Chapter 49: Business as usual

I stand on the ground beyond the walls, feeling my feet slowly sink into the mushy earth that’s more than saturated with Cave crawler blood and molten Ice. With quick uses of skills, my feet widen and my toes elongate, preventing me from sinking down further.

The group of Cave crawlers changes course and veers toward me, their mandibles split open in smiles. I meet them head-on, stumbling forward as the bodily differences catch me off-guard for a second.

Stamina is infused into my claws and the poor peak (H) grades don’t stand any chance. I don’t even have to use bindweed to hold them off anymore. They’ve just become too weak for me.

Multiple groups burst out of the underbrush that they haven’t taken apart yet. Before I can finish them all off, more of the mindless insects flow forth, streaming towards me in such large quantities that Dance of Death flicks on in the back of my mind.

The hauntful melody begins to sing around me, warning them of impending doom. Deaf as the insects are, they don’t hesitate, thinking they can take out any monster with their sheer numbers.

My claws rend through Cave crawlers. I hum along with my song which grows louder with each level the skill gains. Bodies pile up around me, providing them with the perfect perches to ambush from.

As stupid as the insects are, the image of Cobalt ripping their heads off somehow instilled a permanent fear of her into their minds. But I? I’m new to them. They’ve only seen me on the walls, and that makes me look like a sheltered monster or something like that.

I distance myself further from the Bastion, stepping away from the smattering of corpses haphazardly strewn around me. I surrender to the melody, giving my body to death that clings around me, whispering in my ears. My skills activate and my claws grow spindly and longer.

The insects fall around me when bindweed joins my dance. The vines grow around me in floral patterns, spreading out on the ground and wrapping around any monster that steps onto them.

A weak (G) grade Cave crawler slams into me and I misplace my foot, stepping onto the barbs of a torn-off mandible. A stifled groan escapes my lips as I push back against the monster, activating my bindweed skills, letting it wrap around the monster while it tries to bite my head off.

It chitters in frustration as the bindweed reaches its face, wrapping around its mandibles. Thorns grow, piercing through carapace and in that moment of distraction, I finish the monster off, plunging into the insect’s eyes with one of my fingers and scratching its brain.

My dance resumes and I move further away from the Bastion, greedily pulling more monsters towards me to satiate my need for skill levels. In the corner of my vision, I keep a close track of my resources, noting that they trickle down slower now that my skills aren’t so low level.

With each breath I take, I pull in more Stamin while forcing myself not to gag as bits of gore enter my nose or manage to find their way past my lips.

One after the other finds their doom but there is always the next. Do the insects think I’m not as imposing as Cobalt, freezing them solid in seconds, mist billowing around her perpetually?

The thought forces me to scoff and taste more of the insect gore. Well, I don’t think they’ve seen everything. I smirk and push a foot deep into the ground, wiggling my toes, and letting bindweed grow out from them. The unaware Cave crawlers keep piling on, not knowing what kind of foes are growing beneath the ground.

Disconnecting the vines from my foot, I continue my Dance of Death while slowly trickling Stamina into the bindweed vines that swell under the ground.

At the same time, Mandrake Scream builds up in my lungs, compressing air and filling more of my lungs. The System warns me that I’m starting to push my limits with seven skills active at once.

Familiar black spots sprout in my vision and the Cave crawlers blur at the edges. The ground shifts beneath my feet. Some of the insects notice it but it isn’t enough for them to warrant any suspicion.

Anyone should know by now that the bugs are dumber than bricks.

My lungs reach critical capacity. Lips are pushed apart, letting trapped air out that freezes the world. Concurrently the bindweed vines free themselves of the upturned wet ground and slice through the closest monster in a whirling storm of thorns and greenery.

The insects don’t stand a chance. They simply fall to the ground, cut, torn, insides on their outsides. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. They chose to attack, they chose this path, and this is their end.

Far behind me, Cobalt and Sairal cheer on the walls as I return.

No more Cave crawlers harry me after realising my strength. I’m done with being their target, just another bit of biomass on their path of destruction.

My arms burn when the stamina of Claw Infusion leaves them dry and aching. Muscles stiffen and the sweet taste of my blood lingers in my mouth. Dry, raspy, coughs flow out from my throat. The skill must’ve put some more strain on me than I thought.

Reaching the walkway, I spread myself over the ground like a starfish, staring at Sairal and Cobalt who look more than approving in the corner of my vision.

“Well done, mandrake Green,” Cobalt applauds, “Now they will learn to fear you.”

Sairal grins as he observes the remains of that slaughter, “How many skills did you use at once?”

Each word the two say is a blow to my brain, delivered by Pursua herself. They catch on and give me a small breather, stepping away and discussing among themselves.

I blink the black spots out of my eyes while a curious mushroom guardian stares at me, finger ready to poke my body. I sit up and let him poke my arm, gently pulling on the strands of bindweed to satisfy that curiosity.

