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Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 30 - Opportunity in disaster - Part Two
🕑 Added 2021-11-21 15:14:01 +0000 UTCSorry for the 'delay' I did say it would be up a full day ago, but I overstrained my eyes and had to wait to do the rough editing.
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https://docs.google.com/document/d/1qQBi6L7RpOnAf050eNVSSdaORHKmNHKR04MTkom6yzU/edit?usp=sharing
Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 30 - Opportunity in disaster - Part Two
It took about four days to put together an elevator strong enough to securely carry loads of tamed monsters up and down the mesa.
As much as I would have liked to take credit for it, most of the actual work was done by the village’s craftsmen and Mors. My contributions had been limited to sketching out the different parts and deciding on compromises for anything too sophisticated or difficult to manufacture. Pulleys seemed simple right up until it came to carving perfect circles out of hardwood without the right tools. And as much as I would have preferred a custom made elevator, I had to settle for the partially reconstructed and amalgamated abomination of a Slaver wagon instead.
By the time we were finished, the only element I was genuinely proud of was the most simple and straightforward part of the whole project, The winch mechanism. All told, it was basically a giant log half-buried in a reinforced pit with a crossbeam set through the portion above ground so Hulking Boars could be used to wind and unwind the rope of the elevator. The combined weight of four Hulking Boars was roughly something along the lines of twelve tons, so a ratchet mechanism wasn’t necessary to prevent slippage since the elevator itself had the space to fit one Hulking Boar inside of it anyway.
All four of the previous rope lines had been spliced with new rope to make the elevators drawline three inches thick. Striking a test piece with an axe barely dented the rope when I was testing its durability, so I was confident it would tolerate a decent level of punishment for the foreseeable future.
The twin trees overhanging the side of the mesa and providing the overhang for the elevator were the part that had taken the longest to get right. Growing something that was resistant to heat, abrasion and drought, and while also being capable of supporting multiple tons of weight without bowing, had proven almost impossible for his current level of skill. So we compromised and now had two trees instead of one, their arching boughs interlocking together over the edge of the mesa while their roots spanned half the ground beneath the village.
While some villagers had been sceptical about the elevator, especially in terms of the time and resources it was consuming compared to the already serviceably rope system that was in place. That sentiment only intensified when the ropes were appropriated for the elevator.
However, once the elevator was completed, and had been thoroughly tested for safety to the best of Clarice’s ability, the elevator saw a day of constant use by the villagers as they took turns riding it up and down the mesa while the hunters continued bringing in monsters for reclamation.
It had taken less than a day before there was talk of making a second elevator to better handle ‘traffic’.
The hunters mounted on Sand Stalkers had been diligently working the whole time the elevator was being constructed, and about two days in had decided that climbing the mesa every evening was too demanding for their mounts. So they had already established a small home base of tents at the foot of the mesa near the reclamation pit.
Osa had been busy inviting all the nomads into the alliance, and later holding meetings with the Chiefs to lay out his plans for Stone Well’s future, particularly its defences.
After describing my own plans for a large shade awning for the Hulking Boars working the elevator, I was ambushed by Nadine just outside of the weavery.
“Having more clothes made for Lash?” Nadine asked innocently.
Like a kangaroo caught in headlights, I froze. Someone had talked…
Nadine grinned, “Oh lighten up Tim! I think it’s cute that you are bringing your girl back a present.”
“I’ve been gone for half a month so far…” I explained awkwardly, “Figured a present was the least I could do…”
Nadine’s grin shifted into a smirk, “Ah yes, the kind of present that is as much for you as her?” She barbed.
“There are other clothes!” I snapped defensively and quickly realized my mistake.
“So the rumours are true!” Nadine crowed triumphantly. “I thought you were a stand-up kind of guy Tim, not some perv. I mean, to think up designs like that-”
“I didn’t!” I insisted, “I just sort of knew about them…” I stated lamely.
“Riiiight,” Nadine agreed sarcastically and then patted my arm reassuringly. “Wait,” her expression became serious, “Are you begin serious right now Tim?” Nadine demanded.
I nodded but said nothing, refusing to incriminate myself further.
“So you know designs for other clothes too?” Nadine pressed, “Not just...You know…”
“Some,” I admitted defensively. The shopping trips with my mother were so phenomenally embarrassing that I doubted the memories would ever truly fade.
“Ahem,” Nadine awkwardly cleared her throat, “Because you know, half the village is talking about how much more comfortable that br-brazier? Is then just wrapping them, you know?”
