Quasi lays on a couch with his hands above his chest, two cards are held between his fingers. One is white with a light blue and silver border while the other is black with a light blue and silver border. He sends mana into the black card, revealing his name, stats, and “class.” Not accurate, of course, but that’s the point. He will need to return to the guild in a year before his card expires.
He sends mana into the other card, which rejects his input. He snorts. His eyes glow as he unwinds his mana, like a rope fraying into a hundred strands. He moves the strands delicately, twisting through the defensive enchantments and forcibly accessing the information locked within.
A smirk finds its way onto his face as information reveals itself on Jessica’s card.
Level 187 [Archpriestess]
Also a lie, she is an [Abbess], but it’s for the best. From what Quasi knows, anyone over level two hundred gets hounded by influential people. Who wouldn’t want a powerful new retainer, unaligned with any of their enemies?
The room shakes, followed by sounds of wood cracking, and then a thump.. Jessica, reading a book in a lounge chair across the cabin, looks up in his direction.
“What was that?”
“A tree,” he replies.
She returns to her book.
A moment later, more rumbles come from outside. The noises continue for some time.
“Quasi-”
“A lot of trees.”
She sighs and attempts to ignore the irritants and return to her reading.
The cries of animals drift into the room, followed shortly by the crunch of bones.
“Quasi!”
“It’s a pack of Direwolves! They got in the way. Just ignore it.”
Jessica grumbles and shakes her head. She then looks back into her book.
Then she hears explosions and the cabin rocks violently. She hears humanoid screams, followed shortly by the crunch of bones, then more explosions.
Before she can ask what’s happening outside, the world shifts to the side and the left wall takes over for the floor.
__________________________________________________________________
[Bandits] thrive in all parts of the world where inequality exists. It’s an unfortunate truth that men and women, when pushed far enough, will turn on their fellow countrymen to survive.
To them, robbery and banditry are not crimes per se, but a method of survival and growth. Sure, picking on beasts your own size (or bigger) is a faster way to level, but that is too risky for most. It’s much safer and simpler to ambush hapless travelers with overwhelming numbers.
It is that exact scenario that two divers, stripped of weapons and armor, are tied to a tree. They sit and watch as the [Bandits] in the camp drink and laugh while they divy up the divers’ enchanted equipment among their members.
“Oy! Keep your filthy hands off Matilda!” a shorter man yells while struggling futilely with his bounds.
The taller of the two sighs at his dwarven companion. “Turnock, don’t bother. We don’t need more trouble.”
“Dammnit Brock, how can you be so calm? They took your equipment too! Didn’t your mother pay a fortune for it?”
The human slumps. “She did, and she’ll be very upset. But if I were to lose my life, then she’ll be devastated.”
The dwarf groans. “Well, couldn’t you at least have tried to fight instead of giving up? You’re what, level eighty now and you have that fancy class too. What was it called, [Shield Legionairy] or something?”
“[Escutcheon Legionnaire].” Brock mutters.
“Yeah, that one.”
Brock tries to adjust his body into a more comfortable position, but fails. “My new class is just an all-around better [Shield Warrior], but it isn’t a second-tier class, nor does it allow me to fight a company of [Bandits]. I could handle defending against a group of [Bandits], but defeat them? And defeat an [Elite Bandit]? Unlikely. It’s better to surrender and survive to be ransomed.”
Turnock sighs. He knows full well that giving up was the best decision. It doesn’t stop him from feeling wrankled when he sees someone holding his instrument wrong.
“So, what happens now?” he asks.
Brock shrugs.
“Depends. Killing us would mean no witnesses, but people would still come looking for us. The more lethal [Bandits] are, the quicker they tend to be hunted down. If you ask me, they will probably ask for us to join them or they’ll try to ransom us. They could also attempt to sell us as [Slaves], but I doubt that would work for me. My level is too high on its own.”
“You… what about me?”
“Well, I’ve heard that [Slave Bards] go for a very good price on the market.”
Turnocks face turns white as a sheet, before he looks over and sees Brock’s smile.
“Fuck you, fuck your shield, and fuck your new class.”
He looks away from Brock and glares at the [Bandits].
“Oy! Where’s my fucking drink!?” he yells.
Some of the [Bandits] turn to Turnock and laugh. A few mockingly raise their mugs, flasks, or wineskins before chugging their drinks.
“Brock, I swear on Hephaestus’s massive tits that each and every one of these sons of bitches will burn for what they just did.”
Brock rolls his eyes. Even though two years have passed since they arrived at Camelot, the dwarf hasn’t changed much. Sure, he has more levels to his name, but he’s still the same odd [Bard].
“Wasn’t it tits that got us in trouble in the first place?” Brock muses.
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“Well…” The [Bard] frowns, “look, she was very attractive, rich, smart, rich, and liked my jokes. How was I supposed to know that her father was a powerful [Merchant] that hates [Bards]? I’m not the bard that stole his wife away!”
Brock snorts. “But you are the [Bard] that might steal his daughter away.”
“Look, he threatened me! Me! I was just trying to defend myself! The only reason the [Guards] sided with him was because he had money!”
“And the imprint of your fist on his groin,” Brock adds, but Turnock barrels on.
“I was going to serve years if you hadn’t gotten the bail money.”
