ã€ŠTraveler&#x27;s Dilemmaã€‹


 Chapter 1

    The forest was the same pleasant place it had always been. Squirrels raced through the branches, darting from tree trunk to tree trunk with a speed and agility that young Warden Kortall Yain had always envied; while the late afternoon sunlight slanted down, giving the needles of the pine trees a sharp-edged glow. Beneath his running feet were the usual carpet of forest litter and the raised lines of tree roots. Kortall had grown up in this forest, and he knew it as intimately as the halls of his childhood home, but the familiarity of his surroundings failed to bring comfort today. Behind every trunk he expected to find another ambush, and every patch of undergrowth seemed to be a perfect hiding place for the enemies he knew still followed his faltering steps.

    They had been four, he and his companions. Had they been assigned to a border patrol, their unit would have been three squads strong, a full dozen Wardens. This close to the clan¡¯s Stronghold city, however, patrols were carried out more as a matter of tradition and training than for any expectation of encountering an enemy. Monsters were few so close to civilization, and it would be impossible for any of their foes to penetrate this deep into Erden territory without an alarm being raised, or so everyone believed. But everyone had been wrong, and now, of the four, only Kortall remained, stumbling along as fast as his weary feet could take him.

    The hand he held tightly against the rent in his chain mail was keeping his innards in place, but was doing little to staunch the flow of blood, which dripped steadily from between his fingers down to the forest floor, an unmistakable trail of crimson. His round wooden shield dangled uselessly from his left elbow, catching on branches and thudding painfully against his thigh. The shield itself had not taken much damage but one of the straps had been wearing thin and he had been planning to replace it after the patrol. He was now paying the price for delaying that crucial task. A single blow from an enemy¡¯s sword, caught on the shield at an awkward angle, had caused the already weakened leather to snap. Thrown off balance, both physically and mentally, Kortall had been unable to bring his spear around in time to parry the follow-up blow. The enemy¡¯s blade had found a weak spot in his armour, and as he¡¯d reeled back in shock and agony, young Bentiss ¨C foolish, loyal, young Bentiss ¨C had taken his place and bought him the time to recover his stance. He¡¯d shifted his spear into a two-handed grip just in time to watch Bentiss be cut down. Before Kortall could lunge forward to plunge his weapon into the enemy¡¯s throat, Captain Verdenn had caught his shoulder and given him one final order. ¡°Run,¡± the captain had said, ¡°run and warn the Stronghold.¡± And so he¡¯d run.

    For a short time after he began to flee, Kortall could hear the sounds of battle from behind him. All too soon, there was a final agonized scream and silence fell in the forest. Eventually, the birds and small animals, frightened into silence by the bloody violence, began once again to go about their busy little lives. Kortall wasn¡¯t fooled; these enemy soldiers clearly knew how to move through the forest without disturbing the inhabitants, otherwise they¡¯d never have been able to so completely ambush Kortall¡¯s patrol amongst his beloved trunks.

    He would have noticed the slightest change in the rhythm of the forest, had there been one, but the only warning had been the glint of sunlight on polished bronze as the first blade appeared from behind a large trunk. The enemy¡¯s sword had darted beneath the upraised arm of a surprised Derrenn, found the weak spot in his chain mail shirt, and plunged into his chest, piercing lung and heart in a single blow.

    As the rear guard of the patrol, Kortall had a clear view of Derrenn¡¯s last moment. He reacted with the speed of reflexes earned through years of training ¨C Derrenn¡¯s killer was dead on the end of his spear before the body of his brother-in-arms hit the ground ¨C but not even Kortall¡¯s well-honed reflexes were enough, for there were simply too many foes.

    He wondered how many now followed the clear trail of his blood. There had been five enemies still standing when Verdenn ordered him to flee, and Kortall thought he¡¯d seen one of them fall, in the single desperate glance he¡¯d thrown over his shoulder as he ran. How many more had his captain taken with him to the grave? How many now followed to ensure Kortall reached his own?

    Perhaps Kortall didn¡¯t know the forest as well as he thought, or perhaps his dreadful wound had weakened him far more than he realized; either way, his foot caught on a tree root that he didn¡¯t expect to be there and he sprawled full length on the ground. For a time, Kortall simply lay where he¡¯d fallen, breathing in great shuddering gasps. Wave after wave of agony washed through his abdomen and he clung to consciousness. If he passed out now, the enemy would surely find him and end him.

    With more strength of will than strength of body, Kortall just barely managed to leverage himself to his feet by clinging to the haft of his spear. He lost track of time after that, as he focused only on placing each foot in front of the other. Finally, he looked up and realized he¡¯d reached his goal; it was not the Stronghold, for he would never have had the strength to go so far, not after so much blood loss, but it was the next best thing.

    With the last of his strength, Kortall placed his back to a tree, facing the way he¡¯d come, and slid down to the ground. He had reached the Elder Tree¡¯s Grave, and another patrol was due to pass through the location soon. The only question now was who would reach him first, his friends or his foes.

    Kortall tried to find a way to breathe that didn¡¯t result in sharp stabs of pain. His spear, once so light and easy to wield, now dragged heavily at his wrist, so Kortall propped the haft against his leg to save his strength for the trials to come. Now that he was freed from the agony of movement, and his only tasks were to stay alive and stay awake, Kortall found his thoughts wandering. His gaze drifted to his left and he took in the sight of the Elder Tree, or what remained of it.

    From where Kortall sat, the full length of the dead tree was out of view, blocked by the great root ball that rose up to his left. In front of him was the rent in the ground that had been created when the tree toppled and tore free. In the handful of years since its creation, the wide hole had been changed, a little at a time, by each patrol that passed through, from an uneven gap in the ground to a gently sloping, smooth-sided bowl, both shallower and wider than the original. It was from across this bowl, Kortall knew, that his enemies would come.

    Suddenly, Kortall realized he must have lost consciousness for a time, for one moment the clearing was empty and the next there was someone leaning over him. He flinched in fear before recognizing that the person was not one of his enemies but a tall, slim, brown-haired human woman, dressed in simple civilian clothing and completely unarmed.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Kortall whispered. A complicated expression flashed across the woman¡¯s face and the skin around her green eyes tightened.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she responded. ¡°I can¡¯t remember.¡±

    Kortall gazed up at her in astonishment, something tugging at the back of his mind. Unable to make sense of the vague thought in his weakened state, he simply asked, ¡°Where did you come from?¡±

    The woman cocked her thumb over her shoulder with a wry smile. ¡°Back there a ways. I woke up under a tree and couldn¡¯t remember a thing so I started wandering, looking for help. I found your blood trail and here I am. Now,¡± the woman adopted a more serious tone, ¡°let¡¯s focus on you. I may have amnesia but you¡¯re the one who looks half-dead.¡±

    As the woman spoke, her hands gently shifted Kortall¡¯s armour and clothing, as she attempted to get a better look at his wound. She hissed in concern when she realized the extent of the damage.

    ¡°It¡¯s a wonder you¡¯re not already dead,¡± she muttered under her breath. She pulled off her outer tunic, wadded it up into a makeshift pressure bandage, and placed it on the wound. Kortall groaned as the woman leaned into the bandage and he saw the green eyes soften in sympathy. ¡°I know, I¡¯m making it hurt worse,¡± the unnamed woman said, ¡°but we need to preserve what little blood you have left.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name,¡± she asked, switching the topic of conversation so quickly Kortall needed a moment to catch up.

    ¡°Kortall,¡± the wounded soldier responded as he tried to breathe past the increased pain in his gut. ¡°Warden Kortall Yain, [Spearman], Silver Rank.¡±

    ¡°Nice to meet you, Kortall,¡± the green-eyed woman said. She smiled ruefully. ¡°I¡¯d give you my name but like I said¡­¡± Her gaze lost focus and her words trailed off. ¡°You know,¡± she said after a moment, ¡°you can call me En. I¡¯m pretty sure that¡¯s not my name but somehow it seems¡­I don¡¯t know¡­connected.¡± Her gaze sharpened again and En frowned as she realized her hands had relaxed.

    With firm, uncompromising movements, she reapplied pressure to Kortall¡¯s wound, prompting another groan. ¡°You¡¯re going to have to tell me what direction to go for help, since I don¡¯t know quite where we are. Do you think you can walk or will I need to carry you?¡± A worried look flashed across En¡¯s face, as if she were contemplating the chances of her slim frame actually succeeding in carrying Kortall¡¯s thickly muscled and heavily armoured body.

    Kortall shook his head weakly. ¡°No,¡± he managed to say through gritted teeth, ¡°no, you need¡­you need to go before they¡­¡±

    But it was too late. A crackling of dried twigs heralded the enemy¡¯s entry into the clearing. Kortall knew they¡¯d made the noise on purpose, considering the degree of stealth they¡¯d previously displayed. It seemed they didn¡¯t consider either of the two humans a serious threat and intended to have a little fun before ending things. The woman who called herself En whirled around at the noise and stared at the three enemy soldiers in shock. Kortall wondered what was going through her mind in that moment.

