Chapter 58
Grey Fang
Quest Complete: Bandits
Type: Open World
You killed Bok’than and dismantled his gang
In addition:
You spared the bandits who opposed Bok’than’s cruelty
You gave them a purpose by forming Pete’s Peasant Patrol, reducing the likelihood they’ll return to a life of banditry
By forming Pete’s Peasant Patrol, you’ve taken steps to protect the villagers from further suffering at the hands of bandits
Reward:
Ring of the Champion
Bonus Reward:
Ring of the Champion
Two rings?
Sweet.
Ring of the Champion
The wearer has proven themselves a champion of the common people, earning the trust and admiration of those they protect.
Equipping the ring grants the following bonuses:
+ 2 to all stats
At first glance, it wasn’t the most exciting item ever. However, the stat bonuses it offered were nothing to scoff at – plus four to all stats was significant.
I’d never been one for jewellery, so I was a little concerned about what the rings would look like. I had uncomfortable visions of dazzling gold rings encrusted with precious gems. After all, nothing says “champion of the common people” like bling so tacky even an emperor would be embarrassed to wear it.
It was a huge relief when I withdrew them from my inventory and saw that they were simple silver bands. I slipped them on and checked my updated stats:
Current strength: 53 (66)
Current durability: 46 (58)
Current agility: 34 (47)
Current intelligence: 22 (37)
Not bad, Petey boy.
Not bad at all.
*
Grey Fang pushed open the large doors to Lokta’Inif’s throne room, his heart pounding wildly.
What was he doing? Had he lost his mind?
After his encounter with Peter Brookes in Oakreach, he should have done the sensible thing and run far, far away – and kept going until he found somewhere safe from the monsters at the top of the leaderboard.
He was playing a very dangerous game by returning to Lokta’Inif, admitting his failure, and passing on Peter’s message. However, it was a risk he had to take. If he didn’t do something drastic, he had no hope of earning one of the top spots on the leaderboard.
The fate of his entire world might rest on his success in Galaxy Showdown.
On the journey back to Stonehaven, he’d managed to convince himself that he could make Lokta’Inif see reason. His logic was simple. He’d tried his best to kill Peter Brookes – something no one else had been brave enough to attempt. Even though he’d failed, he hoped she’d be grateful he’d at least tried.
Not only that – he’d even gathered some useful information. Peter was barely affected by voidrot, and his squirrel companion, Squire Rel, had a spell that could cleanse poisons. If she sent anymore assassins after them, at least she’d know to rule out the use of poison.
The vast room had once been the Lord of Stonehaven’s feast hall. When Lokta’Inif overthrew him and locked him away in the castle’s dungeons, she repurposed it as her throne room.
Long gone were the tables and benches.
Now it held only a single piece of furniture: the enormous throne on which Lokta’Inif lounged. She sprawled lazily across it, one leg dangling over the edge.
Whereas before it had been a homely room, with simple paintings of the countryside around Stonehaven decorating the walls and a large fire roaring in the hearth, it was now…
Well, Grey Fang didn’t want to speak ill of the Overlady, but the only word he could use to describe the throne room was gaudy.
Or tacky.
Or ostentatious.
Okay, he could think of several words, but none he’d be willing to say aloud.
After overthrowing the Lord and naming herself Overlady, Lokta’Inif had sent her thugs to raid the homes of Stonehaven’s wealthiest residents. They’d looted anything that looked even remotely valuable.
Lokta’Inif’s throne room served as an exhibition of all the things they’d taken. There was no sense of taste or cohesion; it was a jumbled mess of wealth that existed purely to flaunt her power and control.
Statues. Ornaments. Paintings. Trinkets. Jewellery. Fine fabrics.
The value of it all would be enough to feed a thousand peasants and their families for ten lifetimes. To Lokta’Inif? It was a means to an end. Every valuable item in her possession helped secure her place at the top of the acquired wealth leaderboard.
Grey Fang’s gaze drifted from the room’s contents to Lokta’Inif herself.
The Overlady of Stonehaven.
First in kill score. First in acquired wealth. First in reputation and influence.
Despite the absurd size of the throne, her monstrous proportions made it look like a normal chair. She was an ogre – nine feet tall, with arms and legs like tree trunks. Her leathery skin was the colour of sand, speckled with green.
Her bulging eyes, far too large for her face, fixed on Grey Fang. Her lips parted in a broad smile, revealing long, knife-like teeth.
It was not a reassuring sight.
She wore long purple robes trimmed with white fur. Precious gems were sewn into the fabric, making her look as gaudy as the room itself.
The outfit was no doubt her latest attempt to climb the leaderboards for fashion sense. Grey Fang felt a flicker of hope – perhaps if she’d moved up the rankings, she might be in a more merciful mood.
As discreetly as he could, he opened the system interface and quickly cycled through the rankings until he found her name.
His heart sank.
She was ranked 2,635th.
Considering there were only 2,682 trialists remaining, it did not bode well.
Propped up against her throne was Shadowrend – a weapon that struck fear into the hearts of all who saw it. It was a colossal bardiche, almost as tall as Lokta’Inif herself. The edge of the long, curved blade was coated in shadow, tendrils of darkness flickering along its length like flames.
