Time Since Reckless Self-Endangerment: 2 Days 5 Hours

Goal: Kill 'Baby Boots'

“Why does the System hate you so much?” The question leapt into Nic’s mind as he examined the leather scroll, so he asked. “This quest basically makes you an enemy of anything smart enough to understand the System’s announcement. They all but signed your execution already.”

“Ah.” Sula smiled sadly. “My mother attempted to fight the Integration. Not just the Invaders but the System itself. She was hunted down and imprisoned for her crimes. As for the rest of us… The rest of us are still paying the price for her defiance.”

Nic didn’t know what to say to that. Nobody fought the System and won. Nobody except Pathos. It was brave trying to take that path, but it was also incredibly foolish. “Do you really think the humans will look past the price on your heads and accept your peace deal?”

“I don’t know.” She admitted. “If we can talk, I can make it worth their while to listen. So far the scouts we’ve met have all turned hostile quickly, especially that damned maniac in the skies. But we have to try. Peace is hard. It takes work and trust. But I’m willing to hold out my hand and see if they’ll take it.”

She puffed on her cigarette and smiled sadly, waving towards her stump arm. “I know. Naivety itself. It’s a mistake I’ve been punished for in the past.”

But one she was still willing to make again.

Nic respected that kind of stubborn. “Alright. I can’t promise anything, but if I can get this to the human leaders I will.” He tucked the peace scroll down into his bag. “All I ask in return is for the parts to make a bow.”

“Is that all?” She raised an eyebrow, apparently finding the statement funny. “Our bows are our pride and joy. But I’ll see what I can do. Sumac! Give him a tour.”

The rabbit hopped from its box and wrinkled its nose at Nic. “Hello. You smell of blood.” It spoke to him directly through his mind, in the same way Sofia or the System did. There was a small golden sphere set into its forehead directly between its tall floppy ears.

“I do?” Nic blinked heavily, surprised at being addressed via telepathy.

“Blood, sweat, and tears. Your thoughts are still sharp at least. Many of our brothers have lost themselves to their animal forms and become dull-minded like true beasts.” The voice was an old man’s voice- dry and raspy like paper fluttering about. “I am Sumac. Allow me to guide you.”

Together, they ventured out of the tent.

---

In truth, Nic was glad to be around people again. Some of them looked at him with suspicion but for the most part he was free to roam and follow. To listen in on conversations. To feel the movement of the camp, the shuffle of feet and words. It was almost like the city he'd left behind.

In some ways that place had been a slow death for him. A claustrophobic hell where he was crushed by the sheer number of other people all fighting for the same dreams he had.

But in others it had just been home. It was impossible to live in a place for twenty-one years and not form attachments. He missed the smells of the food vendors setting up in the early dawn hours, throwing spices onto skewers of roasting meat. The sound of the trains moving past at night, shaking his little apartment.

So he spent a little while wandering camp. Enjoying the sights and the sounds.

Eventually the hare led him towards a large tent where a silver-haired elf with a crown tattooed across his forehead worked to craft new bows. Singing under his breath, the elven crafter ran his fingers over lengths of white timber, and his magic made them bend into shape of their own accord.

Nic's mouth was wide with surprise. That was some real magic.

“Eranthus. This young man is a guest of Sula’s - and she’s agreed to let him have the materials to make a bow.” The rabbit said.

“Just the materials?” The old elf grinned. “I can make him one easily enough.”

“Uh, can you translate for me?” Nic asked the rabbit, who nodded. “No, I have to make it myself. I have a Shard that lets me use my own creations. I just need some materials and advice.”

The rabbit dutifully relayed his words via telepathy, and the old elf nodded. “I see, I see. Well, here, hop up on a stool and I’ll show you what I can.”

Clambering up to eye level with the workbenches, Nic watched as the old man took up a long piece of wood and began to bend at it, twisting it this way and that in his skinny hand. “You have to find the grain and the bend of the bow, and bring it out with your cuts. My old teacher made me learn to do it by hand long before I was allowed to learn how to shape-sing.”

With wide eyes, Nic watched as the old man took up a knife and began to cut, shaving down the rigid parts of the wood so everything that remained would bend around the thick middle of the bow. The result was the classic arched shape.

He’d done it so fast and made it look like the simplest thing in the world.

Nic suspected he’d have a harder time of it.

The old man held out the knife. “Here. You try.”

---

It was hours later when Nic finished his work. Even guided by the old man and his Totemic Hunter Glyphs the work was long and gruelling. No ordinary wood could make a bow for him. He was simply too small, and a bow got too much of its strength from size.

The only way to compensate for that was by using extremely strong materials like these, and those were immensely hard to craft.

But his hard work had paid off. With the old man’s help, he’d been able to make a decent bow on his fourth try, and his Totemic Glyphs were enough to turn a decent bow into a good one. The only thing lacking was a component of bone or hide to lend the weapon a spirit beast it could summon.

Bow of the Red Wind (F)

Glyph of Exsanguination

(100% Charged)

Rune of Strengthening

(100% Charged)

This hardy bow is made of Alabaster Heartwood, a peak material among the F-Class. With a strong construction and a resilient string, it can punch through armor and hardened flesh with ease. Wounds from this bow will bleed profusely and refuse healing magic.

There was just one more thing to do before Nic set off.

His guide informed him there was a merchant in camp.

