Novel Aeterna Saga Volume 1:. Walking with Giants Ch. 47

Hello folks, it's A_Passing_Wanderer here. After meandering through aimlessly in the barren wasteland going nowhere fast, I met a wise sage who suggested I should start writing something as a catharsis of my soul.

Spoiler: Cover art, courtesy of FantasyBooks & J-Mitch

Spoiler: Synopsis

A man in his twenties gets "reborn" in a fantasy world, seemingly with no special abilities. Read on as he and his family go through events that will change the world they live in, for better or worse.

I'll try to keep it as SFW as possible - meaning no f bombs and defo no ecchi stuff - but some description of violence may occur. I've overactive imagination on such matters unfortunately.

Spoiler: Release schedule

One half chapter on Wednesdays and Saturdays, every week. Actually, every five to six days, depending on my circumstances. Sorry 'bout that.

Spoiler: Genre

Adventure, fantasy, action

BTW, do I need to add tags, which sorta appears on top of the page, just below the title? What should I add? Any ideas?

Spoiler: Donations!! Please donate....

Welp. Pizza.... I can seeeeee pizza.....

paypal.me/APASSINGWANDERER

Spoiler: Chapters 1 ~ 19.

Chapter one
Chapter two, part one. part two.
Chapter three, part one. part two.
Chapter four, part one. part two.
Chapter five, part one. part two.
Chapter six, here.
Chapter seven, part one. part two.
Chapter eight, part one. part two.
Chapter nine, part one. part two
Chapter ten, here.
Chapter eleven, part one. part two.
Chapter twelve, right here.
Chapter thirteen, part one. part two.
Chapter fourteen, part one. part two.
Chapter fifteen, clicky clicky.
Chapter sixteen, part one. part two.
Chapter seventeen, part one. part two.
Chapter eighteen, part one. part two.
Chapter nineteen, part one. part two.

Spoiler: Chapters 20 ~ 30

Chapter twenty, part one. part two.
Chapter twenty one, (or should that be twenty first? Hmm.) part one. part two.
Chapter 22, (Problem solved!) part one. part two.
Chapter 23, part one. part two.
Chapter 24, here.
Chapter 25, here.
Chapter 26, here.
Chapter 27, here.
Chapter 28, here.
Chapter 29, here.
Chapter 30, here.

Spoiler: Chapters 31 ~ 40

Chapter 31, here.
Chapter 32, here.
Chapter 33, here.
Chapter 34, here.
Chapter 35, here.
Chapter 36, here.
Chapter 37, here.
Chapter 38, here.
Chapter 39, here.
Chapter 40, here.

Chapter 41, here.
Chapter 42, here.
Chapter 43, here.
Chapter 44, here.
Chapter 45, here.
Chapter 46, here.
Chapter 47, here.

Spoiler: Edits I've done in this post. Not tidy to look at. You've been warned...

Edit (10th Nov 2016):
I've got some news. You can now find this story on Fantasy-Books, as well as on RoyalRoadL. awaiting their approval. As soon as that's done, I shall link it. On RRL, I used a very uncool username JbhK.... boy, am I regretting it now or what.
Edit (11th Nov 2016):
Oh hey, admins over yonder at RRL changed my uncool username to A_Passing_Wanderer. Yip yip hooray!! Nice work.

 

Spoiler: Chapter One

One


Right now, at this very moment, a young boy was running for his dear life.

His stage was a rocky yet smooth surface atop a plateau high up on a scary, jagged mountain range. The vista of a grand forest that span as far as eyes could see before the boy was one of a remarkable beauty and majesty, if it were not for the precipitous drop of thousand screams right alongside him. One mistimed footing, and he'd plunge to his death – and he was acutely aware of that.

His lungs fought hard for that extra intake of air with every step taken. Meanwhile, another fight raged on within his mind, one where he was trying desperately to keep a positive outlook on his chances.

He kept telling himself that this was nothing, that he was already used to running bare feet on surfaces like this.

Watch me break the Olympic Record, ma!

He shouted inwardly to no one in particular. Maybe he was going mad. Maybe, just maybe, he was grasping at anything to keep himself motivated, no matter how silly it was.

Too bad, a person's mind never worked like that; in his case especially, as his subconscious mind was aware of the less-than-stellar attempt at morale-boosting.

For all his troubles, what he received was a small voice coming from the back of his mind: who you trying to kid, fool?

The young boy began to shiver like a wet dog; his heart pounding away like an out-of-control drumming monkey doll. Driven by an overwhelming fear he couldn't help but wonder why he bothered to stay alive all this time, why he worked so hard to become stronger.

He felt the scorching heat right behind him, closing in much faster than he'd like to. The boy dared not to look, lest he ends up soiling himself from the scary sight that was following him.

I might have very little dignity left right now, but at least please let me keep a bit of that!!

The boy prayed, nay begged, to whatever divine entity that was listening in. Rather than an answer from the heavens however, there were audible hisses and cracks which were growing ever louder by the second. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing upright ever since the beginning, and now they were this close to being singed. He somehow prevented his legs from wobbling and carried on his escape.

Even if he was determined not to look, the alarming sounds tickled his instincts and before he could stop himself, his eyes swiveled and now he caught the glimpse of the ground he ran past only a moment's breath ago.

Behind him, so close it's practically a next-door neighbor to his butt, a sea of blazing inferno was engulfing literally everything his view contained.

A wall of flame so tall it looked like a scene straight out of a video game, but there was no mistaking it as being all too real. Rocky ground melted like ice cream under a hot midday sun, telling the boy the flames were indeed mindbogglingly hot. So hot, he guessed, that these flames could be hotter than the sun's surface. A useless conjecture under the circumstances, but the thought still flashed past his brain regardless.

Funny how our minds works like that, no?

And the second thought following on the first one?

Oh shoot. I'm gonna so die.

As a result of this negative thinking, his knees buckled for a millisecond, and that led to his running speed dropping slightly. Which also led to the incinerating flames getting ever so closer to the fleeing boy.

No matter how one looked at the situation, it was getting worse.

As if on cue, a utterly gigantic black dragon burst through the wall of flames while roaring loudly. As it flew by the boy, he saw the blood-red stripes running on its sides pulse menacingly. He previously thought those stripes looked cool but at the moment, not so much.

The dragon was bigger than a couple of double-decker buses stacked together. No, scratch that. It was bigger. The boy simply had no point of reference to measure the total size of the airborne creature. It simply defied all logic, all sensibilities, and crushed all hopes under its claw. That's how big it was. Calling it a mobile flying fortress wouldn't be far too off.

The creature hovered in mid air, not really obstructing the boy but not letting him escape either. It didn't stay in that position for long however, and it majestically swept around to the front of the flaming wall, positioning itself between the boy and the certain fiery death.

However, it didn't do that out of a goodwill. Instead, it roared menacingly once more, and from its snout, rock melting flames spewed out towards the direction of the boy. A handful of brightly burning amber fell on his shoulder nonchalantly as if to say yo, whaddup.

The boy panicked like a little girl and patted the offending bits off of him in a hurry without slowing down his running speed one jot, which was actually quite commendable. The not-slowing-down bit, not the-freaking-out bit, obviously.

The dragon saw his funny reaction, and began to guffaw. It began to mock the boy with its booming, powerful voice that matched its humongous size. The sound was loud enough for every living soul within the radius of a kilometer to hear all the insults.

“Hey, hey boy, is that all you can do? Bwahaha. Run you little rabbit, run!!” Then it fired off another: “Gwahahaha, run brat, run!! Your mama's teats are over yonder, ehehehe!!”

The dragon repeatedly kept talking other, less family-friendly smack but fortunately for the recipient of the insults, the young boy, was far too busy trying to figure out a way to survive this ordeal to respond in kind.

“Run, boy! Before I burn you to a crisp, and use you as a toothpick!! Kehehehe!”

The dragon hurled another taunt and this one landed. The boy inwardly snapped.

Gahh, darn it, come down here and say that to my face, you big stinking piece of lard – I'll punch you in the face!!

Almost immediately, he felt foolish. He knew punching the dragon in its face was not possible. After all, he was only a seven year old boy, running away from a fire-breathing monstrosity that was clearly capable of causing destruction on the level of a nuclear warhead.

There was not a whole lot he could do against an opponent like that, to be honest.

Truth was, he didn't start off his life getting chased around by a flying tank.

Truth was, he wasn't even sure why he was here, in this world at all.

Knowing he was about to be eaten wholly roasted by a dragon, the boy began to reflect on both of his lives so far. Yep, both lives. Imagine that.

 

I would consider removing the word "the" from the title as "Walkig with Giants" sounds alot more natural and less stiff but just a suggestion.

 

Hmmmm
Interesting so far
I'll be watching this thread

Some thingI noticed and might help with story telling below
Adding more details to the features of the boy, the fire, and the dragon will help set the mood of despair for the boy

 

Walking with Giants sounds like a BBC Prehistoric Animal Documentary to me.

 

That's its name though

 

Seems to be an interesting begin, so I'll be attentive to this Fiction. Truth is that I won't give any advice just yet because 1. I am in no position to do so in the prologue of the story. 2. I see nothing wrong by now. and 3. Because it'd be silly to talk about a story with a single chapter, yet I know not what plans ou have fer it... So I'll be following and hope you keep the good work *Thumbs Up*

 

Thank you guys with all of your feedback. I appreciate whatever pointers you can throw at me, both positive and negative.

I might post another chapter later today, so please look forward to it. No promises though.

 

It was interesting. But, If you want feedback, I may be a bit rough with some facts. I'll also tell you what I like about it.

1. Speaking as as a reader, and not using the writer side of me, It would serve better with more context in the beginning. I thought this fantasy until you said the word 'Olympics'.... and then, there were dragons.... The imagery in my mind tore. Which would not have happened if there was a bit of world building at first. Writers try to implant an image in a readers mind before they bring about a world that is different from their own, or different from the typical stereotype (elves, dwarves...etc) Olympics and dragons don't fit a stereotype. An example of world building or setting placement, would be to describe the characters clothes. 'He was breathless. Running through the trees, branches ripped at his tunic. His black boots, hard and new chafed at his feet'... (tunics; armor... Not so much speech for modern day imagery in today's writing.. so, after that saying something along those lines, I would think old or different world)... An example of another re-tearing of imagery is mentioning the word 'tank'. If you say, 'tank' and 'olympics' then this is definitely closer to the modern world. If that's the case, then there should be something in there to inadvertently explain to the reader that that is the case.

2. One of the bigger things with your story is phrasing. The flow of the story- the sentence rhythm- is what makes readers encapsulated. I couldn't get into your story because of how you phrased certain words. Don't try to steer from common tongue. Basic speech, like the use of contraptions when not in dialogue, of course, but basically, if you can shorten the sentence without removing details, then do it. Ex. you said 'towards the direction of the boy.' when, based on the prior paragraph, it would have been simpler to say ' towards the boy's direction'. 2 words different. And it flows better in your paragraph (to me at least). I say this because its common knowledge that the old and best stories are made as if, not an essay, but as if the writer himself is speaking towards you. Speaking, and yet, not implanting himself in a way that reminds you of him. You just think "story". This is something I try to do myself. It took me a while, but I'm learning to do this naturally as time goes on. I did a lot int he sciences, so going back and switching writing styles has become a bit difficult.

As a writer, this is something I've had to work really hard on. Some writers are natural. Telling stories is a gift for them. But others, like me, who have great and fascinating ideas (I know, shameless!) are unable to portray it as easily. Sentence rhythm is extremely important. Its the difference between readers putting down a book, saying they'll come back to it later, and reading it now!

3. I can only think of one major thing. The rest are minor and not worth mentioning at the moment. And that is punctuation. Punctuation is a big thing that involves what I spoke about in the paragraph above. You have both unnecessary punctuation and wrong punctuation some of the time. Punctuation helps the reader learn the flow of things, even though they don't know it. It forces you to read it a certain way. But if you don't use it right as an author, it doesn't sound right as a reader. So as I was reading it, there were some areas that felt choppy. Now, I'm not saying that this was everywhere. It wasn't. But its just something you should keep a look out for, especially if its in the beginning of your story, or the beginning of your paragraph. It took me a few seconds longer to digest certain sentences, and that should never happen. The majority of readers don't like to work. They read for pleasure. The best way to counteract such problems is to just shorten it. Put it into two sentences instead of one. Or rephrase it to something you know works and are comfortable with. As a friend if he can read it quickly and understand it in the millisecond that he read it, and not two seconds later. (If you want an example, here's one I picked out from random scrolling: 'The boy prayed, nay begged, to whatever divine entity that was listening in'. Comma after 'nay' not 'begged'.

4. Thanks for writing. This was an interesting read. Its a good start compared to other's firsts, and the grammar is better than many. I haven't caught spelling mistakes or wrong word uses (I kinda skimmed some of it so can't be for certain)... So you're ahead in the game.

I wish you luck. And write more!

 

Thank you @J-Mitch. You've given me many good pointers to mull over.

You're right, I struggle with puntuation marks all the time, even while at work. It's frustrating. Oh well. But practice makes perfect so I'll keep on writing stuff.

Quick update: not done with the second chapter yet. I don't think there will be a upload today. Please accept my heartfelt dogeza.

 

Spoiler: Chapter Two, Part one. Not edited. Sorry.

Two

So, the boy's story began with an awakening, literally.

He opened his eyes after seemingly sleeping for an eternity. Couldn't be helped, seeing that he was out the night before with a bunch of friends, celebrating his hard-earned and much deserved promotion at work.

After drinking up a storm, he remembered stumbling into his apartment, and not even bothering to undress, he plopped down on the bed and promptly passed out. It was Friday evening, and he vaguely remembered that his presence wasn't expected on Saturdays anyways so even if he slept in, there wouldn't be any issues.

As he slept, he was dreaming of various things, which he could only partially remember. There was coldness, there was pain, bright light – there was warmth too, mixed in there somewhere. The point was, he had one helluva weird dream.

But when he woke up this very morning, he noticed something was amiss.

For one, there was a lot of light coming from a window without glass. Looked like either a midday, or early afternoon, judging by the warmth and the color of the entering rays. There were unfamiliar, old-school drapes drawn back, letting the light and breeze in.

The ceiling above him looked rather unfamiliar, with antique wood paneling rather than the usual gray plaster. The overhead fan was gone too.

Huh. Ain't that something.

He was dazed for a moment, and found it was a bit difficult to gather focus. He felt thirsty, cramped – and wondered what time it was. He turned his head to the side to check the trusty alarm clock he picked up in a shady shop down by the China Town.

He couldn't see it. It wasn't there. No, the bedside bureau itself that had the clock on top, was gone.

Even more dazed, he stared absentmindedly at the dark drool stain appearing on the bed sheets. Drool was his, of course.

Uhh.... What the hell. What time is it? Hope I didn't forget any appointments. I'm not getting fired for missing work, right? No wait, where's my clock gone off to? Is this even my room?

His dazed and confused eyes wandered off to the opposing wall, and immediately he felt anger swelling up: he just realized his wall-mounted, battered Korean flatscreen TV and the shiny new gaming console which should've been visible by the foot of the bed were nowhere to be seen as well.

Oh god, did someone break in while I was out cold??

That was his first line of deduction. Normally, he'd have been correct. But too bad, this wasn't normal. Which became crystal clear only a few moments later.

The bed he was lying on wasn't his. The room he was in wasn't his. The window which let warm rays of sun into the room wasn't his either. Everything as far as his eyes could see, wasn't his at all.

And then there was this fragrance, a pleasant and nostalgic smell of a flower he couldn't quite recall. His place never smelled this nice before – it smelled of a boys' dormitory, casually decorated with, y'know, the assortment of empty beer cans, littered socks and half-filled pizza boxes. Totally playing to the stereotype, without fail. Well, after all he was a card carrying member of The Hairy Chested Caveman Club and he had no time for some sissy, metrosexual stuff.

Still, he could tell there was something wrong here, just unsure of what that was.

Definitely feeling creeped out of his alien surroundings, and wondering if he was suffering from a Grade A hangover, our protagonist tried to massage his forehead while sitting up. Surely a splash of cold water and a mug – no, make that a jar – of black coffee would wake him back to his senses.

Except he couldn't move his arms. Nor could he sit up. In fact, he could do nothing.

To his surprise, he found himself totally wrapped up tightly in cuddly blue wool, like a Christmas present from Santa. Only his face was exposed. To say he was thrown off by this development was an understatement of the decade.

Almost immediately his head was filled with scenes of many horror films he'd watched with his girlfriend – a cackling mad scientist chopping all his limbs off; an evil cult leader performing a forbidden ritual with him as the sacrificial lamb; he even thought that he might have become the main character from the movie Source Code.

Unfortunately things his mind cooked up was getting worse by the second. Like a drowning sailor stuck in a whirlpool, his imagination ran wilder and wilder, plunging him deeper into a spiraling state of panic.

Then it suddenly hit him – his mouth wasn't covered up. At least he could make a noise, call for help!! A ray of hope descended on him like a kiss from an angel.

He forcibly pried open the pair of unwilling lips and cried out. His throat felt so dry and hoarse, as if he'd chugged down a mug of gravel.

The only sound escaping from his mouth was “uwoo, ahwoo~”. Even worse, the voice was that of an infant.

What The Eff??

Unable to comprehend, again and again he tried to speak, to shout out. To scream his lungs out.

In the end, he could only gurgle out some incoherent baby noises.

At that precise moment, his inner table got flipped; he began to struggle with all his might like a nutcase in a straitjacket, trying to free the arms and his confined body. He'd had enough of this confusing crap, and he wanted answers. But first, he wanted freedom from the binds of this.... whatever this was.

After a protracted battle with his bindings, he was finally successful in freeing his right arm. With that done, he tried to prop up the upper torso so he could sit up; yet he stumbled quickly as very little strength, if any, gathered on the freed limb. He surreptitiously looked at his right arm, and another hot knife of horror ruthlessly cut him down.

