Battleforged
patreon
Chapter 498 - Peril in the Mist
🕑 Added 2025-02-03 04:00:03 +0000 UTC
Eric stiffened when a certain cold-eyed man glared his way with his rifle in his lap, freezing him to stillness as he took in the stretched leather recliner cleverly put together with hardwood and animal hide.
His heart roared in his ears, yet Agda’s father made no move to point it at him, merely measured Eric with his eyes.
“It’s late.”
Eric jerked a nod. “It is, sir.”
The man frowned. “Why are you up?”
Eric solemnly lifted the empty bowl in his hand. “With respect… Agda said to help myself to more stew if I was hungry, and I’m feeling quite famished.”
The man furrowed his brow. “You look the farthest thing from a sickly youth near death after taking on wolves that should have been beyond you.” The man sighed. “And me as well.”
He dipped his head to the crock pot, still warm and placed with cooking hooks to hover just over the banked fire. “Hot enough that no humors can infect it. Not bubbling. Help yourself with the ladle.”
Eric swallowed, dipping his head. “Thank you, sir.”
He took a deep breath and poured himself some stew, almost surprised when a wooden mug filled with small beer was placed before him, Agda’s father pouring some for himself as he sat across from Eric, though Eric noted that Ivan’s eye was always on the door, or over the boarded up window the wolves had smashed through the day before.
“Eat,” the man said, dipping his head as Eric ravenously tore into the stew, earning as snort.
“You certainly eat like a young man your age is wont. And you look like you’re about ready to burst out of that tunic.”
Eric suppressed a smile, shrugging as he sipped his drink.
Agda’s father raised his mug. “Call me Ivan.”
Eric dipped his head, doing the same, regarding the powerfully built, bearded man in the light of a single lamp and banked coals, recognizing the handsome, almost regal features underneath, having no doubt that quite a tale could be told of his and his family’s journey from a land of tsars and Russian nobility to a colonial farm colony.
“An honor, Ivan. As you know, I’m Eric.”
The man flashed a hard smile, revealing perfect teeth that, like his daughter’s, was quite rare in this time and place. “And I suspect that’s not all you are.”
Eric dared to smile. “True.”
“Is what you said to that wolf true?”
Eric frowned thoughtfully, sipping his beer. “I was desperate to distract the creature. To keep its focus on the man with the flaming spear, and not on the girl with no spear at all.”
Ivan’s gaze hardened. Not with anger, but with intent resolve. “In another time and place… your act would have been given the accolades it deserves.”
Eric dipped his head, acknowledging gratitude, pride, and reduced circumstances without a word need being said.
The man sighed, gaze almost forlorn. “I will ask once more, do you favor my daughter?”
Eric’s cheeks flushed. “I… I dance a most perilous path, playing a game of princes and thrones, rolling dice of battlefields and bones.” He rubbed his brow. “I fear it would be perilous for anyone to bind their heart with my own, when so many enemies would then look to spear them both.”
Ivan gazed at Eric for long moments, eyes lit with a fire that had nothing to do with the banked hearth. “Ware, Eric. Prince’s seeking to reclaim lost thrones all too often end up on the chopping block, along with all the fools to embrace their folly.”
Eric flashed a bitter smile. “I know.”
Ivan sighed. “Then you know better than most who play that game of dunces and fools.”
Eric smirked, eyes twinkling.
“And still you will seek to claim that throne, hungry for the glory our Winter Queen promises all her heirs.”
Eric froze at those words. “What do you know?” His voice came out rougher than intended.
Ivan snorted, eyes twinkling. “I know the legends as well as any man raised in certain circles. The bloodlines supposedly tying most of Europe and a fair amount of the East to Russia’s fabled Winter Queen. You’d be surprised how many princes with fetching daughters they are eager to marry off claim some sort of blood kinship to Aurelia’s legend. However many centuries ago since she ruled Russia in the flesh… assuming those tales are anything more than—” He paused, catching the intensity in Eric’s gaze.
