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Unclassed - 12
🕑 Added 2025-10-26 20:24:52 +0000 UTCI ran as fast as I could without allowing myself to stumble. The cave was dark, and a single misstep would be perilous.
Behind me, a massive spider with shiny steel pincers gave relentless chase. It was about as tall as a horse, its body twice as wide. When you added the span of its legs, the monster became gargantuan.
I ripped another strip from the steak in my hands, still as warm now as it’d been when I’d originally placed it in my [Hoard]. Every now and then, I pulled off a section and threw it to the ground behind me.
The spider kept chasing me, occasionally stopping to pick up the small bits of meat I left behind.
With a few hours’ work, I’d been making some decent progress in traversing my way back through the cave system, and seemed to be going more up than anything. I’d managed to increase my Climbing skill again, finally hitting seven, the number I’d originally pretended it was.
I’d also attracted a very large spider when I’d sat down in a wide tunnel to take a snack break.
Luckily, it seemed about as interested in the still-preserved food I was holding as it was in me. Its presence was causing the other monsters down here to give me a wide berth, which was a good thing, because I had my hands full enough just dealing with the one.
It was fast for its size, but still ultimately slow, having to squeeze and contort itself through the narrower tunnels I liberally used to maintain distance between myself and the beast.
It was, however, tenacious. I couldn’t stop for more than a few moments. I had to rely on intuition as much as common sense to try and find a path away from the spider that would bring me closer to the surface, rather than make me more lost.
Breath heaving, legs burning, I hauled myself over a rocky crag and pulled myself up a sharp, steep incline, leaving a large morsel at the bottom and hoping it’d buy me enough time to elevate myself.
There was a chance the spider would attempt to attack me rather than snap up the meat as I made my ascent, but thankfully, it seemed to have developed a taste for the bits of steak I left behind, choosing to devour them over pursuing a moving target.
Embedding my pick in the smooth stone to keep me from slipping, I managed to pull and scramble my way past the incline and leave the spider below.
I chanced looking down. It was staring at me, considering climbing up.
I spied an even narrower tunnel ahead… I made a break for it and soon emerged on the other side. I was sure the monster would have a tough time pursuing me through here, and more than that, I imagined I’d travelled high enough that the mist wasn’t going to terribly affect me anymore.
I tested the air as I attempted to regain my breath. It still carried the usual taint of the mist, but it wasn’t acrid or suffocating like it had been below.
I decided to take a breather here, leaning against the cave wall, and found that the spider had indeed gotten stuck in the smaller tunnel, simply poking its head through.
Curious, I threw down another piece of meat, and the creature backed up as it began to munch on it.
No more running for my life, plus, I had a good idea of where I’d locate this tunnel again, assuming I memorised my path the rest of the way back to the surface.
Speaking of which, I hadn’t just been randomly guessing my directions the whole time. The submachine gun’s thermal sensors had kept me safe from large clusters of enemies. If it wasn’t for the fact I’d stopped to eat some steak, there’s a good chance I would’ve avoided the spider too.
[Running: 6 >> 7.]
At least I’d gotten something out of it.
I thought about leaving the little beast behind, but there was a nagging bit of curiosity I wanted to sate first.
I still had three Control Stones on me, and I wondered if they were potent enough to have any effect on the spider.
I decided to embed one in a piece of meat, taking the long jagged green crystal and stabbing it into the steak strip, ensuring it was covered.
I then threw it down like the last and waited.
The spider ate it. Chewed through the steak and crystal alike.
At first, nothing happened. And then…
[Neural link established! Remaining duration: 2 hours.]
Two hours… that was less than I’d been given for the turret. That said…
I pulled the turret from my [Hoard]. Checked the remaining duration on the control status.
[Remaining duration: 2 hours and 49 minutes.]
That was interesting. It didn’t tick down when it was in my [Hoard]... What about when it wasn’t in proximity?
I decided to place the turret well over twenty feet away, outside of my Control Stone’s effective range. Once I’d done so, I checked the item’s status.