He was looking at a tiny, tiny-ass hand. Baby fingers, digits so underdeveloped that they couldn't point straight yet. Yup, those fingers.

And he knew instinctively, that they were all his.

The initial confusion gave way to a shocking realization: that he had suddenly become a baby. A new born, no less.

He shrieked.

Well, at least that was his intention anyway. But rather than a horror movie-worthy screech he bawled instead, just as a baby should.

Hmm, to a baby crying comes naturally, it seems.

He made a right royal ruckus. When a baby throws a tantrum that invariably summons the child's minder; and in this case that happened here too.

In between his cries, he heard a pair of footsteps hurriedly approaching him. Automatically he stiffened out of fear.

Such a thing was unwarranted, however.

The first person he encountered after becoming a baby was a stunningly beautiful brunette in her mid-to-late twenties. Her hazelnut-colored hair pulled back in an elegant bun, she possessed this gentle countenance that could warm the cockles of the hardened convicts and set them up straight and narrow. If those convicts could look past the homely and drab one-piece dress she was wearing, that was.

Alongside her, was a little girl, maybe of three years old, maybe less, who resembled the woman quite closely. As if they were mother and a daughter. They probably were.

This beautiful woman gently held him to her, uh, rather well defined bosom, and began rocking him slowly back and forth all the while whispering in a soothing voice. He didn't understand a single thing she was saying, but her methods were super effective in calming him down on the double.

Just like how he was able to recognize the baby fingers as his own, he also recognized this woman as his.... mother. Which was disorientating, since he already had a mother and she didn't look anything like this woman.

Before he knew it, however, he was totally entranced by this woman's voice, and her dazzling smile. It felt wrong to keep on crying while comforted by such a beauty so, like a good little boy that he was, he turned off the waterworks for now and simply cooed.

Just like a baby.

She was relieved to see her infant son relaxing from what was troubling him, and carefully placed him back on the crib.

She murmured gently, “There now, Kain. Mommy's right here. Please don't be alarmed. Your sister's here too. You're safe.”

He didn't understand her still. That wouldn't have surprised her in the slightest, as he was still an infant. And infants weren't supposed to understand words yet.

Confirming her son was secure, she walked to the rocking chair nearby while holding the hand of the young girl.

“Mommy, is Kain alright?” the little girl asked her mother, while slightly tilting her head. Her large, curious eyes remained fixed on the crib, and the baby visible through the thin but sturdy slats on the side.

“Yes, Kaleena dear. Your little brother Kain is just feeling a little restless, that's all. Now, shall we continue with the reading of the story book?”

The beautiful woman sat on the chair and placed her daughter, Kaleena, on her laps. Opening the page where they had left off, they resumed reading the over-sized storybook.

As for our protagonist, who didn't know yet that he was named Kain in this world, was now occupied with trying to organize his jumbled up memories. He believed that the clue to unraveling all of this confusion lay somewhere in the depths of his mind – and all he needed to do, was to remember them. Chronologically if possible.

 

Spoiler: Chapter Two, part two. Slightly more edited. Hopefully.

Now that he was reasonably calm, missing bits and pieces of information began to flood back in. The process was painfully slow but hey, at least he was getting somewhere. However, honestly speaking what he remembered wasn't encouraging at all.

He remembered falling from the sky like a skydiver without a parachute while butt naked. Really, quite an unsettling thing to recollect, when one was trying to piece together possibly a puzzle of the century.

Disturbed at how 'exposed' he felt by this bit of memory, he tried to go back further in time – back when he was out drinking with his buddies at a local bar. Right, he was in that smoke and noise filled joint to celebrate his new promotion, from being a glorified gopher AKA intern to a fully-paid-up-with-benefits employee in a middling business solutions & IT company.

Right, he got that job after spending a few years in the hostile wilderness called unemployment, after graduating from a no-name college. Actually, he didn't land the job fair and square – his older sister called in a favor to a former squeeze and then that got him in through the door. That's how it was.

He was digressing from the point, so he quickly shoved that traumatic period of his life deep down the box marked 'Do Not Reopen' within his mind and concentrated on the rest.

Right, so he imitated a sailor enjoying a shore leave, drank and made merry like there was no tomorrow. There was a karaoke machine at the bar and he remembered belting out a handful of Bon Jovi numbers in a falsetto. That was rather embarrassing, in hindsight.

Right, he went home without getting into an accident from the get-together, and crashed on the bed. He didn't bother to undress. Right, right, right, he remembered all of that. Then....

Then he woke up in the middle of the night. The sleep had left him rather stealthily and he found himself in a hazy stupor, in a state between being wide awake and being unconscious. Something like this had never happened to him before, so that was weirding him out just a wee bit.

He thought that either something foreign had forcibly woken him up, or that he was having one of those fabled, out-of-body experiences. If true, then he swore to drink excessively more often from now on – imagine the story he could tell to his family and friends!! Hah.

He was lying on his back staring at the familiar gray ceiling above. A motionless overhead fan stared back at him, its twin cords slowly swaying back and forth in a hypnotic dance to the tune of some invisible breeze.

Feeling the need to use the john, he tried to get up. Suddenly a strong wave of dizziness swept across him like a tempest and he couldn't move. It only got more scary after confirming that he could not even move a single finger no matter how hard he tried.

His brain snapped wide awake at this alarming development, with all the previous haziness gone in a flash. His mind ran like a bolt of lightening, shooting past all the likely reasons why he was immobile. He tried to recall those throwaway TV shows that talked about what it was like to have those outta the body experiences to see if it was supposed to be like this.

Nothing came. He was totally blank.

So, his next thought was him going through some kind of medical crisis. Searching for his cellphone with his eyes, which he was certain of taking out of his trouser pocket before falling on the bed, he desperately looked all over the place – and saw something straight out of a bad acid trip.

The ceiling was growing taller.

No, that wasn't quite right. It was just him getting further away from it instead.

He was sinking into the bed, literally. Like that scene, from that famous 80's slasher flick.

He screamed like a damsel from that movie too. Or rather, tried to. Of course his lips wouldn't move.

He continued to sink deeper and deeper, and the further he was pulled in, the faster his head spun.

What the hell is this? What's happening to me? Help me, anyone!! Ah crap, this can't be real. I'm just an average Joe, stuff like this doesn't happen to a guy like me, god damn it!!

His silent plea didn't change the situation one bit.

The aforementioned scene from the movie had a grisly and a definitely bloody end – the poor sob who got sucked into the bed got ejected out in a fountain of blood. Too bad he knew that movie well – the scene kept on repeating itself over and over in his mind.

He genuinely thought that was going to be his fate.

Oh crap crap crap!!

The sheets closed in and began to suffocate him, obscuring and coloring his vision jet black. Only the sound of his heart pounding away accompanied his silent doom. It was the most terrifying experience in his entire life so far, being stuck in a total sensory deprivation while unable to move a single limb.

He knew there was no going back from this. Might as well call it, he's dead.

….

….....

Or not.

Suddenly, he was overcome with sensations of weightlessness and oddly enough, coldness.

When he opened his tightly-shut eyes while expecting to see either the inky blackness that went on forever or the gut linings of the carnivorous bed, his expectations were betrayed by the sight of a clear and very starry night sky instead. Above and to his right, rather than a ceiling fan he spotted a large, pale and undoubtedly pretty, pair of full moons. One was smaller than the other much larger lunar body.

What the hell. Those can't be real, can they?

And those sparkling stars – so many of them blinking away like precious gems thrown up to the heavens by a naughty deity. Well, he wasn't worried about that, rather he was thinking along the lines of, no way in freaking hell this is a Californian night sky. No way, Jose.

He wasn't incorrect in his assumption; there was pollution and smog and all that global warming stuff to thank for his skepticism.

Oh, and for him being cold – that was from the chilly night winds whipping against his bare ass cheeks like... ahem, a pro. Around him there were several fluffy white clouds minding their own business. At first he thought they were fog, but that was nothing more than a momentary delusion on his part. They were definitely clouds.

Because he was in the air, falling. Completely buck naked to boot.

He was like, what the hell is this? Why am I naked? And I'm flying? No wait a minute, I'm not flying!!

Yep, he wasn't flying, but free falling instead.

Like a buttered-up toast slipping out of a flailing reach he flipped top to bottom, and that allowed him to see the ground far below. And boy, was it closing in real fast or what.

Now his worry no longer involved dying in a fountain of blood, but rather, that of looking like a DIY flatpack cabinet from a local IKEA, being scrubbed off the floor with a shovel. Or maybe, a burst pancake topped with ketchup, whichever was visually less revolting.

For some reason, he began to feel a little relieved inside. At least he got to see where he was going to die, poetically illuminated on the way by the ghostly pale moonlight.

Oh, and the vista was pretty stunning as well, which was a bonus. Who'd want to die in a cramped and anonymous one-bedroom apartment smelling full of old socks?

In a distance far far away, he saw a very impressive mountain range to his right. Shaped as if a large asteroid crash landed there, the jagged peaks and curtains of imposing heights standing tall into the sky gave off an impression of impregnable fortress.

To his left, he spotted a concentration of lights, which probably meant a town was that way, maybe a city. He couldn't tell for sure, though. Below him, there were more spots of lights, here and there. Houses most likely.

Sound of Music-esque rolling hills of grass surrounded the supposed houses below, with vast expanses of forest stretching into the horizon like a verdant green ocean. So much nature, everywhere.

He was impressed. Being a city slicker, this much greenery was a dazzling departure from the norm and he very much appreciated it.

To book-end the scenery, a wide river cut through the landscape like a snake trail on desert sand.

His mind calmed down from seeing the sprawling, tranquil scenery. Sure, he was still scared but he wasn't so frantic anymore. It was like, he finally accepted his fate since there was nothing to save him at this point in time anyway.

He'd given up, and decided not to feel bitter about it.

The light below got closer and he was able to confirm for sure they were indeed coming from several houses. It wasn't easy making out the shapes and types of the buildings due to the darkness but at least he was falling near where people were around, which felt like an extra bonus to him.

Imagine dropping dead in a middle of nowhere, like say, in Death Valley – nobody would know whether you died or not, and thus nobody would come to collect your remains. Your loved ones would never be notified properly, and you'd be forever listed as a missing. No closure there.

But now, the world should know of his fate. The big issue he had to contend with was that, he had no clothes on at the moment. He had to wonder whether his DNA could be used to identify him, seeing that his fingerprints, or for that matter his face, wouldn't survive the impact of the fall.

He belatedly mused what kind of perverted killer would strip a man before throwing him off a plane. Too late to lodge a complaint now.

Before long, the house had gotten real close. At this rate he was going to land on a roof or near one. Either way, it was far too close for comfort, as he didn't want his very last act as a living, breathing human being to be that of an accidental murderer. That would be just so wrong on too many levels.

One blink later, and he could see a chimney puffing out smoke.

Oh, how quaint.

Another blink later, the thatched roof got close enough for him to count the number of straws on it.

Relentlessly, the house was closing in.

He heard not a single sound; every one of his senses had died.

He closed his eyes, and silently whispered his goodbyes.

He hit the house.

 

Spoiler: Chapter Three, part one. Did my best on editing it but....

Three


No answer came to Kain even after recalling this grisly event. Didn't matter how hard he thought about it, he was still no closer to understanding how he got here, and how he had become a baby, out of all things considered.

But he was somehow able to tell that this wasn't his home, that this wasn't his world. It was as if he traveled back into a distant past.

As he mulled his current situation, he remembered waking up prior to this day, just that he wasn't 100% sure of when. But definitely he did regain consciousness right after the supposed fall to his flattened demise. It was fairly brief however, and was accompanied by a kind of excruciating pain that's better purged out of his head or else he'd go insane.

That pain must've knocked him out cold until now.

Unfortunately, that revelation wasn't going to bring him closer to the answer he was looking for.

What kind of prank is this? No wait, didn't I hit that house with the puffing chimney? So.... did I die from that and uh, get reincarnated or something?

To his displeasure, he kept on reliving the horrid memories of being sucked into the bed and then falling buck naked from the sky repeatedly in his mind. There was nothing in those seemingly alcohol-induced madness that could shed some form of light on the matter, yet his mind replayed the scene over and over, until he felt nausea assaulting his stomach with vengeance.

No way on god's green earth that crap was real, man. It can't be. I mean..., really this too must be some kind of a nightmare that I'm yet to wake up from. This is some A-level Inception stuff going on here.

He somehow managed to convince himself that he was still dreaming, and felt better almost immediately. He even ignored the facts that were right in front of his face, such as him being trapped in a baby's body, and that indeed, his perceptions were now functioning properly now. He even ignored that nagging little voice calling out to him from somewhere in his mind.

The soothing voices of the brunette carried in the air, dancing a slow tango with the aroma of distant flowers seeping into his brain. He took a closer look at the woman and the young girl. They really resembled each other to an almost spooky degree. Kain thought daughters were supposed to resemble their dads while boys, their mothers. A slight discrepancy for sure, or maybe his brain got scrambled by the actions of this improbable reincarnation and got his facts all mixed up.

The brunette's warm and soft brown eyes were following the lines on the pages of the large, leather-bound but slim book. The girl, sitting on her lap, showed a good deal of enthusiasm, smiling, nodding and sometimes making a frown.

Kain noticed the girl had heterochromatic eyes, but it was really slight deviation in color – her left eye was two shades deeper brown than the other one. Almost unnoticeable, unless the angle of the light was just right.

That made him wonder, if his own set of eyes were also like that. And, seeing that both the woman and her daughter were quite beautiful, could he be a ladykiller as well?

He wasn't a shabby looking guy back when he was still.... alive over that side, but having a face that was a few notches better sounded rather appetizing. Too bad he couldn't confirm it just yet, as he hadn't yet see a single mirror inside this room, which he figured was his nursery.

As he was thinking up of a few other unrelated nonsense, the softly spoken words of the brunette continued to drift in the air.

Kain tried to listen in but as expected, he couldn't understand a single word. It didn't even sound remotely like anything he'd heard before – at least nothing European, that was. Having said that, it didn't sound Oriental either.

Not that he was an expert when it came to the matters of international linguistics; he himself had failed to learn a second language repeatedly, though not through the lack of trying. Another dark chapter in his life he'd like to forget.

Giving up for now, he decided to study the room he was in a little bit more, and began to notice some details he'd missed previously, here and there.

This place, there's no electricity here, I'm sure of it. The décor is also way too old school. Wood here, wood there, wood everywhere. All this, all of this, just feels too real to be a dream. I mean, can I even cook up stuff like this all on my own?

The doubting voices were growing louder. He just couldn't ignore it anymore now.

Could this be....? No freaking way.

Finally, he had to recognize this situation. He sure took his sweet time on it, but well, he was in a state of confusion so that was understandable.

This development he was in had many of the hallmarks straight out of dime-a-dozen bad Japanese Web Novels, and their equally questionable 'fan' translations. Bless their souls, it's a crap load of Grade A hard work translating those walls of text for next to no pay but still, bad was bad no matter how hard one tried to redefine the perimeters.

What tripped him up from making a solid connection was that he didn't get to meet a bearded ojisan god or a scantily clad, definitely jail-bait goddess on his way here, proclaiming that he was hit by a wayward truck and died, and now he was endowed with some type of an amazing cheat skill or two. After all, that was how those stories played out almost without an exception.

It sure would've been convenient to have a plot device like that, to throw in some exposition at our protagonist's way but alas, he had no such luck on the matter.

Also, in those stories, main characters were always blessed with over the top superpowers that suspiciously resembled a stuff of many Japanese role playing video games. Maybe, then he too had some of those super-duper, ultra-hyper skills hidden away, waiting for him to simply activate it; so, just for the experimentation purposes, he willed a Status screen to pop up.

Of course nothing happened. It'd be weird if it did, actually.

Well, there wasn't any guarantee that he was the main dude in this unfolding story so it was far too early for him to assume anything. A possibility of him being a regular Villager A was also there too. That'd be quite depressing, he thought.

He wanted to scratch his head in frustration, but his hand couldn't reach the top of the noggin yet. More frustration piled on top of the other.

Well damn, I just don't have enough info to figure out what the hell's going on here. First, I gotta find out where I am, and then.... oh right, before that, I must....

He needed to overcome the language barrier first before starting on anything else on the to-do list of his; that much was obvious.

That was a big mountain for him to climb, but it had to be done regardless. He felt tired just thinking about the enormity of the challenge; back in high school, he tried to learn a secondary language, believing that being multilingual would allow him to look cool in front of girls. Yes, there was something about living in the Global Village and all that nonsense too, but that wasn't important.

But it turned out he had zero aptitude with learning other languages. He had to find that out the hard, and sometimes, costly, way.

At first he tried Spanish, because of this cute girl in his class. That didn't pan out and so he moved onto French. The reason being, he heard somewhere that French girls were all shades of alluring, exotic, passionate and smoking hot. That went as well as a bull in a china shop.

Later, it was the turn of Chinese Mandarin. Fail.

Apparently, according to the language instructors his brain lacked a certain something; as to what that was, he was never told. Probably his parents were trying to protect his somewhat fragile ego. Probably.

Because of these past traumas he was understandably nervous about the prospect of learning this foreign dialect. But he had no choice in the matter. It was either do or die – something preposterous like that.

Good news was, he was a baby. He couldn't go anywhere, couldn't do anything, nor could he get distracted by a friend request on a Facebook.

In other words, he had a plenty of time to concentrate on nothing but studying. Oh, how he danced with joy at that wonderful thought.

Nope, not really.

 

Spoiler: Chapter Three, part two. Can't remember if I edited it or not....

“Oh yes, my cute little boy's growing up splendidly, aren't you? Ehehehe. Come here, you.”