The rumours were that she’d received it as a reward for completing a Tier Four quest – a feat no other Trialist in the Division was known to have achieved.
Most Trialists who went through the Expedition Centre’s assessment process qualified for the first or second Tier. Very few ever made it to Tier Three – as far as Grey Fang knew, only Lokta’Inif’s most trusted lieutenants were powerful enough to attempt such quests. He had no doubt there had been other Trialists in Stonehaven with the potential to reach such heights, but they very often went ‘missing’ if they did not submit to Lokta’Inif’s rule.
“I find it strange that you have returned, Grey Fang,” she said, her voice deep like grinding stone. “When I view the leaderboard for total stat gains, I still see the name Peter Brookes in first place. I seem to recall that you departed Stonehaven with the intention of killing him, so I am a little confused as to why you are standing before me when that wretch still draws breath.”
Grey Fang dropped to his knees and pressed his head against the stone.
“I’m sorry, Overlady,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I have failed you.”
She rose to her feet, and Grey Fang glanced up to see her looming over him, Shadowrend clasped in her right hand. She tapped the butt of the weapon against the ground.
“Rise, Grey Fang,” she said. “They say that the eyes are the gateway to the soul, and I would look upon yours as you recount your failure. I am a good judge of character, and I shall take your measure as you speak. If I think you worthy of my mercy, perhaps I can still find use for you yet.”
Slowly, he lifted his head to meet her bulging eyes and swallowed hard.
What made Lokta’Inif terrifying wasn’t her size or her weapon – it was her unpredictability. Most people revealed something of what they were thinking or feeling, whether through their expression, body language, or tone of voice.
Lokta’Inif did not.
One moment, she could be smiling, clapping you on the back like an old friend. The next, she’d tear your throat out without a second thought.
She was entirely devoid of empathy or compassion.
Grey Fang rose to his feet. His throat felt dry, and as he began to regale her with his story, the first few words came out as raspy croaks. He tried to draw more saliva to his mouth, but it stayed stubbornly dry.
Her face still fixed in the same cruel smile, Lokta’Inif withdrew a flask of water from her inventory and handed it to him.
“Thank you, Overlady,” said Grey Fang, reaching out with a trembling paw. It took him a few attempts to remove the stopper, but he finally managed it. He wiped his muzzle with the back of his paw and continued his story.
*
“I see,” she said simply, then paused for a few moments as she considered him. “Well, it appears your failure was not the result of a lack of effort. Your planning and preparation were thorough. There was no way you could have known Peter Brookes would be unaffected by such a potent poison.”
With those words, Grey Fang felt as if a staggering weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He nodded eagerly, then bowed. “Yes, Overlady. Thank you for your mercy. I ask that you give me a second chance – I can still be useful.”
When her weapon disappeared back into her inventory, Grey Fang let out a relieved breath.
He was safe.
Lokta’Inif took a step towards him and rested an enormous hand on his shoulder. Her smile deepened.
“I don’t doubt that, Grey Fang,” she said. “I can think of a way you’d be useful. Would you like to help me?”
He nodded eagerly, his muzzle parting in a pitiful smile.
Lokta’Inif’s grip on his shoulder tightened. Her other arm darted forward, her fingers curled into a claw.
The sound of shattering bone filled the throne room.
Grey Fang coughed, and a spray of blood spattered across the purple of Lokta’Inif’s robe. He tried to apologise, but his voice came out as nothing more than a rasping gurgle.
She took a step back, and Grey Fang teetered on the spot. Through his clouded eyes, he saw that she was clutching something in her hand. It was red… and beating weakly.
Was that his…?
His lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
Lokta’Inif tossed Grey Fang’s heart aside and knelt beside his corpse. She wiped her bloody hand on his tunic.
“Your sacrifice was not in vain, Grey Fang. It will help secure my position on the leaderboard for kill score.”
She rose to her feet and returned to her throne.
“Magtuk,” she roared. A few moments later, her personal servant stumbled through a door at the side of the room.
“Yes, Overlady?” he said, bowing deeply.
“Update me with the latest report on Peter Brookes and his friends. Where are they now?”
“One of the scouts returned less than an hour ago, Overlady. He says that they’ve just passed through the village of Morsgrove, and that based on their current pace, they should reach Stonehaven tomorrow.”
Lokta’Inif sat in silence for a few moments, considering Magtuk’s words. Shadowrend reappeared in her hand, and the servant flinched.
“Are you afraid of me, Magtuk?” she asked softly.
“Yes, Overlady,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“And that is why you’ve outlived all the others. I appreciate honesty, Magtuk.”
She rose to her feet, reached up to grasp the fabric of her purple robe, and tore it off. Beneath, she wore a chainmail vest over leather armour. The metal was a deep crimson, like the colour of deoxygenated blood.
“Send runners to order my lieutenants to return to the castle. I want to be ready to leave within the hour. Peter Brookes asked Grey Fang to pass on the message that he’d be seeing me soon. It will be sooner than he thinks.”