home

search

Chapter Eighty-One: Invitation from the Bad Old Days

  They had a tail.

  The barrage of smoke bombs covered the group up to the tree line, after which they disappeared quite easily into the thick flame-hued forest. Anyone who could pursue them into the deepest north woods of Autumn’s Redoubt had to be a high-level Scout.

  The Squire’s armor was a minor obstacle. The sleek and light Firefield design kept him mobile. Jelena let go of his hand to avoid getting wrapped around a birch in their path. After which Calaf soon fell behind the group.

  A blur of movement ran up a half-fallen log to their left.

  “Behind us,” Calaf said.

  “Engaging,” Enkidu said, ready to throw Zilara to Jelena.

  “Eh, keep going. He’s probably just trying to slow us down!”

  Onward they ran. That figure leaped at the straggler – in this case Calaf. A Redstone shield blocked twin knives.

  It was…

  Overclocked. The Scout’s health ticked down to 592. Vitality was being sacrificed for speed.

  It was not a status Calaf was familiar with. But he didn’t need to understand every intricacy of the Scout class in order to fight back.

  Calaf pushed back with his shield. Rather than continue to stab at the stone wall that was a Redstone shield, Gerard danced to the edge of effective combat range and used a new move.

  Calaf felt his spear hand grow a little lighter. He noticed a brunet bang fall in front of his vision.

  “He took my appearance spoofing ring!”

  The thief ran off, back to the outpost. The title spoofing ring remained, but Calaf was back to looking like his undisguised self.

  Have to hope that the false moniker and title prevented Gustavo from putting names to faces, Calaf thought as the posse rushed towards a creek to throw off their scents.

  Spoofing rings were one coin a dozen among outlaws. Calaf looted a new one from their stash at the gang’s local hideaway. Pursuers could search the trails with dire-bloodhounds all day and they’d never find Jelena’s posse, for their hideout was high up in the trees. The ever-falling, ever-replenishing curtain of leaves provided the perfect camouflage against all terrestrial seekers.

  Jelena had not told Calaf how long they’d had this safe house, but she trusted him enough to show it off to him, and he was thankful for that.

  The treetop hideout had four rooms and a central ‘shed’ for holding relics and supplies. The latter was redundant now that the gang had Interface-compatible members to work with. But there were still leftover supplies from a previous operation in the region. Jelena did a quick pass to confirm their personal fortress was out of smoke bombs and gunpowder.

  “Right. Maybe one last job, then it’s back to the Battletower for resupply.” Jelena cleared off a squat table. “Put her here, Calaf. Let’s get a quick appraisal and we’ll explore our options for pawning this stuff off.”

  Calaf summoned forth his Inventory. Relics were placed daintily on the table one at a time, emerging from the pale blue Interface glow that remained uniform regardless of environs or lighting.

  “What’ve we got?” Jelena asked.

  From her point of view, the items would have appeared in place from the top down as if from nowhere.

  Firstly, the gang’s leader checked the Duran Knight’s Blessed Great Helm. He hunched over to get a look at it with her lone eye.

  “Nice set of armor.” She looked up at Calaf. “Could be useful in a few levels.”

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  Zilara shook her head. “It’s not set with defense values or stat requirements.”

  “Huh?” Jelena frowned.

  “Yeah. Guess it would block blunt force trauma, but otherwise, it’s not set as armor in the Interface.” Zilara put her hands on her hips.

  Whatever the purpose of the helm, it wasn’t destined as Calaf’s next armor piece.

  The Holy Paladin’s Knee Guards had the same issue. Some consortium of priests were able to edit items using the Holy Menu to govern regionwide level ranges among other yet-unknown effects. Jelena and Enkidu had stolen a set, long ago, and thrown the level ranges off-balance throughout the land in a disaster that had taken months to sort out.

  A penultimate prize came in the form of The Paladin’s Fort Duran-Issue War Tent.

  “Looks ancient.” Jelena ran a finger along the fabric. “Still sturdy. If a simple tent was in a reliquary it has to have some kind of special gimmick.”

  “It was the Paladin and Cleric’s tent,” Calaf began. “During the crusade against the Demon King.”

  “Ah.” Jelena took her hand off the fabric. “Well, I can only imagine what effects it endows.”

  “Got all sorts of weird bonuses to, uh, cohabitation, Hoss.” Zilara had a curious, innocent look on her face.

  “That’s, well, that’s where your ancestors were conceived, dear.” Jelena just barely kept the laughter at bay.

  Eager to move on from this subject, Calaf turned to the last relic in their horde, the Scout’s Fervent Scribblings.

  Zilara leaned in close, then took the item into her Inventory for examination.

  “It’s in old text,” she said.

  “I couldn’t read it,” said Calaf.

  The young woman nodded. “It’s an old system of writing. ‘Liturgical’ I think it’s called. Language has advanced a great deal in the church lands. But…”

  The posse (save Enkidu, who leaned against the storage shed, eyes closed) leaned in as Zilara gained a twinkle in her twin-branded eyes.

  “Luckily, my clan happened to have some experience with this script.”

  Calaf tilted his head. He’d learned little about Zilara’s home or life before she’d been used as a diplomatic pawn in a heretical game. She claimed to have come from far to the north – in a cold and snowy land where dire-beasts were seldom Branded.

