“I could fucking feed myself,” Belka spat as she slapped away Stodge's hand that was holding a spoon of gruel to her mouth.

The young man looked at the untouched bowl of gruel that he placed on Belka's bedside table early in the morning and frowned. “Obviously not, seeing as the bowl is still full.”

“I don't have an appetite yet, alright? So can you fuck off already?”

“A loss of appetite? That does not bode well for your recovery,” Stodge said as he shook his head. “I'll have to tell the Chief that you need longer bedrest than I thought.”

Belka was tempted to sock the young man in the jaw right there and then, but she stayed her hand. Bran would be very unhappy with her if she did that. Instead, she snatched the spoon and bowl from Stodge and started shoving spoonful after spoonful of gruel in her mouth as she glared at the healer.

“That's more I like it,” Stodge said with a nod, unperturbed by Belka's death glare. “I'll be coming back later with your lunch. Make sure to finish your gruel by then. Your body needs it.”

Stodge stood up and left, leaving the fuming Belka alone in the clinic's ward. “That bastard. Who does he think he is to order me around like this? Does he fucking know who I am?!”

She was the overseer of Absolution, second only in power to Bran. She was practically untouchable in the city; not even the greedy Governor could order her around as Stodge did. The remnants of Halros' gangs were all at her beck and call. To incur her wrath was to invite ruin.

That was how things were supposed to be, but they weren't. One moment Belka was drinking with her cronies at a high-end bar while regaling them with her exploits, and the next, she was waking up in a remote village with a significantly older and battered body that she doubted was even hers. If someone told Belka that she was high on drugs and hallucinating everything, she would've actually believed them.

But what they told her instead was that she was twenty years older than she thought she was. They told her she was the Head Hunter, the strongest protector of the village they had all built over the past two decades. They told her of the life she spent in Wildpost, of the incident that caused her to lose her memories, and their hopes that she could return to her ‘normal self’.

Belka wanted to strangle them all. Who were they to tell her who she was? She had not gone through so many hardships and suffering just to be told who she was supposed to be. She was Belka, the iron fist that enforced the rules that Bran set to keep Halros' gangs in line. She was no ‘Head Hunter’ whose mere job was to kill monsters to feed a bunch of villagers.

The only reason she hasn't gone on a rampage yet was Bran and her old friends. If not for their assurances that everything she'd been told was true, Belka would have long declared the entire situation as a ploy to shackle her and responded violently.

Now, Belka was at a loss. The only thing she ever knew and did best was violence. That was why she was made overseer of Absolution; the position required an iron fist. But her current situation required a different solution. Violence wouldn't bring her memories back. She would not be able to punch her way out this time.

“This shit is fucking surreal,” Belka muttered as she finally finished eating her gruel. She dropped the wooden bowl on the floor without care and laid back down on the bed. A moment later, a single tear drop rolled down the side of her face.

Bran, Dalton, Bersk, Luth, Gerda, and the other lieutenants. Belka knew them like family. It felt just like yesterday when she would dump all her paperwork duties on Dalton while she whiled away the time drinking at a bar or cracking a few skulls.

But when she met them for the first time since waking up from her coma, it felt like looking at a group of strangers pretending to be her former family. The people she knew had changed, both in appearance and demeanor. Everyone in the village told her she was part of their community, but she couldn't even recognize most of them. Belka felt like an outcast.

“Fucking Night Wardens,” Belka muttered darkly as she wiped away her tears. Bran told her that the person who caused her amnesia was a Night Warden Captain she fought. “Night Wardens took my family once. And now they took them again a second time. I swear I'll fucking kill every last one of them.”

Bran said that the Night Warden Captain, Kairon, was the same one who killed her family when she was a child. The knowledge that she lost to him made her want to puke blood. She'd been training and strengthening herself ever since the massacre of her family so she could seek revenge one day, but all of that had been for naught. She lost, and because of that, the young Emily died.