As he was hoisted up high in the air, Kain gazed at the man responsible for his current airborne antics; a young man in his late twenties, with a slicked back dark hair and a pair of deep, piercing azure eyes. Handsome, in a bookworm type deal, with an average height to boot. But his eyes had that dangerous glint to them, that said “I've seen things. Don't mess with me.” Oh and a small, almost indistinguishable scar just above his left eyebrow.

Not to mention there was the small matter of his rather broad shoulders, as broad as an Olympic long distance swimmer. Yep, he was deceptively athletic, in other words.

This guy was speaking to the hoisted baby full of pride and affection, with a big, Cheshire Cat-like grin plastered all over his face.

Right now, they were in the main living room of the house, accompanied by the brunette and Kaleena, although the mother and daughter were getting ready for a long distance trip. Their luggage was being taken out one by one outside by the maidservants.

“And you've inherited your old man's handsome mug. Heh, my bloodline's really blessed by the gods, isn't it. Little Kaleena's a beauty and you're a good looking kid already. And both of you are still so young!! Imagine when you're a bit older!! You'll be as popular with girls as your old man was back in the day.”

Kain couldn't help but sigh in his heart. This guy, who happened to be his father in this world, did this self-praising thing literally every freaking day, to a point where it was becoming really annoying. Enough was enough already.

Although, in all honesty he wasn't a bad person. Just that, the hair style and the scar didn't impart a favorable first impression, and you know what they say about the importance of such.

He began tickling Kain's tummy while making those sounds made by dads with newborns. You know, those so-called baby talk, the inane babbling that had not much of significance, other than to rouse a smile out of the child.

Kain reflexively giggled out because of his sensitive spot was under attack. And that made Damien's face even looser, his lips visibly drooping in a happy trance. Spurred on by his success he kept up the tickling and the baby talk combo.

However, such ways of talking didn't sit so well with his boss, uh, wife.

“Damien, please talk to Kain properly. We do want our son to learn to speak well, don't we, love?”

She frowned slightly, and a couple of thin lines creased her otherwise smooth forehead.

Hugging Kain closer, Damien the self proclaimed father-of-the-year-candidate smiled. “It's alright, babe. It's only been what, seven, seven and a half month? He's going to talk sooner rather than later. And when that day comes, we're going to celebrate like there's no tomorrow, right Liz?”

It was Kain's turn to frown, as his cheek got rubbed against the rough and unsophisticated material of Damien's shirt. Even the cheapest knock off clothes from some run down factory off China's underbelly were made with better quality materials than this – it was painful just have it come in contact with his delicate skin.

He wanted to cry, knowing that he would have to wear these terrible clothes in the future too. Everything in this world was so backwards, it was way past the point of depressing and into the realm of helpless acceptance.

At first, Kain couldn't even believe this world, or at least his house, had no toilet. As a modern man, the very idea of using a bucket as a substitute then emptying the smelly contents out by a midden located behind the house's stable was a horror story coming to life.

Only saving grace for now, was that he didn't have to worry about the matters of No.1s and 2s as he was still a toddler. The wool towel, serving as a diaper, did its duty rather faithfully.

Liz, the brunette, sighed and patted Kaleena's head, hugging her closer. “Well, we'll be on our way, then. But will you be able to behave yourself while we're out? I don't want to see Kain picking up any bad habits.”

She threw a pointed question at her husband's direction.

“That hurts, babe. Your words are sharper than the claws of a Highlands Liger.” Damien made a wounded face. “Place your trust in me. You know everything will be fine.”

“Yes, I do trust you, somewhat,” Liz smiled weakly.

Damien began cooing at Kain, paying a little mind to his wife's creased brows. She observed her husband for a moment, and gave him a reminder of his duty in a form of a playful slap on his rear end.

“Ouch, what was that for, Missus Lizbeth Ravenswood-Lomax?” Damien breezily smirked as he exaggeratedly rubbed his bum. “What, you want me to start misbehaving in front of the kids?”

Not waiting for a reply, he reached out with his free hand and pulled Liz close, then landed a long, loving kiss. Kain and Kaleena became trapped in between the hugging adults, and while he was gasping for air, the girl simply looked up her parents curiously.

It wasn't unusual to see them snog but she was wondering what all the fuss was about locking lips. She thought it looked uncomfortable, honestly speaking.

“You're incorrigible,” Liz smiled unabashedly, and ruffled Damien's hair after the kiss ended. He chuckled happily, and tried to steal another kiss, but was interrupted by a soft knock, signaling the end of the family hug.

“My lady, the luggage have been loaded successfully on the carriage. We are waiting for you.”

From the entrance of the living room, the voice of a maidservant came. She peeked around the edge and smiled warmly at the scene inside.

Damien sighed. “I'm going to miss you, will you miss me too?”

“Love, we'll be away for only three days. But yes, we'll miss you.”

Lizbeth cupped her husband's cheek and stroked it.

As the hug ended, Kain was finally able to take a deep breath to replenish his lungs.

He wanted to retort, “hey you two, get a damn room,” but then they already did so it was a bit of a moot point to raise. Besides, he and Kaleena was the end results of the room sharing anyway.

Gosh darn it, they looked so good together, he thought he saw rays of shiny, rosy lights coming from the couple, and a garden of pretty flowers blooming all around the two. It was so sugary sweet that watching their happy faces for any longer time might give him diabetes – especially to a guy who had his fair share of girl troubles back when.

So to save himself from getting sick with jealousy, he looked at the maidservant instead. His home had a pair of them, and the older of the two, named Delilah Bleier, was the one who announced the readiness of their means of transport.

There was no other way of saying this, Delilah was a Dwarf. She was around four and a half feet in height, so wasn't exactly on the short side per se, but then again she said she was one, so that was that.

Somewhat of a stocky build, with a warm and a kind face like an auntie, plus a temperament to match – she was the wise and patient caretaker of the house. She commuted every morning from her home which she shared with a hubby and three adult sons, and performed most of the household chores. She was a seasoned veteran when it came to managing the smooth operation of the house.

Thankfully, she didn't have a face full of bushy beard. Now that would have been too awkward to ignore.

And the other maidservant, as far as Kain could tell, was outside, doing god knows what.

“The carriage is here already? I wanna see!!”

Kaleena exclaimed and dashed out of Lizbeth's grasp. She didn't get too far, before tripping on a corner of the thick brown fur carpet laid out on the floor.

Naturally, she began bawling immediately from the unexpected pain coming from her skinned knee.

Delilah came to console the young girl but all she could do for now was to examine the wound and try to pacify the child.

But, it was Lizbeth's turn to shine – literally. She hurriedly came to her crying daughter's side and knelt down. Raising her hand, she spoke in a clear but strong voice.

“Blessings of the gentle morning dew,

Warding off the cold dawn fog,

Lest we surrender through,

Keep turning the fate's cog;

I Invoke Light Heal,” and so Lizbeth chanted out a spell.

Kain narrowed his eyes as his perceptions caught something strange began to appear in the living room. A thin fog-like substance was converging together with Lizbeth as the center.

No, that wasn't right – the substance was present in the room all along, it was just that, he'd dismissed it as a simple dust floating in the air, although deep in his heart he knew that explanation was wrong.

And now, that fog of substance moved as if it possessed a will of its own, and oozed around the kneeling Lizbeth. When the chanting ended, the unknown thing changed to a white veil of transparent light and blanketed her.

This light then focused on her hand that gently clasped Kaleena's bruised knee, repairing the damage almost instantaneously. The light wrapped around the girl from head to toe, and slowly dispersed afterwards as the wound healed.

“It doesn't hurt any more, mommy.”

Wiping away her tears, little Kaleena reported that it was all good.

That was healing magic at work, and Kain's eyes nearly popped out of their respective sockets from amazement. That was indeed one helluva effective demonstration, a reminder, of the reality he was in.

Quickly recovering from the shock, he refocused and analyzed what he just witnessed.

He thought that well, he shouldn't have been so surprised to see magic at work; after all, one of his maidservant was a Dwarf, a fantasy genre staple. It wasn't too far fetched to imagine the existence of magic and all that supernatural stuff being the norm in this world.

But just what was that fog, though? MP?

Judging by the lack of reactions from the people in the living room, it was safe to concur that it was a well known fact Lizbeth was a wizard, and that magic being performed was not all that uncommon a thing to witness.

What he's currently curious about, was whether others could see this fog like substance or not. Also, he thought that chanting was kind of on the long-ish side. It was quite cumbersome to recite the spell every time if someone wanted to use a magic spell.

Shouldn't there be a quicker, more efficient ways of chanting, he wondered.

“There, there. See, it's all alright now, with mummy's Invocation skills.” Damien smiled as he stroked Kaleena's head. “Wasn't that great? When you grow older, I'm sure you'll become as good an Invoker as your mother is.”

Invocation? An Invoker? Kain tilted his head. Huh? What's that all about? I haven't heard those words before.

“Love, let us postpone such talks until after Kaleena is a little older and gotten her Results back.” Lizbeth cautioned her husband with a small elbow to his side. Turning to face her daughter with a warm expression, she said, “Right, shall we get going? Sweetie, can you stand now?”

She reached her hand out, and the young girl took it, standing up with a bounce. A radiant and innocent smile bloomed on her cute face and she ran outside again full of vigor.

The rest of the family followed suit as well. It was pretty much the first time Kain had left through the front door, so he was sort of excited at the sudden opportunity of seeing the outside world. Previously he was taken to the backyard of the house but then he didn't get to see much thanks to the tall wooden fences demarcating the perimeters.

As he exited the doorway while being carried in the arms of Damien, he was greeted by the crop fields and distant vineyards, awash with lush green and teeming with life. Only a few droplets of clouds lazed about overhead, and the early morning sun felt particularly pleasant on his skin.

The front yard had two rows of trees lining up the road leading to the front gate, which was a slight surprise for Kain; the place was larger than he expected.

A familiar geezer was working on trimming one of the trees. He placed the cutting tool on the ground and walked over to see Lizbeth off. He was human unlike the other servants, and had a kind of face that had weathered decades of sun with grace.

The Lomax couple and the old gardener exchanged cordial greetings, while Kaleena ran towards the large wooden carriage.

Hurriedly Delilah went after her, to keep the young girl away from the quartet of large and skittish horses. Thankfully, the animals didn't seem to be too bothered by the presence of a small human kid and carried on whatever they were doing.

Its driver was busy trying to converse with the other, younger maidservant of the house, Rosy Matte. She didn't seem to be all that interested but the dude was persistently trying his luck.

Rosy, like Delilah, wasn't exactly human. With looks that might be at home in a Disney family cartoon, Rosy Matte was a humanoid with cat like facial features, a Pantherikin – smooth, reddish fur covering most of her body that was visible outside her clothes, a pair of ears atop her head, and short but prominent whiskers that swayed a bit when she spoke.

She also happened to possess a pair of.... ahem, natural wonders of devastating power on her chest area that made pretty much all the male members of the society get rather distracted.

Even Damien made an occasional faux pas. Kain caught the sights of him plenty enough times taking a quick peek at the jiggly pair.

As a former hot blooded male himself, Kain sympathized with his current father's.... uh, dilemma. Lizbeth was a beautiful woman, but it seemed no matter what the world's setting was like, men were genetically programmed to forever be cursed with wandering, lecherous eyes.

However, Kain wasn't affected for some reason. He wasn't into furries for one, but when he gave it some thought, it seemed most likely his current body was the cause, as it just wasn't mature enough to react to the stimulus. Probably a blessing in disguise, that.

However, he did stare shamelessly, no make that dumbfoundedly, at Rosy and Delilah the first time he saw them. Not for any lewd reasons, obviously.

He knew what he did was rude, but hey, he had a convenient excuse all lined up; that one about young kids staring at things that were foreign to them, such as strangers. So he felt he was safe from the PC police.

One thing he noted early on was that, these ladies didn't wear any maid outfits, instead of opting for more regular dresses that were easy to move around in. And what he meant by the outfits were those frilly, black and lacy French maid “uniforms”. Personally he didn't see the appeal of such a get-up but he did hear it was a fetish for some. Maybe it wasn't Damien's cup of tea. Like father, like son? As if.

Emergence of his passengers meant the driver had to reluctantly abandon his pursuit of the busty maiden. The disappointment was obvious in the young man's face. Relief was written large on hers.

There were two more people besides the carriage, holding the reins of their own horses and lightly armed with weapons.

Kain recognized both of them too, as they frequented the house, bringing in muddy footprints that caused Delilah endless grief. Mud was from the unpaved road of the front yard so the blame should be assigned to the owner of the house but whatever.

The one with a large bow and a pair of short swords attached to his hips were Terry Bonhams, a Lacertkin possessing striking blue and green scales. He rarely talked, but the impression Kain got from him was that Terry was uncomfortable around kids for some reason. Didn't feel like pushing it so he let it be. Not like he could outright ask him about it anyway.

The other, super-large guy was Rolf Harris-Shi, a Caniduskin. Outwardly he totally resembled a Werewolf so that gave Kain a huge fright when they met for the first time. Seven feet tall, hulking physique, at least 400 pounds or more and incisors sharp enough to puncture steel. Forgive him for nearly soiling his pants.

Good thing Rolf was a chatty, friendly guy who liked to laugh a lot. The most scary thing about him after getting to know him a bit better was his bushy tail, which swung around in a lethal velocity when he was really chuffed or excited about something.

“Everything's ready, my lady,” Rolf gave a thumbs-up sign. “We can depart any time you wish.”

Rolf and Terry's job was to escort Lizbeth, Delilah and Kaleena during the journey to the nearby town of Lafayette, which was just over half a day's travel away. The road was quite safe but it paid to be cautious so Damien had attached a pair of very skilled village militiamen to the carriage.

As the luggage was already finished loading under Delilah's supervision, that left Lizbeth to say the goodbyes and kiss her hubby one more time, before boarding the simple yet sturdy looking carriage.

Kaleena seemed to be very much excited at the prospect of visiting a big city for the first time so she was bouncing around, full of energy. Kain felt pity for the adults who were going to chaperon her. He could see that it was going to be handful.

He hoped that there weren't any flags being raised here though, what with his sister and mother going off on a seemingly safe trip. Usually, tragedy that defines someone was supposed to happen on occasions like this.

He wasn't callous enough to wish for one. If anything, he wanted them to have a safe trip and enjoy themselves.

Surely nothing bad was going to happen.

Surely.

 

Spoiler: Chapter Four, part one. Not edited. Yeah, maybe I should ask someone....

Four

Although he was confident of enjoying some quality father and son time together with his little boy, the reality proved to be a cruel mistress. Once Damien entered his office, all his plans got dashed, just like that, by the sight of piles upon piles of documents that required his immediate attention. It wasn't like he had been evading his responsibilities or anything, it's just that his work always had a way to overwhelm him at the most inopportune moments.

“Rosy, brew me a strong pot of tea, will you? I am going to need it quite soon.”

Frowning, he asked the young maidservant for an assistance that should come in handy later. She peeked into the office from behind him, and gave a I pity you, sir kind of gaze before nodding, slinking away into the kitchen.

Breathing in deeply, Damien looked around for a suitable place, and when he located one in his cluttered office, he brought the cot in from the nursery and set it there. Lowering his son inside, he stroked Kain's head as he apologized.

“Hey Kain, daddy's going to catch up on some paperwork. Can you entertain yourself for a little while? I promise I'll be quick. In the meantime, why don't you.... uh, read these books? It's got lots of pictures and all.”

Kain looked at him and thought, you must be out of your mind, giving a new born baby books to mess around in, but after seeing the titles, he revised his mind. They all sounded interesting, as far as his still suspect reading skills went.

Even if he couldn't read properly, since he was offered the chance he might as well take it, and improve his reading and writing. With that in mind, he nodded his consent right away.

Damien silently swore inside that his seven month old baby boy was already understanding what he was saying. That would be quite outlandish if true, but he had to dismiss such thoughts as baseless, as he hadn't had time to dwell on that.

So, he simply patted his son's head and said, “Now there's good boy. I'll be right over there, so you want something, just give me shout, alright?”

Oh, sure thing, boss. Kain smiled weakly while sighing in his mind. Is this guy off his meds or something?

A few things have happened in the last few months, but due to his diligent – read had-no-choice-in-the-matter – studying, he was at a place where he was able to listen in on conversations held by people around him. He still heard words he didn't know yet now and then, but hell, the speed at which he developed at was quite clearly abnormal.

Other than his consciousness being that of a twenty something office worker, there were no other fitting explanations for it.

He just fervently hoped that this thing about him picking up the language fairly quickly wasn't his one and only cheat skill, otherwise that would surely be categorized as A Damn Waste.

Reading was still a problem however. Reaching out to the thinnest book in front of him, Kain flipped through a few ungainly and stiff pages and arrived at a part filled with texts on one side and some watercolor illustrations on the other.

One of the biggest reason why it was difficult for him to wrap his head around on the lettering system, despite having seen the storybook in the nursery repeatedly, was because of the alphabets in use.

In short, they looked like the result of an unholy union between some ancient Hieroglyphics straight out of a Egyptian Pyramid and Russian/Greek letters after a night of binge drinking gone wrong.

Just looking at them gave him a mild migraine.

Oh well, it's not like there's a better way anyway. Let's just do this thing.

Kain knew the faster he learned to read, the faster he'd get to his goal. Which was, needless to say, finding more about just what the hell was going on here. But his goal had shifted while he wasn't really aware of it happening.

See, the thing was, he got bored.

Doing nothing but baby things, like sleeping, drinking, pooping, burping and spewing, these past few months got monotonous real quick and he needed a distraction fast, but that was easier said than done as there wasn't really anything that resembled entertainment in this world, not that he had seen one as yet.

Reading was seemingly the only way to alleviate the crushing power of the boredom around here.

