Ryder clutched his bow, the arrow nocked.

“You went to his office, didn’t you!?” the stranger yelled. His teeth clenched.

“Who are you!?” Ryder exclaimed.

“Whose office, dickhead!?” Durge added.

His eyes were wide as he approached the fire, and his three companions stepped closer.

“What makes you two so special!? You do one quest and everyone shouts your name, Potion-Giver! We’ve been Silver for two years and you hayseeds are already having private chats with the manager! Soon enough you’ll be Glorious,” he snickered. “I can already see the golden tags around your wretched necks.”

The shirtless human that foamed at the mouth was next to two orc brutes; one carried a mace, and the other was equipped with a falchion and shield. Ryder’s keen eyes followed a cloaked figure that still hid behind a tree, his hands revolved around a flickering orb.

The man approached closer, hatchet in hand, “What did he tell you!? I know of the secrets in the Guild Hall! I know what they do! They have us thieve! They have us kill one another! They would send you to kill me one day! But I’ll prove them wrong… I’ll prove to them that I’ll make a slaying quest out of you!”

With a forceful swing, the man’s axe scarred Durge’s shield.

Ryder let loose his primed arrow. An orc yelled and snapped the arrow with their mace after it dwelled deep in his upper chest.

Durge tripped the hysterical man and shoved him into the campfire. He bellowed in the flames, his flesh searing. As the man screamed in pain, the putrid stench of burnt flesh filled Durge's nose. The flames were quickly doused by the mage, channeling water from Lake Cherry.

Durge had to ready his shield hastily as both of the orc brutes advanced towards the duo. The mace-wielder had a monstrous look as they charged Ryder; its jaw and tusks were stained red as if it had swum in gore.

Ryder fumbled with his quiver and arrows numerous times before he was able to fire another one. It’s just a tree. It’s just a tree. It’s just a tree, Ryder thought. His arrow missed the center of the orc, instead striking their knee. The struck foe collapsed, writhing in pain.

The other orc clashed with Durge. Their swords scraped one another with a metallic screech. They both bore their teeth as they rapidly grew exhausted from the duel.

“Catwood was meant to die!” the orc screamed before bludgeoning Durge with their shield.

Dazed and tired, Durge could only manage enough strength to hold his shield in front of him.

The darkness of the night was lit anew by the bright blue of the mage’s orb. When Ryder took a chance to leap onto his anguished foe with his dagger, a forceful stream of water grasped him from the lake. Ryder felt as if he was in a cyclone, unable to escape the funnel.

The burnt human rose from the grass. He calmly limped toward Ryder with his mouth agape and eyes red.

After incessant and annoyed strikes against Durge’s shield, the orc let go of his own and grasped Durge’s. As his fingers gripped around the edge of the heater and pulled it upright, Durge was able to impale the orc from underneath, falling onto him in the process. He left the blade in the immobile brute and hobbled over to the charred man.

The mage noticed his companion lift his axe high, ready to sever Ryder’s skull in half. To allow the berserker to reach Ryder, the mage dispersed his cyclone spell. The hatchet swooped down but Ryder swiftly caught the neck of the axe and the man’s other arm.

Durge came from behind and tore the axe away from the berserker before burying it deep where the spine met his brain.

The frenzied-man fell like timber at Ryder’s feet.

The arrow-wounded mace-wielder was still on the ground, slowly crawling towards the wizard. Durge retrieved his sword and shield while Ryder found his bow. His hands and arrows were soaked and freezing.

As Durge stomped toward the orc, a barrier of water made him recoil and wipe his eyes.

Ryder was unable to see the hydromancer or the orc, the wall of water encircled them both.

“You okay, Durge?” Ryder asked.

“I’ll live. You?”

“I’m okay, but we have to push past this barrier before they recover and attack again,” Ryder commanded.

Ryder studied the barrier again; it was weakening over time, but not fast enough. The water came from the soil and shot upward like a fountain. The pressure would cut flesh if one stuck a limb through, evident by the falchion-orc’s corpse that had been split in two, dyeing the water red and painting the area in blood.

