“Blasted cattle,” Casper grumbled. His horse, Rebel, snorted in agreement.

It was early morning, and fog blanketed the hills like a soft layer of fluff. Around this time, Casper would be enjoying a smoke on the porch, but two of his thick-skulled bovines were missing, so here he was. Even worse, these bulls were no ordinary animals. They were carefully bred whitehorn cows, and Casper could sell their meat to the traders for three times the price of regular cattle. What’s the difference, anyhow? he thought to himself. Meat is meat, who cares where it came from? Apparently, rich people do, but I’m not complaining.

Taking advantage of his lapse in concentration, Rebel lowered his head to take a bite out of a patch of grass and almost immediately jerked his head back, body going stiff as a ramrod. Casper patted his horse’s neck, seeing the animal’s wide eyes as Rebel backtracked, apparently afraid of… something. Casper had seen Rebel face off against a coyote and chase it away with a well-timed kick to the shoulder. The horse was the bravest animal he owned besides some of the more hard headed bulls, whose bravery could be counted as stupidity.

He scanned his surroundings again, squinting to see through the fog, but saw nothing and checked his compass again. It was a must-have piece of basic magitech for any rancher with half a brain as it could track stray cattle through their paired trackers.

The compass needle, which was currently tracking one of the missing cattle, was moving towards him. Did the blasted thing see me? Forgot that it missed breakfast? he thought with a tinge of annoyance.

A thing appeared at the crest of the next hill just as the winds shifted, carrying with it the macabre scent of blood. Something dark rolled down the hill, stopping a few yards from where Rebel had stopped dead in his tracks. It was a gory mess of blood and fur, and when Casper finally saw it, every nerve in his body went still.

Staring back at him with wide, glassy eyes was the head of his very own whitehorn cow. And now joined by two more figures, staring down the hill at him with sinister yellow eyes, was a monster wolf the likes of which he’d never seen before.

Rebel moved before he did, turning and bolting back towards the ranch faster than he’d ever gone before. Casper’s breathing was quick and erratic. He’d lived a good life on the ranch, never broke too many rules, went to the tavern on off nights… was this his end? Chased down by wolves larger than a horse, all for some dumb cattle?

As the air whipped past his face, Casper fumbled for the red stone in his satchel. If broken, it would alert the rangers to the presence of monsters, and they would come save him. They had to.

Crushing it mercilessly between his fingers, the stone glowed in a burst of light before going dead. He tried chucking the stone at the wolves, trying to do something to slow them, but it simply hit the grass and lay still. I-I can’t die, not yet, Casper thought desperately. Reaching through his satchel again, his fingers locked around his only emergency flare. He’d bought it twenty years ago and it hadn’t been used since, gathering dust. Monsters haven’t bothered humans this close to civilization since forever. Why me? Why now? Casper, you fool, farming near the Carerre Mountains for some extra money, huh? Never thought what it would do? What the consequences would be? He broke the flare, and a beam of red light shot into the sky. The wolves grunted behind him, perhaps slowed by the light, but they were still gaining. Ahead of them, the ranch came into sight.

I can make it, Casper thought. I can — I can make it! Wolves won’t follow me into to—

Teeth closed around his entire upper body, and then he was dead. He didn’t see the system message, the first one in years since his skills had hit their limit in a simple rancher’s life.

╒═════════════════╕

You have died.

╘═════════════════╛

◇─◇────◆─◈─◆────◇─◇

Maya had a plan. She wasn’t going for the big things in life, no, she was going to be a good little Yyencan scout, maybe even go for Silver-rank in the future. After that, she was going to take her savings and settle down somewhere nice and live a happy, long life — preferably as far away from the desert as possible. She’d had enough of its heat for a lifetime.

“The regular route, Maya,” Captain Laucher told her sternly, the older woman’s tanned skin and battle scars a testament to her experience. “We’ve been getting a few reports of increased monster activity recently, and though it’s not confirmed, keep an eye out. You’re a dependable scout. Wouldn’t want to lose you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Maya nodded. She wasn’t going to take any unnecessary risks. That was how a scout lost her head.

“Alright, then,” the captain nodded. “May the sands be with you.”