[Remaining duration: 2 hours and 49 minutes (paused).]
That… was very interesting.
I decided to wait five minutes just to be sure. The number didn’t change.
Satisfied with my discovery, I stored the turret and then climbed down to join the spider.
There’d been plenty of webs where it’d chased me from, though I’d narrowly avoided stepping in any. I wondered how long it took for this spider to spin up a lair like that?
It took some work for me to clamber on the creature’s back, though far less when I simply instructed it to lay down for me and it did so without question.
I had full control of the creature, at least until my neural link ran out.
Satisfied with this new development, I commanded the creature to stand. Then to walk.
Then to shoot a web.
Then to scale a wall…
I laughed at the sensation of moving up a stone wall, feeling completely and utterly out of sorts, then gripped the back of the creature tight, squeezing with my knees, yelling as I almost completely lost my grip.
Reminder to build a saddle and harness. Also to figure out what else this thing was capable of…
Such thoughts kept me occupied for a time as I looked for the next platform to elevate myself out of here.
Not long until I was back from the dead now.
I wondered how the rest of my group would react.
***
“Hey, boss?”
Toar looked up from the gamey piece of riftstag he was chewing on, a wordless address.
“You know how you were saying you left that asshole down in the underground, and he’s probably dead now?”
Toar said nothing. He’d made it extremely clear he didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Just Jackal being Jackal.
Jackal continued to stare at him, as if he were waiting for a response. It was beginning to piss Toar off. His glare did nothing to deter the other beastkin—usually, Jackal wouldn’t match his gaze.
Did he need to step up the usual routine just to get his group back in line?
He’d expected backlash from this—Toar knew Maisie would chew him out, it was Maisie. But the fact this matter had been brought up three separate times over the course of a few hours…
He was beginning to run out of patience. With a snarl, Toar set his food down. Cracked his neck.
Now the whole group was staring at him. Good. They could still recognise authority.
“Jackal, if you mention that little rat again—”
“But boss—”
“Not now, Finn,” Toar growled. “As I was saying, if you mention that little—”
“Boss, he’s—”
Toar stood in a flash, leaning towards Finn, who flinched back from the sudden proximity.
“I told you,” the little human squirmed back as he all but spat out his vitriol. “That little bastard stole from us, he lied, and then he ran away. The next person who says that little runt’s name, see what I fucking do!”
“Son a bitch…”
He heard the words drift from Ceri’s mouth, and in that moment, realised that everyone, everyone excepting Finn… they weren’t staring at Toar.
They were staring past him.
There was something behind him.
Toar’s ears flicked as he sensed the motion. Who at this hour? Why? What had his whole group so riled up?
It could only be one thing.
He felt a weight in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt or anger.
Toar felt scared to turn. Suddenly very small.
There was no way.
There was surely no way.
He couldn’t have gotten out of there.
There was just no way.
And yet.
“Adam?”
It was Maisie’s voice.
She’d been trying to sleep only moments ago. The commotion must’ve woken her up.
And that all but confirmed it.
Toar sucked in a deep breath.
He turned, trying not to betray the uncertainty on his face.
The irrational fear.
The boy was so much weaker than him, wasn’t he?
How had he survived?
“How did you—”
Jackal asked the question that was clearly plaguing everyone else’s minds.
Toar watched as Adam walked his way up the last several steps towards the campfire, taking a seat where Toar had originally been, unceremoniously slumping.
He walked in like he owned the place. Didn’t pay Toar the slightest bit of mind.
What had he done down there to survive?
“How did I survive?” the rat asked, again reading everyone’s minds.
Even Ceri seemed interested. No giggles or howls escaped the lizard’s lips.
He held everyone’s rapt attention. Toar was so stunned that he had yet to formulate words.
He’d never expected this. Not in a thousand years.
“Well, it was no thanks to your boss, I can tell you that much.”
The rat had spat the word like it was a slur, an insult.
