You will die here, today, King upon the stone. Know this, beyond doubt: Your life will end and your blood will drown the sand. Yet, here I stand, conflicted. For I am tempted, you see. Tempted to bow to my emotions, if only this once. To grant mercy, and offer unity upon this struggle's end. Many a night, I've wondered if your people might return the favor. Perhaps, I've felt, they would. Truly, peace is welcomed by all, after so much death. For your people, for my own. For a hundred years... two hundred? Yet, these are not the times for which I hold concern. These are not the times which I prepare for, and so it is: I must deal in absolutes.

Recorded on the Forty-seventh year of Conquest.

Titled by the Scribe Nefali as “The Last Rites for The King of Stone.”

Credited to The Second Emperor, bringer of the Mountains

…………….

Chapter 25

[Snake Report]

There are times I find it perplexing that I still remember useless information from my previous life, even though the more important details are missing.

Like, once, I'm pretty sure I saw a movie with this exact premise: Where the main lead woke up in the middle of a field with little memory of how they managed to get there, or what the hell they were thinking.

And the corpse of their enemy, mounted on pikes.

OK- so that last part might not have happened in the movie, but the similarities are still there.

I think.

Probably goes without saying, but I chased the Construct a little too far.

West, I guess.

From the sun's positioning, I think I can sense my Golems towards the East. I can tell they're still at the Dungeon, where I left them.

I imagine they're going about their assigned jobs and responsibilities, not really questioning my absence yet.

They're pretty far off, though.

Apart from the general compass directions, I really have no idea where I am right now.

Unless you're some sort of martial arts master who never loses their cool, when something attacks you, there are the two choices.

Either you get scared or you get angry.

It's pretty much always true, when you boil it down to the basics. It’s always either fight or flight.

Used to be, when I first came into this world: I always leaned towards flight.

Why risk it all on a fight, when you can just run away?

Logic holding, flight has almost always been the best choice for my survival. Pretty simple stuff, far as I was concerned. I’m not some chosen hero. I’m just a guy who was woefully unprepared for any of this. What motivation do I have, to battle horrific monsters and brave terrible danger?

Ssss…

Of course, a lot has happened since I first got here.

"What did you do?"

"The question should be "What did we do" Great One."

"Right."

“I serve you, in all things. I am but an extension of your will.”

“Forgive me, for my skepticism.”

Sss…

We, he says.

Like that explains anything, about anything.

Gotta really think about this one.

Through the haze of angry red, and the overwhelming sound of an other-worldly voice booming in rage, I have a distant sort of recollection of how this might have come to be.

The Construct was running pretty darn quickly. I think after I managed to melt one of its arms into slag, it picked up the pace a bit.

I guess I did make it less heavy, so maybe that makes sense.

… I also vaguely remember that slithering wasn't cutting it by the time we both reached the road, and I wasn't very happy about this.

So, Earth Sculpting took over…

Which, I suppose explains why the entire left side of the road is ruined.

Surfing is faster than slithering, apparently.

Oh man.

If the humans weren't already angry, they will be now.

I have quite successfully ruined this highway.

"Hey."

"..."

"Any particular reason 'we' felt the need to impale this thing on a bunch of spikes?"

"To set an example."

Oh, of course.

An example.

"And leaving it alive?"

"It is so the others will know."

"Ah."

“They must learn to fear you.”

Yeah.

Yup.

O-K.

It's one thing to know you're crazy, but it's another to try and approach it by method of a rational conversation.

With yourself.

You know.

Because, crazy.

Ever since the events which lead to my passing beyond the threshold of level 100, I've recognized there might have been some lasting implications on my psyche. Imra's death, the system's unexpected and extremely-reluctant return. The "other" voice, the final message of the Four Headed Frog...

Sss.

I need a drink. By any means necessary.

....………..

[Caravan]

”What’s got all of you so spooked?” Conner muttered to the Ro’ as they fought his guidance. Down the line, it was almost as if something had rippled through them. For the past several hours, at least, each had been bucking and snorting in protest. “Gods and Light.” Conner cracked his whip, to no avail. “Fine, then.” He announced loudly. “Road ahead is still a mess, I say we circle up here.”

Pulling on the reins tightly, Conner fought for control, as he steered its path off center. The wagon shifted, as wheels hit uneven ground. Half on, half off the Western Highway.

“Little early, don’t you think?” Beside Conner, someone plopped down from their post with an exaggerated huff.

“I haven't ever seen anything quite like this before, and night’s only a few hours off. We’ll stop here.”