“And perhaps there is more than a bit of truth to those old winter tales. For certain, if you were to claim kinship to that ancient Winter Queen, with your flawless features and killing grace, few would gainsay you, and any who challenged you to a duel with flashing sabers would, I suspect, be quickly put in their place.”
Eric shrugged, though his glittering eyes and cold smile denied nothing.
Ivan nodded. “So, what are your intentions here?”
“To claim the golden key and eventually all of New York,” he said boldly, denying nothing, wondering on some level if Ivan even understood the nature of this pocket realm, or his own.
The man snorted. “So, you would seize the colony as your own? England’s grip on her farthest flung colonies is weak at the moment. Struggles in Europe occupy them. But that could change at any moment, and their navy is the most feared in all the world for good reason.” He chuckled coldly. “Certainly, they have made a mockery of numerous Russian princes, one reason why we kept our conquests firmly inland.”
Eric grinned, taking a fresh sip of his beer, soup long since devoured, and he could feel his muscles tingling with Strength, belly already rumbling for more sustenance. Ever more sustenance.
“You would be surprised by how little I fear any force on air, land, or sea… and to hear me say those words right now sounds like nothing but a young fool’s boast. I know. Perhaps this will reassure. I hope to claim your colony’s key not through force… but rather opportunity.”
Ivan eased his increasingly tight scowl with as snort of bemusement. “Opportunity, is it? Are you a merchant? Or perhaps an emissary for another power?”
Eric grinned. “Funny you should say that. Have you ever heard of Blue Federation? No? Anyway, they happen to be an extremely liberal and powerful trading consortium. Definitely an economic power in their own right. What I can tell you without reservation is that should I manage to convince whoever holds the mystic golden key which I can tell you know about with the look you’re giving me… that alone will be sufficient for me to award any man, woman, or family that helps me with a fortune in land, gold… or lore. Whatever it’s in my power to give them.”
Ivan stilled, gazing intently at a flushing Eric, now realizing he probably sounded like a cocky young idiot, a deluded fool... or a liar. Thankfully, Ivan’s scowl eased once more with a curious smile.
“It’s been a long time since I was entertained by the fantasies of courtiers scheming for power and influence.”
Eric chuckled at that. “I know, right?” He smiled at the man before him. “All I need is that key, Ivan. I have absolutely no interest in ruling with a heavy hand or interfering at all with the daily lives of this town or farming community or what this place even is, since I’ve hardly been outside the root cellar.”
“Because you took a faerie path through the Deep Ways to get there, is that it?” The man said, eyes twinkling with cool mirth.
Eric shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah. Just so.”
This earned a snort. “I thought you were a beast hunter.”
Eric chuckled. “I’m that as well.”
“Busy young princeling, aren’t you?”
“The busiest.”
The man snorted. “I see the way you’re eyeing that crock pot. You should be fit to bursting.”
Eric grinned. “Ah, but you see, my magic is finally coming back to me with the death of those wolves that were threatening my friends, and I need plenty of meat to rebuild muscle once lost.”
This earned genuine laughter that froze to a look of speechless disbelief when Eric solemnly stood up. “May I present proof?”
“By all… saint’s above!” The man’s eyes bulged when Eric lifted up his shirt, removing Agda’s carefully-placed liniments, revealing no injury at all.
“How is such even… Agda and the others didn’t dare enter the mists. Not with wolves now—” The man flushed, realizing he was giving away secrets, but Eric just winked.
“As you could probably tell from spear, there’s more than one type of magic, Ivan. Some of it a bit more fae than others.”
For some reason Ivan paled, collapsing back in his seat. “A faerie queen that could freeze the world. They’re only tales,” he whispered. “Not actual truths. Tales young men would borrow as they take bold steps that could see them fall. So easily. Tales men cling to for glory. Legitimacy. Forging legends around their names, desperate to secure their rule.”
“Sure!” Eric nodded agreeably, helping himself to some more stew. “My mother’s very good at stories. Anyway, about that key...”
Ivan gazed at Eric for long moments. “We’ll head into town in the morning. Speak with the Enigmatics. I’ll let you stand watch.”
