Riardin's Rangers allotted themselves half a day to rest and prepare for travel. It wasn't much, considering they'd just returned from marching through Fiendland's wilderness, but they were – as fucking usual – on a timer. If the Blight in Dhalerune mines had already absorbed a Locus of Power, then it was going to grow stronger with every passing day.

Rob thought back to the three Blights he'd encountered in the past. The Blight of Esternard City was in its infancy, purged before it could reach a Locus of Power. It amounted to little more than squirming tendrils of corruption – which, in fairness, managed to infect wide swathes of Esternard's agriculture. That kind of Blight represented the best-case scenario; if Dhalerune's Blight had yet to absorb a Locus of Power, Riardin's Rangers and the Dwarves would be able to eradicate it without mercy.

Unfortunately, Rob was a person capable of pattern recognition, so he discarded that notion immediately. Since when did the best-case scenario ever happen? And thinking logically, the Stonewarden wouldn't have sent valuable soldiers to Fiendland during a crisis if he wasn't desperate for Purge Corruption. He certainly didn't think the situation was well in-hand, so Rob shouldn't either.

Next up on the Blight totem pole was the one that heralded The Village's invasion. It had successfully absorbed a Locus of Power, transforming into a creature whose memory still sent a chill running up Rob's spine. Thankfully, that Blight only lasted for about five minutes before Riardin fatally wounded it with a massive explosion of Firebombs. During those five short minutes, it displayed terrifying speed, destructive power, and freakish durability. But despite all that, after giving it some thought, Rob concluded that Riardin's Rangers – as they were now – could have taken on that newborn Blight, even without Purge Corruption.

...Maybe. With casualties. At the very least, it wasn't the insurmountable enemy it had felt like forty Levels ago.

That title went to the Blight of Broadwater City. It had been more of a natural disaster than a living entity, single-handedly laying siege to the Deserters and Fiends as they cowered inside the city's barrier for safety. Rob couldn't imagine Riardin's Rangers beating that thing without another forty goddamn Levels added to their belts. Any creature that came close to stalemating the Dragon Queen was beyond them in every capacity.

Rob really, really hoped that the Blight of Dhalerune would be closer to The Village's Blight rather than Broadwater's. Time was of the essence. If Riardin's Rangers and the Dwarves cornered the new Blight before it had a chance to evolve, they could kill it. That was their win condition. Otherwise, Purge Corruption might not be enough. It'd only worked so easily on the Corrupted Leviathan because the cocky bastard literally let Rob swim up and slap it in the face.

Diplomacy interjected, snapping Rob out of his thoughts.

I know, I know. Rob let go of the breath he'd been holding. Brooding won't solve anything. We'll just have to do what we always do; hope for the best, but plan for the worst.

The Skill yawned.

Get some rest and conserve your energy. The Clay of Life will be ready by the time we return from Dwarfland.

Diplomacy nodded, sinking into power saving mode as the light of their core dimmed. They'd needed to sleep more often as of late. It was yet another reason to hurry up and kick the Blight's shit in before things spiraled out of control. The Dwarves had better put their money where their mouth is, Rob grumbled. I'm not getting dragged across the continent just to watch them sit on their asses while we do all the work.

Feeling himself tense up, he forced his body to relax, grateful that Regeneration would prevent any long-term chronic muscle pains from developing. Without the Skill, he would have turned into a big ball of stress aches months ago. Once he'd sufficiently calmed down. Rob knocked on the door he was standing in front of, opening it when he received the all-clear to go inside.

"Hello there!" Vul'to greeted, smiling as he waved a clawed hand. "Good to see you, Rob. My preparations are just about complete. Is there anything you wish to discuss?"

"Couple things, yeah." Rob took a seat, grimacing at the egregiously uncomfortable implement of torture that this medical center called a chair. "First off, how are you holding up? Be honest. There's no shame in staying behind if you think that your new body needs time to recuperate."

