Chapter 70 (Part 1) (Patreon)

Big announcement! Book 2 is scheduled to be released on Amazon in early December, meaning that the Book 2 content, consisting of Chapters 39 to 73, will be taken down on November 16th. Same deal as last time - you guys get a pdf containing Book 2 for all the amazing support you've given me. I might be making some minor editing changes to it in the future, but it'll be 99% the same as what gets released on Amazon.

If you'd like to download a pdf of Book 2, click here.

Here's a mirror link in case the first doesn't work.

–

“This battle took place back when I was Level 19, or 20,” Keira began. “I was meandering through Ixatan, fury coursing through my veins, and in search of a strong enemy to fight. It wasn’t long before I found one – or rather, it found me. A Level 29 Tigress came bursting out of the trees, fangs bared and delight in its eyes, having found what it assumed to be a small, soft creature that would make for a refreshing morsel to tide it over until dinner.”

Keira waited for a reaction. Meyneth stood there in placid silence, nodding once.

“Right,” Keira continued, forcing a smile onto her face. “I should have fled. The Tigress wasn’t quite equal to a Lord of the Forest in strength, but it was close enough to put the fear of mortality in my soul.” Her hands instinctively gravitated towards her greatsword as the memories came flooding back. “Despite knowing as much, I chose to pit my blade against her fangs and claws. Now, I could embellish the story in my favor. It would be simple to claim that I considered the situation with a discerning eye and deduced a winning strategy that would allow me to achieve victory despite the disparity in power.”

She chuckled. “But that would be a lie so blatant that it would burn my lips to speak. On that day, I decided to duel an animal with the strength to tear me to shreds for no other reason that because I was furious. Social vampires masquerading as Elves had put me in a particularly foul mood. In a sense, their harassment was a boon, as I doubt I would have been able to defeat the Tigress if I wasn’t in a mood to work off some aggression. Which did little to blunt my desire to break their kneecaps, but silver linings are what they are.”

Meyneth stood there in placid silence, nodding once more.

Keira shuffled nervously. I thought I was doing a decent job of telling the story. Aren’t Dragonkin supposed to be fond of violence? “I’m sorry – am I boring you? I didn’t mean to ramble. We can discuss something else if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Meyneth shook her head. “I’d rather not. In fact, I would be perfectly happy to listen to your rambling and nod in assent for the entire duration of the conversation. Idle conversation is not my strong suit. Words are traitorous fiends, and the fewer chances I give them to ruin my good standing, the better.”

Keira was beginning to see why Rob and Vul’to had requested that Riardin’s Rangers spend more time with Meyneth. “There’s no need to overworry,” Keira assured. “I would be a hypocrite of the highest order of I judged a person for one or two social missteps.”

“Just one or two?” Meyneth remarked, in a dry tone. “Your faith in me is flattering, if misplaced.”

Keira suppressed a groan. She’d never met someone so determined to paint themselves in a poor light, and it left her at a loss for how to proceed. Meyneth’s behavior was an obvious defense mechanism of some kind, but it was markedly different from the ones that Keira was used to. Someone like had Men’ta sought solitude when his spirits waned, and someone like Tarric had oscillated between sullen silence and boisterous confidence. Meyneth’s propensity to outright sell herself short was a web that Keira had yet to determine how to untangle.

When in doubt, frontal assault. “What will it take for you to believe that we think well of you and won’t turn our backs after seeing the smallest sign of a perceived insult?”

Meyneth’s mouth fell open slightly. After a solid minute of pensive contemplation, she came up with an honest answer. “Time.”

That was very much a notion that Keira could both understand and accept. “That’s no problem,” she replied, with an earnest smile. “To help pass that time, would you like to partake in an activity that isn’t conversation? I’d rather we do something that we both enjoy.”

Meyneth tapped her chin. “My hobbies are few. I enjoy artistry, but that’s an activity reserved for quiet solitude.” She hummed. “Do you have any suggestions? What are your interests?”

Keira coughed under her breath. “...Fighting. There wasn’t another endeavor I deemed worthy enough to give myself to when I was growing up. Especially with the budget I was operating under. I’ve been meaning to broaden my horizons, but it will be difficult to set up a boxing league until the Deserters have settled into a permanent residence that isn’t trying to kill them.”