“We were mining in the underground when we were attacked by monsters. Your boss did nothing to help us.”
Toar felt his face twist. Still he struggled to form a sentence.
“When Marcois had his mask ripped and went on a rampage, your boss was too scared to do anything about it.”
“He’s lying,” Toar snapped, more by instinct than anything.
“And when I got separated from the group, Toar was too scared to help even then. He just stood on top of a ledge and waited, like a coward.”
“You little shit…”
Toar grabbed the rat by the neck, exuding power, rage rippling through his forearms.
“Do it,” the runt choked, a twisted smile on his face. “Really makes you look honest.”
He stole his power just like that. Physical strength did nothing here. It was all about perception.
And this looked terrible. The so-called cowardly thief had come back and confronted him.
What did he do? Kill him on the spot? He might as well have admitted the kid was telling the truth.
Toar relaxed his grip. He relied on his words instead.
“You’re gonna believe him over me?” Toar raged, trying and failing to keep his voice level. “Him? This little thief you've known for five minutes?”
Marcos looked the most conflicted of any of them. He clearly had no clue what to think.
But neither did the others. It was evident on their faces. Even Finn looked concerned.
“I’m a thief?” the rat asked, sounding amused by the notion. “What did I steal?”
“Crystals. I saw you pocketing them when you were supposed to be mining. I confronted you about it.”
“Really?” Adam asked, poking his first hole in the lie. “I suppose I should turn out my pockets then?”
Toar glanced between him and the rest of the group. The expectant look on their faces.
“Well, he’s obviously hid them! Or thrown them away!”
“...and decided to come back to us right after fucking us over?” Jackal asked.
“That sounds like a stupid idea.
“Why wouldn’t he go to another group and try to buy his way in with ‘em?”
“You gonna search me?” the rat asked, confidence in his own words only growing. “Or maybe you wanna tell the group what actually happened when you confronted me?”
“I don’t have to explain anything,” Toar thundered, feeling the heat rising to his face. “I’m in charge here! What I say, goes.”
“And you’re sticking with your story?” the rat asked, peering up at him. “Because we can go into more detail on what happened. I’m more than happy to.”
Toar fought the urge to growl; this was a test.
The bastard hadn’t told the full truth either. Maybe he was worried that if he did, the rest of the group would turn on him, but Toar knew better. Jackal might, possibly Finn, but the rest wouldn’t condone fucking this kid over just to steal from him, or the fact it’d nearly gotten him killed in the process.
Toar was barely holding this group together as it was. Individually, they weren’t the most capable, but together, they made a decent unit, especially with Maisie to keep the others’ emotions in check. Even if Jackal and Finn stayed, losing her or Marcois would be a terrible blow.
It wasn’t just fear that kept Toar as leader—it was respect. Toar had killed their last leader, but in self-defence. Everyone had hated him. Not a single one of them had mourned the cruel bastard’s loss.
And they’d come to rely on Toar as the one with a plan. As the one who kept them fed and earning at least enough to get by down here. As someone they could ultimately trust.
If he lost that trust, lost that respect… he’d be on his own. He couldn’t accomplish the things he needed to on his own.
But to bend to this little asshole…
Adam sat there, waiting, his eyes trained on Toar like he was the prey here.
“I…”
Toar stammered. He was used to being in control of a situation. He felt like he was back home. Like he was a child again.
He hated this.
“I might have made a mistake,” Toar admitted, voice ashen and hollow.
“You might have?” Adam responded, testing him, goading him.
“Yeah,” Toar grunted, his chest deflating. “I might’ve been wrong about the stealing.”
“And the reluctance to help us when we were attacked?” Adam pressed.
“I was trying to find a way down,” Toar lied, hoping they’d find some middle-ground here. “It was all over so fast, though.”
The rat said nothing in response. Toar wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
“I’m willing to give you another chance,” Adam finally responded, stretching as he did so. He slumped back on the rock like he was ready to fall asleep.
Toar stood there, dumbfounded. Only then did Ceri’s characteristic laugh begin to ring out, unruly and shrill.
