“No, John,” Samantha said sharply.

Shaken, John gaped at her. “Why am I being called out?”

A dying shriek cut through the din of battle. It reached far enough for John to tell that it came from a female. Even if it wasn’t a human one. That made his stomach flip flop.

Samantha trembled as more battle sounds rang out toward their spot. She lost her voice, and John didn’t blame her.

It was hard for John to look at it thoroughly. There was fire and blood. Flashes of light. He saw the shadow of fighters clashing with monsters while smoke rose around them. A winged monstrosity swooped low into the line of defenders and crashed through them. It was too far to identify accurately, but John had an inkling that the flying monster might’ve been one of those bonus monsters for the calvary quest.

Skullhead’s defenders shot arrows and spells from on top of the walls. They looked fortified to John. But an endless march of shamblers stormed out of the mists engulfing the valleys and fields between the hillocks. The monsters followed the trails, leading them out into the fields. They did so with a speed that John had never seen from them before. What he saw scared him deeply to his core, reminding him of an infamous movie.

“They’re running,” John said. “Those shamblers are running.”

“What’s making them do that?” Xanhilt asked.

“Evil magic,” Noname said.

“Which is why we should stay here and avoid all of this,” Samantha said. “Tell them, Daniel. We just can’t go down there. Quests or no quests, there’s no way we can make it to the walls safely.”

More screaming reached their position. Goosebumps covered John’s skin. He felt like he got dunked in an ice tub. Every shout of pain. Every yell for help. For whatever reason, they reached out to him.

The shambler’s moans and screeches reached out to him, too.

“If I was a braver man, I would want to help,” Daniel said, wringing his hands. “But I ain’t that brave. I’m a big ol’ coward compared to y’all.”

“Look, man, it’s okay,” John said faintly.

“It ain’t okay,” Daniel said. “That’s the place we’re supposed to find real shelter. With real help. If we just stand on top of this hill, doing nothing, how can we stand ourselves.”

“I can stand myself just fine without having to risk my life,” Samantha said. “And you’re a walking target with all of that loot you’re carrying.”

“I agree,” Noname said, surprising everyone. “It’s chaotic down there. Daniel and Samantha will be in the most danger. And it’ll be sad to lose them and our loot.”

“But to not give aid to our shelter is to our detriment,” Xanhilt said, touching his claws together. “I’m not sure what’s the correct course, but one idea is to split from here.”

“And let John be a hero,” Noname added, tilting her head to the side.

“Whoa, what makes you think I want to do that right now?” John asked.

“You’re clenching your fists. You look sick. You want to punch the problem rather than stand here. You’re afraid of not doing something.” Noname pointed at him. “Maybe that’s a bad thing. But who’s to stop you?”

“And you’re going to stay here?” John asked. “What about being a good killer?”

“I can do that whenever. I’ll protect these three.”

“That includes me?” Xanhilt asked, pointing at himself.

Noname nodded.

Xanhilt looked torn. His slitted eyes trembled with concern for John.

John wondered if he should sit back and wait for things to die down before they made a move. They could do that together. But they knew, and John knew that he couldn’t wait around.

“Isn’t it a bad idea for John to go by himself?” Daniel asked as Samantha shushed him. It was a bad idea. But it was also better they had two guardians rather than one.

“John can handle himself.” Xanhilt gingerly patted John on the back as if to copy his mannerisms. “He’s stronger than us.”

“Agreed.” Noname gave him a thumbs up.

John stood there, stunned for a moment. More shrieks, clatters, and battle sounds resonated. Pressure was building up inside of him. It wanted a release. He was afraid of releasing it. He was scared of ignoring it, too.

“At what point does this stop being something that’s done for the good of others and becomes something I do for myself?” John asked. “Hell, I don’t even know if I want the answer to that.”

Noname reached up, getting on her tippy toes to pat his head. “You’re overthinking. Just do both.”

“We were once worms squirming free from our shells,” Xanhilt said, evoking the saurian war chant. “We were once fledglings who hadn’t left the nest. Now we soar with wings that beat with thunder and teeth that seek the blood of our enemies. Woe be the foes that draw our wrath.”

Daniel and Samantha gawked at him.

Noname patted John once more. “Don’t forget that you have to help me pick my weapon art.”

“I won’t forget,” John said, his heart pounding.

“Be safe, John,” Xanhilt said.

“Now go,” Noname ordered.