Before Brock can continue the conversation, they hear a tree fall in the distance. They hear the crash, but it’s too far away to know what happened. The [Bandits] don’t spare the noise a glance, too drunk on wine and distracted by merriment to notice.
“What the shit was that?” Turnock asks.
His question goes unanswered. More trees seem to fall in the distance. Even the [Bandits] are beginning to notice. Many of them stop drinking, and turn to look toward the distant sounds of deforestation.
“Well fuck if that isn’t ominous,” is all Turnock can say before loud howling starts to be heard from the distance.
“That’s a Direwolf!” Brock shouts at the group, hoping to get them in motion. If he doesn’t…
Well, what monster doesn’t like having their prey tied up and unable to run?
His words are immediately made manifest as a score and four dire wolves sprint into the camp.
“Ambush, it’s an AMBUSH!”
[Bandits] yell and an alarm sounds, loudly throughout the camp. Sleeping [Bandits] awake, those carousing drop their drinks. Everyone scrambles for their weapons, and the group adopts a formation that would make a competent commander sneer in disgust.
Many of the sleeping [Bandits] don’t even make it out of their tents before the Direwolves are in the [Bandits’] midst.
Much to Brock’s confusion and terror, the pack of Direwolves ignores the [Bandits] and runs past them without a fight.
Once the wolves disappear into the forest behind them, the [Bandits] stare about confusedly, as if in a daze. Both Brock and Turnock are staring at the woods from where they had come. Several dozen Direwolves do not make a mad dash through the woods without reason. Something is chasing them, something big enough to fell trees.
“What the Hell is going on out here!?”
Eyes turn towards the [Elite Bandit] as he crawls out of his tent. Standing two meters tall, he cuts an imposing figure in his armor.Two spiked gauntlets cover his hands, serving both as an intimidating image and a deadly weapon that even Brock would find difficult to block with his shield.
Trees splinter and fall to the sides as a juggernaut enters the camp. An ivory monstrosity with a long extension breaks through the ground. At the forefront of the thing, two glowing purple eyes seem to create an ominous light forward.
“[Mages]! Destroy it!” The [Elite Bandit] yells his command.
Seemingly waiting for the order, several magical blasts of attack are released by the [Bandit Mages], all of them striking the incoming monster but doing nothing to slow it down or even leave a single mark behind. After half a minute of ineffective attacks, the vehicle runs over several tents, the [Bandits] still asleep inside crushed under its weight. Some even scream before death takes them.
“Move!” the [Elite Bandit] barks out as he rushes through his bewildered men. “[Burst of Strength]!” His arms are spread as he kneels and slams into the thing. The [Elite Bandit] is pushed back, but he eventually grabs from the bottom of the thing. He then lifts and throws it on its side.
“Those are wheeled tracks,” Turnock whispers to Brock. “We use them for transporting metal in the mines.”
The tracks continue to move and spin, dirt is hurled to the side from the part that is still touching the ground.
The [Elite Bandit] moves away and points. “[Mages]!”
The onslaught of magic resumes, but other than a few small black smudges, it looks as though the monster remains undamaged.
The tracks stop moving all at once, then fall off, revealing twelve wheels. Those wheels extend outward five meters then open into claws. The claws grab the ground and right the monstrosity.
It stands now like a massive spider, similar to a weaver except with more legs. The long tube of its head shifts, moving till the long part is pointing directly towards the [Elite Bandit].
“Fuck, that’s a shit ton of mana,” the Bard curses.
“What is?” Brock asks.
The [Elite Bandit], either sensing something or panicking, turns around and begins to run towards his [Bandits]. As he runs towards them, the long tube emanates an ominous purple glow.
Seeing their panicked leader, the [Bandits] quickly realize that something bad is about to happen. They turn tail to flee, but it’s already too late.
Brock and Turnock watch, eyes bulging, as a lavender projectile bursts from the monstrous spider. It hits the [Elite Bandit] and explodes, obliterating him and everything else in his direction. A quarter of the camp and the hundred meters of trees behind it are obliterated in an instant. Nothing is left except for a thoroughly smoky, charred mess.
“NOOO!” Turnock screams.
Brock turns to Turnock. The dwarf looks devastated, tears form in his eyes as he stares at the destruction.
“Matilda…,” he whispers.
Brock resists his urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he focuses on the spider. He watches the tube move around for a bit. Eventually, the spider transforms back to its original form. Brock stares as bones levitate from nearby corpses and travel to the wheels, recreating the tracks.
Necromancy, Brock mouths to Turnock, but the dwarf isn’t looking. He’s too busy weeping for his fallen comrade.
With the tracks repaired, the thing moves on, completely ignoring the two captive divers and the half dozen surviving [Bandits].
Everybody waits, listening to the receding sounds of crunching trees. Then, Brock releases a sigh.“[Shield Call]”
Brock’s shield, a circular parma with his house’s crest on the center bursts from a tent, all but destroying the shelter, and races to him. He leans to the side; the shield slams into the rope that is keeping him and Tunock tied down.
The rope snaps.
Brock throws away his binding, lifts his shield, and stands
“Turnock, stop crying already and let’s go. I don’t want to be here if that thing comes back.”
“Matilda…” Turnock mutters softly.