Chapter 98
New Kids on the Block
“Good afternoon, Trialists. My name is Sethzun. How may I be of assistance?”
I smiled at the Trialist Accommodation Centre employee and pointed at my hair and beard, as though the answer should've been obvious.
He was a snake-like creature with dull silver scales. Rather than having a chair to sit on, there was a tall, sturdy pole behind the desk, and his body wound around it so many times that he must've been absolutely enormous. He fixed us with a steady gaze, his eyes leaf green with thin black slits down the centre. It was a look that conveyed both professional politeness and mild disinterest.
“Well, my large slithery fellow,” I said. “It has recently come to my attention that I've been a little… lax when it comes to matters of grooming.”
“A little lax?” Rel said with a snort. “On the walk over here, someone tried to hand you some spare change so you could ‘buy yourself a warm meal’.”
I cleared my throat.
“Yes, well, anyway,” I said. “I'm here for a haircut and beard trim.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Sethzun. “I believe our hairdressers have some availability today so that should not be a problem.”
His voice held a barely noticeable hiss whenever he made an s sound. Rather than being menacing, as one might expect, it was actually rather pleasant.
Sethzun's tail emerged from beneath the desk and, with a little flick, a small metallic sphere appeared on its tip. The sphere rested there for a moment before rising into the air and drifting to a stop above my head. It began to emit a soft whirring sound before projecting a net of blue light over me.
A screen appeared in front of him.
“Oh my,” he said. “Sixty-three durability...”
“Not bad, eh?”
“It is very impressive, sir. However, it does present a small issue.” He looked up from the screen and gave an apologetic shrug, which I thought was pretty good going considering he didn't possess shoulders. “The problem is that, for someone as durable as yourself, a specialist hairdresser is required. Those available to see you today do not possess the strength or equipment required to cut your hair.”
I couldn't believe I hadn't considered that before... my hair was affected by my durability. When I thought about it, I supposed it was pretty obvious. I'd been blasted by lightning, immolated, buffeted by incredibly powerful winds, and, other than a little singeing, my hair had remained stubbornly thick and attached to my head.
And those were just the things Rel had done to me.
If you factored in every other fight I'd been in, my hair had really been through it since I'd arrived in the Trial Zone.
“So, there's no one here who can cut my hair?” I said. “It's just going to keep growing longer and longer until I end up as some sasquatch-looking motherfucker?”
“Absolutely not, sir. We will arrange for a specialist to be brought in. However, there may be a bit of a wait.” He returned his attention to the screen. “Let me see... the earliest Tarathiel will be able to fit you in is two weeks from today.”
For fuck's sake.
“You know,” said Rel mildly, “if you don't want to wait that long, perhaps I could offer some assistance?”
He raised both arms, and the air in the room seemed to shift as it was pulled towards the ends of his outstretched paws. It formed in the shape of a crescent, which condensed rapidly until it looked almost solid, like a shimmering white blade.
My mind was suddenly filled with visions of Winterclaw's near decapitation after Rel had hit him with the spell.
I turned back to Sethzun.
“Two weeks sounds perfect!”
“Very good, sir. You will receive system reminders in the lead up to your appointment.”
Rel let the blade of air unravel with a rather dramatic sigh.
*
“Peter Brookes!”
The voice called out to me just as Rel, Winterclaw and I were about to step through the doors into the Expedition Centre. I turned to see who'd spoken and spotted someone charging up the road towards us. I was more than a little surprised to discover it was the Trialist who'd fought on Lokta'Inif's side during the battle outside the city. The same Trialist who'd shit himself and run from the Quest Boards room with his tail between his legs when he’d last seen me.
I glared at him as he approached. I wasn't going to give him a whooping for siding with Lokta'Inif – I couldn't imagine he'd had much choice – but that didn't mean I had to be nice to him.
He visibly flinched but continued to approach anyway. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. They hovered awkwardly in front of him, almost as if he'd intended to raise them in surrender before changing his mind and forgetting to put them back down.
“What the fuck do you want?” asked Rel.
Winterclaw, picking up on our mood, let out a low, rumbling growl that caused the Trialist to squeak. I chuckled and gave the wolf a good scratch behind the ear.
The Trialist came to a stop several metres away.