    <hr>

    As I stared at the three armed and armoured people on the other side of the clearing, I felt like my brain was stuttering. It had been hard enough to reconcile the stuff in my brain before, but at least this Kortall Yain was human, (and a rather handsome human at that, a random part of my brain pointed out.)

    The three warriors who faced me now were most certainly not human, but they were just as certainly ''people'', despite their lack of humanity. One part of my brain had no problem acknowledging that fact; the other part of my brain was screaming in uncomprehending shock.

    It was like I had two lives inside my mind ¨C or the memories of them at least ¨C but even that wasn¡¯t quite accurate. I hadn¡¯t lied to Kortall when I said I couldn¡¯t remember my identity, but I did have memories, a whole life¡¯s worth of memories, and yet not one of those memories including anything personal. I could remember the sound of ocean waves, the taste of salt in the air, and the slightly nauseating feeling of a boat rocking on the water; but I couldn¡¯t remember actually being in the boat. It was a little bit like the difference between seeing a recording of an event versus witnessing the event in person, or the difference between knowing that fire is hot and experiencing the pain of burnt flesh; I had all the abstract knowledge one might gain through several decades of life but I remembered none of the personal experiences that should accompany such knowledge. To make matters worse, I had knowledge of two lives, of two worlds.

    The part of my brain that was utterly shocked by the appearance of the three warriors was the part that told me swords and spears were anachronistic weapons of the past and humans were the only species of sentient beings on Earth. The other part of my brain identified the beings as kobolds and admired the competent and confident way in which they held their weapons, the way their relaxed-yet-alert stances spoke of their experience as warriors. But which part of my brain was having the proper reaction? Which life had I actually lived?

    The middle of the three kobolds took a step forward and I suddenly realized that my existential crisis would have to wait; in this moment I needed to focus on staying alive, and something in me knew that the hysterical modern woman of Earth would not be very helpful in that regard. With a deep breath, I snagged Kortall¡¯s spear from his lax fingers and rose to my feet, trying desperately to dig helpful information from the incomplete mess that was my memories.

    My movements made the kobolds hesitate and for a moment the four of us stood there, silently examining each other. All three of them were male, between four and four-and-a-half feet tall, which my brain informed me was the average height for males of their race. They stood on two legs and, from thighs to necks, seemed to be built very similarly to human males. Their lower legs were a mix between human and rat, the proportion being human but the shape being rat-like. Their arms appeared very human-like but their hands were long-fingered and tipped with sharp claws. Long, thin, black tails trailed behind them and their heads were an odd mixture of human, rat, and something I couldn¡¯t quite identify.

    Like Kortall, all three kobolds carried bladed weapons of bronze, though theirs were short swords and their armour was all of leather and thickly padded cloth, while he had carried a spear and his armour appeared to be made of iron.

    My examination of the kobolds took only a moment and they seemed to look me over with equal speed. The male on the left made a comment and my gaze snapped to him in shock. I didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d said but I recognized the language and immediately knew it did not belong in this world. My surprise must have been clear because all three kobolds instantly stiffened and their eyes widened. The one in the middle called out a question and I shook my head.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°I can¡¯t speak Russian,¡± I responded.

    The middle kobold grinned, which I found quite disconcerting considering the size of his pointed teeth. ¡°That is not a problem,¡± he said in a voice that seemed too deep for his short frame. ¡°We can speak English.¡±

    It was only then that I realized two things: one, that I had indeed used English just then, and two, that the language I¡¯d been speaking with Kortall had not been English.

    I squinted a bit, trying to sort through the fragmented and often conflicting knowledge in my head. The middle kobold, whom I was starting to realize was the leader of the three, took another small step toward me but very deliberately pointed his sword at the ground in a non-threatening gesture. Much of the intended effect was lost due to the large amounts of drying blood and gore splashed across his armour and clinging to his blade.

    ¡°You are missing many memories, yes?¡± he said. I nodded. ¡°You must be the Traveler, then.¡± He grinned again, making me shiver a little. ¡°What fortune we have, my brothers, to be chosen to find the Traveler of this generation! We shall be able to take many new wives when we return to the burrows.¡±

    The other two kobolds greeted his words with a chittering sound that I somehow knew indicated pleased satisfaction. The sound sent icy fingers down my spine and I suppressed another shiver. I had no idea what they meant by ¡°Traveler¡± and I couldn¡¯t bring myself to share their pleasure, especially when the leader took another step forward and gestured with his left hand.

    ¡°You will come with us,¡± he said, still in English.

    ¡°And if I don¡¯t?¡± I asked, switching back to the language I¡¯d used when speaking with Kortall, feeling a need to distance myself from the familiar way the kobold was speaking to me. His eyes flashed angrily but he followed my example and switched languages also.

    ¡°If you do not come with us, we will kill you. If you do come with us, you will be a slave, true, but a well-treated one.¡± For some reason, both of the other kobolds growled and gnashed their sharp teeth at their leader¡¯s final words. He silenced them with a swift movement and I could see the hatred that had bloomed in their gazes slowly dissipate. Strangely, it didn¡¯t seem like that hatred had been directed at me, though I had nothing on which to base that hunch.

    ¡°Is there a third option?¡± I asked, clutching the haft of Kortall¡¯s spear with sweating hands. For just a moment, I thought I saw a look of compassion flash across the lead kobold¡¯s face but the alienness of his features made it impossible to be certain and an instant later the expression was gone. He shook his head.

    By this point, the strangeness of the situation had been overcome by fear. I could feel my pulse pounding in my thumbs as they pressed tightly against the smooth wood of the spear. Death, or slavery to creatures not human; neither option was something I wanted. The only thing I could think to do was try to buy time, so I jerked my chin sideways and down, indicating the barely conscious man at my feet.

    ¡°What about him?¡± I asked.

    The kobold glanced at Kortall dismissively. ¡°We will kill him, of course. He is almost dead anyway. It will be a mercy.¡±

    I glared at him. ¡°You and I have different definitions of mercy, I think. Besides, he might yet live, if he receives medical treatment.¡±

    ¡°All the more reason to kill him; we cannot allow the Erden to know we have you.¡±

    I continued to glare at him, breathing through clenched teeth, as my heart pounded in my ears and my thoughts raced, trying desperately to come up with a way out of this situation. The kobolds and I were so tightly focused on each other that all four of us flinched when a weak voice broke into our standoff.

    ¡°Run, En¡± Kortall said. I blinked down at him in confusion before remembering ¡°En¡± was what I¡¯d told him to call me. ¡°Run,¡± he said again with a cough. ¡°Run and I¡¯ll hold them off.¡±

    All three kobolds burst into derisive laughter and I dropped to one knee and took Kortall¡¯s cold fingers in my sweaty hand. I could tell how much even speaking those words had cost the man. There was no way he¡¯d be able to fight off a rabbit, never mind three armed kobolds, but if I did run, they would likely stop to kill him as they went past, and that might buy me the time I needed to reach a place of safety.

    Suddenly I felt my fear shrinking and being replaced with anger. How dare they? How dare they plan so callously to murder this brave young man? How dare they mock his courage? I would never be their slave, of that I was sure. I would repay their disrespect with blood. Kortall and I were both going to die today, but I was going to take at least one of those kobolds with us.

    Gently laying down Kortall¡¯s pale, cold hand, I took a deep, slow breath and rose to my feet. The kobolds¡¯ mocking laughter cut off and their posture shifted, their expressions becoming watchful. I stood with my left foot forward and my right foot drawn back, holding the spear in both hands, with the left hand in front and the right hand back by my right hip. I stared at the kobolds, keeping the tip of the spear pointed in their direction and roughly at eye level. I didn¡¯t think I needed to say anything to make it clear I was refusing their ¡°offer¡± of slavery, so I simply bared my teeth in a snarl of fury and hatred.

    For a moment, the kobolds muttered quietly to themselves in yet another language, one that seemed to suit their animal-like features more than any of the three I¡¯d heard them use so far. They laughed and broke apart, two falling back a step while the third, the one on the right, advanced. If all three of them had attacked at once, I probably wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance, but it seemed they didn¡¯t consider me a serious threat.

    They were probably right. My memories had been mangled but I was fairly sure I¡¯d never held a spear before today. I certainly didn¡¯t know how to use it, aside from the obvious bit about sticking the sharp end into the other guy. On the other hand, I was at least a foot taller than any of the kobolds, which gave me a naturally longer reach, and I had a spear, while they only had short swords, so I¡¯d be able to go on the attack well before I came in range of their blades. Would it be enough? Probably not, but I was going to try.

