I raised an eyebrow, a slow, predatory grin spreading across my face. I didn’t shift my stance, but the air in the clearing seemed to grow colder. “My life? Are you planning on killing me, weasel?”
The insult didn’t bait him into shooting me, but the wiry man’s jaw tightened as he raised his bow, the string creaking under the tension. “That depends on you. Ya give us the core and walk away, and we let you live.”
“This guy is so full of crap,” Jason’s voice vibrated in my skull. “The second your back is turned, he is going to try to put an arrow in your spine.”
“Try is the optimal word,” I retorted, my eyes never leaving the archer’s fingers.
“What are you talking about?” the little man snapped, his brow furrowing as he looked around at the empty woods.
Oops. Said that out loud. Yarth was right—I really needed to learn to carry on an internal conversation.
“That would certainly help with your social interaction,” Lisa agreed, her tone dry and weary.
“Nah, it’s much more fun watching people be confused, as they realize they are talking to an insane man,” Jason countered.
I ignored them both. I had a piece of the puzzle that wasn't fitting yet. “What do you mean by ‘core’?”
“You think I’m a fool?” the archer spat, his eyes narrowing. “The monster core you get from the creature. The boss wants it.”
I was confused for only a heartbeat before the realization clicked into place. “Are you talking about the little red crystals you find in the monsters?” I pointed a lazy finger toward a pile of offal and bones near the edge of the camp. “It’s probably in that pile over there.”
In the beginning, I had collected the things, thinking they might be valuable for trade if I ever stumbled across civilization. But after a few years of piling them up and seeing no one, I’d stopped bothering. I just started leaving them inside the beasts or tossing them with the entrails.
“You just... throw them away?” one of the muscular brutes asked. He looked at the pile of guts, then back at me, and let out a booming laugh that echoed through the timber, scattering a flock of nearby crows.
I just shrugged, the motion casual. “I’ve never found a use for them. If your boss wants to dig through a pile of boar intestines for a shiny rock, he’s welcome to it. I just wanted to trade the meat.”
The brute’s laughter died down, replaced by a greedy, hungry glint in his eyes. He exchanged a look with the archer. To them, I wasn't just a stranger—I was a madman sitting on a fortune I didn't even understand.
The archer’s knuckles were white against the bowstave. “The core, the spear, and the skins,” he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. “You obviously have a core, but we’ve killed those with cores before. In fact, if you are willing to teach us the kata, I may even let you live.”
I suppressed a laugh. “Like I would actually teach you. You will try to kill me either way.”
Realizing I wasn’t going to be of any more use, the tension in the clearing snapped like a dry branch. The wiry archer, his face contorted in a mask of greed, didn't even give a warning. He loosed.
The twang of the bowstring was a sharp, mechanical slap against the quiet of the woods. I tried to dodge, but it ended up grazing my shoulder.
As I rolled back to my feet. I looked at him with a grin on my face. “Seriously, did you just start the fight without a quip or catch phrase. That is such bad form.”
The archer’s eyes bugged out, but the two brutes were already in motion. They were well-trained, moving with a synchronized grace that spoke of hundreds of fights. They fanned out, their heavy spears leveled at my midsection, seeking to pin me between two points of steel.
“Flankers,” Jason hissed, his voice a jagged edge of excitement. “Left one is heavy on his lead foot. The right one is the anchor. Take the anchor.”
The core sitting at the center of my being was already doing its work, its mere presence radiating a passive strength that made the world seem to move in slow motion. My muscles felt like coiled steel springs.
They lunged in unison.
It was a textbook maneuver—a dual thrust designed to overwhelm a single defender. The man on my right aimed for my hip, while the one on the left drove his spear toward my throat. I didn't parry. I didn't even raise my weapon to block.
I simply stepped into the reach of the man on the left. A suicide move for anyone but me.
The right-hand spear struck my thigh with a heavy, jarring force. I felt the pressure, the sheer kinetic weight of a muscular man behind a sharpened point, but the steel simply slid off my skin as if I were made of polished marble. The fabric of my trousers tore, but the flesh beneath remained unblemished.
The brute’s eyes widened. He had felt the "hit," but there was no give, no entry. In that split second of his confusion, I acted.
I ignored the spear and thrust my own iron tip forward. My movement was a blur—faster than any "normal" man had a right to be. As Lefty’s spear slid off my neck, the iron head of the spear punched through the brute’s leather armor as if it were parchment, sinking deep into the center of his chest.
The man’s scream was a wet, gargling sound that tore through the canopy. His heart was gone before he hit the ground, his fingers clutching uselessly at the shaft of my spear as he collapsed into the offal pile he had just been laughing about.
I ripped the spear free with a wet schlick, the iron now painted a dark, steaming crimson.
“One down,” Richard noted, his voice a cold, calculating hum. “Excellent execution.”
The second brute backed away, his spear trembling. He looked at his fallen comrade, then at the blood-slicked man standing over him without a single scratch. The "weasel" with the bow fumbled with his quiver, finally managed to nock another arrow, and loosed it with a frantic shout.
The arrow whistled past my ear, clipping a strand of my hair before thudding into a tree trunk.
“You’re shaking,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. I began to pace toward the second brute. I didn't rush. Some sadistic part of me, probably the part that still remembered my endless cycle of deaths, I wanted him to realize the hopelessness of his situation.
The brute let out a primal roar, a sound born of pure, cornered-animal terror, and lunged. He went for a frantic series of rapid thrusts, the steel head of his spear flickering like a serpent's tongue. I parried the first two with the haft of my own weapon, the wood ringing with each impact, but the third one landed.
The spearhead caught me in the shoulder. It didn't sink in. It skittered across my collarbone, the friction hot and dry, before the brute lost his balance from the sheer lack of resistance.
