“...and that’s how we became treasure hunters,” Jacob said, finishing an epic tale he spun.

Climbing mountains, traversing deadly forests, and crossing deserts were but the most tame things he had said in his journey. Jacob’s eyes sparkled the entire time as his hands waved wildly in the air, as though he could literally see the adventure fold before him. Of course, the crackling fire and the deathly silent night made his tale even more unbelievable, adding a sense of mystery and mystique.

Kendo, on the other hand, just frowned fiercely at Jacob’s embellishments. Shadows covered his face and amber eyes, though they were reflecting the glow of the fire. It made it seem like he was ready to explode in a raging fit. His glared at his ‘brother in arms’, as they fondly called each other, willing his eyes to strangle.

If Jacob noticed, it never did show. Even after he was clearly done regaling Alastair, his far off look stay in place. Constantly making Kendo evermore annoyed.

Alastair just smiled at their antics. It was a relief to smile a few times of the day. More so in the dark, brooding mood he consistently found himself in throughout the day. Other than these lacking moments, he would remember, with substantial clarity, the nightmares. Even worse was his lack of sleep. Only getting an hour or two before he would wake in a cold sweat and harsh breathing.

“Kendo, look what you’ve done,” Jacob whispered. He carried an accusatory look. “You’ve made him sad again.”

“No I didn’t. Your annoying voice could make a tree depressed.”

Alastair sighed with a slight smile, more a sad one than anything else, and got up. He scratched at the light stubble that had begun to grow on his face.

“I’ll head to sleep early today, wake me up for the last shift.” Though, he knew well he wasn’t going to get much either way.

“Sir Alastair, I know I’ve said this already, but you don’t have to, ya know,” Kendo said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m nothing special, no noble blood in me. I can take a shift without a problem.” Without giving them another chance to try and convince him to rest, he quickly walked away with their eyes trailing his back.

Though he entered his tent, the treasure hunters’ voices were still loud enough for him to make out their words. Even if they tried their awkward harsh, not so whisper, whisper.

“Say, Kendo. Is it normal to have white hair?” Jacob whispered.

“No...I heard once from Old Tong that white hair so early means he was so frightened his soul shook changing the color. ‘Made him age’, I think he said. Whatever that means.”

Jacob gasped, Alastair could imagine him shaking his head exaggeratedly. “Really, I wouldn’t think him a coward.”

“Me neither.”

“He couldn’t be a coward, look at all the scars on his face. A coward would never get one on the face, they’d be too busy running away. I counted nine…”

Kendo kept silent only to grunt after a few seconds. “Nine? You sure?”

“You know I can’t count higher. That’s your job.”

“Yes, yes it is, musclebrain,” Kendo sneered.

At that point, Alastair zoned them out. He felt across his face, letting his fingers rub against the scars that were so prominent. So many, and none of them fully healed. He wondered if his wife, far above in the heavens, would still stand to look at him.

He shook his head, unwilling to go down that spiralling road. It would only lead to his demise. Then again, his wife would berate him for thinking so little of her love.

His hands trailed upward, into his hair. It had grown large than his normal super short cut. His hand grabbed a tuft of hair, Jacob’s words ringing in his ears. Every moment that passed his grip tightened and with it came the images of the nightmares he has been constantly having.

Releasing a shaky breath, his hand fell to lap without energy. A few strands of hair lay on his calloused palm, one of the only places without any scars. So much had happened so fast, he never had time to digest any of it.

One moment, he was beside his wife prone form. Holding her hand while the rest of her was covered in a white cloth. His sobs tore into the gathered mass just beyond the closed door of their home, each hoping to console him. And in the next, he was standing shoulder to shoulder in his first battle a few years ago.

Now, the army he had labeled his moving home was gone forever.

He had nowhere to go.

System ~

You have 35 seconds to prepare for skills assimilation. Event will last 4:21:07.

