Chapter 79
The Champion of Khurian
We arrived at the Quest Boards just as Kaelis, Voklum, and Allaria were leaving.
“How’s your search gone?” I asked. “Did you manage to find an appropriate quest?”
“Yes, Master!” said Kaelis.
He was bubbling with enthusiasm, and I wasn’t sure whether it was because he was excited about the quest they’d chosen or because he was eager to prove himself and make up for his troll-induced meltdown.
“We think we’ve found a quest that will provide the perfect level of challenge,” said Voklum.
Stonehide Boars
Tier: Three
Rating: ★★
Recommended Group Size: 5
A herd of Stonehide Boars has migrated to a stretch of farmland north of Stonehaven. Their incredibly durable hides have rendered conventional hunting methods ineffective, and several farmers and hunters have already been injured attempting to drive them away.
Cull the herd before they cause any further harm.
Rewards:
13,000 gold
Stonehide Helm
45 Expedition Centre Points
“Two-star difficulty with a recommended group size of five?” said Rel. “Yes, I think that will do very nicely. Make sure you stock up on healing potions from the Rewards Office before you leave.”
“Stock up?” asked Kaelis. “Grandmaster, the moderate healing potions cost twenty Expedition Centre Points. We only have enough points for three each.”
Rel suddenly looked rather smug. “Are you sure about that? Perhaps you should double-check your balance.”
“That is not necessary, Grandmaster,” said Kaelis. “We only earned seventy from the–”
“How is this possible?” interrupted Allaria. “Over three thousand points?”
A few moments of silence followed Allaria’s announcement as Kaelis and Voklum paused to check their own balances. Sceptical expressions quickly gave way to disbelief and excitement.
“So…” I said, “we learned something interesting during our visit to the Auction Office.”
I gave a brief summary of our conversation with Auroria, including the various offers she had made and the revelation that we could exchange other people’s quest rewards for Expedition Centre Points.
“I had no idea,” said Allaria. “I knew you could trade in your own rewards, but other people’s? I always assumed climbing the kill score leaderboard was the reason Lokta’Inif hunted other Trialists. Perhaps that was just an added bonus, and it was their quest rewards she was truly interested in.”
“You made the right choice, Pete,” said Voklum. “The gold would have been nice, but the items in the Rewards Office are on another level. There’s a set of armour in the unique tab that costs 4,500 points. It would be a significant upgrade for me. Before this, I’d have been lucky to earn enough points to buy it before the Trial ended. Now? I could have it within a month.”
I grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.
“You guys had better get to it then,” I said. “Make sure you pick up some potions on the way out. And Kaelis… if you come across any trolls and suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to transform into a suicidal berserker, take a few deep breaths and try to control yourself.”
“Yes, Master.”
*
Rel and I headed over to the Tier Five quest board.
Like the first time we’d visited, there were around twenty other Trialists in the room. Most congregated around the Tier One and Tier Two boards, while a few smaller groups stood off to the side, no doubt discussing their next steps.
The Tier Five board, meanwhile, remained completely deserted.
I was a little disappointed to discover that there were only five quests available. Then again, Rel and I were almost certainly the only Trialists currently eligible to accept Tier Five quests, so I supposed it made sense that there wouldn’t be as many on offer.
“Shit,” I said. “Check this one out.”
The Slumbering TyrantTier: FiveRating: ★★★Recommended Group Size: 20
For centuries, the dragon known as Kagyrynth the World Scorcher has slumbered beneath The Grey Mountain.
The Ember Order – the organisation tasked with monitoring the dragon’s slumber and ensuring that no treasure hunters, adventurers, or hapless wanderers stumble upon its domain – has guarded the mountain for generations.
In recent months, the Order has grown increasingly concerned that Kagyrynth will soon awaken. The dragon has become noticeably more restless, and guards stationed within the mountain report feeling its presence growing stronger with each passing week. Nightmares, insomnia, hallucinations, and bouts of uncontrollable terror have become commonplace amongst those stationed closest to the dragon’s lair.
Historical records suggest that every previous awakening was followed by widespread devastation. Entire cities were reduced to ash, kingdoms were brought to ruin, and countless lives were lost to the dragon’s flames.
You must travel to the dragon’s domain and slay it.
Rewards:
1,500,000 goldHeart of the World Scorcher2,500 Expedition Centre Points
Three-star difficulty rating? Recommended group size of twenty?
The thing was a goddamn raid boss.
“I enjoy a challenge as much as the next arboreal observer,” said Rel, “but I think attempting that quest would be reckless even by our standards.”
“Agreed,” I replied, my eyes already wandering over the other available quests. “We’ll come back to that one in a few weeks.”
“How about this one?” asked Rel.
The Exiled ChampionTier: FiveRating: ★Recommended Group Size: 5
Anokium was once the Champion of Khurian and one of the empire’s most celebrated warriors. His skill with a blade was unmatched, but as his victories piled up, so too did his lust for violence.
