She felt the ambient mana level evaporate in the instant before the new arrival hit the ground.
The node hadn’t managed to generate a proper guardian in time to protect itself but, as luck never disappointed, it could generate a corrupted champion at the tail end of events. Because things could never be simple and could always get worse.
A quick analysis of the newest target suggested a moderate threat level, but that was already way above what the monkey man could reasonably handle. She’d have to step in, even if by using some of her low-end gear. It wouldn’t do to crush his confidence too hard by simply obliterating the deviant with her better weaponry.
In two quick strides she was at the barrier, the Thread Rippers summoned on her hands. Wearing armour was overkill for this, but she wanted to select something at least for the show of it. Again, to spare Klaus’s confidence. This was already too much interference on her part.
“If you even fucking dare move from there, I will shove this sword straight up your ass!”
Methol stopped mid-step and blinked, ears flicking in confusion. Klaus was pointing his ridiculous sword at her. His eyes were on the deviant.
Was he referring to her?!
“This is still my delve. I’m finishing it. Stay where you are and cheer me on or something. I don’t want your help.”
“But—” She wanted to warn him about the danger level.
Something that would pose a moderate threat to her was definitely not something he could handle alone at his current level. The deviant was likely to make mince meat out of him.
And that wasn’t even mentioning the inherent danger in attacking a furnar consort lookalike. She chanced a glance towards the village just to confirm none of the furnars had come out. It would only be a matter of time before someone noticed the fresh commotion.
Klaus shook his head and raised his middle finger in her direction. “Fuck off!”
Go and have sex somewhere else?! Probably not exactly what he meant, though, since he’d used the same expression before. Eternity’s translations sometimes did weird things.
Still, if he was going to be rude then Methol would very well let him get his internals rearranged before she considered stepping in. Worst case scenario, the idiot had the [Second Wind] skill and would get a perfect opportunity to test it out again. And he was about to get a crash course in dealing with mana weapons, since the deviant carried two and both were showing as high grade.
“Try and not break the swords,” Methol called out as she crossed her arms at her chest. “I’ll buy one of them off you if you don’t get yourself killed.”
Still, a grade C deviant forming from a node this far out in the boonies? Showing up after a mana purge? It made little sense, same as everything else she’d seen down in the memory proper.
This was mounting into an impossible to ignore stream of oddities. A guardian that never activated yet manifested fully conscious. A whole store of mana shards gone missing without a trace. The hole headed completely out of the node, passing through several seals and the reality membrane.
Now this thing. Perfectly chosen for maximum impact against the village’s already battered morale.
Klaus did not advance on the deviant. The deviant did not advance on Klaus, which was another odd thing to add to the list. They stared each other down across the muddy field.
“Ever.” She called for her dew drop. It had gone into the village with the furnar that had brought the food.
Ever appeared on her shoulder, warm and soft against her neck, unperturbed by the sudden recall.
“Yes, Methol?” she asked.
“This is not a good area to drop off an initiate. Do you agree?” She gestured expansively towards the Brightleaf. “Protocol dictates a fresh candidate can’t be set down in any area that has active level three or above infections within a radius of five nodes. He’s on his second infected node.”
“It has not reached level three status,” Ever pointed out. “Threat estimate here is a two. Previous, as per Eternity’s report, wasn’t even a one.”
“This one’s got a champion.” She pointed at the furnar deviant. “And he’s a big boy to boot.”
Ever’s whiskers twitched as Klaus and the deviant began moving in a slow circle. “I don’t believe it’s purely generated. I have monitored the mana levels of the area. There was not enough up to now to actively create a champion, let alone a grade C one.”
“So we’ve a rogue element in play.”
Ever considered the implication. Her attention mirrored Methol’s, both of them noting how Klaus was not diving into the fight head-first. During the previous skirmish, they’d been rather convinced the monkey was incapable of self-control.
“I agree,” Ever said after some time just as the furnar deviant rushed Klaus, black swords whistling through the air. “This area is not behaving appropriately. Your theory makes sense and explains some of our observations.”
Klaus dodged away from a scything attack in what was a near parody of a roll. He almost managed to come back to his feet but also nearly dropped his sword. If Tiamat ever saw that, he’d burst a nerve cluster. Laughing or cursing, Methol wasn’t sure which.
But here lay the question: “Do I seek out the agent? Or leave it to him?”
Klaus was still not fighting, which Methol considered the height of strategy for what she’d seen of the human so far.
The deviant was fast and it was lethal. It moved with the fluid grace of a grade C construct on the verge of an evolution variation. That Klaus was managing to dodge out of the way of those slashes felt almost wrong, as if the human was cheating somehow.
