Chapter 40 (Patreon)

“I’ve called you all here to discuss a matter of great importance,” Rob declared. “Let the meeting of the greatest minds among Rob’s Rangers commence.”

“We’re not called that,” Zamira stated.

“Of course, of course,” he answered. “So, Rob’s Rangers, before we continue: I’m going to have to swear you to secrecy. Nothing that we discuss here leaves this meeting until we come to a unanimous agreement that it’s safe to share certain revelations with the people of the Village.”

Zamira, Vul’to, and Orn’tol stiffened at his request. Keira stood off to the side, impassive and threatening, having adopted the demeanor of a club bouncer as she kept an eye out for any wandering elves that might consider poking their nose where it wasn’t wanted.

“Is it a matter that could bring harm to The Village or its inhabitants?” Zamira asked, locking eyes with him. Orn’tol and Vul’to waited on bated breath for his answer, mild dread creeping into their expression.

Rob shook his head. “The Village? No. Me? Potentially. Depends on how much my reputation as the ‘Blightkiller’ will protect me from the vultures if news gets out about what I just learned.” He softened his gaze. “If you don’t feel comfortable swearing an oath to secrecy, I get it. But I need to know now. No hard feelings if anyone wants to walk away.”

The three trainees shared glances. Vul’to slowly raised his hand to draw attention to himself. “If you’re putting trust in us, then we’re putting trust in you,” he said. His voice was quiet and fragile, like it might disappear at any moment. “That’s what I think, at any rate.” After another moment of consideration, Zamira and Orn’tol nodded.

Rob didn’t bother to hide his sigh of relief. “Awesome. So, without further ado, let’s discuss why I brought you all here. It’s going to sound wild, and I won’t be able to show you any immediate evidence, but it’s all real.”

“I believe you,” Orn’tol said. The other four, Keira included, turned to look at him.

“That was fast,” Rob said.

The young boy shrugged. “Strangeness follows you.”

“It does not! And wipe that smirk off your face, Keira!”

“As loathe as I am to interrupt a free show,” Zamira interjected, “Time waits for no elf. Shall we skip to the part where you regale us with tales of mystery and intrigue?”

“Probably should, yeah.” Rob allowed himself a few seconds of procrastination before diving into the deep end. “To start with: it involves how I survived the Blight’s final retribution.”

And with that, he had their full attention.

–

The three trainees took a while to digest his recounting of his kinda-death and sorta-ressurection. It was the first time he’d told them the full story; up until that point, Keira was his only confidant. Not that he didn’t trust them, but they weren’t fun memories to relive and Crystal Bearer hadn’t done much else except sit on his Character Sheet and be mysterious. By offering him choices of Skills to pick from, it had forced his hand.

“You ate a Class Crystal,” Zamira said, her voice strained. “Even the Great Zerthimon would screech to the heavens at your casual disregard for the framework of reality.”

“I can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment or somewhere in between.”

“Would you mind reading off your potential choices of Skills one more time?” Zamira asked, moving past his statement. “This is not a decision to be made lightly.”

He was more than happy to oblige, wanting every bit of advice he could get regarding mixmaxing. His solo efforts at stat allocation up to this point had led him to a build where he had to accept getting injured often as a part of his battle plan, and while it had served him well, it would be nice this time to avoid the Elatra equivalent of entering college Undeclared and picking random electives.

Name: Class Alteration
Prerequisite: Crystal Bearer Level 1
Description: Allows you to change the Class of yourself or others. In addition, you can transfer the gained Class Levels of one Class into another. Each function can be used once per day.

Name: Spacial Storage
Prerequisite: Crystal Bearer Level 1
Description: Can put inorganic items in touch range into a dimensional storage. Items in storage can be produced at will. Limit of 50 pounds or 125 cubic feet of storage per person. Maximum of 50 people using storage allowed. Maximum of 100 items in total storage allowed.

Name: Waymark
Prerequisite: Crystal Bearer Level 1
Description: Grants you the ability to put two invisible, undetectable Marks on surfaces. When standing next to one Mark, if the Skill is activated, the user and every member of his Party will be teleported to the other Mark. Limit two Marks per 24 hours, and one teleport per 24 hours.

