For several long minutes I sat on the forest floor and watched Kortall's breathing get slower and shallower. There was no denying it now; he was going to die and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
In truth, he should have been dead already, as the amount of blood he'd lost was prodigious. There was a rent in both his chainmail and the thick leather jerkin beneath, where the enemy's blade had cut deep into his abdomen on the left side. His legs were drenched in blood and the ground beneath him had become a mire of sticky, red mud and pine needles. His face and hands were so white that I lifted the blood-soaked wad that had been my outer tunic to look at the wound beneath. I sighed as my suspicion was confirmed; the bleeding had stopped, and not in a good way. There was so little blood left in his body that none of what remained spilled from the gaping hole. How then? How did he still breathe? For that matter...I reached over and tugged open his metal-reinforced leather collar until I could place two fingers against the side of his neck. Yup, there it was...thump-thump...thump-thump...thump-thump.
"Huh," I said, unable to come up with anything more intelligent as I sank back on my heels. It wasn't unheard of, for people - especially high-level people - to hold on a short time past the edge of death. It happened almost exclusively amongst those with combat classes and allowed the doomed warrior to stay in the fight just a few moments longer, until the battle was over, the foe slain, or - at the very least - the torch passed to another.
Some claimed the phenomenon was a function of certain Skills, others said it was purely a matter of extraordinary willpower, while yet others declared it to be the grace of the Creator himself. Whatever the truth, it was unlikely to be revealed any time soon, for those who experienced such things never survived past those few extra moments, those impossible stolen breaths, those....wait...WHAT?!?
My thoughts stuttered out at the Earther part of my finally caught up. I squeezed the bridge of my nose between finger and thumb, as if the gesture could somehow force my brain to behave in an orderly fashion. No such luck. I sighed.
That had been strange. Very strange. It was like an information download just unspooled itself in my head. And it wasn't a delusion or fantasy either; I knew with utter certainty that every word of it was the truth, in this world at least. But if all of that was true...I looked down at Kortall's still, cold form.
He had bled out. There couldn't possibly be enough blood left in his body to keep his heart pumping and his brain functioning, yet somehow he still breathed. The battle was over, the foe had been slain, so why did he...? Ah...he was unconscious; he didn't know.
I leaned over and placed my hand against the cold skin of his clean-shaven face. With a gentle thumb I rubbed a splash of blood from the side of his nose.
"The battle is over, Kortall," I told him. "The fight is done, the enemy is dead, and I am safe. You did well. You can rest now."
At first I wasn't sure if he could hear me, for he gave no sign, but a moment later his breathing stopped. He was gone. My friend was dead.
My friend? Yes. I knew hardly anything about him, except what I'd witnessed. His white face had the crisp lines of youth but I couldn't have said if he was under or over twenty years of age, for while he lived pain had twisted his features, and now in death, his face had settled into a peaceful expression that seemed almost the mien of a child. Whatever his age, he had tried to warn me, had thought of my safety over his own, had offered his life to give me even a slim chance to save my own. That was courage. That was honour. We had spent hardly any time together, had known each other for less than an hour, but we had faced an enemy together, an enemy that sought both out lives. We had faced death and come out the other side. Well, I had at least, thanks to Kortall's indomitable will. He had been my friend when I was in need and I would remember him as such. And I would honour his sacrifice by staying alive, finding civilization, and telling his story. He would be remembered.
With that determination, I took a deep breath and wiped tears from my face. Looking around, I suddenly felt a chill of realization. I was once again alone, in a strange wood, in a strange world, one that had proven itself to be dangerous. At any moment someone else might step into the clearing and it could just as easily be a foe as a friend. I would have to be prepared. So I took inventory.
