10.42 T

Year 24, Month 2, Day 3. The Explorer’s Haven abounds with guests and hope. Though nothing is growing.

 

Roughly thirteen days after founding The Explorer’s Haven, Barnethei was in the rhythm of his new inn. It wasn’t perfect; the new Haven was so small he’d run out of things to do, and he had decided to till some more soil or go riding to find something new to try and cook up in the kitchens.

The entire staff were like that; they were a mix of busy whenever a group rolled towards their inn and just—bored.

They were an elite serving staff. If you compared them to soldiers, they were like Manus’ special forces—any one of them could hold down a regular inn with their Skills.

[Sweep the Tables] from Paveca could clear half the tables filled with dishes instantly and deposit all the dishes in the kitchen, ready for washing. Navien, the [Head Cleaner], was even more impressive, and she had Skills in cleaning and management; she could use [Systematic Warfare: Shared Intelligence (Inn)]. What that meant was anyone in her team would see every stain, un-bused plate, waiting customer, or unattended cooking pot glow in their vision if someone had noticed it.

It was the kind of thing a [Strategist] got for, well, war. All of it meant that The Explorer’s Haven, a single building, wasn’t nearly big enough for the eighteen-person crew that had been left to attend it.

It was a mix, actually, of working harder than they’d like and not having enough to do. Barnethei had put in more elbow grease these last few days than he had in years, which he knew would happen, but it was a bit—frustrating for him and the staff.

Because of the lack of magic. It was a waste to have Navien spot-cleaning one area when she could normally have an enchanted broom and sweep across the entire Haven by herself. Similarly, Barnethei could man a bar, pour drinks, and clean taps—but normally he was a bit more magical.

He was a [Vice Innkeeper of Spells]! It wasn’t for show; Barnethei had taken over smaller inns as practice for this day, and anywhere else he could conjure eight [Arcane Familiars] who’d be swooping around performing chores, casting spells to amuse the audience, or just whatever needed doing!

If not for the New Lands, he would already have used magic to terraform the earth and make the walls higher, prepare new ground for more buildings, or cast a permanent magical umbrella to mitigate the rain and mud everyone tracked in. Dead gods, he could have purified water, used a [Speed] spell to race around exploring…

Instead, all his mana was going to keeping bare-bones spells running in the inn thanks to his Skills. Which still put him ahead of most unlucky teams, given Larracel’s mana well, but it chafed.

Nevertheless, Barnethei felt like the inn was doing well enough to expand and commented that to Navien.

“We’re going to need a few more buildings dropped off. I’m thinking—second farm, maybe a ranch upgrade, plus a fishery. But more importantly, some more convenience buildings.”

“Like…?”

“A Mage’s Guild. I’ve sent Larra a [Message] about it, and it seems to me that’s what these new groups need the most. Now that word’s spread, everyone’s coming to us for magic.”

Barnethei’s white undershirt was rolled up to his elbows, and he was cleaning the mess off the bar as Navien swept around him with a mop. There was a liberal coating of dirt from the last group eating and drinking merrily in the common room; everyone was muddier thanks to the lack of roads and spring rains. But spirits were high.

This was the ninth group Barnethei had seen come in—a full six dozen strong, all of them Humans.

Humans—which meant they had come either from the north or via the sea, beating even local Drake and Gnoll groups. Barnethei was an old hand at guessing visitors, and he listened to their accents for a moment.

“Chandrarian, five coppers on it.”

Navien made a face at him. She knew better than to cross swords with his instincts on a visitor’s background. Barnethei strode over, a complimentary plate of fresh garlic bread in hand. Thanks to The Explorer’s Haven retaining magic, they could have all the food they wanted.

“Hello, and welcome to wet Izril from Chandrar’s sands! It’s not always showering—how was the sea trip?”

They turned, greatly surprised, and laughed as one stood up.

“Innkeeper! This is a pleasant shock! We were set to march into the New Lands and we find an inn already here? How did you know we were Chandrarian? Every other group we’ve met, including some snooty Terandrian nobles, thought we were one of them!”

His skin was paler, which might explain the misunderstanding. But he had more of a drawl that Barnethei recognized, and his clothing was longer, the kind of thing you’d have if the sand whipping at your face were a concern. Let alone the fact that this group had different blades, paid for their food first, and brought their own water…

“My name is Barnethei, of The Adventurer’s Haven formerly. I’ve had more Chandrarians than I can count. The water’s free; we draw it from the river via a well, and this is a complimentary plate of garlic bread, a custom of the Haven in any form. Which nation do you hail from?”

Delight and interest as their leader stood.

“Why, glorious Medain, of course! We’re one of a score of groups sent with the blessing of High King Perric himself! Though we’re not adventurer-led. Some of us are former Silver-rankers, but we intend to put down deep roots here for the Gold-ranks who’ll come after. We’re bound deep inland. No offense to your inn, but if there are already buildings here, we want to establish ourselves far further afield.”

His teeth flashed, and Barnethei smiled, ears perking up.

“May I offer you a drink to toast your expedition? What are you seeking, exactly?”

“Anything adventurers want! A dungeon, ruins—we’ll settle away from it, but they need to eat and rest! And appraise whatever they grab.”

Several of the others nodded, eyes gleaming. Barnethei got it. Ah, so they were taking the supporter model for adventurers. Transport, patching up armor or flesh, scouting—there was money to be made in ‘securing’ a ruin. That was what everyone talked about. He would have asked more, but there was a shout from outside.

“An Ancestors-damned inn? Company, halt!”

More guests? He excused himself, and a wary group of Drakes had halted, seeming dismayed and agog by the presence of the Haven. The leader introduced himself warily.

“I’m Explorer Captain Vons, chartered by the Trisstral Alliance for exploration of the New Lands. This inn—are we in any group’s territory? Here are our papers, ratified by Fissival and Salazsar.”

There were over three hundred people in his convoy! Barnethei grew excited and wary, but the Drake blinked when Barnethei told him it was merely an inn without a city. He shook his head.

“We can’t afford all of us entering. Rest stop, one hour! Anyone who wants to pay for the inn does it on their own expense!”

“We have some complimentary bread—the Trisstral Alliance you said?”

The leader of the Medain group came out; his name was Racnem, and the Drake, who was Captain Vons, blinked and shook the man’s hand with clear wariness when he heard he was from Chandrar.

“I’ve never met a Chandrarian…but it’s the new era, one thinks. No city? With respect, are you sure it’s safe? There are barely more than five-foot walls here! Where’s your Watch?”

“We take care of ourselves, and the walls are in-progress. We can raise them with spells. Ah! I should warn you two about the local climate. But first, come in, Captain! Allow me to treat you to a drink.”

“I can’t drink while I’m on duty, sir, but I will take a cup of water. Thank you.”

The Drake sat awkwardly as more of his people came in. A mix of almost all Drakes and a few Gnolls, who appeared more travel-weary than the Chandrarians. It transpired they’d been marching ever since the New Lands rose; they’d come across the entire south of the continent since their cities were far, far to the east.

“I have orders to secure a viable spot for the Alliance and scout out land for allied parties immediately. More will be coming; I’ve heard three thousand colonists are being mustered, but my company needs to secure a spot.”

There it was again, ‘secure’ ground. Barnethei was from the north, so he had a more laissez-faire approach to his concept of boundaries and lands. But these other groups seemed to feel like if they planted a flag, it would be their area. Indeed, the Chandrarians ate faster as they heard the Drakes speaking, preparing to beat them to the jump.

“I hope we don’t find the same spot, sir! But we’re after ruins. May I offer you this token of friendship? It’s a charm from Medain.”

Racnem offered Captain Vons a glowing charm carved into the shape of a crescent moon, from Medain’s crystal mines. It didn’t do much other than offer a rather beautiful [Light] spell, but Barnethei’s eyes lit up when he received one.

“That’s very kind of you, sir. I, uh—let me offer you one of the Trisstral Alliance’s bows. We have strong woodworker classes.”

They were being convivial, excited despite their competitive spirit, and in line with the last eight groups who’d come here. Mostly Izrilian, but one Terandrian group who’d been even hotter on the jump than this lot.

Sailing south from Terandria, or east from Baleros, was far harder in terms of sheer distance than a Chandrarian or native Izrilian group, so Barnethei suspected he’d get more diversity soon. But the charm reminded him of his job, so he cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen, I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer a warning about the climate ahead and, frankly, behind you. The Explorer’s Haven is a subsidiary of The Adventurer’s Haven, and Larracel the Haven herself has issued a warning to all adventurers and parties passing into the New Lands…”

Both groups grew wary, and while Captain Vons didn’t know Larra, the Medain group actually recognized her as a former Named-rank. When Barnethei explained the mana drain problem, the two had similar reactions.

Racnem paled instantly and licked his lips. Captain Vons just swore and began writing a report.

“No magic? But all the adventurers and what we came here for—”

“Bags of holding will go down? Damn! I need to check the company’s supplies. This is a disaster!”

It was the same reaction every group had had, and Barnethei felt bad for them, especially since they were six days in and the signs of magical wear had already appeared in both. In fact, the crystal charm he’d been given was far dimmer than it should have been.

Soon, Racnem would have only a bunch of pretty crystals that would take magic well, valuable—but worthless until they were enchanted. But the crystal glowed and became a beacon of light as Barnethei touched it, and both men blinked.

“In The Explorer’s Haven, sirs, we have magic. [Message] spells, runes of preservation—I encourage you to think of us as a helpful way station. Larracel’s magic is that of a Level 50 [Wizard].”

“Can you recharge our Bags of Holding?”

“Not yet, Captain—but have your [Mages] cast from within our boundaries. It will make the spells far easier.”

They did that, rapidly sending word to their groups, and Barnethei reflected he could have charged for this information, but the goodwill he got from both groups was worth it in his eyes.

The Explorer’s Haven had to be a credible building, and both promised to mark this on their maps—and they had to draw maps! They were off within the hour, racing now to move before they lost magic, but here was the thing Barnethei had noticed. They said the same thing.

“Go back? Sands cover me, but High King Perric will have my head for turning and running without finding even a single monster!”

Racnem laughed, and it sounded like a joke. Vons adjusted his broad-brimmed metal helmet, more like a hat than a full on helm. He hefted the pike on his shoulders as he set his face.

“We’ve come this far. We’d better make this expedition pay off or the Alliance will have my tail.”

That’s how they talked, each group who got this warning. Only a few turned back, sometimes sending members with items to run them out of the New Lands to preserve their worth, but the majority continued onwards.

We’ve come too far. 

There’s too much at stake. 

We have to find out what the New Lands hold.

They’d put their fortunes and futures on the line to get this far. At thirteen days, Barnethei had felt like it was all the heart of adventuring, risk, and daring despite the odds.

After a month and thereafter, he began to sour on how they said it and heard in that refrain the madness Larracel talked about. The point of no return, the sunk-cost fallacy where adventurers continued into the lair of the monster, even when they were unprepared, wounded, and stretched to their limits, dead comrades behind them.

This has to mean something. Then—he began to regard the New Lands as a trap for everyone, not just magic-users. But at first, it was good.

Then came the floods.

 

 

Year 24, Month 2, Day 18. Larracel returns with an old friend. A flood without water, a delivery of people, but not in the [Slaver] kind of way.

 

The fourth time Larracel’s Haven returned to Barnethei’s new inn for a refuel of mana and food, Navien practically dashed out to meet them.

“Larra! We need every member of staff you’ve got!”

“Trouble?”

Larra spun from tending to the weary group of adventurers devouring food as she scanned them for ticks. The bouncing Haven, moving over uneven terrain, wasn’t nearly as fun as it used to be; she was keeping mana low as they moved into the New Lands, but it was still a sight as it came on.

“No—we’re up to our ears in travellers! There are three hundred waiting for tables! And we’re almost out of supplies!”

Larra blinked—and then Roreen, who was filling in Barnethei’s old role as second-in-command, leapt from behind the bar.

“We’re on it! All but five, with me! We can lower the Haven and take in business too!”

“Don’t flood my inn, Roreen. Let Barnethei’s inn handle it!”

Larra shot back, and the [Bartender of Delights] nodded. She saw The Explorer’s Haven was indeed flooded, and they were pouring across the New Lands now.

People. It was like a migration of animals she’d once seen while adventuring in Chandrar; they were on foot, horseback, moving via wagon, even flying in the case of Garuda.

The settlers had come at last, in such numbers that this told her that the Haven had beaten the full rush by about two weeks. Barnethei was a whirlwind, three [Innkeepers] dashing about to feed everyone, shake hands, and deliver the magic warning.

She just leaned on the balcony of her Haven, turning away people interested in a drink, watching darkly.

“What a mess. How much magic is being lost here?”

She was in a bad mood for two reasons. The first was this flood of people, though the treasure trove of coins Barnethei furnished her with made her cheer up a bit. He was panting as he sent one of his clones to talk to her.

“They started appearing last week, Larra, just after you left. Ate us out of everything! We’ve been fishing in the river nonstop, and there was a huge field of these clams that taste, well, like clams.”

“Oh? A food source?”

She brightened up at that, but Barnethei grimaced.

“Used to be. Every group marching through found them and stripped the entire field. I tried to save some, but—”

She glowered at him.

“You should have staked it out as The Explorer’s Haven property!”

“Larra, we can’t guard it. It was too far a walk to do, what, post a sentry? Everyone’s putting down that kind of thing. Flags, even roping off areas—it’s a bit ridiculous.”

She jerked her head over her shoulder at a glowing scrying orb.

“Have you seen the television, Barnethei? It’s all that’s being discussed. Speaking of which, I have some friends up here you should visit—after you deal with the customers.”

The group of weary adventurers, seventeen strong, made Barnethei’s eyes widen, then burst into a delighted smile.

“Orchestra! You found Deni!”

He expected Larra to be smiling, but she was not, which made Barnethei grow wary, but a blonde, rather disheveled adventurer glanced up from scarfing down food. Deniusth, leader of Orchestra of the North, looked exhausted, furious, and rather unlike his polished reputation in the north.

“Is that Barnethei? I might as well put in an appearance at his inn. Do a performance for all these people—and see if anyone’s got word of those damn traitors.”

Nothing would do but for him to get up and marshal his team to put on some music for the astounded travellers below. Deniusth couldn’t resist a crowd or admirers. Larracel leaned on her railings as Barnethei’s clone murmured.

“How’d you find him?”

“Light comet spells.”

He blinked, and she shrugged.

“I went up and down the New Lands, firing them at maximum range. He knew it was me. Not many people have magic right now; his team ran out of magic except for their high-grade artifacts and relics.”

“Ah, and that sour expression must be because he refused to stop adventuring?”

Larracel the Haven stared at Deniusth’s back as he struck up a tune on his violin, his bow-sword singing sweet music, attracting every eye.

“He’s still going after the thieves. Mostly the Silver-ranks. He’s cut up thirty-three of them so far. It’s bad business.”

Barnethei whistled softly. Adventurers killing adventurers. Even for the haul of Albez—he swallowed.

“Thirty-three? That’s insane, Larra.”

“They’ve got artifacts. Though half didn’t have them on them. I had words with Deni, but he’s got the bit in his teeth. I’m going to tell the Guild. They’ll censure him, but they have no one to stop him this far south.”

“So…he’s just going to go out and start hunting them again?”

That was dire to Barnethei’s mind, and Larracel grimaced.

“As soon as they’ve eaten. They’ve dropped off a bunch of depowered artifacts for me to try to revive and hold onto. And I’m having to charge all their damn artifacts up.”

“You could—not. That’d slow Deniusth down.”

No wonder he looked less-than-stellar. Orchestra was a Named-rank team with a Named-rank individual in Deniusth, but they were musicians who could use their abilities in combat. They could wipe out a group by playing in concert, but Barnethei bet that without their charms or bought magic, Deniusth was at the mercy of bugs or the wear of travel. They’d lost their edge after being successful and in the north so long.

He didn’t say that to Larracel, and her glower made him snap his mouth shut.

“Are you mad? He needs all the magic he can get! I’m charging him for it, though.”

If you didn’t give him all this help, he’d have to quit. But Barnethei was reminded why he had wanted his own inn. Larracel would do anything for her old friend and comrades, and that was that.

He changed subjects.

“Do you have more food? I’m going to need everything we can fit in The Explorer’s Haven. Oh, and more buildings.”

She grunted, sour, but shifted her mind to business.

“I finished work on them. It took some doing! I went to Goisedall for new hands—it’s not the best, but I’ll make do with what I’ve got. I might need to delay returning to The Explorer’s Haven, too, if I need to stock up on food. Goisedall is having a shortage on top of the hard winter, and I might need to fly the Haven back further to resupply.”

“Just so long as we’re good on magic—”

“You will be, and that’s with our new staff. Which reminds me—Roreen? Where’s the new hires?”

That was how Barnethei met the very nervous crew of Drakes and a Gnoll from Goisedall. He shook hands with a Drake kid who couldn’t have been more than fourteen, shot Larracel a glance, then hissed at her.

“Larra! I asked for [Mages] to run a Mage’s Guild for all these [Messages] people want to send! This is my [Mage]?”

The Drake boy was nervous as Larracel hissed back.

“He’s the only one Goisedall would let me hire. He can cast the spell, and I gave him some lessons. Make do, Barnethei. Everyone else is either working with all the travellers or are explorers themselves! Besides. He’ll do better at your inn than the city.”

Her eyes lingered on the Drake boy, who stammered.

“I’ll do my best at your inn, Innkeeper! I’ve been working at the Mage’s Guild for three years, and I can send [Message]! I’m a Level 11 [Message Apprentice]!”

One look at him and Barnethei groaned internally because he knew this was one of Larracel’s strays. She liked hiring them and then putting them in cities with decent jobs. He supposed he was her first stray, but this kid…

His name was Illic, and he was short, slim in a way that suggested underfeeding, and he had one eye. He had droopy purple neck spines and pale yellow scales, and his one good eye was green. He seemed perpetually nervous, and Barnethei got to one knee, smiling.

“You’re an apprentice in Goisedall? We could definitely use a [Message]-sender in my inn. I didn’t realize you could get an apprenticeship that young! Are you sure you want to stay at The Explorer’s Haven?”

He glanced at Larracel, and Illic became panicked. He glanced at Larracel, who gave him a reassuring smile.

“I—yes, Innkeeper! I’ll work hard! I’ll be paid better than in Goisedall, and I don’t mind hard work!”

“I’ve settled his rate, Barnethei, and room and board are included.”

“Of course. But your family—?”

Ah, that was it. Barnethei saw Illic’s good eye stare down at his feet, and Barnethei sort of figured it out. If you were being paid at apprentice-rates in a city, that wasn’t what you were supposed to live on. Even for a Mage’s Guild—Larra shot him a significant look.

“He can cast [Message] nine times per day.”

Nine times? I need ninety! But Barnethei just sighed. He smiled at Illic and reassured the lad he’d have a room with the others, then met the others.

It was a small crew from Goisedall. A [Fisher], a [Farmer] willing to work the fields, and a [Hunter] in the Gnoll who avoided the others. Most were just Drakes searching for work, but the Gnoll woman looked higher-level than the rest. Her name was Yirr. She had feathers behind one ear, and when he asked her where she was from, she jumped.

“Me? Nowhere. I’m tribeless. A [Hunter]. I can range for food, yes?”

Barnethei assured her they’d work out a good system for her to use The Explorer’s Haven as a base to operate from, and she relaxed. He turned to Larracel after she left to go to her rooms, and the former [Wizard] spoke.

“I appraised her and put her under truth stone. She lied about being tribeless, but she’s not a murderer or a thief.”

“A lot of room in there for other problems.”

“She’s a Gnoll, and she’s a Level 26 [Farfield Huntress]. Good talent is at a premium, Barnethei. She’s the only Gnoll who’d hire on, and that’s because none of the other groups would associate with her.”

Great, so he had a kid-[Mage], a [Huntress] no one wanted, and…well, at least the Haven had food. Barnethei indicated the coffers of coins he’d pulled in.

“It might not be as lucrative as noble guests in the Haven, but we are selling. No full group has turned back despite the warnings, and if I can get Illic to recharge artifacts, we’ll have business.”

“We’ll see. I’ve taught him the basics, but he’s a Level 11 [Apprentice], Barnethei. Gentle hands.”

“Always, Larra.”

 

——

 

That night, Barnethei did his best to have the new staff feel welcome. They actually all ended up serving tables with the rush, and the boy, Illic, kept on his feet until after midnight when Navien noticed and sent him to bed with as much food as he could eat. Barnethei had to admit, Illic worked hard, and it warmed him to the lad.

Yirr clearly didn’t like serving people and instead just fetched water and avoided every other Gnoll like the plague. Barnethei thought the other Drakes were just grumbling about having to do service jobs, and he was glad Larracel had more buildings to put up. A miniature Mage’s Guild, a room on one side of The Explorer’s Haven, and more rooms for staff. No one wanted to stay at The Explorer’s Haven at the moment.

His main concern that night was getting information out of Deniusth. Everyone wanted it, but the famous Violinist was close-lipped about what he’d seen. Since he’d raced to the New Lands, he’d been here longer than almost anyone else, and his insights he shared only with Larracel and Barnethei.

“It’s not that bad here, aside from the damn mana drain. All the monsters are Gold-rank at worst. They’re sea-creatures adapted for land, mostly. We had to wipe two packs of those Landsharks. Those are the worst regular threats. But we just blast them with sound, and they keel over. Damn shame all but two of our bags of holding broke or I’d have had the entire lot for a [Butcher].”

He had a lot of trophies and plants and such he’d gathered in the hopes they were valuable, but the Violinist was obsessed with the thieving teams. He kept telling Barnethei to furnish him with any rumors about them, and he had descriptions of the lot.

Barnethei didn’t like Deniusth as much as the others. Colth was someone everyone loved; half the Haven’s staff had had a crush on him at one point or another, despite his title as Colth the Virgin. Mihaela was a menace, but she was at least a hard worker.

Eldertuin was convivial; Viecel was mad, so they were pretty much net neutral. But Deniusth…the rest of his team were more retiring, like Gores, their [Trumpeter], or the younger, Gold-rank members. The Named-rank just acted superior to everyone.

Larracel was making notes; she was a former adventurer herself, and she was painting an image of this land.

“There are threats, Deni. Those damn bat swarms hit us twice. I’ve seen the Landsharks and a number of other monsters. Cericel for one.”

The blood-sucking monsters? Barnethei drummed his fingers on the table and resolved to build the walls higher. They had to dig out foundations for them, so Larracel couldn’t just pop them down like the other buildings. She claimed geomancy of a kind that lasted wasn’t something she’d ever mastered.

Deni shrugged.

“True. Even Gold-rankers might struggle around here. I pity the civilians. However, the outskirts of the New Lands shouldn’t trouble Barnethei and his staff. If they run into trouble, Orchestra will gladly hunt down local threats.”

He favored Barnethei with what he probably imagined was a generous smile. Barnethei offered him another drink, and Larracel frowned.

“Nothing worse than Landsharks, Deni? If that’s the worst of it, I’m frankly surprised. With all the magic that went into raising this place—Drowned Folk talk about the depths of the ocean like Death Zones.”

“Pah, they exaggerate everything. I haven’t seen a Kraken on land. And there aren’t even undead! Though…I suppose we’ve had inklings something’s off.”

Deniusth quieted a moment and drummed his fingers on the table. Larra’s head rose.

“Monsters?”

“…I don’t know. Every now and then, Chokole, our drummer—she’s gotten a [Dangersense] warning. It might just be she’s Gold-rank.”

She was their Dullahan member, and Deniusth nodded to her as he drank some fortified wine.

“We never saw anything. But I confess, I had a few moments where I swore I saw something moving fast across the ground.”

“Then it was there, Deni. I told you, this is an unknown area. Why don’t you link with Eld and—?”

“Eld’s just going to talk my ear off about forgiveness for those thieving bastards, Larra. Leave off! If they’d stolen your haul, you’d be throwing [Meteor] spells after them with me. I’ll head out tomorrow, but I will be back for The Explorer’s Haven.”

Larracel blew out her cheeks.

“Murdering fellow adventurers never ends quietly, Deni. I am interceding on their behalf and the Adventurer’s Guild! Don’t look at me like that. You think the Guild likes them stealing all that treasure? We all know how this can go. You’ve killed Silver-rankers, but the Gold-ranks have friends, and they have artifacts.”

He half-rose, flushed.

“Albez was our haul—”

“Albez was a haul no one expected to get, Deniusth! That [Emperor] who helped you locate the actual laboratory has more of a claim than any one Named-rank team! Be reasonable! Yours is the richest team, and you’re acting worse than Viecel collecting a debt.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you. You want to talk money, Larra? What about right after Chalence when suddenly you had all those debts I needed to pay off? I’ve always given the most out to everyone, and look how fast that’s forgotten. Who loaned you all that money for your inn? And then the second one when that magic grease fire burned the first, eh? And who paid for Mihaela’s [Healer] bills without ever asking, or—”

Barnethei was standing to the side of the bar, not glancing directly at Larra or Deniusth. This was also familiar—the fighting. They were the oldest of comrades and friends, and they fought like Named-ranks. Viciously.