Vul'to shook his head. "If there was an issue, I would tell you. Fortunately, the system has integrated my soul into Krazan's body...well, perhaps not flawlessly, but without major issue." He winced. "Are you attempting to offer me a suitable excuse to stay? Is my presence unwanted?"

"No," Rob stated, emphasizing the word. "You're part of Riardin's Rangers. Now, and always. There's no one I trust more to stand ready as our shield."

Although admittedly, it would solve a different problem if you stayed. With Elder Alessia joining Riardin's Rangers on the trip to Dwarfland, that brought their group up to nine members total. Which was one person larger than a Party's maximum size limit. Meaning that, in the event of an emergency, Waymark wouldn't be able to evacuate everyone to safety. One of them would be left behind.

Despite Rob pointing this out to Alessia, she'd adamantly refused to stay behind. For some unknown reason, she didn't trust a group of misfits to not cause an international incident when it came time to negotiate with the Stonewarden.

Rob couldn't see why she was so worried. Sure, the last two Elatran Leaders they'd met were the Dragon Queen and the Merfolk King, and both those encounters ended with the Leaders on death's door as Riardin's Rangers got the hell out of dodge, but...

Uh...

Anyway, Alessia was coming with them, no two ways about it. Just another little worry to add to the pile. Rob plastered a smile onto his face, doing his best to ensure that Vul'to was put at ease. The poor guy was going through enough shit already, and didn't need to misinterpret Rob's distress as being caused by him.

"It means a great deal to hear that," the Fiend said, returning Rob's forced smile with a much more genuine one. "You are a true friend, Rob. Thank you."

Rob scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "Hey, I'm only doing what anyone else would." He paused. "Actually, no, there's lots of assholes out there. Let's just consider ourselves lucky that we both found people we could put our trust in."

They sat in pleasant silence, letting their sentiment hang in the air. Then the moment passed, and it was time to get down to brass tacks.

"Other reason I'm here," Rob continued, holding up a pouch. "This is for you. Urian the Artificer made another breakthrough."

Vul'to's eyes widened with clear interest. "The one that you Awakened a week ago?"

"Yup." Rob twirled the bag around on his finger. "It's already paying dividends. He's created three Enchanted Items so far. The first two kinda...suck, at least by our standards, but the third is something I think you'll be very interested in."

He reached into the bag and pulled out a nondescript ring. Vul'to's eyes shimmered as he cast Identify. Seconds later, the Fiend froze, shock permeating every inch of his countenance.

Name: Advanced Ring of Disguise

Description: An Enchanted ring that, when worn, casts an illusion that changes the wearer's appearance to whatever race they desire. This illusion can last up to twelve hours, and will fool sight and smell, but not touch. Once the Ring has been depleted of energy, it must recharge, either by being manually filled with mana or by absorbing ambient mana over a twelve-hour period.

"That..." Vul'to gulped, leaning back in disbelief. "That seems convenient."

"Doesn't it?" Rob's smile faded. "A little too convenient, honestly. Urian's Enchanted Items keep saving our bacon in specific ways. The journey into Merfolk territory wouldn't have been possible without the Perfected Ring of Waterdwelling, and Riardin's Rangers as a group don't even exist without the EXP Share."

He drummed his fingers on his thigh. "Makes a guy wonder if there isn't a precognitive element to Urian's abilities. Theoretically, that's great for us, but I don't trust anything that fucks with fate."

Vul'to considered Rob's theory, eventually shaking his head. "There could be some truth to that, and stranger things have happened to us, but in this instance I think you're acting rather paranoid."

"That's my secret, Vul'to. I'm always paranoid."

"You're well aware that I don't know what that's referencing."

Rob let out an exaggerated sigh. "I'm trapped in a world of philistines. Does no one appreciate the fine arts here?" He presented the Advanced Ring of Disguise. "Speaking seriously, this is yours if you want it. Might be useful not to appear as a Fiend while we're in Dwarven territory."