“Those are Crystal functions,” Orn’tol said.

“I mean, yeah, the Class is called Crystal Bearer. I’m guessing the Class Alteration option is because I, as Zamira said, ‘ate’ a Class Crystal.”

“Not just that,” Keira said, shaking her head. “Each one of those Skills is a power that certain types of Crystals have. The Village only had the one Class Crystal, but other, more prosperous settlements may possess different Crystals that can store items, teleport users, send messages, or heal people from the brink of death. Each Crystal possesses its own unique mana that lets it perform a distinct function from the others.”

Rob’s eyebrow shot up to the top of his head. “Why the hell don’t we have any of those?”

“Money, and our lack thereof.”

A universe away, and some things are still the same. “Why did I get the potential for multiple kinds of Crystal Skills when the only mana I was doused in belonged to a Class Crystal?”

Keira gave him a wry grin. “That mystery is the least of our present concerns. Choosing the correct Skill to invest in is a far more pressing matter. Each one is powerful in its own right; not in the sense that they will make you more capable in combat, but because they will grant you the ability to perform functions that are crucial to society. There is a reason that Crystals are so highly-prized by every race and every nation.”

“He has to pick Spacial Storage,” Vul’to piped up, his voice regaining a modicum of strength. “It lets him store items, and additionally, lets other people store items in him. The evacuation convoy would move much at much greater speed if we didn’t have to worry about lugging around quite so many supply crates. And a greater speed means less chances for the lingering Infected to assault us. Lives would be saved. The existence of the Skill will have to be revealed to the Village at large so other people can put supplies into Rob’s Storage, but I doubt they’ll take treat him any worse because he inherited such a useful Skill.”

“You make good points,” Orn’tol responded to him. “But The Village lost its only Class Crystal. Without it, no new Rangers can be made, nor can Utility Class users enter their...” He fished for the right Common words. “...chosen calling. No guarantee that Reviton will be gracious enough to let us use theirs. Will already be angered that we’re seeking refuge. And it might help to make more Combat Class users before the trip. Change Bakers into Rangers, ect. Their Class Levels could be transferred. Wouldn’t have to start from scratch.”

“Now that I think about it,” Keira added, looking away from Rob and at the other two. “I may have been hasty in saying Waymark has no combat applications. It would allow him to escape an attack before the spectre of death drags him off to the Humans’ Hallowed Halls. Only once per day, but if that one usage is enough to save his life, then its value cannot be put into words.”

Rob tapped his foot on the ground. “Guys? Remember that last kerfuffle we got into because people were trying to make decisions about my Skills without consulting me, when I’m standing right here?”

They had the good sense to look abashed. Rob mulled over their admittedly good arguments before voicing his opinion.

“Spacial Storage sounds like the way to go,” he said. “We’ll need a replacement Class Crystal – which will be me, I guess – in the future, but not immediately. While it’s tempting to make more Combat Class users to pad the Rangers’ numbers, I can only do it once a day, and an untrained Level 16 Ranger who’s never picked up a bow isn’t much better than a Level 16 Baker. Waymark might rescue me in a pinch, but its main function is completely useless to us. I need to be next to the spot where I put a Mark down and we’re not traveling back here anytime soon. Spacial Storage is insanely useful in all applications, even if we weren’t concerned about lugging crates of supplies through dangerous territory.” Oh, the possibilities. Please let me dump a surprise bag of Firebombs on people. Or hand out HP Potions like I bought a round for the whole bar.

Vul’to, Orn’tol, and Keira nodded after he’d finished speaking, seemingly content to let him make his own decision about his own Skill. Progress! Rob was about to open up his Character Sheet and make it official when he glanced at Zamira, whose expression had gone from her usual neutral stoicism to being so tense that her face could have been carved from stone.

“Zamira? You okay?”

“Yes,” she stated in a monotone.

A lightbulb went off in Rob’s head. “You mind if we speak in private?” She looked at him, mild hope mixed with trepidation, and followed him without a word.

Once they were out of Elven hearing range, Rob didn’t waste any time addressing her directly. “Do you want me to pick Class Alteration?”

