abruptly thrown back into reality. Before I could rebel, Caraster pressed a flask to my lips and made me take a sip. The refreshing taste partially drove the drowsiness away; a warm, invigorating wave spread through my guts. I automatically reached for the flask, but Caraster immediately retreated, returning the flask to his belt. He clearly fulfilled his Good Samaritan deed for the day. There was no point in asking for a second, gratuitous sip. I would just lose what little respect, or rather, tolerance that they graced me with when they had found out about the den. Neutrality was better than enmity, after all. Neutrality... This word sparked something in the back of my mind, but the thought didn’t go further.

The bleeding stopped.

The heat from the fire and the sip of the potion did their job; the wound on my thigh finally stopped bleeding, though it continued to ache.

“You can feed your beast, we have already taken our cut of the carcass,” Caraster said, losing interest in me and returned to sitting on his stone.

Fury didn’t even bother waiting and assaulted the Pork’s carcass with the same fury with which she had fought Demons in the den, tearing at it. Her HP and energy bars crawled from the yellow to the green zone, but the exhaustion debuff wasn’t in a hurry to do so. Full recovery wouldn’t be possible without a full rest, for her or for me. In my mind I knew that I should follow her example, but for some reason I didn’t feel hunger. It was as if something really left only a ringing void in me. My endurance had seemingly improved; maybe my suffering wasn’t in vain after all... Oh, if I could only trade this suffering for pleasure.

“By the way, the shift has started.” Otex picked up the Soul Crystal left after dispelling the Dion, threw it to Caraster, grabbed all the trophies and dumped it near the wall. He then came up to me and threw the Dion’s sword and an earring next to me on the bed. “For you. Don’t count on anything else. You can leave the spear here, we will hand it over to the Vault. Get up and go to the Fortress. You aren’t needed here in the state you’re in.”

An obvious hint that was to let me know that no one was eager to nurse a weakling. Not to mention that there was only one bed. I picked up the sword and took a look at its stats. It was for level 14, which was perfect for me. However, due to the latest update, my Uniq dealt 135-150 damage, and the Dion’s one-hander, appropriately named Blood Brother, dealt just under a hundred and had no additional bonuses, which wasn’t surprising. The forging was rough, the blade was chipped, and it had half of its durability left. There was no scabbard either. This sword was just a toy, most likely a tool for fixing equipment and cutting down game. Still, the Dion’s main weapons were spears, which is why their stats were more impressive. They were no worse than my Uniq’s, but the mere thought of taking up a Dion weapon again and burdening myself with Imbalance made me sick. I threw a grateful glance at Otex, who had returned to the campfire. I held up the second trophy.

Two Moons Earring

Level 13

Strength: +3

Endurance: +3

My doubtful stare returned to the Okhtans. They weren’t such ruthless killers as Mashta described them to be. They weren’t even misers. Giving me a sip of the potion, sharing loot... But why did she feel the need to exaggerate? Maybe, I had passed some kind of a test, getting out of the den on my own, and earning their favor?

Catching Caraster’s indifferent gaze, I pierced my earlobe with the earring, feeling a trickle of blood run through my fingers. After in the den, this felt like a mosquito bite. Besides, I had no pockets or anything to carry it in. Well, the sword will have to stay on the belt as it obviously didn’t fit into my dagger’s sheath that was still dangling there. I could have put the earring in the sheath, or under the flask’s cover, or in the flask itself. There were a lot of options. No, I needed to urgently do something about making some pockets.

“Some of you said something about entertainment,” I said hoarsely, finishing up with my inventory. What the…?

“Look, he’s no longer afraid.”

“We’re not scary now.”

“We helped him save his skin. He thinks us his friends.”

“Take it up a notch. Relatives.”

“Caraster, maybe we should put him as our commander instead of you? Our five is incomplete.”

Damn, that was obvious! Part of the shared loot was just a compensation for the Soul Crystal, which was the most valuable thing here! Thanks to that soc, they will be able to restore their five. What’s low-level junk compared to that?! Nothing! And they behaved as if nothing special had happened, damn their impassive asses... You owe me, damn it! Owe me much more than this crappy gear!

“I asked you a question,” I reminded as calmly as I could, interrupting.

“Did you, really? Do you have problems sitting down with such a huge pair of balls?” Otex moved his hand toward the sword, as if wondering if he could teach me some manners.

