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Chapter 57: The Wild Hunt
🕑 Added 2024-11-14 05:45:41 +0000 UTCChapter 57: The Wild Hunt
A wounded animal is the most dangerous of all. That old saying was a popular one in the corporate world, typically rearing its head in discussion around mergers and acquisitions, but just as applicable in a hundred different settings. That said, I doubted my old managers ever envisioned a scenario quite this literal, as the Horsedra turned a dark shade of crimson, wholly distinct from the flames eating away at skin and bone. What remained of its three heads faded away, while the torso inflated violently, putting me on edge, as I half-expected another fireball to come my way. Even the flames enveloping faded away, while a quick glance to the side confirmed the same for Harvey, who now joined me in staring anxiously at the enemy. Idly, I noted that Harvey was surrounded by a thin dusting of straw, strewn around his feet. Ahead of me, the Horsedra continued to grow, resembling nothing more than a big red ball by this point, until finally it reached critical mass, and burst.
[The Wild Hunt - Level 1]
From its scattered remains, a veritable horde of spectral steeds emerged, pale ghosts wreathed in red mist, charging towards us as if their unlives depended on it. Harvey landed two more knives, popping his targets like soap bubbles.
[6 Gilt withdrawn.]
I quickly followed suit, throwing my remaining coins as quickly as I could summon them, inflicting a toll of thirteen spectres slain, two targets per coin plus a lucky thirteenth angled just right in the path of one of my throws. Harvey wasn’t letting up either, with another knife thrown every second, such that between us we carved out two dozen in the space of five seconds, yet onward they came.
[2x Orange withdrawn.
Lemon withdrawn.
1/f Loaf of Bread withdrawn.]
Banking on the horde’s apparent fragility, I dug deep into my inventory for anything even vaguely throwable, all of which found their market, while Harvey continued to conjure an endless stream of knives. Finally, after what my brain quickly counted as a full fifty apparitions, the flow stemmed, whatever final force powered that suicidal attack tapering out. In the end, only three lonely ghosts managed to come within arms length, and they were never going to be a threat, not when the only thing going for them was strength in numbers.
[Knife withdrawn.]
I hopped over one, slitting its throat mid-flight and landing amidst a faint cloud of dispersing ectoplasm. Harvey didn’t even bother using a knife for his final kill of the battle, merely punching it in the side of the head, hard enough for the ghost to feel it and disappear.
[Pumpkin the Cat withdrawn.]
Being a most generous soul, I even let Pumpkin get in on the action, figuring that he would be displeased if he missed a chance to kill. As it turned out, Proficiency (Throwing Weapons) worked just as well with a ball of fur as it did with coins and food, allowing me to land Pumpkin on the final ghost’s back with an expert underarm throw. Being the ornery cat he was, Pumpkin responded to this impromptu reappearance in the only way he knew how: violence. A solid smack with his tail was all it took, and the last of The Wild Hunt vanished back to whence it came. I waited in place for a bit, half-expecting another System notification, but nothing happened; not that I could blame it, since culling mooks was never going to be too impressive, and that seemed to be how all our deeds were graded.
It made sense, in a way, that only the exceptional could guarantee a steady stream of experience. That would certainly explain how the people of Allensward lived their entire lives at Level 3 or below, whilst I had reached that same threshold in little over a week of activity: here, as on Earth and likely every other world that existed, opportunities for growth had to be seized with both hands in order to be truly beneficial. Although, by the same token, I didn’t believe for a single second that Level 3 was actually the cap; given I’d met several people in town capable of altering what showed on their name tag. I wouldn’t go as far as to call it common, but certainly, anybody worth their salt would have a way to obscure the truth: that was simply logical, in a world where the System would otherwise deny them any semblance of privacy.
“You alright?” Harvey asked, drawing me out of my reverie.
His hands were shaking slightly, I noticed, as were my own; not out of any sense of fear, but as a natural consequence of the adrenaline in our bodies dissipating, now that the battle was won.
“Physically, sure,” I agreed, answering truthfully enough, whilst not betraying what I’d actually been thinking about. “Though I must say I’m a bit concerned about the direction this trip has taken. When I set out from Allensward, fighting bandits or wild animals was within expectations. Even the ghosts were something feasible, something I’d come across in passing during my time in the library. What just happened here, on the other hand…”
“It’s an ill omen,” Harvey agreed, making a sign over his heart I didn’t recognise. “Ritual circles such as the one that caused this, they aren’t a natural occurrence. Someone must have planted it here, as a trap, the only question is if it was meant for us, or merely an opportunistic placement targeting any traveller nearby. Quite frankly, I’m not sure which possibility I like less; demons haven’t been sighted in these parts for many years now.”
“Do you think there’s a breach in the Wall?” I pressed him, now very concerned for my continued well-being.
“Nothing that bad,” Harvey shook his head, to my relief. “If that were the case, there’d be a lot more of them, and they wouldn’t need to be summoned. No, there’s something rotten afoot, but we’re not staring down the apocalypse.”
I decided not to give voice to the unspoken yet, in favour of following Harvey as we headed back towards the caravan, because neither of us were in the mood for bleak hypotheticals. Oh, how innocent we were, back then.