Larra had gone very still, her hands gripping the edge of the table. She broke in, voice low, rasping, like someone drawing a blade.

“Mihaela fought in the Antinium Wars. Orchestra never went south, nor did I. She ran half a continent while you were paying off mothers with blonde-haired babes. I came all this way to make sure you were still alive—”

Barnethei jumped into the conversation before it got truly ugly.

“Larra! Did you get word of what triggered our [Dangersenses] at the start of the month? And what changed…the moon?”

That distracted Deniusth. He stopped bristling and reaching for his bow-sword, and Larracel gave Barnethei a glower, but then a slight nod.

“The Wandering Inn again. Somehow, though rumors are still swirling. A Goblin King and some kind of high-level Goblin Lord appeared right around there. Destroyed an army of Pallass and fought Saliss, Elia, and every high-level person in the region to a standstill. I’m not sure what killed him, but they said there were Dragons and a giant Harpy sighted fighting him. As far as I can tell…it actually happened.”

Deniusth sat back as Barnethei blinked. He had to have heard some part of that wrong.

“I saw a pink comet coming from the High Passes, and I felt my [Dangersense] go off. The Goblin King? Impossible. It’s not been a decade and a half since the last one!”

“I’m just reporting the news. I sent a [Message] to Lyonette, but she was too busy to respond. I felt the magic in that comet from here. And from the moon.”

Larra got up, and a familiar, the imp-like creature made of mana, brought her some tea. Deniusth passed over it; he wanted a drink, and Barnethei poured him some cold ale.

“Goblin Kings. Elia Arcsinger was there? Dead gods. How many people died?”

“I don’t know. Less than there should have been. Liscor’s barely damaged, and the inn was still standing.”

It was rare for Larracel the Haven to have an expression like that on her face. That was, of someone who felt like she was on the outside of great events. Normally, everyone else wore that expression when watching her and her friends. Barnethei, in his new inn, felt a surge of envy, confusion, apprehension—

What had happened? Larra promised to keep asking, but no one knew. It was like the New Lands, he supposed. The earth shook, and the world was different, but you might not know the world was that changed until you went and saw it for yourself.

At length, Deniusth got up.

“If there is a Goblin King or that kind of trouble, I’m happy it’s all the way north. There’s no glory nor gold in fighting that kind of monster.”

“Have you found anything worth your chase, Deni?”

Larra glanced at him sidelong, and the Violinist hesitated. He smoothed at his yellow hair.

“We’ve stored it for safekeeping. Not that I don’t trust you, Larra, but when we realized we were in a mana drain, we had to place it somewhere else. We’ll see what it’s worth once I’ve hunted down the majority of the rats.”

He was being evasive. Which meant he hadn’t gotten much, or perhaps…Barnethei saw Larra open her mouth, then close it, frustrated. He himself just smiled at Deniusth and asked if he could get the man anything else for their team while they were here before Larra went on her supply run.

Barnethei was glad to be rid of the Violinist and his company. The next day, Larra headed off, and Orchestra went riding back to their hunt.

 

——

 

Barnethei got back to work with his new staff and buildings in tow. He only took one night after Deniusth was gone to have a drink with Navien, Citra, and a few of the old-guard staff. Members who’d been kids with him when Larra was just starting out.

“I swear he’s twice the bastard he was a decade ago. He’s not even talking to Larra like an equal, just like she’s an [Innkeeper] he tolerates because she’s an old friend.”

He bit off over drinks, and Navien exhaled.

“Larra’s retired. To the rest of them, they look at it like she’s lost her edge or she’s not working as hard. You know it’s been like that since we were kids.”

“If she only had some Golems or someone like Mihaela willing to stay with the inn—like Erin has with that Goblin. Someone she could trust to send out and check on them, so she wouldn’t have to do it herself.”

Barnethei slapped one thigh, and Citra gave him a side-long look.

“I thought that was you, Barnethei.”

He gave her a long shake of the head.

“I can’t keep up with any of them, even at Level 40. I tried once, to stop a brawl between Colth and Viecel. I needed a healing potion and twelve days in Larra’s best beds. How can she corral all those monsters if she even makes enough money to get them to retire?”

“A monster herding monsters. Poor Larra.”

Navien muttered. Someone else snorted.

“Poor us. They sweep in, sweep out—Deniusth will kiss you and try to leap into bed the moment anyone smiles at him. Eld’s alright, and Colth is still a lovely lad, but Viecel? Even polite ones like Caleis Berkesson are a bit crazy. Why doesn’t Larra just give up on them and find normal friends? [Mages] or anyone else?”

There were murmurs of agreement, but Barnethei just leaned on the counter, gazing into his cup.

“She’s buried too many of them. Far too many. She can’t talk to normal people about it, even me. Wistram Mages, even regular [Guards] or [Mercenaries], she calls soft. They’re crazy? She’s crazy. Our lovely [Innkeeper] would probably move to Rhir if all her friends weren’t here to try to protect.”

He slapped the table briskly. All the more reason to level up. Someone needed to ground the adventurers of the Haven. Navien helped him clean up and murmured, just for them.

“They didn’t use to be this bad. There was a time when they were more cautious. Deni was all but retired. Mihaela was raising her boy, and only Colth was super active. What changed?”

“They lost more friends. Remember? Raldred died drinking his liver to pieces. One dies, and they go back at it twice as hard. They’re ruined for normal lives. Come on, let’s not worry about it. Hopefully the New Lands reminds them how much they hate adventuring and makes Larra’s fortune.”

 

——

 

The flood abated slightly over the next few days, and Barnethei grew used to those bursts of people coming through. Mostly, though, he began to check the news more and more, isolated as they were from the rest of the world. He missed the Haven’s mobility and wondered, sometimes, if running a stationary inn here was really what he’d wanted.

Well, maybe he’d be able to get it to move if he levelled up. Speaking of which…

 

[Vice Innkeeper of Spells Level 43!]

[Skill – Mana Containment (Inn) obtained!]

 

There now, that made it all worth it, even if the Skill wasn’t ideal. He was levelling again. Barnethei slept well until all the damn bats hitting his window made him get up and close the shutters over the glass.

 

 

Year 24, Month 2, Day 21. Adjusting to new hires. A secret about one of them. Land and flags. The Minotaur King.

 

Illic was a good kid, though he didn’t seem to trust Barnethei or anyone else in The Explorer’s Haven quite yet. He’d wake up, sweep around the inn—or try to since Navien had that on lock—and then nervously stand in his Mage’s Guild, waiting for work.

He was able to do a Mage’s Guild job, from handling customers to writing down their [Messages], then sending them himself. He could even cast [Repair], but he tired quickly, and he had that nervous attitude that meant Barnethei or Navien or one of the veteran members of staff were always nearby in case he grew flustered.

He’d stare at his shoes and duck his head and go quiet if he didn’t know what to do, like a timid statue, and Barnethei kept trying to get the lad to open up. The [Vice Innkeeper] would have a plate of food put out for him or invite him to relax when there was a lull, but Illic seemed to regard these things like a trap.

Dead gods, the Mage’s Guild in Goisedall must have been a nightmare, or maybe he’s afraid we’ll kick him out. Yirr was no better, in a sense.

She’d go out hunting without a word to anyone, then come back with a corpse—from those weird lamprey-things to a Corusdeer—butcher the carcass, collect her pay—she wanted it on the spot—then go off again. At least it helped with food, especially because…nothing was growing.

Larracel hadn’t any idea why it wasn’t and had gotten some soil samples when it was clear the first sprouts weren’t coming up. She’d grumbled about more things to analyze and warned Barnethei about poisons in the soil. He’d checked the clams and the fish and everything else they’d collected, and he knew it wasn’t that.

All was decent, in short. Everyone wanted his [Message] services, and sometimes travellers would come riding back to recharge mana in the inn, often without wanting more than a drink, before heading back out.

Barnethei was slightly annoyed by that and had been considering charging for the mana, but so far, everyone liked the Haven. He just hadn’t heard of anyone coming back with a real haul of treasure yet.

“They’re probably still searching for it. If there’s magic in the ruins, they might find a piece of junk that’s actually a Relic, but they’ll never know until they leave the mana drain.”

He was watching television while waiting for more clients—a scrying orb, another luxury, that was broadcasting the news. Channel 1, Sir Relz and Noass.

Barnethei liked Noass. Everyone had their favorites, and he’d heard a lot of Drassi-support among the staff, but Barnethei liked the Drake despite his Drake-centric ways. It took something to live a life in this world with a name like ‘Noass’.

The duo on Channel 1 were covering the hottest news story, which was, what else? The New Lands. Every day there was some big group setting out, and Barnethei had seen Rhir’s disastrous colonial launch with the Death of Magic herself attacking them. He wondered just how many people might be coming here.

“We’ll have more people here than in the north, soon! I hope Larracel can get more magic; those damn yellow beetles keep getting in! Barnethei, can we spring for a bug-repelling spell?”

Navien was sweeping the bugs out irritably, and Barnethei grimaced.

“It’s an expense, and she’s not back for two weeks. Are they attracted to something?”

“The indoors! Wait, turn the orb up?”

He did, and Noass’s voice echoed through the inn as Illic peeked out of the Mage’s Room to listen.

“—territory. It’s all about putting down claims in the New Lands, it seems, Sir Relz. I say, is that how we should approach the New Lands?”

“Territory control is the standard of nations, Noass. Some might say it’s a Drake thing, but what nation doesn’t enforce its borders? Think of it like this: who owns the New Lands as they are?”

“Gnolls.”

Yirr muttered loudly and then scowled, hunched her shoulders, and flattened her ears, striding out the door as people glanced at her. Not even accusatorily; Barnethei thought it was a good point. Noass laughed.

“Well, some might say Gnolls, but, er—ah—well, it’s such a huge opportunity I don’t think that’s quite fair, Sir Relz!”

“Exactly, Noass. So it’s a scramble. No nation can claim the entirety of the New Lands. The Walled Cities couldn’t, despite their proximity, nor the Tribes…so it’s a bit of a ‘first-come-first-seated’ scenario. I think I’m using the expression right? Hence, flags.”

“Not every nation likes it, Sir Relz. I have a missive from several Terandrian nations decrying the motion. They point out that if someone just runs in, plants a flag, and runs out, it favors those who, well, live closest to the New Lands.”

Sir Relz grew a bit defensive as he adjusted his monocle.

“Well, it’s part of our continent, Noass. Besides, you have to get there to put a flag down.”

“Yes…but they’re asking for more representation of a claim, like an established colony.”

“Asking whom, Noass? Whom, dear viewers, very important diction. I’ve heard ‘who’ used improperly a lot…”

Noass cut Relz off on his rant.

“I think a general consensus. It is hard because there’s no body of nations to agree on it, but you have to admit, we’ve heard reports of new settlers finding flags just plopped down everywhere.”

“That’s an exaggeration of the issue, Noass. I’m all for flag-based control.”

“If you say so, Sir Relz. Ah! We have a [Message] coming in from—The House of Minos? My word! The Minotaur King hims—herself—is writing in. Let me read it now.”

The message flashed on screen as Noass read, and Barnethei blinked. The Minotaur King? Truly, even the most reclusive groups were interested in the New Lands.

“—If the New Lands is to be grabbed piecemeal by anyone with a flag, the fastest Courier could claim the entire place within the week. We are already fighting over Gnolls’ lands. The House of Minos shall not play a game of flags and only respect what we observe—I say, Sir Relz, this is rather aggressive! Can she do that?”

“Totally unprecedented, Noass. Minotaurian arrogance at its worst. Flags are such an elegant system. We use them on ships to communicate, and there’s nothing like seeing a waving flag to inspire patriotism—I think the Minotaur King is in for a rude awakening. She can do what she pleases, but the facts de jure, on the ground, will be what matters.”

Sir Relz was shaking his head. That caused a kerfuffle as far as Barnethei was aware; Minotaurs were not happy about his remarks, and there was a lot of arguing about this flag-based system. He thought the Minotaur King had a point. But that was where the matter rested; Noass and Sir Relz defended their points and talked for the next six hours on the subject, but Barnethei got back to work checking on the fields.

He was getting a bit concerned about them. Larracel could supply his inn, but they’d been counting on the farms. Was it this bad everywhere? They were near a river, which should mean good soil had washed up. And if it was this bad here…well, he had no evidence this issue was widespread.

Three days later, the Minotaur King came back with a response.

 

——

 

The Minotaur King, Inreza, was not a famous figure in the world, and the House of Minos was a small archipelago. She was grey-haired with a massive scar across her chest and seldom travelled anywhere; her wounds left her less active than Prince Khedal, who was often the face of the House of Minos.

Nor was the House of Minos the most active. They were considered a paradise, and while they let their warriors and armies go abroad, they had adopted a kind of patient reclusiveness. They contained the Isle of Goblins, they sent their brightest across the world, fought grand threats like the King of Destruction, and kept to themselves.

That was changing. The New Lands had invigorated the Minotaurs, but more than that—this changing era had gotten even Prince Khedal antsy and raring to show foes like the King of Destruction that the House of Minos was more than a single threat. However—until now, Inreza had been silent and allowed Minotaurs to do as they pleased.

Her little incident with the two [Commentators] had provoked a response, though. Not of rage; lots of Minotaurs had written into the Channel 1 News to argue, but Inreza had not. She’d instead summoned the top [Engineers] and [Mages] of Minos to her throne and consulted with them.

Three days. Three days and every [Engineer] had been sighted racing around, calling for wood, making measurements, hurling things into the harbor—the same with [Mages]. They’d come back to Inreza with prototypes. Curious Minotaurs had seen the famous [Thrower], who could hurl the axes of Minos at any ship in her range from miles away, lifting odd projectiles and tossing them into the bay. Most splintered from the sheer force of her throw, but after three days, she seemed pleased.

So—she boarded one of the massive warships crewed by Minotaurs, called for a [Mage], and had them transmit an image of her after sailing up from the House of Minos towards Izril at top speed for seven hours straight.

The magical warship, the Horn of Maweil, was fast, and Minotaur rowing teams added to the speed. When Sir Relz somewhat nervously saw Inreza standing at the prow of the ship, Izril’s shores were in sight.

Barely in sight. The new section of the New Lands was a bare strip that Inreza had to squint at, and many Minotaurs not actively on duty were using spy glasses to gaze at it. But they were close enough, and she didn’t have time to sail all the way from the House of Minos any closer. Sir Relz’s voice broke her out of her silent observations.

“Ah, greetings, King of Minos! We don’t often do exclusive interviews, even for royalty, but you claimed this was about the New Lands of Izril? Some proclamation regarding the little flag discussion we had aired? I hope my commentary wasn’t offensive to Your Majesty.”

Discussion, not argument. No, not to royalty in person. Relz had heard Drassi had nearly been assassinated after insulting Queen Yisame, and he was sure a Minotaur King wouldn’t do that—but he was nervous.

“Sir Relz. I have taken your words to heart. Thusly, I accede to the will of nations that a flag marks the land around it as claimed. What was the proposal? Ten thousand feet? It surely is wisdom for such a view means that no village or individual party, be they [Merchants] or adventurers, will have a claim to these New Lands. Only nations and those of the like.”

Inreza calmly replied as the sea wind blew her hair, pointing out one of the best arguments against Sir Relz’s points. He coughed.

“I, uh—I’m sure anyone can make a flag, Minotaur King Inreza. And it seems to be a rather skewed representation of my points. If I may—”

She held up a hand.

“I accede to your points, [Commentator]. And to that of nations. I do not know them, and the House of Minos does not govern their wills. Therefore, I have arranged a small demonstration of the House of Minos’ new colonization method of the New Lands of Gnolls.”

“I don’t think anyone calls it the New Lands of—er—what is that? Colonization method? What—are those flags?”

She had a long, long pole in her hand, more like a ballista bolt than a flag. It was sturdy, hand-carved from a single length of wood. It had to be aerodynamic, so the [Engineers] had even added fins on the sides, which would snap open after the initial throw. But the hard part was the payload: the wrapped bundle of cloth on the end. It was secured to avoid ripping open on throw, and Inreza drew back her arm.

Then she threw the first flag so fast and hard that the blast of air followed the flag, which arced into the distance, up, up—and headed straight out. Towards the New Lands.

“Wh—Ancestors, that’s the most incredible arm I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Noass breathed, and Sir Relz’s monocle popped off his face. Inreza, perhaps the highest-level [Thrower] in the world, picked up another javelin. Then threw again.

It took only a few more throws before the two Drakes realized what she was doing. She was throwing flags at the New Lands.

“Wait a second—you can’t hit them from there! And that’s not fair!”

Noass burst out, and the Minotaur King hefted another flag up. She spoke to a smiling [Captain].

“I believe the ruins of that tower are most valuable. Or should I aim for the hills?”

“Hills contain minerals, Your Majesty. Both?”

“Mm.”

She smiled, a scarred grin, and threw. The Drakes began protesting vehemently, but they were drowned out by the laughter of the Minotaurs.

It was, by the way, a bluff. Inreza had no vision of the New Lands, nor could she aim that precisely at everything. But the [Engineers] had calculated some of her flags would probably survive impact and put down spells to give the Minotaurs vision of where they landed. It’d go to the House of Minos’ colonists, so this wasn’t just a pointed counterargument.

But it did do the job. Just to prove this wasn’t a joke, Inreza took aim and spoke.

“Gnolls plant no flags, Sir Relz. Will you claim the Great Plains the same way? Or is all of Izril up for grabs? If so—I would rather like this spot.”

She used [Pinpoint Aim] this time and carefully, using a [Scrying] spell, tossed the last flag-javelin and lowered her arm, sweating. It hit the ground, and Sir Relz stared at the place she’d tossed it at, far in the distance.

Zeres, the City of Waves, found a flag with the House of Minos sticking out of a hill right next to their walls. It was promptly taken down within minutes of landing, but not before Channel 1 put up a splendid shot of it flying Minotaur colors there.

Point made, Inreza sailed back to the House of Minos, watching the scrying orb with amusement as outraged Drakes and monarchs began protesting the flag-system and denouncing it; they would honor only actual colonies!

She returned to the House of Minos to the beating of drums as Minotaurs pounded approval or stood on the docks, stomping or calling out to her. The wise King of Minos returned to her throne and sat, sighing, overwearied from so long on her feet.

Even Minotaur Kings had to have fun.

 

 

Year 24, Month 2, Day 24. Trouble.

 

Barnethei was waiting for Larracel to get back and checking the mana well, which was at 10% power, when he had trouble from a group leaving the New Lands. There was a clamor as he strode to the inn.

“Ladies, gentlemen, what seems to be the issue?”

Navien was trying to block a group of rather ragged-looking Drakes from leaving. Her response was curt, and Barnethei got that feeling of trouble instantly. He had a sword he kept under the counter and training from Named-ranks, and it was only thirty Drakes. The staff all had wands, but—

“They tried to walk out without paying, Barnethei.”

“Excuse me—our city will cover the costs! We’re just short on funds at this moment.”

The Drakes didn’t have a leader, and they turned out their pockets as Barnethei groaned. It wasn’t an uncommon experience; plenty of people came to The Adventurer’s Haven for the free bread and didn’t want to pay.

“Miss, we don’t accept deferred payments. Surely we can come to an arrangement? I’d hate to inform the Watch or lodge a complaint via the Mage’s Guild.”

“There’s no Watch here. I’m sorry, but we were starving—our bags of holding burst, and these damn lands won’t grow anything! We’ve got nothing to sell, so—”

She wanted to push past him, and he barred the way. She backed up and put a hand on her sword hilt, but he indicated that.

“Excellent idea, Miss! We would accept some goods, though it’s certainly not ideal. Once your city pays your bill, we’ll be happy to return the items via Runner.”

She hesitated—then saw the staff were politely lined up behind Barnethei, next to tables, or at the bar that was coincidentally great cover if it came to a shootout. One of the Drakes cursed.

“You can’t take our weapons!”

“Jewelry, then? Anything valuable you’ve found? Surely you don’t think any self-respecting establishment would just let you walk out, Miss…?”

She didn’t want to give him a name. The Drake glowered.

“We don’t have anything of value. You want sea shells? We’ve got that, shitty monster hides, and bugs. There’s nothing out there. Just weird animals, no magic, and nothing to eat.”

Barnethei felt a prickle on the back of his neck as she threw down some mangled hides, proving her group hadn’t had a good [Hunter]. He began negotiating, somewhat exasperated.

This wasn’t ideal—he didn’t want to steal too much, and a fight was the last thing he needed. So he had them turn over a pair of daggers, some of their travelling gear—empty backpacks, ropes and climbing gear, even a lot of shovels and pickaxes he assumed they’d been planning to excavate with.

However, hunger had forced this group back. The Drake in charge cursed as she handed it all over, but was surprised when he offered her a basket of bread.

“For the road. The Haven does appreciate hunger, Miss. Just what was the problem?”

She gave him a suspicious gaze, then grabbed the basket, embarrassed.

“There’s nothing to eat. Nothing grows out there. Believe me, we tried Yellats, we tried turnips, wheat, onions, everything. This entire damn place is a trap. Thanks for the bread. I’m sorry we didn’t have coins—we bought all the food we could from more idiots heading inland. I’d leave if I were you. No one’s settling the New Lands.”

He thought this was an exaggeration from a group dealt a bad hand, but that warning about the farms…his skin was still tingling as he saw that first group off.

More followed.

 

——

 

It became a routine in The Explorer’s Haven to ask for money first and then offer the free bread. If they couldn’t pay, they had to barter or were turned away with the basket of bread. Most groups were reasonable and bartered.

Some begged.

It wasn’t a lot of them, not at first, but that recurring song and dance began to play in Barnethei’s head. A group would come back, hungry, desperate, and ranting about the lack of food, difficulties hunting—dispirited and either swearing to come back ready or just done with it all.

They were the first waves who’d gone in unprepared, and there were still more people coming in than going out. But Barnethei heard that refrain about the ground and began warning any group ready to plant about the issue.

It wasn’t insurmountable. In fact, when the Haven next arrived, he gave Larra a direct request.

“Chickens.”

“Excuse me?”

She was aghast at the amount of bartered goods he wanted her to sell and was upbraiding him about it, but Barnethei’s request threw her.

“Chickens, Larra. There are bugs aplenty. I need chickens, cows—can I have some from the barn? If not, then get me chickens, cows, goats—herd animals. That’s how you live in the New Lands.”

It was so obvious. Grass, the yellow grass of Kishkeria, was plentiful and fed animals well. All the horses who came back with groups looked bright and perky. People couldn’t eat grass, but milk or the animals themselves?

“That’ll take a while to get! As for all this crap—fine, fine. Mihaela tells me this isn’t isolated to this region. The half-Elves are warning all their allies, and it’ll be common news within a week or two. The ground’s salted. Damn, it’s so obvious! Here’s what I’ll do: I’ll dump half the soil and farm and get more. And come back with as many animals as the Haven can carry. You keep the inn going.”

“Is it worth continuing, Larra?”

He caught her arm, and she gave him a long look.

“…It might not be.”

That scared him, for all the effort and coin they’d put into this, but Larracel’s eyes flicked to the horizon.

“As long as they can barter, we’re making coin. Are you levelling? That’s fast, even for starting a new inn.”

“Level 43 a while back, one Skill. We’re working dawn-to-dusk. Hard work pays off, Larra.”

She snorted, ignoring that.

“Then it’s worth something. Keep the inn open, and if the other adventurers need help—”

Great, so he was her lifeline for her friends. Barnethei sighed and adjusted his coat, which was growing a bit less lustrous without access to all the magical amenities. Even the Haven appeared a bit less pristine. Larracel indicated Roreen.

“Half the staff gets sick when we bump along the road here. Like seasickness. Once someone builds a damn road, this will be easier. Anything else?”

He shrugged. The Explorer’s Haven was still making money, and Larracel had begun to attract clients with her new routes, but he could not honestly say this new inn was doing as well as he wanted.

Not even half as well. Bugs and bats assailed the inn by night, and the lack of amenities were making the staff stir-crazy.

“Can I let some of the staff go with your inn for a circuit, Larra? There’s not much to do here.”

She ground her teeth, but arranged a swap of unenthusiastic staff from Barnethei’s inn. Then she just stood there.

“If there’s treasure in the New Lands, artifacts, monsters, whatever—we’ll see it. If it’s all a waste of time, we’ll know in a month or two. Hold till then.”

It made sense, and Barnethei nodded. He had a sour taste in his mouth as he went back to the Haven and told everyone the plan. Then he broke out a drink, again, and offered Illic some fruit juice. The boy seemed nervous about his employment, as if they’d toss him back to Goisedall, and went scurrying around, sweeping the damn yellow beetles out of the inn. Navien sighed as Yirr tromped in with more beetles and a carcass of something disgusting.

“I killed this thing. Want it?”

It was…a giant, scaled lizard! Barnethei recoiled instantly, and their acting [Cook] blanched, but Yirr assured him it was edible.