Ever didn’t answer. On this subject, Methol knew the dew drop wouldn’t have a clear directive. By right, Methol was to withdraw from the area and leave the local candidate to grow and thrive.
But the local candidate was woefully under-levelled and under-prepared for what he’d gotten himself into. She sighed and reached out to the connection interface.
Methol, of Halin Endre: Ti, I ran into a situation. Need advice.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: Talk to me. What’ve you gotten yourself into?
She made a face at that. Of course he’d assume she’d gotten herself in trouble somehow. Mess up once and hear about it forever.
Methol, of Halin Endre: Found a candidate. He’s from that particularly unique percentile.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: Fan-freaking-tastic. Been a while since we’ve seen a suicidal. This one any good?
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Methol, of Halin Endre: Second insight. Cleared a level three (ascendant) node. Currently trying to get his head caved in by a grade C construct. Has gained a unique skill before level 15.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: So what’s your issue then? Guy sounds self-sufficient. Why’re you roosting there?
Methol, of Halin Endre: First issue is that he’s a moron.
Methol, of Halin Endre: Second issue is that his area is abnormal. Ever and I suspect a Nemera agent operating towards the eastern shore of the Mogallin Peninsula. Don’t know if to pursue or leave to the new guy.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: Leave it to him. It’s his area.
Methol, of Halin Endre: Even if there’s a possible intrusion in the nodes? A lot of mana got excavated and extracted from this node.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: Mark it. Set up surveillance. Leave it be. It’s his show. Grab his contact and we’ll step in if he croaks.
Methol walked to the edge of the barrier, one hand pressed to the invisible wall. Klaus held his own out there, much better than she thought he’d be able to. Not only was he still unbloodied, but he was almost impressive to watch. Those first few tumbles to get out of sword range had now evolved.
Now, each time he dove aside, he landed back up on his feet and even managed to flow into parries. He was learning and he’d gained a fresh skill out of this. Not as hopeless as she’d originally thought him, in spite of his results.
The deviant blurred into motion. It thrust forward with its swords, moving at impressive speed without mirroring a speed skill.
Klaus ducked under the blow, stabbed the tip of his shield into the ground, and yanked himself sideways in what was an almost graceful disengage. He bought himself a second to breathe before the furnar was on him again.
Methol understood what he was doing. No blows because that’s not what he was training. She watched his feet and those strange boots splashing through the muddy puddles, drawing the furnar to the worst part of the field.
“He’s training a stability skill,” Ever said on her shoulder, perfectly echoing her own thoughts. “Perhaps not the best moment for it?”
Methol had to smile as she followed the strange fox and hen dance across the moor. “It’s the only moment for it if he’s to have a chance to evolve it.” Right enough, she saw the [Sure step] skill in Klaus’s sheet and how it blinked, asking for evolution.
Methol, of Halin Endre: Would be a shame to let this one die. He’s got some potential.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: Protocol’s protocol.
Methol, of Halin Endre: Silence been riding your ass hard about that Kalin business?
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: If you never mention Kalin’Dah’Ram to me again, I would owe you eternal gratitude.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: And, coincidentally, she has been worse than usual. I don’t need more of that noise.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: And I don’t care that you don’t agree. Leave the guy be. Move on with the mission.
Methol, of Halin Endre: …fine. I’ll break soon from this location. Found mana weapons in the overworld. Following up on the lead.
One of those mana weapons whistled past Klaus’s ears and almost lopped his scalp off. The deviant changed tactics almost mid-swing. From chasing Klaus around the muddy field, to trying to smother him in a relentless flurry of thrusts, jabs, and cuts.
Then the monkey did the absolute worst thing he could’ve done. Methol raised her hand to her eyes the moment the shield went up.
A thorn enchantment is a singularly terrible idea against any weapon that’s mana infused. Or, in this particularly unfortunate case, a weapon that was forged out of mana shards.
The explosion was immediate, blinding bright, and accompanied by a boom so deep that Methol felt it in the pit of her stomach. It sent Klaus tumbling ass over heels, splashing through the mud, digging a long, uneven trench through the barren field.
There went one sword. Only a smoking jagged stump remained of one of the black blades. The deviant looked at the weapon’s ruin almost as forlornly as Methol herself.
Methol, of Halin Endre: Think the idiot just got himself killed.
Methol, of Halin Endre: Ah. No. Wait. He’s still kicking.
Methol, of Halin Endre: You’re going to like the bastard. He’s almost as stubborn as you are.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: Don’t tease me with a good time. I don’t wanna come all the way out there to meet him.