I blushed and shook my head, “It’s called a brassiere,” I croaked, “Just about everyone wears them where I come from...Girls! Uh! Women! I mean!” I explained in a panic.
A long awkward silence passed between us.
“Can we not talk about this?” I asked uncomfortably, “I already talked about all this with the weavers…” I shuddered as I recalled how phenomenally awkward it had been explaining the concept of not just women’s dress sizes, but bra sizes as well, and why the clasp w.as more convenient and so on… As much of a favour as requesting the clothes for Lash had been, after answering so many questions I truly felt like I paid the price for my lecherousness.
“Oh, uh, right…” Nadine blushed, perhaps having just realised how awkward this subject was for me. “Right, so, uh, we, that is Clarice, Kestrel too, the weavers have a waiting list and uh, we were hoping you could maybe talk to them?” She asked, now quite flustered.
If it meant an end to this conversation, then I was just about ready to agree to anything. “Sure.” As I turned to enter the weavery again, I saw Clarice and Kestrel conspicuously kicking up dust in a deliberate show of nonchalance a short distance down the road.
Explaining the situation to the weavers, they proved far more accommodating than I had expected, especially considering half the village was purportedly clamouring for their services.
“Tim say spindle worse,” the head weaver waved the drop spindle they used for making silk thread in front of my nose, “Tim say wheel good. Tim give wheel, girls get clothes,” she bargained.
I had drawn what I remembered of traditional spinning wheels, which wasn’t much, as part of a larger discussion about the drop spindle. It wasn’t all that surprising that the weavers wanted one after how fast I made it sound in comparison. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” I agreed. Short of requesting Toofy bring one back with her when she and Ril returned, I wasn’t sure how exactly this issue was going to be solved.
Leaving the weavery again, I found all three girls huddled nearby, Clarice and Kestrel having apparently given up all pretence of uninvolved.
Clarice was first to notice me and shamelessly jumped straight to the point, “They say yes?!” She asked earnestly.
Kestrel was only half-step behind but besides an expression of hopeful expectation, she remained silent, apparently willing to let Clarice head the inquiry.
“They want a spinning wheel in exchange,” I explained and then paused, “You do know what a spinning wheel is, right?”
All three women nodded.
“The hell are we gonna get one of those?” Clarice whined.
“We could make one,” Nadine suggested.
“You know how?” Clarice asked dubiously.
“I do!” Kestrel chimed in eagerly, “My brother makes them for the village.”
“Really?” Nadine seemed surprised.
“Well, we don’t have the right tools, so it might not look pretty,” Kestrel admitted, “But I reckon we could make one in a couple of days if you plan on helping.”
“Could probably make Mors grow some of the more fiddly bits,” Clarice suggested with a grin, “Hell, he might be able to grow the damn wheel!”
The three of them hurried off to the village centre to track down Mors.
Glad for the awkwardness to be over, I burnt off the nervous energy with some exercise and then took the elevator down to the tagging area below. Besides the ongoing moat and earthworks projects. Osa was using the relatively open space to train villagers so they could unlock their Classes. Besides use of correct form with the wooden practice weapons, and marked out distances for cardio training, there was also a designated combat field for the real combat requirements required for different Classes.
The combat field had become the new hub for the Surgeons and those still in training, generating an interesting synergy for unlocking Classes and earning Exp. Since the majority of emergencies would be involving the hunters and those in training, it made sense for most of the Surgeons to gravitate towards the training grounds and staging area in general during the day.
Besides my new exercise regimen, I had been making the most of this downtime to practice fighting and work on limited flexibility. The only problem was that I was almost exclusively limited to practising with each tribe's most experienced veterans. Not so much because of their higher skill level and combat awareness, but because those warriors were the only ones with a high enough Toughness to go multiple rounds after taking a solid hit.
My sparring with the veterans helped me realise I had been making problems for myself in regards to fighting with a spear. Not because they helped me with advice so much as I could see my own mistakes being mirrored back at me. The veterans were either incredibly out of practice using anything besides knives, or never had the opportunity to practice with anything else.
My most common mistake was aggressively closing the distance between myself and my target, leaving little room to maneuver or retaliate if the target decided to move closer. Another was my overreliance on just stabbing at my target rather than using slashing or otherwise sweeping strikes using both the edges of the spears blade and the stave itself. I did have to give myself a little credit for doing better with the halberd, but I figured it was because the design of the weapon pushed me into using it more appropriately than I had done with spears in the past.
