Chapter 81
Rel the Healer
Now, I actually had no idea whether Anokium was my age or not. After all the shit I’d seen and heard since entering the Trials for Galaxy Showdown, it was entirely possible that he was hundreds of years old.
It didn’t really matter, though.
Sometimes sounding cool was more important than being factually accurate.
I was very much looking forward to the fight. There were a few reasons why, but the main one was that Anokium seemed like a world-class asshole and thoroughly deserved a beatdown. Based on what I’d read in the quest description and what I’d seen of him so far, I’d be doing everybody a huge favour by putting him down.
It was also the perfect opportunity to get a feel for the difficulty of Tier Five quests. With a one-star rating, it should have been on the easier end of the spectrum, but we had absolutely no idea what that actually meant in practice. Our only references for Tier Five difficulty were the wave five constructs we’d faced in our assessments – Justice Man and the giant hawk.
As much as he’d been an uptight, self-righteous prick, I couldn’t deny the fact that Justice Man had been a bit of a beast. In fact, on the way to the Quest Boards after our assessments, Auroria said he’d been too much of a beast. She was convinced that he was far stronger than a fifth wave construct should’ve been.
She went on to explain that the construct for each wave was supposed to be pitched at the peak of the previous Tier. So, for example, the wave four construct should have been on roughly the level of Ursak Vileclaw – what with the big furry bastard being the objective of a three-star Tier Three quest.
Rel suggested that Justice Man’s absurd strength was likely due to GEC’s incompetence and that Archmagus Zalandar clearly had a lot to learn when it came to the intricacies of the arcane arts.
Auroria suggested that Rel shut the fuck up. Admittedly, she phrased it in a slightly more professional manner.
I pushed the thoughts aside and met Anokium’s eyes. He was staring at me, looking a little taken aback. I wasn’t sure if it was because a simple peasant had dared to call him a motherfucker, or because it wasn’t every day you saw a human with a squirrel sitting on his shoulder in the middle of a crowd of orcs.
*
Sir Gorak was barely conscious as he crashed into the crowd. Several townspeople were bowled to the ground, and he found himself in the middle of a squirming, heaving pile of bodies.
He heard concerned voices calling his name and felt hands hook beneath his arms as the townspeople tried to help him back to his feet.
He shrugged them off. He was no invalid. He was Sir Gorak the Emerald Knight, Champion of Lord Tharok.
With a great effort of will, he planted his hands and tried to push himself to his knees. Stars swam across his vision, and his arms trembled with the effort.
He collapsed back to the ground.
Fuck.
He rolled over to see a dozen concerned faces staring down at him. He saw their mouths moving, but his ears were ringing and the words were a jumbled mess. He might have found their concern touching if he didn't know what was at stake. They weren't worried about him. They were worried about what would happen to the town if he failed.
Sir Gorak knew that if he had been twenty years younger, he’d have bent the arrogant little pup over his knee and given him the spanking that his parents had clearly failed to administer.
Alas, he was not twenty years younger.
He was an old orc who had grown tired of fighting and left his lord’s service for a quiet life in a secluded little town. He had found a wife who was an excellent cook – perhaps a little too excellent, judging by how difficult it had been for him to put on his armour – raised several children, most of whom were now adults living lives of their own, and purchased a tavern.
It was a little ironic, really. He’d moved here because he was done with fighting, and now he was about to die doing exactly that.
“After I’ve killed you, perhaps I shall honour your bravery by leaving this place and sparing your people the attention of my friends.”
When Sir Gorak heard the words clearly, he realised the ringing in his ears had finally begun to fade. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and saw Anokium standing a few metres away, staring down at him along the length of his sword.
Sir Gorak met the fel orc’s black eyes and saw within them the same emptiness he had seen in many other warriors over the years. They had spent so long fighting that they had eventually lost themselves to it. It scoured away their souls until the only things that made sense to them anymore were battle and violence.
He let out a resigned sigh. It wasn't the end he would have chosen. He'd hoped for many more years behind the bar of his tavern, arguing with customers, spoiling his future grandchildren, and listening to his wife complain about his ever-expanding waistline.
Instead, he was going to die in the dirt.
Still, he could take some solace in the fact that Anokium had promised to spare the town.
“I don’t think so, motherfucker,” said an unfamiliar voice. “If you’re done bullying pensioners, how about trying someone your own age?”
Pensioner?
The cheeky little shit.
Sir Gorak's head was beginning to clear, and he rose unsteadily to his feet.
