For the fourth time in an hour, Perrin stopped in his tracks and checked his map. He frowned at the squiggles and lines that were supposed to represent various landmarks, cursing the piss-poor Cartographer of the champion’s – wait, sorry, they called them adventurers here – guild for their poor drawing skills. Was he getting close to his destination, the spot marked melodramatically on the map by a skull? Or had he somehow gotten turned around? Damn it all, he couldn’t tell either way!

The fact that he’d been the one to draw the short straw and get sent to this backwater maze of swamps and marshes – which were apparently different things? – to deal with some two bit practitioner of The Art was infuriating. Sending a B-rank champion like himself to deal with a lowly level 65 Villainess was an insult, and the rest of the guild knew it.

However, the Queen who’d requested the job was a “real good friend” of the Guildmaster – the kind who could rattle off specific details about the man’s bedroom with ease – and so he’d been ordered to put an end to the evil that was “terrorizing the good citizens of Ziviel” or risk losing access to the guild’s libraries.

Evil? Terror? He saw no signs of any such thing. There were no smoking ruins, nor half-eaten corpses littering the roads and fields. Nor were there any lines of refugees struggling to find shelter, or any of the other things Perrin knew as the signs of people being terrorized by evil.

Instead, this land seemed quite peaceful. The hicks and bumpkins that he’d passed along the road all seemed to be in good spirits, rambling on about their pigs, their wives, or any other collection of mundane tripe that was beneath his concern.

Ugh. What a waste of time this all was.

He longed to be back in his tower, amongst his servants and his experiments. His research was at a delicate juncture and he need to make sure that nothing unexpected squandered his years of careful planning. His daemons, summoned through flame and subjugated to his will through a contest of inner strength, were finally – finally! – giving up the secrets of the Green Doors. Even though the tidbits they’d told him so far were the things he’d already scoured from the ancient texts and scrolls in his collection, he was optimistic that more interesting truths were coming soon.

Once he finished this…cleaning assignment, tangible progress toward his ultimate goal would be in his grasp! Soon, he’d hold the world in his hands and everyone on it would tremble at his powers! Muah ha ha!

Something moved in the corner of Perrin’s vision, and he stopped himself before pointing his staff at it.

“Hold.”

Whatever it was froze in place, and the Warlock waded through a patch of weeds to see what it was.

It was a scout of some kind, a gnoll with mangy black fur and missing teeth. It was dressed in a simple vest and ratty trousers, but what drew Perrin’s attention was the tattoo on its shoulder. The image was of a purple diamond with a pair of eyes in the middle, which Perrin recognized as the same insignia as the one he was looking for. This beast belonged to his quarry! What a fortunate stroke of luck!

“Take me to the lair of your Mistress,” Perrin said in the beast’s own language as he released his skill and allowed it to move once more.

The minion didn’t respond, but leapt away in a futile attempt to escape. Perrin sighed and waved his staff in a series of circles. The hard way it was, then.

“Return.”

Wind whipped through the air and the gnoll came flying back.

“I do not have time to waste with you,” Perrin said as he touched his staff to the gnoll’s forehead. “Had you simply done as I asked, I would have left you alone when I went to deal with your Mistress. Now though, I’m afraid you won’t be so lucky. Open Mind!”

The gnoll’s mind was a weak thing, clear as a window and just as easy to break. In less than three heartbeats, Perrin knew everything he needed to about where to find the lair, and he dispatched the gnoll with a Magic Bolt so that it wouldn’t suffer needlessly as the result of having its mind shattered. Perrin was not a cruel man. Not at all.

According to the string of memories he’d collected, the Villainess’ lair was close by. Excellent.

Whistling, Perrin made his way through the thrushes until he saw the garish skulls with glowing eyes that marked the entrance to the lair. He rolled his eyes. It was going to be one of those types, was it?

Two guards tried to raise the alarm when they saw him approach, but Perrin slew them both with single cast of Static Burst.

He stopped to examine their corpses. Like an itch that needed scratching, he wanted to know more about what he was about to face. After all, what more noble pursuit could there be than the acquisition of knowledge?

“Appraise.”

A popup appeared before his eyes.

Class: Lookout

Race: Gnoll (Deceased)

XLevel: 3

Strength: 5

Speed: 3

Int: 6

Dex: 6

Spirit: 2

Perrin shook his head. What a waste of time. These critters were some of the weakest he’d ever seen. With a sigh that shook the ground beneath his feet, the Warlock ignited his staff with a Magic Barrage so that he wouldn’t have to cast each time he wanted to shoot something and entered the lair.