    <hr>

    Kortall fought desperately against the soft blackness that kept creeping into the edges of his mind. He dug his fingers into the forest floor, focusing on the textures of dirt and fallen pine needles to keep himself grounded. Despite his brave words, he knew he could do nothing to save En; both of them were going to die here, unless another Warden squad came along in the next few seconds. Since that didn¡¯t seem to be happening ¨C and En wasn¡¯t taking advantage of her longer legs to run away and was instead facing down the kobolds ¨C the least Kortall could do was bear witness to the brave woman¡¯s death. And for that, he had to stay awake.

    En had taken up Kortall¡¯s spear but the way she held it said much to those who could see such things. En¡¯s stance and grip were natural, instinctive almost, and ¨C surprisingly ¨C not entirely wrong, but it was painfully obvious that she had little or no idea how to wield a spear, or perhaps any weapon.

    The kobolds could obviously read En¡¯s inexperience as easily as Kortall could, for they laughed and let one of their number approach her alone. As the lone warrior stalked forward, his bronze blade swishing back and forth in an attempt to distract and confuse his opponent, En settled her weight into her stance and Kortall caught his breath in sudden premonition. He''d seen her forearm, she didn''t have a class mark, which was strange for an adult, but he knew the signs, and if he was right, she was earning her [Spearwoman]''s mark right in front of him. He whispered a prayer to the Creator that the knowledge of the nascent class would be enough to carry her through.

    The kobold approached En by going directly across the small clearing, which required him to cut through the broad bowl-like depression. It was an incredibly foolish move, for it placed him at a slightly lower elevation just as he came into range of En¡¯s spear. The kobold was carrying a small shield in his left hand and he held it low in front of his chest, probably expecting a novice fighter such as En to aim for the largest target.

    Had he been on level ground and not needed to compensate for the difference in elevation, he might have been able to raise the shield in time. Had he not been so utterly convinced of his own victory, he might have had his blade in position to parry. Instead, the kobold¡¯s sword was off to one side, and his shield was still too low, as the tip of En¡¯s spear lanced down and into his unguarded throat. The enemy warrior let out a horrible choking gurgle and dropped to the ground as the spear was yanked back out of his flesh.

    For one long moment, none of them moved, and then the two remaining kobolds yelled in fury and dashed across the clearing. The leader of the group circled around the depression in the ground but his companion simply charged straight across. With less ground to cover, the lower-ranked kobold reached En first. Clearly not intending to repeat his companion¡¯s mistake, this kobold held his small shield high enough that it covered most of his face and throat and he could probably only just see over it. His sword was drawn back, ready to either thrust or parry.

    As the enemy approached, En took a single step forward. That step carried her over the edge of the depression and Kortall watched in amazement as the woman utilized her momentum, her superior height and reach, the pull of gravity, and the full weight of her body, all of it combining to create a thrust of incredible power that drove her spear just below the bottom edge of the shield and into the approaching kobold¡¯s chest. The warrior¡¯s attempt to parry bounced uselessly off the spear¡¯s haft as its sharp, bronze head punched right through the kobold¡¯s light leather armour and into his body. The two combatants tumbled to the bottom of the depression and the last kobold skidded in the loose layer of pine needles covering the ground as he tried to change direction to follow.

    From where he lay, Kortall couldn¡¯t tell at first if the second kobold was alive or dead, but then he saw En sit up and start tugging on the spear to free it from the male¡¯s body. The lack of reaction from the enemy warrior told Kortall everything he needed to know.

    For a split second, Kortall dared to hope that En might actually be victorious. That was when the final kobold picked himself up from the base of the tree he¡¯d run into in his haste to change direction. The expression on his face was thunderous. He¡¯d just watched both his companions die at the hands of a completely untrained novice. Kortall had no illusions that he would take En lightly again. To make matters worse, the kobold leader was now the one with the advantage of high ground, and En still hadn¡¯t succeeded in freeing her weapon from the other warrior¡¯s corpse.

    Kortall watched as the final enemy stalked toward the brave young woman whom he desperately wished he could help. There was nothing he could do. Or was there?

    <hr>

    I was doing it, I was actually doing it; I was killing the kobolds! The sane and civilized part of my mind was utterly horrified and desperately wanted to be violently ill. The rest of my mind was locked onto a single thought, a single desire: survival. It was kill or be killed, do or die, and I did not want to die. But I was going to die. That became abundantly clear the moment I looked up and saw the final kobold charging toward me, his mouth open wide in a roar of fury.

    The spear was still stuck in the body of the second kobold. Time seemed to slow down as I desperately jerked and yanked at the shaft. The spear head had slid back out of the throat of the first kobold without too much resistance, but this time was different. I had thrown everything I had behind that second thrust, and had felt the sharp point punch through leather armour, grind past rib bones, and sink deep into heavy flesh. That flesh had closed around the spear, both wooden haft and bronze head, and it would take someone stronger than I to dislodge it in any kind of hurry. As the final kobold charged past Kortall, I gave one final desperate yank on the spear. It didn¡¯t come out. I was dead.

    Except I didn¡¯t die. The kobold¡¯s feet suddenly went out from under him and he pitched forward, directly onto the blunt end of the spear. The kobold¡¯s weight wrenched the spear to the side and he toppled with it, right onto me. Pain slammed through my chest as several ribs broke under his weight and I screamed, shoving and thrashing, desperate to escape, while a horrible gurgling sound filled my ears.

    It was only after I managed to heave him to the side and scramble part way up the slope that I realized the nasty gurgling sound was coming from the kobold. By some miracle, the blunt end of the spear had hit the falling, flailing kobold directly in the throat, or more accurately, he had hit it. If the spear had been anchored into a solid surface, like the ground, such a blow would probably have broken the kobold¡¯s neck, or the spear, or ¨C more likely ¨C both. But the spear had been held upright only by the other kobold¡¯s corpse, a corpse that shifted with the impact, lessening the blow.

    Instead of having his neck broken and dying instantly, the kobold leader had survived, and now thrashed about on the ground, clutching his crushed throat. The sounds he was making were horrible. A moment ago he had been about to kill me and I had been willing to kill him, by whatever means necessary. Now I only wanted his suffering to end. All I needed to do was pick up one of his fellow warriors¡¯ fallen swords and it would be over with a single blow. But I couldn¡¯t do it, not because I didn¡¯t want to but because I couldn¡¯t move.

    When the kobold landed on me, and I both felt and heard my ribs break, I thought it was the most horrible pain possible. I had been wrong. As the final kobold choked and gurgled and thrashed out the last moments of his life amongst the blood of his fellows and the trampled greenery of the forest floor, I clutched my left wrist with my right hand.

    What had begun one second as a painful tingle in my forearm was the next moment ratcheted up into a burning pain so severe I couldn¡¯t even breathe. I lost track of the world and my vision fuzzed out.

    The pain vanished as suddenly as it had come, but it took me a few moments longer to recover. I sat up and blinked, bringing the world back into focus. I didn¡¯t remember screaming but my throat was sore and my voice, when I tested it, was hoarse. The only sounds in the clearing were my breathing and the angry-sounding chatter of a squirrel-like creature.

    I looked down at my left arm. There, on my blood-splattered but otherwise previously unblemished skin, was a distinct mark. A band of black, about one inch thick, wrapped completely around my wrist. Overlapping it on the inside of my forearm was the simple outline of a golden spear. The tip of the spear rested just below the heel of my hand, while the haft stretched halfway to my elbow. I rubbed the mark with my thumb but neither the black band nor the golden spear gave any sign of coming off. It was like a tattoo of some kind. I frowned as the knowledge in my head, the knowledge not of Earth but of this world, told me that this mark was important, vitally so.

    Suddenly my head jerked up as I finally recognized the significance of the silence in the clearing. I looked over at the kobolds and saw that all three were now dead. The body of the leader was twisted into contortions, making it horribly clear that his death had been just as awful as it had sounded. The reality of what I¡¯d done finally caught up with me and I pitched forward, heaving and crying as my empty stomach tried to empty itself further.

    When the nausea finally receded, I weakly climbed the gentle slope on hands and knees and shuffled to Kortall¡¯s side. The other human was miraculously still breathing but had slipped into unconsciousness. Shaking with the shock of everything that had happened, I reached out and readjusted the makeshift pressure bandage I¡¯d formed from my outer tunic, in that long-ago time before all the killing and death.

    ¡°Hang on, Kortall,¡± I heard myself muttering over and over. Somehow, he¡¯d changed position since I¡¯d last seen him. Instead of being slumped at the base of a tree, he was now sprawled across the ground, with one leg flung out at what looked to be a very uncomfortable angle. As I followed the line of his outstretched leg with my eyes, I suddenly realized that it intersected a set of scuff marks on the ground.