Eric blinked at this.
The man smirked. “Help yourself to the stew,” he said, gesturing to the beer and bread as well before leaving the dining area and front door to Eric.
Eric quirked a grin. “No problem,” he said, pleased as punch. Because he could now eat his fill without shame, sensing his Strength getting ever closer to 16. And it was the perfect opportunity to step outside and breathe the fresh night air, before catching sight of his own blazing spear being used as a front lawn torch.
He winced, now understanding the other half of the pointed look, before catching sight of the bodies buried under lumber and loose branches that a no doubt tired Ivan had probably planned on finishing burying today. Eric frowned at the remains, then looked at his spear, wondering just how far he could take things.
“Fuck, no access to my ES Space, but I can shape this sucker like clay!”
And it was true. Though he had no ability to perform his wondrously useful magic of shaping fallen foes into pretty much whatever he needed with his ES Space and Flesh Sculptor skill, it was still effortless for him to claim wolf bone and hide, both items shaping themselves effortlessly in his hands as if it truly was the perfect consistency putty, smiling happily when a crude bone and hide boar spear head sheath came into existence, interface popping with faint messages that could have easily been his own wandering thoughts as the Interface itself.
Flesh Sculptor has been successfully quantized in this time and place at: Rank 5!
You have successfully forged: Boar Spear Sheath.
Sheath has been aligned with blood infused with the essence of heat at 98.6 degrees!
You have successfully sheathed your spear!
Heat Surge is now Rank 5.
You have unlocked Infravision!
Infravision is now Rank 5.
Soul reserves are now 19.98
You have accrued no plaque with these techniques.
You have begun cycling on the porch of your newly claimed domicile!
Ideal bucolic environment and Spiritual Winds allow for the wicking of plaque like never before!
You spot 3 Lycanthropes eyeing your domicile.
You have successfully reduced plaque to 1.59%!
Eric wanted to laugh for sheerest joy. The seemingly insurmountable issues of plaque constantly being generated by his Contender’s Path of Consumption, even when he raised no revenants at all… what he feared would be a vicious cycle where the ever growing source of his power also became his bane… until he finally found his desperately needed solution.
Just pop into a realm where he was powerless, pray that the natives wouldn’t kill him out of fear or spite, and cultivate as if his life depended upon it as supernaturally sticky plaque so saturated with dark potency and crud in potency-infused realms lifted up as effortlessly as soapy water would rinse free his body and hair.
Even the breakthrough waste that normally stunk to high heaven faded to a fog-like mist the minute it left his body, and he couldn’t help smiling at the thought that he was somehow feeding and strengthening the realm by surrendering his waste, much like cow and sheep dung were good for the freshly turned soil.
But much less smelly.
Indeed, he was grateful for the chance to take slow breaths and gently cycle his Qi with absolutely no strain at all as the cool nighttime breeze washed over him, dawn just a few hours away, the air smelling of primrose, herbs, honey suckle, wheat, with just the faintest musk of stalking wolves in the air.
Eric froze, eyes snapping open when the barn animals went deathly silent.
As if they knew.
Knew that unlike a fox or smaller creature, panicked neighs and snorts would only insight the predators stalking through the darkness even now.
Darkness that lit up an instant later as Eric sprung off the wood cabin stoop, flinging off the leather sheath to his boar spear, allowing it to blaze with all the fires of his wrath as he glared at the trio of wolves suddenly before him.
“Where are they? Their scent ends here!” The largest roared, hackles raised as it loped toward Eric.
“We demand sacrifice!” The second hissed. “Your house has been marked! We know you have it. Surrender it at once!”
Eric’s heart pounded. It was all he could do to think beyond a tactician’s crimson arts, so great was his fury. “What marks our house. What is it you seek?”
“They key!” Hissed the smallest. “We need that—”
You have critically struck your target!
