Elian operated on instinct. Form constructs in the path of the energy ball. Make several simultaneously and layer them. Divert all attributes to Magic Resilience. All that in less than a second. The energy ball smashed through six shields and emerged weakened before hitting the ground beside Marlowe—Elian had made the shields lopsided, with their left half much thicker. That affected the ball’s spin as it hit them, changing its trajectory just a smidgen but enough to avoid a direct hit to Marlowe.

  The energy ball exploded, spreading astral flares and kicking up dirt as it sent Marlowe’s body tumbling. Could’ve been much worse. Frederick had reached his friend’s side. Elian ran toward the psyowog; his job was to stop it.

  The psyowog was a warty and craggy toad with a mouth wide enough to swallow a man. Elian wasn’t going to do his get-swallowed-and-call-a-Tribulation strategy because psyowogs were soft, made tough only by their barriers and magic-infused rocks they loved to stick to their bodies.

  Could the Tribulation smash the psyowog’s defenses? Time to find out.

  The psyowog looked at Elian coming closer, its rectangular pupils blazing purple. It sent rocks Elian’s way. He crouched low. The rocks crumbled on his crossed arms. The psyowog let out an angry croak. The energy balls revolving above its head shot forward.

  Elian made an Aether step to his left and kicked off of it to quickly switch directions. A couple of energy balls whizzed past. He pressed on with his charge. Ten feet to go. Eight. The psyowog conjured more energy balls, a dozen or so, and shot them in a wide arc. It wasn’t allowing for any evasion.

  Except down.

  Elian dove into the ground. The energy balls hurtled overhead. He rolled forward and picked himself up, his arms glowing with scaley tattoos as he channeled the Magistrate’s Curse. Two feet away from the psyowog. This should be close enough.

  Sonorous rumbling shattered his concentration. The psyowog’s throat pouch bulged and vibrated, sending sound waves that disconcerted anyone who heard it. The next set of energy balls began to form, even more than the previous volley.

  I forgot this stupid ability, Elian berated himself, his thoughts jumbled. He wrestled his mind to gather Aether and make a construct cupping around his ears. He crawled to the psyowog to maintain balance as the world spun. “Frog legs Tribulation!”

  The psyowog stopped croaking and looked up. Energy balls zoomed upward. It sensed what was coming?

  A flash of blue followed by purple. The first strike descended and destroyed the energy balls, slamming on top of the psyowogs barrier. Tinkling glass. Broken panes of purple spread as the Tribulation heavily pressed on both Elian and the psyowog.

  Elian bowed his head from the weight, his hands and knees driven into the ground. He couldn’t look up to see what happened to the psyowog but heard its rock armor break. The second Tribulation descended. Squelching noises preceded a bucket of slime splashed on him. The psyowog had turned into a gory pancake.

  “Blargh!” Elian spat out the psyowog fluids that got into his mouth. Wiping the gunk off his face, he chose his Tribulation rewards for the seventeenth time.

  A breeze ran up his spine. The shirt on his back was torn open by the Tribulation’s force. No spare clothes. This was just a new fashion style now. More proof he was cursed to lose his possessions always. He raked away bits and pieces of the giant toad off of him as he stood up.

  He wasn’t sure how effective shooting energy balls at the Tribulation was—his ring did lower the psyowog’s Magic Power—but the Tribulation’s second strike finished the job. The mess left behind was barely recognizable as a psyowog. Pieces of rocks faintly crackling purple mixed with grayish chunks and sludge. A psycrystal should be somewhere in there. He’d wait for the two hunters to fish it out to avoid any issues about loot.

  “How is it?” Elian asked Frederick tending to Marlowe’s magical burns.

  “Ah, it’s you,” Frederick said, looking up, recognition glinting in his eyes. The lanky hunter had bruises and welts on his face and arms. The psyowog must’ve bunged him around earlier. “We met some days ago, didn’t we? You and your friend passing through the Dark Forest or something. Evian, isn’t it?”

  “Elian Ward of Gilders.”

  “Well, Elian, you have our profuse gratitude.” Frederick opened a small can and scooped some of the paste inside with his fingers. “Marlowe got burnt by the astral flares, but nothing too serious. If you weren’t there, we might both be smoldering.”

  “Smokey, and toasty, and dead.” Marlowe chimed in. His bald head was reddish from the heat of the flares. He slumped against a tree trunk, nursing a healing potion as Frederick wiped ointment on his burns. Marlowe inhaled after a long draught and wiped his mouth. “You saved our asses there, friend. How can we repay you?”