For a good ten seconds, Alastair kept rereading the words. He had to prepare. But for what exactly? Is a tornado of fire supposed to erupt around him? Or a sudden flood with waves tall enough to cover mountains suddenly going to appear? So, with what little he could do, he took off the armor he had refused until not to remove.

The armor covered most of his body except for his face. The helm had been lost before the two treasure hunters had found him. Unlike some of the best armor, this set did not give the best protection in comparison, just enough to ignore arrows from a distance and close bladed weapons.

Yet, its most mystical property was imbued into it. It had the ability, if equipped to leech enough mana to repair and clean itself. It was the Golden Tide issued set for all but its most powerful soldiers.

Taking each piece of was a quick process for Alastair after having served for years upon years. Each part was quickly taken off and place in a pile on the other side of the tent. They were as pristine as the day he had gotten them.

As he laid on the ground, his eyes drifted to the sword and orb he had held in his hands. They both were giving off very faint pulses. With another sigh, something he found himself doing more every day, he closed his eyes and willed the words to appear before him.

System ~

Countdown ~ :03 … :02 … :01 … :00

…

Skills Assimilation Process Begins Now ~

With a flash, Alastiar’s entire world became an endless field of white. White grass, white trees, white sky, white sun above. His heart thumping faster and faster was the only sound he could hear. His lungs burned as he forgot how to breathe, until in desperation, he took a deep gulp sucking in the white color around him.

With every inhalation, some of the white scape would disappear. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to breathe, he found no oxygen. Falling to his knees, he held his chest. It felt like it would explode at any moment or simply melt from the scorching heat that burned him from the inside.

Alastair’s vision became blurry as tears streamed down from his eyes. A blackness beyond anything he knew started to creep from his peripherals. It promised an eternal suffering.

With great desperation, he clawed at his own chest. Until, without warning, he could breathe again. His lungs filled with heavenly air as his body shook. For a while, he basked in his ability to breathe again. He let out a desperate chuckle as he laid on his back.

Only then did he notice that the white world he was in was, in fact, no longer white. Rather it was pitch black with no features except distant stars. He sat up to look around only to notice there was no ground, but there was a layer of something invisible that held him from an eternal fall into the darkness below.

Looking behind him he found orbs of five colors floating a few meters away from him. Each color clustered around each other. The smallest were a dark brow color, there were seven that spun in a circle around each other.

Alastair reached them first, reaching out with a hand, he tried to touch them. But they passed through his hands like he did not exist. Instead, he could see the words he often read in front of them. They were his Tier 1 skills.

Finding these, he assumed the rest to be the other tiers of his skills. The higher the tier, the larger the orb of light was until they were large enough to reach his knees. The spectrum went from a dark brown to light brown, then to a dark orange, light yellow, and lastly to pure white. The white signifying Tier 5.

Every time he reached one set, their titles would appear before him, introducing each to him. The last on the list was the largest orb of white between the others. It pulsed and throbbed like it didn't fit in the case it was stuffed into. Once it noticed him, it broke off its circulation with the others. It rushed to orbit around him with enthusiasm.

Just as he was about to touch it, the dark, star filled world disappeared. He found himself inside his tent once more. Both the sword and golden orb pulsed with a much stronger light resembling the skills in that world.

Alastair tried to get up, but felt incredibly tired and soar. His body was soaked in sweat and chest burned similar to how he felt in the white plains. Falling to his back, he quickly lost consciousness and fell into a deep sleep.

The world jumped with every blade swung. With every death, every scream, every shout of victory, the world shook. Alastair watched it all in a state nothing more than a ghost. But still, every time one of humankind died, they would stare at him, their heads twisting in unnatural ways just to lay their accusatory eyes on him.

The Aemoh would ignore him, they feasted on his kins flesh, savoring the taste. Only for another human to slay them in their reverie. It was a constant cycle of vicious violence. Of mutual destruction between two sides desperate for success.

But to Alastair, watching it from far above was unable to escape from the gruesome deaths, the hands outstretched begging him for salvation, the hate that came out in waves from those he stood shoulder to shoulder with.