He was sure he heard Jackal snicker. Maisie was looking between the two of them with an inscrutable expression.
“Well, I’m glad you survived.”
It was a token gesture. Cooperation felt necessary here.
In truth, the part of Toar that had hoped for the boy’s miraculous survival had never anticipated this. He certainly wasn’t glad about any of this shit.
Adam had walked into Toar’s camp and asserted himself above him, so much so that Toar felt inches tall.
Questions exploded around the rat as he closed his eyes and placed his hands behind his head. Questions about the underground, about what he’d seen down there, about if he’d had to fight any monsters, about how he’d managed to climb his way out.
Toar was almost curious himself. But beyond anything…
Toar felt enraged.
This wasn’t over.
***
I managed to get some sleep after a heavy round of questioning and a worried Maisie checking me over for cuts and bruises, of which she found several.
I’d not drunk the last few drops of my superior health potion, so any small injuries I’d sustained on my climb out of the underground had remained.
It’d have looked too suspicious if I’d come out of a place like that with not a single mark on me, after all.
I’d left the spider not too far from where I’d emerged, commanding it to stay in the immediate area unless it needed to eat, and to be sure to return after.
I had no clue if commands I gave it would stick in its mind once the neural link was severed, so this was a test more than anything. I planned to check in on it a day from now and see if it was still around.
Toar had left a little while ago. I had no clue where. Nor did I really care. He’d probably gone to sulk.
Things definitely hadn’t gone how the beastkin had wanted. I’d taken a risk confronting him before the entire group like that, but I figured it was the safest place to do so.
I had a strong feeling he wouldn’t be willing to get violent over this in front of his entire group. I was right about that. I was further correct in assuming he hadn’t been honest about the circumstances of my departure.
He didn’t want to be outed as someone dishonourable. That worked fine by me. If I was willing to forgive, he saved face, and I could reintegrate myself to his group without issue.
For now, at least. I might’ve solved the issue of returning and gotten Toar off my back, and I might not have to try and kill him now if this was the equilibrium we’d established, but this still felt shaky at best. A fragile truce.
And if it were to crumble, the fact remained that Toar was many times stronger than me, and I had no means to deal with him besides pulling out a gun and praying it had enough stopping power.
Well, that and a few stones. I’d taken inventory of my remaining crystals and found I had five Power Stones, four Rush Stones, two Control Stones, two Recovery Stones, two Pyre stones, and eight Spirit Stones left.
Enough to help me defend myself in a bind? Possibly.
Enough to help me bolster my training? Definitely.
It wasn’t lost on me that I’d gone through multiple skill increases during my brief time in the underground, and that the liberal use of stones had contributed to that fact. I’d even managed to raise my [Fortitude] to 10, the point at which I could combine it with another skill.
That posed another question. What was I going to combine [Fortitude] with, if anything?
Combining skills was, in theory, my means of growing stronger than the parameters of my Unclassed status allowed for. It was a means of a progression with a theoretically unlimited cap, assuming that such skills improved each time I improved them, rather than combining into skills with equivalent strength as their predecessors.
Even if combinations had a limit, I had a refinement option. That too might allow exponential growth.
Immediately combining [Fortitude] felt like a risky venture. The fact I could seemingly combine it with any other skill felt even more mind-boggling.
What happened if I combined such a skill with [Haggling], or [Trap-Making]?
At least for now, I planned to stick to combining skills that had similarities or links I could readily visualise. The shortlist for [Fortitude] combinations was currently [Running], [Climbing], [Grappling], [Unarmed Combat], and possibly [Pickaxe Mastery].
That said, I hadn’t decided which, if any, I’d pick. [Unarmed Combat] was currently at nine. If I could raise it to ten, I could instead use that in a combination recipe. Combining it with [Grappling] sounded like a good bet.