    My mouth dropped open in surprise as I realized what that meant. The reason the kobold leader had lost his balance and fallen onto the spear, the reason he was dead and I alive, was that Kortall had used the last of his strength to throw out his leg at just the right moment. The kobold had intended to kill me. He tripped. He died. I lived. Because of Kortall.

    Tears dripped from my chin as I watched the young man''s breathing slow. ¡°Hang on,¡± I pleaded. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me. I haven¡¯t had a chance to thank you.¡±

    The only response came from the angry-sounding squirrel thing perched in a tree.

 Chapter 2

    For several long minutes I sat on the forest floor and watched Kortall''s breathing get slower and shallower. There was no denying it now; he was going to die and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

    In truth, he should have been dead already, as the amount of blood he''d lost was prodigious. There was a rent in both his chainmail and the thick leather jerkin beneath, where the enemy''s blade had cut deep into his abdomen on the left side. His legs were drenched in blood and the ground beneath him had become a mire of sticky, red mud and pine needles. His face and hands were so white that I lifted the blood-soaked wad that had been my outer tunic to look at the wound beneath. I sighed as my suspicion was confirmed; the bleeding had stopped, and not in a good way. There was so little blood left in his body that none of what remained spilled from the gaping hole. How then? How did he still breathe? For that matter...I reached over and tugged open his metal-reinforced leather collar until I could place two fingers against the side of his neck. Yup, there it was...thump-thump...thump-thump...thump-thump.

    "Huh," I said, unable to come up with anything more intelligent as I sank back on my heels. It wasn''t unheard of, for people - especially high-level people - to hold on a short time past the edge of death. It happened almost exclusively amongst those with combat classes and allowed the doomed warrior to stay in the fight just a few moments longer, until the battle was over, the foe slain, or - at the very least - the torch passed to another.

    Some claimed the phenomenon was a function of certain Skills, others said it was purely a matter of extraordinary willpower, while yet others declared it to be the grace of the Creator himself. Whatever the truth, it was unlikely to be revealed any time soon, for those who experienced such things never survived past those few extra moments, those impossible stolen breaths, those....wait...WHAT?!?

    My thoughts stuttered out at the Earther part of my finally caught up. I squeezed the bridge of my nose between finger and thumb, as if the gesture could somehow force my brain to behave in an orderly fashion. No such luck. I sighed.

    That had been strange. Very strange. It was like an information download just unspooled itself in my head. And it wasn''t a delusion or fantasy either; I knew with utter certainty that every word of it was the truth, in this world at least. But if all of that was true...I looked down at Kortall''s still, cold form.

    He had bled out. There couldn''t possibly be enough blood left in his body to keep his heart pumping and his brain functioning, yet somehow he still breathed. The battle was over, the foe had been slain, so why did he...? Ah...he was unconscious; he didn''t know.

    I leaned over and placed my hand against the cold skin of his clean-shaven face. With a gentle thumb I rubbed a splash of blood from the side of his nose.

    "The battle is over, Kortall," I told him. "The fight is done, the enemy is dead, and I am safe. You did well. You can rest now."

    At first I wasn''t sure if he could hear me, for he gave no sign, but a moment later his breathing stopped. He was gone. My friend was dead.

    My friend? Yes. I knew hardly anything about him, except what I''d witnessed. His white face had the crisp lines of youth but I couldn''t have said if he was under or over twenty years of age, for while he lived pain had twisted his features, and now in death, his face had settled into a peaceful expression that seemed almost the mien of a child. Whatever his age, he had tried to warn me, had thought of my safety over his own, had offered his life to give me even a slim chance to save my own. That was courage. That was honour. We had spent hardly any time together, had known each other for less than an hour, but we had faced an enemy together, an enemy that sought both out lives. We had faced death and come out the other side. Well, I had at least, thanks to Kortall''s indomitable will. He had been my friend when I was in need and I would remember him as such. And I would honour his sacrifice by staying alive, finding civilization, and telling his story. He would be remembered.

    With that determination, I took a deep breath and wiped tears from my face. Looking around, I suddenly felt a chill of realization. I was once again alone, in a strange wood, in a strange world, one that had proven itself to be dangerous. At any moment someone else might step into the clearing and it could just as easily be a foe as a friend. I would have to be prepared. So I took inventory.

    I had exactly six items in my possession: two sturdy leather boots, soft cotton pants (dark brown), a sleeveless cotton tunic (light brown) that reached to mid-thigh, and underclothes for both top and bottom. Oh, and socks. Ok, make that eight items. Do socks count as two? Or does a pair of socks count as one? And does that mean my two boots count as one pair and therefore one item? I reined in my meandering thoughts and briefly considered adding my long-sleeved outer tunic to the count before wrinkling my nose in disgust and leaving it where it lay beside Kortall''s body. It had once been a very comfortable garment of finely woven wool dyed dark green, but was now a sodden lump of congealing blood and saturated fibers. I had no desire to reclaim the thing, despite the light chill that kept raising the hair on my forearms.

    Still, the day was progressing, the angle of the light told me afternoon was melting into evening, and the nights in this kind of climate were liable to be colder than the days, especially because the tiny leaves and early buds I had spotted on the undergrowth and some of the trees told me this forest was no more than mid-way through spring. I had no food, no water, no blankets, no matches, not even a bit of flint. When I dug far enough into my mind, I found the knowledge of how to start a fire without modern conveniences, but it was right next to that little gem of wisdom that said potential friends weren''t the only people who might be attracted by the light of a camp fire in a dark forest.

    I sighed. I would need warmth to get through the night, and though I intended to find proper shelter before night fell - the kind with good food, a warm bed, and people not trying to stab me - I had to admit that was more of a hope than a certainty. So, that meant I needed a source of warmth that wasn''t a monster-attracting beacon.

    Right. Because that''s a thing here. I winced as another bit of knowledge slid into place in my head. I was actually getting used to the sensation of new puzzle pieces popping into place in the jigsaw mess of my mind, so the wince wasn''t so much for the brief twinge of discomfort as the knowledge itself. In a world with magic - which this one apparently was - human kind wasn''t quite the uber apex predator we liked to think ourselves back on Earth. Take normal animal genetics, add in a bit of magical mayhem, wait a few thousand years for natural selection to do its thing, et voil¨¤: creatures that punched far above their apparent weight and thought of humans as nothing more than tasty snacks. Collectively known as monsters. I shuddered as an image of giant spiders popped into my head.

    No! I thought with disgust and no small amount of fear. So giant spiders are one of the most common monsters featured in just about every fantasy and LitRPG ever written, but that doesn''t mean they are going to show up here. This wasn''t a story, this was a real world, and this...whatever this was...was really happening to me. And giant spiders were simply not allowed to be a part of it.

    With another shudder I firmly wrenched my mind back onto the track of my original thought: warmth. If a fire was off the table, and my lovely wool over tunic was...really not so lovely any more, then I needed another option. Well, there were four other sets of clothing in the clearing. And while I was at it, it wouldn''t hurt to borrow a few bits of armour to ward off teeth and claws. Or giant venomous fangs. I slapped myself to shake that thought loose, then turned to the body at my side.

    Kortall had been wearing a good selection of cloth and leather, covered by a long shirt of iron chainmail that reached almost to his knees, and an assortment of iron plates moulded to protect arms, legs, and other important bits. Sadly, none of his armour or clothing was likely to fit me, since he was at least a foot taller than I, much broader in the shoulder, and his frame was thick with muscle.

    Even if Kortall and I had been the same size, I wasn''t sure I could have brought myself to inflict that indignity upon him, to be stripped in the middle of the forest. He would never know, of course, he was dead, but it was the principle of the thing. After a moment of thought, I shuffled over and knelt beside his head, for there was one item of armour that I might be able to borrow without affecting anyone''s dignity.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    I removed Kortall''s helmet and set it on my head, then wondered sourly if wandering though the forest with a metal hat that fell to my nose would be injurious to my dignity. It certainly wouldn''t be good for my health, even if the worst I ran into was the trees. I shook my head and set Kortall''s helmet on the ground beside him, before turning to the centre of the clearing with a grimace. There were three other sets of armour and clothing I could scavenge from but it would not be pleasant.

    All three kobold bodies lay at the bottom of the depression beneath the dead tree''s giant root ball. Picking my way down among them was a grisly task. The air was thick with the stench of blood, urine, and the contents of their bowels. It was the smell of violent death and seemed somehow familiar to me. That familiarity made me wonder if, in my former life, I had been no stranger to scenes such as this. Had I been a soldier, perhaps? An officer of the law? I had killed the three rat-men easily enough, without hesitating or flinching. That suggested I had experience with such things. Or at least that I''d been trained for it.