“That’s impossible!” the archer shrieked from the periphery. He said as he loosed another ineffective shot. “What type of monster are you?”
I looked at the remaining spearman, who was stumbling to regain his footing. I spun my spear in a tight, dizzying circle, the blood of his friend spraying a red arc across the dry leaves.
“The kind that doesn’t like to be kept waiting to put on a decent set of clothes,” I quipped. “They say a man can get used to anything, but for some reason, I really hated being naked. Probably has to do with the thousand years I spent wearing a man diaper.
I was done with this. As the brute tried to pull his spear back for a defensive guard, I stepped inside his reach and drove the butt of my spear into his solar plexus. The air left his lungs in a violent wheeze. Before he could double over, I reversed the weapon and ripped the iron tip through his throat.
He didn't scream. He just fell, his eyes rolling back as the forest floor claimed him.
The clearing went deathly still, save for the frantic, ragged breathing of the archer. The wiry man looked at his two dead companions, then at me. The greed that had fueled his courage was gone, replaced by a cold, paralyzing realization: he was trying to hold back a landslide with a few puny sticks.
He turned and bolted.
He was fast, wiry, and light on his feet—and he knew the woods. He dived into the thicket, scrambling through the brush with the desperation of a rabbit fleeing a hawk.
“He’s getting away,” Jason barked. “Don't let him bring the whole gang back here!”
I charged. The man was fast, but not as fast as a human with a core. I slowly gained on him.
Keeping my eyes on the man who was not even bothering to weave, I waited for a clear shot.
When it came, I planted my feet and launched the spear.
It left my hand with a sound like a whip-crack, a streak of lethal intent that cut through the humid air. It didn't arc; it flew flat and true, a horizontal bolt of iron and wood.
The spear caught the archer squarely between the shoulder blades. The force of the throw was so immense it didn't just stop him—it carried him forward, pinning his body to the trunk of a blackjack oak with a sickening, solid thud. His legs kicked twice, his fingers clawing at the bark of the tree, before he went still.
I stood in the center of the clearing, my chest heaving, the silence of the forest slowly returning as the birds, once again, fell hushed.
“Gross,” Lisa whispered, her voice tinged with a strange mix of horror and awe.
“But effective,” Richard said.
“Three for three,” Jason chuckled. “Not bad, kid.”
“That was so Epic. Being a superhuman is so cool.” Melvin almost squealed. “Let’s grab the loot.”
I walked over to the pile left by the kids. I reached down and picked up the sack that had fallen in the dirt, then looked at the bundle of clothes. They were coarse, simple garments, but they were clean.
I looked at the bodies, then at the smoking boar meat, and finally at the path where Yarth and the others had disappeared.
“Well,” I muttered, pulling a clean shirt over my head and feeling the dry fabric against my skin. “At least the trade is officially closed. And you are right, Melvin. We need to check for loot.”
“Also, you are going to have to dig through that pile and find the monster core,” Richard said, his voice as dry and structured as a ledger. “It makes me wonder how much wealth we have left scattered in the wake of our passing over the centuries.”
I looked over at the mound of cooling offal and bones where I’d pointed the archer earlier. The flies were already starting to congregate, a low, rhythmic buzzing that vibrated in the humid air.
“Do you think it is a form of currency?” I asked, wiping a smudge of blood from my face. “Or is there actually a functional use for them? It didn't do anything for us before.”
“Before, we didn’t have a core,” Richard reminded me. “Perhaps it is an external essence reservoir. The interaction between the internal reservoir and the world around us is a variable we haven't tested.”
“Good point,” I muttered, stepping toward the offal pile. “Guess it’s time to experiment.”
“Don’t bother with that,” Richard said, interjecting, his voice sharp with pragmatism. “We should just take it to the town and ask. It will save time, and more importantly, it will save the crystal. We don't want you damaging it if you do something wrong.”
I paused, my hand hovering over a particularly messy section of the boar’s remains. “It isn’t like the first thing I am going to do is crush it.”
“Nah, that is probably the second thing you would do,” Jason snarked. “The first thing you’d do is try to eat it just to see if it gives you a stomachache or a power-up.”
I stood up straight, letting out a long, huffing sigh. I looked at the three bodies cooling in the clearing, then at the distant ridgeline where the village lay hidden. The "voices" were right—again. I was a novice in a world that apparently put a high price on the very things I’d been throwing away like garbage.
“Yeah,” I said, reaching into the mess and digging around until I found the small red crystal. It felt warm in my hand. I wiped it clean on some leaves and tucked it into the new bag. “Let’s go to the town.”
“And maybe put on the new pants first,” Lisa added. “The 'bloody barbarian' look is a bit much for a first impression.”
I grunted, pulled the coarse linen pants. How did I get saddled with such bossy voices in my headspace?
First, I want to thank all of you for your support. You are the reason I am able to keep writing.
Now on to the information. This book is my release valve for the stress that builds up from writing The False Prophet. I was burning out, and this has helped me keep writing Amos' adventure without needing to take a break. I am going to try to do this a little different then The False Prophet series. Since this is actually a little easier to write, no hours of research and pacing the floor trying to figure out how what we consider small things are going to change the world, I will be able to release chapters faster. I still however have to justify to my wife why I am ignoring chores and not trying to figure out a better income stream. So starting at this chapter, I will be posting advanced chapters for Baron Teir only until I reach chapter 70. Then I will be doing a two-week mass release on RR until I reach chapter 28. After that, I will start releasing one extra chapter for every tier I release on RR, just like I do for the False Prophet series.
Again, thank you for your support. Sometimes it is all of you who help me get through the week. Also, any comments or suggestions on how the story should go are appreciated. I try to plan, but most of this is just free writing.