Eric, sans his cavalry, just a lone red blip on an enemy’s map, quickly loped off the main road upon catching sight of an actual horse-drawn wagon filled with what looked like bags of root vegetables, the reigns being steered by the oldest goblin Eric had ever seen, while a quartet of board looking musketeers just barely kept pace with the rickety thing. The only source of light for those without infravision was a small lantern secured to a bamboo pole on the wagon.

Eric smirked when the goblin cursing the orcs for being stumbling fools when one grunted and tripped in a puddle of thick, viscous mud, to the raucous laughter of the others.

Eric gazed at them for long moments, entertaining what he knew was a mad idea. Knowing he’d be far better off just scaling the walls of the town, the area map clearly visible as he blew up his internal interface, the 5 point reduction to his alertness for always keeping it up in the corner of his eye hardly a concern with his stat in the triple digits. Because far more valuable to him than a 5 point boost to any stat, was being able to know precisely where exactly he was in relation to his ultimate destination and nearby terrain at all times.

Even better, he had a permanent top down view of any shelter, grove, crevice, and what amounted to the floor plans of any building he passed by, all that data meshing so well with blinking red lights now consistently highlighting targets of opportunity that might be located anywhere in his range. He couldn’t help but smile at how similar it was when he used to play Duty’s Call with Wallhack and Eversight both in play.

An incredible boon in a world where fog of war was a very real thing.

As far as artillery went, he spotted nothing nearby, save for a single bronze 12-pounder, presently being worked on by a pair of too-thin humans wearing little more than burlap sacks and slave collars around their necks, shivering uncontrollably as they were forced to work in the middle of a frigid night to repair a shattered cannon wheel while a pair of orc guards watching over them did nothing but drink from their flasks while shouting half-drunken curses at the desperately working slaves before one half-drunk orc accidentally stumbled over one of the slaves, eliciting a sharp cry with the crack of bone, all but assuring that particular cannon wouldn’t be aiming at much of anything for quite some time.

Eric couldn’t help shaking his head.

It was almost too easy.

After everything he had been through over the past two days, including goblin assassins, conniving administrators, an impossible to breach citadel with a gunner able to accurately fire shells two miles out, even the mass of infantry containing too many elite gunner wildcards that had almost been his match, he couldn’t help but think that such a soft, sleepy target as this town must be a trap.

But if it wasn’t… if it was really as easy as rolling under a wagon full of turnips and using his inhuman strength to hang on to the undercarriage with utter ease… then he’d better make that roll in the next 3...2...1

Mithril hauberk and Soul-bound armaments successfully placed in storage.

Stealth check made!

You detect no signs of alarm!

Surprised by how easy it was to hang on the wagon bottom, Eric kept himself absolutely still as the wagon slowed when they approached the ramshackle excuse for a gate to the town just beyond. The horses nickered restlessly, perhaps eager to be freed of their harnesses before being properly fed and toweled down.

Eric felt his heart skip a beat, even though his interface map showed no shift in the behavior of all the blinking red lights demarcating his foes. Nothing to imply he was heading into any sort of trap at all.

“Reason for entrance?” Rumbled a baritone orc voice.

“Don’t be an idiot! We’re dropping off some fucking tubers, why the hell do you think we’re back?”

A loud snort could be heard in response to that. “Watch it, ya wrinkly old goblin. Yer fancy pants boss ain’t here, but my fist is always happy ta improve yer manners.”

Even the orcs supposedly guarding the wagon laughed at what was no doubt the epitome of orcish wit.

“Yeah, well, you want the food or not?”

“Sure, ya got papers, Asswipe?”

“Papers? No one said anything about papers!” The alarmed goblin shrieked.

The creature’s panicked response earned a fresh round of laughter. “Look at him wilt! He actually thinks I’m serious! Like anyone here can read. Ha! Stupid goblin. So easy ta fuck with!”

The orcs guarding the caravan laughed all the louder. “Yer wicked, Corg. Now how about ya get the fuck outta the way so we can drop this shit off and get rip roaring drunk?”

The guard chuckled in agreement. “You do that. I’ll join you.”

“But what about guarding the gate?” asked an increasingly stressed-sounding goblin.