With a quick nod, Maya grabbed her glider and took to the sky. She felt mana being siphoned from her core, which was only Copper-rank, or Tier II. Any offensive magic would leave her drained, but her core was more than enough to move her glider through the sky, especially with her wind affinity.

Air rushing by her ears, Maya felt a steady drain from her core as she guided winds to boost her further and further up until she was at a good height and started gliding on the currents.

After around fifteen miles of desert had passed underneath her, Maya recognized a particularly tall dune in the distance and started to lower her glider until she landed softly at its base. Climbing up the base, Maya flattened herself near the top and peered over the edge, spotting a dip in the land up ahead in the distance. In the dip was a cluster of monster-made tunnels and caves that crawled with a nest of scorpions. Its numbers were culled every month by a strike team, but scouts were still tasked with gathering information on it — hence the reason why Maya was here. There was a queen scorpion underground, but the scorpions were used to train younger warriors so the strike teams left her alive.

Taking out her spyglass, Maya brought it to her eye and focused on the nest of scorpions in the distance. What she saw made her breath hitch as a familiar feeling entered her mind. Fear.

The nest was a riot of activity. The average monster scorpions were four-foot-long monsters with the largest pushing six feet. Their carapaces were chitinous black, and even a scrape from their poisonous tail barbs could leave a Copper-rank human in critical condition.

Since the last time Maya had been here a month ago, the scorpions had at least doubled their size. Maya even saw what she was certain were evolved forms of the scorpions milling over the sand, twenty-foot-long monstrosities carrying the dead bodies of other animals back into their nest. The reports were true, Maya realized. Something’s going on.

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On the way back to base camp, she had never flown faster in her entire life. Winds howled around her as mana drained from her core like water from a broken glass. Dunes whipped by underneath her as she glided on, pushed by her erratic breathing. She had never seen monsters like those before. Never. She shouldn’t have become a scout. After this, she’d head back to her small family home and live out a life breeding camels. Perhaps that’s what she’d do.

Despite her fear, halfway through the journey she realized that, one, the scorpions did not even notice her, and two, even if they did they couldn’t chase her into the sky.

Still, she realized it two moments too late, and her mana core drained below the point where she could have a controlled landing. Now I’m breaking the first rule of gliding… never crash land into camp.

◇─◇────◆─◈─◆────◇─◇

When an entire ocean apart, news traveled slowly between the two continents, but the denizens of Arawyth had heard enough from the humans in Kamouri to know that the warning signs for a worldwide monster surge were appearing. It was not a new occurrence, but it was also not a frequent one, happening every couple of centuries. The last monster surge had occurred 227 years ago, meaning generations of human farmers could live their lives in relative peace before one generation went through literal hell.

Not elves. Elves lived for hundreds of years and remembered even longer. Vinthera’s current king, Alane Navorai, had been a child when the monster surge before the last had occurred, and had been general of the elven army in the one after that. Queen Xena Navorai was born a decade after. Kaelan had read the textbooks and done his history research. A monster surge could happen any time between one century after the previous one or four. There was no rhyme or reason to the monsters, but one thing was absolute. It was always deadly.

Which is why Kaelan was now scouting the dense jungle, searching for the hive of a swarm of silver wasps. They were giant wasps with a silvery-white stinger, hence their name, and each wasp soldier matured after half a week with enough food and nutrients. They were pests and had to be exterminated. However, if the monster surge was truly beginning, their power would spin out of control, turning from deadly pests into a catastrophe. Even worse, a catastrophe in Vinthera.

His task was to scout for the general growth rate and danger of the monsters.

Yet another small monster darted past him, a small hare that likely moved as fast as him. Monsters had always been part of the jungle, but recently their numbers had soared above the average count. Some of the most powerful elven mages claimed to sense increased mana in the air as the system started to prepare for the official start of the monster surge. Just like the last time, the king’s half-sane brother had said. There’s no doubt about it now. The only difference is, you’re the ones on the front line this time, little children! We’ll be the ones sipping tea from afar, hehe.

The old elf, powerful though he was, had always been cr—

The low drone of wings beating against the air. The subtle stench of blood. Kaelan had arrived at his destination.

