Chapter 65: Nothing Dignifying (Patreon)

Zed stood in an empty space of fallen trees and blood stains. The monster’s he’d fought all night were nowhere to be found and the morning light had since grown to fill the sky and illuminate the world.

Standing quietly, he stared at his personal information.

Melchizedek Nyborn

· Specie: Human (Mana blessed).

· Category: 1/3.

· Rank: Beta (category 1).

· Exp to category 2: 4833(2333)/2500.

· Maximum Exp per category approaching, advancement advised.

· You have 1 pending advancement.

Skills

· [Bloodwrath (Mana, blood)].

· [Bloodlust (Aura)].

· [Force (Rune)].

· [Force shield (Rune)].

Titles

· None.

Attributes

· [Equilibrium] (Physical, mana).

· [Regeneration] (Physical, mana).

· [Hypersensitivity] (Physical, mana).

· [Bone density] (Physical)

Affiliations

· None.

Aptitude

· Strength: 36(+7).

· Agility: 27(+5).

· Speed: 24(+4).

· Mana: 48(+21).

· Will: 21(-5)(+4).

· You have 0 Unallocated [Aptitude points]

· [Aptitude points] will be gained at each category.

· You will gain 5 [Aptitude points] for each rise in category.

· You have 1 pending advancement.

· You have a pending Quest.

Zed stared at his current Exp, unsurprised yet still baffled. He’d been estimating a little more time before he was eligible for his next category just a few days ago. But he’d been wrong. He was already almost at category three without even having to get to category two.

“Maybe the whole violent fighting thing’s the way to go,” he muttered to himself, still staring. “I mean, it’s staring me in the eye. It’s like a dream come true to the point that I feel something’s just going to go wrong the moment I advance.”

The ominous feeling settled deep in his gut. The initial fatigue from his fight was gone, dissolved from the countless Exp he’d gotten from using [Conqueror’s Touch] but the headache still remained, regardless of how small. But the headache wasn’t his current worry, it was the ominous feeling. It was so strong he refused to believe it came from a fear of the other shoe dropping; of something bad happening simply because he’d gotten a dose of good.

He frowned, contemplating on the discomfort and the need to advance when it hit him.

“Ha!” he barked into a chuckle, pointing at the notification. “Not this time. Just look at you, all coy talking about advancing when all you want to do is give me a new quest, don’t you?”

As if in response the notification informing him of his need to advance glowed softly.

“Not falling for that a second time,” Zed said. “I remember what happened the last time. I advance right now and every pest, rodent and monster in this place gets alerted of my existence. Not going to happen, thank you very much. I think I’m good with the rewards from your last quest.”

Apart from the Exp he’d gotten from the dead monsters, he’d also gotten a dozen mana stones, too much for him to carry without a bag and his mind mourned the loss of all of them. He had to leave them behind as he continued on his journey back to town. He had no pockets to carry even a single one, and the realization brought his mind to the book he’d slipped into his back pocket.

His hand slipped behind him in a hurry as he prayed the book had survived. He felt a lump in his back pocket. Refusing to dwell on how he still had a back pocket, he pulled out the book. He held it in front of him and his momentary joy of still having the book fell. It was burnt at the edges and most of it was wet. When he opened it, most of the scribbles were blotched and smeared and he was only able to make out a single rune from the eight it had once carried.

“That’s just uncalled for,” he hissed, peering at the rune. “At least, it’s not the one I already know. Two out of eight isn’t that bad, considering the circumstances.”

Zed closed the book back up and slipped it gently back into his back pocket. He gave the mana stones on the ground, each one a different color, a glance. He let out a brief sigh knowing he couldn’t take them with him and turned away from them.

He’d lost his axe somewhere in the fight, and while he’d found it embedded in one of the monster’s before it had turned into smoke, it was no longer usable. Its handle was broken, the axe head severed from the rest of it.

Zed picked the axe head off the ground and held it by the back. He tested it with quick shoving jabs and cross cuts.

“Too uncomfortable,” he said with a frown, then discarded it. “I guess the axe murderer shtick’s going on a holiday until I get back to town.”