“Don’t worry about that, Asswipe. It’s not like anyone’s coming this way in the dead of night.”

“Yeah, Asswipe, don’t be such a stupid-head!” Jeered yet another of the formerly quiet guards.

“I’m not stupid, we’re talking about security… never mind. And my name’s not asswipe!”

“It is now,” said the gate guard, the raucous laughter this earned making it clear that this indeed would be the goblin’s new name at what Eric was now increasingly certain was a logistics and supply town. He soon found his ride parked alongside what turned out to be dozens of supply-filled wagons in an obviously repurposed warehouse, Eric slowly slipping from under the wagon when the last of the reds left the facility, Eric pausing only long enough to re-don his mithril mail then his soul-linked scale armor over it before all but rubbing his hands together, eager for the chance to sow absolute chaos through scattered, disorganized enemy ranks when almost everyone was asleep.

But before anything else, it was the perfect time to truly test the potential of the class power he had invested so much of himself in acquiring.

Eric took full advantage of this rare moment of perfect darkness, quiet, and camouflage, surrounded as he was by dozens of supply wagons inside an old rusted-out warehouse he was surprised hadn’t collapsed as a relic of the world before. He quickly assumed the lotus position and spent a few minutes just finding his equilibrium, cycling his spiritual energy enough to truly feel connected and at one with the entire supply town that would be the focus of his arts, his Mana and Qi Pools now glowing in his mind’s eye with sweetest potential.

Eric took a deep, steadying breath, the runes that he would make his own now blazing brightly in his mind’s eye as he trembled with the effort of channeling more energy through his runes than he had ever dared before.

“Debilito. Dicio. Ignis. Plures. Dies!”

Each word was an exercise in pitch, tone, and precision, each syllable seeming to flood the very air with motes of silvery light as he forced far more spiritual and arcane energy into their manifestation than he ever dared before.

Most particularly Plures, the rune for ‘many.’ Because his goal was far more than just a handful of soldiers or a single damaged cannon.

Right now he was determined to see just how far he could push this magic, just how well he could level the playing field. To assure a situation where he might not be able to make use of his battery of 8 siege cannons or the classer-modified mobile artillery pieces that were already the farthest things from standard front-loading smooth bore cannons as could be.

Just as his foes would find their muskets were now just bayoneted spears, and their cannons were good for absolutely nothing at all.

Assuming that his magic worked, Eric thought, stomach plummeting as he nearly stumbled to the concrete flooring as his spiritual energy took a significant dive… and his mana plummeted damned close to zero.

It was all he could do to keep from blacking out, the very thought of which filled him with terror, knowing he’d be an absolute fool to lose consciousness in his enemy’s layer, even if he was hiding between clearly ignored supply wagons.

Because it was only a matter of time before word of the devastation he had wrought in Pilmsburg made its way this far. Everyone would be on increasingly high alert as whatever stragglers Eric had failed to kill painted an ever clearer picture of what had gone down and everyone knew to look out for the pale-faced Roundear that dared to challenge them all.

It was only the surge of panic that fear generated that kept him focused on his task as his head pounded with pain, Eric tasting the warm trickle of blood in his throat as brilliant golden runes blazed to life in his mind’s eye, glowing with an intensity they never had before as he squeezed them into existence with every fiber of his being.

And the relief he felt when reality all around him warped and shifted to heed his mandate was so great he almost slipped into an exhausted stupor right there.

Congratulations! You have saved saved versus Severe Depletion, daring to push your art to new heights! You have successfully cast Ultimate Fire Suppression! At the cost of 10 fold standard mana costs, you may enhance your edict to city-wide status!

744 Mana & 6 Health spent.

750 Spiritual Energy spent.

No spark from tinder, powder, or match will ignite under any circumstances!

All spells and spiritual attacks based on the element of Flame with have reduced effect!

Runic Lore is now Rank 6!

Eric blinked in surprise at the last as his dizziness finally passed, appreciating anew just how great the potential of these runes were, Before shaking his head in bemused disbelief.

Whereas it would cost even a beginning mage only 5 mana points to unleash a streak of fiery plasma with a well-made wand, Eric had just paid 300 times that amount between two separate potency pools with his personally forged spell. Now, more than ever, he appreciated just how perilous was the path he dared.

