Bio Dungeon

Book 2: Parasyte

(The Slime Dungeon Universe)

Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue & Jonathan Brooks

Acknowledgements:

For the fans who stuck with us

Cover and Design by:

Amelia Parris

Editing by: Ellen Klowden.

●●●

All work within this novel is fictional.  All characters, places, and adventures were born within the mind of the author and have no relation to anything in real life.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; no copies should be made without the consent of the author. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

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Parasyte

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Epilogue

About the Authors

Books by Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue

Books by Jonathan Brooks

Medical Glossary

Prologue

Covered most of the year in snow, Iora, the capital of Istut, the gleaming city of the North, glistened and sparkled like a beacon under the warming sunlight, thanks to the popularity and high use of magically enchanted stained glass that adorned even the most run down of buildings. These magical artworks depict many different scenes: a family during the winter harvest, a warrior fighting a great ice worg, a seamstress sewing ice into cloth, and many other things both mundane and legendary. The city was surrounded by a great stone wall covered in a layer of impenetrable black ice, with only the four cardinal direction gates allowing for entry into the city. Though the artistry shone out, it still could not hide the grime and filth that had long since accumulated in the city, layered up in the dark places where eyes failed to see.

Splendid mansions and fancy stores ringed themselves around the central royal district, like locusts on the crops. Between them and the outer city wall was the slums district; a mix of moderately well-off folk, the shady underbelly, and the street beggars. A single road separated the slums and the nobles’ district, the ever-present reminder that it only took a single step to rise up, and to fall to nothing, and that a middle ground was mere fantasy.

This was not a new sight to the north; a world where the stark difference between the rich and poor was ever-rising. Coupled with their progressive and profit-driven mindset, the sights to be found north still strangely mirrored the south, as if some strange facet of humanity existed regardless of ideology: that the conception of value, usefulness, and status could rule the world.

In the nobles’ district, a lone man stood in front of his office window, gazing down into the slums district. From his high perch, he could see the beggars and peasants wasting their lives away in their foolhardy endeavor of merely surviving. Pitiable, he could not help but admit, but a sacrifice for the greater good of the kingdom. After all, who would be there for the winter harvests, if no one required the pay it gave, small as it was? At least their lives meant something.

In order for humanity to live, someone must be at the bottom of the pile, the man thought to himself. There must be those who toil, those who toll, and those who tyran.

His face scowled as he noticed a trio of fur-covered men and women appear out of one of the houses. He hated them, hated the sight of those primitive primal folk who only knew how to roll around in the mud and ice, hated their optimistic view of the world, and most of all, hated who they were: thieves! Yes, thieves of people, of the noble sacrifices! These vile savages would remove those at the bottom of the pile and bring them to their own, strengthening themselves and weakening the country.

“What was his majesty thinking, rest his soul,” the man muttered in anger. “Allowing for peace and trade with those filthy savages. Worst of all, allowing them to recruit our people to join their dying tribes! Bad enough the peace with the devils, he had to approach the tribes as well.”

The man spat into a golden bowl to his right in disgust. He and his ancestors had made their fortune fighting in the wars against the devils and tribes; profitable ventures for his family's origins as mercenaries. The devils viewed war as a sport, and had been known to carry an assortment of valuable magical artifacts, to say nothing of the individual parts one could strip from their bodies. The tribes were equally valuable, as looking through their tombs could potentially uncover the lucrative race crystals formed by the Istutian Polar Hunters upon their transformation into winter spirits. The spoils had made not only this family, but others quite rich, even prompting a growing investment industry in the previously poor winter country. And yet, all that came to end under the reign of the previous king, who had great relations with the budding Adventurer’s Guild. Through the guild, the kingdom had made peace with the filthy savages and heretical devils and ruined the source of wealth of many in the aristocracy.

Of course, this did not mean the king had been completely successful. After all, he was no longer around, and the crown princess was still young under her mother, the Queen.

The man turned slightly to gaze at an open letter, sitting on his ornate wooden desk behind him. A small smirk played across his face. The letter was a report from his allies, summarizing the changes in the country. Recent events had played oddly both in and against his favor. The high court had finally settled a long-time dispute between loggers and one of the closer tribes in the loggers’ favor, opening a vast forest to fuel progress and industry. Of course, this also incited the tribe’s anger toward the company, and the man was sure it wouldn’t be long before one of the mercenary companies under his employ would be hired as ‘protection’.

That was all well and good, but on the other side of things an important piece of the plan had been crucially delayed. The man scowled, cursing the greed of the Thieves’ Guild. Now the gem was under the protection of the cursed Adventurer’s Guild, far from the capital. It was imperative that it be retrieved before anyone became aware of its value, or its significance.

To that end, he was forced to delay his plans, which annoyingly gave the opposition time to make their own moves.

His allies had informed him that the opposition was making waves in the high court; using such trivial things as ‘proof’ that the peace with the tribes was benefitting the entire country in all areas. They were still strongly against the outcome of the forest deal and were pushing for a retrial, even if a few of the more notable members had been properly bribed. He would have to see to it that nothing changed, and that would require favors.

He scoffed at the very idea of ‘proof’ that the country was benefiting from trade with the devils and peace with the tribes. Evidently, the purse-pockets of the aristocracy were not included among those that benefitted, rendering such feeble evidence worthless. After all, was it not the rich and powerful who brought prosperity to the country? Where would all the peasants be if not for the generous seasonal jobs provided by him and his ilk? It was common knowledge that money trickled downwards after all, and he would ensure that this would continue. No matter the cost.

A knocking at his door distracted him from his thoughts. “Enter!” he said loudly.

The door to the study opened quickly, and his butler entered and bowed. “Your grace, a messenger has just arrived from the castle. The anniversary of the king’s death is coming upon us, and the queen wishes to enquire if you shall be able to join the delegation of remembrance.”

The man waved his hand dismissively. “Inform the messenger at the gate that I have received the imperial summons, and I would be most pleased to attend the anniversary of his majesty’s passing. I will have the finest artists craft a portrait in his image. In addition, I will be making a large, charitable donation to the orphans’ fund in the Queen’s name. To see to it that the messenger is properly, ‘tipped’, before he leaves.”

The butler bowed and left swiftly, closing the door behind him. The man sighed and returned to his desk, sitting himself upon the lush seat cushioned by polar swan feathers. It was annoying to have to bribe such low folk, but he was not so arrogant to assume that those in low places heard and saw things that others did not. It was the main reason why he changed servants so quickly.

He considered the letter on his desk again. Given his current responsibilities, it would be most unwise to deal with the issues at hand himself. No matter how religious he was about taking care of spies, he would be unable to hide the movements of his men or himself in the eyes of the opposition. And a trip to a non-important, tiny town like Graniton would surely cause a stir, and maybe even a questioning of motives.

He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and scribbled a letter across its surface. After blowing softly on the ink to ensure it dried quickly, the man folded the parchment and slid it into an envelope. He then reached over to a small bell hidden underneath his desk. Ringing it gently, the bell’s twinkling sound echoed across the room, but failed to exit through the door or windows. In fact, it was as if the bell and its sound only existed within the small confines of the room, in its own sphere of reality.

After a few moments, the shadows in the far corner congealed like a thickened gravy until they formed the vague outline of a figure in a hooded cloak. A pair of brown eyes glistened from underneath the hood, waiting.

“Deliver these orders to . . . D. Inform him that there has been a change in the plan, and that he should follow through with the initial plan at the origin. Everything else is in the letter.” The man paused before drawing to a close thus: “If there is a problem, deal with it. I do not wish to travel there again if I don’t have to.”

The letter vanished from the man’s grasp, and the shadowy figure likewise vanished into the shadows from whence he came. The man grimaced imperceptibly; dealing with those sorts was dirtying but had to be done. All was for Istut, after all.

Chapter 1

A bright sun shone down upon the land below, reflecting off the glistening ice and slushy pools that dotted the landscape. The heat was unbearably warm for those used to sub-zero temperatures, though it still was hovering a degree higher than the freezing point of water. For anyone else, the warm sun and cool breeze would be most-welcome summer weather. But for Marstin, the heat was stifling.

“How much, how much longer again?” asked the young man, his borderline-malnourished body sweating heavily as he trudged through the weakening snow that littered the ground. His hand wiped away a thin sheet of sweat on his brow, his short brown hair glistening in the summer sun. “I feel the heat worsening.”

“Would you quit your complaining?” Yarrow, the Iron Yaks’ Istutian Polar Wizard, and one of Marstin’s current traveling companions, replied a little testily. “We’re almost there – just like I had told you an hour ago. And the hour before that.”

Marstin looked at the black-haired, wolf-fur-wearing magic user and immediately saw that even she was starting to look a little haggard after their long journey. ‘Probably because those furs have got to be hot!  I’m not sure why she elected to wear them even in this heat,’ he thought to himself.

Looking around, he could see that the others appeared just as hot and exhausted as he was, if not more so, though they were holding up much better than the still-new thief-turned-adventurer. Oswald, the ever-cheerful leader of the Iron Yaks, and one of the main fighters, was still leading the group and looked unbothered by the heat, were it not for the small puddle of sweat that followed his steps, dripping out of his armor. Frain, the other fighter and other woman in the group, looked like she’d eaten a bad stew from her expression, though her eyes never stopped scanning the horizon ahead. The final member, George, a large man in all directions and the archer of the group, looked like he was beginning to shrink horizontally. He’d apparently noticed the same, and was making a joke to Frain and Oswald, causing them both to laugh.

“I’m sorry for asking so often, Yarrow,” Marstin apologized, swallowing down another sip from his water canteen. “I . . . well, I guess I’m still getting used to all this. I counted yesterday; this will be the farthest I’ve ever traveled from Graniton.”

That was a bit of an understatement; after all, this entire year was filled with firsts for the young man of 15 or 16 years of age. To this day, Marstin couldn’t believe how much his life had changed.

Since becoming a trial adventurer nearly 3 months ago, he’d gone through a lot: breaking free of the Thieves’ Guild (or getting kicked out), becoming a proper adventurer, almost dying again of some disease and being bedridden for two weeks, and finally becoming a true and proper adventurer after facing his thieving past and overcoming it. His former guild had attempted to use the diminutive thief to “acquire” a special gemstone that had been entrusted to the Adventurer’s Guild by the powerful merchant, Ghevin Drestice – who just so happened to be the merchant from Marstin’s long-buried memories who may have had a hand in his family’s death. Failing this, they’d tried to ambush the caravan transporting the gem, only to have their plans backfire when Marstin refused to betray the adventurers who’d accepted him and turn the tables on the guild. Now, the Thieves’ Guild was almost entirely gone from Graniton.

Since then, his life had been on the up. He’d used the reward from the help he’d given in taking down the Thieves’ Guild to purchase a year’s rent at an inn, the same room in which he’d recovered from his illness. The hostess had taken pity on him after hearing about his former home, the repurposed grave, and had agreed to lower the price in return for occasional help with chores and retrieving ingredients for the dinners the inn sold in its tavern area. He’d happily agreed and moved in straight away. His good friend Kyra had even visited with a present of bread to commemorate the occasion, hinting that her father had baked it for the boy, though he’d never admit it.

It had only been two weeks since he’d become a full adventurer. In that time, while he’d traveled quite a bit for his new profession, exploring ruins and completing random nearby quests with various adventuring groups, he hadn’t been more than 2 full days’ hike away from his home.

For this latest endeavor, however, the Iron Yaks, with him in tow, had been on the road for a little less than a week; his exhaustion was only exacerbated by the knowledge that he would have trouble finding his way back to Graniton, if he were abandoned for any reason. All of the other quests had been close enough that he was fairly sure he could locate his home if need be – but looking around, he couldn’t even see the mountains near the town anymore.

Lingering thoughts of his own inadequacies as an adventurer caused him to conjure up scenarios in which the Iron Yaks were only bringing him out this far to leave him, wanting to get rid of the former thief for causing them so much trouble. Stop it, he muttered to himself inwardly, that’s just the old you talking. You’re useful now, and they are friends… I hope. Marstin shook the negative thoughts away. He focused on the particulars of the current quest to distract himself.

This latest quest had practically fallen into their laps a few days prior to their travel, a direct order from the guild master of the Adventurer’s Guild himself. Marstin hadn’t been there for specifics himself, but he was invited afterwards by Yarrow and Oswald to join their party. In retrospect, he should have asked more questions about the quest before he joined. Still, this quest was nowhere near the same level of discomfort as the tasks he’d been forced to do for the Thieves’ Guild.

But have you really escaped the name ‘Thief’? After all, the Thieves’ Guild told you that everything had been done to make you a spy. They wanted you to be an adventurer, they wanted you to stab the knife in their backs.

Marstin snarled at himself. The former thief didn’t want to have anything to do with the people that had almost killed him and then left him to die in a mine. Though they had tried to turn Marstin against the adventurers, he wouldn’t hurt those who had truly tried to help him. Fortunately, the guild master had been understanding of the situation and had helped to set up a trap for the Vice-leader of the Thieves’ Guild, Burch, who was captured by Marstin’s own hand during the attack on the caravan. Many of the other members of the hated Guild were rounded up afterwards, though he hadn’t heard that Cheven, the Thieves’ guild master, had been apprehended as of yet.

That worried him a little bit, if he was being honest with himself. The potential that the wily thief, even with the power of his Guild being essentially dismantled by the adventurers, would hunt Marstin down as the one responsible for their downfall was entirely real. He had only relaxed a little bit as they got farther and farther from Graniton; there was no way the Thieves’ guild master would or could follow him this far away. So, while the journey over the Istutian Plains had been tiring, hot, and seemingly endless – it was also safe.

“Marstin, here, Marstin!” Yarrow’s voice suddenly rang out in his ears. “Is your head stuck in the ice again? Did you not hear me?”

“Oh, no, sorry Yarrow,” Marstin apologized. “What did you say?”

Yarrow sighed, but still smiled at the young man almost her age. “I said, congratulations on making it so far. I wish I had someone to say that to me after leaving my tribe, so I was thinking you’d like to hear it from me.”

“Oh,” Marstin blinked, smiling gratefully. “Thank you, then. I mean it.”

“Good,” Yarrow nodded, “So no more asking me about the time left. You’re just going to have to get used to the heat and the traveling, like I did.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this,” Marstin muttered.

“Well, you’re going to have to become used to these longer journeys, now that you’re a full-fledged member of the Adventurer’s Guild.” Oswald interrupted their conversation with fatigue heavily tinging his voice, though this did not hide his amusement toward the new adventurer. Marstin jumped over a small cluster of rocks that seemed a little out of place as he looked at the Iron Yaks’ heavily armored leader. With his full suit of iron armor and heavy shield, he looked absolutely miserable in the heat of the midday sun; and yet, he trudged ahead with a natural aplomb, as if he could keep walking for days without trouble.

That’s true, I guess. Though Marstin had become a full, card-carrying member of the Adventurer’s Guild, this was still technically his first mission away from Graniton. He’d undertaken a number of missions as a trial adventurer, but all of their quests had been relatively local by comparison, and his responsibilities had been merely to participate and observe. The traveling hadn’t been overly difficult, even when exploring through potentially dangerous ruins; but they also hadn’t been in the middle of one of the warmest summers in recent memory, at least to the Istutian people. For it to almost be hot this far north was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for most people, though not so anomalous as to lead to doom and gloom screams about apocalyptic weather. After all, if one continued to walk north past the capital, the weather would quickly revert to winter, as the northern part of Istut was covered in frost year-round.

Marstin didn’t care that a few of the traveling merchants had pointed out that this weather was fairly standard elsewhere; it was just really, really hot.

“Are you sure the Ice Caribou aren’t just staying in the north because they don’t want to melt down here?” Marstin asked, for what felt like the hundredth time since they had set out. In actuality, it was probably more like the fourth or fifth, but he was beyond counting or caring right now.

“Ha!” Yarrow responded, though there was very little humor in her tone. “Like I told you before, the Ice Caribou aren’t made of actual ice; they simply make their homes amongst the snow and ice of the frozen north during the winter. They always, and I mean always, come south during the late spring and early summer to mate, reproduce, and plump up before heading back north in the late fall. Stories passed down from my people say that even when it is extremely hot like this, they still come south; the fact that they haven’t quite yet is very worrying.”

It had already been explained to him that such an occurrence could be a disaster. The northern Istutian tribes hunted the Ice Caribou through the winter; their beasts sustained themselves in the north from what they ate during their southern migrations. He was told that it was similar to how bears would bulk up before they hibernated for the winter, so even though there wasn’t anything for the shaggy caribou to eat, they could survive until they journeyed south again.

“So why aren’t the northern tribes, your people, investigating this themselves?”  It sounded insensitive even to his ears, but Marstin couldn’t figure out why they had been called to help out. “Moreover, why send the request to Graniton, the most southern city of Istut?”

“From what I’ve been told, they are,” Oswald replied tiredly. Marstin suddenly realized that the leader of the Iron Yaks wasn’t just hanging back to speak with them, he’d just been unable to keep up his previous pace. Oswald sent a pleading gaze toward Yarrow, who sighed and waved her staff magnanimously. An icy breeze rose up around them, and Oswald sighed in pleasure as he was freed from the heat. Frain and George appeared suddenly next to Marstin, taking in the cold breeze like fish taking to water.

“Ah, you are our most valuable treasure, Yarrow,” George joked with a relaxed smile. “Can you send another my way?”

“Sure,” Yarrow said with narrowed eyes. “Have an ice dart up your arse!”

George once again showed off his inhuman grace and agility as he effortlessly dodged the small barrage of pointy ice darts Yarrow conjured, and the two began a small chase around the rocks and trees as Oswald, Frain, and Marstin took a seat to enjoy the icy break.

“Ah, that’s the stuff,” Oswald murmured happily. “Frain, care to answer Marstin’s earlier question?”

Frain grunted, giving Marstin an unfriendly stare. Out of the four of them, only Frain was still somewhat hostile toward Marstin, though not to the same degree as when they first met. Marstin didn’t know the full story, but Frain had a strong hatred of thieves, so his former profession did him no favors with her. On the other hand, she was very kind toward orphans, like him, so it was clear Frain hadn’t quite settled on her view of Marstin yet. At least she wasn’t trying to stab him anymore.