Understanding my mistakes was relatively easy but correcting them quickly reached a bottleneck. Without an actual instructor to coach me through proper technique, I didn’t think there was much more I could accomplish without risking ingraining worse habits.
Unsurprisingly, I performed best in practising with a padded club. This was partly because I was more familiar with the brutish motions, but mostly because I could really cut loose. When using the padded club, I only had to avoid striking my sparring partner on the head, which was easy enough to accomplish since the veterans had become very familiar with my movements as we trained.
The padded club I was using still hurt like a bastard coated bastard when I landed even a glancing blow. However, the padding turned injuries that would have otherwise been broken bones into large bruises instead. I had realised that jabbing with the club was almost as dangerous since I only did it when aiming for the chest or face to drive my opponent backwards.
Something I appreciated about the sparring was how comfortable I had become with interchanging improvised attacks with my free hand or my feet, although I had to be careful not to overdo it while sparring.
Chief Uday’s nephew, Jarwal, had taken to sparring like his life depended on it, which actually seemed like an appropriate attitude all things considered. The only problem was that he was proving too aggressive for partners around his own age and experience. This was a problem because the veterans preferred sparring with me for similar reasons to why Jarwal wanted to spar with them. No matter how hard the veterans came at me, I would shrug it off and keep fighting.
So we reached a sort of compromise where I would beat Jarwal black and blue with a padded club in a sparring match, while he does his best to snatch loosely tied strips of cloth off my legs and arms. The general idea was that in doing my best to drive Jarwal off and keep the strips of cloth where they were, I would be training my combat awareness in a way sparring with the veterans was eroding. Because I could weather attacks to non-vital areas almost indefinitely, I was growing prone to deliberately taking an attack in order to improve my chances of landing one in return. Since that habit was liable to get me killed on higher floors, I took this training very seriously.
Thus far, Jarwal’s record stood at snatching one cloth strip before being battered senseless. The primary reason for his lack of progress was partly because of how hard I was hitting him, but mostly because he lacked any sense of subtlety and was incredibly easy to counter.
I spent another four days more or less following the same routine but I was growing restless and a profound loneliness had begun settling on my mind. Nadine and Clarice were still busy trying to make a functional spinning wheel with Kestrel, so I had been spending my free time with Mors. Even though he was a Daemon and technically my minion, not my therapist, it helped to give voice to my problems.
For his part, Mors was a good listener and seemed to understand where I was coming from, albeit for different reasons. It never stopped surprising me how alien the Daemons could be sometimes, yet be so profoundly human at the same time.
With the reclamation far exceeding the village’s needs, Mors had been experimenting with growing all manner of hardy vegetation. Some, like the trees with large sweeping branches, served a practical purpose of providing shade for the village. Others, like the herbs and spices in his private garden, were far more aesthetic oriented but also served as practice for fine-tuning his control. I didn’t quite understand until trying two different chillies grown from the same plant and being blindsided by the heat of the second after tasting the utter mildness of the first.
Watching the courting rituals of the younger and single villagers did little to address my loneliness, and rejecting the advances of several potential suitors only made me miss Lash more. As painful and confusing as it had been in the moment, I found myself tracing the scar she had given me whenever my mind began to wander.
In a state of persistent melancholy, I began sketching little doodles on the walls between those drawn by Toofy close to a week ago. As time wore on, my drawings got larger and began covering Toofy’s. I was never cut out to be an artist. I lacked the talent and finger dexterity required to make anything beyond intermediate sketches. All the same, I was feeling somewhat better by the time I headed to bed.
A primal part of my brain recognised someone or something was in my immediate vicinity and woke me up from my emotionally exhausted slumber. Warily eyeing my surroundings as I sat up in bed, it only took a moment to spot the intruder looming over me, but for whatever reason, my brain seemed to freeze in spite of the potential danger.
However, as the intruder’s pair of amethyst eyes locked onto my own, I realised I had to be dreaming. “Lash?” I croaked, a painful longing swelling in my chest. After thinking of her for so long, it was only a matter of time before I would begin dreaming of her too.
Without saying a word, the apparition cast aside the sheet I had been using as a blanket and sat on my lap, straddling my waist with her thighs as she arched her back and rested her forehead against mine.
Even if it was just a dream, I missed Lash so much I was willing to take whatever I could get. Resting my hands on her head, I gently began pulling her in for a kiss only for the apparition to shove me back into the bed and deliver a fierce kiss of her own. As much as I wanted the dream to last, it promptly ended and I found myself staring at the ceiling with a splitting headache.