The hare led him towards the edge of the camp, where a huge tortoise shell lay in the sand. As Nic approached a wizened, leathery turtle head popped out, followed by humanoid hands and feet. With a grunt the ancient turtle-man stood onto his feet and waved a webbed hand.

“Hello little one. Care to buy a book or an ancient scroll? I’ve got a whole archive tucked away in this old shell. From stories of forgotten worlds to System-recognized technique scrolls.”

“Can you understand me?” Nic asked cautiously.

“Oh, but of course.” The turtle laughed, a sound like a vacuum cleaner wheezing. “I’m a Merchant Privateer, I can understand any language spoken in the worlds of the System. I’ve even learned a few that aren’t just to keep my mind sharp.”

“That’s useful. Actually, I’d like to learn that trick. Do you have any books that would teach me human language?”

“Yes yes. It’s not quite as simple as teaching you the language. Your body is so different you’ll need a technique to help you make the right sounds. But I should have…” His head and one arm retreated down into the shell. Nic immediately got the impression that it was larger on the inside, just like his mystic bag.

A moment later the turtle-man popped back out with a green-fringed scroll in hand. “Here we have it! The Gift of Tongues. A System-recognized technique scroll suited for any rank.”

“And what makes it System-recognized? You seem very proud of that.”

“The simple answer is the System will accept these techniques and add them to your cultivation map, allowing you to learn them simply by devoting Essence and allowing the System to guide you. The longer answer…” He coughed to clear his throat like a school-teacher beginning a lecture. His clawed fingertip wagged through the air. “Young man, there are more than just millions of techniques in the known world. There are too many to count at all. Small variations and self-created styles litter the cosmos. But for the most part, these techniques are inferior creations. Only a few grand masters and saints will develop a technique worth the System’s approval. For the rest of us, the best we can do is follow in the paths they forged.”

“And how much will that scroll cost?” Nic was already suspicious. That much talking meant the cost must be astronomical.

“A mere five thousand First Wave Credits.”

Nic winced. Just from the tone he knew that was a lot. But he pulled a Shard from his pack, choosing the low quality Vagrant Shard. “And what will this get me?”

The turtle made a low humming sound and pretended to think, but Nic knew he’d already decided the price the moment he saw the Shard. “Hmm… It’s an interesting Shard, but its been badly damaged. Say... Two hundred.”

Nic’s eyes narrowed. “Two hundred fifty.”

“Two twenty.” The old turtle shot back.

“Deal.” With a little more bartering, Nic secured five hundred and fifty for a normal Secondary Shard, and a full eight hundred for a fast-growing one like the Wasteland Shard. Even so, his whole collection would only add up to half the cost of the technique scroll, so he decided to keep them for now.

“Sofia? Why are these things so damned expensive.” Nic groaned.

“In a word, utility and accessibility. Only a limited amount of Primary Shards can be absorbed, and each Secondary Shard you integrate will sharply raise the costs of advancing the Primary. By comparison you can take in any number of techniques, although they cost more to advance. There are even Core Techniques that will strengthen every other ability you have.”

“If you can’t afford this, perhaps something else? I have the Seven-Star Constellation Sword Manual, the Righteous Book of Fury-Drowning Palms, and the most useful for a monstrous fellow like yourself, the Blood Ascension Inner Tree Cultivation Codex.”

“Sofia? These sound like…”

“They’re exactly what you’re thinking. Trash. Real cultivation manuals don’t have gaudy names like that. Constellation Sword is a corruption of the more powerful Seven-Star Palace school that infuses it with sword-type Essences. It’s the only one I’d recommend buying from this charlatan, since we could upgrade to the original eventually. The other two might offer some small benefit now but would need to be ripped out later.”

Nic was just about to turn back and ask about a scroll for extracting Shards without damaging them, when he realized the old tortoise had withdrawn back into his shell. Moreover, a shield had popped up, surrounding the merchant in blue-white protective energy.

“What-” Nic blinked.

“Oh no.” The hare muttered, and shot away.

Turning around, Nic stared out in the direction the merchant had been looking in the moment before he retreated. The moon was bright and distracting but Nic raised a hand to shelter his eyes and squinted hard. Out in the distance, something was moving. The whole line of the horizon was creeping closer and closer.

His blood ran cold. Nic began to run. “SOUND THE ALARM! EVERYONE! FOR FUCKS SAKE!”

Most of the elves just looked at him in bemusement, only hearing croaking and cawing.

But the ones who’d been aboard the ship remembered that he’d been the first to spot Baby Boots. They jumped up and began to yell, grabbing their weapons.

Nic darted towards the edge of the camp and scrambled onto a tall rock for a better view.

Coming towards them was an army.

Soldier after soldier made of sand was slowly marching towards the camp. They were led by mummified priests with staffs of glowing green stone. Huge creatures made of dozens of pale skeletons stitched together in an abomination of mismatched bones marched alongside the sand-soldiers.

They were hauling siege engines behind them. Giant crossbows on wheels lit up the horizon with the fires on the tips of their arrows. Flaming barrels of pitch were being loaded into trebuchets as they rolled across the sand. Near the back two mummified elephants slowly marched towards camp, archers positioned on the platforms mounted on their backs like enormous saddles.

Commander Sula stepped in beside Nic. She raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes and watched the approaching enemy lines. The captain of the ship Nic had sailed on was right behind her.

“This looks like the big one. Raise the defenses, aim for the leaders. I’ll put together a vanguard squad and aim for the catapults.”