One foot stepped ahead of the other, leading John to get his move on and leave his party behind. It was like being under a spell. Noname had told him to go, and he went. Maybe it wasn’t anything she did that was special. She simply gave him a light push in the direction he wanted to go, and Xanhilt blessed it in his own way.

Down the hill, John went. Into a waist-high mist. Up another hill. Then down again where a small animal trail took him toward the battle.

Forest shamblers around Lvl 10 ran by without noticing him. They left trails of mist in their wake.

Before John entered the trail the basic shamblers were using, he did a check with himself. Am I really okay with this?

The answer turned out to be yes. If he wanted to truly be honest with himself, he felt eager. Maybe not thrilled, perhaps not happy, but willing. He wanted to make an impact against the monsters. That desire brought him here. It made his fists useful in a place where he didn’t have to hold back.

And he could punch the bullies… the monsters… dead.

John lunged onto the trail amid forest shamblers. The ground was moist but not too wet. He accounted for his foot to slide a bit without losing his balance. He got his feet settled faster than the shamblers could react. Three punches saw three shambler heads hammered to bits, the system chiming for each one.

From there, John got his legs moving and entered an easy-going jog. More low-level shamblers came up behind him as he neared the main battlefield. Twisting around, he ran backward, making good use of his improved [Agility]. Soon as the shamblers came up, he popped them in the face with quick one-twos.

That worked at first. When they came one or two at a time, he had it easy enough. Then when half a dozen decided to gang tackle him at once, John nearly got overwhelmed. Soon as they struck, he realized he could endure it. His [Resilience] was high enough. He just had to punch his way out.

Twenty forest shamblers later, John found himself a little winded. They were weak monsters compared to him now. But their new movement speed made them a hassle. It was uncanny. It had to be the work of evil magic like Xanhilt had suggested. He could outrun them if he tried, but he figured he could help keep back the tide to ease the stress on the defenders.

But John now found himself with a new problem. He was on the shambler side of the battle. Arrows flitted down around him. They whistled through the air before hitting soggy earth or a shambler skull. Fireballs thumped the ground to the side of him, splashing flames. Nearby shamblers lit up if they hadn’t been exploded to bits at the center of the ferocious blasts.

The noise was intense. The air shook from the clamor. It made John feel foolish. What was he supposed to do out here? He didn’t have time to think, though. The shamblers noticed him out of place. Now he was faced with [Forest Shamblers] and [Jesting Shamblers]. The latter proved more dangerous when they hacked at him with their blades. They took full advantage of their reach and height while the weaker monsters swarmed.

Ground Shock Punch, John thought, would’ve helped here.

True, it would’ve. John duked his way through, anyway. If it had a dead face, it had a place for him to park his fist. If it had a body that should be six feet under, he hit them hard enough until they stayed on the ground like a doormat.

Flesh ripped. Black blood splattered. Rib bones snapped. Jaws fragmented, spraying rotten teeth. Accursed cleavers stuck to the ground, separated from the hands that had wielded them.

John fought and fought. His blessing was useless here. It would kill one monster, ignoring the horde that crashed around him.

[Concussive Punch] needed some time to prep, and it worked better against a bigger target with some resilience. John was built to solo tougher stuff. So, this was something different. This was something new to him. It was like fighting the water. But every splash or two made the system chime in his ears, telling him he was gaining experience.

This was unending brutality. A one-sided affair with him drumming against everything that came at him. Soon as they attacked his back, he whirled out of their bony grasps and smashed them with [Rapid Blows]. He repeated this twice until his fatigue started to near the red line. He couldn’t have been in the fight for long, but it felt like he was exhausting himself far worse than any fight or gym session he’d been in before.

That’s how they’re trying to take us down, John thought as he took a gap in the carnage to flee to the outskirts of the battle. They’re trying to wear us out with an endless onslaught!

On the bright side, he leveled up to Lvl 22, and Cestus Art reached Lvl 23. So there was that.

He got out a [Stamina Stone, Good] and crushed it in his gasp. Stamina recovery magic looped around him in fizzling sparks, lowering his fatigue far faster than a few poor stones would. It brought him down to an acceptable level. One look at the battle made him feel inadequate, though. It didn’t seem like he made a dent!

Someone moved into his flank, spooking John.

He spiraled away, crashing into a forest shambler. The creature rasped angrily, grabbing at his neck. It was more of an annoyance to John than a threat at this point.

The person that had spooked John raised a mighty axe and cleaved the shambler’s head open. The reanimated corpse dropped.

