Chapter 131 - The Tempest (Patreon)

Marc led Carlos along the winding path through the bazaar, passing various stalls where shouting vendors hawked their goods. Fruits of every type dominated the available wares, but there was a smattering of other items, most of which were intended for everyday use. Stalls selling incidentals like those intended for personal hygiene, materials to mend clothing, and low-end magical gear were the most popular, but crowds gathered around booths with a variety of scarcely identifiable carcasses as well. In the desert, livestock wasn’t easy to raise, and so, when people wanted meat, they usually went with the only creatures in abundance – monsters. There was a type of huge fire boar native to the region that was particularly well-known for its smokey flavor as well as its low level, relative to everything else in the area.

Once, Carlos had made the trip across the island – continent, really, given its size – to do a job in Beacon. There had been an elder for one of the guilds who’d stepped out of line, and dealing with her had required the delicate touch of a Crystal Spider. Having freshly evolved at the time, Carlos had been the one tapped for the assignment, and along the way, as he’d traveled through the wastes and the wilderness to the biggest city in the Radian Isles, he had even managed to gain a level. However, the highlight of the trip had been his first sight of Beacon, with its tiered design and herculean size. For a few days, he’d been blinded by the city’s aesthetic, and he had even briefly considered making it his permanent home. After all, the spiders were active in all corners of the island.

But then he’d looked past the art, past the sculptures, and through the façade of beauty the city had raised. And he saw a city that was just as, if not more, corrupt than Jariq. The only difference was that, in Beacon, they pretended they weren’t self-serving monsters, and in the desert city, the people freely admitted to their selfishness and corruption. Carlos preferred the latter. So, when he saw Jariq in all its dirty, mud-bricked glory, with its gangs and lawlessness, he felt far more at home than he ever had in Beacon.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” he asked, catching up to Marc. The big, former warrior marched through the bazaar like he owned the place, never breaking stride and trusting that everyone else would simply get out of his way. And they did. Whether it was market-goers or gang members who were characterized by the colorful strips tied around their arms, no one dared step in front of Marc.

For his part, Carlos simply followed along, wishing that he could someday garner as much respect as his friend and former companion. Of course, if he’d wrapped himself in shadows and changed the designation people saw when they inspected him, he probably would have gotten precisely what he wanted. The Asesino de Sombra was feared throughout Jariq, after all. Carlos, though – he was just a mid-level, unaffiliated adventurer who looked a few sandwiches shy of being skinny.

Not for the first time, he found himself wondering why he clung to the dual identities so hard. Was it out of necessity? Practicality? Or was it the fact that, back on Earth, he’d spent a good portion of his life dreaming about being a superhero? Perhaps it was some combination of a wide variety of factors. Either way, the pattern had been set, and Carlos knew that either identity would be less effective if it was only part of a whole. If the types of people he typically fought as Asesino de Sombra knew about Carlos, they would use it against him. At worst, his appearance and demeanor would undermine the fear he’d so carefully cultivated. And those who knew him as Carlos would be horrified at the things he’d done as his alter ego. No – it was better if he kept them separate.

“Just follow me, kid,” said Marc. “I know this area like the back of my hand. Did I ever tell you about the time I spent a year as a beggar? Rough times. I remember once, just over there down that alley, fighting a monstrous rat-lizard just so I could eat that day.”

Sometimes, Carlos forgot that Marc had lived in Jariq for longer than he’d been alive, even counting both lives. The man had been reborn decades ago, and in that time, he had experienced more than Carlos could rightly imagine. And as Marc elaborated on his life as a beggar, probably exaggerating his hardships, Carlos was forced to remember that Marc had been his first source of real information about the Radiant Isles. Before that, Carlos had been merely surviving, going from one disaster to the next, defying death at every turn. But Marc had changed that. He’d given Carlos structure. A plan. He’d even been responsible for getting Carlos into the Crystal Spiders, which had in turn been the driving force behind his racial evolution. Without that membership, Carlos would’ve been stuck at level fifteen, just like Marc or a thousand other adventurers just like him.

As Carlos’s mind wandered, he still kept a wary eye on his surroundings. If anyone inspected him, they would see a level fifteen adventurer – not without power, but nothing special, either. Certainly, it wouldn’t be enough to keep an enterprising group of thieves from making a victim out of him. So, as always was the case, he remained vigilant. Anything else would get him killed.