Anokium’s sword was still raised, but the fel orc was no longer looking at him. Instead, his attention was fixed firmly on the person who had just stepped out of the crowd and dared to call him a ‘motherfucker’.
Sir Gorak followed Anokium’s gaze, then let out another sigh when his eyes fell on the person who’d spoken.
A small part of him had hoped that a powerful warrior had arrived just in time to save the day – perhaps one of the young knights he had trained before leaving Lord Tharok’s service coming to visit their old teacher.
Instead, he found himself looking at a farmer with a squirrel perched on his shoulder.
“And who are you supposed to be?” Anokium asked.
“Me? I’m Pete,” said the farmer, then he gestured to the squirrel, “And this is Rel.”
Sir Gorak’s eyebrows rose slightly at the casual response. There was not the faintest trace of fear in the man’s voice. Either there was far more to him than his appearance suggested, or he was a colossal fool who was moments away from finding himself impaled on the fel orc’s sword.
Anokium chuckled.
“Well, Pete,” he replied. “You’re a very lucky man. On any other day, I’d have cut you down in an instant for calling me a motherfucker.” He turned back to the old knight, drawing his sword arm back. “But thanks to Sir Gorak here, I’m in an unusually good mood. If you’d like to thank him for saving your life, I suggest you do it quickly. In a few moments, he will be considerably less talkative.”
Pete grinned and strolled over to Sir Gorak.
“Gorak, my old friend,” he said, clapping the old knight on the shoulder. “You put up one hell of a fight. For a few moments there, I genuinely thought you were going to cave this dumb motherfucker’s head in. And casting a spell by stamping your foot? That was fucking badass.”
Old friend?
Sir Gorak may have taken one hell of a blow to the head, but he was fairly certain he had never seen the man before in his life.
“I’m going to take care of this asshole for you,” the farmer continued. “How do you want me to do it? A bitchslap? A foot up his ass? Decapitation by karate chop?”
“I could also melt his face off with a lightning bolt,” added the squirrel helpfully.
A talking squirrel...
Offering to summon lightning and strike down Anokium...
Sir Gorak reached up to probe his head for any catastrophic injuries and was more than a little surprised to find everything appeared to be in order.
Perhaps the bleeding was internal.
“I don’t know…” replied Sir Gorak slowly, now convinced that it must be a concussion. “Although, for a brief moment earlier, I did consider the possibility that he wouldn’t be such an insufferable little whelp if his parents had spanked him as a child and instilled in him a little discipline.”
“Death by spanking?” said Pete. “Gorak, you dirty old bastard!” He raised a hand, his gaze alternating between his palm and Anokium. “I can’t say I’ve ever considered the logistics of spanking a man to death before, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
Rel hummed thoughtfully, then raised a little claw as though he’d just had a brainwave. “How about I have Sir Rockington III hold him in place?” he said. “That way, you’ll be free to put your entire body into the spanking and achieve maximum impact.”
“That could work!” replied Pete. “What do you think is better? A high-to-low spank?” He raised a hand and brought it sweeping down through the air. “Or a low-to-high spank?” He lowered his hand to knee height, bent his legs slightly, then swept it upwards.
“Definitely low to high,” said Rel. “The power comes from the hips, though, so you need to make sure you rotate through the strike.”
Sir Gorak glanced at Anokium. Although the fel orc currently looked utterly baffled by the conversation, the twitching in his jaw suggested that he could explode into savage violence at any moment.
The old knight turned to look for his hammer and shield. He was in no condition to fight, but he was going to be left with no choice. After having to listen to Pete and Rel discuss the most effective technique to end his life via spanking, it seemed safe to assume that Anokium's good mood had evaporated and that the townspeople would no longer be spared his wrath.
It was too late.
Anokium roared, the ground cracking beneath his feet as he burst forwards. He raised his sword overhead and brought it down in a devastating two-handed strike.
Sir Gorak's jaw sagged. Anokium had moved quickly during their duel, but this was something else entirely. The bastard had been holding back.
*
It’s fair to say that Anokium moved like a snail compared to Justice Man. In fact, he was so slow that I could’ve made a sandwich before his sword struck.
Okay, that was probably a slight exaggeration, but the point I was trying to make was that his speed was not particularly impressive.
Phase one of attempting to get a feel for the difficulty of Tier Five quests: complete.
Phase two: commence.
I raised my arms in an X over my head. It was time to see how his sword fared against the defensive capabilities of my Bracers of the Titan.
Rel leapt from my shoulder and landed beside Sir Gorak, turning to watch the show.
