The outskirts of Addens were flat and grassy. A warm breeze passed by, a gentle kiss against the skin. Far more pleasant than the sun, which beat down on him and turned his helmet into a furnace. It would be summer soon, and Alden regretted his decisions more and more with each passing day.

He rode his horse comfortably along the dirt road, two soldiers at his side and Frenna leading the way, though his thighs ached from the days of horseriding. He had gained the Horsemanship Skill, which had eased things, though it had provided little in the way of bonus Stats, a meager 1 bonus point to Endurance. Still, he was progressing, and with time he would be something great.

And yet he found it hard to see himself in the same place as Frenna and the other knights. In full gleaming armor, she must have been sweating worse than he, yet she gave no such impression. Their situations reversed, Alden would have cooked inside that armor like a roast chicken, and he thanked whatever gods existed that he only had to wear a steel helmet and leathers. He would have to wear armor someday, though, if he were to become a knight. He dreaded the thought.

This day the four of them were to check a handful of local caves and a waterfall. The Graftia issue had worsened in the past few days, with nearly a dozen confirmed overdoses and at least three dead from withdrawals. Commander Dhatri could not let the issue stand, and so every soldier had been sent out in groups to search for the damnable criminals responsible.

Alden, for his part, had volunteered for Frenna’s group that morning. Not out of some attachment to the female knight, nor some romantic hope, though it would be a lie to say he wasn't interested. No, the reason had been a simple feeling, odd as it was. That morning, as he looked upon the group of Frenna and the soldiers Mikel and Osbit, he had seen a thread of green leading from his chest to them, like the thread of gold he had seen before.

They had some sort of meaning, or at least appeared to. The gold had led him money, a fortuitous venture that had made him considerably wealthy by the standards of non-nobles. He could not, however, guess as to what green would lead him to, and so had joined the outing out of curiosity.

With the scent of manure filling his nostrils, the heat of his helmet, and the ache of his thighs, he regretted the decision with every passing moment. It seemed to be all he did of late.

“Cave ahead,” Frenna called out, kicking her horse into a gallup. Alden and the rest followed.

The cave was unremarkable. Shallow and small, it went perhaps ten feet into the edge of the grassy hill. There was no smell, save the manure that lingered over from the nearby farm, nor was there any secret passage that could be seen.

“A dud,” Osbit said. Frenna agreed, and moments later they were back on their horses and trotting along to the next cave.

A map had been given to them of the local area, the general vicinity of the caves marked upon it, though it was all sourced from the hearsay of the local farmers and village people. On his last outing, just two days prior, his group had been unable to find more than half on the map they were given.

Today was more fortunate. By dusk they had discovered a dozen of the fifteen caves, the majority of them as small and unremarkable as the first. One had been of significant size, easily large enough to fit an entire village worth of people, and had taken the four of them nearly an hour to scour its insides, to no avail.

By then night had fallen, and they set up camp a good distance from the road in a sparse woodland, a low fire nestled in the middle of their tents. Dinner was a simple meal, as all were for soldiers, a serving of hard oat & grain bread and cheese, dried meat for the others and a serving of lentils for Alden.

Osbit and Mikel sat close to the fire with Alden, Mikel poking at it idly with a stick, hot embers scattering in the air every now and again. Osbit ate his meal slowly; his jaw was slightly deformed, slid to the left of his face, and though it did little to inhibit his speech it made meals a tedious thing for him.

Mikel was much the opposite, a handsome man with blond locks, a solid chin, and a charming amount of stubble. He was a fairy tales idea of a knight in shining armor, handsome and kind, excepting that he was no knight. A common soldier through and through, Mikel did not seem the ambitious type and often said as much.

“How long will it take, Frenna? Another day or two?” Mikel asked. He did not look away from the fire.

“Two, if the weather stays clear enough. Three or four if it rains. I’m not of a mind to waltz about caves when they could be flooding.”

“Three or four, she says,” Mikel said with a groan. “I’d much sooner be back in Addens. Gila’s working tomorrow night, eh, Osbit?”

“Aye,” Osbit replied, still chewing. “If you’ve got the coin.”

“I’ve got the coin,” Mikel said.

“Really? That’s surprising. You’ve been seeing Gila so often I’d thought she’d drained your wallet by now.”