“Enough,” Caraster intervened, interrupting the parade of goosebumps marching down my back and neck. I was again prepared to run for my life, having decided that I had gone too far in demonstrating my independence. “Hurry up, human, and you will see with your own eyes how our fighters finish off the Raksh.”

Sweet mother of...! As if burned, I jumped to my feet. Drowsiness disappeared in a flash, and I suddenly felt invigorated. The quest... They would ruin my quest with a premature fight! Why couldn’t they have waited another day?! Someone was too anxious!

“Maybe you still have time to place a bet. Hm, you’ll need something to do that... Here you go,” Otex caught a piece of meat which Caraster had fished out of the cauldron and thrown at him, stepped closer and handed it to me. The meat was burning hot, and the Okhtan, knowing this very well, grinned thinly. If this was another toughness test, then he failed to impress and intimidated me; all of my senses were still numb. I didn’t even twitch. “Move it, human. Leave the pet, we won’t touch her. Let her eat, she’ll catch up.”

You bet she will... I don’t trust you so much as to risk my pets after getting them out of the den. Naturally, I didn’t say it out loud. I had no reason to spoil the established neutrality. Mentally ordering Fury to break away from the grub, which she reluctantly did, I limped into the darkness of the tunnel. I didn’t want my departure to look like an escape.

On the other hand...

Ah, screw that! The quest was more important than far-fetched propriety and false pride!

I jogged away. My feet ached, but I had to be patient. Again. Recalling the piece of meat in my hand, I sank my teeth into it. It tasted half-cooked but, more importantly, it was edible.

“Told you; deceitful morons,” Someone said behind me, before the campfire’s light faded and the darkness finally closed around.

I barely remember running through the tunnels. All I thought about was not breaking my legs in the dark and getting to the Fortress before the Raksh gets killed. Unaccompanied, I looped through the winding passages for the first time, but the map helped me navigate and find my way. Tinnie refused to work as a flashlight; she couldn’t even fly. She sat on my shoulder, looking miserable; my poor baby was obviously overstrained. I had left the lighter in the lair along with my other possessions. Fortunately, however, the darkness wasn’t as thick and I managed to see even without a light. Night vision was seemingly evolving somehow, which meant that I would have to look at the changes in the skill set later. If there were any changes, that is. I didn’t want to do it while running as I didn’t want to stumble and lose precious time. Fury helped me navigate; her acute animal vision led her forward surely, pointing the way.

I go there just in time. Well, almost.

Voices grew louder and louder with each step, until I jumped out of the tunnel into the open and stopped, trying to catch my breath and assess the situation.

Ah, for fuck’s sake!

I saw a familiar picture — the entire population of the Fortress had gathered to observe the Duel of Valor. There was a wild, deafening hubbub in the air; about fifty outcasts were shouting excitedly and waving swords. Luckily, they didn’t hurt one another.

During my stay here, I managed to understand that when a fight concerned the Okhtans directly they would turn them into examples of composure. But as spectators, they unleashed their feelings without regard for propriety. Even after seeing the crowd, I still hoped that they were having fun not with the Raksh, but among themselves. Unfortunately, I noticed the Raksh whose shaggy, four-armed figure circled in the middle of the crowd, fighting one of the Okhtans. Rawrk’s enemy was level 20, although he himself was level 16. It was a custom to select equally strong fighters, but apparently, they hadn’t found anyone with a lower level.

I understood the need for these kinds of entertainments. In addition to repairing equipment, primitive dice games and competing for things admitted to the auction, there was nothing else to be done in the evenings. Therefore, the combat auction enjoyed a special love among the people. But I needed the Raksh alive! What could I do about it? It sucks when you don’t know what to do, and when mistakes can be fatal... How could you take away entertainment from such a crowd and hope that you won’t have your bones broken, at the very least? I had hoped that I would have time to come up with something on my wave to here and, as they say, have my cake and eat it too. And now, looking at the screaming outcasts and the glimmering swords, I understood that I was not prepared for this turn of events, and that my weary head had not a worthy thought in it.