A flinch that spoke volumes was his answer. “No,” she said.

“It’s okay,” Rob said, trying to sound soothing while not coming off as patronizing. “I understand why you would. It lets me both change Classes and transfer Class Levels. I could make you a full-fledged Swordmaster in an instant.”

Zamira hung her head. “I never imagined this temptation would present itself to me,” she said, so quiet that her voice would have been inaudible without Heightened Senses. “Normal Class Crystals can’t transfer Class Levels. Changing to Swordmaster would have been a hideous setback for my fighting prowess; and yet, I was willing to suffer the consequences once the villagers were safe in Reviton. To have this miracle of a possibility dangled under my nose, yet still be out of reach...”

She sounded utterly miserable by the end of her explanation, like a caged dog that had its prison opened for just an instant before the door was shut and locked again.

Rob steeled himself. “I have to choose Spatial Storage first,” he said, hating how he felt like he’d just kicked that very same dog. “It’s too invaluable for our current situation. But the system messages said I’d get to pick up the other Skills later. I swear to you that Class Alteration will be the next one I choose, and the second I do, you’ll be the first person I go to.”

Zamira shook her head. “You shouldn’t. Keira had the right of it; Waymark brings combat applications that may keep you safe. Class Alteration provides no benefit to yourself.”

“Of course it does. It would make my friend happy, which would make me happy.”

Her mouth fell open by just a fraction. After a few seconds, she raised her head and gave him a smile. “You realize that there’s only so many times I can reject that offer before I admit defeat and agree to pursue my own vices?”

“That’s the idea.”

Another few seconds passed. “Would you like a hug?” Zamira asked. “Keira has told me that you enjoy them.”

“Gossiping about me, are you?” Rob let out a small laugh. He tilted his head at Zamira, examining the way her shoulders had started hunching up. “The gesture is appreciated, but I think I’m good. I would hardly enjoy making someone uncomfortable with that level of physical contact give me a hug.”

“It’s not because of you,” Zamira said, speaking in quick bursts. “I don’t want you to think I dislike you. I’m simply not a huggy sort of person. With anyone. Never have been.”

Rob held up his hands. “It’s cool, it’s cool. I promise. You don’t owe me anything. I never thought that you did.”

Zamira shot him an exasperated stare. “You are an infuriatingly empathetic man.”

“That’s the most bizarre compliment I’ve ever gotten, but I’ll take it.” Cheerful satisfaction welled up in Rob as the tension went out of Zamira’s shoulders and a smile danced in her eyes. Good work, Diplomacy, he thought.

An emotional impression of refutation answered him back. Wait, are you saying that was all me? This time it was an impression of confirmation. Huh. Guess I’m learning from the best. The third time, he got back an impression of contentment and a bit of smugness. A moment later, Diplomacy sent him an idea.

“If it would help you feel less like you owe me a debt, we can compromise on a high five.” Rob raised his hand.

Zamira tilted her head slightly. “I wasn’t aware that the scope of High-Fives extended to Earth social settings similar to this one.”

“They don’t, but we’re not on Earth, so who’s going to tell us otherwise?”

She laughed, met his hand with her own, and the inexorable march of the high-five into Elatran mainstream culture took one step further.

–

Choosing Spacial Storage was only Step 1; Step 2 was testing its limits. The results were encouraging, if limited in weird ways. Any item that Rob put into his Inventory – which is what he had internally dubbed the Skill which was straight out of a video game – disappeared in a flurry of blue motes after a quarter of a second of physical contact. If he focused on the Skill in the back of his mind, he could bring up an archival list of all the items that had been Stored, and the list didn’t overwhelm his senses no matter how large it grew. Any item could be produced after another quarter of a second of waiting, materializing into existence either in his hand or directly in front of him. The size limit was generous, and each person could use him as their own personal storage – although he couldn’t produce their items without their permission. All in all, it was everything they could have hoped for.

The main caveat was that what the system considered an ‘item’ varied based on an ambiguous set of unseen rules that determined if something was a part of a whole or its own separate entity. For example, Rob couldn’t directly take a chunk out of the ground and Store it, but if someone dug up a lump of earth and placed it in a bag, that was valid. And he couldn’t Store a door connected to a house, but was successful in doing so after removing the door from its hinges.

