In the distant east and distant west, mountainous hills were bumps compared to the Red Crags, their peaks glowing under moonlight. On these plains, scant vegetation concentrated around infrequent fresh water springs. Air was stale and metallic on Sorath’s tongue, and diffuse ambient dark mana was a constant, gloomy weight on his neck, making him question why he was here in the first place. The bastards at Greenwood were happy to see him gone.

Yet he was risking his life for them.

I should build my own base out here and say goodbye to my debt.

He shoved away these unhelpful stupid thoughts, refocused on his mission targets.

Their scouting outpost snugly fit on a triangular space between two springs and quarried land. Every tree had been cleared, but they had the foresight to plant saplings. Their architecture was crude, like misshapen ruddy cubes haphazardly thrown around a tower made of two vertically stacked oblongs on the verge of toppling over. At the three entrances, outer wooden fences protected inner stone walls not nearly as high or thick as Greenwood’s town wall. This could be a fine location for a future town if it weren’t for the corruption.

Sorath walked into sensing range with a straight spine. At this point, they either had seen him or they had not. And judging from a tired, relaxed guard at the north inner wall, they had not. One-eighty strides was quite a distance in darkness. Their crystal lighting was sparse.

The guard was a lanky young man with a shaved head, leather equipment, and a body-length longbow. No cloak. Average mana pool. He was reading a large tome in his crystal amulet’s light, sitting on a stone block, his legs dangling. As he glanced up, Sorath jumped behind a rock barely larger than his crouching form. The guard should’ve seen movement, but those beady eyes lacked sufficient Dexterity. It took two sweeps of his unsuspecting gaze until he looked back down.

Sorath crept forward on irregular grass. It took days of tip-toeing to reach the first tree stump. Then a gust threw dirt at his face. He sneezed into his cloak, hopped behind a wilted bush.

Feeling a prick of suspicion, the guard looked up. His gaze swept back and forth more than twenty times, and his suspicion grew. He put his tome aside, reached for his longbow, nocked an arrow. Hot mana rushed down his arms. A Piercing Arrow trailing steam missed by fifty strides. A second Arrow flew, missing in the opposite direction. He loosed another, and then two more, all missing. But he felt safer. He sat down.

Stumps and saplings slowed Sorath’s advance to a few strides per minute. As if the gods were messing with him, a far stronger gust howled, and although he was expecting it, his boot cracked a stick hidden under leaves, loudly.

The guard’s mana exploded in alarm like an over-pressurized pot.

Sorath was already running. Brackia. Hexus.

The guard yelled, “In—”

Sorath covered his temporally-slowed mouth, dagger buried in softened flesh. “Quiet. Quiet. Answer me truthfully and you’ll live, got it?”

Terror and pain didn’t stop the guard’s mana from boiling in a skill invocation. Space gradually distorted in a slow motion version of Ranger’s Escape skill. White smoke appeared tuft by tuft. His body began fading. The skill took ten seconds to move his body twenty strides toward the spring.

Sorath Backstabbed to him, covered his mouth, kicked away his longbow. “Relax. You’ll live. Relax. I won’t kill you. I’m just trying to rescue my friends. Just answer: do you know where prisoners are kept?”

“Nooo,” he muffled, his mana subtly churning in his forehead and gut. His pupils jittered around. Definite lie.

“Are any here?”

“Nooo.” No churn—truth.

Sorath’s nose scrunched. Hexus. His dagger’s tip grazed across his cheek, reapplying Fragility and Temporal Lethargy. “Are any prisoners at the outpost west of here?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

“What about the one to the south-east?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

“Are any held at the farms?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

“What about at Freya’s base?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

Hexus, Sorath mentally hissed and skimmed over the first cut, deeper. Blood squirted. “I apologize, but I need to strike you with at least some force for Multi-Hex Strike to work. Are you familiar with Hexblades?”

Head shake. Truth.

“I didn’t think so, but don’t worry. I don’t have any torture skills or anything. So just relax. Once you’ve answered everything, you can have a health potion and I’ll leave. Does that sound fair?”

Nod. Truth.

“Good. Are prisoners at the metal mine?”

“Nooo.” Lie, although the churn was lesser. He was a decent liar.

Sorath kept a smile off his face. “What about the salt mine?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

“Are there any prisoners by the name of Madrog?”

Head shake with a truthful confused-like emotion. He wasn’t sure.

That was the main piece of information, and it was surprising that this nightguard knew at all. Sorath purposefully sighed, donning a sympathetic expression. “You don’t know much, do you? You’re just a man who made some bad decisions and ended up with the wrong people. What were your crimes? Murder?”

A slow head shake. Truth.

“Assault?”

Head shake. Truth.

“Incitement of regicide?”

Head shake. Truth.

“Tribute evasion?”

Nod. Truth.