I had exactly six items in my possession: two sturdy leather boots, soft cotton pants (dark brown), a sleeveless cotton tunic (light brown) that reached to mid-thigh, and underclothes for both top and bottom. Oh, and socks. Ok, make that eight items. Do socks count as two? Or does a pair of socks count as one? And does that mean my two boots count as one pair and therefore one item? I reined in my meandering thoughts and briefly considered adding my long-sleeved outer tunic to the count before wrinkling my nose in disgust and leaving it where it lay beside Kortall's body. It had once been a very comfortable garment of finely woven wool dyed dark green, but was now a sodden lump of congealing blood and saturated fibers. I had no desire to reclaim the thing, despite the light chill that kept raising the hair on my forearms.
Still, the day was progressing, the angle of the light told me afternoon was melting into evening, and the nights in this kind of climate were liable to be colder than the days, especially because the tiny leaves and early buds I had spotted on the undergrowth and some of the trees told me this forest was no more than mid-way through spring. I had no food, no water, no blankets, no matches, not even a bit of flint. When I dug far enough into my mind, I found the knowledge of how to start a fire without modern conveniences, but it was right next to that little gem of wisdom that said potential friends weren't the only people who might be attracted by the light of a camp fire in a dark forest.
I sighed. I would need warmth to get through the night, and though I intended to find proper shelter before night fell - the kind with good food, a warm bed, and people not trying to stab me - I had to admit that was more of a hope than a certainty. So, that meant I needed a source of warmth that wasn't a monster-attracting beacon.
Right. Because that's a thing here. I winced as another bit of knowledge slid into place in my head. I was actually getting used to the sensation of new puzzle pieces popping into place in the jigsaw mess of my mind, so the wince wasn't so much for the brief twinge of discomfort as the knowledge itself. In a world with magic - which this one apparently was - human kind wasn't quite the uber apex predator we liked to think ourselves back on Earth. Take normal animal genetics, add in a bit of magical mayhem, wait a few thousand years for natural selection to do its thing, et voilà: creatures that punched far above their apparent weight and thought of humans as nothing more than tasty snacks. Collectively known as monsters. I shuddered as an image of giant spiders popped into my head.
No! I thought with disgust and no small amount of fear. So giant spiders are one of the most common monsters featured in just about every fantasy and LitRPG ever written, but that doesn't mean they are going to show up here. This wasn't a story, this was a real world, and this...whatever this was...was really happening to me. And giant spiders were simply not allowed to be a part of it.
With another shudder I firmly wrenched my mind back onto the track of my original thought: warmth. If a fire was off the table, and my lovely wool over tunic was...really not so lovely any more, then I needed another option. Well, there were four other sets of clothing in the clearing. And while I was at it, it wouldn't hurt to borrow a few bits of armour to ward off teeth and claws. Or giant venomous fangs. I slapped myself to shake that thought loose, then turned to the body at my side.
Kortall had been wearing a good selection of cloth and leather, covered by a long shirt of iron chainmail that reached almost to his knees, and an assortment of iron plates moulded to protect arms, legs, and other important bits. Sadly, none of his armour or clothing was likely to fit me, since he was at least a foot taller than I, much broader in the shoulder, and his frame was thick with muscle.
Even if Kortall and I had been the same size, I wasn't sure I could have brought myself to inflict that indignity upon him, to be stripped in the middle of the forest. He would never know, of course, he was dead, but it was the principle of the thing. After a moment of thought, I shuffled over and knelt beside his head, for there was one item of armour that I might be able to borrow without affecting anyone's dignity.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
I removed Kortall's helmet and set it on my head, then wondered sourly if wandering though the forest with a metal hat that fell to my nose would be injurious to my dignity. It certainly wouldn't be good for my health, even if the worst I ran into was the trees. I shook my head and set Kortall's helmet on the ground beside him, before turning to the centre of the clearing with a grimace. There were three other sets of armour and clothing I could scavenge from but it would not be pleasant.