After an hour of monotonous destruction – the minions in this wretched place weren’t powerful, but they were persistent – Perrin navigated his way through the floors that made up the lair and found himself in a room that looked like it’d been designed by somebody with a child’s sense for villainous decorations. The Warlock wrinkled his nose at the sight of the purple candles burning inside skulls and chandeliers made out of spikes. Why did amateurs always go for such gaudy trappings? Just once, he would have liked to battle a nice, humble aspiring Villain or Villainess who understood that less was more when it came to hideouts. Something with a comfy aesthetic, perhaps. Was that too much to ask?

He shook his head as he walked past a pair of bubbling cauldrons releasing noxious fumes into the air. Apparently it was.

What did this fool of a woman hope to accomplish by filling her chamber with such a vile stench? Frankly, it was a miracle that she hadn’t killed herself yet with such folly.

His staff still glowing, Perrin walked toward the silver throne and the elvish woman – the ears were a dead giveaway – sitting there. Their eyes locked and Perrin smiled. By the standards of this area, the so-called Mistress of this place must have been considered a great beauty. Her features were sharp and her eyes shined with seductive magic.

However, to Perrin, she was nothing more than a bland country girl who’d bitten off more than she could chew and attracted the attention of her betters.

“How dare you attack my dwelling,” the woman seethed, drumming her nails against the armrest of her throne. Her voice was sharp and more than a little grating. “You’ve ruined decades of my hard work! I will see you roasted over a fire for that particular –”

Perrin groaned and held up his hand.

“Please, spare me the speech,” he said. “I’ve already been away from my experiments too long as it is. Here’s how this is going to go. If you surrender, you’ll be taken into custody. If you don’t, you’ll be destroyed. The choice is yours, but be quick about it.”

The woman hissed and clapped her hands together. A crackling ball of purple light appeared between her palms. What a shame, she was going to try and fight. Oh, to be young and naive. Perrin didn’t miss it one bit, but he felt a twinge of sadness all the same at the potential he was about to waste.

The Villainess got to her feet with a snarl and pointed her hand at him.

“Hex Sphere!”

As the crackling ball of energy zoomed toward his head, Perrin raised his staff.

“Hold,” he said and the attack stopped in midair. Reverse sent it back to its point of origin, and though the woman tried to stop it, Perrin added his own strength to the spell and her defenses were overwhelmed. She slumped to the ground, but got up right away and filled the air with more purple beams of light.

The outcome of the duel was never in question. With almost seventy levels between them, the Villainess’ talents and tactics simply didn’t matter. Unfortunately for her, battles between two people who possessed similar classes were dictated by simple mathematical reality. For spellcasters, this reality took the form of mana reserves and regeneration rate.

Even if the elf’s castings were on par with Perrin’s in terms of strength – which they were not – she would exhaust herself after a hundred and fifty attacks or so. The Warlock could throw ten times that number with just his reserves alone, and far more once his formidable mana regeneration was taken into account.

Still, he ducked and dodged the attacks, on the off chance that she’d do something to surprise him. It wasn’t uncommon for those desperately outmatched to serve as a spark of inspiration in their final moments, and Perrin was a man who relished every chance for learning that he could get.

Alas, by the time the woman stopped casting and tried to steady her breath, the Warlock was sure that there was nothing new or unique in her methods. With his reason for sparing her gone, Perrin slew the Villainess with a perfectly aimed Magic Missile. He was merciful indeed.

A cube of blue and green light appeared above her body and hovered in the air. Perrin frowned. A pocket system? Now that was interesting. Suddenly, the Queen’s demand for the woman to be dealt with made more sense. Pocket systems were an abomination, a way of bending others to the will of the owner instead of the world itself.

Such an object wouldn’t be understood by the rest of the guild, so Perrin decided to take it for himself. He wouldn’t use it, though. Oh no, most certainly not. That would be evil, and Perrin was not an evil man. Okay, maybe he dabbled with daemonic and other nefarious forces from time to time, but that was just how his class worked.

He reached out with his right hand and touched the cube, feeling a surge of magic brush against his fingertips as he did so. A security spell of some sort? He probed it with his powers, and frowned as something snapped. Black mist poured out of the sides and raced down to the ground before vanishing and Perrin thought he heard the sound of laughter. Seconds later, the walls transformed and were quickly covered in wide mouths.

Naturally, the walls started shrieking. Occasionally, they stopped their bestial howling to scream, “The Mistress has been slain! All minions, seek vengeance! The murderer is currently in the Mistress’ chambers!”

With a sigh, Perrin tucked the pocket system away inside his robe. He’d have to examine it later.

Heading back up to the entrance of the lair, the Warlock waited for all of the lair’s minions to come find him.

His daemons would simply have to wait a little longer.