Although he knew how to read some words already – associating them to images did wonders – but he still faced limitations, forcing him to work around the hurdle to the best of his abilities.

He was so very, very far from being a fluent reader, of course, but was at a place where he felt there was a definite progress being made here.

The book he was holding didn't seem all that interesting, so he put it away. The next one in line was quite voluminous, and he struggled to pick it up in one go. The cover was also seriously thick, with tough, darkened leather bounding it tightly. The letters on it were faded from the repeated thumbing, but overall the condition of the book was excellent.

On the spine, the title was preserved and he could recognize some letters, but the word as a whole, he wasn't sure. So, more out of curiosity than anything else, he tried to open it, and after some struggle he was able to flip open the stiff cover.

He shuddered in delight as soon as he saw the contents.

What he held in his hands was a book about magic, as hinted at by the illustrations on the pages.

In other words, he'd stumbled into a potential gold mine.

Going through couple more pages, he was dead sure of his findings. The images were of a robed figure taking various poses and effects of spells taking place around this said person. Words like 'fire' and 'earth' were written alongside, and the more he looked at them, the more convinced he became, that the texts next to the images were the chants required for the respective spells.

Kain gleefully turned over the pages, not paying any mind to Damien who was neck deep in trying to thin out the piles of documents in front of him.

He was sweating profusely. It was hot and humid as it was the onset of Summer, and leaving the windows open did little to lessen the stifling heat in his office.

He read the reports written by a river engineer with a troubled expression. Every year without fail, the Monsoon season brought about flooding of the river Anders and her banks, causing a bit of a damage to the vineyards and wheat fields next to it. What luck for the village to be located right next to one of the most important rivers on the continent.

According to the astrologists from Lafayette, the nearest big city in the province, this year's rainfall was predicted to be more severe than the year before. The flood happening was a certain deal, in other words.

Last year, Damien somehow was able to reinforce the weaker parts of the riverbanks within the allocated budget of the village and the overall impact of the flood was limited. But that was then.

Going off by top of his head, there were some wiggle room in this year's budget for more reinforcement work, but since he was not a clairvoyant, he wasn't sure whether the amount was going to be enough.

He sighed, and scratched his head.

Riverfield, the village Damien had been governing for the past five years, seemed like a relaxed, trouble-free place from afar. After all, it was a small community with less than four hundred souls living in it.

Yet beneath the calm, friendly exterior, there were enough issues to make a stern man lose patience. The small populace meant there wasn't enough taxes collected to solve every problems that arose while he wasn't looking.

He missed being an Adventurer. Compared to this, that was better. Less to worry about overall, less responsibilities to mull over.

Feeling demotivated, Damien's mind wandered until the faces of his older brother and father floated to the front of his mind.

“Hell, I don't know how you do it, Dukakis,” Damien muttered his brother's name to no one in particular.

He mused how long it had been since he last saw that guy. Try as he might, not one good memories of his family came to him but, nor were they terribly unpleasant – just whole lot of indifferent expressions etched across the so-called family's various stiff mugs.

He looked at his son who was poring through the thick book and murmured, “Don't worry, son. I'll never treat you like that. That much, I promise. They won't even know of you until it's safe for you.”

He fondly gazed at his child, thinking what a smart kid he was, until he noticed the book the baby was holding. Then Damien's face lost color.

“Oh hell.”

Grunting in panic, he swiftly got up from behind the desk and dashed towards Kain. Then he pried the thick book off the baby's hand, saying, “Sorry kiddo. Your mommy's going to have my head if she finds out I let you play around with this book.”

Kain reached out reflexively to take the book back but it was well out of reach by then. Damien smiled apologetically at the frowning baby with rapidly rising puffy cheeks.

“I'll get you another one, one with lots of pretty pictures inside. Let's see....”

Hurriedly, he cast his eyes at the only bookshelf in the office. It was filled to the brim with books but at a casual glance it was rather obvious there weren't anything suitable for a baby's consumption.

There was a series of books on The Imperial Taxation Decree; another set on The Imperial Constitution. There were a pair of publications on the military tactics employed by a famous general in the last great war at the Norwich Pass up North. Another on how to achieve a highly efficient wheat farming.

Nothing for a kid to look at, no matter how hard he searched. While he was sweating profusely at a sudden, increasingly combustible situation rising behind him in a form of a new born child ready to throw an almighty tantrum, he saw a potential savior. Tucked up pretty deeply in a corner of the upper most shelf, there was an outdated bestiary of the Continent Noa, the one they were living on.

Unable to remember if it had scary pictures in it or not, he quickly pulled it out and blew away the layer of dust off it. Because of disuse the leather on the cover had gone very stiff and when he pried it open, he nearly snapped it in half.

He nearly bleated out an expletive but held it back just in time.

To his relief, there weren't too many scary images inside, although some depictions of Fiends were a bit on the graphic side. Still, it was reasonably family-friendly so he figured it was safe to let his baby boy fool around with it.

“Here, Kain. Take a look at this!! Isn't this more interesting?”

Damien showed the boy a page that showed variants of hares and watched for a reaction, and when he confirmed that it was positive, he was able to relax just a little.

“I've brought tea, m'lord,”

Rosy announced from the corridor before entering the office, carrying a wooden plate with a porcelain tea pot, a smaller pot containing goat milk, a jar with sweetener, and some biscuits.

Sitting back on his chair with a bumpf after averting a disaster, Damien welcomed the timely intrusion of his maidservant. “Thanks Rosy. You're a life saver.”

After gulping down the bitter tea, he felt refreshed enough to tackle the problems of the village once more.

He left caring of Kain to Rosy and dived into his work in earnest. The faster he finishes, the longer he'd be able to play with his son.

Although, he did find the amount of documents he had to go through quite unnecessary. All this bureaucracy was making him go mad.

The Imperial Office of Records wanted a fastidious record-keeping done on all of its territories no matter how remote. So it was the same with the other landlords elsewhere. Such thoughts didn't give Damien a cause to celebrate however.

Placing the river engineer's report to the side, thinking he needed to locate the funds first before he can move, he shifted through the pile, as he tried to locate the other urgent reports, noted by the date.

If he could sort out the important ones from the others which he can safely ignore, then he'd finish in time for lunch, optimistically speaking.

And then he saw it. Well, not the important document, but something else.

“Hmm?”

Damien got an eyeful of Rosy's bouncy cleavage when she bent down to pour him another cup. That relieved some of his stress a little.

Quickly fixing his gaze away from the temptation, he absentmindedly looked at the document in his hand, something he grabbed without noticing.

And felt an irritating itch develop at the back of his neck.

It was a scroll, still sealed with a wax on top. The seal had a mark of the Imperial Office. A written communique from one of the numerous organizations hell bent on making his life as difficult as possible.

He drew blank on just when he'd receive this. Usually, something like this would have been delivered by hand, requiring the recipient to sign a form signifying he or she had received it unsealed.

He certainly couldn't remember meeting a courier recently. Who could've received it and forgotten to tell him about it?

“Oh, right. I was wondering where that ran off to,” said Rosy as she noticed the crimson scroll in Damien's grip.

“Huh?”

“Two weeks ago a messenger arrived on a fast horse and left it here with me. But I forgot where I've put it. Thank you for finding it, m'lord.”

So said the big cat girl while presenting the refilled cup of tea.

Damien fell silent, wondering what he should say. He didn't want to utter something insensitive, as it was his fault, probably, as he failed to educate her properly on the importance of the Imperial Seal.

In the end he didn't say anything, and just received the cup. Then he unfurled the scroll, breaking the wax seal.

Honestly, he didn't really feel good opening it. The itch grew even more, thinking that this was some sort of announcements regarding a declaration of some new red tape being put in place.

He was incorrect.

It was a politely worded request to all the territories that neighbored special areas called the Sacred Acres. A Sacred Acre was, normally speaking, quite a dangerous place, a nest of man-eating Fiends and deadly curses. It just happens so that Riverfield did lay close to one, albeit it was as dangerous as a new born calf.

The simple reason was that the area in question was explored in its fullest, and the Fiends inhabiting it cleared out a few years ago. Damien personally led the detachment of militiamen and certified Adventurers to do so, and he was confident he performed a thorough job back then.

The Imperial Request was seeking a material only found within the Sacred Acres; frankly Damien had never heard of such an item before, but judging by the tone of the letter in his hand, he inferred it must've been a rather important stuff.

“Huh. No mention of compensation whatsoever, anywhere. And the Capital expects the free handover, eh? How luxurious.”

Damien shrugged his shoulders, then he crumpled the letter, chucking it away to a corner. The wax seal belonged not to the Royal Imperial Family or for that matter, any of the important branches of the government, but to the Imperial Institute of Research.

It meant that even if he ignored the request the consequences wouldn't be severe. Besides, he had other things to worry about; he was not in a secure financial position to hire Adventurers from Lafayette, nor could he spare the village militia to go on a goose chase of an item that may or may not exist in Riverfield's Sacred Acre.

“So that's that, then. Next.” Damien shrugged his shoulders and picked up another document, unfurling it to read the contents.

“M'lord, will it be alright to disregard the request? I mean, it is from that Institute, isn't it? Won't that prove to be troublesome?”

Rosy asked worriedly.

Damien looked at her slightly surprised. It must have been Lizbeth who told her the past issues he had with the darn Institute. But well, now that he was installed as a lord of a territory, even the Head Director of the meddlesome Institue had no way of disrupting him.

“Pay it no mind, Rosy. The ancient ruin near the village holds no value and I've people who can back that claim up. I'll just write up a reply stating such, as well as adding in our unkind outlook of the financial situation and that'll be that.”

“If you say so, m'lord.” She sighed. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“That's all for now, thank you.”

As Rosy turned, Damien's still pin-sharp senses felt presences of a handful of horse-mounted figures approaching, then stopping by the front of his house. One of them he recognized, but the others, they were foreign.

The old timer, Frank the gardener, should be opening the gates by now.

“....Rosy, looks like we might have guests today. Please show them in.”

Her ears twitched as she tried to sense them; and when she did, she turned around to face him and nodded, leaving the office quickly without missing a beat.

It had been a good few years since Damien had to give up on the lifestyle of a highly regarded Adventurer but his perceptions remained as reliable as ever. The fact made him happy inside.

It meant he could return to that life without feeling too rusty, if the need ever rises again in the future.

Lizbeth might beat me up if I mention that now, Damien grimaced a little when he imagined wife's reaction. She could be fearsome sometimes. He had to bear the brunt of that fury before plenty enough times, so he knew what he was talking about.

Soon, there were footsteps on the corridor.

The sound reverberating told him a few things about the visitors; one, the unknown people were wearing traveling boots meaning they weren't local, and two, this seemed like an official matter, the urgency of the each steps transmitting the intent quite well. And then there were the trained-ness to them, a certain orderliness, inherent to certain types of Capital-bred nobility.

Damien felt like sighing again. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be nice. His instincts told him so.

The footsteps stopped before the office's door, and a light knock followed.

“M'lord, riders from the Capital Argos has arrived, seeking your audience.” Rosy declared from beyond the door.

“Enter,” Damien gave the permission. This exchange tired him already; why did the nobility find the need to go through the time consuming ritual just to receive someone? What a bother it was. But to establish the official tone of the meeting, even Rosy knew this had to be done.

In through the open door, three figures entered the office.

In front, a familiar face of a young village guard named Vagas, who was a part of group Damien had personally trained in swordsmanship last year. He was an earnest man, no, make that a boy, who Damien thought of having some decent talent if he worked harder. However there was no getting around the fact the dude looked the part of a country bumpkin. Oh well.

Behind Vagas, a refined man in his early thirties and a tall woman with a self-important, uptight facial expression. The man wore an excessive mantle slung around his shoulders, while the woman had a navy blue colored hood. There were light covering of dust over their shoulders, a clear signs of hard riding.

Damien kept his gaze on the pair, thinking if he'd seen them before somewhere; not likely, but possible, seeing that he'd gone to many, many places during his days as an Adventurer.

Failing to recall their faces, Damien then proceeded to ascertain several information regarding the unknown visitors.

He noticed that the man was a noble, or at least employed by one of a very high rank judging by the attire and the confident gait. The woman didn't seem like one however, but her posture made him wonder.

The grip of the sword on the man's hip showed he was a capable swordsman, or at least he handled it for a while.

The woman certainly possessed the confident aura of someone who had an absolute belief in her abilities, while the man, of the authority he carried.

And finally, the condescending facial expression etched on the man's face as he surveyed Damien's cramped and disorganized office foretold this meeting wasn't going to be full of happy handshakes.

To make the matter worse, the man's mantle was engraved with the seal of the Imperial Institute. Damien's face cramped up slightly at that. What were the odds.

“Sir Damien, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Sir Jonas Bremble, serving under His Holy Grace Marquis Phillips. This is Lady Helga Hans-Struck, a Journeyman-ranked Invoker, certified by the Society of Invocational Research.”

The cloak wearing man, Jonas, did a simple curtsy and made his greeting. The woman remained still, not bothering to change her stance.

Uhm, hello..... Is anyone here.....

 

Spoiler: Chapter four, part two. Just finished writing it, so it's messy.... you've been warned.

Releasing the cramped expression Damien tried his best to smile magnanimously.

“Welcome to the village of Riverfield, Sir Jonas and Lady Helga. It must have been a tiresome journey. Have you had a chance to rest?” While saying so, Damien signaled to Vagas, telling him that he'd take it from here.

“I'll be right outside, sir,” Vagas waved his hand in a country bumpkin way, which as a matter of fact he was, and left the office while closing the door behind him. Rosy remained in order to pour the refreshments for the guests.

“Now, what do I owe this pleasant surprise to?” Damien maintained the smile as he offered them seats. Unfortunately only one chair was free, with stacks of parchments and documents resting on top of others.

Jonas glanced at Kain disinterestedly once, and took the chair for himself, leaving Helga to stand around.

That was to be expected; Jonas had a higher social standing, and therefore he had the right to take it first, chivalry be damned.

Kain at that moment thought the man, who said his name was Jonas, was an ass, not caring to offer a seat to a woman – which would've been a common courtesy. And his facial expression was one of someone who didn't even know what he had done, nor did he care.

Meanwhile, Damien was thinking furiously about the letter he just had crumpled and tossed away; he was trying to remember just where it dropped among the pile of documents on the floor.

“Forgive my unannounced intrusion, but we've come with the express wishes of His Grace to find the amount of progress that have been made regarding the reclamation of the item, Aerinite, mentioned in the missive that was sent to you.”

Rosy poured the still-warm tea on spare cups, while giving her employer a quick glance. Damien said his thanks, and waited until she also left the office.

“Ah, that,” Damien finally nodded. “As you can see, I am swarmed with work. There haven't been a chance to write a reply yet – the item hunt isn't going to take place, I'm afraid. My decision.”

“Lord Damien, that is a rather unexpected, and somewhat unfortunate answer.”

Jonas's lips curled disapprovingly. He didn't even try to disguise his displeasure.

Damien observed Jonas for a second, and continued to speak while shrugging his shoulders. He did it knowing how much the nobles hated that gesture.

“Well, there are various circumstances. The folks in the Capital City of Argos may not think much of it but, out here in the sticks, there are other matters that require the funds more urgently. It makes no sense to send out expeditionary forces on a whim for some phantom material I've never even heard of.”

“My lord, it wasn't decided on a whim. The researchers and several top Adventurers have confirmed Aerinite's existence.”

Damien thought Jonas's face was getting heated up. Regardless of Jonas's position, it was quite likely below that of Damien's peerage, which happened to be that of a Baron. Although he never acted like one so people around him tend to forget that fact, but that also didn't mean Jonas could afford to be rude to a man with a superior standing in the confusing hierarchy of power in the Empire.

So all he could do was to hold his anger in. Knowing this, Damien pushed a bit more.

“You probably know about my past exploits, yes? I've been a registered, ranked Adventurer since the age of twelve. I've traversed many terrains, and explored my fair share of Sacred Acres. Yet I've never come across something called Aerinite. Not even once.”

“My lord, it exists. I can personally vouch that it's real.”

It was now the turn of Helga to speak. Contrary to her stiff upper-lip visage and the tall, lanky height, she had a soft and almost little girl-ish voice. Damien thought he was being tricked by some sort of an Invocation to hide her real appearance.

“It may be rude to say, but I do not know you. It's all good and well to say this Aerinite is real, but for one, you do not know whether this item can be found within the Sacred Acre of this territory.”

Damien quickly recovered from the surprise, and countered. Then he waited for a beat, and interrupted Helga who was about to speak again.

“Of course, I'm not averse to the idea. But there's currently no leeway to hire manpower to explore a Sacred Acre which I was personally invovled in clearing it out a few years ago.”

A Sacred Acre? Kain tilted his head slightly. He had heard of this term before, and even knew the spelling of it, as it was written in the storybook in the nursery. From what he was able to gather, it seemed this Acre thing was the unique term used to describe a dungeon, or a labyrinth.

He was somewhat upset at the fact that earlier on Damien used his superior physical strength to take away the book on magic. The old bestiary was the only thing that barely kept him from venting out his frustration on his current father.

But now, with the arrival of these uptight people, he was beginning to hear some funny stuff all of a sudden.

Damien was an Adventurer? Wow. If true, then that kinda makes sense, doesn't it? He's athletic, got a stash of dangerous looking weapons in the house, and he trains every morning, swinging that wooden sword of his like a possessed man.

Kain felt a new found respect for him rising deep inside. He wasn't just some country bum taking it easy after all.

But this business about a Sacred Acre interested him a lot. To think, a dungeon capable of producing untold riches was nearby. But that was in a video game, and this happened to be reality. The way Damien was saying he cleared it, it sounded like the Acre no longer held any value, monetary or otherwise.