Slowly sitting up I began stretching my neck in the hope that I just slept wrong, but I quickly realised that the pain was radiating front the back of my head and not my neck. After gingerly feeling my way towards the source of the pain, I found a large lump that could safely be attributed to the source of not just my immediate pain but also the strange dream I had last night.
Staggering to my feet, I crossed the room. I dampened a cloth in the water pot and then pressed it to the bump on my head. Short of triggering my healing through eating, there wasn’t much else I could do for the injury. Lacking access to anti-inflammatory and painkiller medication was beginning to seem like a higher priority issue than I had initially credited it. Trying to think of a remedy that didn’t involve a chemistry set was surprisingly difficult until I remembered I had access to a Druid who could grow just about anything.
Feeling like spending time pulling on my tunic and robe would be a waste of time, I grit my teeth and made my way towards the centre of town to find Mors. My state of half dress was a common enough occurrence that it drew little attention from those already awake and preparing for the day.
A persistent series of itches on my upper back made me regret not spending the time to put on my tunic or wipe down my back with the damp cloth to remove any sand I might have slept on.
Now that I was in a thoroughly irritated mood, I found Mors meditating beneath the first olive tree he planted in the village.
“Mors, I need you to grow a tree for me,” I hissed while kneading my temples to manage the pain.
Mors large amphibian eyes snapped open at the sound of my voice. “Of course Overlord!” He croaked cheerily. “Is it for timber or-”
“Do you remember those trees from the swamp with the wide hanging branches and thin leaves?” I interrupted impatiently.
Mors nodded and now seemed concerned, “You are unwell?” He asked anxiously.
“Just pain,” I waved my hand dismissively, “That tree is called a willow. I need you to grow one for me.”
“Of course, Overseer,” Mors agreed and began rummaging through the large leather sack of seeds kept on his belt. After finding the correct seed, Mors planted it on the periphery of the village centre where it would supposedly cause the least obstruction.
Sitting down on a nearby bench, I worked my way through the throbbing pain with breathing exercises. I briefly considered returning to the house and trying one of the potions I had confiscated from Jergal but dismissed the idea on the grounds of not being sure what the long term effects may be. Similarly, with the storehouse now open, I considered asking Fadwa for something to eat, but memories of the weird spider preserves lent me fresh patience.
Growing impatient, I snapped a branch off the sapling, put the broken end in my mouth and began to chew. The expected bitter taste of salicylic acid made me scrunch my face in disgust, but I kept chewing and then swallowed the mangled bark along with my now thoroughly bitter saliva. Within moments the pain in my head began to recede. After letting out a deep sigh of relief, I tore off a long strip of bark from the small branch and chewed on that instead. The wood of the branch was young enough that it hadn’t given me splinters, but it was much harder to chew than just the bark.
Mors had of course seen everything and plucked a twig from the tiny tree to taste it for himself. Rather than being revolted by the bitterness, he only grew more curious as he chewed the twig. After a minute of chewing, Mors swallowed whatever remained in his mouth and nodded determinedly before channelling his mana once more.
The mangled sapling began to grow anew, effortlessly replacing the missing limb and slowly growing up into the sky. After reaching approximately thirty to forty feet in height, the hanging branches of the weeping willow tree began to sprout small olive-shaped fruits with white fuzzy skins.
“Mors...What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously.
Mors stopped channelling and smiled with self-satisfaction, “I believe I have emulated the pain-relieving properties present in the tree,” he explained excitedly, “Please try one!” Mors insisted eagerly, pointing to the fuzzy fruits hanging on a nearby branch.
With my jaw already beginning to tire from chewing the bark, I decided to give Mors Frankenstein fruit a try. Picking a fuzzy olive from the branch, I cautiously took a small bite and was immediately glad for being so reserved. Judging by the intense taste alone, I had to assume that Mors had managed to concentrate the level of salicylic acid by a factor of ten or maybe even twenty times the amount I was getting from the bark. Spitting out the fruit and the oily juice still in my mouth, the trace amounts absorbed by my mouth and that I had reflexively swallowed after spitting had reduced my headache to the point I could barely feel it anymore.
“Too strong Mors,” I gasped and began staggering towards the well, “Way too strong.” Willow bark, or rather, the salicylic acid that provided the painkiller and anti-inflammatory effects was the progenitor of earth’s modern-day Aspirin. Taking too much Aspirin could cause brain and liver problems, so I wanted to make damn sure to wash the persistent oily residue out of my mouth.