    It really had been easy, I thought. No, not easy, more like...instinctive. The spear had almost seemed to move on its own, like my hands and arms had known exactly how to wield the weapon without requiring any conscious input from my brain. And that scared me, I realized, but I couldn''t afford to dwell on it while I was still so vulnerable, so I set the thought aside and focused on the leather armour of the kobolds.

    Sadly, none of them wore an abundance of clothing beneath their gear - their pelts of short fur probably sufficing for padding and warmth - so I wasn''t likely to find a replacement for my wool outer tunic. I''d have to settle for a layer of thick leather armour. The leader of the three - he who''d died to a crushed throat - had been rather barrel-chested, and I suspected I''d rattle around in his armour like a dried pea in a pod. The second kobold - the one I''d stabbed in the chest - had a big hole in his breastplate. Oh, and a spear too.

    Really should get that loose, I thought, pursing my lips and wrinkling my nose in disgust. I looked back and forth between the spear and the armour belonging to the first kobold, then sighed. Weapon first.

    Now that I wasn''t in imminent danger of gruesome demise, I finally managed to wrench Kortall''s spear from the kobold''s flesh, though I was thoroughly winded by the time it finally slid free. Gore-covered spear at hand, ready to stab anything else that might jump out and attack me, I turned my attention to the truly disgusting task of stripping armour from the first kobold I''d faced. He died to a spear through the throat, so an enormous amount of blood had poured down his front, but it was the best of bad options.

    As my fingers dealt with that nasty business, my mind returned to the equally nasty topic of my ability to kill. Once I''d made the decision to face the kobolds, spear in hand, I''d found myself acting with utter certainty. Even in that desperate moment when the final enemy bore down on me, I couldn''t have run if I''d wanted to. It was like, once I made the initial decision to enter combat, I had become utterly committed to the demise of my opponents, whether I liked it or not. My concern was whether or not that initial choice would always be available to me or if - now that I''d discovered my ability to kill - I would simply respond with instinctive violence whenever I felt threatened. I really hoped it would be the former, but this world had magic, and the knowledge in my head was telling me that magic had a tendency of changing people, of pushing them along certain paths through the form of...Oh!

    That''s what that mark on my arm is for!

    Two separate scraps of information floating disjointedly through my poor head suddenly snapped together into a coherent whole: Classes. It was like those computer games from Earth, the role-playing ones. The player''s character would be assigned a "class" that defined his role within the game world. Warrior, mage, archer, rogue; those were the common archetypes for the games, I was pretty sure, but something in the reams of information that had been magically pasted into my brain was telling me that classes within this world were far, far more complicated than any game.

    Finally! My dour ruminations were set aside for a moment as I finished tugging the bloody leather armour free from the hairy corpse of its owner. Well, former owner now, because I was pretty sure I could make this stuff fit me...more or less. The kobolds had all been shorter than me but the proportions were off. A lot more of their height came from their torso, instead of their legs. And their chests tended to be as thick as they were wide, which was why the big one''s armour would have fit me so poorly. This set, however, well...it wasn''t ideal. Not by a long shot. But I would make it work.

    The buckles and straps were legion and unfamiliar, the inside of the armour was crusted with hair and dried kobold sweat, the outside was slick with blood, and none of the gear fit me properly, but in the end I stood over my vanquished foes, armoured in ill-fitting leather armour and armed with a kobold shield and a Warden spear. A kobold''s short bronze sword had been sheathed and belted around my waist as a backup weapon, though I suspected I''d be more likely to cut myself on the double-edged blade than anyone else. My newfound confidence with spears did not extend to swords, it seemed. Hopefully there would be no need to draw it.

    I disliked the thought of leaving Kortall¡¯s body to the mercy of forest scavengers but evening was rapidly approaching. I didn¡¯t like my odds if set upon by monsters, another band of kobolds, or whatever else might be drawn by the scent of death and the dark of night. Despite the armour and weapons, my supply situation had not improved. I could only hope that Kortall had not been on some long journey through the wilderness. He wore no pack, though, and I¡¯d seen no hint of camping equipment or wilderness survival gear, so either he had shed the weight while fleeing through the trees, or somewhere nearby was a centre of civilization from which he had issued forth.

    Actually, upon further consideration, it made no sense for him to be out here without so much as a belt pouch (I didn¡¯t think armour came with pockets) so he probably had lost some stuff somewhere along the way. A quick check confirmed there was no belt on Kortall¡¯s waist, but that the hole in his armour was positioned such that the enemy¡¯s blade likely cut right through whatever belt he¡¯d been wearing. So, he had lost some gear, but my point still stood, I told myself. No way was he carrying an entire camping kit in a pouch on his belt. Unless it was a magic pouch¡­a bigger-on-the-inside pouch¡­the kind of pouch that could carry many weeks¡¯ worth of supplies¡­the kind of pouch that¡­

    I slapped myself again. I couldn¡¯t afford to think like that. Kortall must have been carrying basic supplies but likely not enough to for spending a night outside. He didn¡¯t even seem to have a cloak for warmth. That meant he hadn¡¯t traveled far from civilization and had intended to return there before end of day. It might be a town, a city, or simply a camp of soldiers, but I needed to find it before nightfall.

    I still had serious concerns about what the magic of this world might be doing to me, along with a massive list of other questions, but all that would have to wait until I was in a place of safety. There was, however, one thing that should be addressed before I left the clearing. I needed to examine my class.

    Settling down on to one knee, I placed my back to a wide tree trunk and braced the spear across my body, ready to react to danger. Then I closed my eyes and turned my thoughts inward. Following the vague instructions that had been placed in my mind, I focused on a mental image of the mark that had seared itself into my flesh: the golden spear.

    Knowledge came to me then, knowledge that was both new and undeniably part of me. It was a knowing, and understanding, and ¨C to make sense of it ¨C I pictured it as words on a page.

    <table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 38.3848%" border="1">

    <tbody>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 100%">Primary Class: [Spearwoman]; Rank: Gold</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 100%">Secondary Classes: None</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 100%">Skills Discovered: [Simple Thrust]</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 100%">Skills Learned: None</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 100%">Titles: [World Traveler], [Unflinching Killer]</td>

    </tr>

    </tbody>

    </table>

    So, now I knew. The magic of this world had decided that my willingness to take lives in defence of my own should be codified and rewarded by making it easier for me to do again.

    I wasn¡¯t sure if the titles were a simple acknowledgement of fact or if they would have an ongoing effect. [World Traveler] seemed simple enough ¨C I had somehow traveled from one world to another after all ¨C but what about [Unflinching Killer]? Would it suppress my inhibitions and make me more likely to kill, even when not strictly necessary? I would have to be on guard for that. On the other hand, second-guessing myself in dangerous situations would probably only make things worse; yet another reason to find civilization and relative safety.

    When I focused on the skill [Simple Thrust], I got the sense that it would make my spear thrusts a smidge more powerful and possibly more accurate. It was effectively the same result as could be gained from a great deal of practice, but the ability would be granted to me with only a fraction of the effort.

    I couldn¡¯t use the skill yet, as I¡¯d only ¡°discovered¡± it in that one fight, but I had an instinctive sense of how many times I¡¯d need to practice thrusting with a spear before it would be ¡°learned¡± and available. Compared to how long it would take to gain basic competence of an activity on Earth, this system was just plain cheating, especially since the class itself gave me an enhanced ability to learn, understand, and perform any maneuver or technique with the spear; cheating, plain and simple.

    Well, that¡¯s magic for you, I thought. I sighed and pulled myself from the near trance into which I¡¯d fallen. It was a good thing nothing had snuck up on me because I wasn¡¯t sure I would have noticed.

    I found myself quite bothered by my class ¨C and especially that title ¨C but decided I would make every use of it necessary to survive until I found safety. After that¡­well¡­one thing at a time.

    With a final, wordless salute to the brave young man who¡¯d saved my life, I picked a direction and walked into the lengthening shadows of the forest.

 Chapter 3 - Part 1

    If there was one thing about being a [Squad Leader] that Warden Serril Catullus both loved and loathed in equal measure, it was the rookies. He loved mentoring them and watching them learn and grow, becoming better warriors, better Wardens, better men and women. He loathed the way they somehow, somehow ¨C despite two full years of the best military education the Empire could provide ¨C always came to his squad dumb as a sack of rocks. This new kid was no exception.

    Serril¡¯s unit, 2<sup>nd</sup> Squad of 8<sup>th</sup> Blade, had set out from the Stronghold this morning on what should have been a standard patrol. Thanks to this year¡¯s rookie, Junior Warden Cirris Imbrex, the sun was setting and they¡¯d not yet reached their halfway point¡­where they had intended to pause for lunch.