John moved back and regarded the tall form of a [Gnoll Mercenary, Lvl 20]. It had a canine-like face, spotted yellow fur, and a gangly frame half a head taller than John. It wore leather armor around its chest and limbs, leaving its hands and feet bare.

It was weaker than John, but its appearance scared him. This was the first time he met something that wasn’t a hero or a shambler monster. If they weren’t in the middle of a battle, he might’ve been floored entirely by meeting another fantasy creature.

“I saved you, hero,” grunted the gnoll mercenary. “Remember me. I am Nek Necktaker. I help hero!”

He barked with laughter like a hyena, ignorant of a monstrous form bulldozing at his back. John made the snap decision to help the gnoll. He pushed the gnoll out of the way.

The [Mauling Shambler, Lvl 20] decked John with its big fist. The blow knocked the air out of John and sent him flying. He didn’t start breathing again until he barreled through a group of forest shamblers, killing a few on impact.

John let [Ratel Rookie] take over from there.

After taking down his fifth mauling shambler and gaining a couple of level-ups, John found himself with more people who weren’t the rasping dead. Like the gnoll, they weren’t human. Unlike the gnoll, they had various levels of humanity to them that made them far more familiar to John.

Even with his heart pounding, his blood boiling, his adrenaline kicking like a horse, John still found a moment to stop and admire one of these inhuman creatures. He watched a tall, slender, beautiful [Elf Spellsword, Lvl 23] behead shamblers left and right with her glimmering sword. Each cut left a radiant arc behind the magical weapon.

“Hero, are you in need of assistance?” she asked him, thrusting her weapon through a jesting shambler’s face. Her demeanor was open and friendly even while hacking away at the dead. “You seem to have been fighting quite a bit if the state of your wear is anything to go by. Should you need rest, please seek it.”

“I, um,” John sputtered, looking down at himself. He was covered in rotten gunk. Completely speckled from head to toe. Beneath that, he discovered his trousers were shredded up to his thighs. His boots were nearly ripped apart. He was a few misfortune hits away from becoming a naked hobo. What the hell had he been doing? How much time had passed?

2 hrs, 44 mins, 11 secs.

What? That was it? It felt like he’d been out here for more than an hour. Wow, time worked differently in huge battles.

He turned to share this with the elf girl, but she had a lance running through her chest. John blinked as the elf turned toward him. She extended her hand as blood dribbled from her gaping mouth. She was trying to tell him something. Whatever it was, she was cut off from the attempt when the owner of the lance flicked their weapon up. She sailed off in an arc of blood, landing somewhere out of sight amid the monsters and defenders.

That left John with the [Shambler Mid I Rider, Lvl 34], a monster with the upper body of a man and the lower body of a horse. The lance itself was fused with one of its arms. The other arm was a grotesque limb of giant proportions that held a gnoll by the torso, crushing the life out of the mercenary. Purplish white flesh pulsated around a helm fused with its head where two red orbs glared out of the visor’s slits.

It screeched, throwing the gnoll corpse head-over-heels at John. He barely used [Dash Step] in time to get out of the way. He crashed into a short armored fellow in the middle of a fight with a couple of jesting shamblers.

“Dragon’s burning tits, watch it!” roared the [Dwarf Warrior, Lvl 23].

“That thing killed the elf,” John pointed as the [Shambler Mid I Rider] stalked after him.

The dwarf hacked through the legs of a jesting shambler, bringing it low. “Then kill it back!” he roared before slamming his axe home on the jesting shambler’s chest. “You’re the one with all the fancy powers and blessings. All I’s got is me pa’s axe and my dwarven balls!”

The rider struck. John shoved the dwarf and himself out of the way, barely saving their lives. Just as John got his feet under him, the rider had its lance aimed his way again faster than John could reset.

Before the powerful monster struck, a volley of magic blasts and arrows collided with its flank. The magic slugged the monster to the side and drove it back. More arrows and magical attacks peppered the rider until it faced around and fled.

John watched it go before he started wandering toward the wall. He left behind the fight to find some measure of peace. It was hard for him to think right now. Images of the elf being thrown away like trash flashed through his mind. He needed some quiet to sort himself out.

He passed by layers of defenses, spiked pits, palisades, and hastily erected earth walls made of stone and dirt. He passed by a line of elves and gnomes that were casting ritualistic magic. Runic circles on the ground crackled in vibrant hues of many colors. The circles conjured explosive fireballs and ice javelins. They made the ground collapse under groups of shamblers.

