Kid Killer was all blades all day. Weapon of choice was daggers, naturally. He wasn’t any good at throwing them like Gunnar, but his Stealth was quite a bit more advanced, and his Agility was better too. Wisdom and Intelligence were passable, but his Constitution was pretty weak, which made sense for his size and age.

Rorak was basically middle of the road across the board. His preferred weapon was a gladius. He wasn’t especially skilled at anything, though he had few weaknesses either. And he had an intense eagerness to prove himself, which Gunnar could see proving both useful and a hindrance depending on how things shook out.

Sauvage could handle daggers alright, but his preference was claws or teeth. His Stealth was remarkable for his level, but it would not take much to put him out of commission. He was also the only other member of the Beta Squad with any penchant for magic whatsoever—specifically the Corporeal school of magic. He wielded a decent Harm spell, which actually made sense for him, since his melee attacks were weak, and his teeth and claws required getting so close. His sense of smell was off the charts, particularly when it came to food. Gunnar wasn’t sure how handy that skill would be, but it was good to know, he supposed.

By the time Gunnar finished gathering information about his crew, it was time for dinner—a very thick and unappetizing gruel. The four of them ate together, though Gunnar let the other three do most of the talking. This consisted mostly of rehashing their trials and trying to make them sound as epic as possible, though all were fairly run-of-the-mill thefts from run-of-the-mill nobles.

Gunnar felt some satisfaction knowing that his own trial clearly set him apart. Granted, had he bailed the moment he’d swapped Admiral Benton’s letter, he wouldn’t have had a terribly exciting story to tell either. The most difficulty had come from the addition of his side quest, and the chaos that ensued from remaining at the party after the assassination was completed.

Before he’d finished half his bowl of mush, Niall informed him that his watch duty was about to begin, and Gunnar excused his crew for the night. He wanted some squad sparring practice first thing in the morning, but considering he was pulling another all-nighter, he thought it best to schedule it for the afternoon.

Dusk came early this time of year, and the horizon loomed with thunderclouds that brought it on all the sooner. The clouds were so thick that the colors of sunset were muted and sparse as he ascended the rigging up to the crow’s nest.

The sailor he replaced looked at Gunnar and then the clouds they were sailing straight toward. “Yeh serve Agis?” the man asked with a smirk.

“Who?”

“Agis, goddess o’ storms, is that who yeh serve?” the man repeated with unabashed delight.

“No, Nymoria.”

“Hmmm, goddess o’ wild things. Not much o’ them out here. But better believe there be plenty o’ storms. Heh heh! You got a rain repellent cloak?”

“No,” Gunnar said.

The man grinned and lifted himself over the side of the nest. “Me neither. Glad yeh’ll be up here soaking and not me. Heh heh!”

“Anything I should keep an eye out for?”

“Anything awry!”

“Like what? Other ships? Monsters?”

The sailor grinned and pointed out to the west, where the horizon held a slight greenish glow. Gunnar had thought it was just a strange effect of dusk in this world.

“That there’s the Spawn’s Va-Jay-Jay! That’s where the danger lies, and we’ll be avoiding that, sure as shit. Yeh’ll see plenty of ships. This is a trading route, after all. None o’ them will come close. If for some reason one does, yeh tell Niall. He’ll be at the helm tonight.”

“Not the captain?”

The sailor shrugged, still holding on to the edge of the crow’s nest from the outside. “Part of the arrangement of our passage, I guess. I get paid not to ask questions, if yeh know what I mean. Yeh see anything, yeh report to yer fearless leader. The two of yeh can have fun getting soaked together. Heh heh!”

Once the man was gone, Gunnar stood and watched the horizon in silence for awhile. He could make out a few faint contours of ships to the east, and a couple more ahead of them, bearing toward the storm. The commotion of playful sparring on the deck below was a distant drone, nearly drowned out by the steady wind and the rustle of sails and the crashing of waves against the bow.

As the sun began to truly set below the horizon, the greenish glow to the west brightened into a haunting warning signal, amplified by the clouds.

Gunnar wondered absently what sort of monsters were birthed from the Spawn’s Va-Jay-Jay, or whether this was all just silly lore.

It didn’t take long before the rhythm of the ship’s movements and the sounds of the sea began to welcome the tiredness of the day he’d been pushing back, and his Stamina penalty worsened.

[Debuffs Added: The Sleep When I’m Dead Effect — Stamina capped at 40%. Skills requiring Wisdom and Intellect temporarily reduced by 30%. Skills requiring Dexterity and Agility reduced by 30%. Lack of sleep might not kill you, but it could certainly get you killed. Don’t fall off your perch there, matey!]

Gunnar supposed that just sitting there staring out wasn’t helping him much, so he decided to work on his spellcasting. He was pleased that his Dragon’s Breath spell had already leveled. He cast a small ball of flame and let it hover above his palm. The flames lapped at the air and flickered in the wind.

He was certainly realizing the truth of what Sheira had said about spells getting easier with practice. The flame had come with hardly any concentration and began strong, though between the wind and his dulled focus, it winked out after a few seconds.

Most of his flames after that lasted an even shorter duration.

Ignition was apparently the easy part.

Control was the challenge.

When he really focused, he could make the flame last for about ten seconds, but his mind was pretty foggy. He supposed Sheira was right—he couldn’t expect prime conditions during combat, and there was always a chance of being ultra-tired when he really needed to cast a spell—so he kept at it. The flames flashed around in the wind, stretching out long and wispy and then shifting directions so quickly they nearly vanished.

It took Gunnar a moment too long to realize just how far the flames were shifting. A sharp pang shot up his arm. His sleeve had ignited. He patted at the flames, but this only lit up his other sleeve. It took two long seconds to think to douse the fire with his spell.

Instantly, both his wrists were red and bubbling with blisters.

He cast Word of Healing, only managing one wrist at a time. Mana coalesced around the wound and soothed him better than any aloe, as the skin slowly cooled. Blisters popped, triggering a momentary surge of pain, but the skin gently closed over and transformed to its normal light brown hue.

Gunnar leaned back against the edge of the crow’s nest and sighed as the last twinges of pain faded from his body. He felt more alert at any rate, and healing was certainly something he wanted to get more skilled at.

Next, he pulled out his Shooting Star and gave it a good hard throw. The silver weapon arced over the ship, veered, and then came flying back at him.

Waiting until the last moment, he reached out and caught it.

Or rather, his hand caught it.

Right through the palm.

“Shit!” His senses had dulled more than he’d thought.

One end of the star jutted through the back of his hand, sending agonizing pangs up his arm. He gripped the star firmly and began to—

“Well, you take self-flagellation to an entirely too literal level!”

Gunnar jumped at Azmar’s voice, jerking the star, sending a fresh wave of pain up his aching limb.

“Goddamnit, Azmar!” Blood was now streaming from his hand and down his arm.

“Hey, you’re the one maiming yourself over here. It’s a good thing I came for an intervention when I did.”

“I’m practicing my—”

“Gods, man! You’ve screwed some things up, but it’s not that bad. Besides, you’ll just come right back. It’s called a reee-spawn.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“The first stage of everything is always Denial. Remember that. Or deny it. But it doesn’t change the truth.”

Gunnar chose not to bother with another attempt to defend himself. It just wasn’t worth it. He focused on the star and carefully removed it with a soft squelching sound as the blade slipped from his skin. Another Word of Healing, and it was over.

“Gotta love a good game with literal pain, ey?” Azmar said. “Although, I bet this isn’t really very realistic at all. I bet if you asked an NPC, a real blade hurts way worse than what they let you experience.”

“I hate you and this game,” Gunnar muttered. “Now, what do you want?”