Vul'to stared at the Enchanted Item, a decision warring underneath his gaze. With visible effort, and no small amount of anguish, he gently pushed Rob's hand away. "I have a feeling that I shall come to regret this," he muttered, "but...no. That Ring is a trap ready to spring shut on my sanity. If I put it on, I'll never want to take it off. The fact of the matter is that I will likely be a Fiend for the rest of my days – barring a miracle from the Clay of Life – and the sooner I become accustomed to my current form, the better."

As he spoke, his confidence grew. "Furthermore, assuming the guise of an Elf would leave Faelynn as the single Fiend in our Party. She expressly wished to avoid that scenario. I can't abandon her after promising to share her burden."

Rob nodded and put the Ring into Spatial Storage, respecting Vul'to decision. It wasn't a choice the now-Fiend would have made without putting deep thought into it.

"One last thing," Rob began, looking Vul'to straight in the eyes. "I won't claim to know exactly what you're going through. Literally no one in the world can. But between Leveling High, being revived by a Class Crystal, the sentient Skill in my head, the Corruption that infected me for weeks, and the random brain damage incidents...I've at least got some inkling of what it's like to not feel comfortable in your mind or body. So if you ever need someone to talk to – hell, someone to sit there and listen to you rant about the unfairness of the world – just remember that my door is always open."

A warm smile spread across Vul'to's face. "Don't be surprised if I take you up on that offer. Thank you. Truly."

Rob left the room soon after. He walked away at a purposefully casual pace, waiting until Vul'to was out of earshot before groaning loudly and thunking his head against the wall.

This is...a lot. Rob ran his hands down his face. God, did he need a distraction. Something to relieve his stress, even just temporarily.

Glorious inspiration struck him a moment later.

Message Started Between Party Members: Rob, Keira

Rob: hey there

Rob: im done with prep, what about u?

Keira: I've been finished for hours. Greatsword, supplies, done.

Rob: awesome

Rob: we've both got some time to kill then

Keira: Ah. So we do.

Keira: Broom closet? I need a fucking break.

Keira: Pun intended.

Rob: lmao

Rob: meet u there in five

Grinning ear-to-ear, Rob picked up the pace as he sprinted towards nirvana, uncaring of any startled Fiends he blew past. Soon enough, Riardin's Rangers would be traveling with fifty-odd Dwarves, heading into foreign territory, and that meant zero privacy for who knows how long. It only made sense for Keira and him to use the time they had remaining...efficiently.

If nothing else, it was an added motivation to defeat the Blight and return to Fiend territory posthaste. Dwarfland probably didn't have as many broom closets.

--

Several hours later, Riardin's Rangers were on the road again, traveling east through Fiendland's wilderness. The Fiends could have teleported them to Dwarfland, but it would've taken their mages over a week to attune to Vevrandi's mana signature and set up a proper teleportation circle. Hoofing it was faster overall and wouldn't reveal one of the Fiend's trump cards to the Dwarves.

Unfortunately, 'faster' didn't mean 'fast'. The Fiend-Dwarven border was almost a full day of marching away, and according to Vevrandi, reaching Dhalerune City after that would take another three to four. While it was a short trip in the grand scheme of things, the knowledge that the Blight was growing stronger as time passed gave Riardin's Rangers a sense of urgency, pushing them to run as often as their Stamina permitted.

Vevrandi, sadly, didn't have the Dexterity to keep up. Meyneth ended up carrying her most of the way, which was totally fucking hilarious. In respect for the Dwarf's ego, Malika kept her giggling to a minimum. The young Archmage and Elder Alessia needed to be carried as well, but unlike the prideful Commander, they didn't give a shit.

Hours flew by in a hurry. Once they'd drawn close to the border, Meyneth deposited Vevrandi onto the ground and let her assume a position at the head of their group. They emerged from the Fiend wilderness soon after, Vevrandi leading them as she strode valiantly forth, acting like she hadn't just been princess carried for fourteen hours. The Dwarven contingent cheered when they caught sight of her, fifty soldiers whooping and hollering in unison.