It was this long-faced lizard that apparently lived in the river. After some consultation with his bestiary, a gift from Larra, Barnethei tentatively identified it as a ‘crocodile’.

The Gnoll was wet and hurried inside to change, and Barnethei was asking their [Cook] to see if they could do anything with it. Food was food—

The clamor at the walls encircling The Explorer’s Haven made him look up sharply. Larracel had insisted on a watch tower, and someone was always there. There was a shout.

“Barnethei! They’re all wounded!”

He raced out of the inn and saw the first casualties with his own eyes. There were six of them on four horses, riding hell-for-leather. The poor animals nearly threw their riders off, and they were all covered with blood.

 

——

 

“I-it was so fast we never saw it at first. We thought someone just got lost, but more started vanishing, so we locked the camp down. Then it came in. It looked like a Ghoul. But it wasn’t.”

The white-faced woman was a [Merchant], one of six survivors of a group who’d passed through the Haven not a week back. Barnethei glanced at the watchtower, which had three of the staff in it.

“How big?”

“Smaller than the horses, just. All fours—it was so damn fast. It just grabbed Beiknam, our [Guard Captain], and ripped his throat out. Then it started grabbing everyone—”

“Is it following you?”

“I don’t know. We’ve been riding since dawn.”

Something had destroyed a group of forty settlers in two days. They had escaped their camp, not by fighting it off; they were just the ones who had gotten onto horses and ridden off while it took down people fleeing.

Barnethei’s hairs were all standing up, and he sent an urgent [Message] to Larra, who told him to lock down the inn and get ready to activate wall spells. Everyone hunkered down as the survivors babbled.

“We can wait it out if it comes at us. Larra’s got a strategy: you lock down, remove scents, cover windows, and most monsters get bored. No one panic. Don’t go outside for anything, got it?”

One of the staff raised her hands.

“What about the outhouses?”

He bit his tongue.

“Just—use one of the spare rooms and put a bucket in there. Don’t give me that look, Menli! We’ll see about integrating the outhouses to the inn, but Larracel will have to enchant them. Or we finish those walls…is everyone inside?”

“The Drake [Farmer] is, and I ran down to the river to get the [Fishers]. Everyone’s here. Wait—where’s Yirr?”

Barnethei cursed. The one person who might head out—! He tore up to her rooms, and she wasn’t there. He swore, cast around, then remembered she’d been drenched in water.

“Yirr? Are you in there? Yirr, there’s a monster—”

He threw the door open because he’d assumed the bathing room would be locked, and Yirr whirled. Barnethei got a glimpse of a lot of fur as she howled at him, then closed the door.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—”

He stopped. Then stared at a wall as he replayed what he’d seen. Not because he was that lewd or crass; you didn’t see much more than, uh, fur, even if Gnolls were naked anyways. Barnethei’s eyes opened.

“White f—”

Yirr slammed the door open and grabbed him. She growled, eyes wide.

“Don’t tell anyone! Swear!”

She had a patch of white fur on one arm, and she appeared frantic. She grabbed some of what he realized was hair dye and began scrubbing at it. Barnethei blinked at her.

“You’re a Doombearer?”

He knew that from the Meeting of Tribes, and she snarled at him.

“I’m not! I’m—”

Then he realized who she was. It took him a bit of reminding himself of the events there, but Barnethei distinctly recalled one tribe had been given the white fur.

Plain’s Eye. No wonder she’d called herself ‘tribeless’. He promised Yirr he would tell no one, and she looked relieved, then concerned when he relayed the information about the monster out there.

It was a long night of standing vigil, but there was no monster attack nor sightings of it. The next day, the group rode out, refusing to stay. And Barnethei informed Larra there were monsters even on the outskirts, enough to slaughter a Level 22 [Guard Captain] with ease. But that, he realized in time, wasn’t the real threat facing The Explorer’s Haven.

Three months into the New Lands venture, Barnethei ran into his first bandits who came after The Explorer’s Haven, that fixture of magic and…food. Not monsters, but people.

When he stood in the ruins of the inn, glass windows exploded, tables with arrows sticking out of them, seeing Navien and the rattled staff lowering wands, then—Barnethei began to put a time limit on how long he thought The Explorer’s Haven was worth trying. But that was a raid he’d fought off.

Losing one—

That was when it went bad.

 

——

 

Toren, Job-Hunter.

Toren the Vengeful One.

Toren, Employee #1 of Cormeng’s Grand Emporium of Antiques and Pawnshop.

In Service to the Immortal Tyrant: Toren.

A Head and Two Hands Carried by a Slime.

 

The job market was a rough one. Some days, you caught a lucky break after putting yourself out there and got what seemed like a cushy gig. No overtime, a high-level boss, all the death magic you wanted—but then you had to really look at yourself in the mirror and ask if bullying Dragons was what you wanted to do with your life.

Integrity over immortal tyrants. He’d quit his job, and it had cost him all his bones, his class, his gear…even Maviola. But he had his values, whatever those were worth.

A skeleton head and two hands that extended just up to the elbow bounced along in a glowing, purple slime racing across the ground. The New Lands of Izril, or thereabouts. Just a head and two hands.

That was all he was these days. He wasn’t a provider. He wasn’t even able to move; his head could roll about with great effort, but he was helpless. And the being he was supposed to care for, Healing Slime, was bearing him onwards.

What a failure. What a crock. He just wished…he wished he didn’t feel relieved. He wished Healing Slime didn’t feel so proud of him.

We’re in so much trouble. Healing Slime wasn’t a fighter or a lover. It was a slime! It had no offensive capabilities aside from its Speed Slime form. It refused to put Toren down, to let him die. Friends until the end.

He should have worked for Nerrhavia, slipped away when she wasn’t watching. He shouldn’t have grandstanded his goodbye, flipping off his boss like he’d wanted to do to all of them except Doren. He should have…

The skeleton was helpless, a passenger riding along. This was not a story about Toren, for the moment, Toren the Unemployed, Toren who had lost everything, Toren the Hero of Nerrhavia’s Fallen.

This was a story about a slime.

 

——

 

It had no name. Healey. Slimey. The Defender of the Cave. It had been many things it didn’t really understand.

Accidentally made. Not intended to live. Valuable and at the mercy of so many things. Abused, neglected, a creature in a world not set up for it.

Terrified, starving. Until a skeleton had picked it up and shown it affection. Fed it, and they’d clung together, shivering in the dark castle of death. Then left.

Sad skeleton, brave skeleton, going in circles. The slime understood circles. It was a blob of glowing liquid, shimmering with the potion that made it up; a circle, even if it wobbled and deformed. That was what the skeleton did.

It went in a circle back home, growing sadder. Hurting itself. Then it found a good place in a musty shop of dust, and a man who fed the slime nice things and wept tears like the skeleton, only visible.

Then they’d had to leave for reasons the slime didn’t get. Met a terrifying pair of eyes as old as mountains who sat on a pile of bodies, laughing and swinging her legs idly as she peered down on everything, and the skeleton thought he liked her, and the slime was afraid the skeleton was becoming like the bad things in the castle. But—he—Toren—wasn’t.

He was like the Defenders of the Cave. A Shield Spider, biting and clawing at a Creler not because it had to, but because it should. A thing that didn’t have to be what it was, but tried.

So, the Healing Slime rolled across the ground as it turned from green to yellow, and the skies burnished themselves into a golden orange. The vast slime of light in the skies sank, on and on.

It knew this was a Bad Place, eating it and Toren, but the Bad Person was behind them. So the slime rolled on. It had to protect the skeleton.

Toren.

Names were hard for the slime. But it remembered his. The skeleton carried the death magic in it, at odds with the life magic in the slime—not that it thought in those words. Just…attraction and repulsion, good and bad.

This land was bad. It made the slime hungry, but it kept going. For its friend.

Till the end. The Healing Slime had no concept of the future or dreams. It had gone with Toren because he was a Kind Person. Almost left him because he was becoming another Bad Person, but it had waited. Now it knew he was a Kind Person.

So—the Healing Slime had no idea of months or what was coming ahead. But it formulated a plan, and it was to keep going with the skeleton.

Until the end. It burned magic inside of it, converting it to speed. Faster, faster so the Bad Person didn’t catch them.

 

——

 

The skeleton thought for them. It could hear the Healing Slime’s thoughts, but since the slime didn’t think in the same ways, it often understood the world based on Toren’s thoughts. Learning from him.

The skeleton was worried. It thought, the Healing Slime couldn’t regenerate magic here—wherever ‘here’ is. The New Lands? Damn, this place sucks. 

Which was true. For two magical beings, this was as close to hell as you’d get. Healing Slime was digesting yellow grass as it rested. Or tried to; the grass had tiny bits of magic in it, but magic was all…leaving them.

Sinking down into the ground. They felt it. For the skeleton, it was actually better. As a skull and two hands, he was actually minimal in terms of death-magic usage. And his two Stellar Ivory hands were producing death magic, so he was a net positive of death magic until he got a body.

But Healing Slime didn’t eat death magic. It was leaking mana, even as it tried to stop it. It was all mana; once Healing Slime’s mana core depleted, it would die. Already, it had lost a bit of mass; it had gained some in Doren’s shop until it was the size of Toren’s chest. It had shrunk about an inch after a day.

The skeleton thought: we need to get me a body. I have to protect Healing Slime, but how?

Healing Slime rolled over to the skeleton and picked up its pieces. Silly skeleton. It was so worried about the Slime, thinking of its death and imagining the terrible pain it would feel if that happened. The skeleton didn’t think that anyone would feel the same for him. So the slime rolled on.

The mana drain lessened as they moved away from one spot, then intensified again; the slime slowed, then rolled away experimentally. It was lesser…here…it rolled around curiously, then made a circle.

Oh. It knew circles. There was a big circle of this mana drain. And another circle here. It overlapped in places…there were lots of circles, some huge. It began avoiding them, rolling around in a weird pattern only it could sense, avoiding the worst of the mana drain.

It took the skeleton two days to notice what the Healing Slime was doing. Then it wondered what was causing the drain. The slime hadn’t been curious until the skeleton thought that. It was too busy searching for something to eat.

It found nothing.

 

——

 

A third of it was gone. The Healing Slime paused by a pool of water to drink. Water, at least, was something it could use. The skeleton was very worried. It wanted Healing Slime to go back—but the slime was afraid of the Bad Person.

Bones. They just needed bones. The Healing Slime rolled into the waters, which cushioned it, helping it preserve its magic a bit. Then it jerked—

The crocodile snapped its jaws shut as the Healing Slime tried to escape, but the water made it just roll in place. The hungry crocodile was biting for the inviting jelly snack when the skeleton’s skull, lying on its side, blazed at it.

Purple eyes flared, and the crocodile froze.

[Terror].

Get lost. The crocodile instantly dove, and the Healing Slime frantically paddled itself to shore. It was nicked; it bled some of its body out, then fused the membrane shut. The skeleton’s jaw was chattering with fury and worry. The Healing Slime picked up the pieces.

These things happened. The first place it had been had been filled with things hungry for it. Everything wanted to eat the slime.

Aren’t you angry? Don’t you want to murder them all?

The skeleton thought at it, and the slime didn’t know. It got afraid. It didn’t want to die. But it didn’t want to kill the things that tried to eat it.

The response was so astounding to the skeleton it stopped thinking for a bit. A part of the skeleton wanted to kill everything, even the slime. But the slime…didn’t really want that. It just wanted its skeleton to smile.

When the skeleton heard that, it started crying. The slime switched to speed and zipped into the distance. They wanted to eat it, this slime of magic. It was hard—but the skeleton had fought the Bad People that looked like it in the castle.

 

——

 

It was the bugs. It was the bats. It was everything that moved—trying to land on the Healing Slime and suck a bit of it out, to feast on the magical little creature.

Toren was going to kill them all. He lay, helpless, as the Healing Slime rolled through beetles covering it, absorbing them, spitting out carcases, fleeing bats swooping down to take bits out of it—even butterflies!

[Terror]! [Terror]! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you! The skeleton’s eyes flared purple, but he couldn’t use his magic forever. Worse…insects had less concept of fear than animals. It worked well on Corusdeer or bats, but not bugs.

The Healing Slime was half its mass and having trouble lugging Toren around when it finally found a dead body. It rolled to a stop as it found a weird canyon stretching across the land—then hid itself when it sensed something moving.

Nearly two dozen men and women were dismounted, conferring together as Healing Slime froze. It rolled into some bushes, and Toren heard some low voices.

“—here? We’ve been scouring this spot for days, and we’re no closer to finding whatever damn ruins the Silver Swords went into. It’s all rock and rubble, and the damn undead swipe at us!”

“You saw them. There has to be loot here.”

“Loot worth starving to death? That bastard Violinist is here—you heard about how he got some of us. We’re wasting time when we should be—”

Adventurers. They were having a heated argument, and Healing Slime shrank against a bush as one of them, holding a dimly glowing staff, stared ahead at the ruins in the plateau. Then sidelong at them.

Toren and Healing Slime made not a sound. After a moment, the [Mage] frowned and joined the discussion.

“It’s not worth pursuing anymore. If the Silver Swords cleared the dungeon they took everything of value. If not, they ran into something too nasty to take on. If the Terlands return…”

They argued for nearly twenty minutes before riding away. In that time, Healing Slime didn’t move an inch.

Toren was worried about the small creature. It just lay there, not moving, colors swirling faintly as it tried to conserve energy. He thought that was what it was doing.

The mana ‘leak’ from both of them being swallowed by the ground was killing the slime, but he thought it was bleeding less mana today than it had been days ago. Maybe it was halting the flow of mana outwards?

Toren had never been this incapacitated, ever. Before, he’d had the Archmage Nekhret’s bones in him, so he’d always healed from injuries. Az’kerash removing them meant he was stuck; his [Limited Regeneration] couldn’t replace entire limbs.

So, he was concentrating on the flow of mana in his body and sensing it for the first time. Focusing on it because, well, he had nothing else to do. It had taken him ages to notice the fine details like how the mana drain intensified or lessened and to realize the Healing Slime was avoiding it.

The slime was more knowledgeable about magic than Toren. It cuddled his head as he realized glumly how far behind he was. Then it tried to carry him up the hill.

It was having trouble keeping all his bones inside its body now it was a third smaller. Toren hoped they could find bones here. Certainly, he sensed the undead—but something was wrong.

 

——

 

They were all…collapsing. Each time they tried to rise, a new presence filled them, then cut off. They lived and died in this perpetual state of reincarnation that was horrific. If undead could be tortured—this was it.

However, what really unnerved Toren were the…spirits. He could sense them floating around the bodies. Mostly around the weird tower filled with magic going underground.

Bearing in mind what Nerrhavia had told him, Toren got it. Normally, an undead forced the ghost out of the body or might devour it; a piece of them was left behind. But because the mana drain was so intense, the ghosts never got ejected. They hung around the bodies, dead Drakes and, for some reason, Dullahans. Both sides really didn’t like each other, but they ignored the skeleton and Healing Slime as it rolled bravely towards the bodies.

This was where it got tricky, because Toren needed bones, but the undead here he didn’t know. Their vibes might not be good. They might fall to pieces fast, but if you were close enough, they could take a few swings at you. Healing Slime was no fighter, and Toren couldn’t. Even a few rattling bones could hurt the slime badly.

So they came with diplomacy. Tact. Hat in their hands, asking for a handout—hugely embarrassing for Toren, but he was willing to beg to help Healing Slime.

Rather to his surprise, the undead turned to him and seemed to think he was some kind of rockstar. Their eyes brightened, and a few took steps towards him.

Whoa, you? What happened to you? And how can we help, buddy? Friendo? Pal? This skeleton’s alright, even if he’s only a head and hands—and he’s got beautiful hands. Something about him makes me want to follow him.

Toren was…aware that some of his thoughts overlapped with how Erin thought, like the rockstar thing. He was rather flattered by the attention. Healing Slime relaxed as a few piles of bones energetically collapsed around him. He translated their dialogue, more thoughts and intentions reflecting off each other, much like this.

This entire bother? Purely temporary. They’d get themselves together sooner or later. That was how it worked, right? Just give them a few more…y’know, thousand years, and they were positive one of them would collect enough mana to put the rest of them together.

Damn shame, because they had to be killing the living, but you know how it was. How’d you lose your arms? Was that slime killable? No? Okay, they’d hold off on that for a bit.

How long had they been here? Well, you know. Forever. There had been fighting, a lot of bodies had been sadly washed away, but they’d been lying there until the waters vanished. No, they hadn’t been able to animate even with the water over them. All the magic kept being taken.

Annoying, that. Oh, the ghosts? They were new. Just before or around the time that woman had spoken in all their hearts, those charming three. Now those were a trio you could get behind, better than even a [Necromancer]. Charismatic—although nothing had ever come of it? Anyways, the ghosts had appeared but mostly just hung around, being confused and annoying. 

What happened to you, incidentally? Tyrants? Had your Relics stolen? What a terrible business! We’d love to murder these living things for you.

Spare a few bones? Absolutely, chum! For you, anything. Who had the best femurs here? Drake or Dullahan? Say, how did you get bones as pristine as his hands?

This was all rather convivial! Toren was hugely encouraged, and Healing Slime itself was doing its jiggly dance, bouncing around in a blob of excitement. He requested enough bones, if they could spare them, to rebuild his body.

Toren wasn’t picky. He was prepared, in fact, for the worst bones they’d offer him to get back on his feet…once someone gave him feet. After all, they were all hard-working undead, and he didn’t want to take too much from any one body.

However, at his request, all the undead instantly offered him the pick of the lot. Body and all! He was so astounded he floundered until they cleared up his misapprehension.

Bones? Take them! You can have me and my buddy over there! All our bones! Take all of us if it works! We don’t mind the merge.

Hold on…merge? Toren realized they were thinking he was going to do the classic undead thing and gather their bones into him and become a Bone Horror. Or some other undead. He knew how it went: you merged undead into greater ones, but that wasn’t his style.

He was Toren; yes, he took other bones, but he’d never really wanted to be in a polycule. He was sure he’d get along, but their personalities and his would mix, and he was pretty sure he’d go into the ‘let’s kill all living things’ mindset, which wasn’t a good one.

At this, the undead grew rather dismayed.

You don’t want to merge with us? We’re great! It’s a way out for all of us! Just merge up, and we’ll eat those ghosts over there if we can, maybe arm ourselves from the fortress—then start murdering! Come on, we’ll even throw in the slime if it can merge.

They began pressuring him, but he refused, and then it got a bit ugly. The undead bones began rolling at him, trying to start an orgy with him in the center, and Toren was not having it.

Neither was Healing Slime, who zipped him back in alarm. The undead rattled and clattered at Toren, who furiously shot back insults. He knew the other undead got up to stuff, but now Toren realized that all some of them wanted to do was kill the living, then get back and entangle bodies with the others!

Gross! He wasn’t a Crypt King or a Wailing Pit! Rather to his relief, the other undead finally got what he was putting down and decided to respect his personal boundaries. But they put their foot down.

No merging, no bones. Sorry, comrade. Not even one? We could do a great two-headed skeleton. No? Okay, okay. Listen. We’re all in a bind here, and we get you’re doing your own thing. We’ve got to support the effort of killing the living, even if you’re not doing things how we do it. 

So they gave him rights to scavenge any body that hadn’t fully formed an undead. Which was very reasonable! Toren felt bad about the entire no-merging thing, but he thanked them and wished them luck on the entire ‘rising despite the mana drain’ thing. He promised that if he got enough magic, he’d definitely come back and recruit a few into his horde, and he got the feeling they were rather cheering him on. Like some old undead seeing this down-on-his-luck newcomer appearing, but with great prospects.

Generosity. That’s the kind of thing undead had that Drakes and other living species lacked. True, it was only bits and bobs of bones…to his dismay, Toren found only pieces, and Healing Slime couldn’t dig; the mana drain grew worse the deeper it went.

So, after an entire night of rolling around the battlefield, Toren had just enough bones to stand on two misshapen feet. He wiggled his toes, flexed his new arms of shining Stellar Ivory…and stared at the Healing Slime.

They were about the same height. Toren had just enough bone fragments to create a body two feet tall, and he waddled around as his hands and forearm-bones now became arms.

The other undead were, uh…less complimentary about his new form. They tried to be enthusiastic, but he distinctly heard them opining that he should merge with them and get a better body.

Certainly—Toren could barely move around in this tiny form. He could waddle, and as for fighting—he had no weapons. He could huck a stone side-long, but he didn’t even have the arm bones to articulate a throwing motion.

This was terrible. He debated stealing some bones from the other undead, but they’d been so welcoming he couldn’t quite do it. Healing Slime rolled forwards uncertainly; it didn’t know what to do.

We have to find more bones for me. Let’s head back along the New Lands. Nerrhavia’s probably not still searching for us, and we have to get out of here.

It was getting too weak; even trying to dig down into the ground to find bones for Toren had reduced another inch of Healing Slime’s mass. But how to transport him?

He was now too big to carry and too slow to move beyond a waddle. After some thought, Toren had a solution.

 

——

 

The weirdest slime in the world rolled back the way it had come as the undead watched. It seemed like a slime—but a bunch of bones were floating inside of it, and a skull was riding on its head. And it had two feet and hands that were crawling on the ground, helping the slime move.

Wow. That was, uh…that was something. You heard of death slimes or bone slimes, but that? The undead were sort of relieved none of them had merged with Toren after all.

No accounting for taste, even if he seemed like he could lead a horde. They wished him well, though. They were all working towards the same goal, even if he hadn’t really ever gone ‘yeah, I’m killing everything I see!’

He’d be back or change his tune.

The slime that was helping him wouldn’t last two days. It might look only two-thirds as big, but it didn’t have the mana to sustain itself below a certain threshold. Thankfully, Toren generated more mana than not, so he’d be fine. The undead rose and fell, waiting for their lucky break.

 

——

 

Toren, Job-Hunter.

Toren the Vengeful One.

Toren, Employee #1 of Cormeng’s Grand Emporium of Antiques and Pawnshop.

In Service to the Immortal Tyrant: Toren.

A Head and Two Hands Carried by a Slime.

Toren the Helpless.

 

Suffering. He knew it well. He and suffering were old companions, the sharp misery of unhappiness, but also the long and deep agony of not knowing who you were, of being…nothing.

This was a new blade, just as Toren believed he was beyond anything that could be done. He’d lost Erin, if he’d ever had her. He’d lost his relics, Maviola, his class, even his body. Everything the world could take from him, but he’d forgotten you could always fall further. Drop to the ground and there was a dungeon beneath.

Fall in the dungeon and the wells carried you down. There was never a bottom. Now, suffering was going to take away the one thing he had left.

His friend.

Despite his best efforts and the stupid way he let Healing Slime carry him, Toren couldn’t drag them a tenth as fast as the Healing Slime could move. It burned magic, the Speed Slime racing back the way they’d come.

Toren had a map of the New Lands in his head; they’d come from the southeast, up from where Nerrhavia had made her camp, meandering towards the hills north. If the ridgeline that marked the New Lands was one long marker across the continent, the river was the other.

The river that flowed down from the foothills was a natural point of geography; using it, you could orient yourself towards the hills or the giant gorge where they had found the helpful undead, which was west of there. Or head further south; not that Toren needed the landmark. He had a perfect map of everywhere he’d been in his head, both via his undead memory and time in the dungeon’s confusing corridors.

Eastwards they went now, back towards the river and the end of the New Lands. They had to; Healing Slime was dying.

It already bled magic in the regular world, because it was so…so magical that unless it ate the right reagents, it couldn’t survive. Some slimes accumulated magic, but Healing Slime was no ordinary Water Slime or Sewer Slime. Its powers drained mana, and here—

It stopped after the first day. Stopped, and its purple body flecked with bits of shimmering gold turned to the prismatic color of its regular form. Then became dull, darkening until it was like faded glass, not the beautiful glow.

Then Toren dragged them onwards, desperate. And he knew…Healing Slime was running out of time. But they hadn’t even made it to the river.

Then he regretted not stealing the undeads’ bodies or risking merging. Then he cursed his pathetic body, his classes, Nerrhavia, everything that had led him here. He was Toren, a warrior, a [Barmaid], a…

He couldn’t protect one slime. His [Dangersense (Ward)] Skill was going off. It had been for days, but now it was like the dull tolling of funeral bells. The ringing of a morgue calling.

No.

 

[Carer Level 13!]

 

No Skills. No…[Convert Death Mana] Skill, [Transfer Mana (Ward)] Skill, or anything else. Toren had been thinking it could happen. That was his class!

Carer. What was the point of caring if you couldn’t save them? But he had never been good at his job. A good skeleton wouldn’t have let Healing Slime just follow him around and not found a home. A good skeleton wouldn’t have endangered Healing Slime and needed his help. He was no [Protector].

Just a fool who realized he had the wrong classes, levels too low, too late.

Eleven hours of dragging them forwards, agonizing foot by foot. Even for Toren, it was hard. The Healing Slime didn’t respond; it was just an orb of stickiness clinging to him, losing pieces of gel every hour. Toren crawled, kicking at the ground desperately, and the voice saw fit to speak again.