“Boxing?”

Keira’s face lit up like the sun. “It’s a wonderful Human pastime that I learned about recently! They took the chaotic frenzy of battle and shaped it into an organized system where the fear of death is antiquated. The rules are simple; two people duel in unarmed combat until one falls. There are crowds, cheering, buildup, rivalries, excitement, camaraderie...it’s like sparring, but so much more.”

A small smile crept across Meyneth’s face. “Hmm. That idea has some primal allure to it. You may find it difficult to popularize it with your fellow Elves, though. I doubt they have the Strength or temperament to engage in hand-to-hand combat, and there don’t seem to be any Pugilists among your ranks.”

Keira slouched as reality reared its ugly head. “I’m aware. Still, there has to be a way. If I were to demonstrate boxing’s appeal, maybe put on a performance...”

She perked up. “Meyneth, how would you like to participate in the Deserters’ first ever boxing match?”

The Dragonkin raised her eyebrows a millimeter. “What’s your Strength?”

“68.”

“With all due respect, Keira, you would break me.”

Keira crossed her arms. “Come now. Yours can’t be that much lower than mine. Dragonkin are supp-”

She cut herself off in a panic, but it was too late; Meyneth’s expression had hardened to that of stone. Cursing her own thoughtlessness, Keira desperately searched for the right words to navigate her out of the thorny path she’d blundered into.

Frontal assault, guide me well. “I’m no stranger to unfair treatment from members of your own kind. Are there matters regarding the Dragonkin that you wish to unburden yourself of?” Keira asked, putting as much sympathy into her voice as she could.

“No,” Meyneth answered, in a subdued tone.

“Alright,” Keira said. “I won’t force you. But if the urge ever arises, remember that my door is open. All of our doors are.” She paused. “Except Malika’s. She lacks the maturity for topics such as these. And if you don’t mind, I’d prefer that statement stays between the two of us. I have yet to determine if Danger Sense will allow me to dodge magical lightning.”

Meyneth’s expression softened from stone to wood. Keira decided to interpret that as a victory.

She was spared from any further social missteps by a person calling their names from down the street. A young man of about fifty years of age ran over, stopping a respectful six feet in front of them. “Lady Blightkiller,” he said. “Lady Meyneth. How fare you on this fine day?”

His tone was stiff and nervous in the way that someone unused to conversing with those of a higher social status would behave. That was fine by Keira; it meant that the man was unlikely to be a supplicant asking for a favor. “We’re doing well,” she said. “Is there something you want to discuss?”

The man squirmed in place. “Yes.” A moment later, he calmed his nerves. “My wife is one of the Rangers that participated in the Dungeon Crawl. If even half of the rumors about what transpired there are true, then you risked life and limb to save her.”

He lowered his eyes. “Without her, I shudder to think of what I would do. Rising to greet each day would be an act of agonized torture. I owe you a greater debt than I can ever repay.”

A mild warmth lit in Keira’s chest. Two-faced as the man was, she still appreciated being given gratitude that was well-deserved. “You owe me no debt. I don’t expect to be rewarded for protecting lives. With that said, thank you. Your words are appreciated.”

The man brightened. “Then I will say them again and again. From the bottom of my heart, thank you, my Ladies.”

Meyneth watched the man with a curious gaze as he left. When he was out of earshot, she turned to Keira and initiated conversation for the first time all day. “Has he wronged you?”

Keira blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Your disdain was plain as day,” Meyneth stated, without judgement. “He was too starstruck to notice, but unlike him, I am in possession of functioning eyes. Has he wronged you? Considering how many among the Deserters are close to deifying you, I struggle to imagine what they would dare do to provoke your ire.”

Keira barked out a bitter laugh. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “You’re unaware of how things used to be.”

Meyneth frowned. “Based on prior comments you’ve made, I surmised that your standing among the Elves used to be poorer, but I seem to be lacking a measure of context.”

“I don’t like them,” Keira said. “Any of them, really.” Time spent traveling with the Deserters hadn’t changed that. It had for Rob, but he’d endured several months of ill treatment, while she’d endured several decades. Her scars ran deeper.