All three kobold bodies lay at the bottom of the depression beneath the dead tree's giant root ball. Picking my way down among them was a grisly task. The air was thick with the stench of blood, urine, and the contents of their bowels. It was the smell of violent death and seemed somehow familiar to me. That familiarity made me wonder if, in my former life, I had been no stranger to scenes such as this. Had I been a soldier, perhaps? An officer of the law? I had killed the three rat-men easily enough, without hesitating or flinching. That suggested I had experience with such things. Or at least that I'd been trained for it.
It really had been easy, I thought. No, not easy, more like...instinctive. The spear had almost seemed to move on its own, like my hands and arms had known exactly how to wield the weapon without requiring any conscious input from my brain. And that scared me, I realized, but I couldn't afford to dwell on it while I was still so vulnerable, so I set the thought aside and focused on the leather armour of the kobolds.
Sadly, none of them wore an abundance of clothing beneath their gear - their pelts of short fur probably sufficing for padding and warmth - so I wasn't likely to find a replacement for my wool outer tunic. I'd have to settle for a layer of thick leather armour. The leader of the three - he who'd died to a crushed throat - had been rather barrel-chested, and I suspected I'd rattle around in his armour like a dried pea in a pod. The second kobold - the one I'd stabbed in the chest - had a big hole in his breastplate. Oh, and a spear too.
Really should get that loose, I thought, pursing my lips and wrinkling my nose in disgust. I looked back and forth between the spear and the armour belonging to the first kobold, then sighed. Weapon first.
Now that I wasn't in imminent danger of gruesome demise, I finally managed to wrench Kortall's spear from the kobold's flesh, though I was thoroughly winded by the time it finally slid free. Gore-covered spear at hand, ready to stab anything else that might jump out and attack me, I turned my attention to the truly disgusting task of stripping armour from the first kobold I'd faced. He died to a spear through the throat, so an enormous amount of blood had poured down his front, but it was the best of bad options.
As my fingers dealt with that nasty business, my mind returned to the equally nasty topic of my ability to kill. Once I'd made the decision to face the kobolds, spear in hand, I'd found myself acting with utter certainty. Even in that desperate moment when the final enemy bore down on me, I couldn't have run if I'd wanted to. It was like, once I made the initial decision to enter combat, I had become utterly committed to the demise of my opponents, whether I liked it or not. My concern was whether or not that initial choice would always be available to me or if - now that I'd discovered my ability to kill - I would simply respond with instinctive violence whenever I felt threatened. I really hoped it would be the former, but this world had magic, and the knowledge in my head was telling me that magic had a tendency of changing people, of pushing them along certain paths through the form of...Oh!
That's what that mark on my arm is for!
Two separate scraps of information floating disjointedly through my poor head suddenly snapped together into a coherent whole: Classes. It was like those computer games from Earth, the role-playing ones. The player's character would be assigned a "class" that defined his role within the game world. Warrior, mage, archer, rogue; those were the common archetypes for the games, I was pretty sure, but something in the reams of information that had been magically pasted into my brain was telling me that classes within this world were far, far more complicated than any game.
Finally! My dour ruminations were set aside for a moment as I finished tugging the bloody leather armour free from the hairy corpse of its owner. Well, former owner now, because I was pretty sure I could make this stuff fit me...more or less. The kobolds had all been shorter than me but the proportions were off. A lot more of their height came from their torso, instead of their legs. And their chests tended to be as thick as they were wide, which was why the big one's armour would have fit me so poorly. This set, however, well...it wasn't ideal. Not by a long shot. But I would make it work.
The buckles and straps were legion and unfamiliar, the inside of the armour was crusted with hair and dried kobold sweat, the outside was slick with blood, and none of the gear fit me properly, but in the end I stood over my vanquished foes, armoured in ill-fitting leather armour and armed with a kobold shield and a Warden spear. A kobold's short bronze sword had been sheathed and belted around my waist as a backup weapon, though I suspected I'd be more likely to cut myself on the double-edged blade than anyone else. My newfound confidence with spears did not extend to swords, it seemed. Hopefully there would be no need to draw it.