“So here’s the deal, kid,” she began, conveniently forgetting Marstin’s name as usual, “From what the guild master heard, the Istutian tribal people are at a loss at what to do. They’ve tried whatever they can to convince the Ice Caribou to migrate down south, but even when they forcibly moved them, the caribou always run straight back north like they’re being chased.”  The short, red-headed woman gestured to herself and the others as she continued. “That’s why we, and almost every other adventurer group within 100 miles, have been called in to help. Not only the small branches of the guild, but even the main branch at the capital has been mobilized, not to mention those bastard mercenaries. It’s a measure of their desperation that they would turn to even the mercenary guilds to find a solution to their problem. Of course, they only are footing half of the bill since the merchants have gotten involved as well. Nothing like a threat to the majority of the fur trade to get those penny pinchers moving.”

“What’s a mercenary?” Marstin asked, curious.

Oswald made a funny face while Frain spat on the ground in disgust.

“Mercenaries are Yurt-‘a’-ba-bes!” Yarrow’s hate filled voice suddenly rang out next to Marstin’s ears, startling the teen. The young polar wizard had given up on hitting the archer and had plopped down next to Marstin. “They are cursed enemies of tribes! The warriors deign to feast on bones and give flesh to ice drake and take women cutta blanka hogar tobu-”

Oswald interrupted Yarrow’s babbling with a cough. “Yarrow, your words are tumbling again.”

The young lady blushed and coughed as she recovered. “Forgive me, I revert back to my normal tongue when I get upset,” she explained to Marstin. “I’m normally good with this language, but those mercenaries....” She fumed and stopped talking as her forehead twitched in anger once again.

“Mercenaries are a type of group that existed long before the Adventurer’s Guild,” Oswald explained. “If adventurers are the handymen and women of the world, then mercenaries are the warriors, though most lack the honor for that word to hold meaning. They take coin for jobs and most often don’t care what the job is or what means they have to use to get it done. For example, the mercenary guilds of Istut were long used to fight wars against the tribes and the devils. Many families became rich through this, and even today, amid peace, the tensions run high between the former enemies. On the other hand, the Adventurer’s Guild has made many efforts toward peace with the tribes and devils, and even take former mercenary jobs at a cheaper price. As a result, both guilds are large rivals and don’t normally get along.”

“Which adds to why this is such a big deal,” Frain cut in as she moved a whetstone down her sword. “Mercenaries and adventurers looking for the cause of the caribou problems? Just imagine the consequences if we all fail.”

Frain didn’t have to expound in words. The desperation in her tone underscored what had already been clarified. The Caribou were direly important to the northern Istutian tribes, Marstin now understood. The populace might not starve this year, but if all of the Ice Caribou were to end up perishing through the winter because they didn’t eat enough to sustain themselves, then the next year might see mass starvation amongst the people living in that ecosystem. He could also imagine the many conflicts that would erupt; he knew all too well what hunger could drive a person to do. And the lack of fur would ruin many lives for the country as well, from traders and peddlers to tailors and merchant groups.

“Okay, I can understand that. I even get why we have to travel all this way, so that we can go to the actual problem,” Marstin said, even as the others nodded their heads. “What I don’t understand, however, is what they expect us to do about the problem. I’ve never even seen a live Ice Caribou; how am I supposed to convince even one of them to head south for the summer, let alone the massive herds I’ve heard tell are up there?”

The Iron Yaks all shrugged at the question, even Yarrow. None of them seemed to have an answer for that. All they knew was that the guild master of Graniton’s Adventurer’s Guild had basically volunteered everyone to participate in the region-wide quest – with no real explanation of how they were to go about completing it. From what one of the other adventurers in the guild’s common room had mumbled after hearing about it, “It’s the whole, ‘throw as many people at it as you can and hope something works’, approach”. And that had basically summed up their experience so far. At least they’d been promised a decent wage for their trouble; Marstin had overheard that the government had been known to mobilize and conscript adventurers for emergencies with little to no pay.

“With so many of us spread around, what if something happens to a group?” Marstin couldn’t help but wonder out loud. “Heck, what would happen if one of us got lost during all this wilderness travel?”

“No worries there, Marstin,” Oswald chuckled. “Adventurers may get lost, but they’re always found. Not necessarily alive, I admit, though.” He pulled out his adventurer’s card and showed it to Marstin. “The lead adventurer in a party is granted a privilege to be able to keep track of their party members’ locations at any time. Or at least their respective adventurer’s cards. When in use, my card will shine with a sort of beacon toward the party member of my choosing. Of course, since I included you on the roster for this quest, you’re temporarily considered part of my group, and thus I can track you, in case you get eaten. Don’t worry, we will surely slay the offending beast and retrieve your card for burial, alongside what other remains are left.”

The chuckles from the other group members left Marstin with a sour feeling in his stomach, but Yarrow patted his shoulder in support. “If it makes you feel any better,” the black-haired wizard said. “The guild master is entitled to track down everyone. I heard once he had to track down a certain adventurer who had gotten so drunk, he somehow challenged a tree to a climbing contest and got himself stuck up there for two days.”

Oswald coughed awkwardly as Frain and George laughed hard enough to fall backwards and cry. Marstin joined them, reveling in Oswald’s past.

After finishing their break, another two hours passed by as the group inched closer to their goal, or at least they hoped. Marstin somehow refrained from complaining anymore – because it wasn’t really needed; they were already passing through what Oswald mentioned earlier was the “southern” border with the tribes, which meant they were farther north than the capital. This had the added benefit of decreasing temperature, as when Marstin concentrated on the environment he could feel that there was a very subtle change in his discomfort. For one thing, it was markedly cooler than just a half-mile behind them; it was still warm, but he didn’t feel like he was going to melt into slush at any moment. Yarrow in particular looked much better, as if her strength returned to her the closer she got to home.

That wasn’t the only thing that was different, however. There was a hint of something in the air, a stench of…death, if he had to put a name to it. Marstin immediately looked around, seeking some sort of rotting animal carcass that could be causing the subtle odor, but he couldn’t see anything.

“What are you looking for?  Did you see something?” George, their bald-headed archer, asked him when he noticed Marstin searching the area.

The question startled the former Thief, as it had been fairly quiet within their group for a while. “Huh?  Oh, no, I…does anyone else smell that?”

“Uh…sorry, that must’ve been breakfast this morning,” Oswald immediately said, patting his stomach and grinning at everyone else. Marstin joined in the soft laughter and disgusted-but-amused looks from the others at their leader’s expense, but he eventually shook his head.

“No, not that – I’ve been smelling that back here all morning,” he said, a strained smile on his face. The stench was subtly getting worse the farther north they walked, and it was starting to make him a slightly nauseous. It wasn’t debilitating in any way, but it certainly wasn’t fun. “It’s the other smell—” he began to say as they walked along, before looking at everyone else’s confused faces turned towards him. “Are you telling me you can’t smell that?”

They finally stopped moving at that. “What are you talking about?” Frain asked. “I smell nothing except for what should be out here: the subtle smell of the dirt being kicked up by our feet; the crushed, dried grass that we’ve trampled over; and the delicate hint of what I’m hoping is rain on the horizon.”

Marstin could smell that, too, but it was being overpowered by this unexpected stench. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about—none of you can smell that?  It smells like something died around here.”

He watched as everyone stopped and sniffed the air, trying to catch a scent of what he was talking about – and he could also see that they were having absolutely no luck. “I don’t know what to tell you, Marstin. I don’t smell anything, either,” Oswald said apologetically with a shrug of his shoulders.

George agreed. “Nor I.”

“I don’t either…but this could mean something,” Yarrow added, cocking her head to the side.

“Uh…what do you mean?  Am I losing my mind or something? Or maybe I ate something poisonous?” Marstin asked worriedly.

“Since Frain hasn’t cooked today, I think you’re clear of poison,” George joked before dodging a thrown dagger from the aforementioned cook.

The Polar Wizard shook her head slowly, her eyes focused somewhere else. “No, I don’t think so. This stench could be something that only you can detect. Why?  I don’t know, honestly, but this is definitely something that we should investigate.”

“Investigate…a smell?  I’m not sure—” Oswald started hesitantly.

“Do you have any better idea of what to do once we reach the Caribou herds?” Frain asked, cutting him off. “This is at least something different; it could be completely unrelated and perhaps our Little Helper here just has a very keen sense of smell – and is smelling a dead animal half of a mile away. Regardless, it couldn’t really hurt to check this out, could it?”

Everyone was silent as they considered the swordswoman’s words. Since even the one member of the party who disliked him still had supported him, there really wasn’t much else to be said. Marstin had a question, though. “Uh…how are we supposed to investigate a random smell?”

Yarrow answered him immediately with another question. “Did it feel like the smell was getting stronger as we went in a certain direction?”

The former thief had to think about that for a moment. “I’m not quite sure. It is definitely getting somewhat more intense the further north we go, but I don’t know if that really means anything.”

“It’s something to go on, at least.”  Oswald said, and Marstin knew at that moment that the decision had been made. “Lead on, Little Helper. Let’s follow that nose of yours.”

“Are you all sure about this?  It could be just a dead animal up ahead,” George pointed out.

Oswald just shrugged his shoulders. “If it is, then we’re not really wasting any time. It’s not like we have any specific instructions up here other than to ‘investigate’; I don’t know about you, but I don’t really feel like wandering around these empty plains for weeks looking for something that even the Istutian people can’t identify.”

The others nodded at that. “Okay, I guess. Let’s see where this side-journey takes us.”

With that said and decided, Marstin moved to the front of the group, using his sense of smell to lead the way.

Chapter 2

“Something stinks,” Progen, the dungeon crystal, murmured to himself. “There is a plot afoot.” He paused, waiting for a moment. Progen sighed. “I choose to move the Spawner to position D5. Stemmy, how will you react?”

Stemmy moves Novice Killer to E8. Cell mate, Progen has lost.

“Gah,” Progen groaned. “Again, again I lose! How do I lose to something that doesn’t even have a sense of self?”

The benefit of the nerve ends to which Stemmy has connected allows for a greater tactical mind when prompted, and the lack of self frees Stemmy from distracting emotional responses, leaving reason to command all prompts. Progen is severely lacking in age, experience, and emotional control in comparison.

Progen rolled a metaphorical eye. “Is that just a roundabout way of calling me an ignorant child?”

No. Just ignorant.

“Fine,” Progen sighed. “Well, that’s enough simulation practice for now.” The dungeon crystal glowed softly as he focused on the world around him. Since the battle of the heart against the Insidious Virus army, Progen had slowly worked his way into consolidating his control over the immune system, the circulatory system, the respiratory system, and the digestive system. At this moment, his combined forces of Newts, Spawners, Reporters, Novice Killers, and Historians could penetrate anywhere within the body at a moment’s notice, with the key exception being the brain and its impenetrable blood-brain barrier. Besides that obstacle, Progen felt very satisfied with the progress he had made toward taking over this body of wonders.

“Stemmy,” Progen prompted. “How are the preparations for the invasion into the brain going?”

All preparations are complete. However, Progen lacks conventional means of breaking the barrier without placing the host body in dire jeopardy. Even if Progen moved all forces into the brain, Progen would be unable to prevent the risk of unwanted variables causing brain damage and destroying the body as a result. Recommendation is to delay intrusion until conventional means of bypassing the barrier without destroying it is discovered.

“The same answer today,” Progen muttered to himself.  He hadn’t been expecting too much from Stemmy. After all, Progen asked the same question every day, and Stemmy’s answer failed to change by even a word. The dungeon crystal hummed a low tune he had once heard from a miner.

“Well, then why don’t-” Progen was interrupted by a large shuddering that vibrated through the gut, even rocking his hidden base in the appendix. The dungeon crystal raised his senses to scan the surrounding area but found nothing to suggest the cause of the quake. “Stemmy, what was that just now. A hunger quake again?”

Information from the nerves read that the host has begun experiencing moderate to severe fatigue. The muscles from the legs and lower body are complaining more loudly, as they are being destroyed and rebuilt stronger, but they lack the proper nutrients to continue working. Host is not taking in enough nutrients to facilitate muscle growth and faces a potential for injuries in the muscles to increase in probability.

Progen grunted in annoyance. “What has this host been eating the last few days?”

Rations, according to the digestive nerves. Reports are in for: hard cheese, hard bread, smoked meat-chicken. Water supplies are low, but not dangerous. Some alcohol was detected at night a few days ago, but minimal levels and non-impactful.

“So the host is on another excursion, then,” Progen analyzed. Being situated in the appendix, Progen and Stemmy were not well-aware of the happenings of the outside world, but in recent weeks they had grown accustomed to the host body seemingly traveling for a few days before normal muscle use and diet resumed. This time seemed a bit different, however, as Progen had never heard of moderate to severe fatigue accruing since the virus attack. “Seems a bit odd for such a long period of traveling. Is something going on out there?”

Unknown outer conditions. However, this may be related to progress made on the secondary objective.

“What, you made progress on the nerve connection?” Progen started. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Stemmy was not asked.

“Right,” Progen groaned. He sometimes forgot that the little interneuron cell required direct input from him to take action or provide information. “Well, then what progress have you made in the objective to control more of the nervous system?”

The secondary objective referred back to after the fight with the deadly virus, when Progen and Stemmy were coming up with plans on bypassing the blood-brain barrier. Since they couldn’t go through the direct route via the blood vessels, Stemmy had theorized that a possibility existed with the nerve cells: the chains of mana and power that networked throughout the body and started at the brain and spinal cord. Stemmy had already evolved into a nerve cell itself, which gave it the ability to tap into the body’s network and read signals. So, perhaps there would be a point where Stemmy could theoretically bypass the brain’s control. At least, that was the thought, anyway.

Overall progress has been slow. Stemmy has been unable to extend any measure of control over electrical impulses beyond the most immediate area. This is due to Progen’s unfamiliar mana being unable to mix into the body’s natural mana, and a lack of power from Stemmy to override controls. However, Stemmy has made progress in the monitoring network and unlocked a new connection- the olfactory nerves.

“The...what, now?” Progen asked, confused.

The olfactory nerves are responsible for aerosol chemical detection, located in the upper respiratory tract. They are half of the body’s natural chemical detection system, alongside the taste receptors.

Progen pondered over the information for a moment. “So, you have access to . . . smells?”

Yes.

Progen grumbled. “Hmph, can you please explain that's related to the where, how, and why of my previous question?”

Stemmy has connected to the facial nervous cells located in the head, and discovered a form of back door from the digestive system to the olfactory nerves and the taste receptors. Progress was made accessing the nasal cavity, the nose, and merging Progen’s dungeon mana into the nervous cells there. This was done in order to better increase the efficiency of the digestive system, detecting which food would be consumed before the actual ingestion; this would allow for the appropriate chemicals to be prepared ahead of time. The result is an increase in nervous system control, the expansion of dungeon-safe territory in the nasal cavity, and an increase in the host’s aerosol chemical detection.

“So the body can detect smells better. This is good, Stemmy, very good,” Progen enthused, exceptionally pleased. “In other words, we now have access to one of the senses that relay information from the outside world to the brain, correct?”

Yes. However, Stemmy cannot exert control over the nerves.

“That isn’t important right now,” Progen said, figuratively waving off the concerns of his assistant/servant/creation. “What’s important is that we have taken another step toward achieving total control over this body! Wonderful!” Progen spent a moment chuckling darkly as his fantasies of control were stimulated. The dungeon crystal winced internally a moment later, painfully shoving those thoughts aside as he growled. Unfortunately, he still suffered from the remnant consciousness from the dungeon pixie he had absorbed on occasion, especially when he let his guard down. With another semi-magical mindwipe, Progen returned his attention to Stemmy. “What is the nose currently detecting?”

There is an increasing level of rot being detected. Detecting cadaverine, putrescine, skatole, and indole; all chemicals indicative of high bacterial activity in the act of decomposition. The quake from earlier is thus likely a result of nausea from inhaling these chemicals and the new detection abilities provided due to Progen’s presence. Also, there is a trace of magic diluted within the chemicals, but Progen’s mana is clearing it away.

Progen stared at the appendix wall in thought. “Given all the traveling the host has done and that there must be an objective of some sort, I imagine these smells are somehow key to what that objective is. Still, this isn’t good, really; Stemmy, is the host moving toward the scents?”

Given the increasing level of chemicals, this is most likely true.

“In other words, our host is walking toward death. And that’s a very dangerous thing to do,” Progen murmured. “Stemmy, have our forces increase in alertness for any bacterial or viral intrusion. We could soon have a fight on our hands.”

Stemmy is alerting the immune system. All forces are prepping detectors for enemy invasion.

Chapter 3

Being in the lead was very uncomfortable, as it turned out. Marstin felt really out of place and slightly unsafe, as he was used to being in the background without the responsibility of leadership weighing him down. The other members of the Iron Yaks, as well as the other groups that he had temporarily joined, had always protected him by going into danger first and leading the way. He wasn’t necessarily scared of the dangerous situations they often found themselves in, but he wasn’t precisely equipped to handle them like the larger, better-armored individuals he traveled with. Even considering the little amount of money he’d gained from working and the small bounty from the Adventurer’s Guild for helping deal with the Thieves’ Guild, he’d barely earned enough to upgrade his previous ‘precious’ items with newer versions after renting a room at a specialty adventurers’ inn, the Starglass. He fingered his sheathed dagger nervously at the thought of damaging or losing his equipment, then tilted his head from side to side.

“I think we need to turn a bit east and possibly a little bit back south from here,” he abruptly averred to the others, sensing that the intensity of the smell was starting to fade as they ventured farther north. No one complained as they turned east-southeast, and the former thief could tell right away that the “death” odor was starting to intensify. Looks like I was correct, he thought to himself.

After a half-hour, though, he wished he had been wrong.

The stench was so pervasive that Marstin thought it should be visible; every step felt like walking through a cloud of thick, invisible fog, and as they progressed, it only seemed to get worse…for him, at least.