This talk about Aerinite though. Was that some kind of treasure? Since this was a fantasy world, it wouldn't have been too surprising to learn there were gemstones Kain've never even heard of before in the previous world. But whatever it was, Damien the experienced Adventurer was saying he didn't know of it, and if that's the case, he had to wonder if there were some other hidden reason why these two stiff upper lipped people came here for.

Damien too, was suspecting something fishy was happening here; the way this Helga woman was insisting made him think that this Aerinite or whatever was indeed a real thing. She didn't seem like the sort to lie. Besides, he also saw no point in creating an official letter just to print a scam on it and leave it be as an evidence of malicious intent to damage relations.

The biggest reason for the slight disquiet in Damien's heart was the fact that it barely had been two weeks since he had received the request letter. Yet, there they were, the pair of Jonas and Helga right in front of him, trying to get him to get a move on.

If the Institute's head researchers and Marquis Phillips didn't believe in the significant chances of the material being available in this territory's Sacred Acre, then these two wouldn't have come.

With this line of thought emerging, it became increasingly difficult for Damien to keep a straight face.

He started seeing a way to take advantage of the situation. This matter seemed like a god-send opportunity, to wring out some much needed financial concessions off the fat cats sitting pretty in the Capital.

“So, Sir Jonas, why is the sudden need for this Aerinite? And what makes you so sure my Sacred Acre has it?”

Damien deliberately emphasized 'my' part. It didn't matter whether he was being sneered upon with contempt or not, the fact remained that Riverfield and its surrounding areas were under his lordship. No one, save for the Emperor himself, could march into his territory willy-nilly and do whatever they pleased. That would amount to declaring war.

“For now, I'm not at liberty to say. But I assure you, it is for the good of the Empire.” Jonas shook his head. “As for this territory's Sacred Acre, it fits the profile perfectly. The researchers of the Institute have identified Acres with a high probability of containing Aerinite ores. Yours happen to be one.”

“I see.” Damien sat back on his chair and sipped the now-cold tea.

His cool and apathetic reaction to Jonas's words brought forth uneasy silence in the room.

Although he didn't show it outwardly, Jonas was actually pressed for time. There were events afoot at the Institute's headquarters, and if he failed to secure this chance then surely, all he achieved so far, all he did to climb up to the current position, would be for naught.

And precisely because he had to bring about a favorable result quickly, the direction this talk had taken wasn't ideal.

Before departing from the Capital, he had done some research on just who Damien was, but that didn't really prepare him much. From the very beginning, Jonas thought his opponent was a hick, a deadbeat provincial upstart noble with a grimy background.

But here, he was reassessing the situation. Jonas should have considered the fact that, after all, Damien was a Lomax, a member of The Five Founding Families. It didn't matter that he was only a second son from the branch family Lucius. It also didn't matter he no longer associated with his greater family.

Just as it was with the other Founding Families, the harsh conditions for survival amid the ceaseless internal conflicts meant he wasn't short of ideas and of a thick skin. Moreso, in that he was also shaped in the fires of various battlefields as a Gold-ranked Adventurer.

Jonas didn't come here to antagonize the man, but to earn cooperation; he couldn't just waltz into a territory of a Lomax as that would only cause troubles for himself, and for his boss.

If that's the case....

“Well, sir, what if I organize the necessary funds to gather manpower? Will that help you rethink the request?”

Damien leaned back after placing the empty cup down on the tray. He purposely wasted time before answering Jonas.

“It depends. The time frame, potential personnel involved, supplies – none of it are ideal. We are already approaching the fifth month of the year. That means I must hurry and finish the preparations for the upcoming monsoon. That also means the rise in the activity of Fiends so the hiring of soldiers and Adventurers will become harder. It all means, well, more money must be spent.”

“So, it isn't possible?” Jonas raised an eyebrow.

“No, not necessarily. As I said, it'll all depend on just how loose you're with the purse strings.” Damien smiled thinly.

Jonas tried hard to conceal an expression of pure disdain. Again, he told himself not to start a fight with Damien the Baron of the territory surrounding the village of Riverfield. “I have been entrusted with enough funds. It shan't be an issue then. If settled, I shall depart to Lafayette immediately and make preparations.”

“There's no need for you to hire people personally,” Damien kept his smile. “I know a few talented individuals who will greatly appreciate finding easy employment. Besides, we should discuss remuneration first before that. It is a given that my forces will have to accompany you and your men, after all.”

This time it was the turn of Jonas to cramp his face a little.

It was unfortunate that Jonas didn't know of the complicated history between the Marquis, who was the head of the Imperial Institute, and Damien. If he did, the talk might have gone the way he would've preferred.

The talks of money made him subconsciously count the amount of Guinea coins he had on person. No doubt, there was a fairly ample funds to draw from, but in truth, the less he spend, the fatter his own purses were to become at the end of the day.

Even Jonas didn't know why this Aerinite was highly sought after by the Imperial government so suddenly. There were rumors floating around here and there, and he had heard of them but none sounded plausible.

For now, all he did was to follow the orders of the Marquis obediently. So he didn't know what Aerinite ores looked like; Helga was here for that. She was one of the brightest stars of the Institute's circle of Invokers, known for her sharp intellect and high class Invocation abilities.

But since she was young and relatively inexperienced, it was easy for Jonas to get her to come with him on this trip. She was an insurance, and she with the eyes of an expert would identify the ores in question.

And he would claim the glory.

The original plan was for him to get the permission to bring in an expeditionary force from Lafayette and explore the nearby Sacred Acre. Maybe six or seven Adventurers of Silver rank or lower would have been sufficient. Jonas was planning to skim off some Guinea off the top during the process too, as the hiring fees were going to be low.

But now, he was sure of Damien taking him to the cleaners. This was not good.

Not like Damien cared about that, however.

He noticed that Jonas hadn't touched the tea, while Helga was looking at it with a slight hesitation. It seemed she was thirsty but since her superior wasn't touching his, she couldn't just reach out for hers, lest she fall foul of the accepted social etiquette.

All Damien could think of was, what a waste of tea. That's money thrown out the window....

If I'm honest, I still haven't decided on the actual title yet. So the placeholder will remain, for a while longer.

 

Right now, I'm rocking out to Royal Republic's Weekend Man album so much, it's hard to concentrate!!!
Man, this album's seriously kickass, I can't get enough.

Anyways, here's....

Spoiler: Chapter five, part one. Unedited.

Five


A few days later, Lizbeth and Kaleena returned from their trip to the nearest city of Lafayette, bringing with them all the new apparels for the young girl. And some for the mother too, on the side. Finances might be tight, but a girl gotta spend when she sees something nice. Their trip was almost problem-free, except for that one time when little Kaleena needed to go, and go in a hurry.

The real problem only came after that, as soon as Lizbeth learned of the meeting, and the subsequent arrangement, by her husband and a man from the Imperial Institute.

She was unhappy, to say the least. The first line of her questioning was, “Why didn't you consult with me first, whether it was prudent of you to personally go?”

It was a reasonable one to ask; indeed it made no sense for Damien to head up the group heading for the Sacred Acre. It didn't matter if the labyrinth was safe or not, as that was not the issue.

Besides the fact that there were literally tons of unattended documents in his office, he was a father of two young children. Even surrounded by a skilled group of fighters there was always an element of danger when treading on the barely-explored grounds.

If it was in the past, Lizbeth would've unhesitatingly follow her husband, but now things were different. She was a mother, someone with responsibilities. And so was he, but in her eyes, he was being completely thoughtless.

His defense when questioned was, “I'll only be gone for a few days, a week at most. My skills haven't rusted yet, and the forest on the way won't be difficult at all. Just treat it as my much-deserved holiday.”

“But there are still matters you haven't attended to yet!! What about your responsibilities? You simply can't delay them till the last moments, Damien!!”

Needless to say, they argued for a good while. Some harsh words were exchanged in the heat of the moment, and by the time they ran out of breath, things became rather awkward, to a point where it became tough to reconcile quickly, even with external help from Delilah and Rosy.

It was Lizbeth who sort of relented first, giving up in persuading Damien to stay behind after seeing the irrepressible gleaming light in his eyes. She knew it was impossible to dissuade him when he had that shine, the spirit of adventuring burning fiercely still in his heart, it being reflected in those clear, deep irides.

It took about another week of preparations before the group of twenty men and women, consisting of hired Adventurers from the Association in Lafayette, and militiamen from Riverfield plus the subordinates of Sir Jonas Bremble, left the village and headed for the Sacred Acre, located to the West.

During the preparation period, it became rather unbearable, atmosphere-wise, in the Lomax household. The couple hadn't made up, although Lizbeth did see off Damien on his way when it was time for departure. Putting up a united front, it was.

Even though the pair did their best not to stress the kids, children were naturally sensitive to the unease permeating in the house. Moreso in the case of Kain, who wasn't really a newborn kid with barely eight month old inside.

He could see that both Damien and Lizbeth wanted to say something and maybe even apologize to the things that were spoken in haste but for the reason of pride and other unimportant stuff, the chances weren't taken by both of them.

Each of their gazes would drift to the other when not looking, and then turn away when their eyes were about to meet. The words would crawl up their throats but at the last moments they were swallowed back down.

Only if one of them acted like an adult and had a serious face-to-face talk, the whole stiff atmosphere would've been broken a long time ago. As it was, Damien ended up sleeping in Kain's nursery or in Kaleena's room rather than in the main bedroom.

Truthfully, Kain wanted to intervene and say something. He couldn't bear to see Lizbeth sighing and shaking her head all the time while breastfeeding him.

He didn't know the divorce rate in a fantasy world like this would be, but it wasn't an appealing thought to live in a separated family this early on his new life. Although surely, such an abrupt split wouldn't happen so quickly to a couple who were in love, or so he thought.

And so wanting to impart some sage advice, he nearly blurted out to the couple, but stopped before making that slip. He realized it was way, way too early for a baby to form words, and the prospects of dealing with the ensuing consequences that would definitely follow on the aftermath if he did blurt out something, was one of those things he wanted to avoid like a plague.

Well, imagine telling a mother of a new born child that her son's soul was possibly replaced with one from a twenty-something year old dude; surely, that'd go down as well as Donald Trump showing up at a local PETA meeting wearing a baby seal fur coat chewing on a panda jerky, muttering, “I don't know about this endangered species thing or what,” while having that smug look of his.

So all he could do was just observe while trying to figure out if there was anything he could try. As a baby, his options were limited to taking the first steps, or start talking baby babbling.

If he did either of that, there was a chance that Damien would be so overcome with emotions, he might forego leaving for the labyrinth altogether and stay behind. Or, he could be happy and still go on the trip, and because of the influence of the elated emotions, he ends up getting sloppy and resulting in.... bad things happening.

Knowing him for the past few months, Kain could confidently say that Damien would act the latter scenario nine times out of ten. So he gave up on doing either of the available options.

In the end, he could do nothing. He just watched on as lots of leather armor sets, weapons of several shapes and sizes, and pouches containing.... something, getting handed out to the folks he'd seen before with Damien supervising the process. There was a large, locked storage that were built behind the Lomax house, and all these dangerous weapons of war were kept there.

As for the individual pouch's contents, he wondered if it were simply healing medicines and some other balms, or one of those special magic bags that could swallow large amount of luggage which shouldn't fit in the first place.

Nope, it turned out, they contained various herbs, nothing else. Not a magic bag after all.

Kain also noticed lack of tension on the faces of those receiving their portion of supply. Some were apathetic, some were happy, some were bored looking. Sure, there were nervous faces in the mix too, but generally, it was more of the “last minute pre-exam jitters” rather than “pre-Normandy invasion a la Saving Private Ryan” faces.

As for the relations between Jonas and Damien, it remained professional at best. No more was said other than what was necessary. Pretty frosty.

Jonas had gone back to Lafayette after the “negotiation” ended, although as a formal gesture Damien did offer him lodging for the night. The Institute member declined as politely as possible within the allowance of his mannerism. Which was, rather curt and impolite.

Various small things happened after that, until the departure date – like Damien suddenly exercising vigorously daily, as if to rouse his sleepy body back to the fit form it once had. And he totally neglected the piled up paperwork, as usual.

And just like that, with horses dragging along a large cart loaded with stuff, they left.

Behind them, a pair of tracks imprinted on the dirt road by the turning wheels of the wooden vehicle. It bucked and twisted uncomfortably. Kain wondered about the cart's durability for a second, watching the frame flex from a distance.

With their departure, the silence filled the empty house. It felt oddly eerie with Damien gone.

Lizbeth, who carried a calm expression in front of others, but as soon as no one was looking she couldn't stop sighing and continued to knit her brows. She had faith in his abilities of course, but she couldn't help but worry at a small but insistent feeling gnawing at her heart. She just prayed it was nothing serious, but simply of her thinking up unnecessary things.

Unfortunately for her, an incident occurred three nights after the group's departure. And it was certainly a big one.

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Kaleena woke up with a feeling of discomfort. Her body felt sore for no reason, with little irritating aches sprouting from her arms and legs. And she felt her temperature rising up.

She didn't let either of her parents know, lest she might make them worry needlessly, but this discomfort had been with her for some time now; it came and went intermittently, and when it did manifest it was never quite as bad but tonight, things were different. Previously, drinking water or warm tea calmed her down so she thought getting some fluids in may help her this time too.

Because she was supposed to be in bed until morning like a well behaved little girl should, her room lacked a water jug. Ironic, seeing that there was a bucket for relieving one's bladder in the room. So, she had to go to the kitchen to get water. But she wasn't allowed to walk around alone, especially at night, even at home.

Initially she thought about calling her mother but, knowing how tired Lizbeth was from worrying about her dad, she chose not to.

So alternatively she went and called for Rosy instead, but when Kaleena carefully knocked on the door to the live-in maid's quarter, the girl was so deep in slumber not even a dragon's roar could wake her up.

The sight of the cat girl with her ears and whiskers twitching as she dreamed while clutching onto a pillow, murmuring 'meat, more meat' looked pitiful so Kaleena let her sleep.

She tiptoed down the hall and entered the kitchen. She was well familiar with where all the cutlery was, and more importantly where the drinkable water was located.

But after entering, she noticed the door to the backyard was slightly ajar. Which was odd, seeing that all doors were secured before the family went to bed.

Puzzled, Kaleena approached it and closed it carefully. She thought that wind might have blown it open.

After finding the water, she took large gulps and felt relief almost immediately. Satisfied, she decided to head back to her room when, the discomfort reared its head again. This vexed her slightly, as this never happened like this before. Unsure of what to do, she hesitated while standing in the kitchen.

Then she heard a light sound of something falling coming from her father's office and thought, mommy's up? Should I go and tell her? If I do, will she get mad?

A short moment of decision later, she moved. The office was dimly lit, and a flash of a shadow flickered occasionally. Kaleena slowly opened the door, expecting to see the figure of her mother.

It wasn't her.

A masked figure was crouched by the bookshelf containing Damien's documents, and he was rummaging through it in a hurry. He was clothed head to toe in black, almost blending into the darkened scenery like a mirage.

Kaleena was stunned. She noticed that a very thin layer of dark, fog like substance was layered on top of this person and it totally erased his presence – not even sound was being made as he moved, the fabric not making the usual rustling noise. The parchments that were also lightly wrapped in that dark thing, made no sound as they fell, the dark fog dissipating immediately as the said parchments touched the floor. Judging by that she shouldn't have heard the sound from before.

Kaleena stood there for a moment, observing this scene, unsure of what to do. The dark fog was different from what her mother was usually wrapped around with when she was casting Invocations, nor what little Kain had constantly around him.

Mother's were white like snow while Kain's fluctuated like rainbow. This man's was – Kaleena was intuitively sure of his gender – dark so she wondered if that meant this person was bad.

If so, she had to chase him out of her home.

Thus Kaleena called out to the intruder.

“What are you doing in my father's office?”

The masked man flinched. He quickly turned his gaze over at the doorway and saw a little girl standing defiantly, hands on hips, staring at him.

Grimacing, he unsheathed a dagger which gave off a chilling light, and stood up.

Seeing this, Kaleena felt a sudden rush of fear – she was unfamiliar with this type of sensation so it confused her as to what she needed to do now. Yes, she'd felt scared before but that was when Lizbeth was scolding her. This type of fear was different, it was a lot more nastier, lots more unpleasant.

She understood why, when she looked closer at the man approaching her – the dark fog that were surrounding him had begun to spread like twisted thorns, reaching towards her, as if to devour her.

Kaleena screamed, just as the man with the dagger silently lunged forward.

The sharp weapon aimed at the child's head was suddenly repelled by an explosion of energy. The source was the screaming little girl.

From her, multi-colored light exploded outwards, causing an intense white-out that blinded the man, knocking him backwards into the office.

He spat out a mouthful of blood as his internal organs were assaulted by the powerful rays of light.

After crashing into Damien's desk with a loud thud, he let out a shocked gasp while trying to regain his blurred sights. “What? What incredible bursts of Aeterna!?”

The blinding light continued to expand and it seared the man's cloak of dark fog away, stripping him bare and causing burn marks to appear on his body as the black clothing got ripped apart, all the while forcing him harder against the desk, moving the heavy furniture back until it collided against the wall.

Little more, and he would've been killed; but maybe because the girl was young, her batteries ran out and the light finally died down.

The man staggered up and quickly picked up the dagger. He looked at the girl who was swaying dangerously before collapsing on the floor, completely worn out.

Grabbing this chance he rushed out. He recognized the danger this girl posed in the future for his employer so even if he die and fail his mission now, he had to at least eliminate this Lomax child.

Again his dagger approached the prone body of Kaleena. This time there wasn't going to be a force field made of Aeterna to block his attack, and thus his blade sank into her shoulder, just above where her heart might be. He missed his mark due to the damage from the earlier Aeterna burst which he hadn't had the time to recover from just yet.