Thankfully, someone had filled the communal drinking pot and I was able to quickly wash out my mouth and drink a few cups of water to dilute and delay the absorption of anything I had already swallowed.
Gingerly checking the bump on the back of my head, I was relieved that the swelling was going down but concerned by how quickly it had happened. With incredibly limited means of detecting, let alone treating, a potential bleed in my brain or liver, I found myself resorting to my earlier breathing exercises to try and stay calm.
After making sure I had my nerves properly under control, I took another drink of water and made my way back over to Mors. “Look, Mors…” I was impressed by his creativity and initiative, but the potentially near-death experience had frayed my nerves, “The active compound you concentrated in those fruits becomes dangerous in that volume and is even more so for children. You can’t grow them anywhere children might find them and they can’t look like food. I...I am impressed that you were able to do this, I really am, but if you are going to experiment like this, please do so incrementally in future, alright?”
Mors nodded, his shoulders slumped and head bowed, “My apologies Overlord. As you say, I was too hasty…” Mors meditated and withered the fruits from the weeping willow tree, reabsorbing them back into the branches. “I removed its ability to produce fruit, but should I relocate the tree as well?” The chastised Daemon inquired meekly. Mors’s cowed behaviour was a reminder of how much the Daemons valued my opinion and how seriously they took my criticism.
“It should be fine, just make sure kids don't chew on the branches or bark,” I advised. Feeling like a dick despite my restrained rebuke, I really didn’t want to stifle Mors’s creativity or innovative spirit. “The fruits were a good idea Mors, but as I said, you need to grow them somewhere kids won't be able to get at them and make sure they don’t look like regular food, alright?” The potential utility of edible low dosage Aspirin, with its natural inhibitors intact, was definitely something that would prove useful in the Surgeons medic kits. The more I thought about how beneficial the Aspirin would be, the more I regretted not seeking it out earlier.
There were not many willow trees in the third-floor swamp, or at least I hadn’t seen many. But that excuse didn’t account for much when I had access to druids who not only relocate the trees but replicate them as needed. It was a reminder that my decisions mattered and that my medical knowledge in particular shouldn’t be taken for granted. Did this world have antibiotics? Could I grow penicillin? What about other drugs?
I spent the rest of the day scouring my brain writing out potential plants to investigate for medicinal properties. Just because this world had apothecaries, it did not mean they knew the true potential of the base ingredients, or if they were even using them at all. An obvious but dangerous painkiller was the poppy plant. As an opioid it was highly addictive, but the relief it would provide a patient could prevent them from further injuring themselves or stop them from entering a state of stress-induced shock. Unfortunately, most of my knowledge of plants was limited to the easily accessible herbs of holistic medicine. Older people were always wanting to try alternative medicine, so my teachers had been very thorough on which of these plants had any proven effects and what those intended effects were.
Hemp oil and other cannabis derivative products were a subject of interest for the class, but more out of personal curiosity and personal interest than the multitude of benefits the heavily regulated drug had for the elderly and terminally ill. Struggling to overcome a lifetime of anti-drug campaigns, I reluctantly added both hemp and cannabis to the list. While Surgeons could provide temporary relief to the elderly, it was unrealistic to expect the number of limited Surgeons to be able to keep up with the population. All the more so since I was doing my best to keep as many people alive as possible.
After completing my list, I went looking for Kestrel. I wanted her to transmit the list to the apothecary the Asrusians had loaned Sanctuary. Doubtless, many of the names of the plants would be different, but it would still save me the trouble of remembering them between now and when I return. I had also written descriptions of each plant’s appearance, what it was known to do, and what it actually was proven to do in roughly approximated concentrations. This also required an explanation of a standard unit of measurement, but the apothecary was meant to be a sort of proto-chemist, I was sure they could handle it.
After searching fruitlessly for close to three hours, checking the staging grounds twice, I reluctantly made my way to the weavery. Considering how hard the three of them had been working on that spinning wheel, it only makes sense that they would badger the weavers and seamstresses to hold up their end of the bargain.
True enough, Kestrel, Clarice and Nadine, along with what felt like a quarter of the village's women, were packed into the otherwise spacious weavery.
“-just like that,” Kestrel explained loudly over the quiet murmuring of the crowd. “Alternating pedals keep the wheel spinning and can even reverse its direction if you give it a quick flick and alternate the pedals to the new rhythm.”