The smallest wolf’s words ended in a yelp as the largest wolf roared and snapped… only to crash to the ground, feral eyes wide and bulging in panicked desperation as it snapped in silent agony, tripping its brethren as it rolled and thrashed, slamming against the cabin steps, hot blood spraying in a boiling crimson froth from the blazing spear head that had just torn open its throat.
As one, the remaining pair howled.
“You will pay for that, human!” Hissed the smallest, darting away as the second wolf took a second to glare and snap at Eric, before it too turned tale. Only to crash to the ground with a howling squeal when Eric rammed his spear into the base of its spine, snapping it instantly, effortlessly, as the wolf desperately thrashed and bloated, the gaping incision spraying Eric’s skin with scalding blood as he tore his weapon free of the spasming wolf, organs scalded by the roiling blood surging through it, right before its heart stopped altogether.
“Ivan!” Eric roared. “One’s getting away!”
He wasted no more time, racing a good thirty feet toward the rapidly racing wolf… before slowing down and cursing under his breath. Because if his foe was at all clever, goading Eric to chasing a flanker while the main force surged behind him would be just the way to end the night with the most horrific of tragedies, and Eric would have no one to blame but himself.
Yet much to his relief, the distant wolf collapsed a heartbeat later, when a rifle barked out its charge in a plume of smoke. Eric’s infravision allowed him to instantly spot the fallen wolf, glowing so brilliantly in the dim pre-dawn gloom that others might miss.
Yet not Ivan, perched on the roof, whose bullet had struck true, no matter how primitive one might find his black powder rifle.
“See any others trying to take advantage of the distraction?” Eric asked, mind fully on task.
The air hung with silence for long moments. “There’s nothing,” Ivan finally said, and Eric had to agree, seeing only the heat signatures of distant burrowing animals and the completely undisturbed livestock in the barn.
Eric dipped his head. “I don’t see anything either.”
A second later, Ivan dropped behind him with catlike grace. He sighed, and began reloading his rifle. “I’ll let you collect the farmost one. Then best we bury these beasts and head into town.”
Eric rubbed his face, then nodded. “Yup, makes sense, though I’m keeping the furs this time,” he said, resheathing the spear head before racing across the field at what was now an effortless loping stride.
His feet moved adroitly through the uneven terrain, such a contrast to the day before, Eric feeling no burn in his thighs or twinge in his side. Not even when he picked up the hundred and fifty pound wolf, the leanest of the three, and headed back, earning what he almost thought was a smile of approval before Ivan waved him to the pit he had obviously been digging the day before, before it got too late.
“Alright, this hole’s far from both well and garden, and deep enough it will turn into fine soil without any stench of decay. I’ll turn it all next season. Now, let’s bury them spread out, and cover them. We’ll do it in three layers, with plenty of dirt between each one.”
Eric nodded, having no problem with the plan, happy to be the one to throw in the bodies while Ivan handled the shovel. Yet when Ivan saw Eric stripping off their fur as effortlessly as another person peeling free a sheet of vellum paper from a while, he did naught but snort and say, “The stink of untreated furs is not something we need right—”
The man blanched when Eric snapped them just as he would a towel. Te flesh transformed that quickly, that effortlessly, into material far stronger than it had been seconds ago, now free of any scent at all.
Just as if he had stuck it inside his ES Space which he presently didn’t have any access to.
“What sorcery is this?” an awed Ivan whispered.
Eric flashed a bleak smile even as he nicked his thumb and began scribing sigils that had the man averting his gaze with a curse.
“The kind that keeps my friends alive.”
Ivan blinked, then chuckled, eyes no longer that of the aloof hunter but the jaded elite who well understood the twisted turns one must take in the pursuit of one’s goals… and of course there was no limit to just how bloody they were all willing to get for the sake of survival.
“Fair enough,” Ivan said with the too knowing look of a crimson courtier now gone as if it had never been, the aloof father and farmer to the fore once more. “Now let’s finish our task.”
Eric, panting only slightly with the cost in blood, his cut sealing with a single whisper, dipped his head, happily drinking the flask that the older man solemnly handed him. “Thank you.”