Raising my skills and kickstarting combinations was at the forefront of my mind. While I wanted to make money and establish myself as an earner in the mines, getting myself to a point where I was stronger would not only increase the pace by which I could earn but would also make me less likely to get hurt or otherwise screwed over.
I was aware of my own weakness and reliance on tools. I wanted to move as far away from that as I could. Tools should be an extension of my power, not crutches to make up a complete lack thereof.
I also needed to set up contingencies, just in case. In case Toar attacked me again. In case I needed to leave the group. In case another group attacked us…
There was a lot to consider. That and the fact that every time I went to examine my skills or my [Hoard], I could see that ‘active quest’ notification floating at the top-left of my system screen.
I needed to construct a mask capable of repelling the mist, as well as get strong and confident enough to return to the underground if I wanted to wrap that up.
The quest would come later. In the meantime, it was time to work on myself.
***
I rose after a few hours’ sleep, finding the fire smoldering and the camp half empty.
Some had retreated to their tents, while Jackal slept in the corner with a half-open sleeping bag, and Maisie snoozed uncovered, laying on a long bench.
Honestly, she could sleep anywhere.
I didn’t worry about where Toar was. I didn’t worry about anything.
It was difficult to keep track of time down here, and I wasn’t sure if internal clocks functioned the same between groups, so I decided not to venture too far into other parts of the cave—territory that might belong to someone else.
I stuck to the section nearby, walking along with my pickaxe in hand and attempting to find somewhere walled-off and secluded, somewhere I could begin my training.
First step was seeing how quickly I could level [Pickaxe Mastery]. I’d managed to advance it to level two during my recent time in the underground, but I wanted to see how quickly I could bring it up to be at least in line with my other skills.
I was going to be mining daily, and I wanted to bring my ability with a pickaxe up to par in the least time possible. Learning to use other tools well could come after.
I could also use this as a framework to test a couple of factors regarding skill usage and increases.
It’d initially taken me about three hours of intense and backbreaking work to gain the first level of [Pickaxe Mastery]. Apparently much faster than my fellow group members, as they’d taken days.
I had no idea where their current levels were though. Were they in the teens, the twenties, or even higher?
Had they taken upgraded versions of their skills? Or were they still fairly low? Did struggling to learn a skill mean struggling to advance it as well?
Questions for later. For now, I wanted to know how quickly I could take [Pickaxe Mastery] from three to four. Then four to five.
Why not two to three? Because I wasn’t sure how much progress I’d made in it after hitting level two. I could be right on the cusp of three right now, or halfway, or might’ve barely made a dent in my progress. It was hard to determine.
Plus, I wasn’t entirely sure how long we’d spent mining in the underground. Forty five minutes? An hour?
I imagined it’d been somewhere between those. It was intense work that had involved using the hammer and chisel as well as manually prying out rocks, and I hadn’t been keeping track of time.
However, and this was a big part of my test…
I wasn’t mining valuable crystals now. Or even an ore deposit.
No. The thick, black stone that I was currently staring at was, at least purportedly, simple rock.
Hell, it might not have been simple rock at all, considering my location, but that was what it looked like. No hint of value, and I expected it had none, or someone would’ve said so by now.
I’d store some just to check, of course.
But this was an important part of my test. Knowing if there was inherently any difference in skill acquisition time between smashing apart normal rocks and doing the same with valuable ones.
In my head, I figured it shouldn’t matter. The [Hoard]’s level scaled off of value because it was based around that. A mercantile skill such as [Haggling] might also increase more based on the value of a deal that was struck.
But this was simply understanding how to swing and properly use a pickaxe…
I supposed that not destroying the valuable parts of what you were extracting was an important element of [Pickaxe Mastery]. How much would that affect my progress here?
Time to find out.
I swung my pick at the simple slate rock, digging in deep and then pulling out, repeating the motion and quickly working up a sweat.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten in a while. I felt the exertion set in quickly, maybe after a few minutes of exercise. Even superior health pots couldn’t stave off hunger forever…
I could eat later. I kept going. I swung that pick even when my arms burned and wanted to quit on me, even when I could barely feel them anymore and desperately wanted a break.