Klaus was, indeed, on his feet, stumbling somewhat from the blast, but still very much alive and shaking his head. His shield was mangled, a cratered ruin that looked to have taken the brunt of the blast and would be useless for anything more.
He tossed it aside with a splash, and hefted his sword.
[Iron flesh] covered his neck and back, and now moved on his free arm. Smart boy. He’d activated the skill on the moment of impact and saved himself a shattered spine.
The fight drew attention. The murmur of voices echoed from the village, followed by several splashing steps approaching rapidly. Methol didn’t need to look back to know what was about to happen.
“Far-dweller, no!” Predictably, several voices screamed the same thing.
Methol activated another layer of her [Golden barrier] and created a pocket to isolate the coming furnars from the outer layer of the original wall. If the deviant lost its interest in Klaus, it could cut through the barrier and Methol preferred having a buffer zone.
“Do not harm the holy one,” a voice screamed from the crowd.
“Far-dweller, this is sin! You must cease!”
“Heathen! Betrayer!”
“The Lady will not stand for this. Divine retribution shall be met to you!”
“Don’t look. Don’t look.”
She’d tried to warn Klaus. Attacking a consort of the queen, even if this one was a fake, was considered one of the highest crimes in furnar society. If Klaus wanted to make an eternal enemy of a furnar queen, the only way to make one hate him more was, very literally, to defecate on her.
“And we’ve got this issue again.” Ever turned on her shoulder and looked at the noisy crowd behind them. “Last time it took them less than five minutes before they started throwing stones. I feel this may not go differently.”
Fortunately, since last time, Methol had learned a couple new things. And the first of them was [Avatar’s smother], her sole illusion skill that she’d researched specifically for this problem. It had a cooldown time of over six hours and a maximum activation time of barely five minutes in its unaugmented form.
It would have to be enough.
“Monkey man,” she called out, “you have four minutes to settle this. If you don’t, I’m stepping in.”
“Fuck off!” came the already rude, familiar answer.
Methol activated the skill and defined the area it would cover. Tripping up Klaus while he dodged and weaved among blows would be bad form on her part, so she made sure the smothering effect only reached back towards the village. Without optimisation, it drove her energy level down to near half but the effect was immediate. The complaints stopped, replaced by gasps of fear and disgust. It was impossible to tell exactly what the skill showed the furnars, but it sure drew attention away for a short time.
“Ever, guide them, please. Try and get them out of here before Klaus ends the fight.”
Ever nodded. “On it. But they will remember after the fact. You know how it went in Gwayne’s Hollow.”
The dew drop hopped off her shoulder and went to work. For all her abrasiveness, Ever generally had a way with frightened people.
“Everyone, please listen,” she began.
At this point it was a matter of time before Klaus gained the upper hand. The monkey was a ridiculous ass, but some of her words looked to have hit a nerve with him. After the full-blown mania episode from earlier, this Klaus fighting was a different creature altogether.
Whatever the deviant did, Klaus countered. No hesitation at all when he swung his sword or deflected with his bare arm. Every blow was potentially fatal but none seemed to faze the human. His counterattacks were perfectly targeted, executed with near impeccable precision, each parry leading to a blow against his enemy.
If he were to activate the sword’s flame rune, the fight would be over. Still, he kept on blocking and parrying, not taking a single step back.
Was that part of his training too? Or pure bravado?
She couldn’t tell but she could see his energy draining away without any way to replenish it. Unless he’d stuffed a bottle of the spiritglow mead down his underwear, he had at best seconds before he’d be stranded out there.
Why, in the blazes, was he smiling?
Methol, of Halin Endre: Ti… I think the guy might be insane.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: Wouldn’t be the first of us. Leave him alone. Move on.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: Now shush. I’ve a wyvern to kill.
Tiamat, just bloody Tiamat: Bring ya back a nice steak.
She bloody hated steaks, and the bastard knew it.
The furnars were leaving, chanting what she recognized as protection prayers. Evil signs. Monsters of the fae. Calls to the Mother for aid. At least they were going away and not trying to intervene.
Her Thread Rippers whined as she powered them up. A simple set of imperial scale armour and a pair of Swiftstep boots. Klaus’s energy was down to dregs and he’d just sent the deviant back with a beautiful combo of parry and follow-up blow. Fist to the armoured midriff followed by a cut with the sword that lopped off one of the deviant’s arms.
But that was all he’d get. His energy flashed red, then winked out. The deviant raised the mana sword in perfect sync with Klaus stumbling, black blade glittering in the midday sun. A gracefully descending killing blow.
Methol accelerated herself to intervene.
“His four minutes aren’t up,” Eternity called from where it hovered above the battle field. “Do not interfere.”
Methol hesitated. One heartbeat too long.