“I cannot believe that none of you can smell that,” he choked out quickly, not wanting to breathe the cloying air through his mouth for too long. Marstin wasn’t sure if it would hurt him or not, but he didn’t want to take the chance that inhaling large gulps of the air would be bad for his health.

The Iron Yaks just looked at each other and shrugged. “I’m now convinced that something is affecting you—” Frain shrugged again— “but we can’t even detect a hint of what you’re smelling. Yet, despite not being able to smell it, I think I can feel the slightest pressure on my body and mind. It’s like the invisible pressure of death you feel exploring a long-forgotten tomb. I don’t imagine I would’ve even noticed it normally here in the forest, and even if I did, I’d probably have put it down to exhaustion. Honestly, it’s only because I’m concentrating on detecting what you are obviously experiencing that I’m even identifying the change.”

“Now that you mention it, I think I can feel that as well,” Oswald added thoughtfully. “I thought it was just a bit fatigued from the walk, but now I believe you’re right. The slight sense of pressure that I experience is not enough to pinpoint exactly where it’s coming from, though, so we’ll still need your nose, Little Helper.”  George and Yarrow nodded along with the comment, indicating that they could feel something, as well.

Marstin’s nickname had been slightly annoying at first, but now the former thief wore it like a badge of honor. He knew he might be small in size, but he was certainly also a valuable member of their group because he could contribute in unique ways. Granted, using his nose to lead them to…something…was a bit different from his usual repertoire of skills; but he would try to do his best, nonetheless. At least they hadn’t called him, ‘Little Puppy’. Yet.

After another few minutes of walking, either he was getting used to the smell – which seemed nearly impossible to him – or it was receding; ultimately, that meant that he had passed by its origination point by going in an east-southeastern direction. After a quick determination that north wasn’t the way they needed to go, Marstin turned due south and a little bit west, which seemed to do the trick. To the detriment of his nose.

Another few course corrections led them to a seemingly innocuous spot in the middle of nowhere. As they traveled closer and closer to it, the former Thief thought he was going to pass out from the assault on his senses. Luckily, he was able to keep it together enough to see that they arrived at a very small 3-foot-tall, 5-foot-wide hill that just barely broke up the monotonous expanse of the Istutian plains.

“Is this it?” Oswald asked, examining the surrounding area.

All Marstin could do was nod his head as he was bent over, the nausea in his stomach roiling around so much that he retched a couple of times. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the others were searching around, looking for something that could be causing the horrendously awful stench that their “Little Helper” was smelling.

“I don’t see—wait,” George mused after a few minutes. “Look at the hill. Does anyone else notice something strange about it?” The archer squinted his eyes, as if the hill in front of him was hard to see.

Frain walked over and looked at it again with a critical eye. “I’ve already gone over it; I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. There are plenty of hills like this in the northern part of Istut.” She suddenly frowned. “But, this hill, it’s as if my eyes don’t want to notice it. Now that I focus, something does seem to be strange about it.”

Yarrow and Oswald shook their head, both noting that nothing seemed out of place to them. Oswald squinted alongside George, but Yarrow appeared to be none the wiser.

Marstin was finally able to push down his nausea enough to take a better look at the hill – and saw exactly what George was talking about. “It’s perfectly level,” he said quickly before closing his mouth and slapping his hands over his nose, refusing to suck in too much of the tainted air.

“What?  No, it’s not . . . hmm. You’re right,” Oswald murmured after walking around it a few times. “That could just be what it looks like naturally, though. But, why didn’t I notice that before?” The adventurer leader frowned, his trained senses obviously detecting something was out of place.

Marstin doubted it was natural. Through his travels outside of Graniton, as well as his experiences growing up near a mountain range, he had never seen a hill that was perfectly flat on its top. Sure, it had sloping sides that led up to the top; but the apex of the small bump in the landscape, however, was flat enough that it appeared completely out of place. It was almost as if someone had cut off the top of the hill with a large knife, leaving it completely flat.

“No, Marstin is right. See this grass on top?” George observed, approaching the hilltop. “It’s shorter than the others, though it’s hard to tell with all of the other long, dried grass around it. Either the grass was cut, or it was planted after the ground underneath was disturbed.”

“I think we found what we’re looking for, then,” Frain said, before pulling out three shovels from her adventurer’s bag and handing them to Oswald and George, keeping one for herself.

“You have shovels in there?” Marstin couldn’t help but ask, though he immediately regretted it after opening up his mouth to the thick odorous air. He groaned in suffering.

“Of course; you never know what’ll be needed while you’re out on a quest,” Oswald chuckled. “Just wait till your adventurer’s bag is complete; you’ll be surprised how much you’ll want to pack in there for ‘just in case’.”

The former thief couldn’t help but agree with the thought; it was better to be over-prepared than to be needing something and failing to have it at hand. Fortunately, with the application of their space-saving bags, they could bring a lot with them that they normally wouldn’t be able to transport.

It only took a few minutes in the still somewhat warm setting sun for the three to dig through the dry dirt topping the hill, only to find…nothing. Frain had already taken off the first 2 feet of the entire hill, and had thrown it to the side, and Marstin was beginning to worry that he was wrong, that there was absolutely nothing there. That everything he had been experiencing was some sort of hallucination or his imagination playing with him because of the heat and his own exhaustion.

Then, just when he and the others all thought their journey there had been all for naught, there was a hollow *thunk* as one of their shovel heads smacked into something other than dirt and dried grass. As soon as the sound was heard, a larger blast of the “death” smell assaulted his senses, and Marstin involuntarily dropped to his knees. His vision blurred around him as he felt overwhelmed by so much death. It felt like it was surrounding him, choking the life out of his body.

“Marstin!  Are you ok?” Yarrow practically screamed out, rushing over and kneeling by his side as he tried to recover from the overwhelming stench. She cast a quick icy wind spell to try and help, but her abilities could do nothing to the smell.

“Yes…I think so,” he managed to get out, reaching out and patting the Polar Wizard on the shoulder in thanks for her concern. Thankfully, it felt like his body had managed to react well enough to reduce his suffering; even the scent felt weaker now, though still horrible. He looked up to see Frain, Oswald, and George uncovering what appeared to be some sort of small, pale-colored wooden crate, buried 3 feet under the top of where the hill used to be. It was small enough that he thought that it would just barely fit in both of his hands if he were to hold them next to each other, though it otherwise appeared relatively unremarkable.

“What is this and how did it get buried here?” George muttered as he knelt down and examined the crate. “Single latch, unknown wood. This is in no way natural.”

“More importantly, how is it that the kid was able to smell it, let alone find it?” Frain wondered as she was scratching her head, joining the others in just staring at the box in confusion and curiosity.

“I have no idea,” Oswald said after a moment of silence from the group. “There’s only one way to find out, though…” he continued, before dropping his shovel and bending over to pick up the box.

“Wait!  Don’t touch it!” Yarrow suddenly shouted. Oswald instantly pulled away, snatching his hand back as if the wooden box were about to jump out and bite him.

“What’s wrong?” the experienced adventurer asked quickly, his arm twitching toward his sword.

Marstin wanted to know the same thing as the Iron Yaks’ leader. Other than the fact that it had been buried under a small hill in the middle of nowhere, was causing a stench that smelled like rotting death, and seemed to react to being unearthed…well, I guess that should be reason enough.

“I feel…something wrong about that box, though I can’t precisely put it into words. I think it has a magical trap or ward of some kind, at the least; I don’t even want to speculate about what it could do to you if you touch it,” Yarrow explained. “It isn’t a feeling I can easily put into words, but please believe me.”

Oswald nodded. “You were brought into this group because of your talent with magic, Yarrow. I would be foolish to not heed your advice. Well then, what do we do?”

That was a good question; luckily, Yarrow had an idea. “I don’t think we should even open it; I think the best solution is to destroy it. I can do that myself from a distance.” Her magical staff let out a soft glow to illustrate her point.

“Not open it? But what if it’s something valuable, or perhaps evidence we could submit against someone?” George argued, obviously not liking the solution.

“Well, then, you can open it if you want to. I’ll just stand all the way over here while you do so,” Yarrow replied unsympathetically as she backed up a few steps.

George held up his hands in surrender. “Uh, no, no thanks. Like you said, it’s probably better if we don’t open it.”

Oswald agreed with their Polar Wizard. “Do it, Yarrow,” he said to their magic user, before waving everyone back. Marstin immediately ran at least 50 feet away, breathing through his mouth as much as he could, and felt the stench lessen more, though it was still overpowering compared to when the box was buried. It seemed as though the odor had grown substantially worse once the box had been uncovered, and even that little distance away was allowing him to follow what happened next with better clarity and attention.

Yarrow was an Istutian Polar Wizard, which meant that she excelled in water, snow, and ice magics. That didn’t mean she couldn’t use any other types, though, just that those spells were much more difficult for her, weren’t nearly as effective when she did cast them, and were thus only used if there were no other alternatives. Therefore, the tiny ball of fire that she produced between her hands seemed to drain her extensively, much more than he’d seen her suffer from casting any of her “normal” spells. After launching it at the box nearly 30 feet away, she practically slumped in place standing up.

As it slammed into the side of the box, Marstin was thankful that she had been so accurate – because Yarrow didn’t appear to be able to cast anything again until she recovered.

Against an enemy, like a person, the fireball might have burnt their skin a bit and – if a lucky shot– might have blinded them if it hit their face; but overall it wasn’t a very effective choice of attack for a Polar Wizard. Against a dry wooden box, however, it proved to be more than enough to splatter over two of its sides and along the top, coating it in flames that immediately caught and started to burn even stronger than before.

Within seconds, the entire box was aflame as the fire spread, and Marstin worried for a second that the dry grass nearby would catch fire. He needn’t have worried, though, as Yarrow had her hands out towards the demolished hill and flaming box, tiredly using her magic to contain the flames within a simple ice barrier. For a little over a minute, the flames covering the box continued to burn, though it didn’t appear to actually be burning the wood itself. From what Marstin could see it was as if the field or ward surrounding the box was preventing it from actually burning. Frain crossed her arms, tapped her foot, and asked the same thing the former thief was wondering.

“Is it working—?”

She didn’t get to finish, however, because from one second to the next, the ward protecting the box seemed to collapse in on itself and the flames started to lick at the wood underneath. Apparently, that was all that was needed, because almost immediately afterwards the box exploded spectacularly, expelling a massive fireball that was at least 5 feet across up into the air. The wooden shards of the box disintegrated from the explosion in mid-air, which helped to prevent the fire from spreading to the dry grass all around.

Unfortunately, it didn’t prevent the shockwave of force that spread out from the explosion’s epicenter. Marstin felt the wave hit him like a soft wall, slamming into him so swiftly that he felt his feet leave the ground. When he hit the ground moments later, the former thief landed on his back; a lifetime of learning how to fall and maneuver his way through tight spots allowed him to roll with his landing. He planted his hands quickly and flipped himself backwards, though he landed a little awkwardly and had to roll a few more times to avoid damage.

When he picked himself up, he noticed that the other Iron Yaks didn’t quite have the same sort of agility as he did; they all appeared to have hit the ground hard, though none of them appeared to be seriously hurt.

“Ow!  What in all the Gods was that!”  Frain was obviously shaken from the unexpected explosion, but she was also understandably upset.

Marstin was more concerned with Yarrow, however, as she was closest to the explosion. “Are you ok?” he asked as he ran over to check. Their Polar Wizard was already picking herself up and dusting herself off – with a huge smile on her face.

“That was amazing, wasn’t it!  I didn’t know I had it in me!” she crowed, with excitement in her expression and posture. Again, like the others, Yarrow didn’t appear to be the least bit hurt; the explosion seemed to be more of an extremely forceful push than anything else. Marstin didn’t have the heart to remind her that the massive fireball wasn’t her magic.

As he sighed in relief that everyone appeared to be okay, Marstin stopped and sniffed a couple of times – and smiled, himself. At some point between the explosion and picking himself up, the “death” stench had completely disappeared. Even doing his best to pick up even a whiff of it was met with failure, as any trace of it seemed to have been eradicated along with the explosion.

But what exactly was in the box?

“What was in that box that made it explode like that?” Oswald asked out loud, seeming to echo Marstin’s thoughts. “And what was it doing here in the first place?”

The former Thief didn’t have an answer to that. “I have no idea, but I can tell you that the stench is gone now.”

“That’s…good?  What exactly does that mean, though?  I’ve never heard of anything like this before, so I’m at a loss of what this is all about. Yarrow?  Thoughts?”

The Istutian Polar Wizard just shook her head and shrugged. “Same here. It’s possible some of the more experienced adventurer groups might have a clue. I’ll send a letter to my matriarch once we reach a town; she is much more experienced with magic objects than me.”

No one else had anything else to add, though they did investigate the now completely demolished hill. Only a few wooden slivers that the box had been made of were found to have survived the explosion; as to whatever was inside – if there had even been anything – there was not a trace. Other than making a large dent in the landscape where the dirt was pushed to the side and condensed, there was nothing to indicate that anything had been there in the first place. On Yarrow’s advice, they left even the splinters alone, just in case there were any lingering magical fields or wards still attached to them.

“Let’s head a little north from here and camp for the night; in the morning, we’ll start trying to make up some time to catch up with some of the other groups,” Oswald directed. “We still have a job to do, as you know, and while this—” he gestured towards the demolished hill— “was interesting, it doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out this Ice Caribou problem.”

Soon enough, they were back trudging through the plains north, making camp before it became too dark to see. As Marstin curled up in his simple, threadbare bedroll, he couldn’t help but wonder what made him so different that he was able to detect the scent of the…whatever it was. Does this have anything to do with what happened to me all those years ago when my family was killed?  Lately, with decent meals and upgraded places to sleep, he hadn’t been feeling all that terrible; in fact, he hadn’t even thought about his weak body in a few weeks, as there had been other things occupying his attention.

Whether or not he was correct, he might never know; there was no evidence left over to determine that. Regardless, he was just glad that he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up from the horrendous stink, anymore. Sleep fell upon him quickly, as the star shone down from on high.

Chapter 4

The next day, the group decided that it was time to report their finding to the capital. Yarrow had argued the case for continuing north to check on her tribe and the caribou, but she had been soundly persuaded by Oswald that the mysterious box had too many implications to not report as quickly as possible.

Thus, the morning saw them traveling back south, with the sun beating down on them throughout the seemingly endless Northern Istutian forests. Given their clear objective, Marstin had asked why they were traveling during the day now, when it would’ve been more comfortable traveling at night. The group had had a good laugh over his question, with Yarrow explaining that there were dangerous nocturnal creatures that tended to prey on those unprepared for the darkness. Her vivid descriptions of shadow creepers and frost panthers were enough to turn off any idea Marstin had for traveling at night, though Oswald explained later that those monsters wouldn’t come this far down during summer. The group made good time traveling back, but had a little trouble navigating as the sky was filled with dusty clouds that blocked the sun and prevented them from getting a good directional fix. Yarrow was forced to lead the group this time, using her connection to the land to determine the path.

Halfway through their daily trek the next day, as they took a long break during the hottest part of the day underneath some portable tents for shade, Frain spotted something on the northern horizon. “What is that?” she asked, pointing in the distance. “It looks like a massive dust storm or a rolling fog cloud.”

Marstin looked along with everyone else, shading his eyes against the sun. Right away, he could see what the swordswoman was talking about: A smudge of something appeared at the furthest range of his vision.

“I can’t tell from this distance,” Oswald shook his head after a moment. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

George squinted, and frowned. “It’s not a normal-weather storm, that I can see, at least. But the dust is too thick for my sight to pierce the veil.”

Yarrow, on the other hand, chanted an incantation and used her magic to create what appeared to be a long icicle with two flat ends, one end of which was at least 3 times the size of the other. She held the smaller end up to her right eye and closed her left, using her hands to rotate the strange icicle towards the smudge on the horizon.

“It’s….It’s the Ice Caribou! They’re coming!” she cried out in wonder and excitement. Then her tone changed. “Uh, they’re all coming right now. As in, all of them.”  She took the icicle down from her eye and tossed it aside on the ground, where Marstin could see it starting to melt already from the warmer environment, before looking at the others with worry in her expression. “We need to move!”

“Uh…isn’t that a good thing?  I’m assuming someone figured out how to get them to migrate down south…so why do you look so worried?” Marstin asked, thoroughly confused.

“Take a look at how many there are,” Yarrow said, pointing towards the north. Marstin couldn’t see the individual beasts, of course. But if the “dust cloud” was really filled with Ice Caribou, he pondered, then they stretched all the way from—

“Oh. I see. And we’re right in their pathway to the south, is that what you’re trying to say?” he ventured. Yarrow nodded her head like a holiday bobble doll.

Oswald started barking orders, and they had their temporary camp torn down and put away in less than 30 seconds. “We’re not going to be able to outrun them down south; the only way I can see not getting trampled by a stampeding horde of Caribou is to go west, away from the capital. Time to run, Iron Yaks!”

Running when it was warm enough to melt ice left in the sun was one of the most unpleasant things Marstin had ever done – and he had eaten dirt from a mine and crawled up a refuse chute full of rotting meat before. Those had at least been over relatively quickly, even if they had lingering consequences; this, though, was unpleasant because he felt like he was melting with every step, his lungs were being set on fire, and his muscles started to spasm and give out by the end of their run. Oswald even had to lift him up and carry him over his shoulder the last 30 minutes because he was too tired to run anymore.

Despite the temporary pain and discomfort, they miraculously made it. On top of a normally shaped hill, the party watched as the dust cloud of caribou thundered through the forest toward the plains that constituted the middle of the country and the southern forests.

With a rousing cheer, Oswald ordered for celebratory drinks to be brought out. It wasn’t the most graceful of celebrations, as they pretty much all collapsed in a boneless heap after Yarrow had judged their current position safe enough to avoid the mega-herd. Marstin was breathing so hard that he felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, and he hadn’t even been running the last little bit. Yarrow looked little better.