Belka clenched her fists until her nails broke through her skin. For what reason am I still strengthening myself if I can't even defeat the enemy I swore to kill? Fuck, I can't even kill the bastard anymore. Maskface already killed him.

Belka stared at the wooden ceiling in deep thought, trying to see where she failed. Before she went to Wildpost, she was stuck as a peak Second-augmenter. According to Bran, she was still a peak Second-augmenter when she fought Kairon, although she suddenly broke through to the Third level by the end of the fight. She wondered what factor in the fight managed to break her through the bottleneck that twenty years couldn't do.

Belka's musing was interrupted by the noise of the door opening. She must have lost track of time if Stodge was already back to bring her lunch. She hurriedly wiped her tears and assumed a neutral expression.

“How are you doing?” an aged voice asked.

“Bran?” Belka said with surprise. She did not expect him to visit her today. “Don't you have a lot of work to do?”

“Being a village Chief certainly is a busy role, but not as busy as being the leader of Absolution,” Bran chuckled. “This time, I have time to visit my daughter.”

Belka snorted and sat up. “Daughter? More like ‘favorite minion.’”

“Who says you're not both?” Bran asked, eliciting laughter from the two.

“So what the heck brings you here, old man?”

“Just to see how you're holding up,” Bran said. “How's your body? Recovering normally, I hope?”

“Too slowly. Maskface said I'll be dandy in a month or two. That's a fucking long time.”

“You do realize that a few months of recuperation is more than worth it for narrowly escaping death, yes?” Bran chided. “And his name is Mr. Marion. Did you even thank him for saving your life?”

“I don't remember it, so I don't have to,” Belka grumbled.

“You don't remember Emily, but you still attended her burial,” Bran pointed out.

“That's different.”

“How's it different?”

“It just is,” Belka said in annoyance. “And who the heck is that guy, anyway? What's with the mask? Is he disfigured or something?”

“He has his reasons,” Bran replied vaguely. “But you can trust him.”

“Don't know if I can trust a man who hides his face like that all the time. He's hiding something dangerous. That or he's super ugly.”

“I'll go with the former,” Bran coughed. “By the way, I never managed to congratulate you for finally breaking through to the Third Level. It's an impressive feat worthy of a celebration.”

“Bah, it's just a Level,” Belka said, although the corner of her lips quirked up. “Is that all you came here for, old man? To flatter me? I still need my beauty sleep.”

“There's one more thing, actually,” Bran said, turning serious. “I know everything is still pretty new to you and you're still coping. But I wanted to ask if you're interested in becoming the Head Hunter.”

“If you want me to, you could just tell me to do it.”

“I'm not telling you to do it. I'm asking if you want it,” Bran said. “We're no longer in Absolution, Belka. We're a community now. I'm not your commander and you're not my subordinate. We don't force people to do things they don't like in this village. I don't have the right to give you mandatory orders just as you no longer have the power to boss anyone around here. That is why I'm asking for your honest response. So, do you want to be Head Hunter or not?”

Belka paused for a moment before giving her reply. “No. I don't think I want the position.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Bran said with a smile, although Belka could see the disappointment in his eyes. “Well, I'm sure Dalton would be fit for the job. You just focus on your recuperation, Belka. Get well soon.”

Bran left, leaving Belka alone with her thoughts. The Chief's words echoed in her ears. We're no longer in Absolution, Belka.

“Thanks for drilling the harsh truth in my fucking mind, old man,” Belka whispered before another tear rolled down her cheek.

●●●

Two hooded travelers slowly walked down the forest road, clad in thick wolf furs to stave away the cold of early spring. The first one led the way, his stance vigilant as he scanned the surroundings for threats. The second one plodded behind the first traveler wearily, fatigue evident in her posture.

The forest eventually thinned out and made way for vast fields turned barren by winter. The man halted and pointed at the large city walls in the distance. The city of Halros. “We're finally here,” Ellis said.

“That's our destination?” Lina asked with equal parts fatigue and excitement. “Then let's get moving.”