He started to pass a hasty camp set up for the wounded. Some of the fighters were treated well enough to return to battle. Others were taken back behind the wall. But the camp also served as a place of rest and respite too. John saw more mercenaries and warriors sitting on benches, consuming rations.

“Hey!” spoke up a [Gnome Nurse, Lvl 21]. She couldn’t be any larger than four feet tall with braided white hair that reached down to her ankles. She had a harsh air about her that reminded John of a stern teacher. “You look like you need a bit of rest, hero. Sit over there. I’ll have someone get you food and drink.”

“Um, okay,” John said.

He sat down. A different gnome ran over with a bowl of warm stew and a mug of something that smelled.

“That’ll be five coppers,” she said.

John blinked. “I left all my coppers with my party.”

The gnome looked at him crossly.

“I’ll pay, I’ll pay,” said a gnoll sitting next to John. He had a bloody bandage covering half his face. “Nek Necktaker will help hero again! And it’s two coppers, gnome girl.”

“He’s a hero. I can charge him six coppers if I wanted to,” the gnome said.

“And I’m a gnoll, and Nek Necktaker takes what he wants,” the gnoll growled.

The gnome stood her ground. “Five coppers.”

“Two,” Nek said.

“Four,” the gnome said begrudgingly.

“One plus one has a baby named two.”

“Three,” she grumbled.

He paid the gnome girl.

Once she scampered off, John found himself without much of an appetite. But he said thanks and accepted a tray and mug.

“Eat up, hero. Helps the [Soul] heal from the slump. Rest helps, too. Then we go back and fight, fight, fight!” roared the gnoll.

“Has this been happening every day?” John asked before taking in a spoonful of oatmeal. It wasn’t bad, just plain. It was edible, thankfully.

“No!” said Nek. “This is a first since I got off the ship last week. How lucky are we! If we don’t die, the gods will grant us experience that’ll make my ma jealous. I’ll grow faster and stronger than any from my tribe!”

“You’ve fought like this before?” John asked.

The gnoll shook his head. “Only a few fights. Never full fighting like this. I’m young, but I’m ready to grow or die. Ma will be proud.”

But there’s nothing proud about dying, especially if you go like the elf girl, John thought glumly, taking a weak pull from his drink. It was sweet, alright. But it wasn’t alcohol. It might be something sugary to help energize them. For now, John decided to just rest and replenish himself in silence.

The battle raged on. Defenders cycled between going out onto the field and back into camp or behind the walls. It was chaotic. But it had a sense of order, too. Like watching high schoolers move at different speeds to get to and from class.

“One of you bumbling idiots get me a platter with something decent to drink!” shouted an arrogant voice that grated against John’s sensibilities.

A blond guy nearly as tall as John strode up. He took a seat on an available bench a few feet to John’s left. The guy wore an outfit that didn’t seem fit for battle. Purple shirt with gold stitching. Comfortable dark slacks and shoes. And he had an actual belt and satchel. John used identify and saw they were elven stuff of gold quality.

The new guy was clean. Not an ounce of blood on him. But he hadn’t come out of the town’s gate. He had come from the direction of the battle itself.

As the new arrival waited for his order, he crossed his legs and fiddled with a wand in his hand. He noticed John staring at him. Sharp, judgmental green eyes glared into John’s eyes.

Without having to ask, John already knew who he was facing.

“Victor,” he called, setting his food and drink aside.

“You,” the thief replied, aiming his wand at John.

John Wright, Lvl 23

Race: Outerhuman, Rank 1

Weapon Art: Cestus Art, Lvl 25

Blessing: One Good Punch, Rank 2

Total AP: 370

Resilience: 53 + (15)

Endurance: 56

Strength: 80 + (5)

Agility: 36

Perception: 20

Poise: 34

Intellect: 25

Soul: 46

Unspent: 0

Talents: [Relentless Fighter, Rank 1], [Decisive Spirit, Rank 1], [Identify, Rank 2], [Urmatia Linguistics, Rank 1], [Inner Compass, Rank 1].

Weapon Skills: [Advance Boxing, Rank 3], [Rabid Blows, Rank 2], [Dash Step, Rank 2], [Concussive Strike, Rank 2].

Magic Cores: [Ratel Rookie, MCP 19], [Brightlight Orb, MCP 2].

Available MCP: 0

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