February ~ 16!

CHAPTER 16

As it turned out, the new-growth trees the crows had attacked from had been the herald of a deeper and more ancient forest that apparently encircled the city. The setting sun had long since been blotted out by the knot of twisted branches overhead, and the wagon creaked as it moved deeper into the woods. Grant was carrying a torch that had been packed into the wagon, but even so struggled to keep the darkness at bay.

*Grant.*

“What was that?” Grant swung his torch around and peered into the darkness, looking around with bloodshot eyes. “It sounded like someone was calling me? Did you hear that?”

Waylon slapped Grant’s shoulder to catch his attention. “This place is called the Whispering Woods, and really shouldn’t be walked through at night. The wind whistling through the trees plays with the mind. Don’t listen to the voices, pretty sure they’re some kind of monster that convinces you to come off the road and to your doom. No one really knows for sure. The powerful go look and find nothing; the weak just don’t come back.”

“Come on, Waylon. That’s not funny. I… I don’t like the dark as it is.” Grant looked over to the man that was rapidly becoming a good friend, hoping to see mirth filling his face.

Unfortunately, he was deadly serious, and more awake than Grant had seen him in several hours. “I’m not joking. Even with the threat of the stalkers behind us, we should have set up camp on the border of the wood and made the journey in the morning.”

A large object suddenly loomed large, blocking the road forward. “What is that?”

“Have your sword at the ready, Grant.” Waylon slowly set down the wagon and got his tomahawk from the cart. “I’ll check it out. Wait here. If I’m not back in one minute, come after me and save me no matter the cost.”

Without giving Grant a chance to respond, Waylon strode forward towards the black object, until he was lost to the darkness. “No matter the cost? What? Easy for him to say, that’d mean something went bad for him.”

After a nail-biting minute, his companion returned with a relieved expression. “Thank Lady February, it’s just an old hunting wagon full of skeletons.”

It took a moment for Grant to properly register what Waylon had just said. “Skeletons?”

“From their size, I’d say they belonged to a variety of beasts. Their bones have long since been cleaned, so I assume these were on their way for processing.”

“But… where are the hunters?” Grant looked into the forest, which seemed to have just gotten darker.

That gave Waylon pause. “They could have… taken their horses and bolted?”

“Why would they leave their valuable cargo here?” Grant readied February Twenty Nine as he made another connection, “What could have made what were clearly experienced hunters… bolt?

“Look, we have no information. We’ve been walking for hours, and I suggest we press on. There could be any number of reasons why the hunting wagon was abandoned.” Waylon groaned at the thought of continuing further, but still motioned for Grant to come closer. “Help me shift this off the road.”

“Any number of reasons such as…?” Grant wasn’t about to drop his guard, something didn’t feel right.

“I don’t know, but let’s stop wasting time? We’re five miles at most from the city.” Waylon shook his head at that, “I can’t believe we’re making such poor time right now; it took us over an hour to walk three miles. I’m gonna light a torch, can you hold it?”

Grant chose not to comment on that, but gave in to Waylon’s desire. The pair moved forward and somehow managed to move the heavy hunting wagon. The carcasses may have been picked clean to the bone, but up close it didn’t look like the result of ‘proper care’. Even so, he kept his thoughts to himself. Waylon was more experienced at living in the wilds than he was, so he would trust the Wielder’s judgment.

Obstruction cleared, a creeping dread ensured they made brisk progress fueled by adrenaline and the need to reach the safe-haven of the upcoming city. Waylon was starting to breathe heavily, the nearly forty hours of marching messing with his ability to function. “Slow down a bit, Grant. We’ll reach the city soon enough. Ugh, would you look at that? I hate walking through those things, mind swiping it with the torch?”

A net of gossamer silk thread hung between the trees, crisscrossing the entire road. Grant held his torch to the silk, and the fire incinerated the complex web.

“Grant, get into the wagon and pull out all the torches.” Waylon’s voice was calm but demanding. “Light them and place torches around the entire cart as fast as you can.”