Ivan nodded, no other words necessary as the pair continued to bury the now skinless wolves, but after cutting free only the choices pieces of meat, and absolutely not touching the head or spine.
Eric felt an increasing sense of tension and exhilaration as he took deep breaths and did his best to focus on his arts once more. Thanks to Peril’s Path and a Gold-tier mistress, he had awoken his Qi flow once more. And as for Mana… such was the fundamental gift of all elves. Magic that wouldn’t be denied. Yet he could taste how the dense spiritual mist filling the ether that Enigmatics had learned to navigate would so effortlessly swallow any classical spell.
But not the essence of life itself.
Neither the essence of fire, nor the vessel of blood.
His eyes flashed with exhilaration and insight as fresh System messages confirmed his latest epiphany.
Even if the price had been steep. Far steeper than he would have liked. Sensing the crimson key that would unlock so much buried potential, he embraced the path suddenly before him… no matter the cost.
Congratulations! You have unlocked a path forward, even in Enigma’s domain! The ether may not be conducive to magics, but it will not hinder the flow of Qi through your meridians… or the flow of Mana and Qi through your blood!
You have successfully unlocked Runic Lore! All Perks in play. Effective Skill level is Rank 4.
Blood Rune focus limitation in effect! You may only channel your runic arts through Blood Runes!
You have successfully treated: Beast Hide Warding Circle with multiple Wards & Traps using the runes you’ve already mastered.
Mana & Qi Pools temporarily depleted!
You have forged a permanent magical treasure.
You have sacrificed a portion of you Permanent Soul Reserves!
Runic Lore is now Rank 7!
Runic Lore is now Rank 8!
Runic Lore is now Rank 9!
Blood Mastery is now Rank 7!
Blood Mastery is now Rank 8!
Blood Mastery is now Rank 9!
Soul Reserves has been permanently lowered by 1 full point!
Eric took a shuddering breath when his masterwork was finished, gazing down with both regret and genuine wonder at the pearlescent sigils of crimson potency that he prayed would prove their worth, after sacrificing a full Soul Reserve point in the item’s creation. As to whether it would prove to be a brilliant countermeasure, or the impulsive gamble of a fool… only time would tell.
He shook away lingering doubts, finding focus in work, noting that Ivan, for all his vigor and grit, was a man past forty in a colonial-era realm without any body-rejuvenating System for most. He might be an exiled prince as fit as any ancient Viking, but it was clear that Ivan was tired as they were not taking their time with cleanup and disposal, doing all they could as fast as they could.
So Eric happily stepped in and took over when the man stopped to catch his breath and put the last of the claimed cutlets in a wicker basket submerged in the frigid stream to both clean and preserve.
Eric flashed the man a smile as he claimed the shovel. “About time I did my part, right?” He said, making full use of his improved Strength and Stamina to shovel in the entirety of what he suspected was basically an oversized compost pit.
Ivan now giving him a genuinely surprised look when it was done.
“Finished.”
Ivan chuckled softly. “For a man who had been near mortally injured just a couple days ago… then bled himself half a liter... remarkable.”
Eric grinned. “I know, right? Thank you for the jerky. And hey, you were happy carrying on for almost an hour prepping the meat and preparing the hole while I was treating the hides.”
“Indeed. Now tell me, Eric. Do you feel hot, feverish, dizzy at all?”
Eric blinked, slowly shaking his head. “I know I felt the shakes after fighting for my life yesterday… but maybe it was that run afterward and switching mortal combat to body carrying and digging? My body’s just treating it as exertion, not as any sort of stress trauma… if that even means anything, in this day and age. And right now, I feel great. Like I just had a good workout.”
This earned a curious look. “Alright. Good.” Ivan then pointedly looked at the skins covered in shiny sigils. “What should I know?”
Eric smirked. “Let me show you.” He deliberately twirled the skins, making full use of his 15, almost 16 Strength and 17+ Finesse, the now sealed-together hides snapping taught in what was a large ring of treated animal skin with a fifteen foot diameter.