Assuming Kestrel was in the middle of a demonstration, I cautiously left the weavery and took a seat outside on a carved stone bench.
Nadine peeked out from the weavery doorway, “I thought I saw you skulking around the back.” She smiled and took a seat next to me, “It is a bit much in there isn’t it?” Nadine giggled and then gave me a coy look, “Did you have fun last night?”
“Huh?” I hadn't expected the question and it didn’t help that it didn’t make sense. “What do you mean?”
Nadine’s cheeks flushed and she awkwardly turned her attention to the road, “Y-you know!” She insisted.
I furrowed my brow and frowned, “No, I don’t. I woke up with a bump the size of your fist on the back of my head and-”
Nadine’s attitude immediately changed at the mention of my injury. Springing to her feet, she manhandled my head so she could get a better look. “Why didn’t you say something!” Nadine scolded, “You said people aren’t meant to sleep when they might have a concussion! I know you wanted to spend time with Lash, but this incredibly reck-”
“Wait, what was that about Lash?” I demanded.
Nadine took a step back and matched my expression, “What do you mean by what do I mean? Lash came through the Portal sometime in the late evening. She had us leave the house to give you both some privacy…” She blushed and avoided eye contact.
“That was real?... She was actually here?” I couldn’t help but press at the bruise on the back of my head. “Wait, if Lash used the portal, then where is she?!” I felt a sudden surge of panic and stood up.
“She left…” Nadine answered quietly, “Sometime before sunrise I think...Tim, did you really have a lump that big on the back of your head?” She asked with mounting concern.
I nodded numbly, “I thought I had laid down too hard last night and smacked my head on something… guess I did, but...Why didn’t she stay?” My legs felt weak, so I sat back down. A host of depressing thoughts began worming their way into the darkest reaches of my mind. Did Lash not realise I was injured? Did she hurt me on purpose?
“Tim? Are you alright? You look pale,” Nadine pressed the back of her hand against my forehead to try and gauge my temperature.
“I...I’m fine,” I pushed away Nadine’s hand and rubbed my head. “So. The gateway works?” I asked somewhat distractedly.
“Uhhh, sort of,” Nadine hedged and sat down next to me again, likely in order to get a closer look at the bruise on the back of my head. “The portal part itself isn’t working on this end, but it seems if you have enough mana you can still transport yourself back to Sanctuary. Assuming you have the way stones as Lash did,” Nadine sounded quite excited but tempered her enthusiasm when mentioning Lash.
“Mana huh? Well… That figures…” I sighed and darkly eyed the single-digit MP listed in my periphery.
“Lash did mention RIl and Toofy would be coming back in a couple of days,” Nadine mentioned supportively, “Maybe she will come to visit with them?”
I nodded but didn’t get my hopes up. I needed more mana, but to accomplish that, I needed to fight stronger monsters. But I couldn’t move on to fight those monsters until Ril and Toofy returned. Even with the increased numbers of the monsters spawning above ground, they were still comparatively few and far between due to the different species fighting one another almost immediately after spawning at midnight.
The others were too fragile to bring out during the respawn period, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask them to risk their lives, let alone order them to do so, just so I could feel better. That did not mean I was entirely out of options.
Heading to bed for an early night, I began making a mental list for what I would need to bring on my midnight Exp harvesting expedition.
I woke up in the late evening, as I had planned. After stocking my pack with fresh medical supplies, and albeit reluctantly, dried spider meat, I headed for the elevator.
There would still be warriors and villagers below either finishing their training for the day or pushing to make one final effort towards unlocking their chosen Class, so my arrival wouldn’t raise much notice on that account. When the time came to take my Hulking boar out of the ‘stable’ that would be a different story entirely.
With so many Beast Trainers amongst the villagers, there was a surplus of Beast taming ‘collars’ made from silk with manastones set inside of small bones. My intent was not just to wander indiscriminately and hope I encountered monsters. I wanted to catch one of these bats, evolve it and either have it draw monsters to me, or lead me to them. It would also prove a distraction for any other airborne monsters that might otherwise remain out of reach.
Pretty much as I had expected, the only attention I drew front he gathered warriors, hunters and villagers, was a result of my relative celebrity status. It was not until I sat on my Hulking Boar’s saddle, took up the reins and crossed the barrier, that a small number of hunters raced after me to ask where I was going. To which I had simply replied, “Hunting.”