The rest of Zed’s journey was quiet and empty of monologues. His trip through the rest of the woods was carried out in a brisk walk. He did not run because a part of him cautioned him against it. And while his steps were quick with the suspicion of watchful monsters, he continued to keep track of his surrounding using his sense of aura. It had already proved itself less than reliable, but he used it regardless.

It was another day when Zed left the woods, disgorged from it like a particularly vile treat. Free from the woods, he found himself on a long stretch of road that looked like an interstate highway.

Zed turned on the stretch of road and continued walking. He recognized the road and knew he wasn’t that far from town. A few days on foot would get him there in two days, maybe three.

“If I’m faster,” he said to himself, “I should be there by sunrise.”

………………………………………………..

Large suits of armor stepped through the streets of the town. They were each the color of dirtied milk, grey with black highlights were there were contours. Their faces were blank, nothing but smooth steel, and they stood as tall as seven feet. Some of them stepped quietly, a sharp contrast to the size of each robotic personnel—and they each varied in size. There were those that looked like powerful athletes, they were not built for heavy lifting but to be able to perform all-round tasks. Their steps were quiet but not mute.

There were those that looked slim, slender and precise. They walked with a quiet command, and while they were not as large as their companions, they were no less intimidating in size to the average man. The final type were wide as barrels, built to withstand great force and lift greater weights. These ones did not defy the laws of physics, and when they walked, their footsteps were loud enough to herald their size.

Each of them carried a variety of weapons clear for all to see. The all-rounder had automatic rifles in hand with a side arm somehow glued to one thigh. The slender ones carried no visible weapon save their side arms, and the massive juggernauts carried heavy machine guns strapped to their backs while holding automatic rifles in their grips.

Captain Ven led his battalion of Olympians through the streets of the small peaceful town. While his teammates were visibly armed, he was not. It was a show of goodwill but a decision designed to lead opponents into a sense of false security. After all, as the captain of the team, his armor was meant to be more powerful than the others. What they would require weapons to defeat, he would require nothing more than his suit of armor.

He was the equivalent of a juggernaut and more.

The inhabitants of the small town watched captain Ven and his team from the safety of their homes, peering through windows and slits in doors left ajar. He could see children watching with the awe that was to be expected when they saw an action figure come to life. Most towns watched the arrival of the VHF with a touch of fear and terror, but these people, old and young, watched with a barely concealed happiness. It was good to be looked upon with happiness. Still, Ven let none of it distract him. He was here for a purpose and he intended to fulfil it.

In front of him and his team was a chubby mage with a mouth that had been difficult to control when they’d met him at the entrance to the town. As difficult to control as the mage’s mouth was, the mage had displayed an understanding of self-preservation when Blane had threatened to take his head off with a kick if he didn’t shut up. The mage, now half trembling, led them quietly.

They moved through the houses, treading paths that had once been tarred roads. They went around a ring road that connected all facets of the town, through street signs with no names on them, and past play grounds with swings still intact and slides old but still useful.

When Ven and his team came to a stop, it was in front of a parking lot with a few cars he knew could no longer meet their potential. Ahead of them was the cleanest and most put together of all the houses in the town. At the front porch he saw a face that made his hand twitch.

Behind him he felt his team react to the presence they saw and raised a halting hand as each of them reached for their weapons.

“Stand down!” he commanded through their com-links.

His team’s response was reluctant, but they obeyed. Half-raised guns came down, barrels pointed to the ground, but Ven knew terror and annoyance would remain plastered on the faces of every Olympian he led. After all, the annoyed scowl on his face, hidden behind his featureless helmet, was going nowhere.

Ahead of them, Heimdall, watchman to the rebels, watched with a half smirk. Between Heimdall and Ven’s team, the mage who’d led them here looked ready to crap his pants. Ven couldn’t bring himself to display empathy for him. The man was the follower of the watchman, and that alone was sufficient to send him to the gallows. But is it sufficient to send everyone else in this small town to the gallows? Ven worried.

“And where are we to conclude the rest of our business?” Heimdall asked, his voice carrying across the distance even though he hadn’t raised it.