“Halt the water and I’ll jump through!” Ryder exclaimed against the roaring fountain.

Durge looked to the radiant stars and regained his breath. He grabbed both the orc’s shield and his own, and pressed down against the liquid razor. The pressure was tearing the crude wooden shield apart, but his own was fairing well.

The red liquid spewed in every direction but was unable to maintain a solid beam. The barrier became thin enough for Ryder to jump through and fire an arrow at the wizard.

On the other side of the barrier, the wizard handed the orc an orange potion. A number of empty vials surrounded him. The wizard jumped, surprised at the arrow that landed in the dirt next to him, and dropped his spell.

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The orc instantly stood up and sprinted toward the duo, the wounds to his chest and knee vanished.

As Durge appeared from the fading fountain, he charged the screaming orc. Like a battering ram to a castle gate, the orc slammed against Durge’s shield when they met. Durge dug into the dirt as the brute snarled and growled.

“Shove him back!” Ryder yelled, unable to get a clear shot.

With a great heave, the orc was thrust backward and an arrow whizzed into its shoulder. As the beast flinched, Durge struck the orc numerous times with his arming sword, slicing away at its olive-green flesh.

The orc would not die. Three more arrows pierced him and he refused to fall. Ryder assumed his bow must have been enchanted to shoot feathers or that the mage was healing from afar, but the wizard was nowhere to be seen.

Durge eventually faltered onto the red-soaked soil and the orc took the opportunity to grab him by the throat, raising him from the ground.

Ryder dropped his useless bow and charged the orc with a dagger in hand. He pounced on the orc’s back and punctured him 20 times.

The brute just stared into Durge’s eyes with an expressionless cold stare until his legs wobbled and collapsed from underneath him.

Durge painfully gulped for air as he fell to the ground, still feeling the orc’s imprints on his neck. “Does anything ever die in this world!?”

Ryder was frantically surveying the forest for the mage.

He eventually saw the faint blue light of the wizard’s orb hiding underneath his cloak as he ran northward.

Ryder retrieved his bow and chased after. Dodging branches, thickets, vines, and shrubs. He stopped when he reached a beautiful clearing.

The breeze was crisp, and the waves of long grass and trees flowed in the wind. It was as if the wizard was illuminated by a beacon from the moon and Ryder’s hands were guided by the watchful eyes above.

Face first the wizard fell, with an arrow protruding from his back.

Ryder choked on his breath and muttered to himself, “I had to. I had to.” He looked away as he pulled his arrow with trembling hands from the spine of the wizard. He noticed the orb under the spellcaster’s robes, its vibrant blue glow quickly diminishing. He picked up the glass sphere, but that’s all it was to him; the hydromancer’s amplifier was useless, but not to members of the arcane.

The orc that strangled Durge was spasming on the ground before he lay motionless, vibrant orange liquid gushed from his wounds.

“Fucking wizards,” Durge muttered to himself.

He checked on his own wounds, a few slashes on his arms and hands, and bruises on his torso and face, but no potion liquid was pouring out of him. He imagined what the fight would’ve been like if he had that armor that Irid would craft.

The weapons of the orcs and berserker were still intact except for the orc’s shield. The orc’s body, however, was not. But its bottom half did have a pouch full of six gold that Durge quickly noticed.

“What are you doing?” Ryder asked, annoyed.

“Making it easier for the pallbearers. Did you get the wizard?”

Ryder tossed the orb to him.

He gave an approving nod, “We don’t know if he could’ve called for reinforcements.”

Durge spread the weapons on the ground, “A falchion, a mace, a glass orb, and a hatchet.”

Ryder looked unamused by the loot.

“I’m taking the mace,” Durge said. “What’ll be your pick?”

The hatchet is useless. What use do I have for the orb? Either that crude and broad falchion or…

“I’ll take your sword,” Ryder declared.

Durge clicked his tongue and began taking off his sheathe, “It’s served me well, but it’s too light for my taste now. I need something that can really crack skulls. I’m not handing down my shield to you though, this is one that I’ll be buried with.” He kissed his shield and gazed at the marks it held.