Ivan’s eyes widened, giving an awed curse when the treated hide snapped into a full circle as effortlessly as a circular balloon popping back into shape when sides were no longer squeezed together.
Congratulations! Flesh Sculptor is now Rank 7!
You have awoken multiple forgotten arts! You have unlocked a significant path of power in this realm!
Eric flashed a hard smile. “The less said on winds so saturated with enigmatic energies, the better, I suspect. But rest assured, should the worst come to worst, it might prove invaluable on the road.”
Ivan stared at Eric for long moments. “If only we had had you by our side a handful of years ago, Eric. Our lives…” he shook his head. “None of that matters now.”
Eric dipped his head, giving the man a firm clap on his shoulder. “I see the past as the tale of our lives that compels us to keep moving forward to a safe and happy future. Let it inspire you. Let it teach you. Never let it break you.” He shrugged, flashing a cheeky grin. “That’s how I try to look at it every day I don’t end up screaming with the first rays of dawn. Of course, my hardly ever sleeping before I woke up mortal again didn’t hurt… or maybe it did?” He shrugged. “Who knows.”
Ivan stared at a pleased-looking Eric for long seconds before shaking his head. “Beware, Sylvan Prince. The Enigmatics are well tolerated because their arts are ephemeral enough that most see them as harmless gatherers of information and secrets surrendered to the true powers in cities or towns that of course pave their way free of hardships. But just as those men and women hold their greatest arts close…”
Eric dipped his head, smiling gratefully when Ivan seemed to sense Eric’s hunger, handing him jerkied meat he devoured, only in that moment realizing just how hungry he truly was. “No worries. Consider this added protection for the road. I won’t be displaying my arts to anyone in town, save friends I trust. And thanks for the rations.”
“It’s good that you recognize the importance of discretion. Come. We’re going to town today. Best we be presentable. We’ll do the weekly bath now. And no soldier worth his salt forgets to bring what rations he can. We will be leaving nothing behind that the wolves could make use of. We’ll be securing what treasures we won’t bring behind the root cellar hatch. I trust you’ll be able to recover your strength on the road?”
Eric blinked at this, then shrugged. “Sure, I’m happy to eat on the go, and I’m all about the weekly bath. Or daily, if that’s a thing here.”
The man snorted. “My daughter insists on a heated wet rag for daily cleanliness. But no man takes a cold bath everyday whose not very strong, very foolish, or willing to get very sick.”
Eric gazed at the man for long seconds before his lips curved with a smile, tapping his spear. “So, who says it has to be cold?”
The man gazed at Eric for long seconds. “It won’t damage your enchantment? Or… neutralize it?”
Eric chuckled. “Nope, not a bit. Honestly, it’s cheating so hard, messing with unlimited energy. I could probably run a steam engine or a train…” His eyes lit up, mind flashing with wondrous possibilities, and the secret dream he so desperately wished he could bring to fruition, with this city as its starting point.
The onetime capital of entrepreneurial spirit and industry.
The birthplace, in some respects at least, of trains that connected an entire continent, if not the world.
He shook his head free of extraneous thoughts. “No worries, we’ll have a hot bath. I guarantee it. And that should be more than enough time for me to recover both my Mana and Qi.”
And much to Ivan’s hard-eyed satisfaction, and later Agda’s joyful laugh and look of unreserved wonder, it was so.
All three of them had wonderfully warm baths just on the verge of being too hot, before Agda finally washed a first frightened but then ecstatic Emily but only after a mother’s hand made sure the temperature was absolutely perfect.
“Thank you, Eric. Being able to provide a boon like this… light any fire, heat up a stove with no fuel, warm a bath, and sear meat so perfectly that even wolf-steak tastes near divine. Any woman would open their heart to you, eager to give you their hand in marriage! Even if you’ve devoured most of the fried cutlets, all by yourself.” Agda chuckled merrily, eyes twinkling with warmth. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve put on muscle since just the night before.”
Her cheeks brightened at that declaration.
Her father gave Eric a very hard look, but all he said was, “Only with your herbs and garlic spread is gamy meat edible at all, daughter. At least we now have plenty of salted rations for the weeks ahead, even claiming only the choicest cuts and leaving the rest to compost.”