The Raksh was given back his four blades, allowing him to fight in his usual style, while the Okhtan fought with two swords. Things were that bad then. But it was clear that the Raksh was the inferior one and that the difference in levels would play a significant role in the fight. Rawrk jumped, spun, attacked from positions unthinkable for a human, but his attacks were powerless against the blades of the Okhtan who seemed to move only at the last moment to repel the blow. In addition, Rawrk’s “clothes” consisted only of a wide belt of tanned leather with a bunch of scabbards and a loincloth, in which he had appeared in the Fortress. The Okhtan, one the other hand, was clad in leather and metal. Rawrk fought desperately and bravely, but the fur on his chest and paws had already been bloodied, while his opponent looked unharmed. Is this what they call an equal fight? Is this how they perceive justice here?!

Fury growled slightly, feeling my lousy mood and growing anger. I saw none of the Lowlings in the crowd. It would’ve been possible to somehow influence the situation through them; after all they were well known and had some kind of authority. It was doubtful that they were in their room. I’d only lose precious time looking for them.

My gaze singled out a Dalrokt which towered above the crowd on the far side from me, like an icebreaker among icebergs — Chzher, the one who managed the Service Center in the armory. Apparently, it was he who kept the order while the rest of his fellow tribesmen were resting. It was time to decide whether I would spit on a hopeless cause and get out, go to my room, collapse on the floor and fall asleep; or intervene somehow. It was scary, damn it! Mashta had obviously exaggerated about the nature of the Okhtans, but...

I looked inquisitively at Fury. On the surface, her looks almost hadn’t improved; her ribs could still be seen through the torn fur, but the grub from the camp and jogging through the tunnels did her some good. Her stamina was at 80%. I could count on her... But it’d be best that I don’t. It was better to take this risk alone, lest she be torn to shreds too. If anything, I could give her the command to escape from the Fortress without fighting and wait outside until I return from the respawn point. She would find something to do without me; hunt, for example. So long as she doesn’t run into any of the outcasts...

While I was cowardly wasting my time, the situation instantaneously turned from nasty to catastrophic. Rawrk’s howl broke through the ringing of blades, imbued with unbearable pain. I apparently lost control of my nerves. Embodying my latent desire, Fury rushed forward like lightning, through the chain of fans, taking her fighting form while in the air. With the sound akin to the cracking of bones, the fur on her body literally exploded and reared up with long needles from neck to tail, turning into barbed armor.

Some of the Okhtans managed to jump out of her way, but others, hit by her charging body, flew off to the sides, barely remaining on their feet. Having landed in the center of the arena between the two fighters, Fury began to spin like a dervish, baring her long, curved fangs. Her fur was now as black as coal, and her face covered with triangular scales with sharp edges that curved outward. Her entire head looked as if covered by some sort of a helmet made of bone. There were no more skinny ribs, no bald patches, eaten by acid or healing scars; the combat form shed the damage, like a snake sheds its skin. A mighty dangerous beast appeared in the arena; emerald-green eyes flashing threateningly, looking for anyone who’d dare attack first. It no longer mattered that she was only level 12; she looked like a level 20.

I didn’t notice when I got near her; I couldn’t abandon my pet in trouble. The crowd was wary and quiet, not understanding what was happening. Puzzled, Rawrk lowered his swords, blood dripping from the blades. He rose from his knees with notable effort. His upper pair of hands still squeezed the swords, but the second pair he had to throw in order to hold the bleeding stump of the lower left limb with his free hand. The hand had been cut off with a part of the arm an inch above the wrist. Surprisingly, his health bar had so far remained in the green zone, his wound was not at all fatal, but his defeat was now inevitable. The sudden pause which electrified the surrounding air with tension, threatened to end. The first indignant cry would sweep away the silence and events would start to unfold at an insane pace. My gaze darted into the distance again. Since Chzher was in charge, I had to act through him. Immediately. Unfortunately, fatigue still had its grip on me and I missed out on the right moment to intervene. All I could do now was try to somehow smooth out the situation.

“Chzher, I have important information about the survival of the Fortress.” I wanted to say it loudly and clearly, but my voice crackled like a broken radio. “The Rakshasa must survive. The duel must be postponed.”

It wasn’t without reason that the Dalrokts were considered born commanders, Mashta hadn’t lied about that. It took Chzher just a couple of seconds to make a decision. He imperatively waved his hand and roared out an order.

“Throw the Rakshasa back into his cage. Follow me, human.”