Lina started walking faster, but Ellis put a gentle hand on her shoulder, eliciting a glare from the woman. “No, we're spending the night out here,” Ellis said with a shake of his head.

Lina wanted to shout at the man's laidback attitude, but she kept her mouth shut. She had promised at the start of the journey began that she would obey his orders, and she wouldn't break that promise now. Instead, she quietly obeyed and started preparing their camp for the night.

“I know you're in a hurry, but it's important to keep a clear mind, Lina,” Ellis said as he set up their tents. “Don't let your objectives crowd your entire vision that you fail to keep the present situation into account. The night is fast approaching and the nocturnal monsters are about to wake up. Continuing our travel would be a pointless risk. Besides, the city gates are already closed by this time of the day.”

“I understand already,” Lina grumbled as she started a small campfire and began roasting jackalope meat for dinner.

“Right, right.” After setting up their tents, Ellis sat by the fire opposite Lina and waited for the food to cook while keeping his eye out for threats. After a moment of silence, Ellis spoke. “So, what was Brogen like?”

Lina didn't answer and simply focused on the cooking meat. This wasn't the first time she ignored the man's obvious attempts at gathering information from her. She always remained silent because the Paladin's way of questioning annoyed her. Despite the seemingly-genuine way he phrased his question, Lina truly knew that Ellis wasn't interested to know who Brogen really was. He just wanted information that would make accomplishing his mission easier. Granted, they had the same goal of finding Brogen, but the Paladin's crass way of questioning irked her.

But taking one more look at their destination in the distance made Lina reconsider. They were close to finding Brogen, she could feel it. Denying Ellis his answers would lower their chances of finding Brogen, and if that happened because of her petty pride, Lina would never forgive herself.

“Brogen was smart for his age,” Lina said. Her voice was like a sharp blade that suddenly cut through the heavy silence, surprising even Ellis who didn't expect her to answer.

“Can you elaborate on that?” Ellis asked when Lina didn't continue.

There was a short pause before Lina spoke again. “At three years old, you could hold a proper conversation with him as if he was an adult.”

“Hm, that's interesting,” Ellis nodded. “Given his intelligence, how do you think he'd fare if he was suddenly thrust alone in a world where he is being actively hunted?”

Lina was annoyed by the question but answered nonetheless. “Brogen can read and write. He is smart and mature enough to keep his Authority hidden from us for a decade and he had training both as a Life mage and as a small-time merchant. I'm confident that he'd do well even without Hele— even without his mother to guide him.”

Ellis snapped his fingers. “That's an important detail right there. You just saved us a lot of time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said he had experience as a merchant?” Ellis asked. “Then he'll probably rely on that to keep himself alive. Given the nature of his Authority, I'm sure that clothes and fabrics would be the main product of his business.”

“Well, he and his mother did open that clothing store when he was still in Erfeld,” Lina muttered.

“Then all we have to do is find all the new clothing merchants around. Our target is bound to be one of them.”

“You mean Brogen,” Lina said through gritted teeth.

“Right, right, sorry,” Ellis said with a placating gesture. “With this information, we'll be sure to find Brogen this time. Good thing we passed through Vont, eh?”

In their journey to find Brogen, Lina and Ellis had passed through Vont and visited the Holy Mother Church in the city. The Bishop stationed there had been waiting for them with a message from the Holy See:

Ascendant sighted in Halros. Accords have been invoked. Move fast.

The message was both relieving and terrifying. On one hand, they now had a proper lead to follow. On the other, they were on a strict time limit, because anything that the Accords targeted was bound to be destroyed eventually. Just like what the message said, they had to move fast.

The jackalope meat finished cooking a few minutes later and the two ate in silence. The meat was bland and unseasoned, but nobody complained as they scarfed it down.

“Do you think Brogen would hate me when we find him?” Lina asked quietly.

“Why would he?” Ellis asked while wiping his mouth.

“I failed him,” Lina whispered. “I failed him and his mo— and Helen. We failed to protect them like the Holy See said we should.”