“Anything else?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

Hexus. Sorath grazed the guard’s other cheek. “Everyone has to contribute their fair share of gold to uphold a civilized society. I would forgive you for assault, maybe even murder, but tribute evasion? You’re utterly despicable, maybe even worse than mass murderers and regicide inciters. Because of you, my family and children aren’t as safe as they should be behind crumbling town walls. I should execute you right here.” Sorath was starting to believe it, minus the part about his family and children.

The guard’s eyes widened. “Nooooo. I’m soooo—”

“I should, but I won’t, because I’m better than that. And you can still make things right. Come with me and pay off your owed tribute. How much do you owe? A hundred thousand?”

“Nooo. Mooore.” Truth.

“Five hundred thousand?”

“Leesss.” Truth.

Sorath’s head shook. “So not too much. It may take you a few decades, but you can do it. Maybe you can be a bounty hunter like me. There are some sweet deals on List A. Do you know any Theos?”

“Nooo.” Massive churn. Massive lie.

Hexus. Sorath cut the skin under the guard’s eye, terror returning in full boiling force. “You’re a terrible liar, so save yourself pain and just be truthful. Is Theo here?”

Head shake. Truth.

“Logar, Anton, Fenon, Dasha, Tierra, Lierre. Know any of these?”

“Yeeess. Aaantoooon aaand Feeeenoooon.” Truth.

“Are they here?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

“Where?”

“Weeesst faaarrrmmms.” Truth.

“Thank you for working with me. Keep it up and I’ll put in a good word for you to Lord Hyera.” Sorath offered a mellow smile. Hexus—A very gentle graze to the jaw. “Now, about this outpost. How many people are here?”

“Fooourrr huuuundreed.” Truth, and it sounded right.

“Do you know their levels and classes?”

“Sooome.” Truth. “Mooosstly Raaaangeeerrs. Blaaaadeeemaaasterrs. Kniiights. Aaa feeww Wiiitch Dooocteeer.” Dark support class, probably worth more gold.

“Any Mages?”

“Nooo.” Truth, making sense since few bandits were Mages.

“Anyone max-level? Do you know?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

Sorath reasoned placing a max-level person at the front lines was too much of a risk, assuming Freya had max-level followers. “Is anyone max-level in the gang?”

“Fffrreeeeyaaa.” Truth.

“Anyone else?”

“Dooon’t knooow.” A subtle lie. He wasn’t completely sure.

Hexus. Sorath skimmed the side of his face. “I really wish you knew more, but I guess that’s not your fault.” He sighed, breathing salty iron. “Do you know what Freya’s gear set does?”

“Nooo.” Truth, of course.

“Does anyone else have legendary gear?”

“Dooon’t knooow.” Pretty good lie. He had been expecting the question.

Sorath put on a disappointed expression. “You’re lying again, and you know lying will make things worse for you in the King’s court. You need to work on your honesty. I’m trying to help you. That’s why I’m here. Do you think I like doing this? No, I’m doing this for my people, my family. So… does anyone else have legendary gear?”

“Dooon’t knooow.” Same lie indicators.

Sorath exhaled. “Okay, I believe you.” Hexus—a tap on the chin. “I heard there’s an open-world dungeon due east of here at those hills. Do you know if it’s been cleared?”

The guard took five seconds to think. His head shook truthfully.

“Do you know its tier?”

“Niiiine.” Truth. Shocking truth.

Tier nine would need a party of max-levels each sporting a full legendary set. Best to forget about it. Sorath’s tongue clicked. “That’s a shame. It’s annoying how you need legendary equipment to do dungeons that can drop legendary equipment, don’t you agree? It’s the dragon and the egg.”

The guard nodded honestly.

“Exactly. Like any sane person, one of my greatest desires is to find a Legendary Loot Gem. Freya wouldn’t have one lying around, right?”

Eyes had slightly widened midway through Sorath’s ramble. Mana fluttered throughout the guard’s body, head shaking. Lie. Damned shocking lie of the year.

Hexus. Sorath’s heart thumped as he poked the guard’s nose, drawing a spot of blood. “I don’t blame you for lying about that. Is it here?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

“Of course not. Is anything valuable here?”

“Nooo.” Truth.

“Thought so. I assume the Fem’s at Freya’s base? In her soul inventory?”

“Yeees.” Unsure truth.

“She’s waiting for a luck potion, isn’t she?”

Truthful nod, more sure.

“Will she likely obtain one?”

Dishonest nod.

Sorath’s head shook. “Another obvious lie. You need to work on that for you own good. Is Freya an Apothecary?”

Tentative nod. Truth.

The hexes were about to wear off, but a glowing bar at the bottom of Sorath’s vision told him his mana was almost empty. So did the empty feeling in his chest. A mana potion could extend this interrogation. He only had two in his soul inventory. Was using one here worth it? Possibly, but he had already asked the important questions.