Before he could pull out the blade and try once more, he received a powerful kick to the side of his face from Rosy Matte and flew straight into the opposite wall, breaking it. He spat out another mouthful of his own blood, before seeing a fist heading his way, dodging it in haste.

When he raised his head, he saw a red-furred Pantherikin girl snarling at him with her fangs bared. Behind her, Lizbeth was climbing down the steps hurriedly, and running to her wounded daughter.

The man frowned; he knew of these two woman – knew the levels of danger they were to him. Lizbeth was once an Adventurer ranked Gold alongside her husband before leaving that world, while Rosy Matte, although never been ranked, was rumored to be as good as her boss.

It looked like his mission was surely a failure at this point so, he switched to a reverse grip and came at Rosy, while waiting for a chance to escape. Despite being hurt, he had gotten his bearings back and thus he was able to show a considerable skill while attacking the maidservant.

Rosy was one step ahead however. She was enraged that this cat burglar had tried to kill the little miss, but she still managed to keep a cool head and assessed the situation quickly. Not affected by the darkness of the night she read the man's thrusts and swings to perfection and easily got under his defense.

The man received a huge rising knee to his sternum and felt his chest cave in. Not giving up he tried to counter but the dagger-held hand was then grabbed by Rosy's tail, briefly immobilizing it. Swiftly she disarmed the man and kicked his thigh from the side, nearly breaking the bone but still destroying his balance.

He cried out in agony as he fell. He rolled back to dodge Rosy's foot stomp aimed at his head, and tried to open a distance between them.

He was distracted by a sudden flash of white light coming from behind Rosy. It was Lizbeth quickly casting a high level healing Invocation at her bleeding daughter.

The distraction lasted for a nanosecond but that was all Rosy needed.

Before the man recovered, she dashed in and went for his throat with her knuckles. The attack connected splendidly and caused the man to stutter. Rosy finished up by sweeping his legs off the floor then landing a powerful rising kick to his spine in one uninterrupted motion.

The man groaned as he crashed into a heap, unmoving.

Victory achieved without killing the intruder, Rosy turned to her boss, and confirmed that Kaleena was breathing. The little girl lost a lot of blood but her wounds have closed and the immediate danger to her life was over. Lizbeth thanked Rosy for taking care of the assailant, and when she swept her gaze at the fallen man, deathly chill entered her voice.

“Please hold her for a moment, Rosy. I'd like to interrogate our guest properly.”

As the angered mother walked closer, the man coughed out a large dollop of blood, and looked at her weakly. He smiled bitterly, causing Lizbeth to halt her steps, as she was still wary of this man's hidden tricks.

However, he pulled out a slender blade, no bigger than a razor, out from a hidden compartment in the belt buckle and slit his own throat.

“Ah!”

Letting out a little cry, Lizbeth hurried to the man's side but it was too late; he was convulsing with dull gray foams bubbling out from the corner of his mouth. Oh, and the gushing blood soaking the wooden floor.

“....Poison.”

Lizbeth muttered under her breath. A fast acting, deadly poison applied at the neck meant not even she could cast the right Invocation in time to avert the death of this man.

Soon his body stopped convulsing. The best clue to finding the one responsible for this heinous act was now dead.

Only the Kain's shrill cries rang around the now-still Lomax house.

 

Spoiler: Chapter five, part two.

Unaware of the happenings back at home, Damien led twenty men and women into the nameless forest located west of Riverfield. Their destination was a special area hidden deep within its depths, colloquially referred to as Sacred Acres. This particular Acre lacked a name – no one's gotten around to naming it for various reasons so in the meantime, it was simply known as the Riverfield Sacred Acre.

The group of five Adventurers hired from Lafayette branch of The Adventurers' Association, were recommended by Damien personally as they were his old acquaintances. His old adventuring comrades, in other words, before he decided to live out a life of a civilian.

Damien had his old buddies hired not only out of loyalty, but as this trip happened to be a good source of easy income, it seemed to make sense to call on them. And since he wasn't footing the bill, there was that too.

He explained to his buddies that this request was more or less qualified as a paid vacation, and they all consented to it in a heartbeat. Jonas wasn't charged too hefty a bill however. After all, they had moral compasses that still worked.

As for the reason why Damien took the militia guys along, it was simple really; he saw this trip as a valuable chance to gain some actual experience plodding through a seemingly “hazardous” environment, which should prove beneficial for the village's defenses in the long run.

A win-win for Damien in other words, not so much for Jonas who was looking at a fairly substantial financial expenditure at the end of the day for the mobilization of what is surely an unnecessary force.

Unnecessary, because of how safe, relatively speaking, the forest near the village was.

The thing was, Damien knew of the forest's layout almost like the back of his own hand; it was a part of his job description – no, it's not actually, but he insisted on making it so – to personally stop the Fiends, monsters, from taking root in the vicinity of Riverfield. Whenever his fancy and the opportunity lined up, he'd saddle up and dive head in with a child-like glee.

It was a valuable and scarce way of de-stressing from staring at the formal documents the whole day, everyday for him. Sure, many times he went around the village and its surrounding fields performing manual labors that shouldn't have been done by a Baron, as such a thing was rather unbecoming, but regardless of how hard he worked, at the end of the day, he found those type of labor unsatisfactory when compared to the exhilarating sensation of being on the knife-thin edge between life and death.

Of course, there was the occasional tumble in the sack with the missus too, but that was a different kind of release, so....

Anyways, the annual culling of the Fiends prior to the preparations, and the subsequent arrival, of the Monsoon season happened not too long ago. So the forest was quiet during their current journey, only the infrequent run-ins with the forest's wild animals being a stuff to lightly worry about.

It was all good, if a little lacking in excitement. He knew this was going to happen but hey, he went through all the trouble leading the group here, so he silently prayed for a bit of action. Anything would do, he mumbled softly.

Behind him, a slender but athletically muscled woman of early thirties approached him. “I'll take the front now, Damien. Rest up a little.”

Her name was Gillian Herts, a scout who also boasted a Gold rank in the hierarchy of the Adventurers' Association. She and Damien had been friends ever since he became an Adventurer way back when.

“Thanks Gill. I'll leave it up to you for a while.”

Damien replied apologetically and fell back into the ranks near the group following loosely behind. Besides her, the Adventurer group consisted of Taylor Ryan, an Invoker specializing in Invocations of combat variety; Gordie Lann, a mountain of a man who carried a shield and a hammer, acting as a damage cushion of the party; and Ben Musgrave, a vanguard possessing a massive halberd garnished with fearsome-looking ax-head. Finally their leader, Philander 'Phil' Cosier, whom Damien have known for what it felt like ages. Before Damien and Lizbeth opted for the relative calmness of a civilian life, all seven of them used to belong to the same band of Adventurers, but the ranks had thinned out somewhat since then.

For sentimental reasons the empty spots were left as was. Phil and co did try to recruit several prospects over the years, but for one reason or the other, they didn't pan out.

Confirming the Adventurers' formation have remained steadfast Damien checked the rest of the group. With a few exceptions, the travelers' faces were cramped with fatigue and irritation. It was in the middle of early Summer so the irritating insect hoards were out in full force, and in particular, Jonas's group were at the receiving end of hostilities that were harsher than usual.

Damien shook his head slowly, watching them tiredly swat away the bugs in vain, and mumbled inwardly.

I told you not to wear those plate armors, didn't I?

The trio looked pitiful, but the insect-repelling vermillion grass powder that were mixed in with water and sprinkled over a person's clothing, could only do so much when considering the three of them smelled particularly bad, thanks to heavy sweating brought on by the thick metal armors.

Everyone else wore considerably lighter, easier to move and most crucially, better ventilated leather armors. Even then it was still stuffy and hot. Imagine how boiling it was inside the metal trappings – Jonas and pals must've been slowly cooked alive underneath.

Damien ignored the fools who ignored his advice, and went near Phil. He was handed a water skin as soon as he came near his old friend's side.

Thanking the man, he took a sip of the lukewarm water. There was a hint of herb in the taste of the liquid.

“It's the blue nettle.” Phil winked at Damien who threw a 'when did you?' look over at the older Adventurer.

Blue nettle grass was sometimes used to combat heat-induced fatigue when soaked in water. Too much wasn't good for one's bladder but in moderation, it worked wonders.

“You always come prepared, Phil.” Damien chuckled.

While walking forward, they discussed this and that, exchanging gossip and information. Outwardly, they seemed carefree, but in truth, both of their senses were wide awake, not taking anything for granted.

Still, there was some amount of slack evident in their actions; that was because, both of them were present when Damien tackled the Sacred Acre just over five years ago. In fact, the current members of Phil's party consisted of the very members that fought together at that time. They all knew the way pretty well as the result.

The slackened atmosphere led, inevitably, to a talk of retirement.

“So yeah, still not planning to retire yet, Phil? You are not getting any younger, you know.”

“Nope. Not retiring. Not in a million years. You know me, I can't be bound to a home and a nagging wife like you. I'm too free spirited.”

“Right,” Damien smiled. “Still, there's spot for you in Riverfield if you're interested. We can always use an extra hand, no matter how wrinkly it is.”

“Hey, what about us?” Gordie tapped him on the shoulder. “You don't think we're worth it?”

Gordie's giant frame leaned forward, in a threatening manner with a crease forming on his craggy forehead. Any ol' regular people might be intimidated by that, but not Damien. He'd been around this tall man for far too long, and knew the big guy actually didn't mean to exude such an aura at all, it was just that he was cursed with a scary face.

“Oh hey Gord. Right, there isn't one. I can't afford your food bills, man.” Damien lightly elbowed the big guy on the side.

“C'mon now, didn't I say I'm just big boned? I eat normal amount, like everyone else!!”

Damien laughed. “Your definition of normal is not normal, Gord. I've seen you wolf down a whole boar in a blink, man.”

Gordie's face got redder as he tried to defend his eating habits. “That time, it couldn't be helped!! I was hungry an' all.”

Hearing this, Phil and Damien shared another chuckle.

“Leave the big man alone, you guys,” Ben interjected with a smile. He too was having a good laugh at the expense of his comrade.

“Right, sorry about that Gord. Of course you're welcome in Riverfield. As long as you pony up the cash for food up front, that is,” said Damien with a big slap on the big man's back, and he quickly took a distance from the irritated swat. More laughter flowed after that.

Behind him, Vagas looked a little flustered, so he sauntered closer.

“How are you feeling, Vagas? If you are feeling under the weather, let Cray know.”

Cray was a militiaman charged with looking after the supplies. He had half a dozen pack mules carrying provisions and of course, medicine. This job was ideally suited to the man, as he reared livestock as a main source of income. He even figured out how to drive recalcitrant creatures around to his will. Very useful skill, that was.

If needed, he was able to dispense the correct balms at a moment's notice. His experiences of looking after sick animals helped immensely with this part of the job – one look was all he needed to select the medicine and invariably, he'd be right with the choice.

“Uhm, sir, it's not that. It's just that, uh, may I ask you something?”

The young man's voice was hushed and quiet, as he didn't want the nearby Adventurers to hear him.

“Alright, what is it?”

“....Sir, I know nothing of Sacred Acres. What will we see when we get there? Will I fight lots of Fiends once we arrive there?”

Vagas was still a small boy when Damien led a group to clear out the Sacred Acre, so it was natural he didn't participate back then; it was reasonable to think that he didn't know what to expect. Damien pondered how he should answer the questions for a little bit, before he turned to face the young man.

“The one we're heading to, it's a variant of an ancient ruin, from some forgotten civilization. However, it should be safe now. I personally cleared it out of Fiends and traps, with these fine folks walking up ahead so don't worry too much about it. Just keep your wits about you and it will work out.”

Vagas nodded. He didn't look too satisfied with the answer but he knew it was something he had to see for himself first.

“I'm not worried sir. It's just that, I've heard a Sacred Acre can become a breeding ground for Fiends, is all.”

“Not all Sacred Acres are. Some are, yes, but not this one. And what was there, it's not anymore. In case we run into something, let's simply smash it out of the way.”

Damien smiled reassuringly and slapped the young man's shoulder once. The usually brave and energetic Vagas could only return a cramped grin that was not a grin.

One of the militiaman came over and asked how far they were from the destination, signaling the end of that conversation. Riverfield's Sacred Acre laid just under two days' distance from the village when traveling on foot. This was the third day on the move – they were well behind schedule. Jonas's party was to blame, of course.

But they were near the goal anyway, so no one decided to raise a fuss about the delay and possibly sour the mood.

After informing the inquisitive militiaman, Damien relaxed a bit more, wondering slightly whether he was going to see this mysterious Aerinite or not.

And soon enough, them marching past the unruly undergrowth finally bore fruit as they reached the clearing in the forest that marked the boundary of the Sacred Acre.

The surrounding was quiet, with nary a sound of wind blowing. Even the hateful insects preying on blood had ceased their attacks, as they were nowhere to be found.

“Is that it?”

Jonas asked as he concentrated on the crumbling remains of a lone stone structure, standing precariously in the open, barren land. Outwardly, it looked unremarkable as it resembled an abandoned house. Those sensitive to the Flow of Aeterna however, could tell something was off about it just with a simple cursory glance.

Almost everyone in the party had come in contact with the mysterious substance's influence at least once in their lifetimes so, they could all feel the ominous, oppressive air oozing from it.

“It's smaller than I thought.”

Jonas muttered under his breath, as he readjusted his cuirass.

The ground around the structure had nothing growing on it in the radius of well over several Ruten, and not even a blade of grass were to be seen, only the reddish, exposed soil that were hardened by the glares of the sun and the exposure greeting them. The place hadn't changed since the last time he was here, mused Damien.

“Don't be deceived. That's just the entrance. The real Acre lies beneath the surface.” Phil said as he gripped his one-handed sword tightly. “Oi Damien, this here sure doesn't feel like a friendly place, now does it?”

Damien grimaced at the astute observation of his comrade. It was true that something was wrong here. The atmosphere was getting heavier as they approached the structure and that was something not supposed to happen.

But the thickness of Aeterna flowing out of the hidden entrance was far too dense to be ignored – such density could only mean there were Fiends residing inside.

This didn't make any sense. Damien and co. properly cleared the Acre back then, defeating the Guardian that nested in its deepest, darkest part; he had the scars to prove it. He even brought out the rare materials that could be found in its depth and made a tidy profit off that. Which had to go into the village's emergency coffers, by the way. And that was the catalyst of him becoming the lord of the said village, but that's a story for another time.

Usually, a Sacred Acre was supposed to lose its potency once cleared of its Guardian, never to recover its toxic atmosphere – that was the general consensus, accepted by pretty much everyone in the trade. Yet there it was, right in front of them, a Sacred Acre oozing malice and menace.

Damien suddenly found himself in a serious bind. His gut was telling him to go back, but when glancing at Jonas's face, he knew that was unlikely to happen.

The Imperial Institute's representative was the one paying for this trip, and whatever he says, goes – that was the situation. Phil and his gang was officially hired by Jonas, and he also paid for the mobilization of Riverfield's militia. Unless Damien was prepared to refund the amount, which was impossible now as it was already absorbed into the village's annual budget, he couldn't simply back off and not expect repercussions.

But maybe he could scare Jonas into retreating, then....

“Well, let us not waste any more time. Mister Cosier, Lord Damien, isn't this a place fit for us to make camp?” Jonas said with some authority in his irritated voice, as he pointed at the ground near the structure.

“How about we head back to Riverfield instead, and return later? It seems the Sacred Acre is.... acting up at the moment,” Damien countered while crossing his arms. “Surely, you can feel the unstable Flow of Aeterna yourself, coming from the ruin.”

“What of it?” Jonas looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Have you gone unsteady with such trifling amount present, sir? My subordinate, Miss Helga here, can easily counteract whatever the Acre throws at us. May I remind you, that she is a Journeyman ranked Invoker, decorated with countless achievements and recognition. There is nothing to worry about.”

“Yes yes, you extolled her virtues enough times already, Sir Jonas. But surely, you can tell there's something very wrong here at the moment. We should exercise caution on the face of uncertainty such as the current situation,” Damien replied while tensing up, careful not to raise his voice.

“We've your recommended Adventurers here with us. If it gets dangerous, surely they can perform to their exorbitant hiring fees,” sneered Jonas disinterestedly. “Well, Mister Cosier? What say you? Are you up for the challenge?”

Phil glanced over at his party, then at Damien. A silent communication went between two men, with the younger one pleading with the older to turn back, to say nope, siree, we're not.

But all Damien got was a look of resigned apology.

“Yeah, we are good to go,” announced Phil.

Hearing this, Damien instinctively slipped his left hand inside the belt-mounted pouch to confirm the supply of healing salves. He had enough for himself, or at least he hoped so.

He also hoped that they would not be needed later on.

Status report: looks like I might manage with the current schedule, somehow. Trying to speed up the release, but man, it's not easy.

 

(In James May's voice)

Good News!! Dacia Sandero is now on s...
...
.......
Ahem. That wasn't what I wanted to say. Disregard.

Okay, uh, anyways. Good news, I've got a bit of free time on me this week, so instead of spiltting a chap into two and releasing it separately, today I'm posting a full one. Expect another one soon-ish.

Spoiler: Chapter Six.

Six

The expeditionary force camped overnight just outside the border of the Sacred Acre, in order to enter it with as much preparation as possible the following morning.

And during that morning, well before the sunrise, a short discussion between the “senior management” members took place; it was decided to split the group into two, with one staying behind, while the other would raid the Acre. For the stay-behind team, two people were chosen; they were given express orders to not put up a fight if Fiends approached. Instead, they were told to evacuate to a safer place.

Also, if for some reason the party fails to return within the allocated time, then the duo must head back to the village regardless of what their feelings might dictate.

Once that was settled, those diving underground inspected their own equipment thoroughly. Phil gave out brief warnings on what to expect, and what to do when stuff goes down eventually. Some basic precautions, such as not panicking and always covering the backs of his or her mates, things like that.