For every point of Mana he was short, he’d pay an equal amount of Health in its stead. He was almost certain the cost was even higher for races that weren’t quite as magically attuned as whatever he was, and was damned glad he had a fierce cushion in terms of health pool. Regardless, it had demanded enough of him that he had actually needed a Willpower check simply to drop past zero. There was no way in hell he’d be able to use his health as a viable battery, he sensed. Not unless he was willing to risk nausea and dizziness that would be absolutely perilous in combat, while embracing the most extreme form of agony he could imagine.

Still, he thought, in this case it had definitely been worth the cost.

Because being able to stop muskets from firing was beyond powerful. Not that he had to worry about them too much anymore with his Physical Resistance, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it affected far more than just the catalyzation of incendiaries and explosives. With his Essence infused Fire rune in play, he thought it just might affect Arcane and Spiritual flames as well.

At least until first light, which really wasn’t that far away.

But at a combined cost of 1500 points? Abso-fucking-lutely absurd.

He shook his head with a sigh, taking a moment to fully appreciate his situation while cycling his reserves back up to full as quickly and efficiently as he could.

His Mana Pool was ticking up at a surprisingly fast rate, thanks to his Arcane Potential. His Qi Pool on the other hand… even actively cycling his Qi in this low spiritual energy environment was a challenge. He was just glad his baseline Qi Pool was so ludicrously high, because Sylvan blood meant his Mana recovery really couldn’t be beat. Of course, despite his mixed heritage and absurdly high affinity for necromancy, his Soul Reserves recovered slowest of all.

Good thing his Master Class abilities only made minimal use of it as a power source, which made sense, since any formalized class would want to absolutely minimize loss of both Experience and Life Force, which were both at risk with many of the abilities Eric had learned via intuition and high risk experimentation. And for all he knew, it was that daring, and the bitter price he had already paid, that had proven to be every bit as important as his battle of wills and essence with a hostile lich, that had actually opened such a powerful Master Class to him.

He promised himself right then and there he wouldn’t fall into the common trap so many people did, at least in the gamefied versions of the life they were now all living. He wouldn’t let specialized and highly effective class abilities preclude him from mastering all the other skills at his disposal, most especially not his Necromantic ones. Though he’d always keep a careful eye on his Soul Reserves and to his best to avoid expending his life force on any of them ever again.

He then shook all such reflections away as he pulled out of his cycling session, quickly taking stock of himself and his surroundings, glad his now continuously open Interface map in the corner of his eye made it clear he still had nothing to worry about. At least for now.

He was in the heart of his enemy’s layer, with his foes none the wiser. If there actually was a Contender here, they weren’t paying attention to the singular red blip in their city.

Or perhaps not everyone could access it the same way that he could. Maybe the warning at the border was the only one they’d ever get, unless they were the actual commanding officer of an entire faction. And Eric had declared more than once that he was strictly independent. A Free Agent

An army of one.

Plus several thousand revenants that would happily fight by his side, all the way to oblivion’s gates, at his command.

He grinned at the thought, taking in the dozens upon dozens of wagons before him, mind racing as he planned his next steps while investigating the contents of each and every one.

By the time he was done, he had pulled out his summoning tarp, and with a final look at the entrance, though his interface made it clear no reds were coming this way, he began summoning the powers of life and death that would allow him to bring his final seven Tusker sentinels to life, giving the closest one a fond pat as he bound five freshly linked tuskers into his tenth open ring slot, having as many loops to his eternally devouring serpent ring as he did levels in his Master Class.

It came at a cost, however.

His Soul Orb was already depleted.

To raise his final seven Greater Revenants, it was his Primal Adventurer experience pool that he was tapping into. And tap into it he did, without reservation, keeping his promise to himself to never neglect the underlying skills that had gotten him where he was at that moment. So long as Primal Adventurer never dipped so low in potency as to deplete his life force as well.

Besides. His Tusker company was awesome. Why not add a few more?

You have successfully raised 7 additional Greater Revenants who willingly choose to serve!

You have successfully linked 5 tuskers into 1 additional squad!