I winced as the blade slammed into my forearms. The force of the blow drove me back several steps, the jarring impact making my bones protest most unhappily. I could feel blood soaking into the fabric of my shirt.
You have gained 1 durability.
Current durability: 47
Fuck, yes!
Wait.
Fuck, no…
The system message brought with it an uncomfortable realisation.
It had been far too long since I’d gained a point in durability.
I'd gotten so caught up in politics and saving the day that I'd neglected my training. There were only five months until Galaxy Showdown kicked off, and I didn't have any time to waste.
Once this quest was done, it was time for grind-a-thon round three.
Anokium roared triumphantly, stepping back to admire the results of his blow, no doubt expecting my body to split down the middle and come apart in slow motion.
The roar abruptly cut off, becoming a very unmanly squeak, and the triumph quickly gave way to horrified disbelief.
He looked at me.
He looked at his sword.
He looked back at me.
“That’s– How–?” He shook his head. “What are you?”
I ignored him, too busy assessing the damage. It was clear that despite Anokium himself being a bit of a joke, his sword was anything but. The blue-metal blade had scored a deep cut in the leather of my bracer, managing to reach the skin beneath. Blood trickled from the wound, but it was fighting a losing war against the self-clean function and vanished almost immediately.
I gave my arms a little shake, then grunted at the sharp pain that shot through my forearms.
I chuckled under my breath, then looked up at Anokium, who looked as shell-shocked as a man who'd just walked in on his parents getting it on. "Not bad at all," I said. "That actually hurt!"
A healing potion appeared in my hand, but as I went to remove the stopper, Rel cleared his throat. I turned to see him standing behind me, golden light gathering in his paw.
"The healing potion will not be necessary," he said. "I've been meaning to test out Rejuvenating Touch, and this appears to be the perfect opportunity." He glanced up at Sir Gorak, who looked every bit as stunned as Anokium by what had just happened, then grinned. "In fact, it would appear that I have two test subjects..."
I was his first patient.
The golden energy stabilised into a radiant orb. Rel's arm shot out and it raced towards me. It struck my chest, but rather than knocking me back, it passed through my clothing and sank into my skin.
It felt incredible, like a wave of warmth washing through my body. Every few seconds, it pulsed more powerfully, and the pain in my forearm faded as the cracks in the bone knitted themselves back together.
Sir Gorak was next.
The old knight stumbled back, raising his hands placatingly as Rel turned to face him, another orb of golden light forming in his paw.
"That won't be necessary," said Sir Gorak. "I assure you, I'm feeling much better already. All I need is a little rest and something to eat and I'll be as good as–”
He did not have the chance to finish. The second orb shot through the air, passing through the knight's armour as though it were not even there.
Sir Gorak flinched as if it'd been an arrow rather than a healing spell, but as the first pulsing wave of healing energy passed through him, he gasped. He reached up to feel his jaw where Anokium's fist had connected and waggled it experimentally, his eyes widening.
"This is incredible!"
The second pulse raced through him.
"It's more than incredible..." he said, twisting experimentally. "I've not felt this good in years. I had so many aches and pains that they'd faded into the background – a constant low-level discomfort I'd learned to ignore. Now? I feel like a young man again."
"I'm glad to hear it," I said, turning to look at Anokium, who was beginning to regain his composure. His shock was giving way to anger, his ego apparently unwilling to accept that his attack had accomplished so little. "You should probably find your warhammer and shield, because it looks like we're about to have a fight on our hands."
Anokium gestured for his knights to form up behind him.
"Rel," I continued, "I think it's time to call in the cavalry."
Rel nodded, an evil smirk twisting his lips as a fireball burst into life at the tip of his tail. He spun on the spot, sending the spell racing high into the air.
Everyone fell silent.
Sir Gorak. Anokium and his knights. The crowd.
Thousands of pairs of eyes tracked the fireball's journey as it soared higher and higher.
Then the ground began to tremble.
"We are on our way, Master Rel!" boomed a distant, thunderous voice.
Everyone whipped around to find its source.
Emerging from the trees and charging down the hill was Sir Rockington III, the hulking twelve-foot-tall earth elemental's footsteps accompanied by earth-shaking thuds. He was flanked by eight majestic skeletal knights.
The townspeople had seen enough.
They got the fuck out of there, streaming back towards the town as quickly as their legs could carry them.
I heard Sir Gorak muttering under his breath and turned to see the old knight looking more than a little exasperated.
"Seriously... was a quiet retirement too much to ask for?"