“I don't see how a small chapel like yours could have done anything against an organized crime group like the Hoods,” Ellis said. “You didn't have the strength to protect them even if you wanted to.”

Lina glared at him, but Ellis didn't look away.

“But I'm sure Brogen wouldn't begrudge you for that,” Ellis continued. “Especially when he finds out what you've been doing all this time. Out of all the people who know him, you're the only one who's putting so much will and effort for his sake.”

Lina didn't answer and silence returned, but it was not as oppressive anymore, just pensive. When Lina finally finished her food, she stood up and drew the wooden sword she'd been carrying for the past weeks of their journey.

“Let's continue our lessons,” Lina said as she walked to an open space and entered the defensive stance the Paladin had taught her during their free time.

Ellis grinned and stood up as well. “You got it.”

●●●

“Can you tell me why we're here again?” Mathias whined as the group approached the closed gates of Halros.

“For the last time, Mathias, we're here because the city is in a state of calamity and they sent a request for help through the Adventurer's Guild,” Zanna said with no small amount of exasperation in her voice. “What part of that sentence do you not get?”

“The very idea of it!” Mathias exclaimed. “Why are we even answering their plea for help when it's not supposed to be our job? The situation in Halros is a political one, Zanna, not something we adventurers should be meddling with. The city has gone mad and rebelled! This should not be our business. A hammer is about to come down on the city and we're going towards it!”

“Innocent people are suffering, Mathias! That is our business,” Zanna replied angrily. “If you're so against our decision to come here, why did you even agree to it in the first place?”

Mathias quickly shut up after that. The three of them always held a vote whenever they needed to decide what mission their party should take. When they found out about Halros' plea for adventurers back in Vont, they held a vote on whether they should go. All three voted ‘yes.’

“We're the only adventurer group that accepted the mission,” Mathias grumbled a moment later.

“We're the Strikers, a Platinum party. We're expected to accept these sorts of difficult missions,” Zanna replied while Baxter grunted in agreement.

“I'm sure that's not your primary reason for coming,” Mathias muttered, and Baxter grunted again in agreement. Zanna shot both of them a glare.

“Fine, I'm a softie for people in need, alright?” Zanna snapped.

“We already know that,” Mathia said. Baxter grunted in agreement.

Zanna rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to their surroundings. Her mood further plummeted. Surrounding them was a slum area that looked like an active warzone. Most of the shanties looked damaged from a recent conflict, and some were even destroyed altogether. Wary eyes peeked at them from within the cover of the shadows.

The Strikers eventually arrived at the city gates just as the sun finally set. Instead of organized city guards, gruff-looking men in mismatched armor greeted their arrival with suspicious glares.

“Fuck off, bastards! Gate's closed, come back tomorrow,” the largest guard said.

“We're here on Adventurer business,” Zanna declared loudly. “We're the Strikers, a Platinum-ranked party. We accepted Halros' request for a monster extermination within the city.”

“Oh, you fine lot are adventurers!” the large guard exclaimed. “You're here ta kill them undead bastards, then! Come on in! Oi, Mick! Wake up and open the fuckin' gates!”

After a short delay, the gate swung open with a loud creak and a hot gust of acrid-smelling wind from the city gushed out.

Mathias gagged. “What in the world is that atrocious smell?!”

“Sorry 'bout that, the corpses are piling up faster than we can clean 'em,” the guard said nonchalantly. “Go on, then. We're closin' the gates behind you and it won't be 'til tomorrow before you can leave again. Kill a lot of 'em undead bastards, ya hear?”

When the gates finally closed behind them, the three looked at each other with confused expressions. “What did we just get ourselves into this time?” Mathias muttered.

“Why is that guard talking about the undead?” Zanna asked. “There should be Gravekeepers in the city to take care of the undead. Maybe he's confusing undead for another type of monster.”

“No,” Baxter said with a deep rumble. He unstrapped the huge greatsword on his back and pointed it at a side street with one hand. Inside the alley was a small group of shambling figures.