Without word or expression, Sorath drew his shortsword and stabbed the guard through the chest and squeezed his throat with Telekinesis. Muffled screams quickly died—a merciful death. There was no other choice.

Sorath sliced off the head and pouched it as well as the Normal-Quality Yew Longbow (worth twenty gold). And not to forget: “Extrierra” He reached into the void, finding a half-full jar of high-quality salt, those same useless arrows, and two jars of normal-quality fermented unspiced cabbages. Trash for loot. He grabbed the salt and grain-sized crystal amulet.

Dawn broke over the Crags while he ran south-west, again pondering if his dream had been a vision. Freya’s Legendary Loot Gem—was it a coincidence? Well, the circumstances were completely different, and he had dreamed of legendary loot before, quite regularly during his adolescence.

But what if the dream really was a vision? What if Greenwood was in imminent danger?

It couldn’t be possible.

For millions of strides, Sorath resisted his errant worries, eventually winning the debate as the landscape became greener and wetter.

Out of breath, he forwent apple syrup and instead squatted by a spring. He splashed his face, drank a scoop, then ten mouthfuls. The water was clear and tasteless, less corruption in the soil, less dark mana in the wind.

This forest was healthy but not nearly as thick or ancient as Greenwood. Here, White Oaks were common, their leaves and sap dense with light mana, which explained this uncorrupted region. Hopefully Freya’s people understood to not cut it down.

A curious brave squirrel stopped by, and another full party of bandits walked into Telepathy’s range. They too were bored and on alert. Well, four out of five were on alert. The fifth was feeling light-headed and loopy as though drunk on Greenwood Cider at nine in the morning. But drunk wasn’t right. This mind was both wandering and focused, far unlike anything which Sorath had felt.

One of their thoughts floated over: It’s going to be a hard winter. His inner voice was low and gravelly. I told her to plant more crops. He mentally chuckled and said something out loud that didn’t clearly echo back into his mind.

The most alert person out of the five responded with a short sentence, then thought, And so what. I’ve got my secret stash.

Uh oh, the strange mind thought, I’m telling Lady Freya!

It almost sounded like she was a psionic, putting Sorath on his toes. His fingernails uncomfortably scraped the rock he was hiding behind. Is this what another psionic mind feels like? It can’t be. My mind feels normal.

Though another psionic was very possible. One could be hiding out here away from all the noise. Sorath sure was enjoying these peaceful long runs. The only noise was from wildlife. Like that squirrel, still curious about him. He was starting to suspect it was either possessed or not a squirrel at all.

No, it was just another rodent.

Sorath was also loopy from poor sleep. Anything under seven hours resulted in his heart working overtime. He hadn’t slept well in two days. Both nights he had struggled. Both nights he had woken periodically. A month of this would take a point off his Vitality attribute. Even two points. That would be a living nightmare. Mother’s concern echoed from the afterlife.

Their party walked out of range, the strange mind last out.

Sorath stood and massaged his lower back. His gaze snagged on the squirrel. It stood petrified, its mind blank, its unusually large mana pool frozen. Long-nailed paws held a half-eaten nut. Sorath threw a pebble to its feet, and it didn’t react. He threw another at its head, and it didn’t react.

Is this a…

That squirrel had to die. This could be very bad. Shortsword drawn, Sorath edged toward Backstab’s range, step by step, careful to not crack a single twig. He was five steps out of range when its ear twitched.

An implosion centered at its heart sucked in all mana for over twenty strides in each direction. Grass and bushes wilted. Leaves lost color and fell. Insects and the nearest trees were dead in an instant. Every last drop of Sorath’s mana was sucked away, and he keeled over in sudden nausea, throwing up a sour blend of fermented cabbages and bear meat.

A musky dark vapor surrounded the squirrel as it enlarged to the size of a horse. Its skull widened, eyes reddening, teeth sharpening. Muscles bulked. Fur hardened into needles. Its tail tapered into an elongated point, dripping acid that sizzled on dead grass. It hissed like a viper. Primal hatred and hunger stewed its mana.

The Dire Squirrel leaped.

Sorath rolled out of the way, bit open a mana potion vial, and drank bittersweet blueberry that bubbled on his tongue. His mana bar started regenerating ten percent a second, the emptiness in his chest refilling.

The Squirrel vanished with a scratchy fuzz. A blink skill. It reappeared behind him with deadly intent.

Brackia. The forest blurred. His boot stamped down on its tail. Hexus. He stabbed.

The Squirrel blinked again—twenty strides off to the side. Its tail whipped around, throwing a glowing needle.

Reeling, Sorath pulled back his left shoulder. The needle bounced off his cloak, but acid ate a hole wider than his palm. Anger gripped his stomach. “Psycha-Cres,” he snarled, cutting horizontally.