    It wasn¡¯t entirely the kid¡¯s fault, Serril reflected as he ducked beneath a particularly long branch, shifting his tall tower shield to the side so he wouldn¡¯t knock his nose on the rim. Cirris had graduated from Nicostratus Military Academy two days earlier and this was his first official Warden patrol. The Academy instructors had ensured the kid got his first ten levels in an appropriate combat class, of course, but had apparently neglected one tiny, seemingly unimportant piece of his education. The behavioural patterns of rurrils during a certain point in their reproductive cycle was entirely unimportant information, except if one happened to be traveling through the forest in spring, like, say, a Warden squad on patrol.

    Really, the important little tidbit was only relevant in certain situations. Everybody knew that rurills were harmless, that the cute little tree-dwelling rodents avoided interactions with all creatures bigger than themselves, including humans. But not everybody knew that, for a short, three-week span every spring ¨C from the time the rurill females birthed their litters in ground-level burrows until the young creatures were old enough to follow their parents into the tree tops ¨C the males of the species guarded their families with uncharacteristic vehemence. Cirris could be forgiven for not knowing the rurills¡¯ one peculiarity, for he had been raised in the eastern plains, while rurills lived in the deep forests.

    Serril had counted on the Academy to have educated young Cirris in all the potential dangers a Warden might face, regardless of where in the Empire he found himself posted. Perhaps, Serril reflected, rurills hadn¡¯t been included in that list because they, by themselves, and even at their worst, weren¡¯t so much dangerous as a nuisance. The things attracted by their defensive pheromones, on the other hand, those could be dangerous, but the rurills were just a nuisance. A damn nuisance, Serril thought with a grunt of irritation. A nuisance that could be avoided entirely if one only knew¡­he sighed and reminded himself not to let frustration cloud his thoughts or distract him from his surroundings.

    The squad did have a [Scout], and Radyn Rufinis was a superb example of his class who could be trusted to give his fellow Wardens ample warning of approaching threats, but the man couldn¡¯t cover all angles of approach at all times. Even if he could, Serril was [Squad Leader], and as such, it behooved him to be on constant guard.

    Radyn was out of sight at the moment, ranging ahead, but Serril could feel the slight tug from his [Unit Bond] skill that indicated the [Scout]¡¯s presence and direction. It was a very useful skill for leaders of small groups like the Warden squads. If Radyn was injured, the magical link would flare in Serril¡¯s mind; the more serious the injury, the more intense the magical alarm. If the link vanished, Serril would know his old friend was dead. On the other hand, if Radyn stepped out into view from between the trees before they reached their designated rendezvous, it would only be to deliver a warning. So long as the [Bond] remained a quiet mental hum, and Radyn remained out of sight, Serril could confidently focus on his immediate surroundings and his other subordinates.

    A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Melori Getha was still bringing up the rear of their little formation. She was a tall, thickly-muscled woman, with dark skin, light brown eyes, and short-cut black hair hidden beneath her helmet and arming cap. Seen from a distance, with the many layers of leather and metal disguising the shape of her figure, it was quite possible to mistake the armoured Warden for a man, but no one who saw her at close range would ever make that error, for Melori¡¯s face was astonishingly beautiful and utterly feminine.

    In the privacy of his own mind, Serril often reflected that her face would be even more beautiful still if she didn¡¯t maintain such a solemn expression. He had seen her smile twice in the nearly eight years during which she¡¯d served in his squad. There had been many instances of politely curved lips, for Melori understood the value of observing social niceties when amongst strangers ¨C especially when those strangers were high-level officers, politicians, or members of the nobility, such as any Warden posted to the Stronghold inevitably bumped into from time to time ¨C but true smiles, born of real emotion, rarely graced her face.

    Serril cherished the memories of those smiles, like he cherished the memory of the great elven high city, which only twelve humans, he among them, had ever been permitted to see, and that at a distance. That remembered image in his mind was of a rare and exquisite thing, and it was enshrined in his memory right next to the two true smiles of Melori Getha.

    She had smiled at a child, a frightened young girl in a small village on the edge of the forest; a smile so full of reassurance and maternal comfort that the girl had immediately wiped her tears and led the squad through the ruins of her home to where her fellow survivors had hidden from [Bandits]. What the girl hadn¡¯t seen in the smile was the undercurrent of sadness, a grief so thick that Serril was shaken by the mere hint of its depths, and yet the smile had been made all the more beautiful by that thread of loss.

    And then, just last year, Melori had smiled in startled amusement in response to a joke told by their squad¡¯s previous rookie. It must have been a truly extraordinary joke but Serril had no memory of its details, only the smile it provoked.

    Now, as he saw Melori¡¯s hard eyes roving back and forth, checking their back trail, ensuring nothing ambushed the squad from behind, Serril wondered once again what the woman¡¯s story was¡­and once again he reminded himself that his respect for the experienced warrior was too great to condone prying into her closely guarded past.

    Reaching a slightly wider part of the trail, Serril stopped and turned around. Melori¡¯s gaze immediately met his and she gave him a slight nod. Her expression and body language already told him what he needed to know, but for the sake of the inexperienced kid hunched miserably on the trail between them, Serril vocalized the question: ¡°Anything to report, Warden Getha?¡±Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°Nothing new, sir,¡± she replied. Her eyes flickered to Cirris¡¯ bowed shoulders and her gaze softened in a way that Serril had learned indicated amusement.

    ¡°The rurill pheromones seem to have faded enough that we¡¯re no longer attracting monsters, and there don¡¯t appear to be any more rurill burrows in the immediate area. We¡¯re in the clear for the moment, sir.¡±

    Melori¡¯s eyes were fairly sparkling with laughter by the time she finished her report, and Serril felt his breath catch as her lips twitched. It wasn¡¯t a smile, not really, but anything that brought joy to his somber subordinate was a blessing. He suspected she had seen far too little of it in her relatively short life (short compared to his, which ¨C Serril would ruefully admit ¨C wasn¡¯t that hard of a bar to pass).

    Serril suddenly felt much more cheerful about the mess this patrol had become, but he quickly realized that the kid was oblivious to the undertones of his fellow Warden¡¯s words, for the rookie¡¯s shoulders slumped even further as Melori gave her report, though whether it was from relief or embarrassment Serril couldn¡¯t tell. He found himself grinning as he braced his short thrusting spear in the crook of his left elbow and used his right hand to clap the boy on his armoured shoulder.

    ¡°Cheer up, young Imbrex,¡± he said. ¡°Every new Warden has some disaster or another within the first ten patrols. It¡¯s practically tradition. You just need to focus on the positives.¡±

    He gave the youth a little shake, making the kid¡¯s shiny new chain mail hauberk rattle and the stiff new leather straps squeak. Out of the corner of his eye, Serril saw Melori wince as she returned to scanning the forest, ever alert for danger. He mentally shrugged. It wasn¡¯t like the kid had taken a stealth class that relied on silent movement, and he¡¯d get his armour properly oiled and broken in soon enough. A little extra noise now wasn¡¯t worth a lecture in the field on the boy¡¯s first day. That could wait until they returned to barracks.

    Unaware of his superior¡¯s mental tangent, young Cirris Imbrex finally raised his head and met his [Squad Leader]¡¯s gaze. The young man flinched at the intensity of those dark eyes beneath frosted brows, but he straightened his shoulders and stood his ground. Serril nodded approvingly. The kid had grit; he would go far.

    ¡°Alright. Back to it, then,¡± Serril said, taking up his spear and raising his shield from where he¡¯d allowed it to rest upon the toe of his armoured boot. The shield was enormous but Serril had the strength and Skills to match. If need be, he could fight for hours on end without once lowering the massive bulwark. Still, he was a veteran of enough Imperial campaigns and Warden missions to know that stewarding one¡¯s strength was just as important as any class-given Skill, maybe even more so. And sometimes that meant resting his shield on his foot.

    It was one of the many lessons Serril intended to teach the young man in the months to come, but it could wait. For the moment, as the three Wardens walked forward once more, Serril was pleased to note that Cirris¡¯ footsteps sounded significantly livelier than before. He was waiting patiently for the inevitable question, and it took only a few minutes for Cirris to work up the nerve.

    ¡°Sir,¡± the Junior Warden began, careful not to raise his voice beyond operational parameters, ¡°you said to focus on the positives, but what exactly is positive about¡­uh¡­about¡­my mistake?¡±

    Serril almost snorted out a short laugh but managed to swallow it in time.

    ¡°Well, young Imbrex,¡± he said, voice pitched to carry over his shoulder but not deep into the trees. ¡°To start with, you have a great story with which to regale young rookies, and in a few years you might not mind telling it.¡±

    A very quietly muttered invective told Serril it might be more than a few years before his newest prot¨¦g¨¦ would be willing to reveal the events of his first patrol. Serril¡¯s lips twitched but he pretended not to have heard the cussing. Best to let the lad have his dignity, he thought, before returning to his list.