Meyneth’s shocked expression prompted Keira to elaborate. “There are exceptions, of course,” she said. “My friends, the Elders...” She pursed her lips. “Mostly just them. But the rest of the Villagers?”

Images of scorn flashed through her mind, causing the muscles in her arms to bulge as she clenched her fists. Meyneth’s shocked expression prompted Keira to elaborate. “I have few happy memories of them, and I imagine the feeling is mutual. Oh, they’re fond of me now, to be sure. All it took was facing down a Blight and saving their lives on numerous occasion. The situation calls for an experienced Warrior, and thus, I am loved. Not because of who I am, but because of what I do. Without the change in circumstances, they never would have accepted me, and I haven’t forgotten that. Nor will I ever.”

Meyneth was paying close attention, drinking in every word. It emboldened Keira to continue, although she didn’t need too much extra encouragement. She’d only spoken these feelings to Rob and Zamira; confiding in another person was turning out to be surprisingly cathartic. “Here’s a bit of a secret: before the Deserters split off from the Villagers, Rob, Zamira, and I were planning to leave and make our own way. I wanted nothing more to do with these people as a whole.”

She grimaced. “Then one thing led to another, and somehow I’ve fallen backwards into the role of one of their saviors. Life is full of twists and turns.”

The Dragonkin stared at her. “You, Rob, and Zamira?” She echoed, in the tone of someone who was slowly fitting pieces of a puzzle together. Keira nodded, letting out a small sigh.

“Despite my grumbling, it isn’t all bad,” she said. “I have friends now. People who care about me for who I am. And I am not so heartless that I’ll ignore the plight of those right before me. But the second the Deserters begin to remotely treat me as they did before, I’m done. I’ll protect my friends, and the rest can rot.”

She fixed Meyneth with a serious gaze. “I recommend caution around them. You’re in their good graces due to your heroism in the Dungeon Crawl, but if you fail to meet their expectations in the future, don’t be taken off guard if their warm welcome turns into a cold shoulder in the time it takes to blink.”

Meyneth contemplated her words. “Duly noted,” she eventually said. “Your story is disappointing, if unsurprising. I’ll lower my expectations of the civilians and keep my distance when necessary.”

Oh fuck, Keira thought. She hadn’t intended for her digression to result in Meyneth isolating herself further; although in retrospect, what other way could the Dragonkin have interpreted it? This is so much easier when I can Intimidate people into doing what I want. Diplomacy is outside my area of expertise.

“With that in mind,” Meyneth continued, “Being appreciated for my combat prowess is a far sight better than what I am accustomed to. Gratitude and acceptance is a novel feeling that I will indulge in for as long as it is offered. And even if the civilians turn on me...”

A ghost of a smile flashed across her face. “I have been informed that there are people who enjoy my company based on who I am, and not what I can do for them. Their opinions matter far more.”

Relief flooded Keira as she greeted Meyneth’s small smile with a large one. “It’s a fantastic feeling,” she agreed. “And one that I intend to hold onto and never let go of.”

They shared a moment. It was nice.

Then an earthquake toppled them to the ground.

–

“I have returned, Urian.”

Zamira frowned as the Deserters’ resident Artificer ignored her. She considered raising her voice to draw his attention, but wisely chose otherwise after Identifying the materials he was focused on crafting. Zamira took a few steps back to put herself out of the potential blast radius and waited for him to finish his work. Several minutes later, Urian leaned back in his chair and extended his arms and legs into a full-body stretch.

“That’ll do for now,” he grunted.“Time for a short break. Will have to get back to it soon, though. We’re lacking supplies. The Potions I understand, but that last batch of Firebombs really should have lasted longer. Bunch of flame-touched souls in the Deserters, apparently.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he glanced at her. “That dispassionate glare marks you as...Zamira. Yes, that’s the one. What are you here for this time?”

...I suppose that is better than not being recognized at all. She had elected to forgo her Ranger uniform in favor of a sleeveless blue sundress, cut off at the knees, and a silver sash tied around her waist. It was the first time in many days that she felt safe enough to don a civilian attire, but there had been some worry in her mind that Urian would be unable to discern who she was. It was reassuring to know that her face wasn’t quite so unremarkable as that.

Zamira held up a leather pouch and locked eyes with the Artificer. “I come bearing two gifts, both from Rob.”