“Zombies?!” Zanna exclaimed.

“And this close to the wall?” Mathias muttered as he nocked an arrow on his bow. “What the hell are the authorities doing in here?”

“I'll go,” Baxter said before dashing down the side street. His heavy armor clanked around his body and his every step sent minor tremors on the ground. When the zombies entered his striking distance, Baxter swung his greatsword with both hands and killed the undead mob in an explosion of gore and rotting guts.

“That's just nasty,” Mathias said with a scrunched face.

Baxter returned with his entire body drenched in zombie remains. Without prompt, Zanna cast Cleanse on him. Torrents of water appeared in the air and washed over every nook and cranny of Baxter's armor, removing every bit of dirt, blood, and guts.

“Thanks,” Baxter said.

“No problem. Now, we should look for the local Adventurer's Guild and find out what the—”

Zanna was interrupted as a larger group of undead shambled into the road ahead of them. This time, a powerful ghoul was leading the pack, its eyeballs replaced with turquoise orbs that floated inside its hollow sockets. The ghoul cried out in challenge and started sprinting towards them, its limbs spasming and twitching erratically as it ran.

“You've got to be shitting me,” Zanna cursed as she started channeling her magic.

●●●

Christine could feel the drop of sweat rolling down the side of her head. It had a diameter of two millimeters and was about to reach her chin in about 6.27 seconds if atmosphere conditions and the drop's velocity were kept constant and—

Christine ignored the background information her senses were feeding her and focused most of her attention on the task in front of her. Putting the entirety of her attention on a single task had become an impossible feat as her power grew. Nowadays, thousands of background information were constantly being fed into Christine's mind, interpreted, and filed away. It was a bit of a nuisance sometimes, but she had long adapted to it and instead used it as a way to remain vigilant of her surroundings while she worked on other things.

For instance, Christine was currently fiddling with a contraption on her desk which normally required complete focus for a normal person, yet she was still aware of every mote of dust floating around in the room as well as the individual trajectories they would take according to the current humidity levels and wind speed. It was useless information, but it could be possibly useful in the infinitely unlikely event that an invisible intruder sneaked into her room. She would easily detect the invisible intruder if the dust motes moved abnormally. Then again, she'd smell the invisible intruder way before they could enter her room. Her Authority enhanced her senses after all to better gather information from the environment.

“There, all done,” Christine muttered as she put down the tools she was using.

The device she was working on was a gun. A real, functioning gun that revolutionized warfare back on Earth. The one she made was a flintlock pistol: weak firepower and capable of only shooting one bullet before requiring another reload. Nonetheless, Christine performed a legendary re-invention and snorted at the result. “What the hell am I going to do with a gun with no bullets?”

Gunpowder wasn't even invented yet, as far as Christine knew. The gun she created was just a decorative piece she made during the throes of her boredom. After all, what was a princess to do when she was confined in her castle?

Ever since the war with Edria abruptly ended, Christine was ordered to stay in the castle and remain ready in case the conflict restarted. Until then, she was forced to twiddle her thumbs in the castle. She was invited to many parties and balls by the nobility, but Christine abhorred those kinds of pointless events.

And so, she turned to the royal library. She initially showed immense interest in magic when she discovered the arcane section of the library, only to be refused access by the King. Magic, it seemed, was a very sensitive and dangerous field of knowledge. Despite her best attempts to plead for access, the King had denied her at every turn.

With arcane knowledge out of her grasp, Christine turned to the field of science and machinery. She scoured every book pertaining to mechanical knowledge, which turned out to be extremely scarce. Whatever knowledge there was only discussed the most basic of principles, things that Christine learned long ago during her college days. It seemed that scientific research was not valued in this world.

Christine didn't let this stop her and she began experimenting and inventing, using her powerful mind to recall lessons and textbooks from her previous life with perfect clarity. She ‘re-invented’ several innovations, starting with basic ones like wristwatches and alarm clocks, then on to bigger ones like bicycles and typewriters, and finally, she re-invented the gun.