    ¡°Secondly, that is one mistake you will never make again. And thirdly, you¡¯ve given me an excuse to chew out those self-important fellows at the Academy about not properly preparing the next generation of Wardens.¡±

    Serril¡¯s grin slipped into a frown after a moment¡¯s thought and he sighed sadly and with a touch of theatrics. ¡°I¡¯ll probably have to let the [Captain] have that privilege. Politics. Bah!¡±

    Another moment of thought and he continued, now without any traces of levity or showmanship. ¡°Most importantly, young Imbrex, no one was seriously injured and no one died.¡± He glanced over his shoulder and met the young man¡¯s solemn gaze. ¡°Not all rookies can say the same about their first mistakes. You did well, lad¡­all things considered.¡±

    Serril¡¯s face broke into a sly grin but this time the kid grinned back, and even Melori smirked faintly from the rear.

    Success, Serril though. Rookie reassured, wisdom dispensed, team spirit improved; all in a day¡¯s work.

    His good mood evaporated in an instant when he felt a strong tug on the [Unit Bond]; it was Radyn.

    ¡°Alert formation,¡± he ordered in a crisp, calm tone, setting himself into a defensive stance. Cirris took position behind and to the side of his right shoulder, while Melori stepped up to his left. Serril had chosen his position carefully. He would anchor their formation ¨C and take the brunt of any attack ¨C while a pair of thick cedar trees would protect their backs and his companions would watch the flanks.

    He could see the bronze head of Cirris¡¯ spear extending past his right shoulder. The sharp, deadly weapon was steady and unwavering, despite the tension the rookie surely felt. He heard Melori slap a bolt into her crossbow then check her short sword in its scabbard. There was a beat, during which she was undoubtedly checking to be certain Cirris was also ready to engage any threat, and then she spoke.

    ¡°Radyn?¡±

    Cirris twitched when Serril nodded.

    ¡°He signaled. We wait,¡± Serril said.

    Melori let out a soft breath of relief, and then Serril heard her quietly explaining to the Junior Warden.

    ¡°Radyn is a [Deep Forest Scout], Gold Rank,¡± she said. ¡°He has a skill that lets him send simple signals through his direct commander¡¯s [Unit Bond].¡±

    ¡°So he¡¯s not injured?¡± Cirris asked.

    ¡°He is not,¡± Serril confirmed, and sensed some of the tension flow from the young man¡¯s body, ¡°but something is coming. Either it¡¯s a serious threat or it¡¯s moving too fast for Radyn to get back here to warn us the usual way¡­or it¡¯s something new. So we wait.¡±

    For a long moment, the three Wardens waited in silence, their eyes searching the deepening gloom of the evening forest; then came Cirris¡¯ quiet, confused voice:

    ¡°What is a Gold Rank [Scout] doing in a Warden squad instead of the army?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­complicated,¡± was Melori¡¯s equally quiet response.

    The kid was smart enough not to push any further and a moment later Radyn ghosted into view on the squad¡¯s left. He stayed off to the side and behind another tree, maintaining the advantage of stealth, but his visible presence was a message that Serril, after nearly two decades of working with the man, immediately understood. He followed Radyn¡¯s eye line and spotted a hint of movement among the trunks. He shifted his position slightly to better face the approaching unknown. His squad matched him, step for step, even the kid. The lad would indeed do well.

    The approaching figure was now close enough to identify as human. Female, Serril thought. She was jogging along with her eyes pointed at the ground, weariness evident in every step.

    His squad mates now fully alerted to the possible threat, Radyn flickered and vanished, and Serril knew the veteran [Scout] had activated a skill and would be working his way around behind the unknown woman.

    Just then, the woman stumbled and finally looked up, gaping at the armed and armoured formation of warriors facing her.

    ¡°Uh¡­hi,¡± she said uncertainly.

 Chapter 3 - Part 2

    For a moment, the four armed individuals (five, if you counted Radyn sneaking stealthily through the trees) appraised each other carefully. On one side was the formation of Wardens, looking very professional in their matching outfits of green and brown tunics and pants beneath dark brown quilted gambesons, iron chain mail hauberks, and forest green tabards. Select bits of iron plate armour, lined with leather, protected shoulders, arms, legs, and heads, while the blades of bronze weapons caught the last light of the afternoon sun and gleamed like polished gold.

    On the other side was a single woman, wearing a cuirass and bracers of ill-fitting leather armour over a simple tunic, trousers and leather boots. A sheathed short sword hung from a belt so overlong that she¡¯d had to wrap it twice around her waist. The shield strapped to her left arm was of a rough construction that contrasted with the high quality weapon she clutched in her right hand, a spear that she seemed more comfortable using as a walking staff than as a weapon. She drooped with fatigue, held herself with a stiffness that spoke of broken ribs, and was covered in slowly drying blood.

    ¡°Hi,¡± she said again, her eyes flicking back and forth between Cirris, Serril, and Melori, as if trying to decide which of the three was the group¡¯s leader. ¡°Are you, uh, someone who might be able to help me?¡±

    ¡°We are Wardens,¡± Serril confirmed. ¡°Please identify yourself, Miss.¡±

    The woman let out a nervous chuckle. ¡°That¡¯s not as easy as you might think,¡± she said. ¡°You can call me En, but it¡¯s not actually my name.¡±

    Serril frowned. ¡°I''m going to need your true name, Miss.¡±

    The woman shrugged tiredly, wincing as the movement pulled at damaged ribs. ¡°I don¡¯t know it.¡±

    Serril paused, thrown off by the simple admission. By the way the woman had introduced herself, he¡¯d expected a tale about a top-secret mission for the Emperor, or some equally ridiculous obfuscation.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know it?¡±

    She nodded, then shook her head, then frowned and gave up on nonverbals.

    ¡°Correct. More accurately, I can¡¯t remember.¡±

    Her words caused the Wardens to shift in unease. Significant memory loss wasn¡¯t a common occurrence in the empire but it did occasionally happen. It was one of those things that the average citizen might not know ¨C or care ¨C about but Wardens were specifically trained to deal with. Because amnesia ¨C whether from traumatic brain injury or magical interference ¨C severe enough to wipe out a person¡¯s identity, tended to cause certain¡­instabilities. Unconscious use of skills from classes the person didn¡¯t remember getting could cause various levels of disturbance. If the amnesiac was a level one Wood Rank [Gardener] it wouldn¡¯t be a problem; the worst such a person could do was cause the grass to grow a might faster. If the person suffering memory loss had been a high-level [Warrior] on the other hand¡­well, things could get messy.

    This woman¡¯s mismatched gear and battered condition was suspicious to start with. Looking at the sheer quantity of blood spattered across her face, caking her shoulder-length brown hair, and soaking her ill-fitting armour, Serril judged that at least two people had recently died violent deaths and that this woman had been right in the middle of it. Whether she had been victim or aggressor remained to be seen, but either would require a light touch.

    Now that he knew the potential threat was a single individual ¨C rather than a horde of monsters ¨C Serril made a swift decision and gave a brief signal to Melori and Cirris. As he continued to engage the unknown woman in conversation, the other two Wardens sidled out from their arrowhead formation.

    To the inexperienced person, it would look like the three Wardens were relaxing their guard and spreading out to have a more normal conversation, or as normal as any conversation between armed and armoured people in the middle of the forest at dusk could be. In reality, they were simply shifting to a new formation that allowed the squad to encircle the target without being overtly threatening. If attack became necessary, they could do so from all sides, but the flowing movements of the formation were designed to impart a sense of safety and camaraderie to the target.

    Unfortunately, the way the woman¡¯s gaze flickered back and forth, and the tension in her stance, told Serril she knew exactly what they were doing and would not be caught off guard. Thankfully, she made no move to attack or flee but calmly stood her ground and told her story.

    Serril and the others listened in astonishment and concern to her tale of kobolds and dying Wardens. There were a few moments ¨C such as when she recounted her conversation with the kobolds ¨C when Serril got the sense there were some things she deliberately didn¡¯t say. Her story followed a logical progression though, and had no obvious gaps, so he wasn¡¯t sure what she might be hiding.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Even the [Detect Truth] skill ¨C which he typically used for the investigation and law enforcement side of Warden work ¨C indicated that her words were truthful, or at least that she believed them to be. The skill did have its limits, for it only alerted him to falsehoods knowingly told, not unintended omissions or false information spoken by one who believed it to be true. The woman could be bat-shit crazy and her tale a complete fabrication, but if she believed it to be true, his skill would read it as such; which was why no Warden worth his weapon ever relied entirely on skills.

    Serril blinked and realized that as he¡¯d mulled, the woman had finished speaking and was waiting patiently for a response.

    ¡°Alright, Miss¡­En, was it?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°It will do,¡± she said quietly.

