BlaiseCorvin
patreon
Inheritance OT Fallen, ch 2
🕑 Added 2024-12-18 11:08:34 +0000 UTCI headed for the hills in the north, my eventual target closer to the mountains. Although I hadn't been able to leave on any real adventure until now, I had planned it for years. My first destination was only three days away on foot. If I had taken a horse, the path would have been longer, taking around the same amount of time, so I didn't regret walking.
As I strode away from the estate, the grandeur of my family's land and manor vanished behind me, swallowed by the encroaching wilderness. I was so happy to finally be leaving to test myself, time went quickly, and I was able to avoid thinking about the woman I’d killed.
I’d never killed anyone before, in either life, and even though I was handling it was, it was still an adjustment.
Time passed.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting elongated shadows that danced and flickered with the rustling leaves. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the affluent atmosphere of the estate I’d just left. The fresh air felt great, and I enjoyed the sensation of finally feeling free. It had been a long time coming.
I hiked for most of the day, long enough to be sure I wasn't being followed, before stopping in the wild forest for a break. I ate rations as I pulled an ancient journal out of my pack, the reason I had planned this adventure almost ten years ago. As I flipped it open, I found the pages written in English, pages that several scholars of this world had never been able to translate.
Meanwhile, my memories from my past life made it easy for me to read, and I figured that was likely the point of whoever wrote it. The letters were layered on top of each other but still legible to someone who was literate in English.
The English writing described ruins that I had determined, based on the written directions, lay nestled in a hidden area at the base of two peaks in the distance. As I sat beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves cast dancing shadows on the worn pages of the journal. The forest around me was alive with the hum of insects and the distant calls of birds, sounds of nature that seemed to welcome my presence.
I was risking a lot on this venture, but I had contingency plans in case this first destination didn’t work out. There were enough other cryptic lines in English scattered through the ancient journal, an old record of a magic explorer, that I thought it was worth the trip, overall.
Logic helped, too. After all, if the map to the ruins was in English, in words, meant to be hidden, maybe there was something still there worth my time. Or maybe it was even a loot room or cache spot. …or a legacy vault. That’s what I was really hoping for.
One thing I was sure of was that opportunities in this world existed for the bold. And I needed one. I was extremely well-trained, extremely educated, with two lifetimes of study. I had trained hard in magic and martial arts, running into a wall with mana and with my aura force. I had the knowledge, I even had legitimate martial skills and talent for this world, but I just didn't have the raw power to be anything more than a low level fighter. I could never accept it.
As I sat there, cross-legged on the forest floor, the journal open in my lap, the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the world in a warm, golden glow. The forest around me came alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures beginning to stir. I was so focused on the pages that I barely noticed the change in light, the words drawing me in, the promise of hidden power and ancient secrets fueling my curiosity. Finally, I got up and used the last of the light to find a good resting place.
I created a simple, warded circle around my sleeping area, with a larger alarm ward circle that would instantly wake me if anything larger than a coyote crossed it. Last, I used a charm to prevent any bug bites or other unpleasantness, and I camouflaged myself on top of my pack with sticks, leaves, and other forest detritus. I didn't build a fire my first night away from the estate, opting to be more stealthy. It wasn't long before I fell asleep.
The night passed uneventfully, the forest's symphony lulling me into a deep, dreamless sleep. As the first light of dawn filtered through the canopy, I awoke, the dew-kissed leaves and chirping birds welcoming the new day. I rose, stretching the stiffness from my limbs, and broke camp swiftly and silently, leaving no trace of my passing.
Being a full day away from my family's estate was invigorating. I had never felt so grateful that the Galdrich estate abutted the wilderness, right on the edge of my family's lands.
As I trekked deeper into the forest, the canopy above filtered the sunlight, casting dappled shadows on the uneven ground. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the scent of damp earth and the faint aroma of wildflowers. The distant calls of birds echoed through the trees, and I found it calming. I hiked steadily, my light armor and pack barely slowing me down. All the conditioning I had done was really paying off. Some warriors had such strong aura force, they could walk all day and barely ever sleep. My aura force was just strong enough to make me barely superhuman.
I didn’t need coffee to wake up in the morning. That by itself was a blessing.
The forest began to thin as I continued hiking, giving way to a rocky landscape, the twin peaks I had been aiming for looming ever closer. The day was warm, but my light armor, designed for mobility and breathability, kept me comfortable. I had been walking at a steady pace, my enhanced endurance allowing me to cover more ground than a typical man.
