Book 5: Chapter 2 - Nostalgia (RAW)

The Giants, or Gnomes outside the city of Al-Lazar, are renowned for two things: their pervasive insularity and their unparalleled artisanry. They craft objects of arcane potency, ingenious devices, and armor so exquisite it can withstand a dragon's flame. To those not of their kind, whom they consider inferior, they offer only the silent discourse of flowing hands, a language of intricate gestures reserved for outsiders.

Among themselves, the giants recount legends of epochs past, when the progenitors of their kind raised the Pillars of Heaven. This colossal edifice pierces the very fabric of the sky, ascending beyond mortal sight over the Glass Fire Sea—a vast expanse where flames dance upon the waves, and the boundary between reality and myth blurs into obscurity.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

With the Gold-ranked leader's fall, we systematically dealt with the remaining adventurers. Cowards that they were, they tried to flee but were quickly cut down by another volley from the mercenaries' crossbows. I finished the last one as he tried to crawl away with an Inferno Bolt to the back. Practice makes perfect after all.

You have slain a human 10 experience points gained.

One of the mercenaries—a boy, really, barely past twenty by my reckoning, had an arrow lodged in his left eye. It had been a remarkable shot from the Silver Rank adventurer, even under pressure. His corpse stared at us with his remaining eye as we respectfully left his body in the street, after relieving him of most of his valuables and equipment. In the morning, the servants or support staff would retrieve his body for whatever funeral rites or rituals were required.

As for the adventurers, I let the mercenaries take what they wanted from their corpses. In the past, I used to look into their dead eyes, searching for answers, but I found none. Now, I felt nothing. I had grown disinterested. I would simply push for my share in coin once the fighting was over, confident I could name whatever figure suited me.

After several nights of fighting, I had gained just under a thousand experience points, slowly inching toward the next level. My martial skills and attributes remained unchanged, but at least my Freezing Aura had increased to level three, which was always a plus. Fortunately for my unit, we had yet to face any magical resistance. At this point, magic was the only thing that could truly stop me—no amount of old-fashioned steel could.

I was enjoying the feel of my armor—the solid weight of it and the sense of invulnerability that came from being encased in thick metal. My new set, though bulkier and heavier than my previous harness, made me feel nearly indestructible when combined with my large Health pool and regenerative abilities. I had, for all intents and purposes, become this world’s equivalent of a tank.

Now, all I needed was a suitable mount to add more force to my charge. Perhaps one of the great lizards I had seen at the Grand Bazaar would do the trick.

We marched back in loose formation along the now-quiet streets. Dawn would arrive soon, and with it, peace—or at least the thin veneer of it—would rule, however tremulously, for a while.

Patches, my faithful animal companion, eagerly helped with the march. She had a bit of grey in her fur now, but she was as fast and energetic as ever. Alongside some of the support animals from Salahaem, she carried the various bits and bobs that fighting men required. 

As a reward, once we were in sight of the Salahaem’s estates I fed a small pink fruit to my donkey which she enthusiastically munched down on before I passed her over to a stable hand. The boy bowed deeply to me, knowing full well what fate awaited him should he be remiss in his duties. It was enjoyable, this sense of power that I held over the little people of this world.

I would rest now for a few hours, enough to recover my Mana and Stamina without consuming one of the potions that Vincenzio had provided for me. Next, I would bear witness to my friend’s duel with the Adventurer’s Guild representative.

*****

Though it had been only a few days since the Festival, the arena already held a certain nostalgic weight for me. But unlike that lively contest, no crowds gathered here to cheer or jeer at the spectacle of two warriors clashing in mortal combat. No, this was a quieter affair, more solemn, akin to a funeral.

In total, twenty or so people were in attendance to bear witness, ten from the Adventurer’s Guild and a ‘Scale,’ ten men from the Mercenaries. There would be no foul play lest this devolves into a skirmish. 

Larynda watched on from the sidelines, gripping one of her staves in her hand, the other slung behind her back. I had given her explicit orders to blast adventurers on my signal should it look like Enkidu would lose, consequences be damned. She had resisted at first, but common sense had logic had eventually won over. An angry and alive Enkidu with broken honor was a far cry better than a dead one.

Enkidu stepped onto the stone tiles of the fighting platform, a hulking brute draped in a hide of thick bone and metal. His new shield-gauntlet was even more imposing than before, crafted from the shell of some monstrous sea creature, its edges trimmed with steel, and strange, cryptic symbols etched into its surface. The writing looked familiar, and I knew who’s feminine hand had etched such writings. Blackened bone plates strapped over a heavy hauberk of dark grey chainmail, while his open-faced steel helm, though less ornate, bore a striking resemblance to the samurai kabuto. At his waist was a simple long knife, a shortsword really for a smaller man. In his hands, he carried a heavy hewing spear, and slung across his back, surprisingly, was a small compound bow. There was a savage joy in his eyes, a predatory gleam, like a wolfhound that had caught the scent of prey and was moments away from being unleashed.