“Well... I– I–,” he began, tripping over his words as his eyes briefly met Rel's, which were now sparking blue and crackling dangerously. He took a deep breath. “I need your help.”
Rel opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to politely explain why it was entirely unreasonable to expect us to help him, but I held up a hand to stop him. The fact the Trialist looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world made me think he must be in a hell of a lot of trouble. That wasn't to say I would help him, but I had to admit I was pretty curious.
“What's going on?” I asked.
“Ever since you killed Lokta'Inif, the Trialists in Stonehaven have been incredibly well behaved. Honestly, they're–” He caught himself and sighed. “We're terrified. We saw what the two of you did to Lokta'Inif and Malior, and we do not want to share the same fate.”
“You're not entirely braindead then,” said Rel. “Now get to the point. I'm growing impatient, and when that happens...” He raised an arm, and lightning started to dance across his paw. “Things often end up a little crispy.”
Winterclaw growled in agreement.
The Trialist stared in horror at Rel's paws, the dazzling blue light reflected in his wide, dark eyes. He shook his head slowly, visibly steeled himself, then continued.
“Some new Trialists arrived in the city yesterday. They travelled here from a distant region after learning about the Expedition Centre. They're a group of four, and every single one of them is in the top fifteen for total stat gains. Their leader, Moranthor... well, let's just say he makes Lokta'Inif seem like a reasonable and well-adjusted person.”
Moranthor?
I opened my system interface to check the leaderboards.
Total Stat Gains:
1) Peter Brookes
2) Squire Rel
3) Tog Tog
4) Moranthor
5) Tolar Wise Claw
Reputation and influence:
1) Squire Rel
2) Peter Brookes
3) Moranthor
4) Tog Tog
5) Unu’pora
Holy shit... the guy was no joke.
And he led a group of Trialists, every one of whom was in the top fifteen for total stat gains? No wonder he was in third place for reputation and influence.
“And what exactly do you need our help with?” I asked.
“The moment he arrived in the city, Moranthor and his group headed straight for the Expedition Centre to complete their initial assessments. He defeated all five waves, and the rest defeated the first four with ease... then he must have learned that quest rewards can be exchanged for Expedition Centre Points. He's already killed seventeen Trialists – the ones who refused to hand over their items – and stripped a few dozen more of everything they own.”
He glanced nervously over his shoulder, his eyes darting around as they scanned the crowds. “And, well, I think he might be coming for me...”
“What makes you think that?” asked Rel.
“My party and I had just returned from a quest when Moranthor ambushed us near the city gates. My party leader, Ballanax, is...” His face scrunched up in what I took to be guilt or perhaps sadness. “Was a stubborn, cantankerous bastard. When Moranthor suggested we hand over our items, Ballanax made a counteroffer. He said that if Moranthor wanted his sword so badly, he should turn around, bend over, spread his cheeks, and he'd ram it right up his ass.”
I gawped at him for a moment. I knew his buddy had just died and that it'd be rude to laugh... but I couldn't help it. I burst into difficult-to-breathe, bend-over-and-slap-your-knees laughter.
Rel just looked at me with mild disappointment. Winterclaw, however, broke into one of his big doggy grins.
It was nice to have another member of the gang with a sense of humour.
I took a few deep breaths to compose myself, then met the Trialist's eyes once more. There was a war taking place on his face, as though he couldn't quite decide whether to pretend he found my reaction amusing to get on my good side or be angry that I was laughing at his very recently murdered friend.
“And I’m guessing Moranthor wasn’t very impressed by that suggestion?”
“That might be a slight understatement,” he replied. “The only reason I made it out of there alive was because he was so busy using Ballanax's body to paint the path and nearby buildings red. I managed to slip away in the chaos.”
“So, you abandoned your friends?” asked Rel.
The Trialist hung his head. “Yes, Squire Rel,” he said. “I am ashamed to admit that I did. When my family bought my place in the Trials, I thought I was well prepared and knew what to expect. Alas, the reality is far more–”
“I'd love to hear your life story, honestly, but…” I began, then paused. “What's your name, by the way?”
“Inzad.”
“Right, Inzad. As much as I'd enjoy listening to your thoughts on reality versus expectation, I don't think we'll have time.” I nodded towards the street behind him. “I think there's a good chance that's your buddy.”