Then, like three blurs of movement, three wasps zipped towards him as fast as he could react. Three stingers aimed at his heart, his knee, and his eyes. Aimed for the weak points. He let out a low cuss. They’re smart — smarter than insects should be.

Smart though they are, they didn’t undergo fifteen years of hellish training under the elves who call themselves instructors. His bow, which was already in hand, was used to slam the first wasp against a tree. Silver wasps had silvery stingers and black-yellow carapaces, but these three were fully black. Evolved. They’re growing faster than the last surges.

The first wasp zipped back into the battle as only swarm-controlled insects could, tears on its wing that caused it to fly erratically in the air. The second wasp was blocked by Kaelan raising his bow to defend himself as mana infused his leg muscles, launching his body to dodge the third wasp aiming for his knee. A skill he had learned after two years of grueling practice under his father’s relentless drilling. I may have no talent, but at least I can still survive.

Whipping out his short sword, the metal blade cleaved through empty air as the insect flew to the side, a low buzz of wings in the trees rising steadily. The swarm knows. Time to leave.

Mana imbued his short sword’s edge as he swung his sword and decimated the three evolved wasps. As their bodies thunked to the ground, he turned and bounded into the trees. The wasps wouldn’t give chase — they were too fiercely territorial to consider leaving their queen unless for food or extraordinary circumstances.

Fifteen years of training — and a trio of insects likely no more than a month old already caused him to use two of his best skills.

It’s only going to get worse, he thought bitterly. And history repeats itself…. Anisha, I beg of you, lay your blessing upon this fair land.

◇─◇────◆─◈─◆────◇─◇

Arden had been receptionist at one of the larger branches of the Adventurer’s Guild in Calador for… how long had it been? Forty, fifty years? If someone told him seventy, he wouldn’t be surprised. He had seen more young adventurers than he wanted to count. More quests had flashed past his eyes than, most likely, a team of Gold-rank adventurers combined. Of course, the quests were never his. He’d seen youthful faces full of that childish excitement never return to the lobby, grieving mothers and fathers cursing him out in every rotten word in the human language, up-and-coming prodigies, the rich, the poor, the middle-class, farmer’s boys, drunk traveling dwarves, haughty elves, noble elves, greedy humans, altruistic humans, a four-year-old orphan who escaped from the orphanage twenty miles away, a noble’s son spilling out secrets over seven pints of beer, the arrogant, the prideful, the cowards, a herd of fifty runaway cattle, serial killers, the brave, a beastkin whose steps froze the floor, a fire drake with a massive ego, a one-foot-tall owl who beat up said drake, liars, thieves, a two-foot-tall barbarian, sarcastic golems, insane heroes, surprisingly sane genocide committers, talking caterpillars, business-talking zombies, their rivals the deal-cutting ghouls, and a sentient golem made out of books.

He could’ve been the receptionist of the largest branch of the Adventurer’s Guild, but it was these branches that weren’t too large but not too small either that, he found, proved the most interesting to watch. But the scene in front of him caused his stomach to churn uncomfortably.

A sea of faces milled around in the waiting lobby, even a few spilling outside into the crisp evening air. The stink of dirty bodies was pushed out by the magitech that was installed into the building at the complaints of most of the staff members.

Arden couldn’t have cared less. All of these adventurers were here for one reason, and one reason only: the upcoming monster surge. In their eyes, it must’ve been such a glorious event, a treasure trove of wealth, fame, glory, and power. They thought all of that would be theirs, if they only dared to try. They thought they would be the champions of the new era, if only they dared to try.

Oh, how wrong they were.

Arden hadn’t been part of the last monster surge. He may have been old, but he was neither exceptionally powerful nor an elf. But he remembered being just like these youths when he was just a young, immature fifteen-year-old who felt he could be champion of the world someday. Diamond-rank at the age of twenty-five? A piece of cake. He dreamed of being in the upper echelons of society, eating dinner with the king himself and mediating continent-spanning arguments with power. He’d fix the world, once he became a champion.

Now he was sitting at the receptionist’s desk of the Adventurer’s Guild, his Silver-rank core broken, as he handed out quests of doom to young adventurers who might one day be like him — maybe even worse.

The system called monster surges the Reckoning. Arden preferred the term certain death.