I disliked the thought of leaving Kortall’s body to the mercy of forest scavengers but evening was rapidly approaching. I didn’t like my odds if set upon by monsters, another band of kobolds, or whatever else might be drawn by the scent of death and the dark of night. Despite the armour and weapons, my supply situation had not improved. I could only hope that Kortall had not been on some long journey through the wilderness. He wore no pack, though, and I’d seen no hint of camping equipment or wilderness survival gear, so either he had shed the weight while fleeing through the trees, or somewhere nearby was a centre of civilization from which he had issued forth.
Actually, upon further consideration, it made no sense for him to be out here without so much as a belt pouch (I didn’t think armour came with pockets) so he probably had lost some stuff somewhere along the way. A quick check confirmed there was no belt on Kortall’s waist, but that the hole in his armour was positioned such that the enemy’s blade likely cut right through whatever belt he’d been wearing. So, he had lost some gear, but my point still stood, I told myself. No way was he carrying an entire camping kit in a pouch on his belt. Unless it was a magic pouch…a bigger-on-the-inside pouch…the kind of pouch that could carry many weeks’ worth of supplies…the kind of pouch that…
I slapped myself again. I couldn’t afford to think like that. Kortall must have been carrying basic supplies but likely not enough to for spending a night outside. He didn’t even seem to have a cloak for warmth. That meant he hadn’t traveled far from civilization and had intended to return there before end of day. It might be a town, a city, or simply a camp of soldiers, but I needed to find it before nightfall.
I still had serious concerns about what the magic of this world might be doing to me, along with a massive list of other questions, but all that would have to wait until I was in a place of safety. There was, however, one thing that should be addressed before I left the clearing. I needed to examine my class.
Settling down on to one knee, I placed my back to a wide tree trunk and braced the spear across my body, ready to react to danger. Then I closed my eyes and turned my thoughts inward. Following the vague instructions that had been placed in my mind, I focused on a mental image of the mark that had seared itself into my flesh: the golden spear.
Knowledge came to me then, knowledge that was both new and undeniably part of me. It was a knowing, and understanding, and – to make sense of it – I pictured it as words on a page.
Primary Class: [Spearwoman]; Rank: Gold Secondary Classes: None Skills Discovered: [Simple Thrust] Skills Learned: None Titles: [World Traveler], [Unflinching Killer]
So, now I knew. The magic of this world had decided that my willingness to take lives in defence of my own should be codified and rewarded by making it easier for me to do again.
I wasn’t sure if the titles were a simple acknowledgement of fact or if they would have an ongoing effect. [World Traveler] seemed simple enough – I had somehow traveled from one world to another after all – but what about [Unflinching Killer]? Would it suppress my inhibitions and make me more likely to kill, even when not strictly necessary? I would have to be on guard for that. On the other hand, second-guessing myself in dangerous situations would probably only make things worse; yet another reason to find civilization and relative safety.
When I focused on the skill [Simple Thrust], I got the sense that it would make my spear thrusts a smidge more powerful and possibly more accurate. It was effectively the same result as could be gained from a great deal of practice, but the ability would be granted to me with only a fraction of the effort.
I couldn’t use the skill yet, as I’d only “discovered” it in that one fight, but I had an instinctive sense of how many times I’d need to practice thrusting with a spear before it would be “learned” and available. Compared to how long it would take to gain basic competence of an activity on Earth, this system was just plain cheating, especially since the class itself gave me an enhanced ability to learn, understand, and perform any maneuver or technique with the spear; cheating, plain and simple.
Well, that’s magic for you, I thought. I sighed and pulled myself from the near trance into which I’d fallen. It was a good thing nothing had snuck up on me because I wasn’t sure I would have noticed.
I found myself quite bothered by my class – and especially that title – but decided I would make every use of it necessary to survive until I found safety. After that…well…one thing at a time.
With a final, wordless salute to the brave young man who’d saved my life, I picked a direction and walked into the lengthening shadows of the forest.