Path of Dragons

“Stay here,” Benedict commanded, glancing back at his horde of imps. He’d lost count of how many he’d summoned over the previous month, and getting an accurate count was almost impossible due to the little minions’ inability to stand still for more than a millisecond. However, he did know that there were at least a few dozen.

It had, after all, been a busy few weeks, most of which was characterized by travel, but also included quite a few encounters with people who saw a lone traveler as a juicy target. He’d disabused most of them from that notion, even managing to use them as fuel for his summons.

Benedict just didn’t understand people. Most of them were so selfish – and ambitious – that they couldn’t turn down an opportunity to prey on their fellow man. It had happened so often that he’d begun to worry that the apocalypse had fundamentally changed everyone for the worst.

Or maybe they’d always been like that.

His own story supported that idea. He’d spent most of his younger years being bullied, and the only thing that had changed that was isolation. He’d chosen a job that didn’t require him to be around the people that had, for most of his life, made his existence a living hell. Even then, he’d had a few run-ins that supported the notion that people, at their core, were just horrible.

And he hadn’t experienced much in the wake of the World Tree’s influence that changed his opinion.

It wasn’t all bad, of course. He had made a friend in Oscar, and his interactions with Elijah had been positive as well. Neither of them had tried to exploit him. They hadn’t attempted to bully him, either. Maybe because they knew it wouldn’t work, but he preferred to believe that they were just among the few good people left in the world.

But Benedict was tired of being alone. He wanted company that his imps just couldn’t provide. So, when he had laid eyes on the settlement in the distance, he’d decided to give it a chance. To date, his experiences in such towns weren’t great, but he still held out hope that this one would be different. He needed that, if only to keep him from tipping over the edge.

He knew just how close he was to giving up, and though he believed that eventuality was inevitable, he instinctively turned away from it. He was still human. He still wanted companionship. And he wouldn’t give up on that desire until he was certain that seeking it was a fruitless endeavor.

“Master is no fun!”

“Just a little fire?”

“Or a big one? That city looks…flammable.”

On and on they went until Benedict shut them up by half-shouting, “Enough. Obey me, you little cretins, or I will sacrifice you for replacements.”

The small creatures were only minions, meaning that they were not real – at least not as Benedict considered the term. Instead, they were mere collections of meat and magic, without sapience and only featuring the barest ability for independent thought. However, they did have enough consciousness – or perhaps an instinct for self-preservation – that his threat was an effective one.

Like all creatures, real or conjured, they wanted to remain among the living.

The origin of that desire and their nature made for an interesting philosophical question, but at present, it was not one that interested Benedict. They were throwaway minions, and he intended to treat them as such.

Thankfully, the imps had progressed to the point where they had gained a new ability. Benedict didn’t know what it was called, and any attempts to get the creatures to reveal the name were met with confusion. So, he’d taken to calling it Camouflage. With it, they could hide themselves from all but the most studious observation.

For himself, he’d gained a new spell as well:

That spell’s existence was the only reason he’d chosen to take the chance of entering the town alone. After all, in his experience, new places usually meant getting attacked for no reason. And he had no intention of letting his guard down.

Certainly, he could deal with most people without his minions. His spells could incapacitate even strong fighters. However, what he couldn’t handle was a mob. He didn’t have the Constitution to take that kind of damage, and he lacked the firepower to put them down alone. That was the price he’d paid for his class, which was focused on summoning and empowering his minions.

Thus, his reliance on Call Minions. Without it, he would never have even entered the city. With it backing him up, he hoped to play the role of a powerful, if not dangerous, adventurer. And maybe – just maybe – he could avoid some of the things he’d faced in other locations.

With that in mind, he once again reiterated that the imps should use their Camouflage ability to remain hidden in the surrounding forest, and once they’d acknowledged his order, he began the trek toward the town below.

The region was slightly arid, though it was far from being a desert. However, the city itself had been bult on an island in the center of a huge river, on the banks of which were verdant fields of crops. It made for a beautiful sight that put him in mind of Elijah’s fascination with nature. Benedict didn’t know him that well, but he knew that the Druid would have been enthralled by the flora.

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For his part, Benedict was more interested in the buildings, which reminded him of the Mediterranean style, with white walls, red tile roofs, and a preponderance of green ivy. It very much looked like an idyllic community that probably played host to a thousand people.

Maybe they would be nice and accepting.

Benedict began the trek down the hill, once again marveling at the transformation of his body. Once, calling him clumsy would have been a generous assessment. In school, he’d eschewed anything athletic, often making excuses for why he couldn’t participate in gym class. However, now, his body was strong and perfectly balanced, far exceeding the athleticism of all the boys who used to bully him so mercilessly. What would they do if they could see him now? How would they react to how much better he was than them?

Probably poorly. He’d discovered that much soon after the apocalypse had stuck the world, and he had no reason to suspect those idiots would have changed their tune. They hated him, and not just because they perceived he was weak. It went deeper than that, though Benedict had no idea what truly prompted their hatred. Perhaps he’d never discover the truth.

Such thoughts accompanied him as he descended the hill and, eventually, he approached the town’s entrance. As far as he could tell, there were only a couple of bridges spanning the river, and as such, the place was well protected from invasion. Yet, he did notice that a wall still encircled the island, likely to protect the inhabitants from the denizens of the river.

Smart.

From what Benedict understood, large bodies of water were usually home to the most powerful creatures. He’d yet to visit a true ocean – aside from the Trial of Primacy – but he could easily imagine enormous leviathans and sea serpents roaming those waters. The river wasn’t on that scale, but perhaps there were terrible fish beneath the surface. Or crocodiles. He had no idea, but he also had no interest in discovering the truth.

Let other people deal with aquatic monsters. He would stay on land, thank you very much.