It only ended up making the inexperienced militiamen tense. Damien felt that was actually a bit better than being carefree – but only by a little.

“Well then. Men, and ladies – let us march.” Jonas declared triumphantly as he unsheathed his fancy one handed sword, and pointed forward like a commander willing his troops into a battlefield, his glitzy, polished metal armor reflecting the sunlight rather gallantly.

He probably wanted to do that very badly ever since he was a child, Damien mused quietly as his eyebrow rose up.

And like an over-eager child, Jonas tried to take the front. He was clearly in a hurry to get there.

Luckily for him, Phil interrupted the hasty man by grabbing his shoulder, and suggested in no uncertain terms. “Please sir, let Gillian take the lead. She's a scout – it's her job.”

After coughing away his embarrassment Jonas consented, and they were off to the lone ruin in the distance as the morning sun settled on the sky.

The initial part of the Acre, the crumbling remains of a mid-sized building, was quite harmless, literally – it was always like that. That fact still held true, as no nasties jumped out as the group carefully approached it.

Just like that day when Damien and his Adventurer guildmates dived into this very Sacred Acre five years ago, there were no traps, no shaky footholds to trip the unwary, nor no slobbering Fiends to block the access to the interior.

The sight of the said interior, and a gaping hole set at an angle on the floor, made Damien grimace as a recollection of the past crept into his mind. He still felt the same goosebumps from back then slowly caress his skin. The goosebumps made entirely of unshakable apprehension, a fear of the unknown, the stench of a certain death.

Only, right now he was feeling it far more intensely than before. If he, a veteran, was feeling like this, then how would a newbie like Vagas feel?

Careful not to disturb the walls of the ruin, Gillian descended first, and after a short while, signaled the others to follow in.

The immediate passage past the entrance hadn't changed as well; a wide-mouthed cavern with a gentle downward slope, smooth stone walls seemingly carved out by men possessing ancient technology long lost since. Wide enough to accommodate four adult men walking abreast, ceiling tall enough to swing a lengthy polearm.

And lighting taken care of by the peculiar blue crystals, Lazulites, that protruded from the various gaps on the walls and the ceiling. These rocks were only found inside the Sacred Acres, and once removed from their depths, mysteriously lose the ability to emit light almost immediately.

Those who were new to the world of exploration, looked around with their mouths agape, taking in the somewhat bizarre sights. But all of them didn't utter a single word; even Jonas kept quiet as the group advanced slowly forward.

They marched for almost thirty momenta, minutes, and nothing of note happened. Damien didn't lower his guards but a small bud of doubt began to sprout in his mind, asking him whether he was overestimating the threat level.

Honestly, he thought that the previous night, which was restless to say the least, might be affecting his judgments. Last night, after assigning the schedules for the lookout duties, he tried to catch some quick shut-eyes but couldn't even get a wink in.

The reason being the uneasiness that wouldn't just go away, no matter what he told himself to calm down. And whenever he surveyed the darkened forest surrounding them, illuminated by the pale blue lights of the moons, the feeling became more exacerbated than before.

One after the other, questions arose and revolved in his brain; if the Sacred Acre was still active for some reason, why weren't there any Fiends present in the forest on their way here? Not to mention, there were no threats in the vicinity of the Acre itself.

And thinking back, Damien knew he made no mistakes back five years ago. He was, to the point of putting his honor as a man on the line, certain of clearing the Acre by defeating the last Guardian. Phil was there, Gillian was there, Gordie and Ben and Taylor were there. Lizbeth was there too. They were all there, bearing witness to the feat.

He knew the answer was residing within the Acre's bowels, waiting to be exposed to the light. But quite frankly, he didn't want to go down there while this ill-prepared.

Phil had a same opinion when Damien consulted with him. He too was feeling reluctant, but since he had pushed his comrades to get ready for any eventualities, he was thinking that barring some hurdles that can't be overcome, his group would emerge alright from the ordeal.

Besides, there was no going back for him now that they have come this far. The money was indeed the issue – Phil already had sent a considerable chunk of the request fee to his ailing younger brother, and there was simply no way to refund that amount now. So he was committed to finding this fairy tale-esque Aerinite or whatever it was called, without choice.

“This isn't what I expected,” Jonas muttered, his voice verging on disappointment and trepidation. “Perhaps it is true that you did clear it after all.”

There was a hint of sneer in the last comment made by him, and that nearly got a rise out of Damien. There was a status difference to consider but the impunity shown by the Capital-bred idiot was bordering on social blasphemy.

The night before, he even complained that he had to do a guard duty. Damien and Phil devised a lookout rotation schedule that would let everyone in the traveling party to participate at least once, but Jonas wanted nothing to do with that.

Phil pacified the indignant man with, “Sir, you're the most skilled of us, so it only makes sense that you protect us during the time of rest.”

That was doubly tiring.

Recalling the unpleasantness didn't help, definitely, with the slow progress the group was making. Looking around, Damien saw one too many tired faces, seemingly almost everyone of the militia not getting a good enough rest.

So it was a blessing in disguise that there weren't any attacks from some hidden Fiends. Otherwise, the damage could have been large.

But at the same time, the lack of Fiends alarmed him deeply. The first time he entered here, his party was swarmed by the various Fiends almost immediately. Yet this time.... nothing. Not a single soul.

He forcibly quashed the nagging thoughts down and sharpened his senses, making sure not to miss any little stimuli, any small bits of information. Smell, hearing, vibrations from the wall, the lot.

Soon, the slope leveled out, and the second part of the underground began. The man-made cavern ended here, and it was replaced instead by something equally artificial: one lined with smooth, dark metallic panels on all sides. The passage took on a rectangular shape, and the width increased considerably, almost thrice of the entryway. The height didn't change much however, and the Lazulites still dotted the gaps between the metal panels on the ceiling.

“This, this is....” Jonas gulped down nervously as he stroked the wall, his eyes shining with renewed spirit. He had heard about such arrangements of metallic panels lining the interior of some Acres but to actually touch one with his own hands – it was a special feeling. He was getting overwhelmed with emotion – at last, he had something to brag about when he returns to the Institute. All those lab-bound simpletons, possessing not a shred of adventuring spirit would all be utterly jealous of his achievement!!

The thought alone made him as pleased as Punch.

He lightly knocked on the smooth surface while saying, “This metal, it's a small wonder that no one has yet to pry it off the walls and carry it outside. The Institute would certainly pay handsomely to acquire a sample to analyze....”

“Don't make any further noise, Sir Jonas.” Damien hissed angrily. “We don't know what's lurking in the depths. Let us not wake 'em if we can help it.”

Jonas nodded stiffly, annoyance at being interrupted evident on his face. But he managed to mumble an apology. Inwardly he was murmuring, what a killjoy.

The party continued advancing forward, their movement speed still quite slow. Not long after, Gillian signaled that there was an anomaly up ahead. With a wave of her hand, she gathered everyone's attention, then pointed to her nose.

This action meant she picked up on a foreign smell.

Soon the mystery odor entered the noses of everyone present – it was a stench of rotting flesh. One or two faces turned pale at that, but under the weak light of Lazulites, all of their faces sported the exact same color so those guilty of weaker constitution were not found out by their peers.

After a few more agonizing minutes of moving forward, accompanied by sounds of their racing heartbeats, they finally encountered the source of the putrid odor.

There were bones with gnawed teeth marks and rotting lumps pf torm meat scattered here and there on the floor. The shapes of the broken bones suggested the victims were varied in type, and the, uh, freshness of the remains indicated that they were butchered quite recently. A little further away, there were even half-chewed bits decaying away.

Gillian poked several of the carcasses, confirming that all of them were indeed quite dead and inanimate. Pretty much obvious from the state they were in, but it was always safer to check anyway.

Damien thought that these were likely a leftover from the current inhabitants of the Acre having a meal. Which begged the question, of how the hell did these animals got here. There weren't any signs of animal or Fiend activity by the Acre's entrance, and there was no visible indication inside either.

He had to wonder whether there was a trickery involved here.

Is it possible that a some type of Invocation has been used? There are certainly spells that are capable of attracting & herding living creatures – is that the reason for this ugly sight?

Damien felt a cold sweat trickle down his spine just thinking about the odds of a such occurrence. The mere hints of meeting a Fiend, or Fiends, that were evolved enough to cast spells of this magnitude were enough to cause the outbreak of his secretion.

Fiends or wild animals with the ability to wield Aeterna freely were referred to as Awakened Beasts. There were varying degrees to the threat level, but basically those were the worst type of enemies to encounter if you happen to be an Adventurer.

Unlike humanoid Invokers, most of these creatures didn't need to chant in order to cast spells and, on top of that they gained a large amount of intelligence when evolving, thus simple tactics didn't work on them, making subjugation a difficult task.

Once, Damien was involved with a wide-scale subjugation request of a Gray Wolf pack. Now normally, wolves posed little threat as usually these canids avoided interacting with men. But this pack was different; they purposefully sought out villages to pillage and destroy.

And as it turned out, they were led by an Awakened, in this case a Gray Strife-Wolf.

It had united two dozen packs and led them in daily raids into various small settlements, leaving behind a trail of death and destruction.

A detachment of soldiers belonging to the local fief was sent to take care of the problem, but the commanding officer didn't know he was facing an Awakened and had his troop walk into a battle utterly unprepared. All were slaughtered mercilessly.

The Strife-Wolf was capable of casting Lightening Elemental Invocations at will, and by using its cunning, it set deadly traps for the soldiers. Suffice to say, they didn't stand a chance.

By the time the subjugation request was placed on The Board at the Adventurers' Association, the number of civilian casualty was running quite well into the double digits, closing into triple.

A total of fifty Adventurers signed up for the job, Damien included. At the time he was ranked Silver, which was very respectable, all things considered. Besides him, there were ten Silver ranks, seven Gold ranks, and nearly twenty Bronze ranks – a truly formidable group.

Yet when the dust settled on the battlefield, more than half of the group were so badly injured, some had to retire permanently from the active duty. They were lucky – over ten people lost their lives, two of them Silvers and one Gold ranker who sacrificed herself to ensure no more lives were lost that day, Damien's included.

One Awakened Beast amid normal animals caused that much carnage; now imagine that kind of power but bestowed upon a bloodthirsty monster. It was going to be a tough battle. No, a deadly battle where casualties were going to be unavoidable.

No matter how one spun it, it was easy to see the current group was just too ill equipped to handle the situation.

Phil exchanged deeply grim looks with the rest of his party, then with Damien. He seemed to say, screw this, we better head back now before it's too late.

But before the seasoned Adventurers could open their mouths and say something, Helga, Jonas's lackey, exclaimed loudly while examining a wall that was ways further ahead in the darkened passage like an excited child.

“Hey everyone, come and take a look!! These markings, these shapes!!”

When did she get over there?! Damien looked at her incredulously. The tense examination of the surroundings made him not notice this foolish, pampered-in-The-Capital girl breaking the formation. He couldn't believe something this sloppy happened right under his nose.

Or maybe that Helga woman was just that good at slipping past a defensive cordon. Either way, this was bad.

“Hey you girlie, get the hell back here this instant!!” Gillian hissed at the clueless Helga.

“Who are you calling a girlie, auntie? I'd much appreciate if you refer me with more appropriate terms.” Helga returned a prissy reply that didn't really fit her tall, broad-shouldered stature.

A spark briefly flew between the two women and none of the men present felt like intervening, out of fear for their own safety.

Still, there was enough noise made, and the veterans strained their hearings to suss out whether they managed to rouse whatever monstrosity was sleeping within.

There was nothing. Only the sound of buzzing coming from the inner ear filled their hearing. This made them tenser still.

Helga continued to examine the wall and its markings like a child with a new toy in hand. Before her, geometric shapes, worn down from neglect and passage of time lay hidden beneath dust like an archaeological treasure. She brushed offending sand off one of the shape and leaned over closely.

A broad smile appeared on her thin lips as she was able to decipher the shape in front of her. It was a confirmation that Aerinite was indeed hidden somewhere here.

While she was gleefully running her palm over the panels and muttering to herself, Phil approached Damien and whispered.

“What do you think?”

“....We should leave. Quickly.”

Both men nodded in unison. It was time to abandon this trip and return as quickly as possible. They both decided not to chance an encounter with an Awakened. Better safe than sorry.

Turning around, Phil gave a silent instruction to his party members, while Damien quietly approached Jonas to update him.

But he couldn't do it. A soft clack was heard on the distance, freezing everyone on the spot.

Another distant metallic clack, and Damien's hand was gripping the hilt of his saber tightly. It felt heavier compared to a moment ago. His fingers nervously played with the tiny bit of loose, protruding string that tied the leather of the hilt. He always did that subconsciously.

One more clack came from the passage further ahead. It was a bit louder. Whatever it was, sound was coming closer.

The dim lights of the Lazulites weren't enough to show the group what made that sound, but they all felt hairs on their skin rise; the oppressing Aeterna of the Acre just became even more unbearable, its dark strength heavily pushing them down mentally.

Gillian, who as a scout possessed the superior eyesight, first noticed what was making that clacking sound. She inhaled deeply, and nocked an arrow with such haste, it jolted everyone out of their edgy stupor.

“It's coming,” she sharply hissed. “Miss Helga, get your butt back in here right instance, or you'll die where you stand.”

“Mmm? Did you say something?”

Helga, who were mindlessly studying the wall's geometric symbols, turned her head towards the older woman nonchalantly. It was obvious she hadn't noticed anything, not even the ominous clacking sound coming from directly behind her.

And she still failed to notice the intense glares she was receiving. Rooted to the spot, she tilted her head, utterly puzzled.

“Oh, for the love of Uunos, woman – come over here now!!”

It was Jonas who blurted the words out angrily at his subordinate, who was turning out to be surprisingly airheaded, something even he didn't realize until now. Sure, she sometimes exhibited a personality trait where she seem to forget her surroundings when engrossed in new research materials, but to think she was this clueless – he had to do a double take whether this woman was the same person he asked for back in the Institute.

Helga knitted her brows at the faces of tense people behind her. “Is there something.... on my face? Why do all of you glare at me like that?”

That's when Gillian let loose the arrow.

It whizzed by Helga's face, flying straight and true to its intended target, still obscured by the darkness. She jumped in alarm but then even she heard the faint sound of arrow tip striking something in the unseen depths. And a low growl that followed it.

She then belatedly recognized where she was; better late than never.

She flipped open her mantle quickly and pulled out her mace, and fell back within the group in a flash.

Damien was rather impressed by her movements. She was slightly annoying in The Capital Nobility kind of way, but as expected of a Journeyman Invoker, she showed an admirably sharp reaction as soon as she detected a potential danger.

An Invoker was supposed to be a pinnacle of what humanoids were capable of becoming; an important source of pride for the denizens of The Empire. And Helga, as obnoxious as she can be, wasn't planning on becoming an embarrassment to her peers.

Gillian quickly nocked another arrow. By this time militiamen were readying their bows as well, their sights squarely set forward. Now, the target had moved close enough for its general outline to be shown, somewhat.

It resembled a slow moving.... person.

“Tsk,” Gillian scowled, and fired the arrow again. It struck the head of the human shaped target with unnerving accuracy, causing the part to flop backwards while making a bone-cracking sound.

But that did not stop its slow advance. It dragged its feet, and another soft clack could be heard. It was dragging something along, and whenever there was a small gap between the metallic panels on the floor, the sound was made by the object hitting it.

“....It's an undead, but something's off.”

The usually silent Taylor murmured cautiously.

Damien sucked in deep breath after hearing the information. He felt a trickle of nervous sweat tease its way down his forearm, until it settled on the thick wrist protector worn below the simple metal-and-leather gauntlet.

Undead Fiends were a bad news. Not only were they disgusting to look at, but they smelled bad as well, causing those with weak stomachs unable to withstand the assault on their senses. Not only that, regular attacks had no effect – cutting, chopping limbs off, blunt weapons on the vitals, none of that worked.

Light or Fire type Invocations were the most reliable way to deal with this type of enemies. Alternatively, one could try to find its 'Core', which was located somewhere within its decaying flesh. Easier said than done, really.

The Core itself was small, and never placed in a fixed position. Sometimes it could be where the heart might be; sometimes, where the brain was. Or even around the gut.

Fortunately, the current party had two recognized Invokers in their midst, so a slow moving undead wasn't going to be an issue as long as no one lowered their guard.

Another soft clack, and the creature finally stepped into the pale blue light.

“What the....? Is that really an undead?”

Someone in the back gasped out upon witnessing the sight unfolding before the group.

The creature before them was indeed a humanoid in appearance. A man, in fact. It walked with a limp, as if its left leg was broken. On the right hand, it dragged a bent and rusting blade. His clothes, some remains of broken bits of leather armor, were all in a state of total disarray. His head was askew in a very much unnatural way, with two arrows fired off by Gillian stuck on it.

Its jaw was slack, missing several teeth; dirty drool oozed from it, and there were nothing in its eye sockets, just a spooky pair of hollow spaces.

It certainly fit the bill for describing an undead. However, what stumped all those present were strange metallic panels of different sizes stuck on the chest, side of the head, and parts of its legs.

The panels resembled those from the walls of the Sacred Acre. It was as if the man ripped the metal off and had his mates glue it on haphazardly. But one thing was for sure, the exposed flesh just visible beneath all the decoration were in the process of decaying. This man was as undead as an undead could possibly be.

The Fiend stopped its movement once it came to a certain distance away from Damien's group. Its hollow eyes unmoving, the head stiffly, slowly rotated around, searching.

Then, its slackened jaw slowly dropped further, more of that thick mucus-like drool falling out of it. Those who caught the whiff of the foul stench couldn't help but lift hands to cover their noses.

One of the militia let out a groan. “Urgh, it stinks!”