“And I say we keep going.” The wafting scent of pipe smoke began to puff, but Conner opted not to so much as glance in the source's direction. “Single file will still fit, you know?”

“Last I recalled, you weren’t the one in charge.” Conner gritted his teeth. “Important you remember that, Jule.”

“Ha, well look at you, old man!” Jule replied. “Bit of backbone, under all those layers?”

“Just make sure your men don’t cause anymore trouble for us.” Conner kept his face as expressionless as he could manage, as he waited for the response.

What would it be this time? Anger, or...

“Fine.”

More smoke blew towards Conner, but he weathered it, as the wagons began to make their way towards a flatter looking plot beside the road.

Beside him, Jule whistled out to his men, as dozens of shouts rang out. The sound of an early camp, Mercenaries dismounting from their posted positions. Still, even if Conner wouldn’t so much as look in his direction, Jule seemed content to remain exactly where he was.

“Hrm.” Conner grunted. It was no secret that he hated Jule. In fact, he hated just about all of the Mercenaries, but he hated Jule the most, as Jule was the one he had to have direct contact with. The rest were simply nameless faces, who smelled like smoke and blood. Efficient as they were, whoever had decided that a Contract with that blood-soaked company was necessary, was a complete fool as far as Conner was concerned. The Merchants had done plenty well without them.

“You’d best relax, old man. Before you keel over from the stress.” Jule chuckled.

“I’d rather not take any chances.” Conner muttered. “You heard what happened, not all that far from here.”

“Lot of wasted coin.” Jule shrugged. “The Dungeon is dangerous. It was a bad gamble.”

“Coin.” Conner held back a curse, as he finally turned to the man. “With so many dead, you’re thinking coin?”

“What else is there to think about? It was you Merchants who knew the price of crystal was going up. Shame you felt the need to trust an outsider in order to get it.” The Mercenary, leaned back casually. Pipe in hand, bow propped against their shoulder, and a quiver of arrows slung about behind them. Rattling, with every bump as the wagon slowed. “Hell, that’s why we’re all here, isn’t it? Coin? That’s what all your type ever goes on about.” He shrugged, taking another long drag.

“Coin’s only useful if you live to spend it.”

“Ha!” Jule cackled, smiling wide. “Well, ain’t that the truth.”

“Aye.” Conner eyed that smile warily, before turning away. He’d been a trader and merchant his entire life, so he knew better than most: staring at Jule was like staring at an animal just about to bite you. That he’d put a knife in Conner’s gut, soon as anything, if he felt it would be worthwhile. “Road might have been caused by an earthquake.” Conner muttered, shifting the subject. “More of those recently.”

“Earthquake wouldn't have mounted a [Construct] on pikes, though.”

“Won’t claim to know what that was.” Conner answered. "Just glad we haven't run into it."

“An Empire patrol blowing off steam, I imagine.”

“If the Empire could deal with those bastards so easily, we wouldn’t have to worry about those bloody things at all. Seeing one this far West is bad news, even in that shape.”

“Are they really so bad?” Jule spun his pipe about his fingers, catching it as the wagon shook it off balance. “I’ve been an escort for plenty of these, and I’ve never even seen one until today.”

“You haven’t seen one because the current Emperor gives a damn. Light bless the man: first thing he did when he took the throne was bolster the lines. Nearly made the Noble houses shit themselves, to see the coin he was spending.” Conner feel heat in his cheeks, before stopping himself. There was no point in getting emotional, Jule clearly didn't care. “The late Emperor, he didn’t think about such things. He only focused on Magecraft and ignored the populace.”

“If the Emperor cared so much, the fuck did he fly off for?” The Mercenary rolled his eyes. “Seems to me like the Emperor has a lot more pressing concerns than some shitty Dwarven relics.”

“You’ve seen one, already defeated, and you think you know everything.” Conner felt his temper rising again, against his better judgement. “Light help you, and go learn a trade before you wind up dead.”

“Oh, I know a trade. But I never planned on getting long in the teeth.” Jule chuckled, getting up from his seat as he tucked his pipe away. “Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got some errands to attend to.”

“Errands.” Conner growled. “You’d best stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what I’m referring to. I’m telling you, you’d best put a stop to it.”

“Are you going to stop me?” Jule asked, smiling once again as he looked down, until he was satisfied with Conner’s lack of an answer. “Ah, I thought as much.”

“Light.” Conner waited a long awhile, until the man was well without of earshot. Only then, did he sit forward and, with a long and tired breath and trembling hands, exhale. “I really hate that bastard.”