Volume 1: Arc 2: Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is the start of the first real arc as the last few chapters have mostly been about training and information.

Arc 1: Searching For the Ventros

First Chapter

March 20 – August 12 R.E

Rajac sat, legs clenched tightly together, as he rode his donkey down the dusty road. His departure from Thrensford was all but peaceful as Gais practically pushed him out of town, giving him her donkey in the process.

It was Rajac’s opinion, that Gais was more scared about the ‘force’ that impeded here ability to find his race than she had let on. It also might be why she actually gave him the tomes instead of destroying them as Identity Merchants are required to do by their Order after each Identification.

There was a simple reason for the destruction of their own efforts. Skills, Quests, and Levels updated frequently within the tomes displaying new information constantly to the owner, thus, making the purpose of an Identity Merchant moot; however, that was up until level 100. Gais didn’t say what happened then as at that time though.

A shame really. As he cantered along, Rajac opened his first tome from the pack tied to the donkey’s saddle. Balancing the book against the back of the donkey, he skimmed through it until he found the page he was looking for.

Rajac Rashak Ventros MaleLevel42Experience26%Health[Information Hidden]Magic[Information Hidden}Sensitivity[Information Hidden]Heart Rate[Information Hidden]Eye Sight[Information Hidden]Hearing[Information Hidden]Potential[Information Hidden]Limitations[Information Hidden]

This was one of the strangest pages in the tome. It hardly had any available information and the information it did have, measured bizarre criteria that it, for some odd reason, kept hidden. The only useful bit of information was his level which was 42.

Although, Rajac had no idea what that meant other than it was 58 levels to level 100 when he could choose an Auxiliary Magic and something would happen according to Gais. Still though, he had no idea how he gained his levels and no idea how to gain more.

Frankly, all he could come up with that gave him levels was the intense training he went through each day. But did that give him levels? He knew it increased his skills but his level? He wasn’t so sure.

Shrugging off the discomforting feeling, Rajac stored the tome away in his pack and rode on. As he read, the dusty road had turned into a muddy expanse littered on either side by tall grass doused in a spring rain.

Dragonflies swarmed around him, buzzing in their indistinct and oddly comforting language. For a time, he listened to their mellowing harmony as he rode straight through the day and into the night.

The first night, he camped under a willow tree, its awning branches giving him a covering against the light drizzle that had begun to fall form the clouds above. He slept soundlessly. Not even the howling of the hyenas in the surrounding hills could wake his slumber.

Rajac continued to read his tomes as he traveled. It was only due to an effort to stave-off boredom that he even cracked them again. There was nothing new to gleam from them and by the third month of the journey he felt disgusted every time he looked at one of them.

Instead, he brought out the Four Forms of the Ventros Sword Style and began to study that once again. It was practically impossible to improve his dexterity and footwork on this journey without inexorably slowing his pace to a crawl.

Therefore, he forewent his training for the expediency, if one could call it that, of traveling on his donkey for the entire journey. The first tome claimed he had mastered 35% of the Ventros Sword Style. The program ascertained that he had mastered both the Cadence of Jin and Martyr’s Fallacy, combining them into the Unbroken Dance.

Yet, why was mastery at only 35%? The last two forms, the Delight of the Unknown and Truth of the Many, were a part of the second sub-group. Each should count just as much as the first two forms. And if he mastered the sub-group, then he would have 70% mastery of the form. Did combining the two sub-groups account for 30% of the style’s mastery?

Rajac’s heart sank at that. How impossible would combining the two sub-groupings be? He shook his head while reading the book. That was far into the future. He still needed to greatly improve his footwork and dexterity if he even had a chance to master the whole style.

Over the next few weeks, he continued to peruse his book as the fields began to turn into sloping hills of short grass. The muddy plains dried and the sun began to shine high overhead each day.

Rajac had taken to wearing only a single, thin tunic that still made him sweat copiously. Nearly four-months into his six-month journey, Rajac was bent over his donkey, head hiding from the heat of the day.

His mouth was parched dry. Every so often, he smacked his lips trying to form a small morsel of saliva he could quench his thirst with. Two days. Two days, he had been without water. All of his water-skins had long since dried out and the last source of clean water he passed was more than a week’s ride back the other way.