For another fifty minutes, I continued to work at the divot I was forming in the near wall, a larger and larger pile of rocks beginning to materialise at my feet.
Not enough to comfortably sit on yet. I found that out the hard way as I dramatically dropped myself onto the waiting bed of harsh stone and yelped at the sudden discomfort, the tension in my arms melting away as I dropped the pick onto the stone floor.
[Pickaxe Mastery: 2 >> 3.]
Okay… that’d taken fifty minutes. How much of that was from previous progress? Hard to say.
Now, I needed to go from three to four.
Only, my body really didn’t want to. It wanted to crawl into a sleeping bag, eat half a cheese wheel, and die.
Whatever. I could die later. Three to four, then I’d get myself some food.
I used the pick as a walking stick, pulling myself up, wobbling as I once again found my footing.
Why was I putting myself through the ringer like this?
I chastised myself at the thought.
I knew why.
A grimace on my face, glaring at the stone before me, I got straight back to work.
***
Over an hour passed. I’d gotten into such a rhythm that I barely had cogent thoughts. The incremental smacking against stalwart stone was my passing of time, the perennial ring of striking metal and falling rocks a crowning testament to every successful strike I made.
But through success, failure. In my dreams, beyond my conscious mind, I silently prayed for a different sound. The sonorous chime of a notification, something to inform me that I could end my silent, monotonous, repetitive task. That I’d finally done it. That I could stop pushing this boulder and rest, eat, recharge.
To say that my arms ached was an understatement. The sensation of pain was more of a feature of my existence than an annoyance at this point. It could’ve always been there and I’d have scarcely known the difference.
My determination won out always. It didn’t matter how many times I dropped the pickaxe, or how many times I fumbled and almost slipped as my nascent fatigue transformed into full-on exhaustion.
I kept going. I kept digging.
In my zombified state, I worked, knowing that this was nothing compared to what came before. What would come after.
Another hour. More. I physically dropped to the floor when I finally heard it. When an angel came down from the heavens above to inform me that I’d finally succeeded in my ceaseless labours.
[Pickaxe Mastery: 3 >> 4.]
I… just laid there a while.
It took some time for my brain to resume functioning.
It had taken me… well over three hours to do that. Three insufferable hours. I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t quit.
I definitely needed some food in me.
I dragged myself to the mess hall and paid an extortionate four silver tab for a chunk of bread and cheese, plus some questionable meat and a tall glass of milk.
I considered my progress as I ate. I’d confirmed one theory, and made some progress on another.
The time between skill growth wasn’t static. Getting from one to two was easier than going from two to three, and so on.
The thing I was unsure about was whether the perceived value of the task I was doing contributed to the growth of skills. Was there more to it than that? Did the means by which I applied skills matter? Would I improve much faster if someone much more skilled showed me how to ideally swing a pick? Was effectiveness important?
I also wondered if my exhaustion had contributed to the amount of time it’d taken me to go from three to four, and that was part of the reason I’d kept going.
If that was the case, then in future, I needed to be less stubborn and feed and water myself sooner. If my body was telling me that it wasn’t operating at full capacity, that it needed something, then ignoring that would be irresponsible. Brute-forcing my way through it wasn’t going to make me grow sufficiently faster.
Well… that was assuming I didn’t have ways to brute force it.
And I had multiple. Between my potions and my crystals, I could probably force myself to mine for an entire day with no breaks. But I needed to be careful with that.
A part of me had wanted to use a Power Stone when I was mining. Just for the pick-me-up. I’d ignored the feeling, of course, not wanting it to mess with my test results.
Besides, I knew that was a dangerous feeling to indulge. I needed to be wary of how I used those things from here.
…food was good. The things I’d bought were basic, but at least unspoiled, and they had a nice taste. The bread was fluffy, the cheese was tangy, and the meat, while I couldn’t discern its origin, was well-cured and seasoned, tasting kind of like pork.