Of the five hunters who had chased after me, two had insisted on accompanying me. I forbid it. But in order to assuage their pride, I compromised by telling them that anyone who wanted to accompany me on my next hunt would need to have an evolved mount of their own. be at least level five, and have four companions who meet the same requirements. It wasn’t a particularly difficult standard, but it would ensure that whoever tried tagging along next time would be better prepared to defend themselves. After all, the whole point of my hunt was to farm Exp, not babysit.
I was attacked only ten minutes after leaving the protection of the Settlement barrier. As near as I could tell, the flock of bats had known I was coming and waited until I had left the barrier far enough behind that I couldn’t retreat. Considering the heightened cunning of the Beasts within the labyrinth, it wasn’t all that difficult to believe.
Because I wanted one of them alive, I dismounted the Hulking Boar as fast as I could manage and pulled out the taming collar.
There were seven giant bats in total, although only three were descending to immediately attack.
Keeping my right hand free and slowly spinning the collar in my left, I waited for my chance to try and knock one of the bats out of the sky.
Contrary to my expectations, the three giant bats landed in a crude flanking position a short distance away, roughly an equal distance from one another as they bared their teeth and prepared to charge.
Knowing I only needed one bat, for the time being, I readied myself for bloodshed.
The largest of the three bats snarled with its fox-like head and lurched into an ambling charge as if using its furled winged forelimbs to swim across the open ground.
Hearing the other two bats seemingly doing the same, I focused my attention on the largest bat, assuming it would be the most evolved, which would save me some time later.
The body of the fox headed bat was proportional to what I would have expected for a dog with the same sized head, putting it roughly in the same category as a german shepherd. However, the long forelimbs that served as its wings gave the bat a sort of dysmorphic property that made the head and body seem withered or otherwise deformed.
“Kill!” I pointed behind myself and began trotting forwards to meet the bat partway.
The hulking boar released a feral squeal and charged towards one of the smaller bats, eliciting a pair of surprised and uncertain shrieks in reply.
Assuming that the bat's primary and preferred means of attack would be its bite, I deliberately held my right forearm in a blocking position and readied the taming collar.
True enough, the bat lunged forward and snapped its canine jaws onto my exposed forearm and began shaking its head to try and shred my flesh. Unfortunately for the bat, and very much as I had hoped would be the case, it failed to penetrate my skin entirely and was only capable of making my arm feel somewhat uncomfortable.
Flicking the collar over the bat’s neck, the four-foot length of weighted rope circled the bat’s neck twice and immediately caused the mutant mammal to stiffen as a contest of wills played out inside of its mind.
*Crunch, Crack, Crunch Crunch Crunch*
[Hulking Boar has slain {Vulpine Bat: 2} +800 Exp]
Judging by status alert and wet crunching noises coming from behind me, it seemed the hulking Boar had things well in hand for the time being.
Taking advantage of the large Vulpine Bat’s paralysis, I properly corded the rope of the collar around its neck and slipped the bone toggle through the provided loop at the other end of the rope. Wary of its resistance to the collar, I gave it a light thump on the head with my fist.
*Thump*
[You have successfully captured {Vulpine Bat}]
“Of course that had to be the deciding factor…” I grumbled.
The Hulking Boar released another squeal of rage.
*Crunch*
[Hulking Boar has slain {Vulpine Bat: 1} +400 Exp]
Against my better judgement, I turned to look at the Hulking Boar’s handiwork.
Both Vulpine Bats had been reduced to a mangled mess, and the second bat, which was missing its head, was flopping and twitching feebly in the sand as blood gushed out of the ragged stump of its neck.
The Hulking Boar itself was now evilly eyeing the four bats still circling above us in the night sky. Trotting this way and that, the hulking boar continued releasing quiet grunts of what I couldn’t help but interpret as irritable complaints at the bats’ cowardice for remaining in the air.
Shifting my attention back to the recently captured Vulpine Bat, I removed a small collection of manastones from my pack and threw them into the sand in front of it. “Eat,” I commanded impatiently, aware that the bats overhead were likely attracting others of their kind in order to launch a more massed assault.
As commanded, the Vulpine Bat scarfed down the manastones and began growing larger.
Unfortunately, it didn’t quite gain enough mana to evolve, so I pointed to the mutilated remains of its former companions and did my best not to consider the moral ramifications of what I was making the bat do. Animals in the world on Earth committed cannibalism all the time for a myriad of reasons, so I was determined that I wasn’t going to feel bad about this.
Besides, there would be plenty of reasons to consider myself a bastard in a couple of minutes when I set it loose on its friends after eating.
*****
Governor Felix slumped into his recently delivered armchair and released a long drawn out sigh.