Gradually, the pair of men passed through the expansive bazaar and into what could only be called slums. Everywhere Carlos looked, graffiti decorated the walls and groups of mid-leveled Tempest thugs clustered in groups of three or four. Woven through them were various unaffiliated residents, downtrodden expressions decorating their haggard faces. None of them were over level eight; if they were, they wouldn’t be in The Sea, which was the colloquial name for the heart of the Tempest’s territory.

“Cesspool, more like,” Carlos muttered, shouldering past a group of particularly weedy-looking thugs. The leader gave Carlos one look, probably inspected him, and decided that he didn’t want to pick a fight with a pair of men who were higher leveled than him. As Carlos followed Marc down the alley, he asked, “How do people live like this?”

“Necessity,” Marc stated.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Carlos said. “They could go out, kill a few monsters, and gain skills they could use to get a better life. But what do they do? Nothing. They just put one foot in front of another and hope things get better. They’re lazy, is what they are. Cowards.”

“Being afraid to risk your life doesn’t make you a coward,” was Marc’s response. “And they’re not lazy. Many of these people work twice as hard as people infinitely more successful. Do you know why?”

“Of course I do,” Carlos said. “They don’t have any skills.”

Indeed, Carlos had had plenty of options to take useful skills as well – abilities that weren’t geared toward action, but rather would have made him into an in-demand craftsman. He could have been an alchemist, a metalworker, or even a jeweler, charging an arm and a leg for his services. Many of the wealthiest people in Jariq had taken such paths. However, he’d never wanted to be a craftsman, so he’d gone in a completely different direction with his development. But if he, with no real background in any of those professions, had been offered the requisite skills to follow the road of a craftsman, then others surely would have had similar opportunities. They only had to reach out and take what they were offered.

“They’re afraid,” Marc said. “Terrified. Most of them came from a world where conflict wasn’t a way of life. They grew up never having to worry about having to protect themselves. Some were quite wealthy, at least by our standards, back on Earth. Here, though, they have no skills. No generational wealth to fall back on. No skills to rely upon. And even if they weren’t rich, they probably had careers that simply do not translate into this world. So, what are they to do? Violence, to these people, is an abhorrent thing, and it was never part of their lives. But here? It’s the only real way to progress.”

They’d had the discussion before, and to Carlos, it certainly made sense. He’d grown up in a world like Marc described; he had never even been a fight before being reborn into the new world, and the closest thing to athletics he routinely engaged in was playing a few virtual reality games that required him to do so. That he’d embraced the new world to such a degree as to find success would’ve been a complete surprise to that younger version of himself. But that only made him judge the people who hadn’t taken that step all the more harshly.

“It’s the same everywhere, kid,” Marc said. “Back in my days on Earth, we had to work for what we got. Sure, there were always the ones at the top, but going out, challenging the world, and building your own legacy – that was how it was for us. The centuries that followed…well, they got soft, and this is the result. Some of them responded well, but most are too terrified to leave the city. They’re sitting ducks for gangs like the Tempests.”

Carlos shook his head. He sometimes wondered how he would have responded if he hadn’t had the benefit of being one of the chosen. He’d been given a warning. He had been guided to a powerful initial skill. And he’d been given every opportunity to make the best of it with his beginning dungeon, where he’d attained a handful of powerful achievements by assassinating orcs and escaping their stronghold. Would he have fared so well in Jariq if he hadn’t had that leg up? Maybe, but probably not. Chances were that he’d have ended up walking the middle of the road like most of the rest of humanity. However, he knew he wouldn’t have ended up like the wretched people who lived in the Sea. He’d have rather died than be so pitiful.

Finally, Carlos was shaken out of his thoughts when they reached a pair of blue-armed Tempests who’d stationed themselves in front of a sizable, mud-bricked building. There wasn’t a spot of graffiti on its walls, and the two guards held themselves far more rigidly than the thugs and miscreants who’d lined the narrow streets of the Sea.

“What do you want, Marc?” asked the one on the left. Tall, lean, and without a stitch of hair on his head, he looked quick and dangerous. By comparison, his partner was much shorter and stouter, with her vivid blue hair in a tight braid. She would have been quite pretty if it weren’t for the vicious scar splitting her face in two.