“Look…*pant*…at that…*pant*…” Yarrow managed to get out between large heaves of breath. She pointed out at the plains warming in the late afternoon sun, before falling over to her side in exhaustion.

Marstin managed to sit up enough to watch as an uncountable number of antlered beasts thundered across the grasses, stirring up a little dust as they passed. He could feel the tremors under his legs as he sat on the ground, the herd of Ice Caribou like an enormous wave across the Istutian plains; as scary as it was watching them head straight for him out of the north not more than an hour or two ago, now that the former thief wasn’t in direct danger, the sight was…beautiful. Majestic even. They were certainly a sight to behold.

Tens of thousands (or possibly a hundred thousand or more, since it was hard to count them) of the four-legged animals passed by over the next few minutes, heading to the south and stretching out to the west so far that he couldn’t see their end. It was a sea of blue horns and brown fur; though he knew from Yarrow’s lectures their fur would turn blue and white to match the ice once they returned to the north.

He knew from prior briefings from Yarrow that the caribou would continue on for at least another day or so, spreading out and consuming much of the grass akin to what he lay atop, before heading back north for the winter, eating as they traveled. This would take most of the short summer, with the herds trampling the ground soft and filling it with rich manure to better the crops and the next year’s grass. It was a very simple cycle of life, as Yarrow called it. An hour later, and the last bit of the herd vanished from even the keenest sight from their current position.

“I guess that’s that, huh?” Frain remarked as soon as they were gone, the first words anyone had spoken since they’d finished their small celebration.

Oswald seemed to come out of a trance, which Marstin could relate to. Seeing such a sight was probably a once in a lifetime experience, as he hadn’t ever heard that the Caribou normally stampeded like that. “One would assume so,” the older man sighed. He got up and stretched, before pointing south. “I’m not sure how far off-course we had to run, but suffice to say I doubt we’ll be able to reach the capital in the east with all the mess the caribou caused. The predators will be sure to follow their prey, and we don’t have the manpower to break through to reach the main branch.”

Oswald shook his head. “We’ll head back south, while keeping this far to the west, just to make sure the caribou are staying where they are and not stampeding back north right away.”  He paused for a moment, before addressing their resident Polar Wizard. “As our expert in all things magical, do you think there was a correlation between our destroying that…whatever it was…and the Ice Caribou migrating back south again?”  It was something that Marstin hadn’t even considered, but now that the thought was in his head, he couldn’t get it out.

“I wouldn’t say I’m necessarily an ‘expert’ in all things magical,” Yarrow modestly answered. “But, if I had an ‘expert’ opinion on the situation, I wouldn’t necessarily say the two things are related. Not that they couldn’t be, but there isn’t enough evidence to prove it one way or another at this time.

“Now, if you were asking me ‘personally’ what I thought,” the young wizard continued, “then I would say that there is entirely too much coincidence here to be believable. The timing between the crate’s destruction and the herd’s movement is suspicious, and Marstin’s description of the scent and its intensity could possibly have warded away the herds. Unless we find out that someone up north figured out how to get them moving, I’m inclined to fully support the correlation.”

Marstin couldn’t help but think she had used entirely too many words just to say no…and yes. His mental answer was so much simpler: Yes. Like she had mentioned, there wasn’t any particular proof that the destruction of the crate and the herd’s stampede were related, but he could feel it in his gut. It sounded strange to say it like that, but there was just something about the whole situation that felt like it was all connected. He couldn’t explain it any better than that, nor did he really have to – because it was obvious that everyone else agreed with him. Even Yarrow did, when asked for her “personal” opinion.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I want to move any more today,” George chimed in, already pulling out his tent from his adventurer’s bag. “I feel like I’ve lost too many of my curves already.”

The group had a small chuckle as they all pulled out their own tents from their adventurers’ bags, except for Marstin since Frain was “carrying” his ragged tent in her own bag and he didn’t have a lot of other possessions to take with him.

Frain tossed the bundle at Marstin, who was barely able to catch it. She grunted at him and turned her attention back to her own tent. Marstin sighed and began the slow process of tying the upper ends around some trees, when he noticed that the tent seemed to have been recently repaired. The holes in the side had been patched up with extra material, something Marstin was unable to do. He turned his head slightly to give Frain a questioning look, but the red-haired woman refused to turn around and meet his gaze.

Smiling to himself, Marstin turned back to his tent, only to blink in surprise. Yarrow stood next to his incomplete tent, watching him with a bemused expression.

“I’ve been keeping it to myself this entire trip, but I’ve watched Frain sew the patches on during the breaks we took during the day,” she whispered to him conspiratorially. “Seems she finally finished. I hope you don’t buy a new tent too quickly, so you can appreciate her efforts.” The young woman winked evilly as Marstin winced, the teen’s original plan having been read effortlessly.

“Good luck with your shift tonight,” Yarrow continued, standing up and brushing the dirt of her furs, “If you need me, I’ll be in a snow tent tonight.”

Marstin shot her an envious look as Yarrow slid into her sleeping quarters; a half-sized tent covered in a shell of ice and frost. Unlike normal wizards, who relied on the memorization of spells from their tomes every night to prepare for the next day, Istutian Polar Wizards relied on prayers to their frosty ancestor spirits, and an ice-covered dwelling in which to rest, to recover their spells. Yarrow had revealed to him that her body underwent a similar metamorphosis as the Istutian Polar Hunters, though slower in speed and intensity. Her icy commune was in essence a combination of the wizardly memorization and a cleric’s daily devotion spells, though in this case to Yarrow’s winter spirit ancestors. As such, she’d be unavailable for the rest of the night.

Soon after, the camp was fully set up and everyone was preparing for rest. It was a bit earlier in the evening than they normally turned in, but after the day the group had experienced, they all could barely stay awake long enough to eat something for dinner. After building up a secure magical fire ring along the outskirts of their camp, which unfortunately made it a little hotter but kept them from being eaten by dangerous creatures during the night, the group was ready to turn in. Oswald agreed to take the first shift of night watch, followed by George and then Frain, and finally Marstin for the shift just before dawn broke out. Frain was supposed to wake Marstin up after her shift to give him a chance to practice keeping watch during the safest part of the night. For now, though, he collapsed into his threadbare bedroll and fell asleep almost instantly.

Marstin’s dreams were as fitful as they normally were. They were a mix of nightmare and dream, his scattered memories playing repeatedly until they mashed together into something new. The sight of his mother’s blood-strewed body followed by the raucous laughter of the Thieves’ Guild. Murderer, the voices repeated in his head, who is the murderer? Cheven danced into view, his hands weaving through the air like a musician, but they were holding a puppet’s strings, which were controlling Marstin.

The decision was never yours! We made you join; you’ll never escape us! Cheven’s icy cold, evil laughter-ridden voice echoed all around. Admit it, sneak thief! ADMIT IT!

“Noooo!” Marstin cried out, surging up in place from his bed. He took several hard, choking breaths as awareness returned to him. His right hand clutched his chest, the pain in his heart aching as he slowly realized it had all been just a dream. He sighed, letting the pain and the memories sink away.

“Bathroom,” Marstin muttered, getting into a crawling position as he made his way out of the tent. It was still night outside, and the ring of magical fire around the camp burned low and slow, casting firelight over the surroundings. Marstin let out a yawn and scratched his head.

“Geez, who’s shift is it now?” he wondered out loud. A quick, blurry-eyed examination of the sky revealed that the moon was farther than halfway through its cycle overhead. So, it should be either George or Frain’s shift, he reasoned. “George, Frain? Which one of you is on watch? Where’s the pee spot again?” he whispered, not wanting to wake the others up unnecessarily.

The next thing he knew, Marstin felt a sharp blow to the back of his head. It wasn’t enough to knock him out, but it did disorient him, and he was unable to react to someone placing a hand over his mouth. Marstin weakly struggled for a moment, as his body hadn’t quite woken up yet, before he felt a weight settle on his waist and two other weights pushed painfully against his knees, knocking him down against the dirt and grass and effectively trapping him in place. He tried to feebly kick his legs, but the additional weight of what felt like a heavy body was placed over his shins, ending any possibility that he would be able to move.

His eyes finally caught up to the wakefulness of consciousness and he opened his eyes fully, only to see a hooded face only inches away from his own. Along with that face was the glint of a naked blade, reflecting the dying fire ring around the camp. This isn’t good. Who are these people?

It took some effort, but he was able to look to his left and saw Frain and George laid out on the ground, unconscious somehow – but still visibly breathing. Thank all the Gods. He couldn’t see if they were hurt, and he wasn’t positioned in a spot where he could see Oswald’s and Yarrow’s tents, but he could only assume that they were knocked-out cold as well. That left him the only one still conscious. That means…they’re here for me. But why?

The answer to that question came almost immediately. The hooded figure’s arm struck out like lighting, grabbing Marstin’s face and stretching it around like dough, examining it closely. “Hm, the facial features match the description: skin color, teeth in good condition, and the aura of a weakling. You must be Marstin.” The man gave Marstin a toothy grin, the only part of his face visible under the hood.  “You gave us a worthy chase you did, but you of all people should know that you can’t hide from the Thieves’ Guild forever. Especially after a stunt like the one you pulled.”

Thieves’ Guild?  But they were all killed or captured! Marstin’s eyes widened in horror.

“Ah, I see the confusion in your eyes. Did you really think there was only one Thieves’ Guild in the world?” the man in front of him wagged his finger at Marstin mockingly. “No, we’re all connected in one way or another, and when something as big as what happened in Graniton happens, we tend to take that kind of thing…personally.

“That being said,” the hooded figure shrugged. “In a way, we are also grateful to you. You see, while the Thieves’ Guild doesn’t have a hierarchy like the Adventurer’s Guild, there is a form of authority that binds us all together: Follow the Code of the Thief, and mind your manners with authority. The Code is a bit too long to go over now, but the second part should be obvious. We are thieves, not assassins, so it’s part of the job to avoid making a mess with administrations and the like to avoid messy and complicated affairs. The Graniton branch has long since violated both, but there wasn’t enough of a reason to drop the hammer on them. The Thrawnby Incident was enough of a mess to cause a rift between the Adventurer’s Guild and the Thieves’ Guild, and no one wanted to escalate that.” The man shrugged. “Not enough gold to warrant further action.”

“Now,” the toothy grin returned. “Your actions helped end that troublesome branch of ours. Thankfully, Cheven was able to evade capture and inform us of who the instigator of Graniton’s purge was. He thought that everything was good with the main branch, and just imagine the look on his face when we trussed him up like a holiday chicken and delivered him to the Adventurer’s Guild.” The hooded man cackled, which was echoed by unseen others all around Marstin. “Thanks to you, the Guild has taken the first step toward repairing our relationship with the Adventurer’s. So, sincerely, thank you.” The hooded figure bowed, somewhat mockingly. “Of course, that doesn’t mean you get off scot-free. You did betray the Thieves’ Guild after all, even if it did work out. It took a while to catch up to you, unfortunately, because we tend to like enacting swifter justice – but I guess that this will have to do, now won’t it.”

Now that really isn’t good.

“Mmph mmh mah mm mm mmh mmmph?”  Marstin tried to ask about the Iron Yaks, but it all came out muffled by the hand over his mouth. Luckily – if anything happening right now could be considered lucky – the thief holding him down understood him.

“These others?  We have no quarrel with them. All three have been knocked out and are sleeping lightly, but they’ll be fine. We don’t need to start a war with the Adventurer’s Guild in other cities, after all, especially with the higher-ups wanting to make peace during these turbulent times. Still, orders are orders.”  The hooded thief holding his hand over Marstin’s face stood up and knelt by his side, maneuvering his hand to keep the mouth covered. Without the hooded face blocking his view, he could see another hooded figure standing in front of him, a few feet away, though their face also remained in shadow and unidentifiable. Nothing about them was identifiable, in fact, and it was only the voice of the thief that talked to him that he was pretty sure he would remember until the day he died. Which was apparently today.

“As for those orders, I’m more than pleased to carry them out. Am I to kill you?  Actually no, that’s someone else’s job,” the voice next to him said.

The hooded figure standing in front of Marstin pulled his head down, revealing his face to Marstin, a familiar face, startling the teen for a moment before Marstin saw the flash of a blade. Less than a second later, he felt as if something punched him in the stomach, and he screamed. Looking down, he saw the hilt of a knife sticking out – before it was grasped by a gloved hand and pulled downwards, slicing through his innards. There was a lot of blood that he could feel leaking out, but it wasn’t as much as he thought it might be. The hoodless thief pulled the knife out and wiped it on Marstin’s clothes, before slipping it back into a hidden sheath at his waist.

“You bastard, this is revenge for our brothers!” The scarred face of Rob, the Adventurer’s Guild receptionist, and Thieves’ Guild spy growled at Marstin. The scars were new, and still healing, looking as if someone had taken a cat-o-nine tails to his face several times. “I knew a street rat like you was unworthy to be a true thief! Cast you to the nine hells for what you did!”

“Now now,” the hooded thief admonished, releasing his hand over Marstin’s mouth. “You had your revenge, so now it’s time for you to cough up the location of the Graniton branch’s vault. I hope you don’t go back on your word, or you’ll join Cheven in the stockades.”

“After we get back,” Rob snarled. “I don’t doubt you’d leave me to die out here otherwise.”

“Smart man,” the hooded thief chuckled. He waved his hand, and the hands on Marstin vanished. In fact, it seemed every presence including Rob had vanished, leaving only the hooded figure behind. The man sat on his haunches and peered down at the young teen, bleeding from his cut.

“It takes a precise hand to cut just enough to ensure you don’t bleed out too quickly from your stomach wound; as a result, you have hours or possibly days of agony before you finally die,” the figure lectured. “Now, I do apologize for the mess, but it was a condition of that survivor. Don’t worry, he’ll get his once his usefulness runs out. As I said, we aren’t the Assassin’s Guild.”

“Now,” the man continued, “As part of the agreement, we’ve taken all of your friends’ adventurers’ bags away, which includes any potential healing for you since none of your group can heal more than a scratch. The three here might be able to patch you up, but they aren’t magical enough to heal you.”

Of course, that’s doesn’t include the little miss hiding in the ice over there, but since Robby didn’t notice, then neither did I, came a small voice echoing in Marstin’s head, the voice of the mysterious thief somehow being transmitted without sound.

The hooded man clapped his hands together, like a merchant completing a deal. “Now, I wouldn’t try to move, if I were you – that’ll just tear everything inside you even more, which will hasten your death. Actually, be my guest and take the coward’s way out; I did my job and will be able to report a complete success…no matter how long it takes you to die, or if you survive. If you do survive, it is the Elder’s intent that you be allowed to rejoin the Guild whenever you like. Just visit the main branch at the capital. Have a pleasant night, Marstin. If you can.” And then, in a flicker, with a snicker, he was gone, like a shadow vanishing in the sun.

The pain was unbearable as Marstin screamed himself hoarse, but he eventually had to stop. Because every time he filled his lungs to scream again, it seemed to jiggle the wound on his stomach. He thought the end was upon him, when Yarrow’s worry-filled face appeared above him. Tears were running down her face.

“I’m sorry, Marstin, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed as her staff began to glow. “I was so scared, and they knocked Frain down so easily and they grabbed you and stabbed you, my goddess there is so much blood! I don’t know healing magic! My goddess, save him, please save him!” In the midst of her babbling, Marstin felt the icy coldness filling his insides, both chilling him and warming him in a strange equal measure. His eyes darkened as the pain vanished, and the stillness of unconsciousness began to take him.

The night seemed to go on endlessly, with the pain as his only companion in his mind as he drifted in and out, with visions of Yarrow running around, until he heard what sounded like a growl outside of the dwindling ring of fire. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it – his mind slipped into unconsciousness before he could find out where the noise was coming from. The last thing he saw was Yarrow in a battle-ready position, the glowing yellow of her staff crystal shining like a beacon in the dark.

Chapter 5

“Stemmy, lock down the entrance to the esophagus and prepare duodenum for emergency stomach flush!” Progen ordered. “Give me a status report of the situation as it develops.”

Commencing emergency flush. Counter-nausea procedures under way, confirmed successful prevention of nutrient loss and acidic damage to the esophagus. Warning, higher than normal levels of acid detected in the small intestine; insufficient levels of sodium bicarbonate to neutralize. Minor damage to villi detected.

“As you had mentioned, that was to be expected,” Progen agreed. “I’m sending my dungeon mana to the injury site now to commence rapid healing. Is the body capable of forming more sodium bicarbonate in a short amount of time?”

Both stomach and pancreas have begun emergency creation, and the kidneys have begun additional support. Acidic levels in the intestine lowering to acceptable levels. Confirmed nutrient absorption underway. Liver reacting strongly to the higher than normal presence of alcohol.

“Good thing we had already rehearsed our method of dealing with nausea earlier today with the smells incident,” Progen muttered as the dungeon crystal relaxed back into normal operating mode. “What is the host thinking, ingesting that level of alcohol after such an extreme physical exertion, and after going through such an ordeal earlier in the day?”

Unknown. However, it is unlikely the host understood the effects of the newly acquired condition of hyperosmia, due to the activity of Progen infiltrating the olfactory nerves. As most bodily reactions were dealt with quickly by Progen and Stemmy, the host is unlikely to have learned a lesson in regard to the situation.

“Hold on,” Progen protested. “I didn’t infiltrate the olfactory nerves, you did. That wasn’t my fault.” After a few moments, Progen grumbled and requested, “Respond, Stemmy.”

Stemmy is a creation of Progen acting as an extension of the will of Progen; all actions taken are indirectly that of Progen or directly under the orders of Progen. Stemmy possesses no will to be blamed.

“Are you sure you haven’t become an individual? Because that answer certainly sounded snarky enough,” Progen pointed out grumpily.

Yes.

“Fine then,” Progen relented grudgingly. “In any case, what was that word you used before? Hyperosmia? What is that?”