Across from him stood Ezlas, an enforcer of the Adventurer’s Guild. Time had not been kind to him—deep lines of worry etched his once-homely face, and a livid scar slashed across his nose, marring the amiable appearance he once had. Though he lacked Enkidu's raw bulk, Ezlas was no small man, encased in a harness of heavy steel plate adorned with runes and trimmed with red-gold. In his left hand, he gripped a large oval shield, while in his right, he wielded an ominous axe, the blade seemingly carved from dark stone—obsidian, if I had to guess. A short tassel of blood red drifted from the end of the weapon's spiked handle, swaying lightly in the still air.

"You have strange tastes, wanting to defend scum like that, Northman. I heard you are an En, if your name is true—what oaths bind you?" Ezlas spoke in a throaty voice, his expression a half-smile. "You too are an adventurer, are you not? Why stand against the decision of the Guild?"

"And you an Ezlas. My reasons are those of honor, a thing foreign and alien to the people beyond the ice," replied the Hunter, his deep voice strangely flat. But then Enkidu grinned wolfishly, noble savagery dancing in the depths of his eyes. "That is what we are fighting to decide, little man. But I think this will not be a contest that will be remembered for long. For that insult given, I will repay most fearfully with sharp steel!"

Ezlas shrugged his armored shoulders. "No unbearded youth are you to make so rash decision,” the enforcer said with a sigh. “Then let us settle this... for I have much left to do this day..."

Before Ezlas had even finished speaking, Kidu had dropped his spear, nocking and loosing an arrow from his small bow in a smooth motion that defied the eyes. The missile flew past Ezlas's ear, and a scream followed as it found the flesh of a nearby adventurer who crumpled to the ground. The rest quickly scattered and drew their weapons.

“Do not interfere, you fools!” Ezlas barked in a harsh warning.

The Mercernaries and I chuckled at this and Ezlas face grew red before he slammed on his helm.

"Nature has taken its course; warm landers are still so stupid!" Enkidu laughed uproariously, goading Ezlas to let out a furious cry as he charged.

Good for you Enkidu, good for you.

Kidu loosed two more arrows in quick succession, Ezlas blocking the missiles with his thick shield. As they drew closer together, Kidu dropped his bow, picking up his spear from the ground. The bigger man had a fearsome reach with his spear and struck out with it—a warding and testing blow aimed at the slits in Ezlas's heavy helm.

Raising his shield, Ezlas blocked the blow with the boss and struck down with his black axe, aiming to cleave through the weapon's haft. To the casual onlooker, Enkidu's spear, banded with metal, seemed to resist the bite of the strange axe. However, any experienced warrior would know that one should not resist such a blow unless absolutely necessary. Likely, Kidu had a relaxed grip on his polearm, moving his weapon with the axe's head.

It however opened up his center line and Ezlas was quick to exploit it with a follow-up chop aimed to split his head. The older fighter did not expect the punch that Enkidu launched with his gauntleted arm that both blocked the strike and struck Ezlas across his helm. When the obsidian blade had struck Kidu’s gauntlet there had been a small, barely visible, flare of light indicating warding magic of some hard.

Pushed back by the raw force of the blow, the enforcer was nonetheless quick to recover, bringing his shield up to cover himself. Enkidu wasted no time; he lunged forward, his spear thrusting in rapid succession, each strike aiming to find a gap in Ezlas' armor. The enforcer blocked and parried deftly, his shield absorbing the impacts while his axe remained poised for a counterattack.

Seeing his thrusts were ineffective, Enkidu shifted tactics. He feinted a low stab, drawing Ezlas's shield downward, then swung the butt of his spear upward, catching the man under the chin with a jarring blow. The Guild’s enforcer stumbled back, momentarily dazed. Seizing the opportunity, Enkidu charged, crashing Ezlas to the ground with his great mass.

They grappled fiercely on the floor, the clash of their armor echoing in the air. Enkidu's hands clawed at Ezlas's helmet, fingers seeking any hold. With a guttural roar, he managed to hook his fingers beneath the visor. Muscles bulging, he yanked hard, the straps of the helm snapping under the strain. The helmet came free, revealing Ezlas's sweat-soaked face, eyes wide with surprise and fury.

"Like prying the shell from a Rockcrab!" Enkidu snarled in victory as he punched his face.

Ezlas' response was swift and brutal. Axe still gripped in his hand, he clocked the bigger man across the jaw, pushing him off. Momentarily stunned, it gave the smaller man enough time to get on his feet. An experienced veteran, Ezlas did not relent; he swung his shield in a wide arc, the metal rim catching Enkidu across the jaw as he was getting up, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"You'll regret that," Ezlas spat, blood trickling from a split lip. He kicked Enkidu's spear away, the weapon skittering across the stone tiles. Raising his axe, he advanced on the fallen warrior.