The interaction is strange, to say the least. Most of the mushroom guardians only acknowledge my presence while guarding the walls. I take a second look at this one, noting the blue cap it has on its head and stand up to meet Sairal and Cobalt again.

The dryad asks repeats the question and I answer with seven.

He nods, “Well done. However, you should practice using that many skills more often. It isn’t only a strain on the body but on the mind too.”

“Will do,” I reply, checking my resources and pulling up the logs. Discarding the kill notifications and compiling the skills, I command the system to give me a new overview of my status.

Species: Mandrake: Bindweed force lvl 11/20 (G) -> 12 (G)

HP: 154/195 -> 154/205

SP: 21/210 -> 21/225

Strength: 48 -> 50

Agility: 35 -> 37

Perception: 22 -> 23

Constitution: 58 (+15) -> 60 (+15)

Endurance: 34 -> 36

Mind: 38 -> 40

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Unallocated stat points: 12 -> 16

Skill points: 19 -> 20

Skills: 13/17 skill slots in use

Solar Storage (C) lvl 3/20.

Mandrake Scream (Un) lvl 15/20 -> Mandrake Scream (Un) lvl 16/20.

Identify (C) lvl 19/20.

Bindweed of Nature (R) lvl 10/20 -> Bindweed of Nature (R) lvl 12/20.

Claw Infusion (C) lvl 13/20 -> Claw Infusion (C) lvl 15/20.

Hide (B) lvl 12/20.

Dance of Death (C) lvl 7/20 -> Dance of Death (C) lvl 11/20.

Fire Resistance (B) lvl 12/20.

Depth Sense (O) lvl 17/20.

Bindweed Manipulation (R) lvl 23/25 -> Bindweed Manipulation (R) lvl 25/25.

Bindweed Conjuration (R) lvl 21/25 -> Bindweed Conjuration (R) lvl 23/25.

Breathe (B) lvl 14/20 -> Breathe (B) lvl 17/20.

Efficient Movement (B) lvl 2/20 -> Efficient Movement (B) lvl 11/20.

Time remaining: 285 days, 5 hours, 9 minutes, 2 seconds.

Event points: 1429,01 -> 1589,06

I spend one skill point increasing the cap of Bindweed Manipulation to 30 and grin at the panel. There’s still a lot of work that needs to be done. Some part of me wants to spend all the skill points I’ve stocked up, raising my skill to the maximum level for this grade. Though, that won’t happen. There isn’t that much time. The sooner I evolve the better, even if that results in a worse evolution.

“I’m gonna practise some skills before seeking the bugs out again,” I announce to them while I close the window. I just have to make as much as I can with the time I have.

I jump down the walls and let my crown of leaves unfurl, inhaling air through my nose for every scrap of energy.

***

Walking down the poorly paved road of the Zulissian camp, Mart takes notice of how every soldier seems to be in a flurry of motion, packing provisions, sharpening their weapons, and discussing tactics with their newly assigned teams.

He jumps over a pothole and heads further into the camp where the white tents are. Even with the abundant smoke rising from the cooking fires, the tents remain unmarred; the enchantments pushing dirt and grime away with ruthless efficiency. Above the entrance of each tent hangs a banner with the initials of each general written on it in flexuous handwriting.

Mart files into the right queue that winds like a meandering river, slowly flowing forward as groups are assembled and given specific orders. Idly, he listens to the soldiers that prattle on in front of him, discussing how they will spend the points that they will gain from killing the forest monsters and wiping any remaining trees, grassland and whatever else flora they can find off the face of the world.

He doesn’t have much hope for them, knowing what looms beneath the canopy of Luxia. Perhaps now that the dryads are slowly getting pushed back, their cities catching fire and burning like cinders, it will be easier. Though, will it be enough?

If there is anything Mart has grown certain of in the last few weeks, it is that uncertainty is a given. No one knows what they will encounter in the wild beyond the walls of Zulis. And here that truth is more prominent than ever before.

His attention drifts to something else, watching the blurry lines of smoke dance upwards into the sky before dispersing.

Soon enough, he stands in front of the white tent of his new general, the previous one having left for the centre of the forest some days ago. Silencing runes inlaid in the fabric cut off any conversations that might have bled out. His heart speeds up in his chest ever so slightly, thinking of the general that looms behind the tent flaps. His breathing catches high in his throat and his robes feel uncomfortably loose around his clothing as if they might be pulled away and leave him defenceless.

The tent flaps open, and a group of soldiers walk out and don’t even glance at him, instead focused on the orders they have received.

“Enter,” the general inside the tent demands, her tone far lower than he expected.

Taking in one last breath, Mart steps forward and feels his ears pop as he steps into the expanded pocket of space.