  “No need for that,” Elian said. “This is repayment for your help. We’ve avoided danger and saved a lot of time in our journey because of your tips.”

  “Enthralling how fate moves.” Marlowe laughed, but abruptly stopped, wincing as he clutched his side. “Ow, a broken rib. That pesky toad.” He nodded at Elian. “Doing a good deed does return full circle, doesn’t it? We helped you, and you helped us.”

  “Not always how the world works,” Frederick said. “But I’m glad whenever it does.”

  After making sure Marlowe was fine, Elian and Frederick searched the psyowog remains for its psycrystal. It was a small crystalline object inside the psyowogs brain, allowing it to filter Aether from its bloodstream. Its slimy skin had a special trait of gathering Aether—would’ve fetched some coin if it were intact… which it wasn’t. The psycrystal wasn’t in good condition either.

  “It’s not broken.” Frederick held it up against the sun after wiping it. “No cracks, see? But it’s empty. The damn toad must’ve spent all its Aether stores to block your Tribulation and still couldn’t save itself.” He tapped the edge of the hand-shaped depression with his foot. “I wouldn’t want to get hit by this.”

  The Tribulation left behind an imprint about five feet long, from the bottom of the hand to the tip of the middle finger. The imprint sunk around three inches into the ground at its deepest portions. This was after the Tribulation was weakened by the psyowog’s barriers.

  “And yet, you were hit by this, friend,” Frederick said. “Other than your torn clothes, you look unscathed and dandy. A mighty sturdy body you have. You Penitents take your business seriously, huh? It’s my first time seeing a Tribulation thingy used to kill beasts.”

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  “How did you end up getting chased by a psyowog?” Elian asked, wanting to shift the topic away from Tribulations.

  Did these hunters know that Tribulations, those that came from the Lesser Boon, should be only one strike? Most likely, yes. Did they notice the anomaly of Elian’s Tribulation? Also, yes. But they probably didn’t think of it as an anomaly. They hadn’t processed it yet because they were focused on staying alive at that time. Elian wanted to steer their minds away from thinking things further.

  “We were hunting costrahastans,” Frederick said. “Do you know what they are?”

  “The giant spear lobsters,” Elian said. “I met a few of them. Aren’t they really dangerous?”

  “Very. But we’re not fighting them head-on, are we? We lay traps and magical snares, that’s what we do, somewhere near the mouth of their tunnels. We lay in wait until a group returns from the hunt. When the last of their line passes over the traps, we spring it with a switch.”

  “Wouldn’t the rest of the swarm, colony, whatever it’s called, come to help?”

  “That’s very correct. I forgot to tell you that we also rig the opening of their tunnels with explosives. Expensive but necessary, and worth it… if we succeed. So, that’s how it goes—we trap a costrahastan before it enters the tunnel. Boom! The opening collapses behind its fellows. We move fast to kill the immobilized costrahastan, a stab at the center of the first grove on its head—that’s where its brain is. Next step is to run away.”

  “Huh? You leave behind your kill?”

  “Temporarily,” Frederick clarified with a chuckle. “The costrahastans could dig out of the ground quite fast, you see. We have to be nowhere near when they reopen their tunnel. But once they find their buddy very dead, they would no longer care to fight. There’s no one to fight anyway because we’re hiding.”

  “You then come back to claim your prize after the spear lobsters leave.” Elian nodded at the fascinating hunting technique. “When did the psyowog show up?”

  “While we were preparing the traps.” Frederick bitterly laughed as he headed back to Marlowe. Elian followed him. “The damn toad lifted me with its powers and slammed me against the trees. Marlowe distracted it, and we both ran away. It was as angry as an uncastrated bull groff. We didn’t even do anything to it! The crazy mound of warts just waltzed out of the Dark Forest and chose violence.”

  “Did you find the psycrystal?” Marlowe asked when they returned.

  Frederick held it up. “Empty. It’s still worth something. Can cover our losses. But this isn’t our kill.” They turned to Elian.

  “I lay no claim to the crystal,” Elian said. “My intent was to help you, not hunt the psyowog.”

  “I don’t know…” Frederick frowned. “This doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “If you want to repay me, how about telling me more about the Dark Forest and the Forbidden Temple.” Elian was interested in this possible source of power.

  Not just possible, when it came down to it. A real source of power.