Your Necromancer skills continue to blossom!

Spirit Mastery is now Rank 27!

Master Necromancer Class continues to benefit from your unorthodox ritual combining all known Potency Pools!

Much to his satisfaction, his Interface noted how his potential continued to blossom, no matter the major hit on his Master Adventurer potency pool. Because while his actual Master Class Perks were beyond awesome, practicing the necromantic skills and rituals he had struggled so hard to learn on his own served to shore up the foundations of his Profession, manifesting itself in the most glorious of ways.

The experience pool he had spent from his Adventuring class had, effectively, been transferred to his Profession. One more glorious synergism in his favor. One more reason why so many external forces seeking to put humanity in its place, such as the Goblins, were so hostile to Classers who dared unorthodox paths.

Congratulations! You have achieved Rank 20 as a Master Necromancer! You have earned 1 Perk Point to spend as you will!

Eric couldn’t help but nod as he patted the flanks of the final two tuskers he had summoned, now with 47 in all, before storing them in the 11th slot available on his ring.

He had held off before on raising the final seven as his Soul Orb had been depleted, but some things were more important than leveling up a day or week earlier than he otherwise might. Such as clearing his ES Space of every last shred of undead flesh and sigil-prepared bodies, so he could safely store what looked to be 33 wagons worth of hardtack, dried meat, and root vegetables.

Just the supplies a force laying siege on his sister might need.

Food Eric was quite happy to take from their mouths.

Because even if he could now store well over 24 metric tons or artillery effortlessly, he did feel the tiniest bit of strain holding all that while keeping rigidly separate organics aligned to life, and those he had firmly repurposed for death’s eternal caress.

You have successfully removed Undead Bulwark!

All revenant remains have been raised and stored within your Ring of Summons!

And with just a second’s concentration he could sense his extra dimensional space was now as friendly and non-corrupting of perishables as the most state of the art fridges.

Though Eric did feel a tiny bit naked without his massive bulwark comprising every bit of undead building-block material he had found so useful in constructing all sorts of barriers and cannon mounts. A tough edge to give up, but at least he knew he wouldn’t be having to dodge cannon or musket fire while in this town.

Assuming his runic chant actually held.

And the sheer delight of popping one wagon after another into his ES Storage space, a space that somehow gave the impression of what was now an unfathomably monstrous size, made up for any lingering worry.

Because no matter what else happened, even if he were to leave right now, his foes were now shit out of luck when it came to rations.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of morale falling to all time lows when the only food filling their bellies would be grass and bark tea.

Within moments, the vast warehouse that had been absolutely crammed with food wagons and crates piled against the far walls filled with potatoes and countless thousands of cans of tuna and spam, strangely enough, was now completely and utterly empty.

Nothing remained but a couple empty tin cans in the massive half-rusted shell of a warehouse that a single Orc holding an unlit lamp chose that moment to pop his head into, yawning as he rubbed tired eyes. Eyes that immediately bulged as he jolted to wakefulness, finding the whole cavernous chamber entirely empty.

Even the shafts of moonlight streaming through the dusty windows from a momentary break in the thick cloud cover revealed enough bare concrete flooring that the musketeer squealed in alarm, rubbing its eye with its free hand as he quickly raced inside, as if wanting to make sure it was true, before glaring down at and fiddling with the lamp in his hand.

“Light, damn you!” The orc roared his frustration, before gazing down in befuddlement at his own collapsing body, catching a final glimpse of his neck stump spurting blood all over the concrete floor as his executioner stepped past his remains and slipped out the door. The fact that his killer had been grunting with obvious pain, muttering about arcane backlashes and idiots, was scant comfort to the dying head in those final moments as every brain cell screamed for oxygen that just wouldn’t come, no matter how it gulped air like a fish. Before it all faded to roaring blackness, the doomed orc soon feeling nothing at all.

You have attempted to cast a Fire based Qi attack in a Flame-Warded Area!

You have elected NOT to dispel your own greater chant!

You have FAILED to pierce your own ward.

You have suffered Minor Backlash! You have suffered 30 damage (modified by Spiritual & Arcane resistance) and suffer a -3 (reduced to -1) to all actions until you have rested for 30 (reduced to ten) minutes.