That triggered it into action.

The undead Fiend let out a long, sharp screech. It was cold and shrill, piercing deep into the bones of all present; Damien's focus was shaken terribly, making him momentarily unable to concentrate.

The metal plates stuck on its body started glowing intense blue light. No, the plates themselves were not emitting the light but rather, thin lines suddenly appearing on them, were. The blue lights streaked in straight lines, and the Sacred Acre began to rumble at the same time.

The blue lines also appeared one after the other on the walls, the ceiling and the floor, following geometric lines and spreading from where the Fiend stood; the lines extended from its feet outwards, racing past the confused and alarmed group.

“What.... What the bloody hell's going on here?”

Vagas cried out in shock. Damien too wanted to cry out, but somehow, managed to rein it in. Last time he was here, none of this happened. None of this bizarre light show accompanied his previous journey into its depths.

This wasn't supposed to happen, whatever this was.

Helga and Taylor were chanting their respective Invocations already; Phil and his group quickly shielded the Invokers, picking up the sharp weapons that seemed to glisten under the disorientating shower of blue lights.

Damien too, raised his saber and pointed its tip at the Fiend, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

The undead stopped its shrill scream, and lunged forward at speed that betrayed the ruse of its previous sluggishness. It swung the bent sword in a rising arc so fiercely, it seemed to leave a blue afterimage in the air.

A militiaman, who happened to stand in the front as the formation dictated, desperately raised his spear to block the attack. When the two weapons collided, a shower of dull sparks exploded, and the spear was blown out of the man's grasp.

Before the others could lend an aid, the undead swung its blade back down. The militiaman's headless body collapsed after that. Someone screamed out the fallen man's name in terror from behind but Damien disregarded that and quickly issued commands.

“Encircle and retreat,” Damien shouted as he rushed forward. “Give the Invokers a chance to cast their spells!!”

Encircle and Retreat was a common battlefield strategy employed when an Invoker was involved in the fight. It took a bit of time to cast a spell so in order to prevent the target from moving, vanguards would rush forward to engage the enemy, and retreat when the signal was given. Damien shouted out the commands for the benefit of his militiamen who were frozen in fear.

He understood instinctively that they had no chance of victory with brute strength alone against this foe. Invocation was the only way to reliably destroy this Fiend.

However, something about those blue-line shining metal plates worried him, and the off-kilter reaction of the Sacred Acre terrified him. He was sure of it, more so than ever before, that they had to escape no matter what before something even worse decides to block them. Quickly defeating this undead should greatly expedite that process.

Several spears and longswords found their way into the gaps in the tattered armor of the deceptively lumbering creature. None slowed it down, none of the attacks caused it to cry out in pain. Rather, it took a few more sharp, practiced swings at its attackers, knocking a few off their feet and making the militiamen to drop the precious weapons.

Phil was astonished at the speed, the strength and the technique of the Fiend in front of him. What he just saw was simply not possible; an undead should not retain the skills learned during the time it was still alive. But what was displayed before him, was definitely of a high caliber.

Perhaps, this a rotting, walking dead creature was somehow still remembering a little of its past, of its lucid days.

He shook his head clear of such nonsensical reasoning; right now, there were much more urgent matters to get to, such as defeating the Fiend.

“It's time!!” Ben Musgrave shouted out from behind, where he was standing guard for the two Invokers of the party when the spells were ready to go.

“Fall back!!” Damien gave a swift order the moment he heard the rear-most vanguard's voice. With haste, all who surrounded the undead retreated. Those whose weapons were stuck in the creature's torso, simply released the hold and went empty handed.

As soon as the coast was clear, two powerful Invocation spells activated and attacked the Fiend.

Taylor attacked with mid-tier Lightening Elemental Invocation, Arcing Thunder, which as its name implied, arced towards the target in an instant; while Helga went with somewhat more accepted type of spell, a wide-area Healing Touch of the Spirit.

The undead Fiends were weak against Light and Fire Elemental spells. However, using the latter in a confined space such as an underground passage like the one they were in was a stupid thing to do, so both Invokers went with other spells in their repertoire.

An ill-placed flame not only caused smoke which led to difficulty in breathing, but it restricted the vision; also, if there was a pocket of trapped gas nearby, that could also ignite it, causing an explosion. Fire type Invocation was thus not used in underground caverns with tighter dimensions.

The arcing, dancing Thunder struck the Fiend's chest area, immobilizing it on the spot, allowing the Healing Touch to slowly wrap it in white light. The undead howled in agony for the very first time during this encounter, and dropped the bent sword while trying to ward off the warm light embracing it.

Its howling weakened gradually, and soon there was only silence; when the white light dissipated, the Fiend was crumbling into bits and pieces, limbs and the metal plates falling on the floor with loud thuds and clanks.

Damien remained tense, watching the creature closely for a sign of it rising one more time. Thankfully that didn't come.

As the rotting flesh melted and fell, Damien suddenly realized the man who'd became this undead was somewhat familiar. But he couldn't really place the hollowed-out face with a name, or a place where he might have seen it. His unease increased further with that revelation.

He just hoped that it was just a mistake on his part.

The undead's body finally became nothing more than a heap. It stopped howling too, and the only noise the group heard was their own harsh breathing.

“Aid the injured! Retrieve the fallen, hurry!! There might be more!!” Damien issued new orders to his men while surveying the damage. One life lost, four injured – one heavily.

“I shall aid with the healing,” said Helga. “Bring the injured over h....”

Before she could say something, the ground beneath the unmoving undead began to glow.

Everyone hastily took a step back, drawing their weapons ready.

The ground shone in the same, eerie blue light as the lines on the wall, and a circular formation expanded below the heap.

“Look!!”

Vagas shouted, while pointing somewhere else. The corner of Damien's eye followed the young man's finger, and saw the same blue circular formation below the body of the fallen militiaman.

“It's the Sacred Acre. It's absorbing the dead,” said Taylor, while his eyes focused on the patterns of the formation. It was obscured from his vision but nevertheless he was greedily taking in the sight as this was a valuable chance for an Invoker such as himself to witness a rare occurrence of Death Absorption, a unique phenomena only known to exist within the Sacred Acres.

“Damn it!” Cursing, Damien hurriedly tried to retrieve the body but he was pulled back by Gordie.

Might as well – the headless corpse began to sink into the solid ground as if it was a quick sand sucking in a hapless victim. Same was happening to the heap of the undead Fiend, being pulled under the surface.

In less than half a minute, both lifeless bodies disappeared from the sight, leaving behind a spear and the bent sword.

Everyone stood around in a daze. No one spoke a word, complex maze of emotions running through each and everyone of them. Damien felt like he should've prevented the body from getting taken by the Acre. He had forgotten that an active Sacred Acre always absorbed the fallen that fit a specific criteria, such as being a humanoid or a Fiend. Now it was too late to give the man a proper funeral rite, and he had nothing to give that man's family a closure.

If this was five years ago, then he wouldn't have made a mistake like this. Being a bloody lord of a village had dulled his instincts.

Unacceptable.

Damien gritted his teeth in anger. He hated failure, and this was one.

But he couldn't remain idle. He still had a job to do; he volunteered to lead the expedition, so lead he shall. “Do not lose focus, there could be more!! Gillian, scout the area. Sir Jonas, we are retreating immediately.”

He fired off the new orders while offering a silent prayer to the fallen man. That was all he could do now.

“Damien, there's another one!!” Gillian called out as she readied her bow once more.

He turned his head towards the passage and sure enough, he could hear another soft clanking sound. But unlike before, the blue lights emanating from the metal panels shone faintly in the dark.

Seeing this, Damien issued the new order.

“We already brought down one, so we know how to defeat another. Everyone, in formation. We'll go with encircle and retreat again!!”

 

See, what did I say, eh?

Spoiler: Chapter Seven, part one.

Seven

“Steady, men!! Don't falter. We're on the verge of a victory!”

Damien shouted as loud as he could.

It'd been several hours since the beginning of the one long continuous battle with the undead enemies.

One after the other, enemies came. All of them were the same type of undeads, with those light-emitting metallic panels glued on their bodies, carrying weapons and exerting ridiculous amount of power unfitting of things that were supposed to be dead. And to make matters worse, the enemies' toughness progressively grew the more of them were taken down.

They were strong, to a point where it would have been curtains for the adventuring group if two or more undeads showed at once. Everyone fighting were genuinely thankful that this didn't happen.

Currently, the group was facing their eighth undead Fiend. If these bastards were, for a lack of better words, normal, the each battle wouldn't have lasted long. However, they exhibited some extraordinary skills and awareness that belied their mindless state.

And so, the casualty on Damien's group was severe as a result. Already two members of the militia lost their lives, and further five were seriously injured while the rest suffered less severe wounds. Of the heavily hurt, first aid made sure they were not in any immediate danger but, it was not possible to count on them as a potential fighting force, moving forward.

The biggest problem facing the fighters was the fatigue factor; everyone in the group were feeling it. The worst affected were the Invokers. Casting a single Invocation spell sapped away stamina faster than swinging a sword, and both Helga and Taylor had been firing off one after the other without taking breaks. If they could just rest up a bit, and recover some of the energy.

The situation so far didn't allow for a simple break. Everyone was nearing their limit. But somehow, one way or the other, they fought and endured. And now, they were pushing back what was presumed to be the last Fiend.

It's lost its large and rusting war-ax and instead resorted to swinging its arms wildly.

Pushing the monster back with forward march of the shields, the vanguards stabbed hard with their spears, pinning the enemy on the spot.

As soon as they withdrew, Taylor put the finishing touch by casting a powerful Lightening type spell that caused fire to sprout from the insides of the Fiend.

It howled miserably, and collapsed into a smoking heap, spreading the disgusting smell around the corridor.

“That's it. There aren't anymore Fiends!!” Gillian shouted, as she plopped down on the ground. Her face was soaked in sweat and caked in dirt. It was a same story for everyone else though.

Coughing and waving the choking smoke away, Damien went over the front of the group to make sure the burning heap of the undead Fiend wasn't moving. He pulled out a spear and poked multiple times, and got no response in the end.

Confirmation done, he too retreated a bit and fell on the ground as the strength of the legs gave way with the sweet wave of relief rushing over. His sword arm was numb from overexertion, his armor was tattered, there were numerous chips on the saber's edge and the buckler tied to his forearm.

Feeling a bit of coldness around his lower chest, he reached in there with his weary hand only to find a puncture hole in the leather armor and a trace of blood from a graze on his skin. It wasn't there before so, somehow a Fiend had gotten in a hit that was too close for comfort. If the hit were any deeper, then he'd be lying on the floor with blood leaking out from his side. Damien felt another bead of cold sweat trickle down his back as he understood how lucky he was.

He looked around to the rest of the group, while chewing on a small, dried medicinal leaf. It had an effect of detoxification, and Damien felt that the wound might get infected if left untreated as was. The group had only one Invoker capable of using Light Elemental Invocations in Helga, and she was far too exhausted to heal everyone. This was the best he could do for now.

He swallowed the bitter and crunchy leaf and decided to let the tired group enjoy the break in action for a few minutes, before rushing them out of this damned Sacred Acre. Not that he didn't trust in Gillian's ability of detection, mind you, but it was more about his fear of the unknown. His fear of this Acre and its undead denizens that weren't here before.

Previously, the Fiends he encountered inside weren't all that significant. They were mostly a rabble of weak creatures twisted by the ominous Aeterna leaking out from the deepest part of the cavern and thus, defeating them was rather straightforward.

But this time, the enemies were humanoid undeads. Worse still, undeads possessing the combat skills of their former selves. Something weird had happened when he wasn't looking this past half a decade, and he didn't like that thought one bit. Faster they leave, the better he'd feel.

“Lord Damien, how far, do you reckon, are we from the deepest chamber?”

Jonas asked Damien suddenly after approaching him silently. The question took him by surprise, partly because he thought he was alone, and partly because he didn't expect that particular question.

“Why do you ask about that, Sir Jonas?”

“We've come this far. Wouldn't it be prudent to see the matter to its end?”

Damien felt like throwing up a mouthful of blood when he heard this. Thankfully that was just his imagination but the nauseating migraine pulsing inside his head certainly wasn't.

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves here, Sir Jonas. We have defeated all the Fiends in the vicinity but that does not mean there aren't any more threats in front of us.” Damien raised his tired voice and said loudly enough so the others could hear him.

To this objection, Jonas snorted. Then he gestured at Phil, who was looking increasingly nervous for some reason.

“Mister Cosier, would you come over here and speak to us for a moment?”

For some reason, Damien's headache grew bigger. The nausea was probably from the exertion on the muscles due to the continuous combat he had to go through. With a bit of rest and some food, he'd right as rain.

But the cramped facial expression on his long time acquaintance said that, never mind resting and food, there was more to come yet. He shook his head inwardly; no matter what, this time he was going to insist on turning back the way they came, all the possible repercussions be damned.

Phil dragged his feet but eventually he got close. Then the questions began.

“Mister Cosier, Phil, could you repeat what you told me before? The bit about these unusual undeads, and their possible identities.”

Jonas said in a cocksure tone clearly designed to assert his.... something. Quite frankly, Damien couldn't see what this pampered fool from the Capital was counting on really.

Phil sighed in a resigned manner. He knew he shouldn't have uttered that name while fighting back then. A small, minute slip up, were it not for the fact that he was protecting Jonas and the damned bastard had an attentive ear of a hare.

“Well, Phil? Time's a wasting.” Jonas prodded impatiently.

Phil slowly chewed his words out.

“....I was saying', I've seen one of them before. Before he became that.”

A thick foreboding gloom clouded Damien's mind.

“Where did you see it?” He quickly asked, wanting to hear some answers.

Frankly, he was surprised by the revelation – if he had seen someone he'd recognized, surely he'd be notified first? How the hell did Jonas get a hold of the info first?

“....Whew, right.” Phil cleared his throat. “One of the undead we fought, the one carrying that Dwarven Ax? He's known Bendis, originally out of the village of Elster by the Northwest.”

“And what else, Mister Cosier?”

“Ah, well, he... had quite a bounty on his neck for various crimes. His wanted poster is plastered on The Boards of the most Association branches, including ours, in Lafayette.”

“Please go on.”

“....Bendis belonged to a bandit troupe actually. A big one. But they got hunted and cut down. Him and a few of his buddies escaped, however.”

Phil stopped here, and scratched the back of his head.

Damien was confused. He was sort of relieved to hear that he didn't cut down someone who was a friend of his friend but, so far he couldn't see where this was going.

“What are you saying, Phil? Out with it, will you?”

“Well, after remembering the face, I also remembered the others too. I'm pretty sure of the undeads we've been fighting, it's those bandits who escaped.”

Suddenly, it dawned on Damien. “....How many escaped?”

Phil slowly shook his head. “Ten.”

Ten. They've fought eight so far. If following a simple logic, then there were two still left. The logic being, those bandits that have escaped death somehow got to this Sacred Acre and became the Fiends haunting the halls of this accursed place.

“And, one of those, were the leader of the troupe. He's not among the undead. Not yet,” said Phil.

“Are you suggesting that the leader is now a Fiend? He might've dodged that fate.” Damien countered.

“Not likely, seeing that other than the two, all the rest were the escaped bandits. Chances are.... there are two more lurking around somewhere in here.”

Phil was sure. He had to be sure. After a rookie mistake of muttering Bendis's name when he recognized the rotting face which were then heard by Jonas, he needed to be sure as to not lose anymore face. And seeing that the eight undeads were the former bandits he thought it was a sure bet.

Damien shook his head. This new info didn't change a thing; he was still taking his men outside. The expedition was done, as far as he was concerned.

Then Jonas dropped this bombshell.

“It goes without saying, now there's more reasons to explore the depths. We need to establish the why, why these desperate men fleeing for their lives became Fiends, before the same thing happens to other law-abiding citizens of the Empire. It is our duty. Your duty, Lord Damien, to protect your subjects.”

His headache grew. A small groan escaped his lips.

“You feeling alright, Damien?” Phil asked when he noticed his friend moaning uncomfortably.

“No, I'm fine.” Damien sighed. “Rather than worrying about me, worry about leaving. We lack personnel for this type of venturing. No arguments, Sir Jonas. If you wish to carry out your duties, then let us equip ourselves more adequately first and then return.”

Jonas was going to raise his disagreement but then, a panicked voice from behind interrupted him.

“My lord, my lord!! Something's happened to the exit. It's no longer there!!”

Everyone who heard that, watched their hearts sink into oblivion.

“What do you mean by that, the exit's gone?”

One of the militia shouted in panic. All the eyes were trained on this one man. It seemed he was at the rear and saw the passage behind them disappear.

Damien too, looked at this man in stupor.

No exit? Can't leave? What is going on?

He tried to stand, but then his legs gave way. The pounding headache became nastier and he couldn't even breathe properly, all of a sudden.

“Damien!!”

Taylor shouted and ran to his side, while calling out to Helga. Damien wasn't sure what all the flustered faces were for, as they gathered around him.

When Helga got near him, her face turned pale, and she immediately began casting an Invocation in a hurry.

An intense pain swooped in, wrecking Damien's body the moment her spell activated. So much pain ran right through him and he almost fainted because of that.

“Damien, can you hear my voice? Do not fall into the abyss. Stay awake, man!! Stay awake!”

Upon hearing this, he knitted his brows. What are you on about, Phil? What abyss? Ah, it doesn't matter for now. Let me rest for a second. Damn it, am too I tired or what?

From the edges of his vision, red and dark vines appeared out of nowhere and began to extend inwards. At first glance, they seemed like spider webbing but upon closer inspection, it now resembled more of cracks appearing on the surfaces of a marble floor.

And as the cracks spread, the less he could see and hear. The headache increased as well, to the point where it was impossible for him to endure it anymore.

Just like that, he fell into a deep slumber.