“What’s this I hear?” Frenna asked. She walked to the fire, hovering sternly above the two with a fiery gaze. “Is that all you can do? Think with what’s between your legs? Do I have to discipline you to keep your mind focused?”

“Aye, I wouldn’t mind a little discipline, Frenna? With a riding whip, maybe? That’s how Gila does it.” Frenna’s hand tightened into a fist, about to punch him, but she stayed her hand and instead glared at Mikel.

“You’d best learn respect, Mikel,” she said. “Else you’ll be carrying my luggage as well, and on foot.”

She walked away from the fire and entered her tent, the entrance flapping in the wind a moment before she tethered it in place.

With the sun setting, the three of them drew blades of grass to decide lookout. Poor luck was on Alden’s side, having drawn the shortest, and sat away from the fire to acclimate his eyes to the darkness. Cold, he suddenly found himself wishing for the hot afternoon sun.

The area surrounding the waterfall was loud, deafening, the falling water kicking up a damp mist that hung in the air. They settled their horses close to the river, just out of sight. Walking along the water’s edge, they approached the basin where the water fell. Thunderously loud, it was all he could muster to hear himself think as they came to the bottom of the cliff.

Frenna motioned for them to halt, then put up two fingers and waved them forward. A command, the Empire used a standardized hand signal system for small groups, with each finger representing a specific individual in the group. Mikel, in this case. He was to take point. Compensation for last night’s slight, no doubt.

Mikel moved past her slowly, sword in hand. From the cliff’s edge they could see behind the waterfall, a dim area of slippery rocks where shadows fell in such a way it was difficult to tell if there was a cave hidden behind it or not.

With cautious steps, Mikel walked along the cliff’s edge, turned, and disappeared into the darkness. He appeared a moment later and motioned them forward.

Behind the waterfall was an open cavern darker than night. The spray of the water had soaked through his leathers and what felt like a puddle had begun to form in his boots, and the rumble of the waterfall reverberated so loudly that he could hear nothing else. As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, Alden saw what looked like a rectangular cutout in the stone wall; the entrance, he realized.

Inset into the cutout rock was a makeshift door, hingeless, and as Mikel opened it a sour smell began to emanate from within. Graftia, he presumed. He looked to Frenna, awaiting orders. She motioned them forward.

A ball of doubt and fear grew in his stomach as they made their way deeper inside. They were four against unknown numbers; it didn’t make sense for them to continue onwards.

Deeper in, the rumbling faded and the sound of their steps became more prominent, requiring them to slow their pace. In the distance there was light, simple torches that hung from the wall, a single man sat in a chair beside yet another door.

They stopped, and Mikel knocked an arrow in his bow, aimed, and fired. The guard let out a low groan then slumped over, dead.

Mikel approached the door. Sturdy, it was affixed to the wall with iron hinges and at its top was a square opening. Mikel peered through it, counting, then held up a hand signal. A dozen men or more. Hopeless, Alden thought, yet Frenna motioned them onward regardless.

She stood before the door, armor gray in the darkness. With a motion Alden could barely see, she kicked down the door, shattering it into splinters and tearing its hinges from the stone. In an instant she became a blur, rushing forward, the rest rushing uselessly to follow her.

Three men lay dead before Alden had set a foot in the room, and he could only watch dumbfounded as Frenna’s blade flashed through the air. Blood splattered the floor and walls as men screamed and limbs soared. Most were lucky, killed in an instant by decapitation or else sliced in half from the shoulder down, though a few lost an arm or leg before Frenna delivered the finishing blow.

Some part of him was thankful that she did not savor it. The killing. But she was efficient, and that was frightening all on its own.

A group of the drug traffickers had backed into a corner, terrified faces appearing and disappearing as they shuffled around in the dim light. Frenna stood before them, her armor clean and pristine, not a drop of blood having besmirched her majestic visage.

“I will make a deal with you all,” she said, her voice like power itself. None dared go against her now. “You will have the opportunity to be granted clemency, and instead of death you will be made a criminal slave. The terms are simple: with me are three soldiers of the empire. You will face them in one-on-one battle, and should you defeat them you shall have your life. Fail or refuse and you will die, either today by the sword or another day by the rope. Any volunteers?”