Eric choked out a cry that made the orc yelling at his lantern freeze where he stood.

Snarling past his blinding headache, Eric whipped his fireless blade across his foe’s neck, taking small comfort in a cleaving cut so precise, a mithril grind to the edge of his blade so fine, that even a steel plated leather choker was split in twain by his carefully aligned blow, the surprised orc’s head literally popping free of a cleanly sliced gorget, instead of being simply crushed and pulpified by the force of a 50 pound mithril bar whipping through the air faster than a mortal eye could track.

Not that it helped with his splitting headache any, having just played the fool, trying to disrupt his own power-boosted ward, assuring himself a splitting headache, no matter what he did.

So Eric spent several minutes slipping through the inky darkness, Earths’ teasing lunar mistress having covered herself with thick clouds once more, after carefully sliding the storage shed shut behind him before scoping out the terrain and planning his next move.

Just enough time to allow his headache to fade from blinding ache to a dull throb to a humble reminder not to limit-break his own wards.

Yet he couldn’t help but crack a fierce grin by the time his headache had faded to the ice-cold intensity he had increasingly learned to embrace over the last two days, as his levels and Willpower soared. He felt almost as if the crucible of combat had forged him into a focused hunter, able to transform what should be fear into fiercest exhilaration.

It was almost as if he was now one step removed from the terror and anxiety he knew he should feel, having come so close to dire peril so many times in the last few sleepless days. Yet he felt instead as if he were playing Duty’s Call and totally and utterly in the zone, the twitch of his fingers on the keyboard, the flicker of mithril death in his hands, bringing down foe after foe in a match he was determined to win.

He had no idea how long this warrior’s zen would last. Or if he would snap into a screaming, shell-shocked version of himself when dire peril had passed and his loved ones were finally safe. But for now, at least, he was the epitome of exactly what he needed to be, and hewould embrace this madness, and this moment, to the fullest. No matter how steep the price he might have to pay later.

Because a warrior’s zen was the perfection of embracing each individual moment to the fullest. Awareness with absolute focus, and a perfect understanding of his environment. Brooding thoughts had no place here. All that mattered was what he accomplished right now.

He happily patted the swords at his hip, 1821 and mithril both, determined to see just how far he had come as a warrior, eager to push himself, and his skills, to the limit, and hopefully claim this territory before inky darkness lightened only by the faintest crimson light on the horizon became dawn in truth. He would rather not have to face hundreds of foes by the cold light of day, with the risk of high level gunner wildcards suddenly free to launch a storm of explosive shells at him for the second time in as many days. So Eric took full advantage of the darkness, eager to boost yet another skill as he sought to make the shadows his own.

Iado Skillcheck made! You have successfully cleaved your foe in half with Mithril Blade! Enemy fails to make death-rattle!

Doom Flurry! You have struck your opponent 8 times in less than a second! Your English Saber has successfully sliced through Brittle quality Steel and has completely eviscerated your target!

Experience Earned!

Iado (Fast Draw) is now Rank 14!

His technique refinement had claimed over a dozen orc lives by the time he slipped from warehouse district to the living quarters section of the city. Yet any satisfaction he might have felt at his improvement was instantly frozen as the dark night was punctuated by the sobs and groans of countless women who knew nothing but pain and despair in the living hell their lives had become.

Before shuddering and crying out as splashes of hot crimson and the snapping of brittle iron locks brought the impossible light of hope reflecting off the sapphire eyes of a predator far more terrible than the prey he hunted before slipping free of blood drenched quarters with a single crimson digit pressed to soft trembling lips that would never dare utter a sound that might reveal the alpha predator stalking such monstrous prey as the blinking red lights flooding the town began to wink out, one by one.

You know just where to strike your prey so they fall without making sound, and have perfected your techniques on the hunt!

27 Additional orcs have fallen to your blade’s fatal kiss!

Stealth is now Rank 14.

Find Weakness is now Rank 23!

Your Stealth might lack any supernatural properties beyond Hunter’s Grace, but when it comes to stalking a torchless camp in the dead of night, you’re a match for nearly any assassin. Save for the trio now stalking you!