    Serril grunted in acknowledgement. ¡°Alright, Miss En, I have some questions.¡±

    Her lips twisted in a wry smile. ¡°I thought you might, but first, do you have any water?¡±

    ¡°Melori,¡± Serril ordered briefly, and the female Warden removed a canteen from her belt and handed it over.

    As strange as the blood-covered woman¡¯s story had been, Serril didn¡¯t think she was an immediate threat, so while she quenched her thirst, he turned to the youngest Warden.

    ¡°Break out the torches, young Imbrex,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s getting too dark to travel without them.¡±

    Cirris shucked off his small pack and began digging out the tiny enchanted crystals that Wardens used in place of flaming sticks, while Serril turned back to En.

    ¡°Based on your description, Miss En, the clearing the kobolds attacked you in is a place we call the Elder Tree¡¯s Grave.¡±

    ¡°Apt description of the place,¡± En said with a touch of humour.

    ¡°Yes, well, we were heading that direction anyway, so we might as well march and talk at the same time. Bodies attract scavengers, after all; the sooner we get there, the better.¡±

    En nodded and handed the canteen back to Melori. She picked up her spear and turned wearily back up the faint trail down which she¡¯d been jogging before meeting the Wardens.

    Melori fell into step beside her on the left, Serril took up the rear, and Cirris quickly re-slung his pack and hurried to catch up on En¡¯s right.

    The trail wasn¡¯t really wide enough for three people to walk abreast, but the undergrowth was light and the trees not closely packed, so they made it work. As they walked, Cirris passed ¡°torches¡± to each of his fellow Wardens, his own already clipped to the front of his helmet.

    The small magic-filled stones cast a warm red glow, bright enough to illuminate the path and immediate surroundings, but dim enough to preserve basic night vision. Radyn, of course, had a [Night Vision] skill, and while he did carry a torch stone, using it would effectively negate his stealth, so it rarely made an appearance while he was working.

    Serril had made a deliberate choice not to reveal the presence of the [Scout] to En, and Melori and Cirris had enough experience (or training, in the boy¡¯s case) to follow his lead.

    He didn¡¯t think the strange woman was leading them into an ambush, but he and his old friend had not reached their respective fourth decades of Warden service by taking foolish chances or relying on assumptions. By the time the foursome on the trail reached their destination, Serril knew that the veteran [Scout] would already have ensured the area was secure.

    The sun finally finished setting and En and the three Wardens walked in silence for several long minutes, until they were interrupted by En stumbling over a root.

    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Cirris said, as the woman regained her balance. ¡°I meant to give you this.¡±

    He shyly held out a torch stone. En took it with interest, then looked around at the Wardens, glancing at their helmet-mounted stones.

    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Cirris said again, blushing as he realized the problem. ¡°They attach to our helmets but you, uh, don¡¯t have one. Uh¡­that¡¯s a Warden spear, right?¡± he asked, pointing to the weapon En carried.

    ¡°It belonged to a Warden, yes.¡±

    ¡°There should be a node on the haft, right below the head. You can attach the torch stone there.¡±

    En followed the young Warden¡¯s instructions, though she had to wipe away some half-dried blood to find the node.

    ¡°It¡¯s like magnets,¡± she muttered, as the stone clicked into place. She then gave Cirris a tired smile.

    ¡°Thank you, uh¡­Imbrex?¡±

    Cirris shot a questioning glance at Serril, who cleared his throat.

    ¡°Sorry about that, Miss En. Guess we forgot to introduce ourselves. I¡¯m Warden Serril Catullus, [Squad Leader], this here is Warden Melori Getha, [Arbalist], and the young one is Junior Warden Cirris Imbrex, [Spearman].¡±

    Once again, he chose not to mention Radyn. He also didn¡¯t list their respective class Ranks, which were Gold for himself, Silver for Melori, and Iron for Cirris. It might have been considered the polite thing to do in modern society, giving one¡¯s class Rank, but Serril didn¡¯t believe in giving persons of uncertain allegiance hints about the potency of his and his allies¡¯ abilities.

    If En noticed the omissions, she didn¡¯t react, simply acknowledging the introductions with a nod.

    ¡°I¡¯m a [Spearwoman],¡± she said, an expression of distaste flickering across her face as she named her class. ¡°Thank you, by the way¡­for helping me.¡±

    Serril studied her face for a moment but found no signs of anything but sincerity.

    ¡°We¡¯re Wardens, Miss En,¡± he said by way of response. ¡°This is what we do.¡±

    Before she could say anything else, he pointed up the trail with his chin. ¡°We best keep moving.¡±

    She took the implied order with grace and soon the group was moving swiftly down the trail. Even moving at speed, the Wardens were on high alert. Serril alternated between checking their back trail and keeping an eye on En, while the other two mostly watched their flanks, trusting Radyn to have cleared out any obstacles or ambushes from the front.

    The closer they got to the Elder Tree¡¯s Grave, the more the back of Serril¡¯s neck prickled and his head ached. Either En was crazy and had somehow slaughtered an entire Warden squad ¨C in which case it had been a serious mistake to let her keep her weapons ¨C or her story was true and kobolds had invaded the Empire. Either way, it was going to be a long, hard night.

 Edit Updates (Not a chapter)

    Hello readers,

    This is my first attempt at a web serial and I made the mistake of starting without sufficient preparation. I had the first chapter and a rough idea of where I wanted to go but it quickly became clear that wasn¡¯t enough. This web serial thing isn¡¯t like writing a novel, where I can craft my plot as I go, darting back and forth to add or subtract elements from previous chapters as my plot evolves. This process, it seems, needs much more detailed planning and story boarding. So I¡¯m taking some time off to do just that, and to heavily edit each of the existing chapters, since none of them - not even the first - is really up to my preferred standards. Chapter One only needs some polish, the rest need surgery. And then there is the story boarding. It might take me a few weeks but I will be back, and this story will be even better.

    Thank you for your patience!

    Ciriolin

    April 28, 2022: Update:

    I have Chapter One edits ready to upload and Chapter Two completely rewritten, with almost entirely new material. Chapter Three is the same except I¡¯m still working on the ending, ¡®cause it¡¯s not cooperating. None of this has been uploaded yet because I¡¯m currently on ¡°vacation¡± helping my brother and his family on the farm and I left my computer at home. By the time my trip is over in a few weeks, I hope to have several more chapters rewritten and I¡¯ll upload it all in one go. I won¡¯t be adding them as new chapters, though, just replacing what¡¯s already there, so you won¡¯t get any alerts until I¡¯ve moved past the current Chapter Nine. It will be worth the wait though. :)

    May 9, 2022:

    Well, Chapter Four has been rewritten. I¡¯d hoped to have made more progress by now but I came to my brother¡¯s farm to help with lambing season, and while some days we had no lambs born, other days we might have half a dozen before breakfast. Writing hasn¡¯t exactly been my primary focus.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.Good news, though, is that the rewritten chapters are following the same basic plot line but are so far composed of over 90% new material. I¡¯m fleshing out the world and developing much deeper characters. Also, my nieces and nephew have taken it upon themselves to help me create monsters and creatures for my imaginary little world. My brain can come up with a lot of stuff, but the chance to tap into the creativity of children is not something I¡¯m about to turn down. I¡¯ve also promised them that I¡¯ll share their artwork whenever one of ¡°their¡± creatures debuts in my story. My first fan art! ??

    Oh, and in case you¡¯re wondering why it is taking sooo long to rewrite short little chapters (2,000 to 2,500 words) it¡¯s partly because the new ones are much longer: the shortest one is just under 3,000 words.

    May 19, 2022:

    Chapter One edits have been done and the new version of Chapter Two is online. My handwritten version was about 2,700 words but the final edited version is just under 3,600. Yeah!

    Anyway, I''ll try to get version two of Chapter Three edited and uploaded tomorrow, then the new Chapter Four before the end of the weekend.

    May 28, 2022:

    I''ve come to the realization that I''m being rather foolish by not upload my edited work as new chapters. My original plan was solid for what I thought I''d be doing - general edits and touch-ups that wouldn''t take more than a week or two for all nine chapters and one interlude - but reality has turned out to be much different. Instead of light editing, I''ve ended up almost completely rewriting my chapters and including a ton of new material. Not only that, but I''m finding myself doing a lot of pondering about the development of the world, the characters, their motivations, etc. The story has turned out a lot darker than I originally envisioned, at least this first arc, but I suppose that''s what I get for starting by introducing a character and immediately killing him off in the first chapter.

    Anyway, I''ve decided that my biggest problem the first time around was that I pushed myself to produce material for frequent updates without giving the proper considerations to the quality of the writing or the progression and development of the story itself. That might work for some stories, but this one is too psychologically heavy for that light-hearted approach. So from now on I''ll be posting every chapter as if it were all new material but I won''t be forcing myself into a set schedule, other than aiming for about two chapters every month.

    Thanks to those of you who stuck with me through all this and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.