Suddenly, I heard voices echoing through the rocks. I stopped, trying to listen. I hadn’t heard wrong. The voices echoed through the rocky landscape, bouncing off the jagged cliffs and distorting their origin. I strained my ears, trying to pinpoint the direction and distance.
Using a complex but low-power application of earth magic, I allowed myself to move through the forest more quietly, and I tried to pinpoint where the voices were coming from. As I concentrated, the earth beneath my feet hummed softly, my magic attuning to the natural vibrations of the land. My spell didn’t exactly give me stealth, just helped me place my feet better.
The voices grew clearer, their echoes less distorted. I counted at least three distinct speakers, their tones rough. Something about the situation made my hackles stand on end. I moved with calculated steps, my light armor and pack barely whispering against the foliage. The scent of the forest filled my nostrils as I edged closer to the source of the voices.
As I rounded a bend, the rocky terrain opened up to reveal a small clearing. Three figures sat around a makeshift campfire, their appearances rough and weather-beaten. They were dressed in a mix of leather and mismatched armor, the telltale signs of bandits or mercenaries. Two men and a woman, their faces etched with lines of hard living and harder fighting. I studied them closely. Bandits didn't usually have women among them.
While observing the trio, I noticed the subtle dynamics at play. The first man, burly and bearded, was clearly the leader, or at least I thought sot. His armor was the most well-maintained, and he possessed an air of authority that the others seemed to defer to. He had a rugged charm about him, with a scar running across his chin that added to his menacing appearance.
The leader, whom I mentally dubbed "Scarface," was speaking in a gruff voice, "...should be comin' through here any day now. We hit 'em hard and fast, take what we can, and get out."
The second man, lanky and wiry with a nervous energy about him, nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Breen, sounds like a plan. We could use some more coin, that's for sure." He scratched at his patchy beard, his eyes darting around the clearing. "You think they'll have much on 'em, though? Last time we hit a caravan, it was barely worth the effort."
I amended in my head that "Scarface" was actually named Breen.
The woman, who had been quietly sharpening her dagger, spoke up. Her voice was husky, with a hint of an accent that I couldn't quite place. "We're not just here for coin, Breen. We need information. The Duke's men have been sniffing around our territory, and I want to know why." She looked up from her dagger, her eyes meeting Breen's.
I found the conversation interesting. The woman seemed professional in some way, and she actually felt the most dangerous to me. As I continued to observe the trio, the woman stood up, sheathing her dagger with a fluid motion. She was tall and lean, her body honed by years of hard living. Her hair was a wild mane of dark hair, pulled back into a loose braid that cascaded down her back. It looked like she bathed more regularly than the two men. Her armor was a mix of leather and chainmail, worn and practical, with a few dents and scratches that spoke of past battles.
As I studied the woman more closely, I noticed the confident way she carried herself, a subtle sway in her hips that wasn't overtly feminine but commanded attention. Her face was striking, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline, marred only by a thin scar running across her left eyebrow. Her eyes were a piercing hazel, sharp and intelligent, missing nothing.
Being as subtle and careful as I could be, I reached out with my senses, trying to determine the telltale signs of magic or aura force on the bandits. I figured at least one of them would need to be mystically powered in some way, to determine the relative power of a potential victim if nothing else. As I extended my senses, the world around me shifted slightly, the colors of the forest and the clearing taking on a subtle glow. The magic in the air hummed softly, the natural energy of the land pulsing beneath my feet. I focused on the trio, my senses attuning to the mystical energies that permeated all living things.
The first thing I noticed was that neither of the men possessed any significant magic or aura force. As I focused on Breen, the burly leader, I detected a faint, almost imperceptible aura, but it was weak and unrefined, likely a mere remnant of some distant ancestor's power and shoddy training. The lanky man, whom I had mentally dubbed "Twitch," had no magical energy at all, his aura as mundane as the rocks surrounding me.
As I shifted my focus to the woman, however, my senses picked up a distinct and potent magical signature. Her aura was a swirling vortex of dark, chaotic energy, pulsating with raw power. It was clear that she wasn't just any bandit; she was a witch, and a powerful one at that. To my senses, the air around her seemed to crackle with an unseen force, the very essence of magic bending to her will.
I carefully hid my own energy signature with a low power and complicated concealment spell. My chantless casting and my ability to easily cast complex magic were my main advantages in this world, given my small mana pool. Leaving these bandits made me nervous, since if they found me while I was sleeping, it could be bad. But attacking them without a plan would be foolish. The highest priority target was the woman.
As I weighed my options, the woman—the witch—stretched languidly, her form silhouetted against the flickering campfire. She turned her head, hazel eyes scanning the perimeter of the clearing with a predator's instinct. I froze, holding my breath as her gaze swept past my hiding spot. She didn't seem to notice me, but her vigilance was unsettling.