After killing several fellow nobles during a drunken altercation, Anokium was stripped of his titles and exiled from the kingdom.
Anokium now travels the land with a band of loyal knights seeking worthy opponents against whom they may measure themselves. Hundreds of skilled warriors have fallen to his blade. When no suitable challenge presents itself, he is known to seek entertainment through acts of senseless violence against the local populace.
Recent reports place Anokium and his followers on the road to Fardown, a town one hundred miles east of Stonehaven.
Provide him the worthy opponent he so desperately seeks.
Rewards:
180,000 gold
Champion's Great Sword
350 Expedition Centre Points
That one sounded far more reasonable.
I quickly ran the numbers in my head. 350 Expedition Centre Points from the quest, plus the points we'd received from the Auction Office, plus the 70 from the forest troll quest and the 50 from the Ursak quest...
3,763 points
That would give me enough to buy Mindguard of the Blackstar or, even better, I’d only need just over a thousand more to buy The Pitchfork of Lurus.
“I think we should go and introduce ourselves to this clown,” I said.
*
The fact that we could both fly made life significantly easier. After spending a few minutes flying in entirely the wrong direction while we tried to work out how the Quest Map was oriented, we finally blasted off.
We’d briefly considered landing directly in Anokium’s path and getting straight down to business, but we managed – just about – to control ourselves and agree that, as this was our first Tier Five quest, it was probably wise to approach the situation a little more cautiously.
As a result, we landed just outside the red circle and began making our preparations for battle.
Now, I say we, but other than looking in the mirror and repeating a few affirmations, there wasn’t much I could do in the way of preparation.
My go-to weapons were my fists. If I needed my swords or Avatar’s Judgment, I could simply withdraw them from my inventory and they’d appear in my hands. I had no armour to speak of either, what with the enhancements on my peasant garb making it more durable than any suit of armour we’d come across.
Affirmations it was then…
I glanced over to check that Rel was still busy summoning his small army of minions, then withdrew the mirror from my inventory.
“Pete,” I said to my reflection. “You’ve got this, big guy. You’re strong. You’re fierce. You’re powerful. What chance does this Anokium moron have against you? Abso-fucking-lutely none. Do you know why? Because you’re the fucking man!”
“I say, old boy!” boomed a voice behind me, making me jump several metres into the air. “You must be Peter!”
I quickly stashed the mirror back in my inventory, cleared my throat, then turned to face Sir Rockington III. I had to crane my neck to meet the glinting emerald eyes of the towering earth elemental. I was relieved to see that he was back in one piece after a little rest and relaxation in his own realm.
After our assessments, Auroria had informed us that minions summoned in the Arcane Projection Chamber were the real deal, not projections. Any damage they suffered there was entirely real. And it’s fair to say the giant hawk had done quite the number on Sir Rockington III.
He adjusted his monocle as he studied me.
“I must say, Peter,” he continued. “When Master Rel told me about your hat, I was mortified. Every true gentleman knows that straw is for horses, not for headwear. However, I must admit that you make it work somehow. Does it make you look like a plebeian? Most certainly, old boy. But one cannot help but admire a man so utterly committed to a questionable aesthetic choice.”
“Err… thanks?”
Sir Rockington III’s booming laughter rolled across the field, causing some birds who had been dozing peacefully in a nearby tree to squawk furiously as they erupted from the branches and fled the area.
“Of course, old boy,” he said. “Now, Master Rel informs me that we are going to be teaching a villainous miscreant a lesson?”
“That’s the plan,” I said.
Rel floated over to join us, closely followed by eight skeletal knights.
“Pete,” said Commander Osian, giving me a respectful nod. He then turned to the earth elemental. “Sir Rockington III.”
The earth elemental stomped forward and threw an enormous stone arm over the skeleton’s shoulder. “Ah, Commander Osian!” he boomed. “My dear fellow, it is splendid to see you again. You are undoubtedly my favourite skeletal officer and one of the few individuals I would trust to lead me into battle!”
“Know many skeletal officers, do you?” I asked.
“Indeed, Peter!” he replied. “Let’s see now... Sir Reginald Skullworth, General Marrowby, Lord Bonyton, and of course High Marshal Ribbeus. Delightful fellow, but a terrible cheat at cards. If you ever have the pleasure of meeting him, never agree to a wager unless you personally inspect his sleeves beforehand.”
What the fuck had my life become?
I was standing in a field with an earth elemental who would fit right in at Buckingham Palace, an elite squad of badass skeletal knights, and my best friend, who was both a squirrel and a mage.
Who was I kidding?
My life was awesome.
*
Anokium watched as the town’s gates swung open and a small delegation led by an elderly orc emerged.
Once, a moment like this would have filled him with a sense of eager anticipation. The hope that this might finally be the place where he found a worthy opponent.