Frankly, the gun was far easier to create than the bicycle or the typewriter. A flintlock pistol, for its very high potential to take a life, had a pretty simple schematic. Christine didn't even need a reference to create hers. All she needed to know was the basic concept of a gun's mechanism: a handle to hold on to, a chamber for the bullet and the charge, a barrel to aim the projectile with, and an ignition element to light the charge. Combining all these and using her creativity, Christine made her own version of the flintlock pistol, effectively making her the inventor of the first gun in this world. Maybe I'll credit the blacksmiths and woodsmiths I commissioned for creating the parts themselves, Christine thought idly as she made pew pew noises while playing with the empty gun.

Christine suddenly felt a slight shift in the dust motes near the gaps of her bedroom door. Someone's coming. They're not making any sound and there's no scent at all, which means it could only be…

There was a knock on the door. “Your Highness, I've come with a message from the King.”

“I was right,” Christine said with satisfaction. “Come in, Lorana.”

“Congratulations, Your Highness,” Lorana, the Head Maid of Rose Castle, said as she entered Christine's bedroom. “His Majesty the King has finally deemed you fit to learn the workings of magic.”

Christine, who was fiddling with the gun, froze. “What did you say?”

Lorana grinned. “The King finally gave in to your incessant requests. He has allowed you to study and practice the arcane art of magic and spellcasting.”

“Finally!” Christine exclaimed as she hopped off her chair. “I'm off to the magic section of the library, Lorana. If anyone wants me, tell them I'm busy,” Christine said as she hurriedly took off her tinkerer's apron and made herself look prim and proper.

“Not so fast, Your Highness,” Lorana said with a smile as she blocked Christine from the door. “You are still forbidden from going to the magic section of the library.”

“What?! But I thought you said Father allowed me to learn magic!”

“Only under a tutor,” Lorana replied. “Magic is a very dangerous field of knowledge. Normally, only children twelve years of age and above are allowed to study it because they are already mature enough to know the consequences of their actions. The King has only allowed you to study magic because of your unique situation.”

Christine sighed. “Fine, where's this tutor of mine? I want to start right away.”

Lorana made a wide grin. “Why, she's already here, Your Highness.”

Christine's powerful mind processed the woman's words in an instant and her face fell. “Oh. It's you.”

“Let's get started, shall we?” Lorana announced with a sinister smile.

●●●

Philosophers throughout history have constantly debated what came after death. Most believed that the gods they worshipped in life would take care of their souls upon their deaths while some believed only oblivion would await after a life passed.

Whichever it was, Turner Kreel dearly wished for death to come. He woke up to extreme pain ravaging his body as he lay inside a dark tunnel, his body battered severely and beyond recovery. He was certain that death was about to come, but it was taking its sweet time. In the meanwhile, Turner was left to experience the excruciating pain of broken bones, ruptured organs, and internal bleeding.

Where the fuck am I?

Turner tried to recall the events before he lost consciousness to distract himself from the pain, and then remembered being trampled by the very army he fought for. The memory of steel sabatons ruthlessly crushing his body like a pile of twigs sent an entirely new wave of pain all over his body.

No, that was not the last thing that happened, Turner thought. After being crushed by steel boots, Turner remembered being carried by a monster ant. He lost consciousness after that, certain that the next time he woke up would be inside a monster's gullet. He never expected to wake up alone in a dark tunnel.

A skittering noise nearby quickly shattered the notion that he was alone. Turner could feel his heart fall to his stomach. He remembered that particular sound: the noise that monster ants made as they crawled on the ground.

In the periphery of his vision, Turner spotted an insectile head the size of a large pumpkin move closer toward him. It had large mandibles that looked like it could crush human bones with ease, compound eyes that reflected what little amount of light came from a small crack in the ceiling, and two long antennae that constantly tapped at the ground.