But Enkidu was not so easily defeated. Rolling to the side, he avoided the axe blade as it smashed into the ground. In one fluid motion, he sprang to his feet and drew a long dagger from his belt. The two men faced off again, circling each other like predators.

Ezlas lunged, axe whistling through the air. Riskily, Enkidu ducked under the black blade. He countered with a slash aimed at Ezlas's exposed cheek, the blade leaving a thin red line.

Enraged, Ezlas swung wildly. Enkidu ducked under the blow and drove his shoulder into Ezlas's chest, knocking him off balance. Spotting his spear lying nearby, Enkidu dived toward it, rolling as he scooped it up. He came up in a crouch, weapon at the ready.

Ezlas charged, but this time Enkidu was prepared. He sidestepped at the last moment, hooking the wings of his spear around Ezlas's ankle and yanking hard. The enforcer crashed to the ground with a thunderous clang of metal, losing his grip on his weapon. Before Ezlas could recover, Enkidu was upon him.

Using the haft of his spear, Enkidu choked Ezlas from behind. Ezlas thrashed violently, his gauntleted fists flailing. Desperate, he slammed his elbow backward into Enkidu's ribs, eliciting a small grunt. But Enkidu held firm, pulling upwards with greater force.

Ezlas's face turned a deep shade of crimson, veins bulging as he struggled for air. His fingers clawed uselessly at the banded wood.

"Yield," Enkidu growled loudly, his voice an icy glacier.

Ezlas gurgled something, but his reply was lost in his strangled struggle. He grew weaker, his movements sluggish. The onlookers watched in tense silence, the only sounds were the scraping of armor and Enkidu’s grunts of effort.

At last, Ezlas's body went slack, the fight drained from him. Enkidu held the choke a moment longer before releasing it, allowing Ezlas to slump forward onto the cold tiles. The enforcer lay motionless.

Breathing heavily, Enkidu stood over his fallen opponent. Blood dripped from a cut above his brow, mingling with the sweat on his face. He retrieved his spear and planted the butt against the ground, using it to steady himself.

The quiet was broken by the shuffling of feet as members of the Adventurer’s Guild moved forward. Their faces were a mix of anger and uncertainty. One stepped ahead, hand hovering near his weapon.

The silence was shattered by the shuffling of boots as members of the Adventurer’s Guild edged forward. Their faces wore a tapestry of anger and uncertainty, eyes flickering between their fallen comrade and the warriors who stood before them. One stepped ahead, hand hovering near the hilt of his sword.

"No foolishness now," I warned sharply. "Be grateful he still draws breath. Or so help me, I'll cut you all down myself." Larynda stood beside me, her staff humming with a subtle arcane glow—a silent reminder of the power held in check.

The guild members hesitated, fingers slipping away from their weapons. Tension hung thick in the air, a taut string ready to snap.

But there's always one born with a death wish. Among them was such a soul—a black-haired man whose eyes burned with reckless fervor. With a wild battle cry, he charged at me, blade swinging. For a heartbeat, his fellows wavered, indecision playing across their features. Then, as if pulled by unseen strings, they surged forward to join him.

Enkidu moved like a shadow. In a cold, unhurried motion, he thrust his spear into Ezlas’s exposed neck, the steel biting deep. Ezlas's eyes widened in shock before the light fled from them entirely. A clean kill, devoid of flourish or mercy. Wearily, Enkidu readied himself for the onslaught.

But the adventurer’s last gasp of effort would be in vain.

Larynda stepped forward, her green eyes hard as flint. She whispered an incantation, and from her staff burst a great murky lance of water. It crashed into the guild's formation like a wrathful tide, scattering men like driftwood, bowling them over with the force of a storm.

The mercenaries and I needed no further invitation. We descended upon them as they struggled to rise, blades flashing. The clash of steel and the cries of the wounded filled the air—a grim symphony of death. There was no honor here, only the brutal efficiency of warriors claiming their due.

I reveled in the slaughter but made sure to keep my delight hidden. It was basically, watered-down, but free experience. As they died, I searched their eyes for answers, for that moment when life became oblivion but found nothing.

I knew that more than ever I had to fulfill the Necromancer’s quest. It was the key to my immortality, I knew it. Or, at the very least, a most important step towards it.

When the din subsided, the stones were slick with blood. Calder spat a glob of phlegm onto one of the corpses, his face etched with disdain. He gave Enkidu and me a curt nod of respect—a silent acknowledgment of deeds done.

As was our right, we looted them all for what was ours. We began to strip the fallen of their valuables, pilfering coin, weapons, anything of worth. In this world, the spoils went to the victors, and the dead had no need for such things.

The wind picked up, carrying away the last whispers of life from the arena. Larynda gazed out over the grim tableau, her expression unreadable. Enkidu cleaned his spear, the blood smearing before it wiped away.

“I do not think I will add this day to my song,” he commented grimly.

I could do nothing but clasp his armored shoulder and give him a noncommital shrug. 

“It is what it is,” I said offhandedly, giving him the most asinine statement from my old world.