“What’s wrong?” Grant’s eyes darted around, but found no issue. Even so, Waylon was standing stock-still. Following orders with a light grumble, there was soon a ring of fire around the wagon. “Can you please let me know what’s happening?”

“Well, you see, Grant…” Waylon’s eyes never shifted from a point in front of them, “It appears the Gleam-Fangs have caught up to us and really don’t want us to reach the city. Fun fact, if you stare at one and don’t make any sudden motions, they try to remain hidden. That gives you just enough time to try and set up a perimeter if you have a partner.”

That was enough to make Grant look into the darkness. Now that there was more light, hundreds of eyes reflecting the flickering illumination let him know exactly the sort of trouble they were in. He flinched as spider silk sprayed through the air towards them, only for most of it to burn as it passed over the barrier of torches.

“Waylon, what does your armor cultivation look like?” Grant knew that in normal life, it was the height of impropriety to ask this exact question. Luckily, he had a very good reason. “The standard stalkers were unable to break my skin, only the monsters were able to do it when using their skill. If yours is high enough, we have a really good chance of-”

“I'm a Berserker cultivator.” Waylon’s voice wobbled in fear as the spiders began creeping closer. “Weapon and physical cultivation only. Actual armor is considered… archaic. Almost no one bothers with armor anymore, since turning the athletic clothes that we use into proper armor is so expensive that usually only the heads of Houses will do it anymore.”

“I don't need a history lesson, I need to know if you can take a hit.” The first spiders started coming after them, and Grant began putting his sword to good use. “Will you be able to survive this?”

Damage dealt: 20 slashing. Overkill!

“I can take hits, but… the poison? It’s a paralytic in the small ones, until they reach full grown. The adult poison is corrosive and-” Waylon was babbling, but luckily his body had taken over, and his tomahawk was whipping through Spider bodies almost as fast as it was moving through the air.

Conversation ended as they got to killin’. Spiders were crawling from everywhere, and no matter how fast Grant swung, dozens were soon skittering across his body and trying to dig their fangs in. They didn’t manage to do it, but not for lack of trying. He even got to experience firsthand that his eyeball was considered armored thanks to wearing a helmet. He had no idea how that worked, but was glad that the fangs simply bounced off. Even so, a paralytic coated his eye, and he was soon unable to properly focus.

In that instant, all the spiders on him suddenly popped, and the smell of burnt hair filled the air as Grant spasmed in pain.

Damage dealt: 10-20 slashing x111. Overkill x92!

Damage dealt: 20 lightning x35. Overkill x35

Damage taken: 0 lightning (10 mitigated).

When he noticed that Spark Shield had turned from training mode to active mode, Grant had taken to rolling around to squish the spiders that were on and around him, and was intrigued to note that what he thought was a purely defensive shield came into play at least a little when he was using his body as a weapon. As he got to his feet after the most recent roll, he noted that there weren’t any spiders coming after him. For a confused moment, he was unsure of why. Then he saw that Waylon had fallen over, and the spiders were going after the downed target. He rushed over and started rolling over them, slapping with the flat of his blade, and in general making a ruckus until the few survivors fled.

Waylon was covered in bites, and was spasming as his body attempted to remain breathing through the paralytic rampaging through his blood. Grant slammed February Twenty Nine into its sheath, then reached for his friend. A panicked gurgle was all the warning Grant had, and he whirled around and attacked with a form-perfect Iaijutsu.

Damage dealt: 11 slashing. Overkill!

The spider he slashed looked vastly different than the others. As he bisected it, a surprisingly large amount of fluid splashed onto him. Grant flinched and looked at himself. “What-?”

That was all he could get out before the stench hit his nostrils, making him gag. “Was that a skunk?”

Coughing and trying to get the feeling of wet out of his nostrils, he grabbed Waylon and lifted him onto the wagon. Then he set off as fast as his exhausted body could manage toward the city, hoping that he could make it before his new friend succumbed, or another ambush ended them outright.