Groaning, he clenched the donkey’s coarse fur, hugging himself to the creature even tighter. “Oy!” What was that? Rajac was too tired to even raise his head. He had seen no one for weeks. The middle of Gerosh was like a wasteland. No one was allowed to live here as it was the king’s own land. However, he allowed travelers to pass through it.

Rajac thought he heard once that it was for some religious reason or something idiotic like that. The fact mattered to him little, even when he began his journey; however, he was now regretting not paying more attention to little details such as that one.

Without people, there was no easy source of food or water. His journey had slowed in the last month as he had to forage for both in the wilderness, a time-consuming and sometimes hopeless task.

His current predicament was a prime example of the latter. “Oy!” Rajac jerked his head up wearily. “Somat call me?” He said, his mouth too dry to work properly.

A jarring sensation caused Rajac to keel over sideways, falling directly off his mount and into the grass below. Above him, he could hear the donkey screaming with pain. Shaking his head in confusion, Rajac stood, swaying slightly in the breeze, his shoulder aching from where he fell on it.

Before him, stood two-dozen men and elves in armor plating situated on either side of the road. Each carried both a short sword and a small, ovular shield. Rajac was confused as he stared at the men. Most had grins on their faces and their swords were already drawn.

“Why are you impeding my journey?” Rajac said, placing a hand on the pommel of his short sword. An elf, in fine, chain linked armor, walked into the road, a smirk on his face. He was clean-shaven with a purple tint to his irises.

“There’s a toll, my fair traveler.” The elf said condescendingly. “1 gold.” The elf said beckoning with one hand.

Rajac put a hand over his eyes rubbing them against his weariness. “This is the king’s land.” Rajac snorted. Highway robbers. Who would have thought he would meet them in the middle of nowhere. Usually, they stalked the entrances to villages and smaller cities. What would the point be to thieve from people all the way out here?

“Aye. He’s got the truth of it.” The elf turned back to the other men. “You here that? He knows his facts. This lad, here, is ‘somat special. I tell you that.” The waiting men gave a chorus of mocking laughter, jeering at Rajac. It felt as if they were telling a joke they only knew, leaving Rajac deliberately out of the loop.

Rajac felt his blood grow hot as he flicked his eyes between the nearly two-dozen men and elves. There was little chance he would willingly hand over his money over to a handful of thieves. It would be no easy fight to face them all at once but it was possible. He hoped. His stomach fluttering, he drew his short sword.

The elf in front of him narrowed his eyes and said, a disbelieving note in his voice, “I don’t believe this. Someone is actually going to fight us.” Rajac did not wait for him to say anything more and advanced with a quickstep into Martyr’s Fallacy.

In case and point, Rajac needed his money desperately. He only had five gold remaining after his stay in Thrensford and it was hardly likely he would come into a large sum of money to fund his inexorable journey across the continent. Losing one gold to these thieves was just too much to bear.

He willed Fire Elemental Magic to travel across his sword and impale the elf in front of him. A streak of light soared from Rajac’s sword and into the elf, a surprised grunt forming on his face, but it did not kill him.

Rajac fell off-balance at the last moment due to his weariness. Damn, Rajac thought acidly, as he jumped over the downed elf and engaged the dozen highwaymen on the right side of the road. If I wasn’t so weary, this wouldn’t be so hard.

Rajac turned into the Unbroken Dance, using both the Cadence of Jin and Martyr’s Fallacy concurrently. Throwing up a wall of earth, Rajac instantly heard half-a-dozen sword pummel the solid wall, creating a loud, echoing bang. Turning to the other dozen highwaymen, Rajac lit his sword with the element of fire and attacked the stunned men with the vigor and animalistic rage of a wild beast.

Men and elves both died under his sword. Rajac cut throats, severed arms, and generally butchered the highwaymen. Screams of agony greeted him as he tore through flesh and bone. Yet, he had no regret for their deaths. Robbers are robbers. Death awaits all someday. They just deserved it more than others. If he was the one to deliver it, so be it.

After only a few minutes, the dozen on the right side of the road were dead. The men and elves on the left side never even got close to him as he kept throwing up walls of earth, impeding their movement at every step.

When the last of the men on the right were dead, Rajac turned to the highwaymen on the other side of the road. His head was pounding now from his exertion. He really needed water at this point. It felt like if he moved another inch, he would keel over.