Another convoy of villagers had arrived earlier that morning, and it had taken no small amount of micro-managing to ensure the smooth integration of the newcomers with their already established neighbours. There had been a number of minor grudges and long-standing grievances between the villagers that needed to be publicly resolved before key members in both communities agreed to bury the metaphorical hatchet.
The likelihood of the remaining seven villages expected to be relocated to Sweetwaters causing as much or more trouble was quite high. Despite the villages all being roughly approximated as neighbours, the powers that be had overlooked the potential feuds that were relatively commonplace to such rural communities far from the law offices of the larger towns and cities. Sharing a wider culture often seemed secondary to such people when weighed against the insult laid against their great grandfather’s prized hunting dog and every other aggregated sin since.
Curiously, the Daemon loaned by Sanctuary played a pivotal role in settling the worst feud. Both families involved were foresters and reliant on mature trees for their livelihoods. The Birches, the forester family that arrived with the first group of colonists, had already witnessed first-hand as the Daemon grew a small forest of pines, birches, cedars and all other manner of raw timber on the northern territory over the course of a single day. The Birch’s fear of upsetting the Daemon and losing the forest was so sincere that their rivals, the Maples, soon became fearful themselves and promptly settled the matter by accepting a gifted hatchet in place of the one allegedly stolen generations ago.
It wasn’t the only instance either. All manner of petty grievances were buried by the farming families as well after the Daemon’s foremost spokesman, Dale Rubygrove, made a point of telling anyone who would listen that losing the Daemon’s favour, or ‘Lady of the Wood’ as he called her, would deny them her favour. More specifically, Dale was incredibly vocal in expressing The lady of the Wood’s extreme distaste towards disunity and pettiness.
For men and women who largely lived and died according to good and poor seasons that were outside of their control, the idea of keeping the Daemon ‘happy’ was not so much a decision as it was considered mandatory.
It was of course worth noting that Dale had been ‘hand picked’ by the Daemon to become a Pact Binder and would be responsible for summoning herself and other Daemons to Sweetwaters when needed. Judging by the sheer proliferation of apples being provided for public consumption, it was obvious that Dale and his family were making the most of his connection to the Daemon.
Felix didn’t see a problem with this so long as it did not evolve into deific worship. Most rural communities, especially those who lived farther from the towns and cities, had all sorts of superstitions involved with the celebration of the seasons and in a small way, attempting to control crop yields.
With the rather static environment provided by the Labyrinth, Felix didn’t think he would be all that surprised if the farming families were to decide upon festival days and make some sort of reverement of the Daemon part of it. He also didn't think it would be wrong to do so.
Felix’s extended family were farmers, and he had experienced more than a few summer, spring and even winter festivals during his childhood. Stories of folk heroes or benevolent spirits were used to explain different aspects of a festival, and Felix had enjoyed that. In fact, he could just about imagine that choosing a young man to serve as the Lady of the wood’s guide or something of that ilk would likely become a part of the harvest festival. Or perhaps choosing a young woman to serve as the Lady’s handmaiden and officiate via proxy? There were all manner of possibilities.
Of course, there was the matter of the Daemon taking payment in manastones for its services to be considered as well. Given the lack of coins amongst villagers to begin with, it did not take long for the citizens of Sweetwaters to begin trading in manastones bartered from the soldiers. The choice for taking manastones over coins was not difficult to understand after considering Dale required the manastones as payment for summoning the Daemon, making the coins conceptually far weaker in value compared to what could be gained from manastones.
Again, Felix didn’t see a problem with this at all. If anything, he was glad for it. All of his soldiers approached exterior patrol duty with a zeal and thoroughness Felix had yet to witness outside of the immediate gaze of a cantankerous drill instructor. While the soldiers had not been nearly as keen on a tenth of all manastones being kept by the treasury in case of emergency, it was a negligible grievance compared to the relative comforts being bought with the manastones retained beyond the tax.
All things considered, Felix knew he was experiencing the golden age of his governorship. As time-consuming as the problems may be to resolve, they were much lower stakes compared to the life or death decisions that would soon be upon them. So Felix made a point of looking on the bright side of things. After all, the ability to resettle otherwise vulnerable citizens in the Hurst Labyrinth was so inconceivable he could only call it god sent.
Although thinking of it as such did raise some uncomfortable philosophical questions. Namely, if this opportunity was god sent, why was all the aid coming in the form of monsters and Daemons and not the celebrated Angels?