He wondered, evermore, if he deserved to live. If he was worthy of a second chance to survive. There had to be someone more suitable to live through it all. For all he remembered, he should have died with them, not some miraculous healing that turned all injuries, fatal or otherwise, into raw scars.

Alastair reached out, maybe he could pay off the debt he felt he incurred. Pay off the guilt with his own life. His arm stretched to touch the closest soldier who laid before him. But just as he was about to touch, the world disappeared…

...and he woke up on the wagon riding on a bump road. It jumped every bump along the way. Shaking everything held tightly by ropes and pulled by two massive horses made of nothing but layers of muscle.

Sitting in the front, on top of a tarp that hid many armors and weapons, were Jacob and Kendo arguing about what was worth more, a White Stag or a Fire Tiger. It was clear neither one knew what they were saying, and more importantly, Kendo was winning handedly against his muscle bound brother.

“...Kendo! How could you take advantage of me! I’m tryna’ make a profit! You got to give me...more than nine silver coins! ‘specially if I twisted its neck instead of cuttin it up!”

“If I’m a merchant, I can’t give you a break. It's your fault for never learning your numbers.”

“How was I supposed to know I would need them? They never helped me in any bar-brawl or out hunting.”

Alastair shifted as he got up into a seated position. His eyes felt sunken and about to fall off, that was not mentioning the massive migraine that felt like someone was hammering his head with nails. He groaned as he held his forehead, his eyes still were blurry, so all he noticed was a lot of gree around them.

Too add on to it all, every bump made the pain worse for a few seconds.

“Sir Alastiar! You finally woke up! We thought you dead until you started cryin and screamin,” Jacob shouted with all his being.

Alastair only grunted in response hoping the mountain of muscle would ease up on the yelling.

Kendo just laughed. “Take it easy, Sir Alastair. You’ve been having bad ghosts in your nightmares. Turning and arching your back like you were dieing a hundred different ways.”

“I wish I was,” Alastair whispered to himself, but it was still enough for Kendo to hear and frown deeply.

“Life is precious, Sir.” He sounded vexed, voice firm and resolved. “The least you could do is honor all those who sacrificed their lives for everyone else, even for us of the...less honorable works.”

Alastair stared at him for a few long seconds, wondering who could push the man to speak out. After a while, he found his speculations to be worthless, so he prepared a gloomy remark but his voice was cut off.

Golden Bulwark

A golden barrier of light surrounded the entire wagon, horses included. With in the second, a rain of arrows bounced of the barrier. Kendo and Jacob jumped in their seats, but quickly grabbed their weapons--two rusty swords they came with--and pointed them at the forest around them.

Jacob’s head swivled back and forth trying to find where the enemy could be hiding. “Shit, I think it's the Boar and his crew,”

“Bastard.” Kendo said as his brows furrowed.

“We didn’t pay the toll, I told you we should! H-how did they find us?”

“They could eat bricks for all I care.”

Kendo stopped the wagon, both men were wondering where the golden barrier had appeared from. Only when they looked at their charge, Alastair, did they have an inkling. A golden light was shining brightly in his hands. Both the orb and sword reacted to the power as though it was a life source.

Alastair, on the other hand, stared at the hovering words before him. Golden Bulwark. He closed his eyes, feeling an intuitive connection with the name and its mechanics. A shield, a bulwark against the world capable of preventing only the most power of attacks known. He felt it resonate with the orb and sword next to him.

He got up slowly, taking his time as heard his body creak and groan. Stretching out wide, he heard his limbs popping from disuse. Finished, he grabbed the glowing sword with both hands as men wearing ragged leathers of brown surrounded them.

His fingers creaked as he squeezed the hilt. A familiarity ran through him, he could instinctively feel how sharp the sword was. How it yearned to bite into the flesh of its foes and break the weapons they carried. Only to leave them in humiliation.

His breath came out broken as his hands began to shake. That moment of clarity and connection faded as images of blood flashed before him. He gulped as the droning voices surrounding the wagon irritated him. They sounded like buzzing flies that would not be quiet.