Looking at the blood slowly dripping from his sword, Rajac idly wondered what it would taste like. Instantly, after the thought came, he shivered internally. That was just too wrong.

As he stood there, the men and elves were talking to themselves animatedly.

“Did you see that, he can use magic!”

“I saw, he took leader down with it.”

“He must be a rich one. I saw the size of the Sadat he had. I’ve never seen one that big!”

“He’s a fucking monster. No matter what our orders, I’m leaving this shithole.”

In less than a minute, all retreated in a haphazard jumble, cresting a rise and disappearing from sight, not sparing a single glance for the man covered in their comrades’ blood that stood at their backs. Their armor still shining brightly in the sunlight, not a drop of blood marring the polish.

Rajac watched them go and fell to his knees, exhausted. Frankly, he did not think he would have been able to take all of them in his condition. Their supreme cowardice was his savior this day and their folly. But, they were nothing more than robbers. No honor among them.

With a supreme amount of effort, Rajac stood, using his sword as a cane, and walked wearily over to the fallen bodies. Frisking them with rough hands, Rajac found what he was looking for.

A full water-skin. Hurriedly, he uncorked the skin and downed the contents. Warm water passed down his throat. While it tasted utterly bland, Rajac greedily drank the substance. Finally satiated, he felt strength began to return to his limbs. With that reprieve, Rajac began to search the rest of the bodies.

He had no compunction about robbing criminals. It was his opinion that all they owned, had once belonged to someone who rightfully owned it. Thus, when it ‘fell’ into Rajac’s hands, rightful ownership passed to him.

As he searched the men, he found a few books to his liking, a good quantity of dried meat, and two more gold. In a much better mood, Rajac approached the leader of the highway robbers, who still had, remarkably not died. Over the hour or so Rajac had been searching his men’s bodies, the leader had stayed on his back, unable to move, taking shallow breaths while he groaned, intermittently, in excruciating pain.

Rajac walked over to the elf, avoiding the grass patches slickened with the blood of the fallen. The elf was in bad shape. He shone with sweat, tiny bubbles of blood dribbled from the inside of his mouth, and his eyes were half-lidded. The gash Rajac made in him had struck his neck and collarbone, tearing chunks out of his flesh.

He should be dead with that kind of strike but the element of fire instantly cauterized the wound allowing the elf to live on, although, not for long judging from his condition. Rajac lifted his sword into the elf’s face. “You there. Leader.” The elf said nothing. He just wheezed out a breath.

Somewhat annoyed, Rajac looked down at the tip of his sword and almost laughed out loud at the sheer brazenness of it. Lifting his sword to the elf’s open mouth, he let it hover over the gaping hole until a few splatters of blood began to dribble down the edge and into the elf’s mouth.

Almost immediately, a gagging, retching sound filled the air as the elf opened his eyes in obvious discomfort. A small smile touched Rajac’s lips as he said, “That woke you, didn’t it?” The elf blinked at him and said, his voice hoarse with pain, “You’re still alive?” “Naturally.” “Ha.” The elf wheezed.

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll be dead soon enough. These are the king’s lands after all.” “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Rajac said confused. The elf just stared at him blankly like he was some kind of idiot. “You have murdered us. The men who were collecting the king’s toll. ”

Rajac laughed out loud. It was an uncontrolled and somewhat bitter laugh as he realized his luck was truly terrible this day. Shaking his head, he walked away from the fallen leader towards where his donkey had run off to. He thought he could see it far in the distance chewing on some grass uncaring that its master had just been in a fight for his life.

The leader let out a piteous groan behind Rajac. Rajac turned his head, half-expecting the elf to be dead. Instead, the elf had turned onto his side, looking at Rajac with undisguised hatred. In a voice wrapped in determination, the elf shouted at him, “You laugh now but when the time comes for your head to be on the block, I will look down from the heavens and shout with joy as the headsman collects his bounty.”

Rajac turned back around not giving any hint to what he thought of the elf’s pronouncement. But inside, he felt as if someone had just plunged their hand into his chest and ripped his heart out with their bare hands.

With growing trepidation, Rajac walked towards his donkey and prayed to whoever would listen to remove this curse from his very soul.

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