 

[Carer Level 14!]

[Skill – Nurture Intellect: Slimes obtained!]

 

A Skill. A useful Skill. A worthless Skill.

Then Toren began to curse the voice. He had never thought of whatever gave him levels before. Never wondered what the rules were.

But whether it was some vestige of Erin left in him, his own unique relationship with the system of levels as the first levelling undead—or just his desperate hatred, Toren began to curse it.

Give me levels to save Healing Slime. It’s all I want. All my classes…I’m not anything. I don’t know what I am, and neither do you, because how could you if I’m lost? But this matters.

This matters more than anything I’ve done. So help me. Please.

Or I’ll kill you. I swear if Healing Slime dies, I will find a way to kill whatever you are and everything in this world. Everything.

If there were a presence listening to his voice, it said nothing.

It didn’t even acknowledge his vow, because he had not lost the slime.

Not yet.

 

——

 

They came to the river, and it was a blob now. So small he could hold it in one hand. Toren had to ford the river.

A river versus a skeleton, two feet tall, unable to articulate his joints, trying to keep the Healing Slime above his head, incapable of swimming to reach the other side. And how far…

It swept him down-river as he held the dying slime, tumbling, screaming, until he hit some nets. Nets—which he climbed out of and stumbled onto the bank. Healing Slime…

Something was ahead of them. But half of Toren was tangled in the nets. He tried to push the slime forwards, but it wouldn’t move.

The skeleton lay there, trying to rise, and he heard the bells falling silent. He prayed for something, anything. A miracle. He prayed, but no one was listening to skeletons.

The goddess who had presided over death had lost her powers. Toren lay as the slime rolled away from his hand and lay, a ball around a tiny mana core, on the grass.

If you go, I’ll go too. Toren heard humming now, not the bells. A lonely, distant humming.

He thought it was his imagination. Then he knew he’d never heard this song before. For he remembered them all. His purple eye-flames rose, and he had no expectation of anything. Just desperation. So, he, who had never deigned to give Nerrhavia a single word, the skeleton with a voice, shouted.

“Help! Please!”

The humming stopped, and Toren lay still. Then, the Gnollish [Huntress] humming Great Plains Sing stopped as she warily aimed her bow around. She stopped harvesting fish for bait in the river.

Yirr’s boots crunched through the grass, and she bent down and saw something strange. A skeletal hand reaching for a tiny…she almost recoiled or stepped on the tiny slime.

“A slime? But there’s no magic here. It’s shiny, yes?”

Carefully, she bent down. And, after a moment’s hesitation, found a jar and scooped it up. Then she trotted back towards the distant building shining with…magic.

When she came back to show Barnethei the bones she’d found—

They were gone.

 

 

Year 24, Month 3, Day 4. A strange pet. A raid not fought off. Strangers. The Haven…in trouble. Both Havens.

 

After the first raid on The Explorer’s Haven, Navien and half the staff had a meeting with Barnethei.

“We didn’t sign up for [Bandits], Barnethei. It was one thing when Larra was in charge, but you’re not her. We want out of this job. Sorry.”

He sat there and didn’t exactly get mad. He saw it. Instead, the [Vice Innkeeper] took off his hat and tried to undo some of the dents in it. They were still sweeping up glass, which meant that more bugs and weather could come through the windows.

He was tired. All the sparkle and jazz of the Haven had worn off, and he felt like the New Lands were miserable.

“What about Golems? If we could have them or [Guards]? I’m not sticking it out long either if we get more raids, Navien, I’m just asking what Larra would. She wants this to work. She’s put too much gold in to bail out.”

The [Head Cleaner] had to think.

“They’d better be Gold-rankers, Barnethei. But I—we—don’t want that. Can’t you talk to her? You’ve known her over twenty years!”

True. He’d known Navien since she was a kid too. Actually, he and Navien were some of the oldest. Barnethei glanced up at a girl he often thought of as a younger sister and saw how distressed she was.

They came here for me. The Haven’s staff were like family, but not like…The Wandering Inn. It was a weird comparison, but Ishkr, the [Server] of that inn, had never gone with Barnethei, and in hindsight, he never would. He’d sworn to die in that inn with Erin. Lyonette, those kids—that was a family.

Erin wasn’t a mother, but it was a family like that. This? This was more like…if Larracel was a grandmother, no, a great grandmother. Matriarch. She got her way, and Barnethei had sway, but it was sway, not the same closeness. They had employees who were loyal and good because the inn had been good.

They hadn’t fought and died together. That, Barnethei supposed darkly, was the difference. He sat there and realized he didn’t want that kind of family. He’d rather they pulled the stakes up. But Navien? He nodded at her.

“Larra’s a week or two away. Once she comes back, I’ll call for an all-staff meeting. We’ll talk it out.”

That was all he could offer; they weren’t going to leave this place while the Haven was on the road. Navien nodded tightly.

They got to cleaning up.

 

——

 

Two things happened before the Haven came back. One was the bad raid. The other, and this was inconsequential in comparison, was that Yirr brought back a weird monster. Only in hindsight, later, far later, would Barnethei put the two together as equally significant.

She trotted in and called for him.

“Barnethei? I found something just at the river. I swore someone was shouting for help but—either they washed away or it was something else.”

“Hm? What’ve you got?”

He was tired and moved more sluggishly, without that energy to work hard and see it pay off. He was sick of people not having money to pay, of having to turn them away when they begged for food, of the damn beetles. And the bats! This was a terrible location after all; that forest disgorged bats and, worse, big racoons that went after the Haven’s foods. More than once, a member of staff had had to blast the racoons away.

He found the weirdest of things in a glass jar Yirr showed him. It was a glowing…

“Slime? It’s tiny!”

It was smaller than the palm of his hand, and he swore it was dead. Slimes did that if they ran out of mana. This one had a tiny mana core, and he shook the jar as Yirr shrugged.

“I would have killed it for the mana core, but it’s not worth much, no. Plus…aren’t they magic?”

She knew her basic monsters and animals, and so did Barnethei.

“They are indeed. Slimes shouldn’t exist around here. Maybe that’s why this one looks like it’s dying. I’ve never seen this coloration, though…”

It looked rather special, even if it was faded. He swore it was glowing a bit and realized the ambient mana levels in The Explorer’s Haven might be keeping it alive. Still—slimes were a pest, and he was going to tell Yirr to toss it when he saw someone peeking at the slime.

Illic, the [Message Apprentice], must have never seen a slime before. He turned and began sweeping the bugs away, but Barnethei smiled wearily.

“Illic, come on over if you want to see the slime. Have you never seen one?”

“N-no, Innkeeper Barnethei.”

The timid Drake boy walked over and peered at the slime.

“Is it dead?”

“Dying, probably.”

The boy appeared so crestfallen as the little piece of jello rested a small limb against the jar that Barnethei bit his lip. But—to hells with it. He looked around.

“Navien? Do you have a bit of magical gemstone?”

They carried it as emergency supplies in case the mana well ran out, and to recharge artifacts faster. She tossed him a piece, and he gave it to Illic.

“Here, put the thing on the table and place the gem down and see if it likes it. They love mana, you know.”

Larra had done this with him as a boy, and they all watched as Illic did that. The slime lay on the table, and Barnethei thought it really was a goner, but then when it noticed the tiny citrine gem, glowing with magic, it rolled towards it. Slowly, it engulfed the gem, and instantly, the colors brightened.

“Oh!”

Illic’s good eye shone as he saw the gem in the slime’s center brighten and visibly grow. Barnethei chuckled.

“They’re all mana in the center. Give them a boost and they can rebuild. Now…let’s add a cup of water and see.”

He let Illic fetch some and sprinkle it over the slime, and it grew visibly bigger. It started rolling around now and seemed to realize it was being watched. Instantly, it tried to hide in the jar, despite it being glass.

“It’s so beautiful.”

The boy whispered, and Barnethei had to agree.

“It is, isn’t it? Maybe Larra would like it—ah, but not many slimes are worth something. We could let it go into the grass, Yirr?”

She shrugged.

“It’s not worth much even if you pull the mana core.”

At this, the slime almost seemed to hear her and trembled, and Illic looked so crestfallen the Gnoll harrumphed.

“I’m not doing it! Oh! Barnethei, I found old bones in the grass. Real old. A skeleton’s head.”

Barnethei blinked. Bones? That made him wary, but he assumed it was an undead that had made it this far then collapsed. He went out to find the bones, but scavengers must have grabbed it or the wind just blown it into the water because they couldn’t find them.

When they came back, he forgot about the little slime entirely and wrote to Larracel in careful language, asking her to come back sooner and that morale was low after the raid.

 

——

 

Two days later, a rather upset [Runner] was in the Mage’s Room as Barnethei poked his head in. She’d come running and asked to pay for [Message] spells.

She was unhappy about the added expense because Illic couldn’t cast much. She was unhappy about her job and snapping.

“Tell the Runner’s Guild I can’t do a delivery if their maps are wrong! I don’t know who these ‘Expeditious Enterprise’ people are—I’ve had three groups claiming they were the recipients of my packages, someone took a shot at me, and no one’s got a working map!”

“I—I’ll send that, Miss. B-but I don’t have enough [Messages] for—”

The Drake was pulling at his neck-spines when Barnethei smiled into the conversation.

“Excuse me, Miss, but Illic is our only [Mage]. What’s the problem?”

He took over, and she calmed, trying to explain the issue. Illic managed five [Messages] total, enough to get her to trot back to Goisedall, cursing, but he ran out of mana for any more.

Which was…odd. Because he was supposed to do nine. In fact, he’d levelled from his work, and Barnethei thought he could do up to sixteen in a day—still very low by [Mage] standards. In fact, the [Vice Innkeeper] took the rest of the magical spellcasting over since it was only a Tier 2 spell.

Illic went very silent when he felt like he was doing a bad job, so Barnethei told the boy not to worry, the Runner was just agitated and left it at that.

—The next day, when some travellers came by asking to let their families know they’d made it to the New Lands, he managed three [Messages] and ran out of mana.

At that point, Barnethei realized there was a rat. Or rather…

“Illic, you wouldn’t happen to have a pet of some kind, would you?”

The Drake boy was shaking like a leaf, and Barnethei got a glare from Navien. He’d even sat Illic down with some milk and everything, but the Drake was so panicked that the [Head Cleaner] knelt down. She brushed at her curled hair and smiled.

“Barnethei’s not mad at you, Illic. He just wants the truth.”

“I—I’m sorry!”

There was a squeak, then to Barnethei’s surprise, if not shock, the slime rolled up Illic’s arm, coming out of his belt pouches, and nearly onto Navien’s arm.

She almost tossed the slime through a window, but then held it. Incredulously, she eyed Barnethei, and he groaned.

Illic had a pet. A pet who ate mana. The boy knew it was affecting his job, and the slime…well, it had doubled in size! Barnethei thought carefully as Navien gave him a look that said if he broke Illic’s heart, she’d pour all the beetles she’d swept up into his bed.

“What if we fed it instead of Illic having to? It’s magical, and Larra might want to look at it.”

Not take it for processing, he hoped, given Illic’s affection for it. How expensive could a slime be, anyways?

 

——

 

It was the most expensive slime Barnethei had ever met. He thunked his head onto the table as Navien and the others played with it.

“It devours mana crystals! Gems and all! Dead gods damn it. And it wants potions?”

He knew slime biology, so he’d done the natural thing and put out a series of items, food, even stuff like mud, dirt, and dust to see what it went after. Then you knew how to feed it; he’d been to Onononononono, the Slime City, though he might have messed up how many ‘no’s were in there.

The slime had sucked up only the most expensive, magical objects, including a few drops of a healing potion. He hadn’t even believed it had wanted it until it had stuck to Navien’s belt and she’d offered it some.

“What kind of slime is this?”

“Can I keep it? Please? I’ll feed it only a bit of mana.”

Illic was pleading, and Navien looked so concerned that she kept nudging Barnethei. In fact, it was probably because Illic was talking to her. He’d been incredibly shy of even the friendly Navien, more so than Barnethei, and the [Vice Innkeeper] had finally guessed it might be because Navien had black skin; the first Human that Illic had ever met who wasn’t paler.

Right now, he was so worried that Barnethei sighed.

“You need to send ten [Messages] per day. I’m not feeding this thing anything expensive or Larra will turn me bald with magic. And it can’t get underfoot or cause trouble! Slimes can be dangerous!”

The boy burst into a smile, then promised to clean up after it, and like that, they had a pet. A surprisingly useful one, actually.

 

——

 

The Healing Slime liked yellow beetles. It’d roll around, vacuuming them up, then spit them out, wingless, in a pile for Navien. Barnethei supposed there was something in the wings it enjoyed.

That alone made it an asset; he only realized it had more powers one day when, after work, he saw Illic chasing it around.

“Got you! Got you!”

Then the slime, which was evading him around the room, turned purple and zipped around at four times the speed! Barnethei nearly spat out his drink!

“Magic? I’ve never seen a slime do that!”

He was fascinated—then wondered if this wasn’t some kind of valuable slime after all! In fact…what was its body made of?

He wanted to take a bit of the slime, which was as big as two hands, to see if it was any liquid he recognized, but it trembled so much that he stopped. Illic’s expression of horror made Barnethei throw his hands up.

“I’m not going to eat it! Gah, let’s let Larra handle it. Yirr, what’s this about a monster?”

The Gnoll shrugged as he turned back to her.

“I think it’s in the grass. I wouldn’t normally pay attention to it, but it’s around the inn. Small.”

“A rabbit?”

“Waisrabbit, maybe. It vanishes when I try to spot it. Could be nothing.”

It could be something nasty. Larracel was a week out, and Barnethei sighed. All things considered, he thought he could have gotten everyone to stay with the Haven one more month to see if anything actually was out here—

But the raid happened the next day.

 

——

 

Barnethei had been in the Haven during a lot of bad moments. Larra’s Haven had fought off monsters, [Bandits], even a stroppy [Lord] who’d insisted she bow to his will. Even the Bloodfeast Raiders, though help had come via House Veltras’ forces before they did more than five minutes of attacking.

He’d never…lost a defense of the inn. Never thought about it.

Not with Larra.

No warning, no offers. They’d begun shooting arrows the moment they came into view. Not untrained idiots either; Barnethei tried to sit up.

He had an arrow in his shoulder and would have reached for an emergency potion, but his hands were up. He had magic in his wand—but they had the door and arrows pointing at him and the staff.

Several were hit, and Illic was hiding in the Mage’s Room. Yirr was howling curses; they’d gotten her through the arm and legs.

This is bad. Masked figures were stomping through the inn, grabbing bottles from the bar, yanking food out of the kitchens—that was what they were after. Food.

But they took the fancy silverware, the gold, and all the artifacts they could.

“Told you this place had magic. Magic. Get their bags of holding.”

Adventurers? Barnethei tried to speak.

“This place is under the Haven’s protection—”

Someone kicked him, and he decided not to try charming them. Voices spoke as he reeled, and Navien shouted at them to stop.

“The fucking Haven? No wonder—”

“Shut up. How much’ve they got? Get everything we can carry—hey, they have bags of holding! Hand them over!”

Barnethei had a grip on his wand, and he saw the staff raising their hands, looking to him. Then someone shouted as one of the masked [Bandits] grabbed them.

Navien? She was fighting as they towed her out, and Barnethei spoke.

“Hands off the staff.”

He aimed his wand down—and every bow swung towards him. So did several blades.

“Drop the wand! Drop them and kick them over!”

The [Vice Innkeeper] felt his heart pounding, but he didn’t drop the wand.

“You can have everything we’ve got. But the Haven’s staff are off-limits. Let her go or we’ll all regret it.”

He met the eyes of what might have been one of the leaders, and the [Bandit] hesitated. The Haven’s staff still had wands, and the crossfire before they’d gotten to the windows had killed at least three of the bandits’ number.

Barnethei didn’t have any Skills for combat he could turn the tides with, but he did have [Voice of Persuasion] and other Skills. He used them now.

“Larracel the Haven is a Named-rank adventurer. This is her inn. You kill us, or ride off with anyone, and every adventurer in a thousand miles will be after you.”

The bandits hesitated, and after a moment, one of them jerked their head and snapped.

“—Let her go. Come on, we’ve got to move!”

They were gone like a storm, and only after did Barnethei yank out a potion, relieved they hadn’t figured out he had one. Then someone began sobbing, and Illic came out from the Mage’s Room. Barnethei cast around and saw Navien standing there.

Panting, her bright uniform in disarray. Looking at him, and he—

He spoke, voice rasping.

“We’re closing down this damn inn. Count how much food we’ve got left, heal everyone up, and—how the hell did they get past the walls? Did no one put up the wall spells?”

“One of them had a hammer and blew through it.”

He was on his feet, cursing the New Lands, cursing bandits and the ground and everything else. He threw his hat down as he rose, and Larracel’s refrain echoed in his head.

Not hard work. Just luck. Luck…

This entire place was unlucky. The [Bandits] had taken everything they could find, and all the inn had left was stuff they hadn’t found tearing everything apart. Barnethei sent a [Message] to Larra telling her he needed her here now. She responded she was on her way and to close the inn.

He didn’t even level that night. Nor did he expect his class to change.

Her inn. That’s why they’d left them alone. Navien…Barnethei’s blood ran cold to think what would have happened if he hadn’t said anything.

[Vice Innkeeper]. He wondered what Ishkr would have done, or Erin Solstice, that woman in a wheelchair. Crossbows under the table. How he’d laughed at that.

Bandit bastards. He wished he’d had a gallon of acid.

 

——

 

The next day, no one was working. They barely did more than board up the windows, and Barnethei had to chivvy and bully the staff to sweep the floor of glass and splinters, check on the fish nets—do something.

If Larra was delayed, they’d need the food; the fish nets in the rivers were one of the few resources they had, and Barnethei had had the idea to dig out a small pond and try to raise more fish. So far, predators kept going after them, but Yirr shot them down, and right now…

“Anything you’ve got, we need. Lampreys, anything remotely edible.”

She nodded and limped for the door, and Barnethei cursed. He’d shared his potion around, which had been the only one the [Bandits] hadn’t taken. So even her injuries were still present, and his shoulder still twinged.

This was bad. Illic seemed terrified as he hugged the slime to his chest; it rolled after Yirr, anxious, as the Gnoll cursed and stopped to feel at her knee.

“Illic, get this thing away from me. I have to hunt.”

It rolled over to her leg and seemed to hug her, stretching up to make two ‘arms’ encircle her fur just above her boots. She glowered, but waited for Illic to pry it off her before stomping towards the door. Barnethei rubbed his shoulder again.

“Come on, people, we have to work.”

He’d hauled the dead bodies away; the [Bandits] had left their own behind, and he’d found three Human corpses staring up at him. The Silver-ranks of Albez? It had occurred to him when they recognized the Haven, and if so, he was going to tell Deniusth to get over here now and…

The Drakes from Goisedall all seemed ready to quit, and the Haven’s staff were done. Half of them snapped back at Barnethei as he asked for hands to help repair the damage to the wall…or cleaning the blood or broken windows.

Navien was having the day off. But Barnethei needed the windows boarded up! That’s how the [Bandits] had gotten into the inn.

“Crenellations. That’s what The Wandering Inn had. Crenellations, and that watchtower needs barricades or something!”

They’d pinned two of the staff with arrows from afar. Plus, the wall spells had no teeth. A moat. What had Ishkr said Erin had once done? Put bear traps outside her inn?

Even if he wasn’t going to stay, a week meant those bandits might be back. Or another group.

“Illic, you stay inside and let me know if Larra sends a [Message], there’s a good lad. Check on Navien and get her anything. And keep the slime out of the way, would you?”

“I-it wants to give you a hug, Innkeeper.”

It was stretching two tiny arms up, and Barnethei almost snapped that he had no time for this, then he took a breath. He offered a finger, and it shook it, and then he handed it back to Illic.

“You’re very brave, Illic, and I know this is hard. Navien?”

When the Drake promised to do that, Barnethei strode off.

 

——

 

Amazingly, he felt better as he got to work, which he supposed was because he was actually doing something instead of standing around and thinking how bad this had been. Three versions of him strode to the windows, boarding them up and telling Tanny to put a few heavier pieces of furniture next to the door. In case they had to barricade it.

He’d just finished making a crude arrow-slit ‘window’ he was going to copy and put on all the frames when Barnethei rotated his shoulder and realized it wasn’t twinging.

“—the hell?”

Was that healing potion delayed or something? He thought maybe since he was exercising he didn’t feel the pain and it’d return, but it didn’t. In fact…when Yirr came storming back past the walls, she was running.

“Barnethei! Something’s savaged the corpses!”

He hadn’t buried them, and Barnethei scowled.

“Probably carrion.”

She was unnerved.

“Not any I’ve seen! It ripped out all the bones and their clothing! It—it’s grisly, no. Don’t let Illic see. This way.”

She led him at a jog, and when he saw the bodies, Barnethei felt very unwell. Two corpses were denuded of both clothing and…he shuddered.

“Looks like someone ripped their bones out. Dead gods—we have to bury them.”

Yirr looked sick, but nodded.

“Or toss them in the river. The fish would love them.”

He refused to countenance that. The plague or rot or undead—! Plus, imagine eating fish after that. They dug shallow graves, well clear of the inn, and Barnethei’s stomach was roiling when they were done.

He hadn’t touched the dead before. To distract himself, he glanced at Yirr’s foot.

“You were limping bad this morning.”

“I was. I—hrr. It’s stopped hurting.”

She was as astonished as he as she felt at her foot, then flexed the arm that had been shot. Barnethei’s eyes narrowed.

He might not be ready for this—but he was no idiot when it came to magic. Healing wounds, even partially-healed ones like these, wasn’t easy. Even the Healer of Tenbault, whom he’d met and served at the inn, couldn’t just up and cast magic.

It was like they’d both gotten a healing potion, but…he scratched at his head.

“Unless Navien has a Skill, there’s nothing I’ve got that would do that. Unless…wait a moment. No, it can’t be.”

The slime? It was ridiculous, but Barnethei distinctly remembered it hugging Yirr’s bad leg, and he’d touched it with his finger. Larra had a book of exotic monsters, and he’d heard of Magma Slimes, Death Slimes, but never…

 

——

 

“Illic? Can I see your slime a second?”

Barnethei strode back into the inn, relieved to see some of the staff were working at least. Some of the Drakes and a young woman with a box over her head were boarding up more windows.

Barnethei was so intent on the slime he paid little attention to anything else. He had a cut on his finger he’d made, and when the slime saw it, it rolled out of the little den that Illic had made for it in his Mage’s Room. It seemed to hesitate when he offered it a finger, but then it reached out and poked his finger.

The familiar, painless tingle and his flesh reknitting made Barnethei’s heart nearly stop. He stood there, mouth open, and Illic was astonished.

“Slimey healed you?”

Yirr’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. She cut her own paw, and the Healing Slime seemed rather annoyed as it rolled over her paw and left it whole. It jabbed her fingers a few times as if to say, ‘hey, cut that out! Stop hurting yourself, dummy!’

“Five Families! This—this is a Potion Slime? A Healing Potion—”

Barnethei almost shouted, then lowered his voice. He glanced around as Illic’s eyes shone with wonder, then he turned to Yirr.

“Not a word of this to the Goisedall Drakes. Larracel will pay a fortune to study the slime! Dead gods—with the Eir Gel shortage?”

This was a windfall! The kind of discovery that made all this disaster worth it! If they could breed it or just feed it and get samples—

Barnethei’s mind was racing, and he saw Navien was on her feet with a cluster of employees. They were shaken, but he almost smiled as he strode over to them.

“Navien! I just found out the most amazing thing!”

“Barnethei—”

Something about her tone made him slow. Navien had her wand in one hand. Just…holding it. He turned, blood running cold.

The bandits? But no—she was pointing to the windows. He saw the Drakes hammering nails into the wood, some of the staff, and then a sawing sound. Someone appeared with two pieces of wood and began hammering them with enthusiasm, if not true expertise, into the windows.

A…young woman with a box on her head peered through the windows, then went back to saw more pieces of wood. A member of staff, of course. Yes.

One that Barnethei had never met. She’d just gotten to work so naturally that even the other people hadn’t focused on her right away. Until you saw she—and that was all you could see through her clothing, gloves and apparel covering every inch of her—had a box on her head.

A square of wood, really. Not even eye-holes. Barnethei’s eyes slid to Navien, and she whispered.

“She appeared when you two were gone. Barnethei—”

He felt a prickle down his spine then. And all Larracel’s old adventurer stories about dungeoning and thinking you had heard a friend—only to see Children mimicking their voices or familiar figures waving to you in the murk only to be a monster in disguise—a dead comrade’s voice parroted—came back to him.

“Navien? Check the bar, would you? Illic, get back to the Mage’s room. Yirr, go with him.”

The Gnoll was sniffing the air, and she wore a very disturbed expression on her face. She whispered to him as she passed by.

“Blood and the corpses.”

Oh no. Oh boy. Barnethei checked his wand and saw he had four charges of his spell left. He wished those bastards had left more mana crystals—he readied his magic, wishing he’d actually kept [Fireball] in his roster. Damn, Larracel had been right about that too.