Hyperosmia is a condition of the host body in which the sense of smell becomes greater in ability than compared to normal circumstances. In most situations, hyperosmia is a direct result of illness related to the nervous system or the digestive system; it is most often a sign of an impending health disaster or trouble. Incomplete records do not allow Stemmy to fully understand the direct connections between the condition and the stimulus. However, the current host’s hyperosmia is merely a result of Progen’s enhancements and can be modified by Progen’s will. The recommended action is to maintain the condition, but block out the extra information extracted from the olfactory nerves from reaching the brain, instead rerouting it to Stemmy and Progen. This will prevent the host body from detecting an abnormality while also allowing Progen to be kept better abreast of the outside world’s situation.

“I concur with this course of action and direct you to follow through,” Progen ordered. “Now, with the current mess cleared, what’s next on the agenda? Is there enough free time to explore the fluid space between the digestive organs?”

Negative. The fluid space is currently in a state of compression due to the earlier physical exertion slowing the digestive system. A higher than normal amount of waste is currently moving through the intestines, and the bladder will soon reach capacity. Recommendation is to wait for waste to be expelled from the body before proceeding with fluid space exploration.

“Hm,” Progen said, the dungeon crystal pulsating softly as he felt the large intestine tremble. “What a troublesome host. I suppose that this body’s one weakness is its inability to function solely on mana, thus relying on this inefficient system of digestion and sleeping to recover itself. When I take control of this body, we shall investigate how to improve this.”

The dungeon crystal paused and considered. “Well, perhaps not completely rid the body of these things. After all, it’s the interworking of all these systems that makes taking over such an exciting prospect. It would be a waste to get rid of the waste, so to speak, heh. Don’t you think Stemmy?”

Stemmy does not think.

“Right, that’s you in a nutshell, isn’t it,” Progen groaned. “Gah, another reference from those darned pixie memories. At least it’s appropriate this time.”

Stemmy is not in a nutshell. Progen is incorrect.

Progen’s crystal blinked as the dungeon crystal retained his temper. Getting angry with Stemmy was like yelling at a rock with words drawn on it. Luckily, he was quite used to this, and each time, Progen found himself getting better at ignoring that part of the interneuron cell servant. “Just prepare to analyze the nerves found in the kidneys. I want to begin infiltrating bladder nerves next week!”

Understood. Dungeon mana prepped in the lower torso for kidney nerve infiltration. Relevant information will be provided once begun.

Then it was the waiting game, Progen’s least favorite part of working with the host body. Perhaps from an outside perspective it didn’t take too long for the host body to feel the need to use the bathroom and act on it, but for the micro world the dungeon crystal existed in, it took a very long time. Progen’s sense of time was based on the speed of blood, the minute or so required to circulate the entire body once. Thirty cycles had already made the dungeon crystal a little impatient, but he relaxed as the tell-tale rumble of muscular movement echoed through the torso. Judging by the change in gravity, the body had moved from lying to a standing position.

“It’s started,” Progen smiled to itself. “Stemmy, see if you can maneuver into the kidneys and-”

Suddenly, a strong and violent vibration shook through the body. Progen’s excitement turned sour immediately. “Stemmy, report the current situation.”

Unknown outside interference detected. Warning-

Stemmy was interrupted by an abrupt fall that sent shockwaves rippling through the body. “STEMMY!” Progen roared, “REPORT!”

Multiple impacts detected around the body. The leg nerves are reporting a fall to the ground, and Stemmy hypothesizes that the body is currently in a kneeling position. Strong force is being applied to legs, the arms have been forced behind the back, and the mouth has been physically covered. The body is automatically releasing adrenaline and cortisol through adrenal glands located above the kidneys. Detecting increased blood flow to muscles--insufficient strength required to break free. Body is in danger!

“What kind of danger?” Progen roared.

Unknown. Olfactory nerves not operating at peak efficiency; detecting scents within normal range. Warning, trace elements of chloroform detected. Insufficient level to cause harm, traces suggest used elsewhere.

“That doesn’t tell us anything useful in this situation!” Progen yelled. “What is going on out there-”

Before he could finish, all hell seemed to break loose. In Progen’s mana sight, a large piece of metal pierced from outside of the body and stabbed directly into and through the nearby large intestine, continuing into the small intestine. Progen stared in shock for only a moment, before the metal surged downward, destroying everything in its path.

“STEMMY!” Progen screamed. “Emergency actions! React to lethal damage!”  The dungeon crystal watched in absolute horror as the metal was pulled free of the body, unleashing a torrent of blood, digesting waste, and the horde of intestinal bacteria and viruses that resided safely inside the intestines.

All units have been sent to the afflicted area. Natural immune cells have begun congregating. However, platelets are unable to coagulate properly due to the immense level of damage. Warning, body in danger of bleeding out.

“Not while I’m here!” Progen growled. The dungeon crystal flashed and zoomed out of the appendix through its door into the fluidic space. As he beheld the massive hole leading into the outside world, Progen was treated to his first vision of the world since he’d been ingested. Without the blockage of flesh, Progen could partially see an unfiltered view of the outside situation. Similar to the last time he’d been outside, there were larger human figures out there, causing damage to his host body. The dungeon crystal did not pause to analyze the situation more, instead focusing its dungeon mana into a web of beams.

Trap Options Available

Available Mana: 2000/2000

Tier 1

Fibrin Net – 5 Mana

Reactive Flush – 5 Mana

Strangling Villi – 10 Mana

With a thought, the fibrin net made of mana surged out and grabbed hold of the damaged blood vessels and the damaged intestines, forcibly pulling them back together so the platelets could begin repairing them. Progen groaned as the immense effort hit him; he had to focus most on the numerous capillaries used in nutrient absorption. His mana began to drain somewhat more rapidly than he preferred, especially since most of the body’s mana he relied on to keep himself charged was being devoted to emergency healing.

“Stemmy, I need an update of the situation!” Progen ordered.

Due to the efforts of Progen, the extent of bleeding has been reduced to a minimal level. However, restoring the circulatory system has caused both a good situation and a bad situation to develop. The body’s natural immune system, which is relying on the blood vessels that connect to the afflicted sites, has resulted in the viruses and bacteria brought in from the wound using the restored blood vessels to try and escape to other parts of the body. The body is in danger of severe infection. In addition, the lymphatic system requires Progen to restore vessels as well.

“You don’t say,” Progen growled out, extending his fibrin nets to grab hold of the lymphatic vessels and hold them together. “Where are my immune system minions?”

Reporters, Newts, Spawners, and Historians are on site dealing with the flood of bacteria and viruses. However, they are struggling against the onslaught. Recommended to Progen to create Cleaners and Veterans as soon as possible.

Progen took a quick peek at his level of mana. It was still falling faster than he preferred, and what was worse were the costs needed to quickly produce more immune cells with his dungeon mana.

Immune Cells Available

Available Mana: 1400/2050

Tier 1

Dendritic Cell (Reporters) – 2 Mana

Neutrophil Cell (Newts) – 5 Mana

B Cell (Spawners) – 25 Mana

Mutation 1 (Seekers) – 150 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 2

Eosinophils (Hunters) – 25 Mana

Naïve T Cells (Novice Killers) – 50 Mana

Memory B Cells (Historians) – 100 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 3

Regulatory T Cells (Regulators) – 50 Mana

Macrophages (Cleaners) – 150 Mana

Memory T Cells (Veteran Killers) – 200 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

“I don’t have enough mana to create a noticeable level of either Cleaners or Veteran Killers,” Progen groaned. “Is it plausible to perform a few reactive flushes?”

Reactive flushes are not recommended within the fluidic space surrounding the organs. Recommended use only with conjunction to the open wound to flush away enemies after securing all vessels…. All vessels secured; ideal moment has arrived.

“What are the immediate consequences?” Progen asked quickly.

Reactive flush will cause reverse fluidic motion, not discriminating against Progen’s or the body’s immune system. Currently, only Progen’s immune system is in the probable affected area, but body’s immune cells are due to arrive at any moment.

Progen sighed. In other words, sacrifice his accumulated forces now, or empty the body of most of its immune cells. The dungeon crystal was well aware that for some reason, the body was incapable of creating immune cells as quickly as he could, and that while he could replace the more common members well enough, he was still not strong enough to be the entire immune system.

“I’m activating the reactive flush,” Progen said. “Stemmy, optimize the routes for 10 concentrated reactive flushes for maximum efficiency.”

Understood.

Unable to cry, Progen could only watch with regret as his accumulated forces he’d acquired over the last 3 months was swept away, a wave of pus that wiped clean most of the bacteria and viruses in the area and cleansed the immediate wound.

“Crud, more are coming in,” Progen observed with a frown. The open wound was beginning to attract invaders from outside the body, and the dungeon crystal didn’t have enough concentration to react to them while keeping the vessels together. He checked his mana levels- 900/2000. It was draining too fast; Progen couldn’t create more immune cells without reducing the amount of time he could give holding the vessels together.

Suddenly, without warning, a massively cold wind swept in from the outside, freezing over the wound and inadvertently freezing many of the vessels closed. Progen winced as the cold damaged the cells around the area, but overall, the ice was doing more good than harm.

“I don’t know if there are higher powers out there, but that was good timing,” Progen observed, his mind freeing up and the drain on his mana started to lower substantially. “Alright Stemmy, begin directing my mana where the Newts need to be spawned. I’m beginning the counterattack!”

Acknowledged.

Chapter 6

Marstin didn’t manage to wake up during the trip back. His wounds were too deep and serious to allow for the luxury of consciousness and pain. His dreams were filled with pain and blood, the images of his life under the abusive authority of the Thieves’ Guild blurring together with his insecurities.

From what he heard after, the events of their return played out in a mix of luck and urgency. After Yarrow sealed his wound, she’d awoken Oswald, George, and Frain with one of the potions she had in her adventurer’s bag. The three had very mixed reactions, apparently: Oswald’s shock and regret, Frain’s fiery hate, and George’s undisguised fury. It was only a few moments later that the entire party was attacked by a pack of wind wolves, native predators on the plains.

Though taken by surprise, the Iron Yaks were a professional adventurer group and they reacted properly. Yarrow held off the wolves with her ice wall while the other three retrieved their weapons from their respective tents; it was common sense to keep weapons close by and never packed in an adventurer’s bag. George used his archery skills to pin the wolves down and pick off a few slow strays, while Oswald and Frain alternated protecting the backline of the group and attacking the wolves head-on. The wind wolves were driven off shortly, leaving behind several bodies. Afterwards, George assisted Yarrow in treating Marstin, putting together a makeshift medical sled to carry him. Oswald packed their supplies into their sole remaining adventurer’s bag, Yarrow’s, and attempted to calculate their current location and the closest distance to a town. Frain attempted to track the thieves' trail to verify they had left and to get an inkling on where they were going, but she was unable to follow them past a certain point. However, she was able to find all three adventurers’ bags at the end of the trail, with a hidden note from the thief leader. Yarrow glossed over the contents of the note, saying that it wasn’t important. The adventurers’ bags were intact, minus a few missing valuables that could be replaced. The health potions were still there however, but the point of using them was moot. Regeneration potions capable of healing such a wound as Marstin possessed were far too expensive for a D-rank adventurer team to own, so they still had to track down civilization.

Unfortunately, Oswald’s orienteering skills revealed that the movement of the caribou herd and their predators had cut off their path to the closest towns. They’d have to head either further west into the devil country or further south, toward Graniton. With no one in the party familiar with the devil country, it was quickly decided that heading to Graniton at full speed would be best.

They’d already been moving south the previous day, which meant there had been a 6-day travel time left. Both Yarrow and George agreed, however, that Marstin would not survive traveling six days. It was rather unlikely he’d even survive one with the massive damage done to his gut. With that in mind, Oswald had decided to use the party’s one and only emergency teleportation scroll- an extremely valuable, single-use parchment that would instantly move the entire party from their current location to the location set in the scroll -- in this case, the town where the merchant was from, Rockwood. Rockwood was three-day’s travel southwest, but located near hot springs and thus a popular resort town, which meant medical professionals. The teleportation scroll was typically something reserved for the richest adventurers, but Oswald had lucked into acquiring one after saving a merchant from a frost troll attack. He’d been saving it ever since, and now at last it was time for it to come to use. Yarrow did describe the singular tear Oswald shed for the scroll with a bit of a snicker; evidently, the leader of the Iron Yaks had used the scroll many a time to brag to the rest when drunk.

The return was swift, as were the immediate consequences. Due to an odd happenchance, the Iron Yaks and Marstin had teleported on top of a different group of adventurers, softly smashing them into the dirt, which had caused a bit of a ruckus and laughter from the surroundings before the seriousness of the situation was grasped. Yarrow and George managed to gather some help transporting Marstin to the best healer in town while Oswald and Frain made their report to the guild master via the local branch of the Adventurer’s Guild.

“And here we are, three days later,” Yarrow concluded her story. “You are currently lying in a rented bed at the cheapest inn. The doctor and healer both have given a surprising bill of good health all things considered. And I quote, ‘your ice magic must have sealed his insides together just enough to allow his organ to keep it together without falling to pieces. You saved his life, young one.’” Yarrow gave Marstin a beaming smile. “Consider this me paying you back for rescuing me from the giant lair trap. Now, we’re even again.”

Marstin gave the black-haired wizard a weak smile. “I never held any expectation from you to pay me back, Yarrow, but I very much appreciate you saving my life. I never thought the Thieves’ Guild would track me down in revenge.”

“Nor did anyone else.” Yarrow frowned. “You weren’t really an actual part of the guild after all, if anything just a small beggar to use and throw away. Ah, no offense,” she apologized.

“None taken,” Marstin waved her off. Useless things are meant to be thrown away. Marstin frowned as his inner voice echoed the thoughts hidden in his heart.

“So, the fact that they tracked you down through open country like that means something more was at play. At least, that’s what the guild master thinks,” Yarrow continued. “Whatever the Thieves’ Guild wanted in Graniton, they found it. Yesterday, Rob’s butchered body was found hanging over the Adventurer’s Guild entrance, and an abandoned house was found burned to the ground. Whatever their quarrel was with you, Marstin, I think that it has reached its conclusion. You didn’t die, nothing too serious was taken from us, Oswald and others weren’t harmed, and they got what they wanted. It’s a bit bitter for me to say, but they’re no longer a concern to the guild.”

Marstin chuckled as he took in Yarrow’s annoyed face. “Don’t worry too much Yarrow, after all, I’m in no shape to even consider revenge. And, it sounds like everyone I owed pain to has been dealt with. That means, I’m finally free of the Thieves’ Guild.” An invisible feeling of weight seemed to vanish from Marstin’s heart, as if he’d been liberated from his burden of guilt.

Yarrow, seeing something change on Marstin’s face, gave him a gentle smile and patted his head. “Well, in any case, you’re okay now. It would have been a shame to lose such a good porter as you, so I’m glad.” She frowned suddenly. “Still, the fact that you survived at all seems like nothing short of a miracle. No matter what the healers and doctors say, I do not possess the concentration or level of control over my magic to do what they said I did. Your life was saved, but the circumstances are just ever so suspicious.” The wizardess glanced over Marstin’s body. “It really makes me wonder if your body is special in some way . . . but my magic and the healers didn’t detect anything strange . . .” she mumbled the last bit, more to herself than Marstin.

“Well, maybe I should get religious,” Marstin joked.

Yarrow smiled but couldn’t help but wince. “Perhaps, but it’s best to not let others know that you are,” she murmured. “After all, this is the north. The tribe’s insistence on worshipping Normid is one of the main reasons why we were at war with Istut for so long. If you ever do want to learn more about her and the others, just find me later. But not now.”

With that, Yarrow left the room, leaving Marstin alone with his thoughts. The young man leaned up, working himself into an upright position on the bed, resting against his pillow and the back wall. The scar on his stomach was still ugly and fresh, like a red snake that slowly pulsated with blood. He didn’t mention it to Yarrow, but the scar was surprisingly not as painful as it looked. If anything, the memory of the knife hurt more than his current situation. And that worried him.

Marstin was no stranger to pain after all. He endured abuse far beyond the limits of a child for many years, leaving his body weakened, stunted, and pitiful. Yet, the last few months in comparison had been as close to ‘normal’ for him as he’d ever remembered. And yet, Marstin was unable to muster up a feeling of hope because it felt as if his good luck would only lead to worse things. This attack from Rob, though over and done with, could be the signal that something bad was due to come his way, perhaps even with his body. After all, he could smell something that others could not, and he healed in such a miraculous way that even the medical professionals were confused.

“No doubt about it,” Marstin muttered. “My luck is going to change. I hope it doesn’t drag everyone else down, too.” With a sigh, the young adventurer lay back down onto the bed and closed his eyes to get a bit more sleep. At least, that had been the plan, but when Marstin woke up, the sun was already setting. With a small groan, the brown-haired teen slowly worked himself out of the blankets off the bed, wincing slightly as he felt his blood rushing through his legs, causing them to prickle and bite after being out of use for so long. He managed to reach a decent walking speed by the time his hand reached out to the door handle, and he stepped out into a small hall with as even a face as he could manage. The short hallways emptied into a small lobby, where the four members of the Iron Yaks were sitting around a table discussing something. Yarrow was the first to notice Marstin, which she announced as she shot out of her chair.

“Marstin, what are you doing?” she asked with a worried look as she ran over to him. She helped him over to a chair at the table despite his protests.

“I’m fine, Yarrow, really,” Marstin repeated as he sat down, ignoring the prickling crawling up his leg. “I noticed I slept the day away and decided it would be a waste to stay in bed any longer. I could feel my new muscles beginning to wither away.”

“There isn’t a need to pretend you’re well,” Oswald reminded Marstin with a frown. “We aren’t in any rush to get back to Graniton now that the guild master has our report. You don’t need to push yourself for our sake.”

“I’m fine, though, really,” Marstin insisted with a false smile. “I might not be fighting-ready, but assuredly, I can travel. It really isn’t any good staying here, since I’ve already put downpayment on a room in the Starglass, right?”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Oswald grudgingly agreed. “If you think you are fit to travel, then I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow. But,” the leading adventurer smiled toothily. “Since that’s the case, why don’t we all enjoy a night on the town. I’m sure a healed-up punk like you is up for it, right, Marstin?”