Eric couldn’t help but grin at that. “It’s good to know we’re all useful.” His smile hardened. “And now we must needs make our trek to town. And I’m guessing you all plan on staying longer than the time it takes to… what… sell our mushrooms?”
“The mushrooms you were so kind as to retrieve for me while I bathed, per father’s insistence?” Agda flashed a grateful smile. “Yes, Eric. We’re bringing mushrooms and herbs. All my herbs. Since its Firstday, our favorite trader should be there, and I know he’ll offer a pretty penny for what I have.” Her smile grew pained. “Honestly, Eric, he’d buy everything I make for twice what any of the townsfolk would offer.”
“But it doesn’t matter,” Ivan said gruffly. “Because then the villagers would resent our selling all our precious stock to outsiders and would then refuse to take our ‘dwarven silver’ in turn.”
Eric blinked, then it clicked. “This isn’t an anonymous city we’re going to. It’s a small town where everyone knows you and personal relationships are just as important as how many coins are in your purse.”
Agda nodded. “And normally I’d say that’s a very good thing. Hopefully, Tavern Keeper Horace will rent his attic to us, at least for a few days.”
“Because of the wolves,” Eric said with a scowl.
Ivan sighed. “And even that will be crowded. No doubt other farmers have also felt the weight of a hungry wolf’s glare. I suspect many folk will be sheltering behind town walls, this winter,” he said while preparing the cart that would carry their own supplies, with the plough horse carrying the load at what Eric suspected would be a stately slow plod.
“We’ll have to have someone watch our belongings at all times.”
Agda took a steadying breath, daring to meet her father’s gaze. “We could shelter with the Enigmatics, Father.”
Her father’s gaze hardened. “I forbid it.”
She stole a look Eric’s way. “But Father, isn’t that why we’re going—”
“Eric will ask them what questions he must. If anyone can help them with the prize he seeks, it is them. Then we’ll head to your grandmother’s house and you two will finally make peace.”
Agda’s cheeks blazed. “She made it clear how she feels about me.”
“And yet still you work together in the mist.”
She swallowed, lowering her head. “I’m still Spring. They have no one else. Not until Emily’s old enough to teach our ways.”
Her father sighed. “Your grandmother still regrets our lost past. You’ll never marry a prince. We’ll never go back. It’s time she accepts that. And with you and Emily in peril, she will put aside her pride.”
For some reason, Agda looked on the verge of tears, such that her daughter began wailing.
“Calm your heart, child. Come. We have a long road ahead of us. Best you compose yourself and settle your daughter.”
“Yes, Father.”
Eric purposely strode ahead, not wanting Agda to feel any more embarrassed than she already did as they began plodding their way to the trail just beyond the farm that Eric suspected would lead them into town.
“Eric!”
He stopped, gazing at an exasperated looking Agda. “What’s up?”
“You’re going the wrong way! Town’s to your left, not your right.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry. We should have explained. We just thought you had come from town?”
“Nope. From a magical portal right through your root cellar. Or are we pretending that never happened?”
“Preferably.”
“Okay.”
Eric turned around and began walking what he now knew to be the right way to town, truly pleased by how light he felt on his feet, like after his absolute best days under Vincent’s tutelage, when he was at his absolute peak before whatever grueling scene they’d be filming that day.
He savored the scents of loamy forest, wildflowers, and turned earth, the distant pleased grunts of animals given free reign to root and furrow a bittersweet sound. Though it was almost a sure thing that a fair number would be claimed by wildlife or mishap, should their leave be extensive. Yet Ivan made it clear that the hardy, intelligent breeds he raised were more than capable of foraging for themselves and making use of the nearby stream, and huddling together in the insulated barn at days end.
“They’ve cared for themselves more than a few times before. And as Betsy’s given us a winter calf… at least she won’t dry out, should fortune favor us and the threat pass before month’s end.”