Alas, there was no crueller teacher than time. Again and again, villages, towns, and cities had sent forth their finest warriors. Again and again, Anokium had cut them down as easily as breathing.
He already knew this town would be no different.
Yet despite the futility of it all, he would never abandon the search. He wanted – no, needed – to experience the thrill of a true battle. To know that every swing of his sword might be his last. That a single mistake could cost him his life.
It had been so long.
He felt like an addict searching for a drug to which there was no supplier.
The orc drew nearer, hobbling along the paved road with a pronounced limp, the rest of the delegation trailing nervously behind. Anokium’s lips twitched as he saw the orc clench his fists in an attempt to stop the trembling in his hands.
He needn’t have bothered.
His fear was written all over him. His breathing, his posture, his eyes. It was as clear to Anokium as if he’d been screaming in terror.
He felt a rare flicker of genuine amusement as he imagined himself in the elderly orc’s shoes, having to approach a band of warriors such as his.
His gaze would have first fallen upon Anokium himself, who, to an orc from these lands, likely looked like some sort of demon with his crimson skin.
He was a fel orc, far taller, broader, and more powerful than his green-skinned cousins.
His armour may not have looked remarkable – simple chain mail covered by a black leather chest piece – but that was purely because Anokium had no interest in vanity. He was a warrior, not some perfumed noble prancing around in ornamental armour polished to an obnoxious shine.
That was not to say his armour was anything less than exceptional. It had been crafted by Khurian’s finest leatherworker and blacksmith before being enchanted by the emperor’s own court mage, the High Warlock Zawyn.
Assembled behind him were The Eight, his most trusted friends and allies. They had fought at his side in battles beyond counting, and each was worth a hundred soldiers. Each of them had a reputation almost as fearsome as his own.
After his exile, when even his own family had turned their backs on him, The Eight had not.
“My lord,” said the elderly orc, coming to a stop several metres away from Anokium and bowing deeply. “Welcome to Fardown. We would be honoured to host you and make you welcome, but...” He hesitated, then licked his lips nervously before continuing. “Our town is but a simple one, and I’m not sure we have anything here that would be of interest to men such as yourselves. Perhaps there is another town or city nearby that would be better suited to your needs?”
Anokium smiled.
It was not a reassuring sight.
“Allow me to be the judge of what interests me and my men,” he said. “Tell me, Mayor…?”
The elderly orc nodded. “Mayor Bronn, my lord.”
“Tell me, Mayor Bronn, who is the finest warrior in your town?” Anokium’s gaze shifted to the small delegation, the empty smile widening as he studied the town guards accompanying them. “Perhaps one of those strapping individuals in the dashing uniforms?”
The two guards blanched at Anokium’s words, and the fel orc let out a mirthless chuckle.
“Perhaps not,” he said. “Very well, Mayor Bronn. What interests me is quite simple. I want you to return to your little town, confer amongst yourselves, and bring me the person you believe has the greatest chance of defeating me in combat.”
“Ah, my lord,” said Mayor Bronn, wringing his hands. “That would be Sir Gorak. However, it will not be easy to convince him to accept your challenge. You see, my lord, he is a retired knight. He has a strict code of honour and will only fight in defence of innocents.”
“Is that right?” asked Anokium. “That is quite the shame.”
Anokium held out his arm, and a sword began to materialise in his hand.
Doomcaller, Breaker of Heroes.
It was a greatsword, the blade easily five feet long and forged of a dark blue metal streaked with veins of silver that seemed to pulse with eager anticipation. It was rumoured to have been made by the demigod Zakemis. Anokium had claimed it as his trophy after slaying Vladak Steelheart, the champion of Udrodia, in single combat.
“In that case,” continued Anokium, “I suppose we had better give him a reason.”
“No, my lord, please–” began Mayor Bronn, but the words died in this throat as Anokium suddenly appeared before him.
Mayor Bronn tried to speak, to convince the red-skinned orc that he would be much better off seeking an opponent elsewhere, but the words failed to emerge. Instead, there was only a wet, rasping gurgle as blood poured from his mouth.
Anokium, still smiling that empty smile, gestured with his eyes for Mayor Bronn to look down. The elderly orc did, his vision blurring as he stared at the sword buried hilt-deep in his chest. He let out one final sigh and sagged.
Mayor Bronn’s lifeless body still impaled upon his sword, Anokium turned his attention to the rest of the delegation. They stood in stunned, horrified silence – as if the sudden and brutal death of their leader had not quite sunk in.
“You,” said Anokium, raising his free hand and pointing at one of the guards. “I want you to return to the town and inform this Sir Gorak that he has thirty minutes to present himself before me. If he does not, the rest of your little delegation will suffer the same fate as poor Mayor Bronn. If he still refuses to appear after that, my companions and I shall come and introduce ourselves to the townspeople.”
With that, he snapped his sword arm out to the side, and the mayor’s body came free of the blade with a crimson arc of blood as it flew through the air and crashed to the ground.