  “Mmhm. It’s true. And while language down here has changed a great deal since the days of our old Thief, here, back home we’ve passed a few scrolls about and transmitted their meanings via oral tradition. Point being, the text itself has been preserved.”

  Jelena and Calaf nodded, picking up on what the girl was implying.

  “You can translate it?” asked Jelena.

  “Will it require a trip up north?” Calaf asked.

  Zilara nodded at Jelena, then shook her head at Calaf.

  “Just lemme take a look. I’ll use the Menu so the paper doesn’t tear itself apart. It’s awfully brittle. Oh, and I’ll get you an estimate and functions of the other relics too while I’m at it.”

  It would be a long night for little Zilara. She proved to be quite the hard worker for someone who’d celebrated their thirteenth birthday five months ago. And if they had a too-genius-by-half plan for a heist, it was usually the holy child’s doing.

  Calaf spent a long evening atop the treehouse hideout. It was still chilly at night, especially in the highlands. The posse had kept to the desert and delta during the cold winter months.

  A stone tower rose over the trees from behind a rocky ridge to the south. The tallest tower of Fort Duran loomed, a good half day’s march away.

  Mere proximity to the forsaken dungeon left Calaf shuddering as if he were under a fell, armor-piercing breeze.

  “Hey,” Jelena said, sliding in beside him. “You did great toady, honey.”

  “Hopefully my cover isn’t blown.”

  Jelena tucked her arm around his. “Don’t worry. There are plenty of spoofing rings to go around.”

  Calaf sighed.

  “I hope so.”

  The Squire wondered about all the people he’d met since departing from Riverglen on his second, and what would become his final, pilgrimage. Gorman, his fellow Sewer Gate Guard. Jorge’s party. Deacon, still preaching to the faithful in Port Town. Many more had since died on the path. A cocky, grinning half-a-face popped into Calaf’s memories, causing the knight to frown, fist clenched.

  “Watcha thinking about?” his dashing companion asked.

  “Just, the sewers.” It wasn’t quite a lie.

  “You’ve come along way.” Jelena’s smile shone through in her voice.

  Other figures – Perarde, the arbiters, his onetime fiancée, Deaconess Charlotte, were faces he’d rather not remember.

  Another cool northerly breeze sent Jelena snuggling into Calaf’s armor for warmth.

  “Hey, I’m going to break the news of our next destination to the group tomorrow. But, well, it’ll be somewhere warm at least.”

  The pair remained there, atop the hideout, well into the night.

  By the next morning, the pair rose from their private quarters to find Zilara sleeping over the desk full of relics. The young holy heir snored slightly.

  “Wakey wakey,” Jelena said to Zilara. Then, to Calaf, who was already awake: “Head down to the campfire and prep some eggs and bacon, would you, dear?”

  Calaf climbed down their treehouse hiding spot and approached a cookfire. He performed most aspects of the team’s cooking, utilizing the fire pit with [Select], [Use], and then [Cook] via the Interface.

  Cooking manually was perfectly viable for the brandless among the group – Enkidu had previously been responsible for cookfires when it was a two-man band – but the Holy Menu ensured every meal was cooked evenly and consistently. It was another benefit of the Interface by which even a novice could cook fair, if not perfect, cuisine.

  Over breakfast, the group listened to Zilara explain the exact purpose of the relics.

  “Been snooping through the interior System data,” the child said between great bites of bacon. “So the helmet does what it says. Knee guards also are more or less mundane. The tent specifically controls level ranges back in Fort Duran. We could turn every monster on the grounds to level one if we want.”

  “Might not want to sell this one.” Jelena put it aside, to a thankful nod from Calaf.

  “The helmet seems to grant immunity to any arrows that impact the wearer’s armor. That’s any armor, not just the helm.”

  “Could be useful,” Calaf admitted.

  “Could be valuable.” Jelena whistled.

  “Tent does exactly what it says on the tin. Though there’s a significant XP boost for twenty-four hours that wasn’t mentioned.”

  “Might be worth it if we’re not in a situation to run afoul of its other effects,” Jelena said.

  Calaf chuckled nervously. Enkidu snorted.

  “That leaves this.” Zilara summoned forth a wad of barely-held-together paper from her Inventory.

  The pair leaned in, eager to unearth this mystery artifact’s many juicy secrets. Even Enkidu kept a single eye on the table, paying rapt attention in his own way.

  “So, it’s a treasure map. Just told in a narrative style,” Zilara said. “Took the liberty of updating the description. Check it out:”

  With a gleam in her twin-branded eyes, Zilara summoned forth a window facing outward at the group. This was a ‘recording’ – some strange technique by which she could show off item descriptions even to the unbranded.

  Both Calaf and Jelena gasped when they read the signature. A dozen church lessons danced in their minds.

  “Gustavo…” Calaf looked at the description again

  “The Thief,” Jelena said.

  “Of the Ancient Heroes of Yore?” The pair said in unison.

  As for the ‘treasure map,’ it wanted them to seek out the author’s old home. Since the Thief (or Scout, in the church’s censored histories) came from the river delta, that could only mean Port Town. But not the coastal port as their generation would know it…

  “It’s telling us to seek out Ye Olde Docks,” Jelena said. “The Dungeon of the Thief.”

Recommended Popular Novels