“The Lord Blightkiller?” Urian spoke the title with an undercurrent of distrust, as if sensing a trap. “What does he want with me?”

“Is the concept of a gift lost upon you?”

Urian dismissively waved his hand. “Gifts from important people aren’t gifts. They’re strings. Accept too many and suddenly you’ll find yourself unable to move, caught in a web of faux benevolence.”

“Think what you will,” Zamira blandly stated. Perhaps she should have tried harder to correct his assumptions about Rob, but she was fairly certain that Zerthimon would pluck the moon from the sky before anything she said would influence Urian’s opinions. And on a more selfish note, Zamira didn’t want to spend another minute around the man if she could help it; the only reason she’d come back was as a favor to Rob. She would inform him of the Artificer’s distrust later, and he could come argue on his own behalf if he so desired.

“The first gift is an Enchanted Item that Rob discovered on the Dungeon Crawl,” she said, handing Urian the pouch. “While the previous Enchanted Item did not manage to spark inspiration in your Artificer’s soul, it is our hope that this one shall.”

Urian took the pouch and eyed it with skepticism. “Unlikely. And the second gift?”

“Assuming the second Enchanted Item fails to bear fruit, he’d like to extend an offer of Class Alteration.”

That was enough to give Urian pause. “From what I’ve heard, the Lord Blightkiller’s requirements for who he deigns to offer Class Alteration are stringent.”

“Certain restrictions may be loosened in the near future,” Zamira said. “If you want to know more, ask the man himself, but to summarize: we’re looking into the possibility of Altering a person’s Utility Class into a Combat Class, using Fast Learner to quickly raise their Levels, and them Altering them back that they can reap the rewards of higher Utility Class levels.”

Any traces of glibness disappeared from Urian’s expression. “Ah,” he replied. “That would require me to join his Party?”

“On occasion.”

“Then no. I decline.”

Zamira knew she should have let that be the end of it, but curiosity is the bane of discretion. “Why?”

Urian fell silent. An internal war seemed to wage within as he decided what to say, and how much. For her part, Zamira stood back and practiced her best dispassionate glare. If she was going to be known for it, she might as well perfect the art.

Finally, Urian let out a world-weary sigh. “Do you have anyone you care about, Zamira?”

Zamira nodded. “I do,” she stated, with feeling. “So many that I feel blessed.” Her parents and Riardin’s Rangers were precious emotional connections that she treasured dearly, worth more than any number of material possessions. Their importance to her went without saying. She had more to be grateful for now than in any other period of her life.

Aside from them, Zamira sometimes thought about the parentless children she’d protected during the invasion of The Village; while she had known them for just a brief period of time, they had put their trust in her, and it had spurred her to rise to their expectations. In many ways, they were the inspiration for her current course in life. She could only hope that they’d reached Reviton City safely when the Deserters had split off from the main travel convoy.

“Let me rephrase,” Urian said, cutting her reminiscence short. “Is there anyone you love? And I don’t mean familial. Romantic love.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Yes, then.” Urian drummed his fingers on his desk. “How deep is this love? Is it a longing that grips your heart and guides your thoughts? The kind that would make you sacrifice anything to see it bloom, grow, and be fulfilled? What is it worth to you?”

Zamira stayed quiet. She still didn’t see how any of this was Urian’s business – although ironically, she already had somewhat of an answer to his query. The topic had been forced to her attention as a result of her mother’s recent...advice.

“If I was to guess, you’re in love with the Lady Blightkiller,” her mother had begun. “And she’s in love with the Lord Blightkiller, is that right?”

“Yes,” Zamira had replied, fighting back a blush. “And Rob loves her back.” They weren’t exactly subtle in their affections.

Her mother hummed. “But they haven’t officialized their relationship as of yet?”

“Somehow, no.” Even if everyone in the Deserters’ camp knew that they were dating except for them.

Her mother affixed her with a searching gaze. “I see. Then let me ask you one more question, Zamira, and it’s absolutely imperative that you be honest with me. Would you be willing to sever their relationship between each other if it meant that it would open a position next to the Lady Blightkiller’s heart?”

Zamira’s mouth fell open. “What? Absolutely not, mother! Rob is a dear friend, and both his and Keira’s happiness are important to me! How could you so much as suggest something like that?!”