“Oh, of course I am,” Marstin’s eyebrow twitched as recalled how most adventures preferred to enjoy spending their coin. “Ready for all that, fun stuff.”

“Ignore him, kid,” Frain butted in, rolling her eyes at Oswald, who was smiling sheepishly. “You aren’t old enough for the booze they serve here, and those thieves made off with most of our funds. Yarrow here has been shelling out for most of our expenses, including your room, might I add.”

Yarrow coughed and looked away, muttering under her breath. “I don’t mind. I have quite a bit saved up anyway.”

“Those are the coins you’ve saved up to send to your tribe,” Frain countered with folded arms under her bosom, her face hard and annoyed. “And by the goddess you worship we will pay you back for everything you’ve spent. I still can’t believe I allowed my guard to fall for those heinous green rat thieves and lose my silver. These two,” she rudely pointed at George and Oswald, “I can understand. But it’s a right embarrassment for me to fail.”

Marstin chuckled as the table fell into its usual commotion, as the two men began to futilely argue their innocence/share of guilt, only to be met with rebuttal from Frain, as Yarrow tried to calm the three of them, until even her ire was aroused by an offhand comment from Oswald. His laughter continued to carry through the night as the party made their way out of the cheap inn into the sunset crowd of Rockwood.

“It’s a lot more crowded than I expected,” Marstin observed as they join the moving crowd of people heading off to enjoy the nightlife.

“It should be,” George nodded. “After all, besides Rookwood being the premier tourist destination, it’s also considered the capital of the South. The lord in charge of the southern region came here at his appointment and built a villa for when he is not working in the capital. Technically, on paper, Graniton is still the Southern capital, but it hasn’t been for some time.”

“Graniton? The Southern capital?” Marstin gawked, comparing the busy and lively Rockwood to the grey, busy, and drab Graniton. “I can’t see why.”

“Not too many can anymore,” Frain sighed. “The previous lord lived in Graniton and raised it to great heights, using the mines as sources of revenue and opening new trade routes for the devils and tribal people. Unfortunately, he died many years ago, and the town has deteriorated since, leaving it as it is now. So many things have happened since then….” She broke off as a sad, wistful look played across her face. Oswald patted her shoulder supportingly.

“Best to let the past stay behind you,” George sighed. “And the best way to do that, is food.” With a cheeky grin, he indicated a suave-looking restaurant with a glowing fish sign over the entranceway.

“And how are you going to pay for food?” Frain demanded, her arms folding over her chest as she stared suspiciously at the large man.

“Surely we cannot bring Marstin here to Rockwood, his first time, without introducing him to Shine fish?” George said, avoiding the question. “It’s the premier meal here.”

“I’ll pay for it,” Yarrow interjected before Frain could argue. “George is right, Marstin should have the signature hot spring dish at least once. And it’s said that the dish helps to provide better blood flow to those who eat it.” With that said, Frian gave up and willingly allowed herself to be drawn in by the tasty aromas coming from the kitchen.

As it turned out, the tavern was called ‘Warm Shine’, a reference to the native fish that lived in the hotter hot springs. These fish, known as Shine fish, were technically monsters, but of the weakest level, tier one, and harmless to anything that wasn’t dirt or dirt-sized. In fact, they served both as natural cleaners for the hot springs and as a decadent meal for the locals and tourists, though some were turned off by the idea of eating fish that fed on filth.

“You won’t taste anything else like this out in the world, especially not in Graniton,” George, the professional foodie, said with a wide, expectant smile. “It’s a taste that will warm your heart and bring joy to your soul.”

Marstin found that the fish, expertly sliced, cleaned, and served was to his palette. The flesh was naturally warm even after death, making it a delicious companion to cold alcohol when served and prepared raw, as he was told by their server. Marstin was disappointed no one allowed him to drink alcohol, so he had to make do with a cold fruit drink of some kind. Not only that, but the group also had fried shine fish, shine fish soup, and grilled shine fish. But Marstin’s favorite was most definitely the raw shine fish served on rice and eaten with the cool fruit juice. He scarfed down most of that entree, to the good-natured annoyance of his companions, and everyone had a pleasant time.

Afterwards though, Marstin couldn’t help feeling a little ill from overeating, causing Frain of all people to give him a stern lecture about knowing one’s limits when injured. Marstin listened as best he could and nodded along until the red-haired adventurer was finished. Afterwards, he joined the Iron Yaks at the local Merchant’s Guild branch. Oswald had managed to negotiate a commission from the guild to transport gold to Graniton to complete a logging deal, meaning the group would be able to travel by horse and cart instead of walking. The five loaded up and began their three-day journey back to Graniton.

Chapter 7

The extremely cold barrier covering the exterior of the wound to the body’s lower digestive system was a literal life-saver.  While Progen could’ve healed the physical damage using his mana over time, the blockage of new viruses and bacteria entering the body from the outside was the only thing that allowed him to succeed – and succeed he had.

“Is that it?  I don’t see any more invading pathogens around the damaged areas; do you, Stemmy?”

No.  All invading pathogens in the lower digestive system have been eliminated by Progen’s immune cells.

That was good to hear; it had been a hard fought battle, requiring Progen to dip into his mana reserves deeper than the dungeon crystal really wanted to, but once he had developed a large enough force of Newts and started to gain small amounts of Mana from destroying the invaders, he was able to expand into a small force of Spawners, Historians, Seekers, and Novice Killers.  By the end of the lengthy invasion, he was prepared to break out the more-powerful immune cells he had at his disposal – the Cleaner and Veteran Killer – as Stemmy had suggested earlier, but fortunately that wasn’t needed at the time.

“I’ve been battling them for ages; where was my backup?” Progen asked, not deigning to look for himself because all of his concentration was still on healing the remainder of the body’s internal damage.  Not only did he have to repair the wound itself, but he had to search out and use his mana to eliminate the waste and potentially harmful digestive fluids that had leaked out to parts of the body that couldn’t process them correctly.

The body’s immune cells are hunting down the last few virions and bacteria that escaped during the initial invasion.  Fortunately, there doesn’t seem to be the same sort of unusual behavior exhibited by other pathogens that had invaded the body in the recent past.

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” the dungeon crystal responded while using another chunk of his regenerating mana to take care of an elusive piece of digestive waste.  It was a little harder to find them all because he didn’t have eyes everywhere, but his small force of Reporters he had spread throughout the fluidic voids were helping to hunt them down.  Luckily, the worst of the damage and leakage had been concentrated down below, which was where he found all of the escaped contents of the intestines.

The strange…presence…that had nearly destroyed his dungeon crystal using the Insidious Virus inside of the heart had been remarkably silent – and elusive.  Progen was confident that it was still located within the body’s brain area, which was only one of the reasons he wanted to break through the blood-brain barrier to take over the rest of the nervous system.  He didn’t appreciate another entity trying to take what was his, so his priority after consolidating his control over the other systems was to eliminate the threat once and for all.

Granted, that plan hit a bit of a snag after the near-fatal wound to the digestive system; still, it was only a matter of time before he recovered and launched an attack.  The how behind the attack was still unknown, but it would happen eventually.  It was now only a matter of time, as far as Progen was concerned.

The outer flesh around the wound was nearly repaired by that time, and all that was left was some cleanup in a few of the blood vessels underneath the surface; some brute force was necessary to push away the frigid cold that had been so beneficial in keeping the body safe from further infection, but was now a bit of a hindrance.  Regardless, Progen was thankful that it was there and didn’t mind having to move it out of the way so he could continue to repair all of the torn flesh and internal components.

“This is a massive setback, Stemmy,” Progen concluded, looking over the state of his current immune cell army.  A small force, indeed, compared to what I used to control.  “I dislike having to sacrifice such a massive part of our power within this body, but I have to agree that there was no other alternative.  But I don’t have to like it.”

Progen did what was necessary.  Continued health of this host is the result.

“I know that….”  The dungeon crystal sighed dramatically, wishing there had been another alternative; it was easy to look back once the crisis had been averted and think about what he could’ve done differently, but even with that bit of luxury now that the repairing and healing of the body’s wounds was nearing completion, there was little that he could think of that would’ve had a different result.  Unless there was some way to plan for that kind of injury happening again, then there—  Hmmm, there might be something to that.

“Stemmy?  You said that unlocking access to the olfactory nerves allows us to detect incoming food before it is ingested, thereby improving the digestive process by moving the appropriate chemicals in place before the food is consumed, right?”

Yes.

“Well, then, what’s to stop us from doing the same with potential threats to the entire body – such as what had just occurred with that near-fatal injury to the lower digestive tract?”  The interneuron cell was silent for a while; the silence lasted so long that Progen thought for a moment that Stemmy didn’t hear his question.  Just before he was about to repeat himself, his assistant finally responded.

Some of what Progen suggests is plausible, though Stemmy believes that such control is impossible at this time.

“…huh?  What exactly are you trying to say?”

While the olfactory nerves are tangentially connected to the digestive system, of which Progen now has basic control, the most beneficial of this host’s external senses are tied to the nervous system.  The only sense from which Progen will have a nominal benefit is the gustatory system, which involves the taste receptors on the tongue, in addition to the facial, glossopharyngeal, vagus, and trigeminal nerves along the tongue and mouth area.

The dungeon crystal thought about what he was just told as he gradually finished up the rest of the internal repairs, attempting to decode exactly what his assistant was trying to say.  “So…because the sense of taste is related to the digestive system just as the sense of smell is, then we can actually plan and do something about incoming food. For instance, if there is some sort of poison in the food being ingested that can’t be detected through smell, it’s possible that it will be detected when it is actually consumed and touches the tongue and mouth.  That way, we can react to isolate and potentially neutralize the poison before it becomes too much of an issue.”

Yes.

“And what you are saying about the other senses – which I assume are touch, sight, and hearing – aren’t tied to any of the systems I already have influence over.  Therefore, their use would be limited to observation and information collection.  There would be no way to act upon what is felt, seen, or heard.”

Yes.  That is precisely what Stemmy said.

“Well then, explain that, next time!” he practically shouted, though it really didn’t do much good other than to let out his own frustration.  On top of Stemmy not always informing him of things without being asked, the interneuron cell’s responses sometimes needed some additional clarification.  Most times Progen was able to work out what was being relayed to him, but other times he didn’t know what questions to even ask to receive a better explanation.

Yes.

When he calmed down, the dungeon crystal went on.  “So, regardless of my inability to act upon much of the external information provided by those senses, I still think that it would be highly beneficial to know what is going on.  At the very least, seeing what is outside of this body might give us an idea that we may need to prepare for a potential attack upon the flesh and internal organs of my soon-to-be dungeon – and so we can try to avoid flushing all of my immune cells out next time.”  Progen paused for a moment, before he asked something he thought he already knew the answer to.  “What would it take to be able to act upon any future information from these senses?”

It would take the brain.  Nearly all muscle control is directly influenced by the different parts of the nervous system, which is controlled by the brain.  Even if Progen manages to influence the body’s nerves and spinal cord, you will not have achieved enough influence to actually control anything without the brain as part of that system.  The orders that Stemmy passes on to the different parts of the digestive, lymphatic, respiratory, and circulatory systems are based on this nervous system and are congruent with what the brain already allows, based upon internal feedback through various receptors.  Stemmy does not actually control these nerves, however, and just passes information through to expedite movement and recovery procedures necessary to keep this host alive.

“Yet another reason to break through to the brain and take what is mine!” he growled, irritated that everything seemed to come back to the one place in the body he couldn’t seem to access.  The blood-brain barrier was turning out to be a tough nut to crack, and it was becoming more and more frustrating as time went on without any progress.

Progen lacks conventional means of breaking the barrier without placing the host body in dire jeopardy. Even if Progen moved all forces into the brain, Progen would be unable to—

“Yes, yes, I know!”  He was tired of the same thing being repeated to him over and over, without any solution being presented.  The frustrated dungeon crystal took a few deep mental breaths to calm himself, before turning back to some things that he could do.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.  Once I’m done with all of these repairs, as well as replacing all of the good bacteria inside the intestines that were lost with the open wound and Reactive Flush, I want you to start infiltrating the nerves based around the other senses as soon as possible, regardless of whether we can actually react to the information being presented.  The more information, the better; anything that can help prepare for another potential life-threatening attack will be valuable, so it’s not a waste of time or mana.”  Progen grunted, mentally shrugging.  “Besides, it’s not like we have anything better to do while you figure out how to get us into the brain.”

Expansion of your mana into those areas will most certainly be felt by the host, such as when the hyperosmia had affected the sense of smell.  These heightened senses may negatively affect the host, as had been the result before.

“Wait.  You’re saying that my mana will enhance these senses as well?”

Yes.  Stemmy will reroute the additional information away—”

“Hold on,” Progen said quickly, cutting off the interneuron cell again.  “Don’t cut off all the additional information; since we won’t be able to make use of it other than as an extra few seconds of warning, perhaps this body will be able to function better.  And who knows, maybe it’ll actually stay out of situations which will cause it to nearly die like it did earlier.”

Stemmy will do so.

“Good.  I don’t want to be caught off-guard again, and short of breaking through to the brain and acquiring full control, this seems like the best way to ensure this body survives until that time.”  The dungeon crystal thought about it for a second, before he added, “But remember not to provide the body with too much information; I’m remembering what happened when the…uh…hyperosmia imparted an overabundance of odors.  It might take a little bit of experimentation, but I think you’ll be able to figure it out.”

Progen hoped that he wasn’t putting too much faith into whether or not his assistant could accurately determine what was too much information, but there really wasn’t too much that the dungeon crystal himself could do.  Until he had control of the brain and therefore the rest of the nervous system, he had to rely on the interneuron cell to accomplish what was either difficult or impossible for Progen to regulate.

It took another few days to be completely satisfied that all of the damage that had been done to the body’s lower torso was entirely repaired on the inside, that the leaking fluid and waste was cleaned up, and that the beneficial bacteria had been recreated where it had been lost or destroyed.  All told, Progen estimated that it took nearly a day to repair it enough that there was no risk of the body dying, which he thought wasn’t all that bad considering how much damage had been done.

The next few days were spent putting things back to normal, until the only thing left was the external portion of the wound on the skin -- because he couldn’t physically reach it. With the internal injuries repaired, most of the body’s normal healing processes were already at work on it.  I think I could’ve probably cut that time in half if I hadn’t lost all of my immune cells, he thought sourly.  Oh well, it’s something that I can certainly improve upon in the future.

Then again, if what Stemmy was starting to do -- which might help improve the body’s other senses -- worked like Progen hoped it would, then hopefully the dungeon crystal wouldn’t have to expend all of his energy keeping the host body alive.

While he had been finishing up the last of the repair and recovery process, Progen sent his immune cell forces throughout the entire circulatory system to join up with the body’s natural immune cells, hunting down and destroying the plethora of virions and bacteria that managed to escape through the open blood vessels just after the wounding.  There were quite a few more than he expected, and he could well understand why they hadn’t come to help him at the origin site – they had problems of their own.  Fortunately, as Stemmy had previously remarked, there was no sudden and strange behavior from the invading pathogens, and they fell under the onslaught of the combined immune forces in less than two hours of hunting.

Once the body – Progen’s dungeon – was free from internal threats, Stemmy began the process of infiltrating the other senses.  While the interneuron cell started on those projects, the dungeon crystal started the mind-numbing and laborious process of rebuilding his severely depleted army of immune cells.  Since the body’s lymphatic system couldn’t quite replenish as quickly as he would like and still only possessed approximately a third of its original immune cells, it was important to provide the extra forces Progen could create with his mana.  That, and he was hoping to use them to eventually break through to the brain and eliminate the entity causing him so many problems.

It’s only a matter of time before this body is all mine….

*       *       *

Replicate.  Expand.  Disrupt.

Awareness blossomed gradually inside the small nerve cell, newly created through magical means.  At first, the cell was unaware of anything but itself and the insistent instructions that floated around its unique consciousness.  After a while, however, the nerve cell had matured enough to spread its awareness out from its initial form, latching onto the nearby nerve cells it was connected to.

Huh?

Forming even that much thought was a difficult process, and the cell’s confusion was compounded by the fact that it was thinking in the first place.  Sudden knowledge infused the nerve cell’s previously random thought patterns, informing it that it was different…and special…and unique.  What all that fully meant was a bit beyond its comprehension in the cell’s current state, but it understood the general idea.

That understanding was enhanced when it finally figured out how to look outside of itself, comparing the cell that its budding consciousness inhabited with the ones around it.  While the other nerve cells appeared like vaguely spherical objects with a single nucleus, possessing numerous tendrils that reached out and interconnected with each other in a complex pattern, the…unique…nerve cell was a bit different.  One half of it was larger than the other by at least three times, and instead of a single nucleus, its own cell had 5 nuclei.  Not only that, but it also seemed to have twice as many tendrils connecting it to the others, which allowed it to have a bit more awareness of its surroundings than was probably normal.

Though normal certainly didn’t describe the unique nerve cell, because it had an awareness of itself and a consciousness in the first place.  There wasn’t a lot of serious or complicated thought behind that consciousness, however, but before long it finally understood what it was and what made it different…and special…and unique.

It was a cancer cell.

Because it could somehow see a short distance outside of itself, the cancer cell was aware of the approach of a small, free-floating cell that looked similar in appearance to the other nerve cells, though with much shorter tendrils.  The free-floating cell maneuvered through the openings between the adjacent cells, stopping when it arrived next to the special cancer cell, attaching itself via one of its shorter tendrils to one of the cancer cell’s own tendrils.  It didn’t take long before the free-floating cell had backed away, connected to a different nerve cell nearby, and then moved on.

A flash of something seemed to erupt out of the other nerve cell, passing into a different nerve cell; instinctively, the cancer cell extended its reach and snuffed out the flash in the nearby cell, preventing it from moving any further.  How?  It didn’t really know the reason why it had done that, or even how, only that it seemed important to prevent that flash from going…somewhere.

Suddenly, the cancer cell felt its form start to shake, and before it knew it the cell the consciousness inhabited had split in half, replicating itself unexpectedly.  With the additional nerve cell as part of itself, the special cell realized that its awareness had expanded marginally – and it understood part of what the strange urging in its thoughts had been about earlier.