“Everyone inside! I need to give a—a speech about the state of things! Navien, let’s get a bottle out! Assuming there’s any left.”

He shouted, keeping his voice jovial. There was a pause, then the Drakes filed in. One of them, the [Fisher], jerked a thumb and mouthed frantically at Barnethei; they’d noticed it too.

All the staff came in, spreading out to the walls, and then, after a pause, the door opened, and the young woman with the box on her head came in.

She was definitely…female. Human, based on her appearance, and that was all Barnethei got. The box turned towards him, and he saw the staff sidle back from her a bit.

He was glancing at the six with Navien, who had the best shots. They were crouched down, pretending to reach for bottles, and Barnethei gave her a fraction of a nod, rubbing three fingers against his chin like they were coordinating an event at The Adventurer’s Haven.

Three, two, o—

Her eyes went wide, and she shook her head as one of the staff visibly moved behind the bar. Barnethei hesitated.

Navien slowly rested her hands on the table, knuckles down, and raised two fingers slightly, and he froze.

[Dangersense]. It must have just activated. He realized everyone was staring at him—Yirr, the staff—and spoke.

“I, uh—I know it’s been hard after the [Bandits]. Believe me, this isn’t normal. You want to quit? I get it. Larra’s Haven is coming back here, full speed, and we may just dismantle the inn entirely when she arrives. But we need to survive until then. Hold the line—that’s why we’re boarding the inn up, got it? If trouble comes, we have to be ready.”

He was changing where he stood, moving around the room, clapping shoulders, ushering people towards seats away from the strange woman. Turn a table over and you had cover. Barnethei swung around and gave Navien a look.

She gave him the raised knuckles, and he mouthed at her while his head was turned away from the strange—thing.

‘How high?’

He reached for his wand, and again, one of the staff with [Dangersense] tensed. Navien glanced down, saw something—fingers held up under the bar—and changed how many knuckles were touching the bar’s top.

Eight out of ten.

Barnethei felt a shiver run down his spine. He slowly took his hand away from the wand. Then turned with a desperate, beaming smile.

“—Which is why we’re a team. A team—and I want you all to share a drink with me. Navien, Master Fisher Reissz, Yirr, Illic, and, uh—”

He turned to the young woman, and she froze up. Her boxed head swivelled left and right, and then, like comedy in the middle of utter horror, she paused and held up two peace signs. Then traced a smile across the front of her box.

“T-the new girl! Right, Barnethei? What’s your name, rookie?”

Navien filled that dreadful silence as Yirr and Illic gave Barnethei a look like he was crazy. He was doing his utmost not to sweat, and the ‘rookie’ turned to Navien, hesitated, then bowed. She paused as everyone stared at her, and then a bright, chirpy voice came from behind the box. It—didn’t fit her. She said:

“Toren!”

No one but him could know why all the blood drained out of Barnethei’s face. He smiled and licked his lips.

“Toren! Of course! There are so many of the staff I forget new hires. Come on, everyone. Let’s have a drink and get back to work.”

He slowly poured shots for everyone, and they all had one—then he handed one to ‘Toren’. She took it, hesitated, then turned, tilted the box up, and the drink vanished. She handed the cup back.

“Thanks, boss!”

He patted her on the shoulder, and it felt wrong. Barnethei beamed.

“Alright, back to work. I’ll, uh, leave the windows to you. Navien! Let’s see what the damn [Bandits] left us. The rest of you, help tidy up inside, would you?”

Every head turned to follow him, and one of the Drakes opened their mouth, but Barnethei’s wide-eyed stare made them go silent. It was very, very quiet in The Explorer’s Haven.

 

——

 

“Every time you signalled us to attack, my [Dangersense] went off. Bad. I don’t know what it is, but it’s almost as bad as when the Bloodfeast Raiders attacked.”

Barnethei swallowed hard. That suggested that if he told them to shoot the strange creature, they were all dead, his Skills and magic aside. He glanced at Yirr, who was wide-eyed and terrified.

“I have no idea what that is, but I’ve heard stories about…mimics. Things that look like treasure chests or even people. Undead that do the same kind of thing. That voice—what else does she smell like, Yirr?”

The Gnoll woman was rubbing her nose, greatly disturbed.

“Nothing but death and corpses. I can’t smell anything else. I should—nothing she’s eaten, or pissed, or anything. That—did you see what she’s wearing?”

It took Barnethei a second to realize that her rags looked a lot like the clothing the [Bandits] had been wearing. He thought about the missing bones and gazed at the door.

“Barnethei—what do we do?”

Navien was terrified, and he spoke, voice tight.

“I don’t know. Don’t make it mad. I don’t know why it’s pretending to help.”

“If it attacks when we’re asleep—‘

“I know. But if Rena’s [Dangersense] is telling us not to attack now—is it going off now, Rena?”

She had [Advanced Dangersense] and shook her head.

“No! Only when you’re thinking of attacking it.”

That meant something. He had to believe the Skill, so Barnethei nodded tightly.

“Don’t provoke whatever-it-is. I think—I think we play it safe. Larracel’s got a story about doing this one time. Just act normal.”

“Are you mad?”

“Navien, I’m not attacking it. My instincts say it’s dangerous.”

He was sweating through his coat, and Barnethei mopped at his forehead with a soiled handkerchief. He lowered his voice as Yirr, unnerved, went to tell the others.

“Did you hear her voice?”

“She sounded normal. Toren. I don’t know if that means anything or—why?”

The [Vice Innkeeper] peeked over his shoulder and then lowered his voice further.

“I never miss a face or a guest that matters. Navien—her voice sounded exactly like The Wandering Inn’s [Innkeeper]. Erin.”

A dead copy. Maybe a bit younger? A tad bit—but so eerily similar it was like—a copy. As if Erin had once said those exact same words and they were being echoed by whatever was wearing that box over its head. Navien grew paler, and Barnethei took another shot of Firebreath Whiskey, the only thing the bandits had left behind.

That was the start of the most terrifying week of his life.

 

——

 

Toren, Job-Hunter.

Toren the Vengeful One.

Toren, Employee #1 of Cormeng’s Grand Emporium of Antiques and Pawnshop.

In Service to the Immortal Tyrant: Toren.

A Head and Two Hands Carried by a Slime.

Toren the Helpless.

The Mysterious Boxhead Barmaid, Toren.

 

Her genius plan worked! Those idiots didn’t suspect a thing. Toren repaired all the windows after the [Bandit] attack, practically humming to herself.

A few dead bodies for bones, clothing stuffed into all the gaps, and a few pieces of wood and some nails they’d left lying around and her disguise was back.

She’d just walked up and started working, and they’d mistaken her for someone else. Inn-folk really were as dumb as Erin. Then again, maybe this ‘Haven’ actually had staff with boxes on their heads?

…Maybe they were lulling her into a sense of security so they could strike. Toren’s hammer slowed a second before picking up the pace.

But she had to work here. Not just because this economy was so rough—frankly, she was now on board with fucking the economy if it meant she was happy and Healing Slime was okay. But as far as she was concerned, the inn had to stay standing because it was generating mana—and without it, Healing Slime was dead.

That [Innkeeper], Barnethei? He doubtless had Skills doing all this, or maybe it was the Drake kid. Toren had been spying on the inn, worried sick for Healing Slime. She’d shown her face so it knew she was well, but it was still tiny.

When the [Bandits] had attacked, Toren had been helpless; she’d debated using [Terror], but had worried they’d butcher everyone in their panic. The bodies had let her put her bones together, and now she was ready.

Ready…but still a skeleton. She needed a sword.

Theoretically, if Barnethei had been about to shoot her with that wand because he’d realized she didn’t belong here, like she’d sort of thought any ordinary person would do, she would have ripped it from his grasp, shot everyone but him and the Drake kid, and then played it from there.

She was strong enough for that. But amazingly, he was as dumb as Erin. She still didn’t quite believe they’d bought the act—until a Human with black skin came out, voice cheerful.

“Hi, Toren! It’s Navien, the [Head Cleaner]. How are you doing?”

She gave Toren a huge smile, and Toren paused before offering two thumbs up. Both she and Navien regarded each other as if trying to figure out if the other party was really buying this—but Navien shocked him.

She hugged Toren and then let go fast.

“Great! I was terrified, but you’re doing excellent work. Can you help rebuild the walls when you’re done here? Just let us know if you need a break, but half the girls are frazzled.”

Toren nodded rapidly and hesitated. Speak. She had to…

“I’m just great! Thanks…Navien!”

It wasn’t Toren’s voice, if he even had one unique to him that he cared to use all the time. It was bits and pieces of Erin’s voice patched together. Navien jumped, then nodded.

“Thanks!”

She hurried inside, and Toren couldn’t believe Navien hadn’t noticed she was all bones and cloth with the hug.

Highly suspicious. But work was work, and fortifying the inn made sense in case the skeleton had to defend it. Plus—weapons. Toren finished adjusting the windows, then stomped over to the wall of stones piled up and cemented together. It was cracked inwards in one place, and the skeleton squatted down, tsking mentally.

This was their wall? It wasn’t even that deep! No wonder someone had blown through it. Ten feet wide, twenty feet tall—that was a wall. She sighed as she adjusted her box. She didn’t have to have eyes to see through it; her undead senses weren’t exactly limited by mere wood.

Time to get to work. She’d check on the Healing Slime once she’d lowered their guards a bit. Every now and then, Toren glanced up towards the inn where people eventually began coming out and speaking in loud voices as they cleaned up.

Seriously. Was this actually working?

 

——

 

“[Convincing Act: False Sincerity]. I think it’s working on it—her—whatever it is. Navien?”

“That’s not a body under there. It felt like—I don’t know, it was too fast. So are we fooling her or is she fooling us?”

Barnethei didn’t know, but the Haven’s staff was very good at making guests think they were beloved, especially the nobility. It seemed to work, because the peeking at the inn slowed, and the masked box-barmaid started piling stones up and digging.

Therein became the strangest game of keeping up appearances in his life as both groups tried to fool the other into believing all was well. Toren came in for dinner after a full day of work, and Barnethei offered her a meal…which vanished when no one was looking. She went to her bed, which was one of the spare rooms as far to the edge of the inn as you could get.

No one slept a wink that night, and Barnethei had every wand and spell ready in case he heard so much as a peep from the room—he must have dozed off, because when Navien shook him awake, he jerked upright.

“Where—?”

“She’s building the wall. I think we’re safe.”

Thus, the first day passed, and with it, Barnethei got a shock. Whomever or whatever Toren was—the box-headed barmaid was a hard worker.

 

[Vice Innkeeper of Spells Level 44!]

 

“Dead gods.”

 

——

 

Toren finished rebuilding the wall and making it five feet wide in a day and a half. It wasn’t hard; she’d once dug up all the snow around The Wandering Inn overnight. While mixing cement took a bit more work, the stones could be dredged from the river and she was stronger, faster, and more coordinated than the old Toren.

They’d been so still that night she’d slipped out a window and gotten working while they didn’t notice. Healing Slime was delighted to see her, but Toren had put a finger to the box on her head to make it stop from rushing over.

Play it casual. Play it safe.

When Barnethei saw the rebuilt, reinforced wall, he scratched his head and regarded Toren for a long moment. Then he smiled.

“That’s, uh—incredible! Navien, the new girl is amazing at her job! Could you…work on the watchtower next?”

Toren scratched at her head. How so? When Barnethei explained the issue of how it had failed to stop the bandits, Toren got the idea and paced around the tower for a long while.

So if there were arrows aimed up at it, you’d want firing slits and to reinforce those supports. Probably armor to protect someone from a [Piercing Bolt]…she went off and grabbed a saw, then searched around for wood.

“We don’t have much wood, and the forest has this weird coral wood—”

Navien was the only person willing to talk to Toren; the Gnoll, Yirr, practically dashed out of the inn in the morning, and Toren knew she was hiding in the grass, staring at Toren. The skeleton paused, eyed Healing Slime who was peeking out of the Drake boy’s belt pouch. He was hiding in his rooms, watching her.

Play it cool. Be useful. Toren nodded and requested an axe.

Amazingly, they didn’t have one. Or a sword. Or a wand. Not one weapon. What a bummer. But the saw and nails were right there, so Toren sighed. She hefted the saw, picked up a hammer, and set off.

 

——

 

Four hours later, Toren came back with eight dead giant racoons, heads bashed in with a hammer, and Barnethei stared as she tossed their corpses down, then went back for the trees she’d been sawing down.

A handsaw wasn’t the greatest tool for taking out trees—but she had [Sharpened Edge], [Lesser Strength], and hands that wouldn’t get sore and arms that didn’t quit. Toren began making experimental plating for the tower as she nailed pieces of wood together—the result was horrendous.

The ‘armor’ on the tower fell off as she was trying to put it up, and someone laughed—until Toren, who’d fallen off with the cladding, picked herself up and her boxed head peered around. At this point, Barnethei had to say something.

“Er—Toren, I don’t think that’s going to work. We’re low on nails too, so we don’t have enough to make the, uh, armor for the watchtower.”

She seemed mad now. She stood before him, head bowed, and he got the impression she was waiting for a scolding. Instead, the [Vice Innkeeper] took the saw, amazed she hadn’t broken it with all the wood she’d cut, and made a few swift cuts.

“Here, try this. Larra’s a bit of a skinflint when it comes to coin, so she has me trial new rooms. You don’t need nails; this is a [Carpenter]’s trick.”

He made two grooves in the wood that would lock together, and Toren’s head rose as she saw him performing basic joinery. Barnethei was a bit of a jack-of-all-trades given how he’d levelled, and his association with Colthei meant he knew more than most.

Toren was…intelligent. She got how the joinery idea worked instantly and began experimenting with it. Barnethei saw how the chunky coral-wood was rather like blocks of wood. Softer than some, but Toren was creating a literal tower out of blocks. With a bit of joinery…

“It’d be thick as a half-Giant’s arm. I doubt even Moore the Green Mage could push it over if we made it this thick! Ah. If he hadn’t passed…”

Barnethei helped her assemble one leg of the tower, building it around the original scaffolding, and heaved at it with all his strength and saw it refuse to so much as budge. In fact, Barnethei had gotten so absorbed into the project he’d forgotten the silent Toren was working with him.

When he caught himself and saw the boxed head of the woman staring at him, he jumped and went to check on the racoons. Navien was making a face.

“Should we keep them?”

“Meat’s meat. How much do we have?”

Yirr had sampled the racoons and declared them perfectly edible, and Barnethei knew their stocks were low, so he sighed.

“See how they cook up, please, Navien. At this point, I’ll take bats. Just in case Larra’s a day or two late!”

He didn’t see Toren’s head rise in the distance just a fraction as Navien shuddered, and some of the staff asked how long until Larra got there. Barnethei went to bed, trading off with Navien for the night watch.

…The next morning, he found over a hundred bats in a net that Toren had used to catch them all. She’d then drowned them in the river before hauling them out. Oh, and the tower was done. It was twenty-four feet high and looked like it belonged to a fortress. Toren saluted Barnethei as he stared up at it, open-mouthed.

She seemed like she was having fun.

 

[Barmaid Level 15!]

[Skill – Enduring Tools obtained!]

[Skill – Reassuring Presence obtained!]

 

——

 

It was the first time since Liscor that Toren had levelled in her old class from working at an actual inn. It shocked her, truly. It shocked her because it felt…good. Like she had gone back to doing something unfinished. That she’d wanted to be good at, but never known how.

Silly, of course, to treasure that class more than [Relic Guardian]. But it gave Toren motivation to continue her task.

She was getting to work, digging a moat around the new walls she was tasked with making ten feet tall, and Toren knew they knew.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d just fallen for it the first two days. They didn’t trust her. Fair. She didn’t trust them. She just needed Healing Slime to get bigger so it could survive her carrying it out of the New Lands. And food—they needed food.

Healing Slime seemed to be getting bigger, actually. She wondered if the Drake kid was doing anything to it. Illic, Toren thought his name was, but he hid behind Navien or the others any time she got close, and they were so wary—

Well, the skeleton was digging a moat with a shovel you could definitely use to murder twenty people when she heard voices.

“There—there’s the inn. Dead gods, the wall looks bigger, and is that tower…? Hey! We need food!”

Toren’s head poked up, and the weary group coming their way slowed as there was a shout from the tower. There were no gates to the small area within; a [Wall of Stone] spell sealed the entrance.

“Stay where you are!”

Wands pointing down—Toren saw a disheveled group of Drakes raising their hands.

“It’s Captain Vons’ group! The Trisstral Alliance! We ate here! We can pay—we’re in need of anything you can spare!”

Barnethei appeared in the tower after a moment, and Toren watched as the Drakes eyed her. She could kill the entire group of twenty-some riders, but the [Innkeeper] was wary.

“Captain Vons’ group? Where is he?”

“Holding things together—he sent us to buy everything we could!”

“The Explorer’s Haven is closed. We were attacked by bandits, and we have nothing to eat.”

“Nothing? Ancestors!”

The news dismayed the Drakes, and Toren shook her head. Living people. So flawed. Barnethei stared down at Toren, then glanced over his shoulder.

“We have—some dead racoons we killed. Giant ones. And, uh—are bats edible?”

It was not a question the Drakes had entertained before, but after a whispered conversation, their leader called up.

“Frankly, [Innkeeper], we’re willing to eat anything!”

Barnethei hesitated, eyed Toren again, then let the Drakes in. He spoke to them as they tried to dissect and roast some bats, and Toren saw several Drakes giving her the side-eye. However, they didn’t comment, and she took a bucket to the well that had been dug, drew some water, and went back inside.

There was ice thanks to a freezing spell the inn ran, and she put the water in a pitcher and got cups. Navien was staring at her, and Toren hefted the tray. Navien blinked.

“Good?”

It sounded like a question, but Toren went out and handed drinks around to the Drakes, who blinked.

“Thank you, Miss…?”

“Toren.”

A Drake nodded and gulped the water down before glancing at the others. Barnethei watched Toren, then glanced at Navien. She held up seven fingers when she thought Toren’s back was turned, and he sighed for reasons unknown to Toren.

Toren was more amused by the roasting of bats than anything else. The Drakes ate cautiously from a fire, grimacing, but declared bats were edible, if only their bodies, not the wings or anything else.

They bought the lot; Barnethei didn’t have the heart to charge them for the bats, just the racoon meat, which he did think was good. They thanked him profusely, and only at the end did the Drake leader clear his throat.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes when a lot of groups are—less than lawful, Innkeeper. Rest assured, we’ll keep an eye out for bandits. There’s been nastiness already. Captain Vons is keeping an eye out, and we’ll convey our thanks to him and the Trisstral Alliance.”

Another Drake nodded, still chewing ravenously on the bat meat. She spoke around the crunching sounds.

“We might have to send word to them via you to do it. Are you going to be here next week?”

Barnethei hesitated.

“Doubtful, honestly.”

“Fair.”

The Drake grimaced. He glanced at Toren one last time as he turned his horse, then leaned down.

“I have to ask, Innkeeper. Is that, uh, young lady wearing a box on her head for any particular reason? I don’t remember her last time, but it was a while ago, or so it feels.”

“Who, Toren? She’s new. And the box is…cultural. To her.”

Barnethei smiled, and the Drake gave Toren an odd look. One of them muttered.

“Must be Chandrarian.”

He got a hefty nudge, and they set off without another word. Toren watched them go, and Barnethei weighed the coins in one palm, bemused. Then he shook his head.

“Good work with the, ah, bats, Toren. I suppose that would be a good thing to sell, though it’s dire. We’ve got the fisheries…damn, if those idiots hadn’t de-clammed the fields, we’d all be fine! Larra dropped us off animals last time she visited, but they stole both cows!”

Food was a problem. Toren remembered Erin always having to make it, and cleaning the outhouses. She nodded as he strode off, then put the shovel on her shoulders.

Digging time.

 

——

 

After the moat, Barnethei was starting to run out of things for Toren to do, but he contented himself with the knowledge Larracel was only four or five days away at most and driving towards them hard given the urgency. He’d told her, of course, about ‘Toren’, and she’d told him to continue putting the act up.

 

Might be a Djinni. Or I’ve heard Greater Mimics like to train on people. Golem, monster, if it’s not going after you, it wants something. Hold on, I’m coming.

 

The problem was, the thing seemed interested in what lay inside The Explorer’s Haven, and as a member of staff, they couldn’t just keep her out all day.

He noticed Toren staring at Illic as she was inside, taking a break, and his blood ran cold.

“Illic, you know Toren. Show her your slime.”

It was the only thing he could think of—the boy looked terrified, but Barnethei bade him put the slime on the table so he could hustle the boy back. The slime before a boy…but then the craziest thing happened.

The moment the slime oozed onto the table, it raced forwards and crawled over Toren, clinging to her and dancing around in joy. They…knew each other? Toren tossed the slime up and down, hugged it to her chest—then when she saw them watching, put the slime down, patted it a few times, and stood up.

“What a…mysterious slime. I should go back to work! Later!”

Her voice was still weird, that slightly fake, artificial sound. Barnethei stared at Illic, and his eyes focused on the slime, which wanted to race after Toren.

There was a mystery here. Did these two know each other? But why? How? Was Toren a…super-slime?

No, that was stupid. Barnethei was curious, though. He couldn’t help it! The rest of the staff treated Toren like a monster, justifiably, and the Drakes were so spooked half wanted to leave and find Captain Vons the next time he appeared.

It was Navien who shared Barnethei’s curiosity. She confessed to him on the fourth day that she’d been giving Toren more instructions.

“Just to see if she’d do them.”

“Navien! Are you mad? Larra said—”

“I know, but she’s not here, and if it’s going to murder us, I’d rather know now so we can run. She’s got a bit of a weird personality.”

Barnethei was going to say ‘she’ wasn’t even conclusively female, but frowned.

“How so?”

“Well, I thought she just enjoyed doing things, but when I asked her to clean the outhouses out, she wasn’t happy.”

“Maybe she’s got a nose after all.”

No one wanted to do that. Much less mix it with the good soil; Barnethei glanced at the farm and crops that were actually sprouting. Shame they wouldn’t be able to do anything with them…Navien nodded.

“I know, but then I thanked her, and she brightened up and did the rest twice as fast.”

“…So our resident mystery monster enjoys praise?”

That…seemed like the actual conclusion here. When Barnethei came out to remark on how the moat was going, Toren straightened. She was digging, he realized, a channel from the river to the moat.

“Oh! So it’s actually filled with water. That’d keep it from stagnating—that’s a brilliant idea! We could hang our nets from above, maybe even turn this into the fish hatchery.”

She did visibly perk up when he complimented her, which was so strange. Then scratched at her head.

“What is…stagnating, boss?”

Again, the odd voice, but that word, ‘stagnating’, came out differently, and he had the impression she’d never heard nor spoken it before.

“Ah, that means standing water. Mosquitos and the like lay eggs in it. I’m not an expert, but Colth and Valeterisa know a trick or two about farming, and Larra’s got her own farm. She had mosquitos for ages and couldn’t understand why.”

He began to explain about how that all worked and realized Toren was digging again. But her head kept rising when he spoke, and he had the distinct impression she was drinking all this in. Then Barnethei eyed the slopes of the moat and realized they’d cave in the walls.

“We need to shore this up before water hits it. Ever laid a foundation before?”

“No. I have failed. I am sorry, boss.”

She drooped, and he, reflexively, shrugged his coat off as he slid into the trench.

“You don’t fail if no one’s taught you how it’s supposed to be done. Here, give me the shovel and I’ll show you how you prevent that.”

He was, again, halfway through remaking the moat’s walls before it hit him once more what he was doing. But Toren was actually outstripping Barnethei, and after a moment’s hesitation, he activated a Skill.

[I Worked Like Three Men].

Toren, hauling dirt out of the moat, fell flat on her face as she saw three Barnetheis begin to work. He grinned at her, and the [Innkeeper] of hard work decided to prove to this strange monster he knew his stuff.

He beat Toren on the first thirty minutes his Skill was active, kept up with her pace-for-pace for the next two, but after seeing her work for six more, he flopped onto his back and massaged his hands as some of the staff stared.

“She’s definitely a rogue Golem. Has to be.”

“Oh, sure. You’ve just never found anyone who works harder than you do. Toren, you want a break?”

Navien called out, and Toren’s head rose. After a second, the figure waved and redoubled their efforts. And Barnethei was definitely not impressed. Definitely not.

He just respected hard work. And he got the impression Toren appreciated his lessons on how to shovel efficiently, build the walls up, and even on stagnated water. Barnethei was a decent teacher; he’d taught new staff all his life. He didn’t realize for a while that Toren had never had a teacher, let alone a good one.

 

——

 

The night of the fourth day, Barnethei woke up to a screaming alarm and drew his wand, cursing himself for a fool.

“I lowered my guard. Idiot. Idiot—”

He came out, wand aimed and prepared to fight and die, and there was no Toren. Instead…Illic raced out of the Mage’s Room.

“Innkeeper Barnethei! Innkeeper! The Adventurer’s Haven is under attack!”