“Ballanax? He survived?” he asked, his eyes wide. He spun excitedly on the spot, then stumbled backwards and dove behind me. He rose to his feet and peered over my shoulder as Moranthor and his group approached.
“Oh, no,” I said. “I didn't mean your actual buddy.”
Moranthor was not at all what I was expecting.
It was much worse.
He reminded me of one of the decomposing zombies on Floor Three of the Tower of Potential. The only part of his body not encased in armour was his face, but even that was bad enough. It was as though half his flesh had rotted away, then some fucked-up wizard with an undead fetish had looked at him and thought, damn, this guy's got it going on, before casting a spell to freeze him in that state of decomposition.
Parts of his skull were visible through the rotting flesh, and a particularly mangled strip of skin hung from his left cheek, flapping gently as he strode towards us. Even worse, it looked moist, as though it was still coated in... corpse juice?
He had no eyeballs. I guessed whatever force was keeping him in his current state didn't extend that far. Instead, his empty eye sockets glowed with a sickly green light.
With his dark grey leather armour and the two short swords hanging from either side of his belt, he had the look of a rogue or assassin about him. I noticed there were runes etched into the hilts of the weapons, glowing and pulsing faintly.
The rest of his group was a real varied mix. Inzad could say what he wanted about Moranthor being an unhinged lunatic, but it was impossible to deny that he was remarkably open-minded when it came to recruiting party members.
One was a humanoid, dragon-like creature with shimmering red scales and two wings tucked against its back. It wore silver plate armour and carried a quarterstaff.
The next was an enormous furry creature that reminded me a little of a yeti. Rather than being white, its fur was black with random streaks of yellow running through it. It had a flat face, but its nose was long and thin, and looked just a little... phallic.
I made a mental note to avoid being headbutted by the guy at all costs.
The final member of the group was quite easily the most bizarre. It was a gelatinous orange mass that seemed to flounder forwards, its size and shape shifting at random. I had so many questions, but the main one was how the hell it equipped its quest rewards.
Moranthor came to a stop in front of us. He looked me up and down with those glowing green eyes and was apparently not impressed by what he saw.
“Stand aside, local,” he said. His voice was deep and had a strange quality to it. Considering all that was left of his tongue was a rotten nub, I could only assume it was arcane rather than natural. “Killing you benefits me nothing, but I'll not hesitate to rip you apart if you get in my way.”
The draconic creature moved to stand beside Moranthor and looked down his snout at me. His eyes were a burning orange and held a remarkable amount of contempt.
“You're the strangest looking orc I've ever seen,” he hissed. “You may be dressed like one, but your skin... what are you, some sort of albino? You're short, too, and you don't even have tusks. I bet you were bullied as a child, weren't you, you little freak? Actually, scratch that. I bet you still get bullied now.”
What the fuck… that might have quite possibly been the meanest thing I’d ever heard.
He rested a scaled hand on my shoulder and sneered.
“When Moranthor tells you to move, you fucking move!”
He squeezed hard, attempting to drive his taloned fingers into my shoulder. When they failed to pierce my peasant garb, it's fair to say the cocky sneer didn't last long.
I grinned at him.
“A little freak?” I said. “That wasn't very nice, was it?”
I hooked a hand around the back of his neck, yanked him down towards me, and drove my forehead into his snout.
He staggered back a few steps before dropping to the ground like a scaly sack of shit, his jaw mangled and blood streaming from what was left of his mouth. The yeti creature rushed to kneel beside him, a healing potion appearing in his hand.
Inzad peered over my shoulder and piped up, “You're not so tough anymore, are you?”
Rel glared at him. He muttered an apology under his breath and shuffled over to stand just inside the doorway.
I reached up to brush a few loose teeth from my hair, then turned my attention to Moranthor.
“Now,” I said. “Where were we?”
He stared at me for a few moments. What remained of the muscles in his face twisted his rotten lips into something that resembled a frown. He shook his head, then snarled. Leaping backwards to create a little space, he drew his swords.
“What do you think you are doing? Fighting among Trialists is strictly prohibited in GEC zones!”
We all turned at the same time to see Auroria glaring at us. Elirion stood beside her with an arm flung casually over her shoulder.
Mom and dad were home.