  The experiments of the priests would prove useful in the future. When news of the Giants’ return would spread across Raelyon, Elian could more easily gather allies. One of the factions he wanted on his side was the Temples of Tribulation. Very few people could survive getting stomped by Giants; fighting walking buildings was very different from humans warring against each other. But the Penitents were hardcore tanks. They could be on the frontlines against the Giants someday. Whatever the priests were doing at the Forbidden Temple could be improved upon and replicated in the future to give humanity a fighting chance.

  “What do you want to know?” Frederick asked. “It’s not like we know much, to be candid with you. Yesterday, we would’ve told you that psyowogs live by the large lake close to the Forbidden Temple, but that turned out wrong now, didn’t it? We’re about two hours trek from there, and yet one showed up here.”

  “This rumored monster inside the Forbidden Temple,” Elian said. “I’ve heard this story started about a decade ago. My hunch is that it’s to keep people away from what the priests, erm, I mean—”

  “Everyone thinks the priests conduct suspicious business there,” Marlowe said. “We don’t say it out loud, especially in town, but it’s in everybody’s minds.”

  “Everybody who’s been around here for long,” said Frederick. “Me, I came to these hills around seven years ago as the follower of a Penitent, if you can believe that. Lost my faith long ago. Anyhow, I only heard stories about the Forbidden Temple. No personal experience. But the stories are fresher back then if that makes sense.”

  “What did you hear when you first came here?” Elian asked.

  Frederick leaned forward and dramatically whispered, “Stories of this monster taking up residence in the Forbidden Temple spread shortly after Thalman tried to kill the Hundred-Armed Magistrate.”

  Elian blinked, unsure if he had heard it correctly. “Do you mean Priest Thalman?”

  “Yes, him.” Frederick warily looked behind them as if Thalman would materialize. The priest probably could have if he had known they were there. Elian wasn’t sure of the limitations of Thalman’s powers. “There must be a connection there, I think.”

  “I’ve heard about that one,” Marlowe said. “I don’t know why he did it, but they say part of the temple was destroyed as he battled the priests. He wasn’t a priest yet that time. Again, all stories. If you want to know more, you can ask someone who’s been around here for more than ten years.” He turned to Frederick. “Reckon if Bufford might know?”

  “The one-eyed old man would know of this,” Frederick agreed.

  “If you’re returning to Forge Hill,” Elian said, “Can you lead me to him?”

  With his daily Tribulation spent, Elian couldn’t continue his hunt. He could go to the temple library or his classes. But before that, he wanted to meet this Bufford and learn more about Thalman.

  Did the kind priest really attack the Magistrate? Time could change people though. Elian wondered if Thalman was Cursed by the Magistrate as a penalty.

  In the catalog of Penitents, Elian found Thalman’s name along with his Divine Bestowals. It listed only seven, with the Magistrate’s Boon missing. Could the lost entry be the Magistrate’s Curse that then got censored? Unlikely. Thalman was already an Enlightened Penitent by the time he attacked the temple. And he didn’t have any slots for a Bestowal.

  The month and year of Thalman’s last recorded Tribulation was more than ten years ago. If Frederick’s story were true, Thalman tried to kill the Magistrate after his Tribulation. Maybe the priests at that time didn’t allow him to borrow equipment from the golden hall, effectively forcing him into retirement. How did he become a priest after attacking the Magistrate? Bufford might be able to answer that.

  “Bufford’s not here either,” Frederick said after they exited another pub. This was the fourth one they visited. “Too early to drink, I suppose. These are the places he frequents if you want to meet with him. I must say that it might not be wise to ask your questions while in town. Eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “I understand,” Elian said, wondering if he could meet with Bufford while he was outside the town walls.

  Elian wanted to obtain more information about the Magistrate’s Curse. Nothing in the library—not even a single word about it in the hundred or so books he had read. A temple priest would know about it. In fact, Thalman did; he confirmed that Cursed Tribulations had multiple strikes.

  If Thalman attacked the Magistrate in the past, he wouldn’t be judgmental of Elian having a Curse. That was Elian’s theory, anyway. It was Thalman who brought Elian to the Magistrate, so he’d know Elian couldn’t have done anything bad. Thalman could then be a conduit someday for an alliance with the Temples of Tribulation.

  The plan sounded good in Elian’s head. But given his experiences so far, he shouldn’t expect it to go smoothly.

  “Makes me feel bad we weren’t of any help, friend,” Marlowe said. “Let us buy you clothes. That’s the least we can do.”

  Elian couldn’t help but grin. “I hope they’ll last longer than my previous clothes.”