"I bring good tidings!" she bellowed across the clearing. At first Rob thought she was using magic to louden her voice, but no, the woman just had some serious lungs on her. "The Human, Elves, and even the Fiends have agreed to assist us in our battle against the Blight! Today marks a new era in Elatran history – one where all races join hands to deliver ourselves from annihilation!"

Credit given where credit was due; Vevrandi knew how to work up her unit into a frenzy. Their cheers renewed once more, none of them seeming to fully comprehend that she'd slipped the Fiends' attendance into her speech. And by the time they did realize, it would be too late for any of them to protest.

"I truly hope that you can help us," Vevrandi side-whispered to Rob, keeping her eyes on her soldiers and not betraying anything with her expression. "If this is some elaborate ruse, I...I honestly don't know what I'll do."

"Oh yeah, we're definitely tricking you," Rob stated, deadpan. "Just waltzing into Dwarven territory and pissing off our neighbors as a prank. That sounds like a real good idea."

"...Apologies. Please understand; so much depends on Purge Corruption reversing the Blight's infection, and your Skill seems like a solution that is nearly too good to be true."

She was showing a lot of vulnerability for someone in charge of leading a detachment of hardened soldiers, but then again, Rob had already seen her in a constant state of befuddled desperation during their negotiations in Fiendland. That cat was out of the bag. "Don't worry." Rob waved at the Dwarves, putting on his best Grand Overseer-Approved Media PR Smile. "You'll get a demonstration soon enough."

Once everyone had settled down, the trip eastward resumed in earnest. Some of the warier Dwarves grumbled when they realized that the Fiends really were tagging along, but Vevrandi overruled their complaints in short order. Faelynn and Vul'to felt a bit more at ease after that was taken care of. From their perspective, anything that lowered the odds of getting shanked in their sleep was a victory.

Unfortunately, Riardin's Rangers couldn't carry fifty people, so they were stuck traveling at the speed of an army march. The pace was decidedly torturous, like getting your nails pulled out by the world's laziest turtle. Rob had forgotten how freaking slow people could be when they weren't Level 52. He could only imagine how Zamira and Orn'tol felt; their Dexterity was two steps above the rest of the Party. If they wanted to, they could run to Dwarfland and back before Vevrandi's contingent made it halfway there.

Good thing, too, as their speed might be necessary. Riardin's Rangers couldn't fight fifty Level 30+ Combat Class users at once. If the Dwarves betrayed them en masse, and their escape routes were cut off, either Zamira or Orn'tol would need to be left behind as the rest Waymarked to safety. Those two had the highest chances of successfully retreating on their own. Orn'tol was the optimal choice, due to Flight of the Coward further boosting his Dexterity when fleeing, but no one wanted to leave the boy to fend for himself.

Rob wasn't sure who he'd include in the Waymark Party if he had to make that call. It was one of those decisions that he knew he would regret either way.

Day passed, and night fell. Riardin's Rangers slept in shifts, because they knew better. Surprisingly, nobody attempted any nighttime assassination attempts on the Fiends. Alessia almost seemed disappointed; she'd been practicing a situation-defusing speech for when the Party needed to kill Dwarves in self-defense, and they were ruining her efforts by having good sense.

One silver lining of the lengthy trip and forced proximity was that Vul'to became increasingly confident in himself as time went on. At the start, he actually seemed more worried about how the Party would feel towards him than about being stuck in a Fiend's body. When it became apparent that they all accepted him as he was now, he relaxed considerably, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The only one acting awkwardly around him was Meyneth. According to Diplomacy, she was constantly running through a sequence of emotions summed up as 'guilt over what happened, revulsion over looking at Krazan's face, then guilt over feeling revulsion.' Rob wasn't sure what he could do for her in the short term – she'd be horrified if he brought up the subject directly. Diplomacy was confident that Meyneth would move past it eventually, though, so while it felt lame, Rob relegated himself to a wait-and-see approach.