I felt reinvigorated after the meal. Not enough to swing that pick again, so I’d have to save my next attempt at that for later, but that was fine.
I wanted to do my next mining stint well-rested. The reason I’d continued even when I felt like I wanted to drop was that I wanted to see what the difference would be between going from three to four whilst tired and going from four to five in ideal conditions.
I’d use the same pick, the same wall, same everything. I just wouldn’t be tired. And if it happened significantly faster, then I’d know just how much fatigue affected my skill growth.
That said, I wasn’t done with my training. I had plenty more I wanted to get done today, and I wasn’t going to be able to do it feeling like this.
I eyed the mostly-empty superior health pot as I pulled it from my [Hoard]. There were maybe two or three sips left in there.
A few drops on my tongue was enough for me to push away the worst of my aches and pains. This stuff was truly wondrous. Getting more bottles and watering it down might save me a fair bit of potion in future.
I’d figure that out later. For now, I had priorities, and the first of those was getting my [Unarmed Combat] skill to level 10.
Time to go punch something.
***
“That fucking asshole!”
Mansol watched as Toar slammed his fists down onto a metal table. He peered at his cousin from the corner of his eye, feeling a faint sense of amusement as the boy stormed around his office. He’d rarely seen him quite so riled up.
“Not only did I not get shit out of him, but he made me look like a fool in front of my own group! A coward too! I don’t even know how the fuck he survived! He’s supposed to be a weakling, and he just walks right back and lords it over me!”
“With how the events unfolded, it does make you sound pretty cowardly,” Mansol said, stoking the flames. “You’re really going to let him push you around like that?”
“Of course not! I’m in charge here! If that little bastard wants to try me, I’ll… I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” Mansol asked, making no effort to hide a grin. “Threaten him some more?”
“I’ll fucking kill him…”
There it was. The fire that Mansol had always wondered if his cousin even contained. It was buried beneath so much emotion and angst, Mansol wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to drag such anger out of him. Convincing him to kill Fallos last year had been difficult enough, and that boy had beaten him daily, humiliated him too. Even then, he’d only done it in self-defence.
For the longest time, Mansol was convinced that his project of three years had ultimately been a failure. No matter how he’d pushed and worked his cousin towards being a true Halfshade, to being more like him…
But maybe he’d finally found it. The catalyst to Toar’s success. The thing that would truly make him a ruthless, cold-blooded warrior.
“Well, hold on there,” Mansol said, kicking his legs off the table and standing. He walked up to his cousin and placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture he didn’t think he’d ever extended to him before.
It seemed to give the boy pause. He knew that affection was like liquid gold to such a whelp. Mansol decided Toar had earned some.
And it really seemed to affect him. The boy’s eyes snapped to the hand on his shoulder. He flinched from the contact, likely expecting pain. His whole body tensed.
Mansol simply patted him.
“I know that this rat has hurt you,” Mansol slowly stated, “and that a dragon would simply wish to crush him. I understand that…”
Mansol smiled. It was a wicked thing, possessed of all his vile intent. “But a true dragon is smart. He knows his prey.”
Toar looked up at him. Searched for direction in Mansol’s stony eyes.
“What should I do?”
Mansol squeezed his shoulder. “Killing him does not work here. You said it already. Doing so would make you look guilty.”
Toar listened; Toar nodded.
“Learn where he sleeps. Learn how he thinks. Learn what he cares about.”
Mansol stared down at him.
“Study your prey, then figure out how to destroy him. Make submitting to you a thousand times easier than living in the prison you’ve built for him.”
Toar listened. He even seemed to understand.
Maybe he wasn’t a complete failure. Maybe his years of crying, of snivelling, of half-measures and complaining and ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone!’ would finally culminate in him gaining some actual courage.
They discussed strategy a while longer. When Toar left the medical tent, he looked filled with drive and purpose.
His eyes were cold. No conflict whatsoever. A perfect reflection.
This time, it would last. Mansol was sure of it.