Replicate.  Expand.  Disrupt.

It had already disrupted the flash it had seen before from moving on, but the cancer cell thought it might also mean something different from that.  What it was, the special cell didn’t know…but as it gathered the energy from somewhere else to start the process of replicating and expanding its awareness again, it knew it was only a matter of time before it found out.

Chapter 8

“What is this stuff?  This doesn’t look like anything this body has consumed before.”  It felt a little strange naming the body where Progen’s dungeon was located.  Especially when he would be taking it over in the future; being on a first-name familiarity with something he was going to essentially commandeer in the future was a bit awkward to the dungeon crystal.

Unknown.  Chemical and nutrient assessment through the olfactory and gustatory systems indicate that it contains what appears to be some sort of raw fish, along with refined carbohydrates in the form of rice.  There is a higher amount of beneficial fatty acids than is normally consumed, as well as high quality proteins, assorted minerals, and glucosinolates.  There are also minor traces of mercury detected, though not in any amounts to cause any significant issues and able to be neutralized immediately.

“Okay, I guess that is all right,” the dungeon crystal responded, already turning his attention elsewhere.

“How is your progress coming along?” Progen then asked his assistant, eager for some sort of results from his new project.

After some initial difficulty obtaining access, Stemmy has finished infiltrating the optic nerve, obtaining information from the retina of this host’s eyes.  Stemmy has significantly reduced the enhanced information being passed on to the brain, so as to not overwhelm the host.

The infiltration into the optic nerves had been much harder for Stemmy to initiate, mainly because there was no clear-cut “backdoor” into them from one of Progen’s already influenced systems.    Instead, the interneuron cell was forced to gradually move its way up from the nasolacrimal duct that drained tears from the eyes into the nose.  It was only through this unique access point that Stemmy was able to start infiltrating the nerves and surrounding optic area with Progen’s mana, enhancing them while also tapping into the information being gathered from the eyes.

“And?”

Coordinating the auditory and visual information congruently is currently overwhelming Stemmy’s limited interneuron cell.

“Are you saying you can’t tell me what you’re seeing?”  Before he had started, Stemmy had informed Progen that the dungeon crystal wouldn’t be able to actually see outside of the body without a way to interpret the information, unfortunately, so Progen didn’t ask if he could see.

Yes.  No.  Normal information interpretations are performed by the complex interactions of billions of neurons inside of the host’s brain; while your mana and the memories inserted into Stemmy’s interneuron cell have a significantly increased capacity to process information, the same functions cannot be performed accurately, nor with acceptable speed.

Progen guessed that it was too much to ask that his assistant could perform most of the functions of such a complex system, though it was disappointing to say the least.  There was some hope, however.

Stemmy can interpret minimal amounts of this information, enough for a basic picture of what is being observed.  Many of the enhancements afforded to the optic system are too complex for Stemmy to interpret, such as the different spectrums now accessible; despite that, the basic information that Stemmy can process shows that the host is in some sort of forest, surrounded by four other humans of different heights, genders, and body types.

“That’s better than nothing!  What else can you see?”  It was a relief to hear that Stemmy could at least obtain some basic information from all of their efforts, and that it hadn’t been a waste to infiltrate the optic nerves.  That, and the enhancements to the body’s eyes, though small at first, would theoretically increase the chance that it would stay alive.

The host body is male.

That wasn’t surprising, as Progen already knew that after hearing the conversations in the mine where he had been swallowed.  There hadn’t been any female voices, if he remembered correctly, so it would only be strange if he wasn’t in a male body.  Not that the dungeon crystal thought it made any real difference in the end.  When there were no other visual observations shared to Progen, he had Stemmy move on to the sense of hearing.  Impatient, the dungeon crystal asked how it was coming along only a half-hour after the interneuron cell started on his new project.

Stemmy has been cautiously infusing Progen’s mana into the auditory system to better intercept sound vibrations occurring from outside of the host.  Just as before, there has been significant resistance to Progen’s type of dungeon mana, though Stemmy has found a way to infiltrate the vestibulocochlear nerve from an access point located in the respiratory system.  The process is ongoing.

That was good news.  “Well, hurry up; the more time you waste, the greater the possibility that this body will be in danger and we’ll not know.”

Stemmy is progressing as steadily as possible.  Any faster may result in temporary or permanent damage to the delicate components of the inner ear.

“I’ll just fix it with my mana, then.”

That currently would be highly improbable.  Since they are not part of Progen’s completely influenced systems, Progen would have to travel to the location in crystal form and enact the repairs that way.  As it is, there is no avenue for Progen’s crystal to travel through the blood-brain barrier to reach the auditory senses without significant risk to Progen.

As much as the dungeon crystal wanted to break through to the brain, he didn’t want to be anywhere near it when that happened.  The last time he had gone up against this strange entity, he was nearly destroyed; that was the reason he had created so many immune cells to assault the area, so he didn’t have to go himself.  His near-death had admittedly made him a little skittish, so he would rather use the resources he had to protect himself than risk potential danger.

“Fine, have it your way, then.”  Progen knew he was being a little impatient, but now that he had the means to learn more about the world around this body he was slowly taking over, he couldn’t wait patiently for it to happen.  It didn’t help that most of his regenerating mana was either going towards making that happen or replenishing his immune cell forces, which didn’t leave him a lot of resources to do much else.

Finally, after what felt like days but was more like a few hours, there was a breakthrough.

Stemmy has managed to secure the nerve transmission routes inside the auditory system.  With Progen’s infused mana enhancing the quality, range, and sensitivity of the aural components, the amount of new information incoming is quite significant.  Stemmy has also reduced the level of new information passed along to the host to just slightly more than what it would normally experience, so as not to suddenly overwhelm the neural network.

“That should work.  Over time, I suspect you may be able to gradually increase the information being shared once this body has accustomed to the changes.  That’s the goal, at least, so hopefully it will help prevent my future possession from getting itself killed.”  When there was nothing else forthcoming from the interneuron cell, Progen asked, “Is there any way that I can listen in?”  He knew that seeing out the optic nerves wasn’t possible based on even Stemmy’s limited ability to interpret the information, but he was hoping that hearing sounds would be different.

There was a silence for a few moments, before Stemmy answered.

No.

“No?  Just like that?  What do you mean?  It’s my mana infusing these nerves, so I don’t see why not.”

Progen does not control the nervous system, and therefore cannot translate the signals passed through the nerve cells.  Stemmy can describe what information is being relayed, but that is the extent of the transference.

The dungeon crystal couldn’t help but rage internally, as he was thwarted yet again.  He had been hoping that he could listen in to what was going on around this body, but that was once again denied him as the limitations were further made known.  Progen couldn’t even blame Stemmy, because it only made sense; it was one of the reasons he had created the interneuron cell in the first place, so that it could interact with, intercept, and interpret signals sent through the nerves inside of the body.  It was hard having to work through an intermediary to get things done, but he supposed that it was better than not having anything at all.

“Great, just great.  Well then, describe to me what is being heard outside of the body.”

Unknown.  Accurate descriptions of the ambient audible sound waves are pure conjecture, as there are no identifiable chemical components or biological signatures in which to compare.  Accumulated knowledge of these soundwaves can be interpreted by the appropriate neurons found in the auditory cortex found in the temporal lobe of the brain.

….

“WHAT?  Are you telling me that you don’t know what you’re hearing?”

Accurate descriptions of the ambient audible sound waves are pure conjecture—

Progen cut the interneuron cell off, not wanting to hear the entire lecture again.  “Well then, what is your conjecture?” he asked a bit snippily, again annoyed that things weren’t quite going to plan.  There was only a momentary pause before Stemmy answered.

Wind rustling through trees.

Dried grass being trampled.

Unknown bird calls.

The sounds of two large mammals breeding—

“None of that is useful to me, nor what I need to know in the moment,” the dungeon crystal interjected.  “Any voices?  Is there anyone saying anything?”

No.

“Okay.  Continue to monitor these auditory nerves in case there is significant change, or something that might be a cause for concern.  And voices, of course; those alone will be able to tell us a lot.”  Progen remembered being a new dungeon crystal inside of a mine before he ended up inside of a human body; he was able to listen in to the miners as they worked, which told him a lot about the area around his location.  Fat lot that helped him in the end, of course.

“Well then, what’s next?”

The gustatory system along the tongue and mouth will not be difficult to infiltrate, as the majority of it is already connected to the digestive system.  The added benefit of being able to analyze incoming nutrients will further speed up and streamline the digestive process, allowing the host to better utilize what is consumed.  This will also lead to less waste buildup and speedier, more efficient processing of necessary nutrients.

“…And what does that mean, exactly?”

It means that this host will extract additional beneficial nutrients from everything consumed, which will continue to help with the previous malnutrition issues that have plagued it since before Progen arrived.

“That’s wonderful!” the dungeon crystal yelled excitedly.  “I had been wondering if it would be the smart thing to start spreading my influence over the body’s musculature system, in an attempt to fix some of those ongoing issues; with this, though, it seems like it might take care of itself.”

No.  Not entirely.  It will likely take many weeks or months for the body to fully recover from the damage from years of malnutrition and abuse; and even then, it will not be optimal.  Stemmy does not recommend influencing the musculature nor the skeletal systems until you have the full ability to manipulate them to their full potential.

Progen had to agree, because it really wouldn’t benefit him all that much right now.  Through the use of the other systems he already had influence over, he could journey almost everywhere in the body, through internal organs or blood vessels of one sort or another.  While it might help to increase his maximum mana and regeneration, the time and mana that would need to be devoted to hit the minimum 90% influence rate was extensive.  Besides that, the dungeon crystal wasn’t sure if he would achieve that 90%; most attempts to influence anything around the head of the body he was slowly taking over were met with impassable resistance.  Stemmy was getting lucky with his infiltration of small sections of the nervous system that dealt with the senses, but even that was tricky and required hefty amounts of Progen’s mana to achieve.

It didn’t take nearly as long to infiltrate the nerves in the gustatory system, so Progen had Stemmy start on the last, and largest, of the senses: touch.  The process was going to take the longest, he was told, because the sensations of touch weren’t concentrated in only one or two parts of the body, but permeated the entire body as a whole.  From the interdigital nerves in the toes connected to the peroneal nerves in the foot, to the intercostal nerves in the chest, to the median nerve in the hand – there were thousands of nerves along the periphery of the body.  That was a lot, even when discounting the spinal nerves which were what organized the information and transmitted it to the brain.

That was going to take a while to complete, which left Progen the task of continuing to build up his army of immune cells.  It was slow-going because of the mana required to infiltrate the sense nerves, but he was making progress.  Many of them were now spread throughout the body, in small squads that he had designed to maximize their flexibility and eliminate most threats as they arose.

Each squad consisted of:

·         5 Reporters to help locate threats;

·         20 Newts to act as the main wave of any attack;

·         4 Spawners for attacking from range;

·         1 Seeker for detecting hidden virions;

·         1 Historian to adapt to new threats;

·         1 Novice Killer that could be adapted to new threats; and

·         1 Cleaner, which helped with cleaning up destroyed bacteria and virions, as well as lending heavy support when needed.

The new Macrophages, or Cleaners as Progen called them, were a bit cumbersome. They had trouble fitting through some of the smaller blood vessels and couldn’t easily pass in between cells. But they had proven to be invaluable to bring along with each squad.  Not only were they adept at absorbing and cleaning up the remains of destroyed pathogens, eliminating any trace of them, but they could also act as a heavy fighter when arrayed against just about anything he had encountered.

He couldn’t help but think that if he had possessed 100 or more of them when attacking the Insidious Virus in the heart, that it was possible that he wouldn’t have been so close to being destroyed.  They still probably would’ve lost, based on the massive size and deadliness of the virion cluster, but Progen probably would’ve had more time to react to the ambush than he actually ended up having.

Each squad ended up costing him just over 700 mana to create, camouflage with a capsule, and then add a levitation field to them so that they could maneuver through the body with superior alacrity.  It was a significant investment, but most squads could handle any invasions – which seemed to happen almost frequently through the mouth of the body, either through ingestion of food or through normal breathing – without any trouble, and usually without any casualties.  Of course, the traps that Progen had set up previously in the digestive and respiratory systems accounted for over half of the incoming pathogen destruction, so his forces were there to eliminate anything that bypassed them.

Currently, Progen had 47 full squads of immune cells stationed around the body in what had proven to be the most vulnerable areas, but they could all be called together to attack any potential threats fairly quickly.  Along with the traps set up to catch many of the incoming pathogens coming from the mouth was a permanent installation of 500 Newts that had the sole job of eliminating said pathogens before they could cause a problem.  Some inevitably made it through, unfortunately, and that was where Progen’s squads came in. There had only been one serious infection – which had somehow avoided detection for half a day – in the small intestine since the Insidious Virus had been eliminated. Eradicating this new serious infection had required most of Progen’s immune cells at the time, along with what help the body’s own immune system had provided.

Overall, it was a fairly efficient system that Progen was quite proud of, and most of the normal defense against invading pathogens was becoming nearly automatic at that point.  In fact, the dungeon crystal thought it was almost boring and easy, and sometimes he wished there was something else that would try to attack him or the body, especially since the mysterious entity had been strangely silent since Progen had defeated it in the heart.  Granted, he didn’t really want a repeat of what had happened when the lower digestive system was cut into and essentially destroyed, but it had at least been a change.

“Anything new to report, Stemmy?” the bored dungeon crystal asked, hoping there was something to distract him from the monotonous and slow production of additional immune cells for his squads.  He found that, with the regeneration of mana afforded him through influencing quite a few of the body’s systems, he could create another full squad every half-hour, even when half of his mana was being used by Stemmy to infiltrate various nerves throughout the body.

Stemmy sees more trees.

“I guess not, then.”  Progen turned back to his available mana and saw that it had just passed the 50% threshold, which was the reserve that he liked to keep in place for emergencies.  He’d rather have more, but until he built up his immune squads again, it would have to do.  When there was an extra 6 mana, he created another Newt, wrapped it in a capsule, added a levitation field to it, and then had it join the other dozen Newts he had already created for his newest squad outside of the appendix.  Once it was finished, that would make squad #48; it was a far cry from what he had possessed before the massive wound had destroyed the intestines and he was forced to flush them out, however.  At that time, he had over 1,000 squads – so their loss was quite significant.

The dungeon crystal watched his mana tick up point by point, waiting until he had enough to create yet another immune cell.

Chapter 9

Stemmy has intercepted a message along the enteric nerves in the lower intestines that there is—

Progen’s vague concentration was broken from his monotonous creation of his immune cells at Stemmy’s communication.  When the interneuron cell didn’t continue, the dungeon crystal became a little concerned.

“What is it?  What’s going on in the lower intestines?”  There was silence from his assistant for over a minute, which prompted Progen to ask again.

Unknown.  Stemmy detects no anomalies.

The dungeon crystal couldn’t help but think that was odd.  Is Stemmy becoming a little overworked and is imagining things?  Can interneuron cells even use their imagination?  Or be overworked, for that matter?  Progen didn’t really know, but a quick perusal through what he could observe throughout both intestines – and the rest of the digestive system for good measure – revealed nothing out of the ordinary.  Granted, he wasn’t able to perceive every single cell and check them to see if something was wrong, but nothing stood out to him.  Nor did the 4 squads of immune cells and their Reporters detect anything in their patrol areas down in the bowels of the body.  As far as Progen could tell, everything was operating as normally as possible.

Better than normal, in fact.  There was already a significant decrease in waste production from the application of enhancements to the olfactory and gustatory systems that Stemmy had infiltrated, which improved the amount and quality of nutrients being extracted and leaving less in the way of waste product.  As far as the dungeon crystal was concerned, it was still an extremely inefficient process, but with his help it was slowly becoming more and more efficient as time went on.

With one last quick look at everything and seeing nothing that would’ve caused any alarm, Progen went back to finishing up his 56th squad, pleased with his progress despite his annoyance at how long it was taking.  He knew that it was only a matter of time before he bulked up his army again, which would give him something to assault the blood-brain barrier with – if Stemmy ever figured out how to do that without imperiling the body.  It was necessary, though, even if he didn’t like having to repeat all the work he had done before.

Another full day passed, which had been very productive.  Stemmy was slowly infiltrating the somatosensory system, which encompassed all of the nerves related to the sense of touch throughout the body.  The interneuron cell had started towards the lower extremities – namely, the left foot’s toes – and planned to continue upwards once the nerves had been infiltrated thoroughly.  The only thing that hampered Stemmy, however, was the sheer number of nerve endings underneath the skin of the body.  Whereas the other senses near the brain were more specialized and contained in a fairly compact system, the somatosensory system was a bit more complex.

Not only did Stemmy have to infuse Progen’s mana into the main interdigital nerves in the toes, the interneuron cell had to infuse all of the nerve-ending receptors.  There were four types of receptors for each nerve ending located underneath the skin: mechanoreceptors, thermoreceptors, pain receptors, and proprioceptors.  Each one focused on different sensations, such as temperature differences or pain, as well as everything else that went into the sensation of touch.

It is not as difficult to infuse your mana into these nerves and receptors as Stemmy had predicted, most likely due to a lack of proximity to the blood-brain barrier.  Even given that, this process will likely take more than a week to fully infiltrate the peripheral somatosensory system to obtain a comprehensive picture of what is happening to the host.

“I figured it would take a lot longer, based on how much you have to cover,” Progen responded, already seeing that it was going to take a while.  “That’s fine – it’s not like there is anything pressing going on, such as needing to break through to the brain.”  His sarcasm was lost on the interneuron cell, who didn’t respond.  The dungeon crystal supposed that he should be thankful that Stemmy was laying the groundwork for the future, for when he finally did take over the brain and was able to incorporate his mana into the entire neurological system spread throughout the body – but he was just impatient.  And bored.

Stemmy is picking up scattered reports of—

There it was again.  Progen’s assistant started to tell the crystal something, but interrupted itself before it could even finish.  What is going on? he wondered.  “Stemmy?  What reports are you talking about?”