The woman fingered a dagger at her belt, asking, “You’re not s’posed to be here for a week. There a problem with the shipment?” She leaned forward aggressively, looking Carlos up and down. “And who’s you’re pretty friend, here?”

“This isn’t about the shipment, Erica,” Marc said. “My friend and me, we’ve got some questions about some people who’ve been going missing lately. A lot of ‘em have disappeared from the Sea.”

“People go missin’ all the time, peddler,” said the tall man. He spat to the side, before continuing, “We ain’t got time to look for all of ‘em.”

“I’d like to hear that from your boss,” Marc said. “Otherwise…well, I’m sure you don’t want to jeopardize your supply of salamander blood, right?”

“You threatenin’ us?” Erica growled, wrapping her fingers around the hilt of her dagger and bowing her chest out. “We don’t take too kindly to threats!”

Marc held his hands up, saying, “Woah, now. No threats. Just sayin’ that I’m goin’ lookin’ either way, yeah? Who knows what’ll happen if I don’t have all the information? Jariq can be a dangerous place.”

For a long moment, a pregnant silence hung in the air. Carlos held his skills on the cusp of activation. First, [Umbral Steps], to get him out of harm’s way. Then, a quick [Shadow Spear], just to throw them off. [Umbral Phantom], for both concealment as well as protection. Finally, he would use [Channel Mana] to charge [Shadow Spear] before detonating [Shadow Explosion] and killing both of the guards. From experience, he knew he could enact the entire plan of attack in a couple of seconds – just long enough for Marc to throw himself into cover. They’d worked together before, so he knew how Carlos would attack.

The tall, slender man put his hand on Erica’s shoulder, pulling her back. “Let it go, Erica,” he said. “Boss’ll do what needs doin’. Not our job to figure this out.”

“But –”

The man’s knuckles went white as he gripped her shoulder with much more force. “Leave it,” he interrupted. “They pass.”

For a second, Carlos was sure that the woman would ignore her partner and attack. He was ready for it, too. He’d faced far more dangerous opponents than a pair of level fifteen Tempest thugs, so he knew just how easily he could take care of them. There wasn’t a huge numerical gap between them – only six levels – but they might as well have been from different worlds for the difference in power. They didn’t know that, of course. His spider tattoo gave him the ability to obscure his status, which was the only reason he was able to maintain his dual identities.

The woman jerked away. “Fine,” she spat. “Go on, then. I don’t even care anymore.”

Marc didn’t respond. Instead, he pushed forward up the steps and through the door. Carlos followed, and he was unsurprised to see that the interior was no different than a thousand other buildings in Jariq. Cleaner, maybe, but the design was much the same, which was by design. Unlike Beacon and, to a lesser extent, Salvation, Jariq had been built entirely by human hands, and most of the buildings had been constructed from a common template. The founders of the desert city had been wholly focused on providing shelter for the growing population, and so, they’d embarked on building the city in the most efficient way possible. The result was that the buildings were entirely utilitarian in design, and most looked like four-story, mud brick cubes, with equally unimaginative interiors. The only nods to individuality were the colorful awnings that extended across the streets or the plethora of graffiti which decorated most walls.

The advantage of that common layout was that they needed no directions, and the pair soon found themselves climbing the stairs to the top floor, which upon reaching that destination, Carlos discovered had been renovated into a completely open space, at the center of which was a literal gilded throne. Upon that throne sat a grossly overweight man wearing a crown studded with sapphires.

“Otto,” Marc said, nodding to the man.

“Marc,” Otto said, reaching to his side where a bowl of sizable, blue berries rested on a pedestal. He grabbed a handful and shoved them in his mouth. “And who’s the pretty boy?”

“My name is Carlos,” Carlos responded.

“I can see that, boy,” the man said. “You want a job? I could give you an evolution, get you to twenty, and, so long as you took the right skill, I could promise you wealth and comfort.”

Carlos felt a shudder flow up his spine, especially when he saw the trio of young, beautiful women huddled in one corner. In the other, a pair of equally pretty men stood. They weren’t naked, but they might as well have been, considering that their lone attire were a gauzy robes that left very little to the imagination. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were pleasure slaves – men and women who had taken less-than-reputable skills so they could better serve their chosen master or mistress.