Sure, Elatra, whatever you say.

The testing was fruitful, and everyone was satisfied with the results, but Rob didn’t want to end the experiments with pushing the Scientific Method to its full potential.

“If I may repeat myself,” Vul’to said, “This is reckless and foolhardy.”

“I have Regeneration.” Rob said. “What could go wrong?”

Keira sputtered. “Are you trying to tempt the fates?”

“Enough with the peanut gallery. Vul’to, do the smart thing and hit me.”

Vul’to sighed and aimed the wooden plank at Rob’s outstretched hand. Rob prepared to catch the makeshift sword and started chanting a mantra in his head. Inventory, Inventory, Inventory, Inveto – motherFUCKer!

A quarter of a second turned out to be enough time for Rob to catch the plank and put it into Storage before Vul’to could react quickly enough to pull it away. Rob’s broken right hand, fingers askew in several different directions, showed the downsides of the maneuver.

Rob hummed for a moment. “Probably shouldn’t try that against bladed weapons. Or people with Strength builds in general.” He paused. “Want to try the other hand?”

“Are you putting off revealing Spacial Storage to the rest of the Village?” Keira asked.

“Absolutely.”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “Not to worry. If anyone tries to take advantage of you, I’ll beat them senseless. Does that help?”

Rob laughed. “You always know what to say.”

I hope this doesn’t blow up in my face.

–

I wish this had blown up in my face.

“Next,” Rob droned as he walked forward. The closest elf lugged over another crate of supplies, panting as his muscles strained against the seemingly immovable object. He struggled against his lack of Strength with all his might, and not one person moved to help him, too busy fighting against their own crates.

“Only 23 more people until my 50 person limit is reached,” Rob grumbled. It turned out that the elves had not bothered asking too many questions about his miracle Skill and had immediately tasked him with Storing as much supplies as possible. Which had been the plan all along, but what Rob hadn’t accounted for was the pure tedium involved. It should have been as quick as an assembly line, him Storing one crate after another, but the average elf was so lacking in Strength that it was taking goddamn forever for them to gather all the supplies into one place.

And then there were the ones trying to game the system. Not the Elatran system; the social system.

“Ah, before you do that,” the elf said, forestalling Rob’s hand before he touched the crate. “I have a minor proposition for you.”

Rob rolled his eyes. He would have just Stored the crate and moved on, but his Skill wouldn’t allow him to without the owner’s express permission. “You are the fourteenth person to try and bribe me today. No, I won’t use my own personal Storage to fill whatever you want me to smuggle out of The Village, nor will I let you bring some cronies and have them use their personal Storage to smuggle out anything either.”

The man held up a pouch of coins, making sure it was hidden in front of the crate and out of view of the other elves in the area. “You’re providing an invaluable service to our Village, and not one person has spoken of compensation.” He gave Rob a smile that reminded him of a used car salesman. “Isn’t that unfair? Why not allow yourself to reap the rewards of your generosity?”

Rob swept his arms out towards the rest of The Village, the nearby streets filled broken houses and empty market stalls. “And where would I spend this compensation? And on what?”

The elf’s face fell. “You don’t understand. How am I supposed to get a good night’s sleep without my bed? It’s stuffed with the softest of fluff, shorn from the finest Taronip, found only in deep Ixatan!”

Rob’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as his blood pressure rose. “A bed? Are you shitting me?”

“Is that a no?”

–

“Enjoying yourself?” Keira sidled up next to him and patted him on the head. Rob accepted the gesture, uncaring of any public embarrassment it would have usually inspired.

“Nine slots left for people to put supplies in,” Rob said. “And no one else to be found. Please shoot me in the face.”

She tousled his hair and raised an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you being a mite overdramatic?” Her face was stern, but the twitching of her cheeks hid a barely-suppressed laugh. “You’re not the only one who’s had to mingle with the rabble.”

“Yes, but that was when you had to do it. Now I have to do it, and it’s the worst.” He matched her raised eyebrow with one of his own. “And did you seriously just say ‘the rabble’?”