“What?”

In shock, he leapt down the stairs and saw the unbelievable on a scrying orb. Larra had enchanted it herself, not trusting Wistram to do anything, and it must have been some linked [Communications] spell, because he saw an image of the Haven and heard her voice.

“—The Haven is under attack! All adventurers, the Haven is under assault! Named-rank threats! Named-r—”

It was coming from the scrying orb linked to her inn. Halfway down the stairs, Barnethei staggered. He felt words burning into his head, as frantic and loud as the voice. There was a flash from the notice board, and he saw it appear.

 

<Mythical Quest — Defend the Haven!>

 

At least two Named-rank monsters are attacking the Haven! Any adventurer within range, rally to—

 

He tore past the <Quest>, praying there was someone who was answering it. But his eyes were only for—

“Larra!”

He bellowed as everyone gathered around, but she couldn’t hear him. Even Toren appeared, a bag of bats on her back, and stared at the scene playing out.

The Adventurer’s Haven had come under assault in the New Lands. By what, you might ask? Well…anything seeking magic. Anything that looked around this wasteland of magic and hunted magic out. Her inn, even on low power, was like a beacon.

It looked like a swarm of…of…snakes at first. They hovered in the air, darting at the barriers of the inn, spitting magic at the shields as the Haven exchanged fire with the orb of…

Snakes? No—as the image cleared, Navien gasped.

“Fish?”

A school of fish were flying through the air, forming a bigger fish, which spat pieces of itself at the Haven. It changed as a flash of lightning streaked at it, reshaping into a reaching octopus.

“It’s a damn fish. Wait. What’s that?”

They were huge fish, at least five feet long on average, but there was one in the roiling mass of them that caught Barnethei’s eye. It was bright…pink? Pink and aglow with such magic that he felt sure it was empowering this swarm of fish.

They all had magical powers. They were coated in electricity and, even as he watched, absorbed another volley of lightning sent against them. They floated higher, becoming a screaming face, though it took him a second to realize it was a Drowned Person’s face, not Human—

“Take cover! Take—”

Roreen. She dove inside as rays of light began piercing the Haven’s shields! They slashed through the barrier, punching through the wood and flooring, and Barnethei paled.

No Gold-ranker can do that. What kind of monster is this?

Named-rank. Some kind of insanely powerful water monster, possibly dredged up when the New Lands rose. However…he saw it dodging a hail of arrow spells and was confused.

If it was just this, Larracel could take it on. He didn’t feel like this kind of monster, even if it had spell abilities, could bring down a Level 50 [Wizard]. Not in her domain. Then someone snatched the scrying orb up, and he saw the second monster attacking the inn.

It looked…like a waterlogged corpse, barnacles covering a bloated, blue body. Just a single figure bathed in [Light] spells—until someone fired a [Fireball] at it. Then the torso split across the belly, and bones lifted and lifted, massive ribs of chitin unfolding and long legs skittering across the ground—

It was a gigantic centipede compacted into a single body it infested. It shed its disguise and twined around the Haven, encircling the entire structure as it constricted. Then its eyes on its horrific face glowed.

“Spell! Sp—”

Roreen was running when the red light passed over her, and it didn’t affect Barnethei, but he saw her leaping for cover, face panicked, mouth opening—slowly.

Slowly. Even her jump was too slow, and he breathed in horror.

“[Mass Slow]. It’s got spell powers? In the New Lands?”

Two empowered monsters both worthy of a Named-rank threat! The only thing that saved the Haven was another ray of light, and Barnethei saw the school of magical fish fire one through part of the centipede, which jerked and turned its gaze on them.

They were fighting! The two monsters had no love of each other it seemed, and the centipede fired red arrows off its legs, hundreds of them given how long it was. The school of fish broke apart, weaving and dodging.

Two apex predators going after the Haven. Both monsters were attacking again, and then—then he saw her.

 

——

 

Larracel the Haven had been finding her hat. A [Wizard] had to have her hat, pointed, and her robes on. Magical boosters. She adjusted the worn, ancient red velvet lined with fur.

There was a blue brooch around her cloak, a shining stone filled with mana to draw on. She finished drinking, and the azure Potion of Arcane Energy fell from her grip as Larra drew her wand.

She reached the roof of her private laboratory and workshop and spoke.

“Staff, inside! [Triple Continuous Casting: Grand Lightning, Hand of the Spectral Giant, Burst of Dispel Magic].”

Her finger rose, and she shot a marking spell towards the centipede. The fish whirled and became a whale that opened its mouth. Larra saw the centipede twining around her inn focus on her.

The [Grand Lightning] spell blasted it in the head, but it just reeled before making a horrific hissing sound. Spell resistance. The [Wizard] grunted.

Barriers are at 54%. Falling fast. She clenched a fist. Imagined swinging it.

The first [Hand of the Spectral Giant] hit the centipede so hard its entire body jerked off her inn. The second one clocked it as it tried to whip itself at the hand. Larra was no Eldertuin or Colth, but the rush of giant, glowing red hands punched the enormous centipede in a flurry. It fell, slithering at the oxen, who screamed, but her barriers blocked it. It skittered back, confused.

“Larra! The fish—!”

They fired a ray spell straight down at her, having charged up their magic. The [Wizard] pointed her wand and fired the [Burst of Dispel Magic].

It was probably lower-tier and weaker than their onslaught, but the bubble of anti-magic disrupted the beam such that only fragments of unfocused magic reached her. She snapped her fingers.

“Not that adept, are you? [Bubble of Antimagic].”

She localized the spot on the glowing fish and drew hard on the magic in her brooch to cast the spell at range. But if it killed them—

The fish noticeably dimmed as she opened up a bubble of anti-magic around them, and she hoped they’d drop and die, but the fish in the center glowed and overloaded her spell. Larra cursed.

“It’s got more magic than a Gold-ranker!”

The fish were angry now; they spread out, firing lesser ray spells which pierced her barriers. Focusing on the [Wizard].

Larra hated foes who could breach her barriers, which were her bread and butter. But she was still a Named-rank adventurer and knew better than to barrier twice if once failed.

“[Reduce Weight]. [Jet of Air].”

She didn’t fly like Valeterisa, she just jumped and saw them shredding the roof of her laboratory. Larra felt the air whipping at her robes as they aimed up at her.

“[Siege Fireball]. [Jet of Air].”

She cast the spell, amped it up—then shot herself down as the beams crisscrossed the night sky. She fired the oversized fireball into their midst and smiled as several fish fell, cooked and dead.

Shame they were screening their leader. In response to her assault, she saw the lightning arcing off each fish turn to a hazy aura of heat. Were they…changing their elemental armor spells?

This would have been fascinating to Valeterisa, but Larra wanted the fish dead or gone now! But the centipede—

It leapt on top of her barriers, clawing at her through her magic, in the shape of the man, having recompressed itself. She pointed.

“[Maximus Forceorb]. Away from my inn!”

The impact tossed the figure skywards, so fast and so far it only unspooled itself into its centipede shape two thousand feet away. She saw it falling out of the sky, a demented worm, then scuttling towards her fast.

Larra was breathing hard despite only casting a few spells. She swivelled and saw the fish firing. She lifted her wand, but they weren’t firing at her—then one of Larra’s warning spells registered a threat striking them from the east.

“Selphid’s tits, what now?”

Larra flew up and saw the giant centipede backing away. It turned and began scuttling for the foothills in the distance. The fish kept fighting—until black bolts started firing up at them, and they scattered back from a wave of darkness that washed over Larracel. Darkness…and green magic. She shuddered as she identified it.

Death magic. Then Larracel saw the first rotten bodies smashing against her barriers from the other side, and she gazed down at the wretched palanquin bearing aloft one of the largest undead she’d ever seen in her life.

The Crypt King lifted multiple hands and fired [Deathbolts] at her, and she countered with a hail of burning arrows. In response, the rotten warriors armed with metal and overgrown, filthy armor raised their arms and shielded their heads.

“Those aren’t Ghouls. Those are…Ghoul Soldiers? What are those?”

The Anguivess Host had come. They began to spread out as Larra tried to take her Haven away from them. She launched [Valmira’s Comet] into their midst and sent bodies flying away. In response, the Crypt King raised a staff of moldering flesh and bone.

[Mass Stoneskin]. Launch the assault. The undead poured forwards, attacking the Haven. The Crypt King was laughing.

The strange skeleton which had come had opened the way above. The risk—worth it. This was not the Crossroads, but a bounty had been found! A great spellcaster, a prime addition to the Anguivess Host! Better yet—

Seithbone. They’d found the key to seithbone. A bounty of it so vast that the Crypt King spoke for the first time since it had reached this pinnacle of death.

 

<A GREATER SERVANT OF DEATH CALLS. THE PLACE OF POWER FOUND. THE LIVING QUAIL. BEGIN THE AMASSING.>

 

Its call went out across Izril, and every being of death of a Crypt Lord or higher heard it. The undead began to move, rivals, servants.

There?

There.

 

——

 

Toren felt like this wasn’t his fault. He was peeking at the fight on the scrying orb as he wiped suddenly very sweaty palms on his clothing. And he didn’t have sweat glands!

The Crypt King was probably just another fellow. He tried to tell himself that the voice shouting in his soul to ‘march to this spot and slaughter the living and harvest the power’ was purely localized to him. Not the entire continent or world.

Female Toren was no help; she’d abandoned him because she felt this was his fault. This was what happened when you had multiple personalities. Lots of spreading around the blame.

“She’s not going to get away. The Haven can’t—it’s not getting away.”

The Adventurer’s Haven was buckling under the Anguivess Host’s assault. They were too coordinated, blocking the spells with their enhanced weaponry, for Larra to break them to pieces. Not alone.

The Haven couldn’t outrun the undead; when they tried, moving at a decent clip, the undead just sped up. The Crypt King could empower its people. Toren watched as Barnethei’s knuckles whitened on the table. The man cared about this Larracel. He was actually checking the horizon, as if they could see the fighting…

No, wait. Toren thought they actually could. The flashes to the east were so faint, and he doubted even he could make it at full tilt, but Barnethei was desperate.

“Someone—! Surely there’s one adventurer nearby? Deniusth, get in there, you fool!”

What was amazing was how long Larracel was holding out. When she realized she wasn’t doing enough damage, she lowered the inn and raised more barriers. She seemed to angle them against the undead attacking, rebuilding cracked shields of magic. They spread out, hammering on the Haven, and even after an hour—

“She can’t hold up the barriers forever. She must be draining the Haven of all its magic, Barnethei.”

“She once held a barrier spell twelve hours straight. She’s Larra. She can do it, Navien.”

He didn’t glance away, didn’t even blink. Navien whispered.

“That was a single hallway in Chalence, not this.”

 

——

 

The Anguivess Host were down to the second-to-last barrier, which set them aflame as they struck it. But the Crypt King was firing spells nonstop from its bloated body, trying to get at the Haven, when the upper torso of its huge, blob-like body twisted.

It sat on a palanquin of flesh and bone, supported by countless Ghouls who carried it. The Crypt King stopped pointing forwards, and then its heads turned. It twisted right, left—

Mihaela Godfrey didn’t kick it, but her foot smashed half the Ghouls carrying it on the left side, and it went crashing down. The Guildmistress of First Landing caught herself, coughing, and then shouted.

“Couriers! Watch the undead!”

Couriers. Six more of them blitzed across the Anguivess Host’s flanks so fast Toren barely saw them! Drakes and Gnolls throwing flasks, slashing with swords, pulling the undead away from the Haven. Navien gasped.

“Mihaela! She must have run across the continent!”

The Guildmistress spun and kicked a Crypt Lord so hard that while her foot lodged in its abdomen, the rest of it exploded with the kinetic force. Toren winced.

Ooh. He wasn’t a fan of these particular undead, but he had some sympathy; they were suddenly faced with seven high-level speed experts.

Give the Crypt King this: he might be a slightly unoriginal, close-minded, slime-hating fool, but he hadn’t lived as long as he had by picking bad fights. The moment he saw the Couriers appear, he called a retreat.

The Couriers let him go after shooting several volleys at him; he was too well protected by his own magic and servants to destroy. Toren thought it was a tactical mistake. He didn’t miss how Mihaela Godfrey was doubled over, coughing, on her hands and knees, nor how the Couriers retreated around the Haven.

Well, well, well. Turned out if you gave undead personality and intelligence, you could bluff them like idiots. Larracel herself fired a volley of spells at the Anguivess Host’s backs, and Toren shook his head.

Dumbasses. The skeleton stopped polishing a mug like a mirror and stared at his reflection. He put down the mug hurriedly.

Well, at least Barnethei cheered up. Toren got back to work beating bats to death with a rock. He knew this mattered on multiple fronts. For one thing…even if the living hadn’t heard that call to arms from the Crypt King, it was clear to Toren that he’d been wrong.

The New Lands did have magic in them. Highly magical creatures that exceeded anything he’d found around Liscor, up to and possibly including the High Passes.

Boss-class monsters. More than enough reason for any settlers to worry.

The second thing Toren realized—was that the Haven wasn’t coming any time soon. Barnethei realized that the next day, and it changed a lot.

 

 

Year 24, Month 3, Day 9. A changing of fates. The new girl drops the act. Affection and terrible slaughter. Also…martial arts?

 

The rescue of the Haven was a miracle that became a broadcast on the news. Barnethei didn’t watch it; he had to lie in a chair and pour himself a drink.

He’d never, ever seen Larra pushed that hard. He knew she was probably shaking, snapping at everyone, and he wanted to be there, helping let her rest, but she wouldn’t until they were all completely safe.

Small wonder she’d quit adventuring if that was what she’d seen. Dead gods. Three Named-rank threats. All coming after the Haven.

His relief changed to concern at once, though, because Larra didn’t mince words. She sent him a [Message] spell.

 

Barnethei,

I’m alerting every adventurer I know about multiple Named-rank monsters. Each one might be worth a fortune, but they’re also walking death. They’re the most highly charged magical beings I’ve ever met.

The Haven can’t get to you. I burned out all my mana, and it’s damaged. Mihaela’s escorting me back to safe ground.

Get out of The Explorer’s Haven if you think it’s safer. Leave that thing behind and take the horses. Otherwise, keep the barricades high. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

—Larra

 

Thus, he was faced with a terrible choice. Either go on foot towards where those Named-rank monsters were, or stay with his own strange nightmare about, not to mention the bandits.

Barnethei elected to stay. On the move, outside an inn, all their Skills were useless. Here they had walls. Here they had…well…

Toren.

When everything was going wrong, you grew desperate for any asset. And if they had some kind of tireless, dangerous creature content to play at being a member of staff? Barnethei had a meeting with Navien, Yirr, and some of the older members of The Explorer’s Haven.

“New plan. We’re befriending Toren. Share notes, don’t promise or give her anything dangerous—Djinni rules—but we need those walls built higher.”

“What if she wants to get to know us? Illic? I’m not putting him in danger!”

Navien balked at that, and Yirr agreed, fur standing on end. Barnethei rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

“It might not be Illic. I think…it’s the slime. I’ll be with her whenever she’s inside. But we don’t have many options. Chasing her off seems like it leaves us dead, and right now, we don’t even have food resupplied. We might need to eat those bats and racoons she’s killing.”

That was dire enough. Then Navien glanced at the door that led to the mana well.

“How many days of power do we have?”

Barnethei didn’t answer for a moment.

“I’m keeping the Runes of Preservation up. Everything else turns off. Even with them dead—we can last a while.”

The only question was…was this what Toren was after? What happened when they ran out of mana? Well, first things first. Barnethei began to treat Toren like a full member of staff. It went…weird almost at once.

 

——

 

Toren hung around Illic. Illic was terrified of him. Toren inspected Illic.

It wasn’t because he cared about the one-eyed boy. But the skeleton, who did alternate between the gregarious female self and just a crossdressing male skeleton with a mask and padded breasts—didn’t trust Illic.

The Drake was taking care of Healing Slime. Toren was Healing Slime’s protector. Toren had let Healing Slime go, because he’d been unable to move and the inn had been the only option.

But if he had to, he was still on board with the ‘murder everyone except maybe Barnethei and Illic and drag them out of the New Lands until I find a way to feed Healing Slime’ plan.

He didn’t think it was his go-to option. But he was definitely putting it on the table. To his surprise, the person who took it off the table and slapped him in the jaw was Healing Slime.

The slime had regained some of its mass, though it was still a quarter of the size it had been, and it attacked Toren! Pummeling him with its gooey appendages with all the force of a wrathful rabbit kit! Then it seemed to think it had gone too far and hugged his hands as he cleaned the counter in the Mage’s Room.

He was so astounded he almost dropped his jaw. Healing Slime was vetoing the killing thing! It expressed, in the wobbling gyrations of its body, that if Toren killed or even hurt Illic, the skeleton would have Healing Slime to deal with, and you had better watch out, buddy, because it might heal you…less than ideally!

Healing Slime didn’t really have a good sense of threats. Toren would have said, ‘I will pluck out your eyes and feed them to you like grapes’, but he appreciated Healing Slime’s dedication.

It turned out…Illic had been caring for Healing Slime! Giving it scraps of food, water, and even his mana! The two had become that worst of things, friends, in the short days which had kept Toren from Healing Slime.

This was so shocking Toren went and put his head in the river for ten minutes. He pulled it out, scaring Yirr so bad she slipped in the water, and slapped his wet box hard.

Okay, murdering Illic time. Healing Slime couldn’t have friends! He was Healing Slime’s…

 

——

 

They got guests. Toren drummed his fingers on a table during a break, watching Illic nervously sending [Message] spells as a few travellers asked him to report things they’d seen or get news.

He wasn’t good at casting magic. Toren wasn’t exactly a mage himself, but he recognized a deficit of talent when he saw it. What the kid had a surfeit of was nerves, though.

“No, not Marwshe! Marsshe! M-a-r-s-s—are you stupid?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir! I’ll recast the spell!”

Here he went trembling like a leaf again. He had one eye, which Toren thought was an interesting stylistic move; he hadn’t met many people with one eye himself. Illic was so timid. Here you had this angry Drake yelling in his face, and he was just taking it! Like a lemon!

This might be the service industry, but Toren had learned from his many jobs that you had to have standards. Doren would never allow this kind of thing, but Barnethei was too slow on the draw, focused on Toren as he was.

So…the skeleton got up, tapped the Drake on the shoulder, and then slapped him.

“Hey! What the—”

Illic stopped cowering as Toren pointed at him, then made a ‘back off’ motion with his hands. The Drake felt at his cheek.

“You hit me! You—”

“Excuse me, sir. Please don’t shout at our [Mage] on duty.”

Then Barnethei was there, all smiles, and the Drake backed down. He received a roasted bat on the house, and then Barnethei made Toren apologize. The skeleton hung his head—before Barnethei turned the smile on the victorious Drake.

“And may I just add, sir, that if you shout at our [Mage] again, I may have to refuse you and your entire group service?”

The Drake’s smirk turned into an expression of anger, but then worry as the rest of his group swung around and gave Barnethei a deeply worried look. Then he was apologizing to Illic, who forgave him, and Toren, who did not.

 

——

 

They debriefed about it. Toren wasn’t…scolded for being stupid, that’s not how Barnethei said it.

“You stepping in for Illic was the right thing to do. I think the method wasn’t ideal, though. You see how I handled it? You…talk things out instead of using violence. That’s how the Haven operates.”

He was carefully watching Toren as the [Barmaid] with a box over his head sat there, a cup of water in front of him. Toren was astounded.

Whenever he messed up, Erin had shouted at him he was stupid or something. Barnethei? He didn’t even phrase it as ‘doing something wrong’, just suboptimally, and he repeated that Toren protecting Illic was the right thing to do.

Toren was so confused he tilted his head up, drank the water and thereby soiled his pants since it ran straight through the cloth, and spoke.

“Yes, boss. What do I do instead, then?”

He…had to know. Barnethei blinked, traded glances with Navien, then had her play the part of an angry customer.

Deflect the anger. Don’t use violence unless you had to. Always go back to hospitality—but never let them get away with rudeness. The employees of Larracel were all about maintaining the image of the Haven and making anyone who so much as crossed one of the staff pay for it one way or another.

And Toren…listened. He observed. He learned.

He was good at that. If someone told him what to do.

 

——

 

The altercation had a second result. Not only did it make Illic more trusting of Toren, it made Toren reframe how he saw Illic.

The timid, one-eyed Drake boy with his simple faux-mage robes and patched pieces of cloth at the elbows was just pathetic. Utterly. He had leather wrap sandals that clung to his claws since he couldn’t afford fitted shoes, and he’d tied the robes around his tail with some purple cloth since he couldn’t afford more custom clothing.

He was an [Apprentice], but so timid and fearful, even of Barnethei and his staff, that it annoyed Toren.

Why, he was just like a certain skeleton back in the day. Helpless, underleveled, weak—as pathetic as Healing Slime. Worse, because Healing Slime had the backbone and moral integrity of Giants.

He wasn’t eating well of late, because he had a thing about racoons and bats. He tried, but even the Haven’s staff had trouble eating the bats in anything but a very processed form, and the grey meat required oil. They had some from the racoons, but rendering it out of racoon carcasses was messy, inefficient, and only Yirr could do it decently.

Barnethei did his best to get enough supplies, but he was trying to run an inn, bartering with some groups by spending their coin for food—and there wasn’t enough. So, one day, Toren told Healing Slime to mind the inn and went out searching for love.

 

——

 

He found love. Lots of it. Toren peered at the Corusdeer stag in the midst of rutting with a doe and nodded to himself.

The Corusdeer were about; you just had to have eyes that could spot the living and the willingness to run nonstop for six hours searching for them.

Love was excellent. In his experience, it meant the two deer were too slow to avoid a screaming skeleton running at them with a knife. Then, of course, he had to drag two corpses back while kicking away insects and scavengers, but after he killed a few of them and added them to the pile he was dragging, the others seemed to get the message.

Barnethei’s mouth was open when he saw Toren dragging the two Corusdeer back with a host of smaller critters. He seemed to have thought Toren had vanished, but when Toren put down his burdens and flopped onto his back, Barnethei bent over him.

“Er…Toren. Do you know how to make a sled?”

Toren peered at the dead corpses he’d dragged across the ground so much they were a bit uh…worn, and he’d had to run back and forth carrying the rest while leapfrogging them back. Slowly, he put his hands over his face. Out of embarrassment—he didn’t even remember his sled-trauma at first. It was only midway through having Barnethei show him how to make one that Toren recalled his trauma…but then he got back to work, scraping at some coral bark they were joining together to create a flexible mat.

 

[Barmaid Level 16!]

[Skill – Basic Crafting obtained!]

[Skill – Repetitive Task: 110% Efficiency obtained!]

 

——

 

Toren wanted to cook the Corusdeer up himself, but when Navien saw the rather overdone piece of meat, she took the knife and taught Toren how to cut meat properly. Then about why people didn’t like well-done meat and how to tell it was hot enough to avoid parasites or sickness.

The skeleton slapped the cut of venison on the table in front of Illic, and the boy flinched, but Toren just folded his arms.

“I think Toren got this for you, Illic.”

“T-thank you, Toren!”

The boy practically tore into the meat, and Toren watched as Navien chatted about harvesting the Corusdeer’s fat for oil. Another job he’d never known you could do with food. Erin just cooked noodles.

Something about watching Illic eating made Toren feel like killing the Corusdeer was worth the effort, so he resolved to do it again. Then Barnethei suggested Toren check the rivers for those fish-swarms that would mean plentiful catching—if they came by.

Being a skeleton really helped identify where living things were. Toren quickly discovered that the swarms of fish that everyone probably went for were temporary; it was their breeding season, and they were swimming downriver fast. The rivers looked empty after that, save for only a few fish, but that was because a lot hid in the muck and only came out at night to eat the glowing bugs in this area that rested on the water.

He brought a lot back, alive, for the fishery that Barnethei wanted and watched, chin resting on his hands, as Illic bounced up and down, observing Navien frying a fish in a pan. Yep…just like Healing Slime; the two jiggled exactly alike.

When the boy went over to thank Toren, the skeleton hesitated, then slapped him on the back. Which was another Erin move—and got him another debriefing. He was astounded to learn there were more affirming actions than ‘slap on the back’ or ‘punch in the shoulder’.

Pat on the head?

Dead gods. He tried it while Illic was eating, and Barnethei and the staff watched as Illic flinched, then blinked at Toren. The skeleton lifted his hand, and Illic smiled uncertainly.

“Thank you, Toren!”

Pat, pat. The Drake boy’s neck spines lowered each time Toren touched his head, and Toren was amazed once more. Would the similarities to Healing Slime never cease? There was something very…fun about having Illic’s face light up.

Rather like having a favorite zombie, but, somehow, more cute. Healing Slime certainly agreed as it bounced up and down in Illic’s cup of water, and he giggled at it. Upon hearing the giggle, Toren decided that once again, Healing Slime was correct.

Illic was a net asset, and if anyone tried to hurt him, Toren would murder them and wear their face. Actually, that would scare Illic, and he’d been taught conflict management, so he’d do that first.