“No, thank you,” Carlos said, his tone even and emotionless. He was disgusted by the man’s offer, but he couldn’t let it show. Not now. Later, he may return and find out whether or not the slaves had been forced into their lives, or if they’d chosen it of their own accord. If it was the latter, Carlos had no qualms about ending Otto.

“Pity,” the man said, popping another handful of berries into his mouth. “You’ve got the right look for it. I’d be happy to –”

“With all due respect, Otto, that’s not why we’re here,” Marc said. “We need to know about some disappearances. You might not know about –”

“I am aware of the problem,” Otto said, suddenly losing his languid speech pattern and sitting up straight. “And it’s being dealt with.”

“In what way?” Marc asked, clearly surprised.

“The same way any problem’s dealt with in Jariq,” Otto stated. “Wholesale slaughter. It’s a war, you see? Between us and the Jaguars, those spotted bastards. They’ve been abducting people from neighboring territories, usually mine. Thought I wouldn’t notice. But nothing gets by old Otto. I see everything that happens in my territory.”

“What are they doing with them?” Carlos asked.

“Does it matter? They’re mostly dregs,” Otto answered. “Men and women who never made it past level ten. Worthless, the lot of them. But I can’t let it slide. I take care of my people.”

“I’m sure you do,” Carlos muttered.

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Otto growled. “Lest I cut it from your mouth.”

It was all Carlos could do not to roll his eyes. At level twenty-two, Otto had a level on him, but Carlos wasn’t afraid of the man. By all accounts, the leader of the Tempests hadn’t been in a real fight in years, and he’d been stuck at his current level for all that time. By contrast, Carlos’s own progression hadn’t stalled at all, and he spent most nights mired in one conflict or another. And when he wasn’t fighting, he was practicing.

And Carlos wasn’t alone, either. He felt confident that he could take Otto, if it came to that.

“So, you’re going to war with the Jaguars?” asked Marc, clearly trying to get the conversation back on track. “You know it was them? And where are they keeping the ones they took?”

“Lots of questions,” Otto said. “Why do you want to know?”

Marc scratched his beard before saying, “They took somebody I care about. My neighbor. I’m trying to get her back to her kids. That’s it. I don’t care about your little gang war. Honestly, I don’t care about any of those other people. Just her. But I’m going to find her, Otto. One way or another. And I’ll remember the people who help me along the way.”

Otto leaned back in his chair, and for a long few seconds, didn’t respond. Then, finally, he said, “A warehouse in the Jungle. Right next to the walls. My people tell me they’ve tunneled under it, and they’re taking those people out in the desert. That’s all we know for now. If you wait a week, I’ll know more.”

“Why a week?” asked Carlos.

“Gathering my people takes time,” Otto stated. “I could throw a horde of level fifteen chaff at them, but my lieutenants and elites, they aren’t in Jariq that often. Leveling takes time, and it doesn’t happen in the city.”

Carlos nodded in understanding. There weren’t many opportunities for experience in a city like Jariq; one had to venture into the wilderness to progress. Likely, Otto had combined that need with various missions to further his and his gang’s interests.

Marc shook his head, but he kept his disappointment from his voice as he said, “Thanks, Otto. I’ll remember this when it comes time to renegotiate our deal. Let me know when you’re hitting them. I’d like to tag along.”

Otto said, “If you want, but you’ll stay in the back. I won’t jeopardize such a vital part of my operation.”

Marc agreed, and after a few more minutes of conversation, they left the way they’d come. When they’d retraced their steps and gotten into unaffiliated territory, Carlos asked, “We’re not really going to wait on them, right? She’ll be dead by them. And if by some miracle she isn’t, they’ll have taken her from the city.”

Marc nodded and said, “I was thinking that you might want to dust off that alter ego of yours tonight. In the meantime, I’ll find out which warehouse it is. I want to help, but…well, I know you like to work alone these days.”

“I do,” Carlos said. The nature of his skills meant that he was incredibly powerful, but his power came with a price. If he were to use them to their fullest extent, any comrades he brought along would be in just as much danger as his enemies. He said, “I’ll get her back, Marc. One way or another. If I have to tear down the entire Jungle, that’s what I’ll do.”