The scrapes on the white paint revealed thick wood underneath. Slime refuse, water, blood, slashes, and slices adorned the shield as battle scars.

Ryder packed up the rest of the camp. The tents were a little damp and stained red but would dry soon enough in the summer sun.

“We should get moving before some other lunatic decides to kill us,” Durge said.

“Do we just leave them like this?” Ryder asked.

“What? Are you gonna bury them? Tie stones to their ankles and toss em’ in the lake? They’re not coming back… well hopefully not,” Durge quickened his pace to collect his belongings. “Someone’ll find them or the animals will, it matters not.”

Ryder took one last survey of their campsite. He lost four arrows in the fight but he still had his satchel, camping supplies, Durge’s sword, flower pot, and a silver dog tag from the human fighter that read Blighton Qweror.

He was curious about the adventurers who attacked him and the words that foamed out of their mouths, but his tiredness washed it away from his mind until he awoke the next morning.

“Idiots,” Durge said as he strolled through the forest.

Ryder stepped over the large branch, “We could’ve easily explained to them the situation. But that human…”

“He just wanted blood. I don’t think he would’ve been too happy if we told them that we've gotten adventurers killed before,” Durge laughed. He stopped once Ryder gave a disapproving glance. “Don’t worry about it, Rye. We’ll turn in this quest, get our 25 gold. You’ll give Rose that dog tag and explain it to her, or whoever, that people tried to kill us.”

“Do you not think that’s suspicious at all? Two quests in a row now we’ve had to explain why other adventurers have died because of us! Two!” Ryder exclaimed.

Durge shrugged, “I know I'm innocent.”

Ryder rolled his eyes and kept walking back to Maria.

Durge’s sword hung from Ryder’s hip, swaying side to side as he carried his flowerpot.

The spiked mace Durge carried was tucked into his belt, mildly poking him when he walked.

“They knew of Catwood,” Durge said aloud.

Ryder cocked his head, “The guy was mad at me for my nickname. Do you think they were involved when Catwood suffered his accident?”

“They must’ve been. The orc spat in my face about how that elf was supposed to die. That mage was probably the one who enchanted that halberd, huh?”

Ryder stroked his barely-visible mustache, “It couldn’t have been. That mage’s spells were unlike the one’s inflicted on Catwood. There must’ve been another one working for them.”

Paranoia quickly set and they both peered through the forest.

No other person was around in the quiet and dense thicket.

But in a startled panic, Ryder shot an arrow through a rustling shrub.

Durge readied his mace and shield and approached closer.

As they stood still the shrub swayed more until a familiar green orb squeezed through with an arrow sticking out of its noggin.

The two were relieved at the sight of their old friend, even if it was a painful memory for the both of them, Durge especially.

“Damn thing could’ve gotten to Maria quicker than us,” Durge said with a smile.

“Maybe we can lead it away so it doesn’t get scooped up by aggravated glass makers,” Ryder said while trying to unstick his arrow.

While Durge was leading the slime away with a branch full of leaves, Ryder’s arrow snapped when forcing it out. It sent tiny globs of acidic goo at both of them. They panicked as if they were set on fire, but only a negligible amount of damage was dealt to either of them.

“Watch it!” Durge said.

“What? I’m not allowed to retrieve my arrows back? I only got 14 left.”

“And the next one you shoot at this thing and I’m throwing in your entire bow!”

Durge whispered to the slime and nudged it with his shield.

“You know what?” Durge said, staring at Ryder’s flowerpot.

Ryder couldn’t mutter a word before the pot was ripped from his hands and given to the slime. Durge placed it on the top of its head and watched it slowly sink into the translucent core.

But it stopped a quarter of the way through. The slime wasn’t ingesting or dissolving the clay pot at all. It was just stuck there while the slime kept roaming.

Durge and Ryder were dumbfounded at the uncaring slime that had a plant pot in its head.

“Maybe it's saving it for later?” Ryder asked.

“Or it’s choosing not to,” Durge said as he watched it sink into the forest again. “Farewell.”