Agda nodded. “And the calf will sell for good coin soon enough,” she declared with the dispassionate air of a girl raised on the farm and hands on enough to know what it meant to get her hands dirty in the slaughter, or to assist those who made a living at it.
Eric gave their snug little home a final parting glance before turning his focus entirely on the path before him, the forest it adjoined, and the handful of homesteads he could just make out through the growing mist.
Eric frowned. “Is mist common in this part of New York at this time of year?”
“No, Eric,” Agda said with an odd tension in her voice as Emily whimpered, dressed in clean swaddling and secured to her cradleboard of wicker and wood that Emily kept strapped against her chest, several wooden bands further protecting the baby’s head and chest, though Agda now had both her hands free while her father tended to the cart and draft horse, all of them electing to walk, minimizing the burden to their work animal. “I’ve never seen fog midday like this.”
She exchanged a worried look with her father, whose only action was to affix a socket bayonet to his musket rifle that was pretty damn close to two feet long.
Eric flashed a fierce grim. “Now that’s basically a spear.”
This earned a snort. “A bayoneted rifle is a lot less nimble than the boar spear you’re holding, boy. Don’t think skill in one necessarily translates to the other.”
Eric’s grin widened. “Good thing I’ve trained with both of them, isn’t it?”
This earned a curious blink. “Fascinating. Are you as skilled a marksman as you are a spearman?”
Eric chuckled. “Not hardly! I never received any lessons with shooting a black powder musket, just lessons on how to fence with it.”
This earned a blink. “That sounds like an unusual approach…”
Eric smirked. “I was trained as a physical actor. Someone to entertain the audience with feats of martial acumen while my sister stole the show and charmed the audience in the… plays and performances we participated in. No need to shoot live ammunition, but mother and my trainer sought absolute authenticity with my martial acumen. Because who wants to see an actor dueling if he’s piss poor with spear and blade?”
Ivan gave a slow nod. “Some of our finest performers back home were Cossacks who specialized in sword dancing. The performances they give in the grand halls and theaters added another dimension to the schemes and politics that made life so vibrant, and deadly, during the endless winters.”
Eric nodded, his increasing grace now allowing him to navigate the churned earthen road with his borrowed boots that fit quite well with two knitted socks on each foot just as well as he might once have walked across the sidewalk.
His nostrils flared when he caught an unwelcome scent, scowling as he noted the nearby farmhouses already becoming faint, near invisible in the growing fog. “I take it the town is along this road?”
“Indeed. We won’t miss it no matter how thick the fog. It’s just a few hours’—damn!” Ivan hissed, stoic expression hardening with a warrior’s grim resolve when the air rang with howls from the mist.
Eric traded a look with the man as Agda paled, clutching her secured and peacefully sleeping daughter close.
Eric flashed a bleak smile. “Why do I feel like we’re now right where they want us?”
Ivan clenched his jaw, not bothering to answer as he held his rifled musket up to shoulder height while Agda did her best to soothe the spooked draft horse.
For long moments there was deathly silence, save for Agda’s soft murmurs and the Clydesdale’s rough whinny.
Then the air rang with the trumpet blast of what seemed an entire pack of feral killers and their mount neighed its panic, eyes wild with terror, nearly knocking Agda over as it dashed off the road, still attached to the cart.
“Agda!”
Chapter 499 - The heart of the matter.
Comments
Goldfish2
Horse… you should be smarter then that. The humans would buy time if they don’t win but going off alone is more enticing then the humans to guarantee a kill or more from their pack… So now that realm can have magic…. Mroe! Mroe! Also plaque helps strengthen the realm?! Quickly Eric! Go on a necromancer conquest then find realms that suppressed power to release the plaque that it will gladly eat!
Trevayne
Good update. This part reminds me of some computer games where areas have level zones and a high level character going into a low level zone is artificially reduced in level so they don't just one-shot everything. I fully expect Eric will return to normal once he leaves, although he might gets some boosts from insights he obtained in this realm.
![[RV]-Nobunaga from fanbox](https://patrefans.com/kistorage/29149.jpg)
