Path of Dragons

An arrow whistled past Miguel’s face, barely nicking his cheek before thudding into the wooden frame of the wagon. He couldn’t spare even a second to ruminate on how close he’d come to being killed, because it was all he could do to sweep his sword out and knock an oncoming spear to the side. Even when he used all of his Strength, he barely managed to redirect the weapon before using Impale. As the skill took effect, he skewered the spear-wielder in the gut, then ripped his sword free. The motion tore a gaping hole in the man’s midsection, spilling his foul-smelling intestines onto the ground a second later.

The bandit screamed, abandoning his spear in an effort to corral his innards. He was unsuccessful, and they slipped between his fingers to snake their way to the ground. More importantly, the distraction gave Miguel the opportunity he needed to end the threat. The bandit died with half his neck severed, freeing Miguel to focus on the rest of the caravan’s defenses.

And things were not going well.

Surrounded by the screams of the wounded and dying, the battlefield had become a hellish example of how quickly civilization could dissolve. The bandits had come in the dead of night, and the darkness only added to the confusion. Fortunately, the encircled wagons maintained a few of their ethereal lamps; otherwise, the battle might’ve been over before it even started.

Soon enough, Miguel found his next target. Or targets, given that there were two of them. A pair of tall, thin figures wearing leather armor had cornered one of the teamsters – old Hammond, if Miguel wasn’t mistaken. The dwarf was trying to fend them off with his quarterstaff, but their movements showed the difference between a combat class and someone who’d chosen the route of the noncombatant.

Miguel raced forward, abandoning his previous position. However, he did retrieve his spear from where he’d previously dropped it. He didn’t sheathe his sword, though. Instead, he hefted the spear like a javelin, took a crow hop, then let it loose. It flew through the air like a ballistae bolt, hitting one of the bandits in the ribs and launching her off her feet.

Wincing at the sound of the woman’s high-pitched scream, Miguel forced his mind to remain on task. He didn’t like killing anyone, let alone a woman, but she had chosen her path. She had become a bandit, preying on what she thought was a defenseless caravan. So, she deserved the spear she’d gotten through the ribs.

Or that was what he would later tell himself in a vain attempt to remove the guilt from the situation. The fact was that he’d been raised not to hit women, and even though the justification for that distinction had disappeared the moment the World Tree’s touch had removed gender from the equation of physical power, old lessons were difficult to completely discard.

In either case, that was an issue for later. For the moment, he was wholly focused on the teamster and his remaining attacker. The bandit was a swordsman, and he clearly had some sort of skills that enhanced his physical prowess. Hammond did his best, but he just wasn’t a combatant, and he quickly took a blade to the chest.

Keeping his mind on track, he used Charge, increasing his movement speed by three-hundred percent. As he covered the distance between him and his target in a blink, he used Enrage.

It was the only thing that kept him from being ripped apart.

How the bandit had gotten turned around so quickly, Miguel had no idea. What he did know, however, was that the maneuver had nearly spelled his doom. As it was, he took a sword slash to his hip. Though it was partially deflected by his armor, it still carved a gaping wound that was deep enough to expose bone. More troublingly, it carried with it enough momentum to stagger Miguel.

That told him two things.

First, that he was in big trouble. Losing his footing was one of the worst things that could happen in any battle, and as such, he was suddenly extremely vulnerable. The second thing he realized was that he was in a much worse situation than he’d first thought, because the swordsman was clearly stronger and faster than him.

The only thing he had on his side was technique.

“You killed her!” screamed the bandit in a deep voice filled with rage and sorrow. “You fucking killed her!”

Miguel barely managed to keep himself from falling to the ground, which was likely the only reason he wasn’t immediately beheaded. As it was, he parried the oncoming blade at the last second, and even though he absorbed some of the swing’s momentum, his own sword was nearly ripped out of his hands.

He maintained his grip, though, if only just, and after stymying the man’s first attack, Miguel followed the parry with a thrust that took the other swordsman in the side. The weapon skated off the bandit’s ribs, doing very little damage. More distressingly, the blade splintered.

It was at that moment that Miguel wished he’d chosen a different class. While in Norcastle, he’d had a couple of days to look around, and he’d found himself drawn to the district known as Crafter’s Circle. It was there that he met a Woodcarver who Miguel had commissioned to carve a series of weapons and a set of armor. He’d only been able to afford low-grade wood, but he’d hoped that his skills, Natural Armor Affinity and Weapons of Wood might make the difference.

And in the early parts of the battle, they had performed admirably. The armor had even deflected a couple of arrows and, only a few moments before, saved him from near-certain death. And the weapons had done well enough to get the job done. Now, though, he was beginning to see the downsides of using wooden weapons.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. Instead, he ducked beneath another blow meant to decapitate him, then kicked the man’s knee. It buckled inward, and Miguel dashed forward in a shoulder charge that took the unbalanced bandit in the chest. The man toppled over, hitting the ground with a thud.

Knowing he didn’t have any leeway to hesitate, Miguel pounced, using the broken splinters of his sword as a short dagger. He fell upon the man, aiming his ruined blade for the most vulnerable bits he could find. The attack took the bandit in the eye, the jagged remnants of his sword plunging deep into the socket and piercing the man’s brain.

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He went limp a moment later.

Miguel looked up to see that the battle had ended, and the handful of other guards were staring at him in mingled shock and awe.