Two more days passed. Rob wanted to yell at the Dwarves to hurry the fuck up, to scream that the Blight was probably munching on their homeland right now. Instead, he distracted himself by examining Dwarven territory as they traveled. Compared to Fiendland's funhouse of weirdness, it was downright ordinary – somewhere in-between the wastelands of Human territory and the lush fields of Elven territory. Its main defining feature seemed to be intermittent rocky outcroppings that dotted the landscape, like mini-mountains serving as an appetizer for the gargantuan crags that loomed in the distance.

Its grass was also white, but that was par for the course. Rob vowed to perform a swan dive into the first patch of green grass he found in Elatra – assuming he ever did.

Eventually, finally, their procession reached the entrance to Dhalerune City. Rob gazed in astonishment at the mountain towering before him, so tall that it pierced the clouds. At the foot of the mountain lay a hollowed-out cavern, wide enough to fit an army of thousands. There were signs that the entrance had been blocked off until recently; bits of rubble cluttering its path, stress fractures on the ceiling above. Eight Dwarves were standing guarding, positioned next to...a shitload of Firebomb crates...oh boy.

Diplomacy remarked, all too casually.

I liked it more when I was the one blowing things up. Rob turned to Vevrandi. "This is as far as we go until there's proof that the Blight is near Dhalerune City. Bring out someone with a Corruption infection. The worse, the better – no reason to keep them in agony while I'm here."

Vevrandi nodded, hope glinting in her eyes. She spoke with the guards, then disappeared into Dhalerune's underground cavern with her army unit, leaving Riardin's Rangers outside with eight curious Dwarves. Rob smiled and waved, drawing their attention away from Vul'to and Faelynn. The Dwarves began speaking amongst each other in hushed whispers, pointing at him like he was an endangered species, which was fair.

Keira smirked as she wrapped an arm around his waist. "I think you'll be signing more autographs before the day is out."

"If that's what it takes to get the Dwarves on our side, then sure," he sighed. "I'll develop the most heroic case of carpal tunnel in history."

It turned out that, with their improved Vitality and Endurance, Elatrans didn't get carpal tunnel often enough to have a term for it. Rob was still explaining the various kinds of ailments that could befall an Earth human without stats to prop up their health when Vevrandi returned. She was alone except for a shivering bundle held in her arms. As Vevrandi approached, she unfurled the bundle to reveal a child, his limbs thin and face gaunt.

Rob stopped in the middle of a sentence and immediately rushed forward. All at once, he was back in the Fiendland medical quarters, moans of agony surrounding him. Vevrandi was saying something to him, but he ignored her, gently placing his fingers on the child's forehead. Search. Isolate. Excise. Purge.

A flash of blue light illuminated them as energy flowed out from Rob's core and into the child's body. He hacked away at the Corruption with ruthless efficiency, ensuring that it was destroyed without causing a shock to its host's system. Within seconds, the process was over, Rob pulling his hand away as a muted sense of satisfaction flooded through him. "Done."

The Dwarves gaped at the child, no longer shivering, and then at Rob, as if he was an angel descended from the heavens. "I think that's proof enough for both of us," Vevrandi mumbled.

Riardin's Rangers were ushered inside without delay. Rob was relieved to find that, once they got past its opening, the cavern seemed like much less of a deathtrap. It had clearly been constructed by careful hands, with support beams and metal framing to prevent collapses even in the event of an earthquake. As they descended deeper into the mountain, Rob noticed glowing, mana-filled items attached to the walls, which Identify labeled as filtration devices that kept breathable air clean. It was an impressive bit of technology, and it left him wondering what else the Dwarves had in store.

That idle notion was blown into pieces when he reached the end of the cavern.

Dhalerune City lay beyond. At a glance, it looked impressive. Within the mountain's hollowed-out interior was a metropolis of stone, austere buildings forming the makings of an underground city. Any other time, Rob might have been awestruck.

Right now, he didn't care. His eyes were fixated on the Dwarven guards at the end of the cavern – and what they were holding.

He didn't believe it.

Rob closed his eyes, rubbed them, and opened them again.

Same thing.

He still didn't believe it.

Maybe if he kept not believing, he could make the Dwarves' 1940s-era Earth rifles go away.