Her mother watched closely. “Hmm,” she remarked. “I see. You appear to be telling the truth, which complicates matters.”

Zamira’s head spun as she tried to make sense of the hard left turn the conversation had taken. “If I had answered yes, would you have instructed me on how to drive them apart?”

“Naturally,” her mother replied, as if that much was obvious. “Love is a hunger, Zamira. A ravenous beast that is only ever happy when satiated. Do you think that mere friendships are not easily devoured when standing in its way? Or that I would subject my only daughter to the torture of a love unrequited?”

She shook her head. “You are too kindhearted, unfortunately, so the advice I had prepared is ill-suited for the situation. Besmirching the Lord Blightkiller’s reputation and poisoning the relationship between him and the Lady Blightkiller would have been a challenge, but for you, I would have been more than up to the task. I’ll need some time to plan anew. Keep me abreast of any changes in their relationship, will you, my dear?”

Zamira had often wondered how her father, an outgoing and gregarious man who often spoke too soon, had managed to win the heart of her mother, a taciturn and levelheaded woman who rarely spoke at all. They were a match made by Lothren herself, their love strong and stable, but Zamira had imagined that her Mother must have been a tough egg for her father to crack. Had he worn her down with repeated affections? Unlocked her heart with some grand gesture?

It wasn’t until the day that her mother offered her ‘advice’ that Zamira realized she’d gotten it wrong. Her father was a sheep who had been snatched up by a wolf. Lucky for him that the wolf wanted nothing more than to share her life with him – while baring her fangs at any other wolves that got too close.

Zamira was her mother’s daughter in many ways, but she wasn’t that. Even in a hypothetical scenario where she didn’t care one whit for Rob, she would have declined her mother’s ‘help’. The idea of dismantling a relationship for the sake of her own was fundamentally grotesque to her. Maybe she was naive, but love should be purer than that. If its foundation was inherently selfish, then how was it supposed to last?

“Not a deep love, then,” Urian remarked, as he examined her reaction. Zamira hesitated, then nodded, slowly. Her father and mother had shown her what true affection cultivated over decades of love was, and her feelings for Keira weren’t at that level.

“I lost my wife in The Cataclysm,” Urian said, freezing Zamira in place. “I won’t go into the details. Same tale that everyone else has. Suffice to say that crafting Firebombs, Potions, and the occasional Enchanted Item has become my way of filling the void left by her absence. Some days are more successful in that regard than others. Some days aren’t successful at all.”

He held up a finger. “But there’s one advantage I have over most others like me. An edge that keeps me grounded. You see, on the day my beloved died, we were in a Party together.”

Zamira felt herself paling. Urian continued, lost in his telling. “Her body is long gone. Dust in the wind. But her name, even eternally at 0 HP, is in my Party Screen. A perpetual reminder that she once lived, and that we were together. When I grow old and decrepit, and my mind atrophies and the memories of her smile and voice start to fade, she’ll still be there with me. It’s the most permanent memento I could possibly have of her.”

His eyes glinted with fervor. “To level up using the Lord Blightkiller’s Fast Learner, I would have to join his Party. Which means first disbanding my own. And I would rather die than lose that final connection to her that I have.”

He sagged, energy spent. “You wanted to know ‘why’? That’s why.”

Zamira didn’t know what to say. This was so far out of her conversational depth that would have had an easier time flapping her arms and trying to fly after having been thrown off a cliff. Urian seemed to realize this a moment later, and with an air of bitter shame, tore open the pouch containing the Ring of Moderate Waterdwelling to use as a distraction from the stifling atmosphere he’d caused. With an unimpressed grunt, he hefted the Ring of Moderate Waterdwelling and stared.

And stared.

His eyes widened.

“Amazing,” Urian whispered. Zamira hadn’t even finished wrapping her head around the Artificer’s story before the mood twisted itself again. “Wondrous,” he crowed. “This will do nicely. Very, very nicely indeed!”

This time, it wasn’t just the conversation that took a hard left turn. Her vision did as well, when the ground started to shake and knocked her on her side. Urian fell at the same time, laughing maniacally as he drank in the sight of the Ring of Moderate Waterdwelling, the spark of inspiration having ignited into a roaring flame.

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