To call the furnishing of the insides of the tent spartan would be an understatement. There isn’t anything outside of the walls that move in an undulating pattern when the wind presses

down on them and the ground beneath his feet; the grassland that once was here unrecognisable, having turned into firmly compacted dirt.

The only thing present in the expanded space is a smooth desk, made of compressed rock by one of the earth mages that have been setting up basic defences around the camp in the past days. Behind it sits the general, who doesn’t even look up at him, her attention given to the quills that scribble in books or papers floating in the air around her. She quickly reads numbers off on the pages splayed open, scribbles them down and edits the numbers in the books with the quills that flow around her, occasionally dipping them into pearly, black globs of ink that drift around her like moons.

“Name?” she asks, her eyes flicking up to meet his for the first time.

“Mart Lesiron, Ma’am,” he salutes to her, folding his left arm behind his back and putting the fingers of his right hand on the dragonfly emblem.

All the quills around her stop scribbling and she looks up at him again. “...Mart Lesiron? Are you the one Aïska sent to me?”

Mart nods, “Yes, General Mayfield.”

The papers that float around her fly down and land on her desk in neatly stacked piles. The general knits her fingers together, letting her chin rest on them as she leans forwards on her desk, her shoulder-length hair bobbing with the motion.

He feels a flash of her aura wash over him, whispering in the back of his mind as she casts Identify on him.

“Hmmm, a (G) grade Chanter, Why don’t you wait to the side? I should…” A book lifts itself off the desk, flopping open somewhere in the middle. General Mayfield nods to the book and lets it fall down to the desk again, “ Still have some decent groups that you’ll fit nicely in.”

He nods and follows her directions, not wanting to inconvenience her.

General Mayfield resumes her work, the quills resuming to scratch words into paper, occasionally dipping into the floating globs of ink. Soldiers file into the tent often alone or in pairs with the occasional small group. Orders are given, and teams are assigned and assembled.

Mart knew that the generals of the army were special. From what he observed, to rise to (D) grade you needed to have something unique. All the generals he met had it. From the weight of Aïska’s presence to casual displays of power general Liaz seemed to partake in, letting sparks of electricity freely flicker in his eyes, through his hair and dance between his fingers when he grew bored.

And now? General Mayfield, another leader using her power almost casually, controlling writing quills with her mind; trivially creating not just eligible, but graceful writing as if it is an afterthought. And not just with one quill but with several concurrently.

He continues to watch her work, finding it oddly mesmerising from the way the paper and books float in the air, orbiting around her.

Finally, a group enters, and General Mayfield turns her attention back to him after hours of waiting. “Yes, it was good for you to come to me with a properly formed group. It saves me the hassle of assigning you on the spot to someone who hasn’t been here yet.” Her gaze shifts to Mart and on cue, he steps forwards, into the conversation.

“The five of you will form squad,” she looks at one of the papers floating in the air, “73A. Together you will kill the stragglers and scout the outskirts, ensuring that the bigger parties haven’t left anything behind in their wake.”

General Mayfield doesn’t give any of them the time to get familiar with each other, handing them a few maps and some statistics on known threats before pushing them out of her tent with the force of her mind.

The tall man in front of Mart gives a final glance to the white tent before shrugging. “Well, that was that. Nice to meet ya’ new guy,” he says shaking Mart’s hand. “I’m Kerrik, the leader of our group, formerly known as Hazelbunny.”

Mart’s eyebrows lift up towards his hairline, “Hazelbunny?”

Kerrik nods as they step onto the soggy dirt roads, evading the occasional pothole. “We used to be an adventurer party but a few months ago we joined the army, realising that it was a more stable job and quite a bit safer,” he says chuckling to himself and gaining a few wry smiles from the others.

Mart quickly gets introduced to the other members of squad 73A. As he listens to the descriptions of their classes, he realises that he somehow ended up in a very well-rounded team. Probably by Aïska’s doing.

The names of the other members go into one ear and out the other as most of his mind drifts to the patch of greenery beyond the walls of the camp.

A tap on his shoulder draws him back to the conversation.

“Sorry, what?” Mart asks them.

The woman with the quiver rolls her eyes, “He asked if you have everything or need to pack up first.”

He chews over the question and shakes his head. “I already packed up. Everyone wants to head into the forest as fast as possible.”

“Damn right,” she grins. “No one is gonna take those points from us. I want a new bow.”

They fall into silence, all watching the forest from afar, close to the horizon tiny pockets of orange deep in the forest where the cities must be. But as Mart looks at the forest he doesn’t see the countless points just laying there, ready for the reaping, or the trees ready to wrap around any unsuspecting soldier, crushing their bones into fine powder as a punishment for intruding.

What he sees is a chance, like others. However, again, not a chance to gain a fortune or anything that comes with it.

An image of a dryad and a mandrake floats through his brain. Along with that, dozens of questions he craves answers to. Perhaps it is time to seek them out, for revenge and truth.