Only one man approached, large and bald, a scar running across the top of his head. Berns, Alden thought at first, but as the man came into the light he saw that it was a different man. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Him,” the bald man said, pointing. Frenna followed his finger, eyes finally settling on Alden. Like some sick joke, she smiled at him the way one would to a lucky raffle winner.

“You don’t have–,” Alden began. Frenna merely raised a hand and he quieted. A shiver ran through him. Going against her meant death.

He was more afraid of her than any of the traffickers, now.

“I shall allow it,” Frenna said. She motioned Alden and the bald man forward, waited as they readied themselves. Every part of him wanted to refuse, wanted to plead with Frenna. He had never killed a man before. Could he, now? Or would he falter, die?

Instead, staring at him with scornful doubt, Alden raised his blade.

Frenna watched them intently, a predator watching prey. Alden shivered again, then steeled himself. Twisted as she was, she was not his enemy.

“Fight!” she yelled.

The man moved first with a thrust, the tip of his blade passing by Alden’s head. He felt something warm down from his ear, followed by a dulled pain. Blood.

Countering and dodging, Alden was pressed backward with every attack. The bald man was the better swordsman: faster, stronger, more precise. It was all Alden could do to stay alive as thrusts and slashes rained down upon him.

Cut after cut, Alden’s Health began to whittle away. A death by a thousand cuts. Bloodied, pain ebbed across his body and his muscles screamed for rest. A cut or two must have struck his helmet. His head throbbed, his vision growing blurrier with every passing moment.

He shook his head as if to clear away the fog, but it did nothing. He gripped the hilt of his sword and raised it, ready.

Skill Up

Through intense struggle the Swordsmanship Skill has advanced to Rank D

Reward: 50xp, 1 bonus point to all physical Stats.

Swiftly, Alden began an attack of his own, thrusting forward and watching as the man dodged and parried. The bonus to his stats were minimal, barely a difference, but it would have to do.

As he lay on a whirl of offensive strikes he began to see them. Weaknesses. The bald man favored his right side too much, always slow to defend the left. Alden pressed him, thrusting and slashing at the man’s left side, then switching to the right, catching him off guard. The man still had the speed and strength, and the stamina, too, it seemed.

Alden’s movements slowed sooner. In moments his slashes became parries, his thrusts dodges. On the defensive again he backed off.

The man did not attack. The fight had drained him of strength. His clothes were marked with the dark smears of sweat and blood, and a gash above his right eye poured blood over his face.

???

Age: 32

Health: 258/470

Mana: 90/90

Level: 22

Stats

Strength: 48

Intelligence: 15

Wisdom: 17

Dexterity: 35

Agility: 42

Endurance: 57

Luck: 12

Charisma: 31

It was not even half over with. Not without some definitive strike.

Magic. The answer was clear in his mind, and yet he had ignored it until now. It had been a fight for warriors, man to man and sword to sword. But he would die if he did not use it. His own Health hovered at 75, a smidge above death.

Gathering his strength, Alden placed a hand over his chest and cast Healing Magic. Without Diagnosis Magic the healing was slow, but it gave him strength.

His wounds closed and his muscles no longer screamed for relief, his body feeling more and more refreshed. Even his vision cleared.

Steel flew over his head as he ducked and rolled. He sprang to his feet, sword raised. Terrified, the bald man took a step back. Magic was not a common thing, and healing magic was rarer still. To see an opponent heal himself would demoralize near any warrior, a fact Alden made the best of. Stepping forward, he began the offensive once more.

This time Alden’s stamina held as he whittled away at his opponent, hard steel slicing against soft leather and softer flesh. It was no longer the fight it had been, now reduced to a slaughter.

Spotting a moment of weakness Alden rushed in with a quick thrust. His blade pierced through the man’s sternum all the way through.

The man fell to his knees, a bloody hand gripping tightly around the blade in his chest. The other held the hilt of his own sword.

“It’s done, then,” the man said, voice raspy.

“It’s done,” Alden replied.

With a soft exhale the bald man stilled.

Victory

Through Skill and effort you have slain your foe!

Reward: 275xp, 1 bonus point to Strength.

Level Up

Reward: 5 Stat Points.