“Damn, kid,” said one of the older guards. Her name was Meredith, and she was even older than his mother. Though, like most of the people who’d survived the world’s transformation, she was as physically fit as someone half her age. More so, when attributes were taken into account. She was also one of the new additions from Norcastle, and she’d chosen to guard the caravan in hopes of going to Ironshore and visiting the tower off the coast of his uncle’s island. “You did a number on him. You know who that was?”

Miguel pushed the long strands of bloody hair from his eyes and shook his head. “No. Should I?” he asked.

“That was Slim. Steven Rooker. Was a bad guy even before the world went to shit,” she said, her Irish brogue becoming even more pronounced. “He took to banditry back when Norcastle was still just a collection of families who’d taken refuge in the church. Been a thorn in everyone’s side ever since.”

Miguel glanced at the corpse beneath him, then said, “Not anymore.”

As he picked himself up, Meredith laughed. And when he was finally standing, she slapped him on the shoulder, saying, “That’s the spirit. I always thought your generation was doomed, what with all the Tiks and Toks and whatnot. Most of what I saw in Norcastle confirmed that. But this…this gives me a little hope.”

“Fantastic,” Miguel said with a shake of his head. “Glad for your approval.”

Meredith laughed, then threw her arm around him. “I like you, kid. Reminds me of my idiot son,” she said. “He was a smartass, too.”

“What happened to him?”

“Smarted off to the wrong bloke,” she answered.

“Oh…sorry.”

“Don’t be. He didn’t get killed or anything. Just put in the hospital. He straightened up that smart mouth in a hurry after that,” she explained. “Went to school, met a girl, moved to France. That last part’s the only mistake he made after getting set straight. The girl’s good for him, though.”

“Have you seen him since the world changed?” Miguel asked, trying – and failing – to pull himself away from the woman.

“Nope. But I’m sure he’s okay,” she said.

Miguel didn’t ask how she knew such a thing. More people than any of them could count had died when the World Tree had touched Earth, so simply assuming that a loved one had made it was quite a stretch. However, he’d also learned not to ask too many questions about that sort of thing. People didn’t appreciate being reminded – by perfect strangers, no less – of their missing families or friends.

Instead, he let himself be dragged along as she explained how she’d been making a living as an adventurer, running towers whenever she could find a new one. Finally, she said, “Lost most of my team up north. Nasty tower, that one. Only two survivors. Me and our Healer. And he decided to settle down. Leave the adventuring life behind, so to speak. Opened up a tavern, of all things. Such a waste. Good beer, though. Anyway, my point is that I’ve got an eye for talent, you see? And boy, you’ve got it. Talent, I mean.”

“Thanks?”

“I’m prepared to extend an offer to you. You join my team, and you’ll get an equal share of the loot. Minus expenses, of course,” she said. “For a young adventurer like yourself, you won’t find a better deal.”

“I’m half your level.”

“Not a problem. You’ll catch up in no time,” she said. “Call it an investment.”

Miguel shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it,” he said.

“Don’t think too long,” she said, pulling her arm away. “I’ll want an answer as soon as we get to this Irontown or whatever. I plan to hit that tower as soon as possible, and I don’t want to spend weeks lounging around.”

“I’ll let you know before then,” he said. They were still almost a week away from Ironshore, and though his initial reaction was to refuse Meredith’s offer, he chose to give it its due in terms of consideration. But then again, she was all alone, which meant that she didn’t really have a team to begin with so maybe he would have longer than expected to make a decision.

Regardless, he had other things begging for his attention. The first was the clean-up, which was necessary if they wanted to avoid being overrun by hungry monsters. So, he and the rest of the teamsters and guards pooled their efforts to gather the dead. Most of them were bandits, but there were a couple of members of the caravan who hadn’t made it.

Those, they wrapped in preserving cloth and sealed into coffins. A trek of any distance was inevitably dangerous, and the caravan’s provisioner had come prepared. The bandits got no such consideration, and they were dragged away and dumped unceremoniously into a mass grave. After their possessions were looted, at least. What little they had was thrown together into the caravan’s stockpile, and the items would be sold when they reached their destination, with the proceeds divided amongst the survivors.

It was all so routine that Miguel almost forgot that they’d killed more than a dozen people.

But he had one reminder of just that, and he couldn’t even begin to ignore it.

Congratulations! You have reached level 20! Attributes have been automatically assigned based on class.

He liked the idea of gaining more attributes, but he was far more interested in the fact that level twenty should have netted him a new ability. He’d already gotten Woodsman’s Constitution, Wood Armor Affinity, and Wood Weapon Affinity. And at level sixteen, he’d gained Natural Focus:

For Miguel, it meant that, when he had the buff active, his senses were doubly effective. That worked hand-in-hand with his level eighteen skill:

It wasn’t as simple as the description made it seem. He’d only had a few opportunities to test it, but when he had, he’d been incredibly impressed. So long as he knew what he was looking for, he could discern trails that no one else could see. Even experienced trackers couldn’t compete with the skill. He could even use it in the middle of a city like Norcastle, which shouldn’t have been possible.

But now, he’d earned a new spell, and he was hoping that it was something more active. So, with bated breath, he sat atop one of the wagons and looked at the latest addition to his spellbook:

It was not what he’d expected, but he sensed that this new ability was the core of the Green Warden’s purpose. Fortunately, he didn’t need to search for a grove to which to pledge himself. However, he was a little worried about the last line of the spell’s description. In any case, he was excited to see just what sort of power the Pledge of the Green Warden would give him.

First, he needed to make it back to Ironshore, though. So, Miguel pushed those thoughts out of mind and continued his watch. After one unsuccessful bandit attack, there was little chance of another, but he didn’t intend to be surprised if one did come.

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