I watched for a while, noting where the bandits went to relieve themselves. Then I slowly and carefully made my way in that direction. The woman had still not answered the call of nature yet, and I figured I'd get my best shot to take her out if she was at her most vulnerable.
As I crouched behind a cluster of boulders, the rough stone digging into my palms, I kept my eyes trained on the witch. She had been sitting by the fire, her gaze occasionally flicking to the periphery, a subtle tension in her shoulders. Meanwhile, I had been patient, observing the patterns of the bandits’ movements, the rhythm of their conversations.
I carefully did not stare at the witch or even watch her too often so she would not feel my gaze. Some people could have a sixth sense about such things. Instead, I got into position, on a slight rise, watching the area where the men had been answering the call of nature. After settling into position, the sun dipped lower, casting elongated shadows that danced and flickered with the rustling leaves. The air grew cooler, smells of the trees carried on the wind. I kept my gaze fixed on the spot where the men had been relieving themselves, my body tense and ready.
The witch, still by the fire, stood up abruptly, her eyes scanning the perimeter once more. I carefully did not look at her, did not move, and thought about the clouds, emptying my mind. I didn't move my mana or my aura force at all. I tried method acting the air around me. As I maintained my silent vigil, the witch, whom I had mentally dubbed "Raven" for her dark hair and sharp features, stretched, her lean muscles taut beneath her armor. She exchanged a few words with Breen, her voice too low to catch from my distance, before she plodded towards what appeared to be the designated area for the call of nature..
As Raven approached, I remained statue-still, my breaths shallow and controlled. The sun had dipped even lower, casting the world in a warm, amber glow that made the rocks and trees stand out in stark relief. As I waited, every muscle in my body was coiled and ready, but I kept my mind relaxed.
Raven reached the spot, her back to me, and began to unfasten her belt. I continued not to look at her; I didn't even breathe. Instead, I counted numbers in my head and thought of reading books. As Raven began to relieve herself, I remained utterly still, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. To me, the cool evening air seemed to hum with tension, the distant chirps of birds and rustling of leaves the only sounds breaking the silence. I kept my gaze unfocused, my mind counting numbers, reciting passages from ancient texts—anything to keep from betraying my presence.
With an empty mind, just as I had learned while hunting, I extended my hand, pointing my finger, and like I had many, many thousands of times before, I used a rock bullet spell to send a magically-created stone buzzing at my target: the back of her head. As I released the spell, the air crackled softly, the magic humming through my fingertips as the projectile sped towards its mark. Raven didn't stand a chance; the projectile connected with the back of her head with a sickening thud, sending her sprawling forward into the underbrush.
I sprang into action, my heart pounding as adrenaline surged through my veins. I took nothing for granted, and as I quickly scampered to the fallen woman, I saw her beginning to move. She should have been taken out by my stealth, precision, and short range, but she'd been so cagey she'd kept her defenses up.
She was not dead yet, not hardly.
However, I drew my sword and planted it through her throat before she could do much more than turn over. As she looked at me, I sawed through her neck and ripped my sword blade up with surprisingly little blood. I moved back in time to avoid getting drenched, and she thrashed on the ground. There were noises in the camp, the men calling her name.
I learned that the witch's name was Darlene as I burst into the camp. My sword darted forward, taking Twitch in the completely unprotected armpit with accuracy earned from years of practice. I leveled a finger and delivered a rock bullet at Breen's face, point-blank range.
The man cried as he fell back, and I was upon him in a flash. I wasn’t sure if the spell or the sword ended him, but my blade almost took his head off.
And just like that, all three enemies were down. I was breathing like I had just run twenty miles at breakneck speed. Other than my breathing, the silence was eerie. The campfire crackled merrily, oblivious to the sudden carnage that had unfolded. The once peaceful clearing was now a grim tableau, the coppery scent of blood mingling with the smell of smoke and pine. I stood there, sword dripping crimson, chest heaving with exertion, the rush of combat still coursing through my veins.
Almost mechanically, I went through the motions of cleaning my sword and armor as best I could with grass, then with the clothing of my fallen enemies. If not for the person I'd killed the day before, I would have thrown up. But I held my gorge.
In all the time I had been watching them, it became increasingly clear that these three were criminals and murderers. I decided to think of what I'd just done as eliminating dangerous predators.
But something was still bothering me. My remaining disquiet was the knowledge that if I'd fought them head-on, I would have died for sure. Even as the victor, I still felt weak.
After I had cleaned my gear, I mentally prepared myself to start searching the bodies.
