village and began walking with steely determination towards the dirt road that led to Grenbelm Forest, leaving the bemused villagers to whistle, clap their hands, and mutter about how the hero of Argwyll wasn't at all how they remembered him.
----------------------------------------
[Enemy approaching…]
Ethan opened his eyes to the groggy sight of a rainswept forest, remembering that he was sleeping on the dirt of his appropriated cave-lair. He shook his head, wiped a matted claw over his four eyes, and tried to focus on the strange blurry letters floating in a box before him.
…Sys? Sys, what’s… what’s goin’ on?
As though the System was screaming in his face, the words reformed and flashed obnoxiously, moving closer and closer to his face.
He is here.
I can feel him.
…wha?
…The Hero.
As if on cue, a flash of thunder then signaled the appearance of someone moving through the bushes at the edge of the den.
Ethan jumped up, expecting another unwary animal to have wandered into his midst. Instead, what he saw was a middle-aged gentleman who looked like death itself. He stood there, his sapphire eyes gleaming in the night, resplendent in a hooded cloak that looked greyer than the dark clouds that had gathered above the forest floor.
Ethan watched as his single arm twitched towards his belt, fingers grasping for something at his side…
I think this old guy’s lost… he mumbled sadly. Better just give him a beating and send him on his way. Much as I need me some juicy Spirit Cores, I don’t like the thought of messing up cripples.
On the contrary, this man is exactly where he wants to be.
Ethan watched the old warrior unsheathe a thin, silver rapier from his side—a blade so fine that it sliced through the raindrops themselves as he withdrew it with superhuman speed.
“To think…” he mumbled, voice hoarse and gravelly. “To think that you would return here… of all places…”
Alright, now I’m getting some serious stalker vibes, Ethan mumbled, raising his arms and growling menacingly at this old upstart.
If your dearest ‘Sys’ could make a suggestion—run.
Fat chance! Ethan shouted in his mindscape, his eyes locking onto the sickening smile spreading across the old geezer’s face as he marched forward, weapon drawn and angled down at his side.
And Ethan, for the first time in this new world, felt the pangs of fear wrestle in his troll stomach.
“My name is Sir Artorious Pendragon of the Greycloaks,” the invalid swordsman said. “In the name of my Order, for the good of this world, and for my own honor, I shall destroy you.”