 

——

 

The next few days saw Toren working hard on a new project—making backup robes for Illic to wear. All they had was bedding, and the only other thing?

Hides. Tanning a hide was an involved process, but after some consultation, Barnethei got the instructions to do it via [Message] spell, and Toren mucked around with it. And he levelled, again. Because…this was tending to an inn.

It all was. There was actually very little serving taking place, but Toren had never liked being a [Barmaid] who just passed out drinks and pasta.

Now, a [Barmaid] who needed to rebuild the walls higher and beat down Corusdeer and trap fish? That was an interesting life. But his new class made Toren sit up and realize—he had a good thing going here.

 

[Conditions Met: Barmaid → Boxhead Barmaid!]

[Boxhead Barmaid Level 17!]

[Skill – Don’t Mind the Box Created!]

[Skill – Advanced Crafting Obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Cooking Obtained!]

 

It was a bit…weird that [Boxhead Barmaid] wasn’t a unique class but [Don’t Mind the Box] was. Then again, how many people walked around with that kind of thing on their head?

Certainly, the guests seemed to be weirded out by it less. Instead of staring at him, they’d just glance twice and treat him like an odd employee.

Accordingly, female Toren, who felt like she needed to justify herself here, began to really change their affect.

She found some ink—and the next day, Barnethei nearly spat out some freshly-grown potato slices as he saw her face.

She’d drawn a smiley face on it. Just two blobs of ink and a smile. He almost laughed.

“Er—Toren, I take it you’re in a good mood?”

She nodded, and he hesitated.

“Well, uh, can you clean the outhouses? It’s time to reseed the farms. I know that’s not your favorite—”

To his surprise, she reached up, wiped the ink off, and drew an upside-down smile instead. This turned out to be a permanent addition to Toren’s mannerisms.

She could speak; she just chose not to. Rather, she liked drawing her ‘face’ and apparently got a Skill that let her do it without staining the box black.

Which…okay.

 

——

 

Barnethei had a staff meeting about it in private, which consisted of Navien, himself, Yirr, and two other senior members of the Haven. They’d been having them since Toren had appeared, but less frequently and less urgently. Even so…he was pouring out bits of some brandy from a bottle for everyone, a treat since they had bartered almost all of it away.

“That’s a Skill. It has to be. The rest of it I put down to being magic or something, but the way that ink changes…so is she a person after all and we’ve been treating her like a monster?”

Yirr folded her arms, snorting.

“She still smells like nothing but clothing and bone. I don’t care how nice she acts—monsters can have levels. Like Goblins or…other things.”

Navien was playing with her cup.

“She’s been nothing but helpful, Barnethei. Maybe she’s a Selphid? That would explain a lot of it.”

“I’ve met Selphids, and so have you. Viecel still needs to sleep and eat. I’ve seen her work all night without pause. Dead gods, she built our walls twice as thick. No one mortal could do that, not even a Terland Golem. You tell her something once and she gets it.”

Barnethei realized he was complimenting Toren and put down his cup, grimacing. One of the other members of staff was patching some of their now-faded clothing. Citra murmured as she brushed at her hair with a comb.

“She’s also kind to that slime and Illic. If she is a monster, she’s got a heart. I’m not saying I trust her, but let’s say she has levels and she’s a monster, Barnethei. What are we going to do about it? Chase her off? She wants to work. Plus, it’s not like the first time we’ve heard of an inn with monsters.”

He fixed her with an exasperated gaze as Navien chuckled.

“We’re not copying that inn.”

“Come off it, Barnethei. You like her as much as we do. Maybe she is a Goblin. Besides, what else could she be?”

No one had any real ideas. Barnethei had lots of adventurer stories from Larracel, but even the really nasty tales like Bogleraums didn’t have levelling monsters in them. That was the stuff of stories.

It was Yirr who snapped her fingers after a moment.

“My [Shaman] used to tell us haunt-tales about things that stole levels. Drained them out of you or ate them. Raskghar and Vampyres. Soul-suckers and the like. Or Revenants. Even Golems who wore people’s faces and pretended to be them while killing more and more to make Flesh Golems like them.”

That brought Barnethei up short. He wished Yirr hadn’t reminded him about Revenants, which were undead with the memories of the living in them. But then he frowned.

“Revenants are ghost and undead combined, according to Larra. She’s killed two. They don’t level up, just keep what they have. What kind of Revenant has a Skill that lets you wipe ink away like that?”

“A [Scribe]? Are we being followed around by an undead Revenant [Scribe]?”

Navien suggested, and Barnethei chuckled. Even Yirr snorted at that. The meeting broke up with the same conclusions as always: keep watching, keep being careful—

“Oh, and Yirr, can you teach Toren how to hunt and gut? It would be good to get more food if she has time.”

“Hrr. If she kills me, I’m coming back as a Revenant.”

“I’ll up your pay if you do.”

Barnethei had to admit, having Toren working for the inn was making life so much easier. Nerves of having her here aside, the [Boxhead Barmaid] was a tireless asset.

He just wondered what she got out of it.

 

——

 

What made Barnethei understand Toren was when they were watching the scrying orb between guests. By now, The Explorer’s Haven had clients.

People would come in, ask to send a [Message], trade for food or news—or put down items as a bartering currency. Barnethei needed a lot since the inn had been ransacked, so he’d take in valuable objects and try to parley them into needed supplies.

Thankfully, a lot of caravans had supplies, and not every expedition was going catastrophically. In fact…the first treasures started appearing at last.

“We need food. But see here—this is gold. I’ll give you this one for three hundred bats.”

The prolific bats were a food source, given how it was hard to actually deplete their numbers. But even then—the rather hungry-looking Human man placed a tiny object on the counter, and Barnethei nearly blew the pearl off the counter when he inspected it.

“Pearls?”

“Yep. We found some ground-oysters. Not saying where, it’s our claim. But look at this. They’re nothing like regular pearls, eh?”

Indeed not. Regular pearls were usually pale white, but these were a lustrous brown or even green. Barnethei thought they were worth something, but the pea-sized pearl…

“That’s not worth that much food, sir.”

“Come on, they’re bats.”

“We’ve all got to eat. Tell you what—I’ll give you three hundred bat patties if you can give me enough pearls to make it worth my while. No crunch, no bones—and they go down fairly fine. We mixed them with some flour, and we’ve got vegetables. How about a burger?”

“You do?”

The suddenly watery-mouthed man wavered and ended up parting with six pearls of decent size for, well, a lot of bat patties. Barnethei traded each pearl for a sack of something later on, and like that, he kept ahead of the game.

First pearls, then other animal parts, valuable or not. When the first lump of iron ore crossed his bar counter, Barnethei blinked.

“Is this smelted?”

It was a lump of iron, a nugget of slightly warped metal that looked very pure. The [Miner], a weary Drake, gave him a huge grin.

“Nope. I pulled it out of the ground like that. ‘Scompacted, see? No one was getting anything in the hills, so I had a think and chatted with a Drowned Man fellow. Think about it. They’re foothills to us—but this was all underwater. Not the same. Stone moves, so I went to lower altitudes and did some pit mining. They’re all compressed up! It’s because it’s so heavy and pressurized or something down there!”

“Dead gods. Will you trade for them? I have a pearl.”

The Drake’s eyes lit up, and he hefted a sack with one hand.

“I’ve got…a lot of iron. Mind you, I know it’s worth something right now, but let’s see this pearl.”

Information was valuable. Knowing there were minerals in the ground, not least in such a convenient form, made Barnethei pass that along…to friends of the inn. Captain Vons was one such Drake; when he’d heard about the bandit attack, he’d sent back some salt and oil, the only supplies his hungry colonists had, then all the seeds he had since they couldn’t plant any. In return, Barnethei made sure they got bats, fish, and information.

“It’s a damn shame we can’t figure out how to purify the ground.”

He complained to Navien, and she handed him something.

“Larra just sent word. She’s got the Haven to a safe place—look at this. Wistram’s created a ground-purification spell. She bought it and sent it to us!”

“They what?”

Barnethei saw instructions for a rather complex magical ritual, including, to his dismay, a stupid-looking dance. He got up to try and set it up, hoping his years as Larracel’s not-quite-apprentice had paid off, as Toren watched the scrying orb.

Even Torens needed a break. And even the news got tired of the New Lands.

 

——

 

Channel 2 was always more entertaining than Channel 1 with the stuffy Noass and Sir Relz. Barnethei loved the news, but everyone else liked Drassi.

Toren…didn’t remember Drassi. He’d heard she’d been at The Wandering Inn, but instead of rage and hurt, it was just a distant ache. He was watching as she gave an interview to her ‘Class of the Week’, a segment where she highlighted interesting classes.

Of all of them, it was Orjin of Pomle who spoke on the scrying orb. He had good presence, unlike Ser Normen. Or maybe it was the Drake who kept interjecting for him.

“Pomle is martial arts, [Reporter]. In any form, we come here to train. I cannot show you the definition of it, though I am Strongest.”

“Ahem, what the Strongest of Pomle, Orjin, means is that we represent countless fighting styles, and your view of [Martial Artist] only encompasses a certain frame of reference. A [Martial Artist] might use swords just like a [Warrior]—it’s a mentality and form of training more than any one image.”

Salii the [Secretary] looked about as wild and different from how she’d once been known as the Demonic Headhunter Secretary of Salazsar as Barnethei did. She tapped the scrying orb as Drassi smiled.

“Er—thank you, Secretary Salii? Aren’t you one of the most famous [Secretaries] in the world?”

“Absolutely. I came here for a change of venue from Salazsar, but let’s not interrupt the Strongest. He’s going to present his new style which makes him the [Fist of the Living World]. Hello? Are you paying attention? [Riveting Presentation]! Thank you! Support Pomle’s war against Nerrhavia’s Fallen and their unjustifiable war crimes!”

Her Skill hit her audience, which was so many people Drassi protested.

“Secretary—oh, fine. Strongest?”

He began performing a routine of slow punches and kicks, moving in a rhythm that built up speed until he was punching and striking so fast they had to slow down the scrying orb to show his blows. Then the ‘Fury of the Skies’ had a sparring match with him before Orjin went back to explaining how Pomle operated and the war—with Salii’s interjections.

None of this was too important to The Explorer’s Haven, of course. But the sight of Orjin punching dust upwards like a cloud had children like Illic doing the same, grinning. Even Healing Slime made a vague fist and punched the air excitedly.

When no one was watching, Barnethei stopped his stupid dance and tried to copy the move, which would have earned him mockery from Navien—except that Yirr was doing the same thing too.

But when he saw Toren get up from her table and throw a punch, Barnethei stopped grinning. Because the skeleton copied Orjin…perfectly.

She threw a punch, kicked upwards, foot straight and perfectly flexible—as if she had no problems bending her flesh any way she wanted—lowered her posture as she thrust a palm forwards, spun, and kicked upwards as she twisted her torso—one of the routines Orjin had just shown on screen.

“Toren!”

They were all agog. The skeleton continued the perfect mimicry of Orjin, and Barnethei fancied he could even see the moves cutting the air. But then…she slowed.

Her perfect emulation of his techniques seemed to please the [Barmaid]—at first. But the more effortlessly she copied his routine, the less…happy she was.

As if doing this so easily on the first try meant nothing to her. Barnethei had seen that expression on countless Named-ranks’ faces. The boredom of sheer talent, like Deniusth’s peerless music or Mihaela’s speed. Viecel’s madness that led him to gamble.

Talent.

In that way, Toren was like Larra. Barnethei felt a tinge of envy…before he saw how unhappy the skeleton was. Then—the skeleton, who had stopped, saw the scrying orb change.

“Hm.”

Orjin had interrupted Salii’s explanation of the war in Pomle. He held out a hand, and exasperated, she slowed. His head turned, and he frowned.

“I will perform one more routine. A harder one.”

“Er—you heard him.”

A bit irritated and confused, Salii stepped back, and Orjin produced something else. A bunch of…colored sand? He shook it out of a bag, and Barnethei’s breath caught as Orjin moved his arms slowly.

He was so deliberate and slow it shouldn’t have happened, but the sand moved as if invisible hands were passing through the air. He punched, every motion unhurried, his muscles rippling, and the sand billowed like a colorful storm of magic. This time…his eyes were focused on something far in the distance.

Toren copied the punch. Or tried to. But the [Barmaid], despite mimicking form, failed to copy the feeling of moving the world with her fist, like the [Fist of the Living World] was doing. Orjin stood on one foot, balancing on the balls of his feet, and spun. He leapt into the air in a kick, and she copied him.

Caught herself as she landed, stepping on the heel of her foot, hands raised in a guard, swivelled, and cut out with her palm—but it did not shear the world. The [Barmaid]’s head rose, and she tried to see what she was missing.

He stepped forwards, and the ground shook. Her foot was uncertain, and she wavered as he pivoted and slashed through the cloud of colors. Then—Orjin stood and tilted his head.

He closed his eyes as Drassi applauded, then seemed to listen.

“That is the martial arts I embody. I heard a new voice speaking. Or perhaps it was my imagination.”

He turned, and Drassi opened and closed her mouth. No one had any idea what the Strongest of Pomle meant, and Barnethei…he watched the frozen Toren, who stared at Orjin’s back.

That night and thereafter, he swore he saw Toren practicing the moves Orjin had demonstrated, but she ran off, waving her arms and pretending she was hunting for food, whenever she noticed him.

In the meantime, she did help him practice his stupid dance until Barnethei stood over a pile of potentially cleansed dirt. He then spread it out and put, well…desalinated dirt on sale at the inn.

Selling dirt; now there was a first, even for Barnethei.

 

[Vice Innkeeper of Spells Level 45!]

[Skill – Inn: Fecund Fishery obtained!]

 

——

 

Barnethei’s new Skill actually made the fisheries they’d dug line themselves with stone and appear so much more…official.

He was overjoyed about it, even if it wasn’t a ‘cool’ Skill. This was what everyone needed; Toren swore he saw the little fishies reproducing and making more before his eyes.

Gross.

But after two weeks, Toren had decided he liked it here. Not only was the inn doing well, but it was actually growing in size. Some people had come, either from failed expeditions or after seeing the inn was still standing, and asked to join.

To tend the farms or, in the case of the [Miner] named Rosst, to make this a base from which he could deposit ore with someone he could trust and organize mining expeditions from. Because there was no vein, it was more like going from spot to spot putting down pits and yanking up dirt.

Actually, Toren had an idea about digging…but he was just happy.

At some point, he’d dropped the act, and so had they. The skeleton didn’t take off the box on his head; he was worried what Illic would think. But he’d just go out without pretending to fall asleep, work all night, and then come back with a hare he’d caught for Illic.

He’d decided Illic was his…not pet. That other thing. Not friend, but the person his class was for.

[Carer]. The little Drake would never make it on his own, like Healing Slime, but there was a reason why someone needed to protect his helpless ways. He and Healing Slime ran around, begging Toren to bring them interesting things, and Barnethei gave Toren lessons about things the skeleton didn’t know. Toren was relieved, then, when the [Bandits] returned.

Because he was here.

 

——

 

They came, showering arrows, but this time, the trio of staff in the tower shot back. But they didn’t have enough mana to keep the [Bandits] at bay, and the frustrated warriors hit the walls, making the reinforced masonry tremble, but they were five feet thick and ten feet high.

“We’ll set fire to the inn! We want food! Ev—half of what you’ve got! You think a wall can stop us? We’ve got [Arced Shots]!”

Arrows were rattling off the inn’s roof, and Barnethei was counting.

“We’re down to three charges on our wands. Let them draw near…damn. We need a way to shoot past the walls!”

Another mistake in inn-defense. He’d made walls, but now realized they couldn’t use the arrow slits in the inn until the enemy took the wall. Toren sat, patting Illic on the head as the boy hugged the Healing Slime and hid under a table.

The skeleton was afraid. She didn’t know…if she could do this. There were a lot of them. But she saw Navien grimly covering the door.

“This time, they know we’re low on magic, Barnethei.”

“I know. I’ve sent a message to Larra, and I hope Vons is really watching us. No one loose a spell until they’re inside.”

They’d piled up a barricade by the door, and Toren had to hop over the tall scramble of furniture. She turned as Barnethei shouted.

“Toren—!”

Then she looked at him. He faltered, and the skeleton wiped at the ink on her face. He waited as she erased the smiling expression she’d been wearing, but she didn’t draw a new face there. Instead…she held out a hand.

“Boss. I need a sword.”

He had one. The [Vice Innkeeper] hesitated and gazed at her. Then at Navien, the others. Yirr snarled as she drew an arrow to her bow.

“Either give her one or let me get in that tower! They’re trying to break down the gates!”

So, Barnethei handed Toren a sword, and the [Sword Dancer] lifted it. That was who walked out of the inn, fear singing in her breast. She had a dagger in the off-hand—and as he watched, moving to the windows, he saw her do something strange.

Toren lifted the dagger…then stabbed herself in the head with it. Or rather, the box.

Two holes right where her eyes should be. He felt a chill run down his spine as she turned.

 

——

 

They were wary. The [Bandits] got through the walls with effort and had to enter on foot, swearing. They had a woman with a huge maul; she was probably the wallbreaker. Their leader had two swords; the rest had bows and were covering the inn.

“Get out here with the food! No one has to go with us—but if we go in there, someone’s dying. Got it?”

They were warier this time, seeing the inn’s defenses, and several were covering the tower, staring at the odd design. But when they saw the [Barmaid] with a box on her head step outside the inn, they still laughed.

“Who’s this? Drop it.”

A dozen bows rose instantly as Toren lifted the blade. She said nothing and drew the sword, admiring the enchantment still on it. Simple Keen Edge, of course. But it made the leader snarl.

“I said drop it or you’re dead!”

They didn’t want to kill her for multiple reasons, but when she made no sound, two of them fired at her legs. The arrows passed through her, punching into the cloth with tearing sounds. Amazingly, she kept standing with two arrows in her knees.

“Rhir’s hells…is she crazy?”

The [Barmaid] cast the sheath aside and drew a dagger in her off-hand. Something…was wrong with the stupid box on her head. There were two eye holes punched into it, and a purple glimmer shone from within. Her eyes?

It looked—wrong. Suddenly dry-mouthed, the former Silver-rank adventurer leading this ragtag group trying to stay alive and ahead of Deniusth and his bastards licked his lips.

“We’ll cut you to ribbons. Back off—”

She said nothing. But the purple glow in her eyes seemed to intensify.

“Magic! She’s casting—”

“Get her!”

They were adventurers, and the moment the [Fear] spell activated, they attacked, despite the numbing terror. But they still—flinched.

She dove at them like the [Sword Dancer] from Drath she had once learned from, the blade swinging through the air as she threw herself at the leader.

“[Pinpoint Stab]!”

He ran her through the chest, and there was a cry from the inn. The adventurer twisted his blade, grimacing, but he felt no…impact. No cry of agony.

There was no blood on his blade—

Then her dagger punched through his neck, and he realized she’d traded the blow to lure him in. The adventurer gurgled and saw into the holes in the box.

Sk—skelet—

Toren vanished as he tried to cry out, and the maul smashed down, hitting the adventurer. The Silver-ranker froze—and the [Mirage Cut] slashed through her unenchanted armor, straight through the belly. Toren turned and lifted her bloody blades.

 

——

 

She had never been more scared in a fight, even against Erin. Scared she’d fall and they’d get to the inn. But it was easy.

She killed one adventurer, wounded the other, and they began to run. Not just because they’d seen her take deathblows; Toren didn’t understand. Only after, when she kicked over the first adventurer she’d killed, did she see the ugly scar on his face when she tugged the bandana off.

“Infection. They must have been terrified you’d wound them without a good healing potion or [Healer] nearby. Dead gods.”

Barnethei emerged, and Toren understood. The adventurer she’d cut had screamed like a dying woman, even as she ran. That was the New Lands. A single cut and you could…die.

It was ludicrous, but the skeleton got it. If someone had hit Illic or Healing Slime, they were so fragile compared to her. Even Barnethei.

He stood there, staring down at the dead man’s corpse, then exhaled.

“We need to strip him, then bury him well away from the water. Someone might need his armor and weapons.”

This was the New Lands. Toren saw Navien holding her mouth as they did that, and her whisper reached Toren.

“I can’t wait to get to the Haven. Even if—”

Her eyes lingered on Toren, and the skeleton saw Barnethei breathing hard out his nose. And she realized…once again, a good thing was ending.

 

——

 

Of course they were going to go. The New Lands objectively sucked. Male Toren let female Toren soak up the accolades, then went for a walk that night.

Hands in his pockets. He had a new uniform now; Navien had given Toren a uniform of the Haven’s staff, that bright, semi-reflective material. It made Toren look pretty good, though they felt like they needed to upgrade the box a bit to keep up with their new apparel.

For as long as it lasted…which wouldn’t be long. The Explorer’s Haven might be finally getting valuable goods, but it was still—too hard.

Without magic. It was. Barnethei might tough it out, but the rest of the staff were surviving, not thriving. Healing Slime wasn’t thriving either, for all Illic was feeding it; it had stabilized at half its weight.

Only Toren was doing okay, and that was because he was so empty even a bit of teaching, a decent job, was enough to fill him up.

He knew this was no way to live in this damn…

Toren kicked at the ground as a little shape escaped out a window of The Explorer’s Haven and rolled after him. Healing Slime braved the outdoors to follow its buddy as Toren walked around in a widening gyre.

It was sad, because he was sad. They both understood this might end, and this was good. Differently good than Doren. They missed Maviola, but this…Toren was happier here than even in Doren’s shop. Because he was needed. Valuable.

If only they could do something. If only Healing Slime could do something. It sometimes healed the staff when they hit nails into their hands or got cuts. Yirr often came back for a quick heal, then fed Healing Slime random things she’d found.

Barnethei had begun giving Toren a cut of the wages he insisted on passing out, despite them having nothing to pay for. They were…changing. The Healing Slime longed to be bigger so it could protect Illic from shouty, bad clients.

So the skeleton wasn’t so alone. But what was Toren doing?

He was pacing around, in a circle. The Healing Slime knew circles. In fact, it thought Toren was pacing around in a huge circle around The Explorer’s Haven, mapping out something both had learned to spot.

The…mana drain. He was narrowing inwards, towards the locus of it, and Healing Slime stayed on the periphery because it hurt, squeaking anxiously. But Toren was all death mana, and he barely even noticed the drain after killing someone.

He had something on his shoulder. Not the sword. He’d given it back to Barnethei, much to the man’s surprise. Instead, Toren had something he’d taken from the supplies the new additions to this burgeoning settlement had left.

A shovel and pickaxe. He planted both in the center of this magical drain zone and began to dig. Healing Slime was astounded.

This was such a bad idea! Getting closer to the magic-sucking thing was terrible! But then, it hadn’t exactly known Toren as a purveyor of good ideas. It rolled back and forth, squeaking urgently, and Toren ignored it.

He worked for hours. He had to dig down deep, but he had the power of skeletons and good posture on his side thanks to Barnethei. In fact, though he’d started just after 9 PM, it was probably 7 AM by the time the skeleton came up, tossing out a shovel and having to leap up the walls of the pit he’d dug with something in hand.

Healing Slime recoiled as it felt the center of the mana pull come up and intensify with Toren. It backed away from him as he waved something in his hands at Healing Slime.

Oi! Look at this stupid thing! Toren thought funny. His voice, that he seldom used, had stopped sounding exactly like the [Magical Innkeeper] he and Healing Slime had once known. That mental and verbal tone had grown deeper, more echo-ey. More…him. Her.

There was something tiny in Toren’s hands. Actually, two tiny things; a speck of something rather bright and white. The skeleton seemed miffed at finding the source of all this trouble. He pulled at it, and Healing Slime squeaked.

Bad! Throw it away! It radiated magic—and Healing Slime wondered for a moment what it might taste like. But it was scary, so it backed away, moving towards the walls as Toren rolled his eye-flames. He ripped the first bit off, then raised it to his skull.

He gave it the old sniff test, just like Barnethei had shown him, but since he never got anything from it, the skeleton just scraped it against one cheek. Then he put one half of it in his teeth and masticated on it a bit.

Purely to make the Healing Slime more agitated. Toren laughed and dismissively threw the first piece into the distance. The fragments he’d torn off it trailed in the air, and—

 

——

 

The explosion blew in the entire north wall, and Barnethei was shouting at everyone to take cover as the ground rippled up and cascaded over that section of the Haven’s walls. He lay there, checking if everyone was alright.

“Slimey? I can’t find—”

“Where’s Toren?”

Navien had to shout that, and it took longer for the [Vice Innkeeper] to hear, let alone collect his senses. By the time Barnethei ran outside, sword in hand, it was too late.

 

——

 

—At least he’d missed the inn this time. Toren’s bones finally collected themselves together, and he lay on his back, staring up at the sky. What was it with him and explosions?

The Healing Slime raced over to him, squealing in worry, and he was so relieved it was alright.

Shakily, the skeleton crawled over to an object the Slime backed away from, and very, very gingerly, he picked up the second bit of…well, as far as he was concerned, destruction incarnate.