“Not seriously, no.” Keira removed her hand from his head and grimaced. “Should I ever grow so big of an ego, I give you full permission to shoot me in the face. I’ll even provide the bow for you.”

Rob’s next bit of banter was cut short by the figure approaching him out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t look now: another of the rabble, approaching me at 10 o’ clock.”

“It’s late afternoon, Rob.”

He explained the concept of military clock positions until the elf woman had finished walking up to him. She looked to be in her late 30s – so was probably over 100 years old – and was dressed in plain, unassuming clothes. It was a stark contrast to the flights of vanity that most elves worked into their ensembles. Dark circles had sunk in under her eyes, and faint lines of worry stretched across her face.

“Good day to you, Rob,” she began. Her voice was as tired as he would have expected. “Your name is Rob, correct? I hope I got it right.”

“Yeah, you did.” Rob put on a smile. “That puts you in an exclusive club. Don’t have a prize for you, but you get bragging rights, so you’ll be the life of all the parties for years to come.”

She said nothing. Just stared at him with half-hollow eyes that took him in while simultaneously gazing into the distance.

The hairs on the back of Rob’s neck stood on end. The last time a person had looked at him like that, it had been followed with a request for an impromptu execution.

“Is it true?” She finally asked. “That you hail from another world.”

Rob nodded, resisting the urge to run. The woman’s face didn’t change, but a glimmer of something sparked in her muted gaze. “I see,” she said. “Did you perhaps know a Human named Alaric?”

“No,” Rob answered. Unease snuck into him as his subconscious caught onto the meaning behind the question before the rest of him did. “I’m sorry, but there’s countless humans back on Earth that I never met, and Alaric doesn’t sound like a name people from my time period would have. It’s more fitting as an Elatra moniker.”

Her gaze didn’t change. “I see,” she repeated. “Have any humans arrived through portals in your home world in recent times? Failing that, are there any legends in your history of such an occurrence?”

“No. I’m sorry.” Rob hesitated, knowing that the moment he opened his mouth, he would be stepping off a cliff. “Why do you ask?”

She continued to stare at him, eyes locked with his, barely blinking.

“They wouldn’t have done it,” she stated. “If your loved ones were facing annihilation, what would you do, Human? Kill them all to spare them death at the hands of their enemies? Use their lives as fuel for your own revenge? No. Love is a stronger bond than that, and despite what some of my brethren may think, the Humans felt love. With so much passion, and all their hearts. I knew so firsthand.”

Rob could only wait for the nightmare to end as the woman continued. “They wouldn’t have done it,” she echoed. “Why sacrifice their own, when they could have sent them elsewhere, safe and secure from the horrors of our world? The Humans disappeared, but there were no bodies. Soul Burn always leaves bodies behind.”

Her muscles tensed. “He was only thirty. So few years left in his short lifespan, and he barely got to experience any of them. He-”

Just for an instant, her eyes burst with life. Like a flash of lightning in the night; fleeting, piercing, and then gone.

“My beloved is out there,” she said, her tone dull. “And I will wait for as long as it takes for him to return.”

It took a good while for Rob to be able to say something after she had left.

“Did you know?” He looked at Keira, his body slightly slumping with fatigue. “Is this a common theory among the elves?”

Keira replied in an instant. “No, not at all.” Her face was filled with disquiet and worry. “I think I’ve heard the like once, maybe, years ago. That may also be my thoughts creating memories where none exist. I can promise you that, in all the times we’ve spent together, the notion never once crossed my mind. I didn’t know.”

Rob stilled his shaking hands. “I can think of someone who would have.”

–

Rob barely managed to stop himself from slamming open the door to Duran’s study. Instead, he walked in and gently shut it behind him, drawing the attention of the beardless Elder.

“Ah, Rob.” Duran graced him with a jovial expression. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Did the Cataclysm teleport the Humans somewhere else?”

Elder Duran rocked back in his chair. Rob started counting down from ten, ready to officially lose his shit if he didn’t get an answer by the time he hit 0. Thankfully, for both their sakes, the Elder responded at 3.