Razor mana shaved needles off the Squirrel’s back as it ducked. Its tail whipped.

Sorath sidestepped the needle. “Temprus.” He drew a circle in the air with his left index finger, shooting an indigo dart that flew a hundred times slower than any Mage spell.

Jumping high into the air, the Squirrel dodged with leagues to spare, then somersaulted toward him mid-air, throwing a spray of acid needles.

Telenka. Sorath ripped off his cloak and spread it into a shield. Dozens of holes appeared in the fabric. Brackia. He blinked behind the squirrel as it landed on all fours. Hexus. He stabbed, and he was ready for its counter-blink, following its mana rightward. Psycha-Cres. With a full-body swing, a diagonal uppercut released a double-length indigo crescent and cut the Squirrel head-on down the spine.

Again, it stood absolutely still, but inside, tumultuous mana was trying to keep its body together. Slowly emotions faded. Its two halves separated, bloody organs spilling. Mana it had absorbed flowed back to the forest, but vegetation remained dead. Its corpse rapidly disintegrated to fine black dust lost to the breeze.

Sorath let go of the breath he was holding. His heart drummed at a thousand beats a minute. A thrilling ecstasy pumped in his blood. He did it. He killed his first dire beast—without taking an injury.

And the rewards? His prized cloak was beyond ruined, and he was down to one mana potion, and his shortsword was corroded, but despite all that shitty nonsense, two flat gems larger than human fists gleamed on the ground. One star ruby. One square onyx. Each worth over a thousand gold, the ruby worth more. Should he sell them?

Hell no.

For his first dire beast kill, he was celebrating. Telenka. Both gems floated to him, ruby on his left palm, onyx on his right. He fed mana into his left-hand fingers, projecting his intention. Crimson light flashed. The ruby’s watermelon weight reduced to almost nothing. A ring. He whispered, “Unveil.”

Excellent-Quality Silver Ruby Ring

Durability: 100/100

+5 Wisdom

+2 Endurance

Lesser Flowing Spirit: 25% increased mana regeneration from all sources

Lesser Quick Mind: 5% cooldown reduction on all class and profession skills

Could be better. Was it worth sacrificing his cloak for? Was it worth two thousand gold? Hard to say. Sorath guided it onto his left ring finger with Telekinesis, and his mana bar began regenerating faster. He then fed the onyx a larger amount for good luck. Black light winked. Weight reduced to that of a baby apple. Dark mana swirled in a cube. It was a skill gem and not any regular skill gem.

A one in however many thousand, this rare drop was a High-Quality Dark Skill Gem, meaning the odds were in his favor.

He grinned, invoking in the divine language, “Activate skill choice.”

The gods hastily wrote for him.

Choice 1

+15 ranks to Backstab

Choice 2

[New Active Skill] Feedback (Beginner 1)

Type: Active, Psionic

Effect: Hypercharges up to 1000 of your target’s mana, consuming it and dealing that amount of damage, at a range not greater than 20 strides

Cooldown: 10 seconds

Mana Cost: 100

Choice 3

[New Active Hex] Unhealable (Beginner 1)

Type: Active, Hex

Effect: Shoot a small slow-moving bolt. On collision, inflicts your target with Unhealable for 1 second

Cooldown: 5 seconds

Mana Cost: 150

Choice 4

[New Active Skill] Twinpoint Lance (Beginner 1)

Type: Active, Psionic

Effect: With a bladed weapon, your next stab will release a 15-stride psionic lance, dealing 90% weapon damage with Strength and Intelligence multipliers

Combo Effect: Invoked within 5 seconds of Psionic Slash, Twinpoint Lance releases two double-width lances

Cooldown: 8 seconds

Mana Cost: 350

Choice 5

+15 ranks to Telepathy

Choice 6

[New Toggle-able Passive Skill] Temporal Haste Aura (Beginner 1)

Type: Passive, Aura, Psionic

Solo Effect: Time passes 5% faster for you

Party Effect: Time passes 2.5% faster for all party members within a 250 stride range

Raid Party Effect: Time passes 0.5% faster for all party members within a 1000 stride range

Mana Reservation: 750

Now this was a tricky decision, lucky indeed. Although choice 1 was garbage, the other five all had their uses. Feedback and Unhealable were excellent for dueling, the latter also amazing for certain dungeon bosses. Twinpoint Lance was not only great for dueling but also had a devastating area-of-effect. Fifteen ranks to Telepathy was an extra 150 strides to its range—massive. Temporal Haste Aura was life-changing; however, it was slow-leveling like all passive skills.

So what was the best?

As he paced back and forth, a party of bandits entered Telepathy’s range. Two parties. He pouched the skill gem and hurried off, mentally debating over the choices.