Holy shit, as Erin would say. What was this?

Then he realized the mana was all being sucked into…this thing. Not just here, but—were they all over the place?

One person sneezes wrong and all of the New Lands is going to explode. Frankly, he didn’t even think the destructive power he’d witnessed was the full potential of this stuff. Most of the magic had just vented rather than be channeled into the ‘boom’; it was being sucked down into other spots.

He felt great, though. Even Healing Slime seemed more animated by the sheer mana ambience temporarily around them, and it had a hard time digesting ambient mana.

Toren stared at the little piece of…mineral? And it triggered a sudden impulse in him. The Anguivess Host and the Crypt King. Something it had said made Toren’s eye-flames flicker.

As the Healing Slime watched, he slowly opened his jaws, but not to chomp on the stuff this time. Rather…he put it in his mouth, then realized that was stupid because that wasn’t how he digested things.

Slowly, he took the tiny speck of white stuff, barely half as big as his finger-bone, out and stared at it. Then…he inserted it into his left eye. The strange substance crawling with magic began to burn in his eye-flames.

Oh! Then Toren realized he’d underestimated how much mana was in here! It was so much. Oceans of it! So much compressed—he felt his bones rising. Like Deimos, the Skeleton Lich, but he felt like there was even more power than the Skeleton Warlock’s transformation.

Toren was flying, in fact. Rising upwards—and he was laughing.

Laughing? Oh, yes. Laughing in a huge gallery, a million voices cheering him on. Laughing with the voice to snuff out all that lived. He could sense them suddenly, coming closer, even the Necromancer, who recognized him. Even the dead coffin, whose passenger woke, the Mother of Graves, the Crypt King…

Everything. Bear witness.

Death magic roared out of his mouth like a cloud as the Healing Slime below fled a killing amount of mana that condensed as the voice roared. Now—once more!

 

[Conditions Met: Skeleton Knight → Skeleton King of Terror Obtained!]

[Title – 14th Herald of the Breathless Age, Skeleton King Toren Obtained!]

[Skeleton King of Terror Level 47!]

[Skill – Mass Greater Reanimation obtained!]

[Skill – The Bone Giant’s Sword obtained!]

[Skill —]

 

Ha. Haha. So this is how power felt. He was going to kill everything now. The skeleton was laughing as his bones reconfigured. He got the plan. The long plan, the words echoing in them from the dawn of things…

Kill the living. Who had given it? A voice whispering their role that they had fulfilled ever since the start. They were all on the same side, and he—he was going to lead them.

Kill them. Barnethei, all the settlers of the New Lands, all the people, and harvest this glorious power. This was enough to create the final horde, the final host! Of course, the Crypt King was smarter than he looked! But he, Toren, would be faster!

He’d make them into undead. Navien, Illic, Healing Slime, and then…

Wait.

What was that thought? Toren caught himself, and the raging part of him that was roaring death found itself confronted with something almost unique. Even in the long ages of undeath, few of them had ever been…multiple?

There were two other Torens. Male, female, both of whom had real problems with Skeleton King Toren’s outlined three-step plan for the future.

Well, of course it was going to kill them. The roaring death mana faltered as one of the Torens instantly objected. Not Healing Slime. In fact, there were better ways to deal with hostilities than violence. First, you used words. De-escalated.

De-escalated? The [Skeleton King of Terror] didn’t have time for this. It was going to kill—

“No.”

But they had all the power in the world! All the strength—the Skeleton King protested, and it realized that it didn’t understand. Or rather, Toren realized it didn’t understand.

It was just death magic. It had no scope. No vision. It was a newly-minted boss appointed to the leadership role in the company, who thought it had a mandate. But it wasn’t considering the employees. The real purpose was not the bottom line of more death magic. And Toren was sick of following stupid orders. Be it so stupid, this analogy, but Toren was done with this rat-race of undead jobs.

 

——

 

In the swirling vortex of mana, a skeleton raised its hands to its eyes. It pulled at the tiny bit of burning magic in its eye—and then jerked. It was…fighting something.

The Healing Slime was cowering against one of the dirt-covered walls as the skeleton reached into its eye sockets, and ripped the mineral out of its eyes. It was hard. The Slime could hear the skeleton screaming, three voices shouting at itself, but the loud, terrible one was weaker than the true owner of these bones.

The Healing Slime saw…something. The sheer magic was changing the air, reflecting a world of death linking the undead, and what it saw was some terrible avatar of death trying to enact the will it had been given. But it was up against a single skeleton with two personalities.

A Skeleton Knight versus a King of Death. Inconceivable! But as the undead watched, the skeleton wrestled the greater undead back. How? Why? Only a few of them got it, those who had once had flesh or understood it. Why?

Because he was Toren! Accept no substitutes! This imitator didn’t have his will. It had never lost anything, never cared for anything! It had the will to destroy the world.

So. What? Toren had the will to do that every time he stepped in manure. He’d rebuilt himself more times than a hundred undead. He ripped the magic out of his skull, and the being shrieked—and the magic collapsed in a thunderclap as the Healing Slime wobbled.

Toren?

When a figure finally pulled itself back together, he took a while to find his clothing, then came over and picked Healing Slime up. It flinched, but then peeked up at the grinning skull and the thumb which rose into the air.

Then the Healing Slime knew its hero, the greatest skeleton in the world, had beaten even a Skeleton King. Toren glanced around and groaned as he saw all the stuff he’d have to clean up. In the morning. Wearily, he opened his skeletal hand, and the Healing Slime saw a diminished bit of white in his palm. It tried to suck the slime’s mana out, but slowly, cautiously, Toren offered it to the slime.

How about you?

The Healing Slime recoiled. Me? It didn’t want to be a Skeleton King of Whatever, but the skeleton again offered it to the nervous slime.

It was really about what lay in your bones, no pun intended. Toren had a lot of deep issues, not just the entire ‘abandoned by Erin’ thing. He was undead. But Healing Slime?

Toren’s bones were drenched in sin. Misery. Lack of kindness, which had left him with nothing but his nature—and his nature was murder and death, an unthinking order to kill and maim and ruin. Even before he had come to life, he had been a corpse, a bitter dream that hurt and destroyed and had to learn why that was pointless.

In many ways, Healing Slime was the same. It was a monster, accidentally made, thrown out moments after it had been created, never given care nor consideration. Yet it persisted in…caring about things. It had weathered every attack, torment, and unkindness or betrayal and remained innocent and kind. Like Giants of ancient days, the insults that tore away at its mere body could not defeat the Healing Slime’s vast heart.

All it needed was…something to reveal the spirit that kept it so small and hungry.

Tentatively, the Healing Slime poked the bit of mineral. It was small, always hungry, and weak. It seemed to hesitate, then, like someone taking a huge breath, it rolled over the bit of white stuff, and the mineral floated inside Healing Slime.

The slime and Toren stared at the slowly-dissolving bit of mineral, and Healing Slime poked its own stomach. Then Toren shrugged.

Weird, but he’d better make sure everyone was okay. He marched off, already knowing they were going to have to debrief about this incident. But two things happened as the sun rose and The Explorer’s Haven found it had a new…crater they were going to have to do something about. Possibly fill with water and make a lake or use for something else?

The first was that the skeleton heard a rather pleased voice in its head, as if he’d passed a test beyond all expectations. It said:

 

[Conditions Met: Boxhead Barmaid → Mysterious Barmaid of Havens Class!]

[Mysterious Barmaid of Havens Level 20!]

[Class Lock: Female Toren required.]

[Class Consolidation: Sword Dancer Removed!]

[Class Consolidation: Tactician Removed!]

[Skill – Steel Head (Box) Obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Dancing Obtained!]

[Skill – Minotaur Punch Obtained!]

[Skill – Hearty Serving: Rejuvenation Obtained!]

[Skill – Conjure: Drink of the Day Obtained!]

 

[Conditions Met: Skeleton Knight → Deathkindly Guardian Class!]

[Deathkindly Guardian Level 34!]

[Class Lock: Male Toren required.]

[Class Consolidation: Undead Leader Removed!]

[Class Consolidation: Carer Removed!]

[Skill – Nurturing Meal Obtained!]

[Skill Change: Lesser Strength → Enhanced Strength Obtained!]

[Skill – Wide Sweep Obtained!]

[Skill – Tremor Stomp Obtained!]

 

 

[Title – The Undead Who Refused The Will of Death assigned!]

[Title Skill – Immunity: Mental Alteration Obtained!]

 

Toren felt just a bit good about that.

 

——

 

The second notable thing that happened was that Barnethei, the [Vice Innkeeper] of Larracel’s Haven, had a visitor midway through trying to clean up the gigantic hole that Toren claimed she’d made.

He looked up and stopped sweeping stones, and Toren flinched. She froze as the little slime hid behind Illic’s back, and Larra the Haven stopped flying and floated down.

She looked tired. She had always claimed flying was stupid, but then—she was using a broom. The [Wizard] spoke, her eyes never leaving the [Barmaid].

“Barnethei. Sorry I’m late. Mihaela said I was out for three days.”

“Larra—you just missed something incredible happening.”

He began, and she nodded. Her eyes flicked around.

“I know. This inn…the mana’s regenerating. It’s being pulled around, but it’s recharging. I didn’t even need to fly here. Your mana well is replenishing from your mana. Fill me in, Barnethei.”

He did as Toren stood there, frozen. Larra glanced down at their new employee and then turned to the [Vice Innkeeper].

“Let’s have a drink, Barnethei. You’ve earned it.”

She never said [Appraisal] out loud. But she was staring at something, incredulous. As if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

 

——

 

The Mysterious Boxhead Barmaid, Toren.

 

Toren was very afraid of Larra the Haven, which, as it turned out, was common among a lot of the employees, even Navien. She actually marched Toren into the room where Larra and Barnethei debriefed him.

No, not ‘marched him in’, but marched with him, along with the other employees. Even Illic, holding Healing Slime.

Barnethei noticed that; Larra didn’t. She kept staring at Toren as Barnethei led the conversation.

“So, Toren. We never actually went over your contract with the inn. Every member of staff has one. It’s a matter of record; for your protection as well as ours.”

Toren sat there and felt completely confused. He didn’t get the [Siege Ultra Plus Fireball] he thought was coming. Larra just stared at him, then glared at Barnethei.

“Have you eaten something that’s gone to your head?”

“Well, Larra, if we’ve got magic—we’re back in business, aren’t we? And I clearly need capable help.”

“I’ll get you capable—Barnethei, you don’t need to just level.”

He shot back coolly.

“But I am, Larra. And unless you think classes or your magic are lying to you…I believe in hard work. But I’m also willing to believe in luck. Besides, who would you get me? Adventurers? Frankly, I’d rather take anyone right now.”

She was confused, stunned, and rather annoyed he was defying her, and she snapped back.

“Half the staff wants to go!”

“Half the staff gained at least five levels. The others hit capstones. Once they hear my new pitch for the inn, they’ll be back. And you’ll put magic down.”

“Why?”

He gave her one of those patient smiles that he’d told Toren to do on obstreperous clients. Obstreperous, wonderful word that.

“Well, if we think you’re correct—and you always think you’re correct—we have no choice, do we? The Haven is too magical. The Explorer’s Haven won’t attract trouble in the same way, but it still needs good staff.”

“Not a skeleton.”

Then Larra rose to her feet, pointed at Toren, and said the quiet part out loud. He flinched. She swept her gaze back towards him, and he realized she saw straight through his mask, his clothing. Larracel the Havens burned with magic, defying this barren landscape.

In fact, the tiny crystal of condensed magic that sucked everything out of the air? For all the power it had, all the accumulated weight of mana—it was still less powerful than she was. If Toren had truly become the Skeleton King, the monster it had tried to make him into…this was the woman who would have ended it.

The skeleton shifted as Larracel half-rose from her seat, and she was holding no wand aimed at him, but at his movement, the air rippled. Then, the skeleton realized there were several invisible figures around her.

“Larra. This isn’t helping. You’re scaring him…her. I can’t tell which Toren is. I think it shifts.”

“Barnethei, this is insane, even by my standards. Stop trying to get me to agree to hiring this thing and go for a walk. This won’t take long.”

Several figures materialized as Barnethei waved his hand, dispelling whatever cloaking magic Larracel had cast. But the [Arcane Familiars] holding wands aimed at Toren’s body just continued hovering in the air.

Larracel moved them back and took a longer breath as she inspected Toren once more.

“[Appraisal].”

Then she read something. His class. Perhaps…his name? Larra’s eyes darted to Barnethei, who made encouraging motions.

“Ask him something.”

“How many people have you murdered, skeleton?”

“Larra—”

“Eighty-four.”

The voice of the skeleton was quiet. It was the same voice that Barnethei had heard before, familiar. Erin’s voice, but changed. Larracel’s eyes narrowed as the [Vice Innkeeper]’s eyes slid between her and Toren. He was waiting for his moment to leap in, but Toren had to prove himself.

“That’s specific.”

“I remember them all. Esthelm. Goblins. Raskghar in the dungeons. Travellers on the roads. I am…a monster.”

The [Wizard] glanced past Toren. Her eyes unfocused, and she murmured.

“Only eighty-four. I’ve lost count. You’ve never fought in a war.”

“No. Eighty-four people. Lots of monsters.”

She went quiet again, then her voice turned harsh.

“Why did you protect Barnethei’s inn? What kept you there instead of murdering everyone?”

“Healing Slime.”

“The slime?”

Barnethei knew they were connected, but even that shocked him. Toren nodded.

“Slime was dying. This place was safe.”

“Aha. That’s funny. A skeleton that cares for a Healing Slime. What a joke. I should erase both of you and use you for magical ingredients.”

This time, Toren twitched, and Barnethei actually grabbed Larra’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Larra, be charming, please. Stop riling Toren up on purpose. He hasn’t attacked us when he could have, and you can see his class.”

He turned to Toren.

“If she was going to blast you, she would have already. She’s thinking about it.”

The [Wizard]’s eyes narrowed, and she swung back to Barnethei.

“I’m trying to figure out if this is some trick. I can actually understand a skeleton caring about a slime. I’ve heard of dumber things, and any creation can gain quirks. What I don’t understand is how you earned its loyalty.”

“I’m a good boss.”

Barnethei polished his nails on his jacket, and she flicked her wand at him, messing up his combed hair. Larracel glanced at Toren and snorted again.

“There are two ways to tame a monster. Feed it or have sex with it. Which one did you do? Both?”

“Larra.”

This time, he flicked some water out of a cup at her. Barnethei growled.

“What about loyalty and respect?”

She rolled her eyes.

“What kind of a sentient monster wants to work for pay and people being nice to them?”

The skeleton thought it was a question for him and answered.

“One with low self-esteem?”

Barnethei spat out his drink, and Larracel blocked it with a shield. Then her lips twitched. Just once. She seemed so outraged by that she re-focused on Toren. Then she saw Barnethei glancing at her and sighed, loudly. Larracel got up and paced around a table, followed by several [Arcane Familiars]

“I’m not good at this. I never wanted to be a manager of people. It’s worse than having an adventuring team. I left that to Barnethei. I don’t care about staff in the same way as teammates. I don’t want them to quit their jobs, to have children, to take time off. I want to pay them and get quality work from them and not have to do anything else.”

From the way Barnethei sighed, this was a familiar refrain, but Toren appreciated the honesty. At least he knew where he stood with Larracel. Erin had people she loved and people she didn’t, and she cared about her guests.

But oh, it was a terrible thing to be one of the people she loved less. Larracel? She twirled her wand in a pattern across her fingers as she avoided looking at Toren.

“Let’s say I agree to Barnethei’s mad deal. I want a contract. A magical one; all the staff signs one. Everyone has a dream. Every worker of mine has a price. Name yours.”

They turned to Toren, and he was confused.

“What dream?”

Larra glanced at Barnethei, then jerked her head to the staff not-quite peeking through the windows.

“Navien wanted her appearance changed. Permanently; not some illusory magic. Roreen was sick beyond any [Healer]’s help. Barnethei wanted to learn magic. I offer more than gold. That’s how much I think each employee is worth, in money, in magic, in my effort. You won’t get what you want right away. Name your price.”

The way she said it was mercantile, but Toren sat there so long that Larra and Barnethei traded another glance. No one had ever asked him what he wanted. Not Nerrhavia, not Az’kerash, not Erin…

He thought he had nothing to ask for, other than Healing Slime being okay, but then Toren realized that was a stupid thing to think. He had so much he wanted. A good sword, tools so he could make things better…clothing…

He stared at his hands and then spoke.

“I want…to touch things.”

The skeleton didn’t look at Larracel, just noticed she shifted slightly. He spoke on.

“I want to know what a cold breeze feels like, or someone holding my hand.”

The things he observed that mattered to people, that made no sense to the skeleton. Toren hesitated again, wondering if it was a stupid thing to request, but Larracel smiled.

“I like it.”

Toren’s eyes blazed in relief, and she added to Barnethei.

“That way, I can spell it so if he ever goes rogue, it turns off. And explodes.”

“Larra!”

She was a scary old woman. Barnethei scolded her, then turned to Toren.

“Don’t mind her. I want you to work for me.”

“Why?”

The [Vice Innkeeper]’s brows rose, as if it were an obvious question. He finger-combed his hair as he replied.

“Why? Well, aside from the fact that you saved our inn and did so much—I suppose it’s because you work hard.”

That was it. Larra and Toren waited for more, but Barnethei smiled. He gazed down at his callused hands.

“I believe in hard work. It doesn’t always mean anything. Sometimes you work hard, and it’s all damn luck. But I want to believe in it. So rather, I believe people who work hard deserve to be recognized. Even for a skeleton, I think you’re that sort of employee I want. And even if my boss doesn’t want to recognize it, no one’s blasting you to pieces.”

His chin rose, and he stared down Larracel, who folded her arms. But then Toren had a strange thought. If she tried to kill him, maybe, just maybe, the [Vice Innkeeper] would grab her wand-arm or block a spell. He’d probably fail, but he would try to protect Toren.

Even if Toren could usually put himself together again. And that…was also new. Barnethei nudged Larra.

“Come on, put together a contract, Larra. You’ll be happier with magical bindings, and we can trial Toren for a month.”

She scowled, argued, and complained, but ultimately, Larracel agreed. It took hours, and she wrote up one of the longest pieces of writing Toren had ever read; he read it once, then signed it, and she seemed incredulous, but the skeleton had seen the part about promotions for hard work, and he knew a good gig when he saw it.

Well, well, well. Barnethei stretched when this was over, and then he went to get a bottle for them.

“I know you don’t drink. But I think we need to have a chat about exactly…who you are, Toren. Larra’s suspicious, but she’s also an adventurer. Will you chat with me? And her?”

“Y-yes, boss.”

“It’s Barnethei. Come on.”

Then—well, Barnethei had the weirdest chat he’d ever had with an employee, about how Toren had gotten here to begin with.

At some point in their long conversation into the night, Larracel flew off and started blasting spells into the sky. Mostly—shouting unkind things about Erin, which actually endeared her to their new employee.

Barnethei just shook his head.

“Somehow, it always goes back to that woman.”

He looked envious and exasperated as the [Wizard] flew back down, panting. She fixed Toren with another vexed, magical stare.

“I have another reason to throw a [Fireball] at that woman. So that’s what you are, then. Just a cast-off child who never learned morality? Is that it?”

Is that what he was? Toren sat there as he thought about it. Was he a Golem badly programmed? An undead fighting his base instincts? A child unloved and unwanted?

“No. I’m just a thing that makes mistakes. Many, many mistakes.”

From Esthelm to now. For not asking her to see his intelligence. For choosing death when he had seen all the things he loved and agonized over in life. For not realizing boombark exploded…though that one was hard to know ahead of time.

Larracel drank a cup of water and then rose, whirling a magical cape around her shoulders as she whispered.

“Everyone’s a mistake. That doesn’t make you special. What makes you special is crawling up from the bottom of the well, broken and bloody-fingered. Perhaps this is a new age, Barnethei. You look tougher than the boy who left my inn a few weeks ago. The world’s changing again. I heard…Valceif’s alive.”

“Impossible.”

Barnethei whispered, and Larracel’s head turned to the north.

“Mihaela’s afraid to find the truth. I have to go back with her, or wherever he meets her. You, skeleton.”

She walked over and reached up to touch his jaw through the clothing and under the mask. He froze as Larracel’s fingers burned with magic, and her eyes locked him in place, those depths more terrifying than the purple flames in his eye sockets.

“You get one chance, again. One chance from me. If you lose it all, it’ll never come back again. Not the same way, not twice. Work harder. Understand?”

He nodded, and Barnethei let out a breath he’d been holding. The [Vice Innkeeper] watched as Toren bowed to Larracel, and she began snapping orders for things it should do.

“I want him—or her—dressed up in staff uniform, Barnethei. We have standards in my inn. I’ll be keeping an eye on this thing and I want daily check-ins with Roreen. Now you have magic, I expect more business.”

She was all grumpiness and business, then. But Larra did stay to help re-enchant everything and see what needed to be done. They wanted to start a town here actually, and she was going to insist on a lot of defenses which, frankly, Barnethei was behind.

That night…he heard a voice.

 

[Conditions Met: Vice Innkeeper of Spells → Innkeeper of the Magical Frontier Level 46!]

[Skill – Staff: Cross-trained Professionals Obtained!]

[Skill – Employee Skill Obtained!]

[Skill – Alcohol Brewing: Monstrous Draught Obtained!]

[Spell – Circle of Purification Learned!]

[Skill – Inn: Employee Benefits — (Legendary Healing Slime) Egglets of Happiness Obtained!]

 

He sat up in bed, and his eyes snapped open.

 

“What?”

 

——

 

The next day, Barnethei eyed the Healing Slime and commented.

“It’s twice as big as before.”

The Healing Slime hid behind Toren, seeming…shy. And intelligent? Navien elbowed Barnethei as Larracel stared at it.

“Don’t tease a lady about her weight!”

“Oh come on.”

He was arguing with her, laughing as he drank some coffee that Larra had brought with her, when the door burst open and someone screamed.

“Barnethei! M-my—!”

It turned out there were three important things that happened. Barnethei turned and had to execute a [Flamboyant Dive-roll] for his own mug. He came up without spilling a drop, staring at…

Illic. The [Message Apprentice], or rather [Magicfriend Mage] had received a new class. And a surprise. The Drake felt at his face where his huge green eye stared up in worry and delight at Barnethei, Toren, and the others. His one flesh-and-blood green eye…and in the other eye socket?

A beautiful, burning green flame. The [Innkeeper] of The Explorer’s Haven stared at the eye with all the wonders of an inn that was going to have trouble getting its feet. But he was there, the fourth [Innkeeper] of Izril that even an Immortal Tyrant would later admit in hindsight deserved a spot on the list.

If only because the third [Innkeeper] had helped. Or rather, his bones. But then, Barnethei was smiling, and he heard, for the first time, the sound of an undead skeleton crying. For it saw something beautiful that it had helped create.

That was how Toren came to the New Lands. It wasn’t the end of the story, not at all. Just a new beginning.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

And now we’re done with Toren’s tale for the moment. You thought it was two chapters? Well, it’s three!

I’ve been feeling good about writing of late. I’ve done a lot of it; I blasted out 60,000 words on stream earlier this week, and now I’m tired…but in theory, ahead. Just needs edits.

I hope to be doing a lot of things personally and privately this summer. I want to get my own place and renovate it—go travelling, and I have a trip to Iceland that’s planned, and I’d love to edit Griefman so I can publish it and maybe get to work on the final book for the Singer of Terandria series.

However, that requires me to build that thing I never have: a buffer. So I’ll be writing ahead on streams and giving myself plenty of time to edit and work ahead. In theory. I’ll let you know how it goes, but I’m feeling positive when I’m not a potato from working so much!

The key is not publishing a 60k chapter but splitting it up, so I don’t burn myself out, and I can make it as good as I want to. Although that chapter was supposed to be 3,000 words in a mini-chapter…

Well, look forwards to the next one, and I hope you enjoyed Toren’s tales!

 

 

Stream Art: The Mysterious Barmaid by Kazah!

 

Dretonamis by Enuryn!

Portfolio: https://enuryndraws.art/

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/enuryn

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Enuryn_Nat

 

Guiltfire Erin by AVI, commissioned by DanRyyu!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/0avi0

 

Fires of Avel by 1AutumnLeaf!

 

Olesm, Xrn, and Krshia by Carbon!

 

Mavika by Olento!

 

Tiny Erin by Callum!

 

10.40 Slime Games and Cara’s Poster by Sehad!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/F1F096BR

 

Cake Pop by Chalyon!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/chalyon

 

Drowned Folk by Rabbit!

 

Crimshaw by Brack!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/brack

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Brack_Giraffe

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/brackgiraffe.bsky.social

 

Faces of Valeterisa by Karu!

 

Anazurhe by Yura, commissioned by Fyre!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/yurariria

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/yuraria.bsky.social

 

War Erin by Sol Adventurer!

 

Adventurer Selfie by Mio!

 

 

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