“No. They didn’t.” Duran’s voice was shaking. “Where did you hear of this?”

Rob sat down in front of Duran’s desk and put his hands in his lap. “You’re hiding something. Answer me straight.”

The Elder grimaced as the trap closed in on him. With a sigh, he sat up straight in his chair. “I did not lie to you. The Humans sacrificed themselves to power the Cataclysm. As comforting a fantasy as it may be for those who lost Human loved ones in the event, the mana signatures emanating from each Human as they dissolved were extremely close matches to the signature let off by Soul Burn. It’s a horrid Skill that drains your very life essence and converts it into excess MP and spell power. Very few people survive after having used it even once.”

Two images rose to the top of Rob’s mind. Elder Fareena, casting a gigantic explosion before falling lifeless, and Riardin, firing empowered arrow after empowered arrow even as blood poured out from his nose and ears.

“By far the prevailing theory is that the Human mages linked each member of their race together,” Elder Duran said, dispelling Rob’s unbidden memories. “They used Soul Burn to drain the life out of them, used it to fuel the Cataclysm, and...you know the rest.” He rubbed his temples. “And to clarify, when I call that the prevailing theory, in truth I mean that it’s the only theory. No other plausible explanation exists.”

Rob checked with Diplomacy. The Skill whispered into his ear.

“Okay. I believe you.” Rob allowed the Elder to relax for a moment before striking again. “But you’re still hiding something. You didn’t seem surprised when I asked about the teleportation – you looked nervous. What do you know?”

A few seconds passed as the hunter stared down its prey. “Well...” Elder Duran averted his eyes. “I was aware that a scant few were stubbornly clinging to the notion. That is all.”

“That so.” Rob narrowed his eyes. “So exactly how many elves’ hopes am I going to have to crush? Now that the people in the Village can talk to me without committing some deadly social faux pas, are the bereaved widows and heartbroken widowers going to line up outside my door and ask me to feed them lies so they don’t have to wake up from their dream?”

“Barely any,” Duran replied. His eyes were sorrowful. “Most elves know what they saw. And I imagine that the few holding on to the theory are aware that they are deluding themselves.”

He sighed again, as if he was breathing out the stress curled in his chest. “I meant to tell you. But there were always so many things that mattered more. Whether we spoke of vital topics you needed to be aware of to survive, or engaged in harmless small talk designed to give you a brief respite from the struggles of integrating into our Village, I could never justify bringing up a fringe theory. Especially one that would only serve to muddle your thoughts even further than they already were.”

Rob screwed his eyes shut. “If I had known, I could have helped her,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have lied. But I could have said something. Offered her a word or two of commiseration. Eased her suffering. Instead, I was so shocked that I just gaped at her like a slack-jawed idiot until she left. I was her little spot of hope and I couldn’t say a full sentence to her without clamming up.”

He opened his eyes, and a pained, joyless smile split across his face. “I didn’t even get her name.”

“I’m sorry. Truly. I only ever meant to act in what I believed to be your best interests.”

“I know.”

The two sat in silence for a time.

“People keep expecting so many things of me,” Rob eventually said. “And it’s all different. I’m a pariah, or an executioner, or an asset, or a savior, and apparently now I’m a pack mule. So many expectations to deal with and meet. It’s enough to make my head spin.”

He glanced up at Elder Duran. “Honestly? I miss when I didn’t matter.”

The Elder nodded. “That is a plight I can truly empathize with. I was once young and brash and full of vigor, but I quickly learned that being in a position that draws attention is never as fun as the stories make it out to be. It wears down on you, and if you don’t create moments of peaceful solitude for yourself, you’re liable to lose your mind. I pray that you are able to make those moments sooner rather than later. If you believe anything that I’ve said today, believe that.”

“I believe everything you’ve said today. You’ve never done me wrong.”

That put a warm smile on Duran’s face.

Rob pinched the bridge of his nose. “You mind distracting me with some Elven folklore? I could use a break before I step back outside and into the hot mess that is my life.”

“It would be my pleasure.” He spoke with sincerity. “Do you have any preferences?”

“Something with a sappy, happy ending. I think it would help.”

It did.