The sight of the monstrous large insect was horrifying, and Turner was… not scared at all. The terror that he expected from seeing a monster mere meters from him did not come, instead replaced by curiosity and even camaraderie. What is going on..?

The ant came closer and inspected Turner's prone body, its antenna tapping at his wounds. The taps sent jolts of pain throughout Turner's body. “A-Argh… stop that!”

Turner's voice was raspy and almost inaudible, but the ant obeyed and immediately stopped. Having his command obeyed sent an intense feeling of satisfaction to wash over Turner, as if an old unreachable itch had been scratched. It felt right.

Suddenly, Turner felt a new type of sense emerge in his mind. It felt like opening a second set of eyes he never knew he had, although instead of detecting light, his new ‘eyes’ detected monsters. Its range was small, but it was enough for Turner to conclude that other tunnels were abutting the one he was in because of the dozens of other monster ants he could detect. I'm inside their colony, Turner thought. And I could command every single one of them.

The realization of his newfound power sent both waves of elation and dread inside Turner. On one hand, he had a powerful ability that could help protect his family and their farm against monsters and other threats. With their farm situated far from major settlements, they always had to deal with the constant threat of bandits and monsters. With his new power, all those worries would be washed away.

On the other hand, he realized that he was an Ascendant, a person with a unique power that his parents always told him stories about. He knew little of the topic except for the most common knowledge about them: they unexpectedly awaken unusual powers and had the highest bounties on their heads. Turner had essentially turned into a living bag of gold that everyone would want to take.

As much as he wanted to return to his normal life taking care of animals at the farm, Turner knew it was impossible now. His mere existence would threaten his family when people found out about his power. I will have to turn myself over to the King.

Turner felt tears streaming down his face as he realized that his old life was as good as gone. Well, at least I could have my family turn me in themselves. The money would set them up for life.

A sharp pain in his stomach pulled Turner back from his reverie, reminding him that all his plans for the future were pointless because he would soon die from his injuries.

“Can't… you do something… to treat me?” Turner rasped at the monster ant that had been staring at him all this time. The ant wiggled its antenna and skittered away into the dark tunnels.

Minutes passed, and when Turner started to think that the monster ant's insect brain forgot him, dust started falling from the ceiling. The tunnel shook as heavy thuds reverberated from above, and Turner felt a massive monster enter his new sense.

The monster stopped, then with a slow swing of its hand, it smashed the ground and tore through the tunnel's ceiling. Dirt and debris buried half of Turner's body as sunlight washed over the tunnel, only to be blocked a moment later by the monster's large silhouette.

As Turner coughed and spat the dirt that got into his mouth, the large monster crouched down and peeked through the hole in the ceiling, revealing the forest troll's grinning face.

Dozens of monster ants quickly crawled into the section of the tunnel and surrounded Turner protectively, their postures aggressive, but they did not move against the troll.

“You could have smashed through the ceiling a bit farther from me,” Turner said as he coughed up more dirt.

The troll grinned wider and brought its arm right above where Turner was. The monster stabbed its wrist with a sharp claw and doused Turner with its potent blood.

The troll's blood seeped into Turner's wounds and began healing his body. He remembered going to a Life mage once to have a fracture healed and it left his body weakened. But the troll's blood did not have that side effect. The blood was so potent that it did not need to use his body as fuel to heal his injuries. This is amazing, Turner thought as his body recovered fully after a mere minute had passed.

“Thank you!” Turner shouted as the forest troll stood up. Then it started walking away. “Wait!”

But unlike the monster ants, the forest troll did not obey. It ignored Turner's words, despite how much command he put into his voice, and disappeared from his view.

“Why didn't it work on him?” Turner murmured. He turned to the monster ants who were all watching him silently. “All of you, sit down on the ground.”

As one, the ants obeyed and laid their bodies flat on the ground.

“The ants follow me but not the troll,” Turner muttered before shaking his head. “I don't have time for this. I need to get back home and tell Ma and Da about everything.”

With his body healed and replenished, Turner rode one of the ants and ordered them to escort him home.