Take a deep breath, his eyes cleared as he surveyed the area around him. The first thing he noticed were how anxious Kendo and Jacob seemed. The held their blades with iron tight grips, bodies continuously moved and fidgeted. They were unable to stay in the same spot for long.

His eyes looked past them, only to notice a group of giant men wearing--though dirty and scratched--full-plate armor with their visors raised. They sat heavily on horses with wild eyes, rearing for a battle.

Alastair frowned as he noticed the battle-trained mounts. Only a standing army could--at least legally--use any and even then, they were heavily regulated by the Emperor. Something in him shook as he remembered how the golden tide had crossed many legions who lacked enough horses for a true cavalry. They were literally the difference between life and death against monsters and beasts alike.

The leader, a fat mess barely able to fit his armor raved at his Alastair’s two companions. “...think you could get away from me? I’ll tear you apart, no matter how strong that magical item you got lasts. No barrier can stop The Boar for l-”

“Where did you get the horses?” Alastair interrupted. Good men have died waiting for another batch of trained horses to arrive and here some were, being wasted on a group of bandits.

“What? Whose he?” the fat man said raising his chin in faux confidence.

“You don’t want to mess with him Boar. Trust us,” Kendo replied before Alastair could say anything.

“Shut your trap, mincemeat! I’ll feed you to the pigs soon enough, so wait there like good prey.”

Alastair took a deep breath. He had to control himself, he closed his eyes and exhaled. But the thought of soldiers fighting for the survival of the human race dieing because of a bandit shook his core. He hope with all his might this wasn't what he thought it to be.

“Where did you get the horses?” his voice was low and harsh, barely more than a whisper. It shook in lock step with his hands.

The man named ‘Boar’ smiled, showing his missing front teeth and the rest all black or a dark brown. It became vicious and menacing as he rubbed his guanlated knuckles. Like he remembered the scene even until today.

“I killed the previous owners,” the fat man laughed as he saw Alastair’s shaking body. “Fed them to beasts in the forest. You should have seen their faces, full of pain and suffering. They cried out for their gods, but they never got the help they screamed for.”

The boar cackled at Alastair's reaction.

The guards around him joined their leader as they bent over and clutched their stomachs. They found it hilarious to see him so emotional, so affected by their words.

Alastair’s face had darkened. In his mind's eye, he could see the nightmares in full view. The accusatory faces, the pain and eternal suffering they faced. And this...bandit derisively joked about their pain.

Or at least that was what was running through his head at that moment. His instability showed its colors, his survivor’s guilt reared its ugly head. Unable to control himself, he took unbalanced steps forward. He jumped off the wagon, only for his foot to slip causing him to tumble over.

He felt pain from his body, though his exterior wounds were completely healed, it seemed those that were internal had a way to go before being fully recovered.

“Sir Alastair!” Jacob shouted, almost jumping down from the wagon, but was stopped by Kendo.

The ever-frowning man had a serious look on his face. It took a moment to get through to Jacob, but he succeeded. The two watched as the bandits joked around and laughed at Alastair’s expense. Yet, they couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pressure coming from him being so close.

Getting up with shaky legs, Alastair felt his vision become pristine clear. He felt an energy within him, a sharpness and edge that was beyond any material blade. Pulling deeply from it, he felt the world slow down around him. The bandits were moving in slow motion, all of them were laughing at him.

The Boar’s cheeks jiggled like he was in molasses. Eyes narrowed in what appeared to be real joy.

Not caring even a bit, Alastair took a step forward. Instinctively knowing where it would place him. At the same time, he cut with his sword.

One moment he was standing ten meters away from the bandits, and in the next his blade was pointing towards his right as he stood right next to a shocked Boar. A clap of gust followed him, the dirt and dust on the road were scattered causing a light fog to cover them.

Alastair clicked his tongue in disappointment. The sound reverberating in the clearing. “I missed.” He looked to the boar next to him, his size imposing as he rode on the black warhorse. “I won't miss the next.”