Sound mana? Ven wondered, even though his mind discarded the possibility almost immediately. He’d seen enough mage’s try to show off with it back at the academy, using sound spellforms to project their voices over a multitude of people. But he hadn’t seen the watchman cast any spellforms, and from the little the VHF records had on him, he was no sound mage, neither did he have a specialization in it.

“That’s a neat trick,” one of Ven’s men said from behind him.

“Not neat enough,” Ronda said, her voice held in a scowl. “When are we putting this motherfucker down. There’s a reason he’s wanted.”

Their conversation was held through their com-links so they suffered none of the possibilities of being listened in on. One of the runes that had been implemented into their suits prevented magical intrusions, so Ven let his team complain about their insistence on taking the watchman in, even though they were here to work with him.

“There is a reason he’s wanted,” Ven agreed. “However, if any one of you are confident that you can take down a category two Bishop rank mage alone, be my guest. As for me, I’m here to secure a mana surge not take in an outlaw.”

“Chances are his likely a category three by now,” Daniel said from the back-end of the line. He wore a juggernaut suit but was equally a large man without it.

Despite his size, Daniel was as much brain as he was brawn, and the team was most inclined to listen to him when Ven wasn’t in command.

“What are the chances he’s already a King?” Kid asked.

Kid’s real name was Cabuella, but they called him Kid on account of him being the youngest of all of them, and the fact that he still displayed propensities towards childish behaviors.

“Not possible,” Ronda said. “King rank isn’t that easy. If it was, we wouldn’t have only five recorded Kings.”

“Then he might be a Knight already,” Kid said. “There’s like what, fifty-six recorded Knight rank mages?”

“Fifty-eight,” Ronda corrected. “And I still find it hard to believe he’s made it to Knight rank. It’s not as easy as the numbers make it look.”

“Are you guys not done yet?” Heimdall asked, his voice playing the same trick of distance.

Ven was inclined to believe there had to be some sound mana manipulation going on. But without a spellform, he found it impossible to figure out how it was happening.

“I take it you’re the leader of the group,” Heimdall continued, gesturing at Ven. “Which means you’re the only one stepping foot in this house. Now, I don’t know if the door’s high enough for you, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

With that, Heimdall turned and walked back into the house.

Ven stared at the door and sighed. The watchman knew damn well that there was no way he was fitting through that door comfortably. And with the few eyes of the townspeople watching, regardless of the distance, he had a feeling the man had an angle.

“Switch to Hart mode,” Ven commanded his team.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, right?” Jake, one of the men in a ranger armor, the one that served as an all-rounder, asked. “You’re going in there with a Bishop rank and you expect us to go non-lethal?”

“I said Hart mode, Jake,” Ven said, “not conversation mode. I’ve given the order, you follow it.”

“And what happens if the townsfolk act up?”

“Then you put them down in Hart mode,” Ronda said.

“Besides,” Ven said, “I doubt there’re a lot of Rukh ranks in this town. Maybe eight, at most.”

“I’m still a Beta mage, though, boss,” Jake said.

“And you met the qualification to have your own Olympian armor. That technically makes you a Rukh in that armor. So deal with it.”

Ven walked forward, passed their guide and towards the house.

He stopped as he passed the mage that had brought them here and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Bruce,” the mage stammered.

“Bruce,” Ven said, turning the word on his tongue. “A piece of advice, Bruce. Mages shouldn’t talk too much. It shows a lack of dignity.”

Ven walked past Bruce and continued for the house.

“I know this goes without saying,” he told the rest of the team through their com-links, “but while I’m gone, Daniel’s in charge.”

“Got it,” they all chorused.

“Good.”

Ven took his mind from the rest of his team and continued forward until he got to the house. He climbed the porch steps, listening to the quiet creaking as it struggled to support his weight. Done with it, he came to stand in front of the door.

Standing with the bulk of his armor, he looked down at the door. Ven had since grown accustomed to the doors in VHF facilities designed to accommodate Olympian armors, as well as those of their rune-crafts. If he was being serious, it had been a while since he’d walked through normal sized doors. Usually, the only business he had with normal size doors was when he was breaking through them.

So he stared down at this one with only one thought on his mind.

There’s going to be nothing dignifying about this.