There were a pair of lazy-looking guards standing sentry at the end of the bridge, and even as Benedict approached, they didn’t really react. Instead, they just watched him. One leaned against the wall of a small gatehouse, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette while the other sat in a nylon camp chair, enjoying a beverage.

When Benedict reached them, the smoking guard asked, “What’s your business?”

“Just a wandering adventurer looking for a place to stay for the night,” Benedict answered as affably as he could manage. He even forced a smile. “What’s this town called?”

“Old Town,” the guard said, his words slightly accented. Perhaps he was speaking a different language, and the system had translated it. “Used to be part of Verona, but not since the apocalypse. We got stuck in the center of this river. Not sure where the rest of the city ended up, but we got a few foreign areas in here as well. Bit of Greek. A few Americans. Even a couple of Polish.”

“Yep. We’re a melting pot, we are,” said the seated guard in an entirely different accent that Benedict couldn’t quite parse. “You have money?”

“I do,” Benedict stated. During the Trial, he’d discovered the existence of folios, which linked to his account in the World Tree and allowed him to access his funds. They were only really useful when others had folios, but the little pocket-watch-like devices were becoming more and more common.

“Then come on in. I see you’ve got a few levels under your belt, but I’ll tell you right now. You cause trouble, the City Lord will lock you down straight away,” the smoking guard stated.

“City Lord?”

“System official. He’s got absolute power in this city, and make no mistake about it. Don’t make trouble, and there won’t be any trouble. But if you go the other way…”

Benedict held up his hands in surrender. “I get it,” he said. “I don’t intend to cause problems. I genuinely just want to rest, relax, and recover. Maybe get a shower, sleep in a real bed, and eat some decent food. Nothing else.”

“Then welcome,” the guard responded with a nod. “Come on in.”

That got Benedict’s hopes up. Those two guards were precisely the sorts of men who’d have bullied him in the past, and the fact that they hadn’t gone down that road left him feeling more than a little optimistic as he crossed the stone bridge. Soon enough, he was inside the town.

And it was just as picturesque as it had appeared from the outside. Clean and well maintained, the whole place looked like a movie set. The people weren’t particularly friendly-looking, but they mostly just glanced his way before moving on about their business. Indifference was far preferable to enmity, in his opinion.

Soon enough, Benedict found a small inn that would serve his needs. Once he’d hired a room, he went upstairs and, to his immense relief, found that it was equipped with a shower. The water was cold, but as dirty as he was, he didn’t really care. After getting cleaned up and donning a fresh set of clothes, he went outside to explore the town.

Benedict didn’t really care much for people in general, but he was still a social animal. What’s more, he wasn’t immune to the draw of sightseeing, and he spent most of the afternoon just taking in the city’s sights. Eventually, though, he found his way to what appeared to be a popular tavern.

He’d never been much of a drinker, but he was in such a good mood that he figured a little wouldn’t hurt. So, that was how he found himself sitting at the bar. The alcohol served wasn’t high quality, but the way he figured it, that they had any at all was a minor miracle.

What’s more, he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt for the bartender. She was a pretty girl with dusky skin and a playful demeanor. And she very much had taken a liking to Benedict. Once, that might have struck him as odd, but his experiences in the Trial had made it clear that he had a certain appeal. It had taken him a while to get used to being considered attractive, but he’d long since decided that he liked it.

He was busy flirting with the bartender when he felt someone grab hold of his shoulder. The owner of that hand tried to spin him around, but he’d clearly bitten off more than he could chew. Benedict’s Strength wasn’t anything to write home about, but during the Trial, he’d managed to progress his Body cultivation to the second stage. As such, when he didn’t want to be moved, he wouldn’t be.

He turned his head and saw a burly, dark-skinned man with a great bushy beard. “Can I help you?” he asked. “I was trying to have a conversation with this beautiful woman.”

“That’s my girl!” the man spat. “If you don’t –”

Benedict reacted before he even thought about what he was doing. By the time he realized what he’d done, his hand was already buried in the man’s barrel-like chest. He yanked it free, spraying blood everywhere.

“People don’t tell me what to do,” he said without emotion. Then, he turned back to the stunned bartender and said, “I think I could use a refill.”

That’s when she screamed.

Because of course she would. Someone yelled that he was a monster, and the tavern emptied a couple of moments later. The bartender didn’t move, though. She obviously found him too captivating to give in to her fear.

With a shaking hand, she refilled his glass.

“So, have you always lived here?” he asked. “I moved around a lot when I was young. Lived in all sorts of places.”

“W-why did you kill him?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Because that’s what bullies deserve,” he said. “You give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile. I’m sure you agree.”

“Bully? He wasn’t…”

Just then, Benedict felt something settle onto him like a weighted vest. Suddenly, his attributes plummeted, and he felt the flow of his ethera restrict.

Obviously, the town was just full of bullies. Clearly, the City Lord was one of them. Unfortunately for whoever claimed that title, they were also weak. He was weakened, sure, and not insignificantly. However, he was far from crippled, and he had plenty of power left to deal with the people who’d unjustly attempted to oppress him.

He pushed himself to his feet, saying, “You had better take cover. Things are going to get messy soon.”

With that, he used Call Minions. Instantly, his imps began to appear. Unlike him, they were not affected by whatever ability had suppressed his attributes.

“Go nuts,” he ordered.

The imps went wild, flipping around in excitement as they made their way to the doors and windows. For his part, Benedict just sighed and returned to his drink. After downing it in a single gulp, he reached for the bottle the terrified bartender had left behind when she’d used his moment of inattention to flee. Even as he poured his next drink, the smell of smoke and the sound of screams reached him.

It was the same everywhere he went. Maybe one day he would find somewhere that wasn’t populated by bullies.

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