There is nothing to report.

Once was unusual; twice was the beginning of a pattern.  It was a pattern that Progen wasn’t sure the nature of, unfortunately, but he didn’t think it boded well.

“Are you okay, Stemmy?  Is your cell starting to deteriorate?  Is all of this mana infiltration starting to damage your structure?”  The dungeon crystal was starting to feel bad about ordering his assistant around like some sort of tireless drone. If it was having a deleterious effect on the interneuron cell, then he might have to rethink how hard he was making Stemmy work.

Stemmy has detected no noticeable deterioration in Stemmy’s cell.  Directing Progen’s mana does not damage Stemmy’s cell.

That was good to hear, and a quick visual check of Stemmy showed no signs of anything obviously wrong.  Still, Progen was worried.  Asking a few more questions of the interneuron cell resulted in no answers; it was almost as if Stemmy couldn’t even acknowledge that it had mentioned there being a problem in the first place.  Maybe it was me that imagined him communicating something.

Regardless of whether Progen was starting to imagine things or not, there didn’t seem to be a way to get any answers.  Luckily, over the next day, nothing strange seemed to happen concerning Stemmy; the dungeon crystal concluded that either his mind was done imagining things, or that whatever was messing with the interneuron cell had passed.  In actuality, Stemmy seemed to be operating normally, even passing on a few conversations that were overheard when the body they were inhabiting stopped for the night.

It didn’t really help Progen in the entire scheme of things, but he did learn a few things.  First, his future possession was called Marstin, and he was a small human that was part of the Adventurer’s Guild.  Piecing together some of the overheard conversations, he concluded that Marstin and the group he had been traveling with had just recently finished some sort of objective and were heading back to Graniton – which sounded extremely familiar.  Flashes of remembered miner conversations brought back the name; it was the name of the town near the mines where Progen had originally been located.

There were some other things about Ice Caribou, Istutian tribes of some kind, and there was a one-time mention of some sort of Thieves’ Guild, but none of it really had any context explained with it – so they were basically useless.  Nevertheless, the infiltration of the senses was already proving to be worth the time and mana expense, even if he wasn’t sure what to do with the information he had learned.  He somehow instinctively knew that the Adventurer’s Guild was composed of people who participated in the delving of dungeons and took on dangerous tasks, but that was about the extent of his knowledge.  Stemmy had some knowledge about them when asked – more than Progen had, at least – but none of it was particularly helpful.

The fact that he was in the body of an adventurer was enough for the dungeon crystal to know that potential life-threatening danger was inevitable in the future.  Hopefully, the enhancements to the senses would serve to keep the body from killing itself, but only time would tell.  Once Progen took control of the body, he’d be able to leave that dangerous profession and do something safer – where he could make plans for the future.

A very long, very fruitful future, if he was lucky.

*       *       *

The small, different, and special cancer nerve cell wasn’t quite unique anymore – but it didn’t miss its uniqueness in the least.  On the contrary, it reveled in the fact that it could replicate itself, and that its replicates could replicate themselves, which expanded its awareness and sense of self.  When it was just a lowly, unusual nerve cell, it had to bear with thinking unimaginably slowly, so that each thought it had seemed to take hours to form.

Now, with over 10,000 of itself spread out among one of the neural pathways, squeezing in between the ridiculous-looking “normal” nerve cells, it could think a whole lot faster.  It was self-aware enough to recognize that those thoughts were a bit basic, following the general pathways of Should I replicate? Where should I spread my new replicates? and Why must I disrupt this information?  That it still needed to interrupt the flashes spreading through the “normal” nerve cells was not something it questioned, but the why of the process was a bit beyond it at the moment.

It was a mystery that it didn’t necessarily have enough thinking power to try to solve, so it just blindly continued the actions.  Sometimes it missed the initial signals and had to settle for stopping the continued transmission afterwards, but it usually didn’t take long for that to happen.  After a while, and after the number of its replicants reached a certain threshold, the cancer cell finally had enough awareness and applied knowledge to understand exactly what it was stopping from being passed through the bundles.

And that was when it was finally contacted again by the strange voice it had heard when it had first become aware.

Disrupt.  Distract.  Destroy.

Along with those words came a series of images that appeared over and over, detailing a few things that the cancer cell had trouble comprehending at first.  These words and images didn’t cease, however, even as the special cell continued to replicate and expand its awareness – and its understanding of the world beyond what it could directly sense.

There were images of a strange, glowing object, which didn’t look like any sort of cell it could see around where its awareness could reach.  In fact, after an amount of time it had no way to measure, the formerly unique nerve cell had the impression that the glowing object was some sort of foreign invader; the…crystal…didn’t belong in the larger living entity that it was just beginning to understand controlled all of the “normal” cells adjacent to the cancer cells.

Further images expanded on its understanding, as it saw what appeared to be another kind of nerve cell helping this foreign object.  What exactly was their plan, the cancer cell didn’t know, but the impression it received from the images and the voice in its mind was that it was trying to harm the larger entity that housed the special cell and its replicants.  Bad.  Stop.

The cell’s primitive thought processes had now focused on one thing: stopping this mysterious glowing crystal from destroying its home.  While it didn’t exactly know what its home ultimately was, it knew enough that it didn’t want it to be destroyed – because that would end up killing the cancer cell and its precious replicants.  That had to be avoided at all costs.  How?

Its answer came with the repetition of the words and some additional images.  Disrupt was accompanied by two synchronous images – of what it realized was itself – disrupting the flashes being passed down the “normal” nerves nearby.  That was already what it had been doing, but now it could begin to see the reasoning for it – and why it didn’t have the inclination to try and break up or destroy the nerve chains around it.  Doing so might alert the glowing crystal to its presence, which could end up with the cancer cell’s destruction.

Distract was next, accompanied by images of it and its replicant cells sending out flashes of its own.  The complete meaning of those flashes wasn’t exactly clear; the cancer cell thought it might require more replicants before it understood the purpose behind those flashes.

Lastly, Destroy was much easier to understand.  The glowing crystal and the nerve cell helping the crystal needed to be destroyed.  How this was to be accomplished, the cancer cell also didn’t know, but the impression from the images hinted that it was imperative that it performed its duties to ensure the crystal’s destruction.

The basic self-awareness granted to the cancer cell and its accompanying replicants was not great enough for it to question why this was its duty.  All it knew was what it had been shown – and that was reason enough.  To prevent its own destruction, it needed to disrupt, distract, and destroy; the how behind that would become clear in time, it slowly reasoned.

But first…it had some replicating to do.

Chapter 10

Marstin didn’t particularly enjoy the cart, mainly because it made his queasy stomach even more so.  Not only that, but approximately a day into their return trek, Marstin’s eyes started to itch unpleasantly and his vision went slightly blurry. At first, he thought he must’ve gotten some dust into both of his eyes from the dry, dusty dirt kicked up by the horse. Trying to blink it out and even a simple rinse with some water had no effect, however. After a few hours, he realized that the itching didn’t feel external, as if caused by something getting in his eyes; rather, it was more of an internal uncomfortableness that he couldn’t do anything about. I wonder if this is related to how I was miraculously healed, Marstin couldn’t help but wonder to himself.

He didn’t mention it other than a brief complaint to the rest of his group, who were willing to believe it was just an odd side effect from healing or a bad reaction to the raw shine fish. Beyond that, as the discomfort seemed to slowly fade at an agonizingly slow pace, Marstin was left alone to dwell a bit more on his recent experiences. He had no explanation for his miraculous healing and neither did the others, so after his more in-depth deliberations, the former thief decided to ignore the mystery behind the whole situation until he had more time and wasn’t out traveling. Perhaps after taking a few more reading and writing lessons with Kyra.

The next day, the group entered the southern forests proper, in contrast to the rocky area of Rockwood. The temperature underneath the shade of the trees dropped to just cool instead of warm, and the traveling became much more pleasant as the horse-drawn carriage made its way down the path. They had also passed small herds of Ice Caribou grazing on the grasses of the plains and the bark of the pines, which was wonderful to see; none of them had been absolutely sure that the quest to figure out what was wrong with them had indeed been fulfilled – but seeing the beasts there, feeding and becoming plump for the winter, was more than enough evidence that it had indeed been completed. Whether or not it had to do with what they had found via Marstin’s nose and destroyed was something they still didn’t know.

Apparently, neither did anyone else, as it would turn out.

“We have no idea, either,” said the gruff older leader of another adventurer group based out of Graniton, whom they happened to stumble upon after resting for their late-day meal. The group had just come from the town. To have found them inside the vast forest wasn’t that much of a surprise since the carriage had been traveling on one of the main roads connecting the various settlements around Istut, and they just happened to be camping where Oswald had been planning on resting the Iron Yaks for the night. “We were only told that the herd finally migrated south, and that there would be some sort of minimal payment sent to the Guild. Filthy savages—” he started to say, before he was hit upside his head by one of his group members.

“Hey!  I told you not to speak that way, Harold,” the diminutive woman wearing fancy-looking robes said quickly, shaking her hand a bit from the powerful smack she had just delivered. Her straight, raven-black hair framed her face and was long enough to strangle someone with if she so chose – which appeared likely, considering her scowl as she stared at their leader. Harold started to complain about her impromptu hit, but then he looked at the Iron Yaks and held his tongue.

Yarrow looked indifferent, but Marstin had traveled and quested with her enough to know that she was inwardly livid. He didn’t blame her; if someone had called his people “filthy savages”, he would’ve been ticked off, as well. Though if it were just him, he’d likely have agreed he was filthy.

“Why is there only a minimal payment?” Oswald asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had sprung up.

The robed woman answered, cutting off any type of response from the hushed leader. “Because no one could offer up any evidence of having done anything to force or even encourage the migration. We were only up there for about a day, ourselves, when the Caribou started heading south. Our simple presence might have been enough of a solution, it was said, which is why they are even paying us that trifling amount. If someone had actually done something, though, then they would’ve happily paid the entire reward; as it is, no one could figure out why everything worked out the way it did.” She shrugged, “There could be other things going on between the higher ups, but we aren’t part of that circle.”

That makes sense, I guess. I wonder if what we did was the solution to the problem?  I guess it doesn’t really matter, though, because we have absolutely no proof that we did anything – only our word. Marstin looked at the other Iron Yaks and saw the same thought likely mirroring their own expressions. They all knew the guild master of Graniton was aware of their actions, but perhaps he hadn’t been able to convince the main branch with just their word.

“Yes, well, at least it’s something and not a complete waste of our time,” Oswald responded, not giving any indication that the Iron Yaks might have been the ones to complete the quest. “I guess we’ll see you back in town.”

“You can stay with us tonight, if you wish?  This is a prime camping spot, after all,” the woman asked them, taking over the conversation as Harold was smart enough to stay silent. The man did have the grace to admire the setting sun as if the conversation did not concern him, though his reddening ears gave away his embarrassment.

“Thank you, but we wanted to travel a little more tonight before we camp; I appreciate the offer, though.” George replied politely.

They left soon after, and made their way down the road to another, less-ideal spot. Everyone was silent as they traveled, and only a few words were exchanged when absolutely needed; there was a tension in the air, and Marstin could practically feel it as they laid out their bedrolls for the night. The former thief was setting up next to the Istutian Polar Wizard, and he couldn’t help himself. “Yarrow, about what that guy said—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Marstin. Get some sleep; we should be back h—to Graniton tomorrow.” It sounded as if she wanted to say “home”, but then changed her mind, Marstin observed to himself.

He couldn’t help but frown at the faux pas; he sighed inwardly. That isn’t good; a nail to the foot for that man for his closed-minded attitude! He had learned about and even heard some unfounded prejudices against the Istutian tribes, but he’d never actually seen such attitudes in action before this. And it isn’t even me that’s affected, but Yarrow. But, how can I make her feel better and included? I don’t even feel like I truly belong….

Marstin didn’t have an answer to that as he lay himself down to sleep, though he didn’t think he would sleep much that night. Ever since he had “recovered” from his stabbing ordeal, he had been plagued by strange feelings in his body. First was the itchiness in his eyes, which thankfully stopped after less than a full day; next was a temporary-but-complete loss of his sense of hearing that had occurred during the midday meal. This one he had kept to himself, not wanting to worry the Iron Yaks about his physical condition further. He then found that his sense of taste had stopped working as well, much to his annoyance and worry. Luckily, the latter two experiences with his different senses only lasted a few hours, so it wasn’t debilitating in the least, and they were thankfully all done right after another, so he wasn’t afflicted with them all at once. Marstin couldn’t help but wonder if his sense of feeling would be affected, but neither had changed from what he could tell.

Strangely enough, after all of the weird sensations, when they went back to normal – they felt anything but “normal”. He couldn’t tell whether it was because he had temporarily lost full use of his senses, or for some other reason, but when they came back to full functionality, he seemed to be able to utilize them a little better than before. It wasn’t exactly measurable, but he was convinced that he could see just a tiny bit farther than he used to, and with better clarity; his hearing could identify sounds from farther away than he thought usual; his tongue seemed to be able to taste the air around him, which was equally as bad following the horse’s unfortunate release flatulence; and even his nose, which days ago had been the reason they had found that strange box, could identify individual scents more accurately, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing considering that none of they had been able to wash after nearly 2 weeks on the road.  Fortunately, though, he quickly got used to the changes until they felt a little more normal. As far as his sense of feeling went, that was a bit harder to determine if it were better or not, as he hadn’t experienced a dismissal of usage like the other three.

If that had been it, then he would’ve counted himself lucky. Unfortunately, over the last few hours or so, the skin all over his left toes and foot had been intermittently flaring with flashes of itchiness and occasionally sharp pain, like if a needle had poked into his body. The sensation felt like someone had rubbed some sort of itchy powder over his foot, and then poked it with a spear or knife. George hadn’t missed the teen scratching at his foot and had offered a poultice he’d made himself, which assisted in reducing the uncomfortableness of the itching but was unable to completely eliminate it. The only saving grace in all of it was the fact that each episode didn’t last more than a few minutes, but it was also fairly regular in their occurrences. Which meant that he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night and wasn’t expecting that night to go much better. He was fully prepared for knife-themed nightmares to flash through his mind just like they had the last several nights.

Still, at least the weird sensations had calmed down somewhat. His ears felt a bit strange, but nothing too out of his sense of ordinary. If anything, sleeping in his leather armor was more of an annoying feeling than what his body felt naturally, but such was the risk, when sleeping in the wild. Not wearing armor during an ambush was the height of foolishness, after all. Forcing himself to ignore the heaviness weighing down on his body once again, Marstin allowed his mind to be carried away on the whispers of the wind. On the cusp of unconsciousness, however, Marstin could faintly hear the sounds of wolves in his mind.

‘Funny, I didn’t think I’d be dreaming of wolves tonight,’ Marstin’s hazy mind thought to itself. Indeed, the dream playing through Marstin’s head was that of him playing catch with a wolf, who howled at him. The scent of wolf filled his nose as Marstin enjoyed the game of catch, though for some reason the wolf was now standing like a person and throwing the ball for him. Confused, Marstin missed, and then looked down to find the wolf biting his foot in anger. A second chorus of howls reverberated around him, echoing in the night, closer, outside, and --

“Owwwww!” Marstin screeched, shooting up out of his blanket as his foot throbbed in pain. “Ah, it bit me! It bit me….” he broke off as the sheepish teen realized that it had only been a dream. His foot did hurt, but it was nothing more than a severe tingle, likely from sleeping on it or on top of a rock. With a groan of annoyance, Marstin lay back down and adjusted his --

“It’s not a dream!” Marstin shot up out of his sleep bag and blanket. He reached over and grabbed his knives, wincing slightly as he felt his shoulders protest at the rough motion. He rolled out of the tent, blanket falling off his armored body as he raised his knives and scanned his surroundings. This close to Graniton, the Iron Yaks had thought it unnecessary to post a night watch, since monsters seldom came this close to human settlements. Marstin’s oddly enhanced eyes, by contrast, discerned eight hungry-looking tier 2 dire wolves outside of the camp, their eyes locking onto him as their prey.

“Ambush!” Marstin yelled with all of his might. “Wolf pack!” Hoping his voice had reached his teammates, the young teen prepared himself for a fight.

The wolves charged into the camp, barking and crying as they ran toward Marstin. Suddenly, Oswald’s armored form burst out of his tent, sword and shield in hand, and beheaded two of the wolves, startling the others. Before the pack could recover, two arrows from George pierced the hearts of another two, shot out of his tent opening. Two massive icicle spears formed in the air and skewered another two, and Frain’s long sword decapitated the remaining two. Marstin gaped as the threat evaporated in front of his eyes. He looked over at Oswald and Frain.

The two standing adventurers snored while standing, making Marstin’s mouth fall even further open. Then, Oswald opened an eye and gave Marstin a sneaky grin.

“Did I fool you?” the older adventurer chuckled as he asked his question.

“You both did,” Marstin admitted after shutting his mouth.

“Oh, no, Frain is actually asleep,” Oswald said, carefully moving away from the red-haired woman who stood with her weapons out facing the woods. “Follow me for a bit, we don’t want to trigger her.”

Marstin obediently followed Oswald to the other side of the camp, and the both of them sat on a log. Oswald stowed away his sword and shield and cracked his neck.

“George and Yarrow have probably gone back to sleep by now,” the leader of the Iron Yaks said evenly. “Like me, they are experienced adventures with enough training to react quickly upon waking up and capable of going back to sleep without interrupting their rest. I doubt those two even got their hearts pounding from an ambush,” he chuckled. “It’s something you’ll pick up with enough days on the road. Though,” Oswald frowned. “It was bad form to not have a night watch. Bit of a rookie mistake on our part, I’ll admit. Very surprised to see a wolf pack this close to town, but judging by their hungry looks I would guess that they were suffering from the lack of ice caribou as much as we were. I’ll have to make a report to the guild about it, once we get back. Hungry dire wolves are not the worst thing that could be hunting people on the roads.”

“Erm, what about Frain?” Marstin asked carefully.

“Oh right, Frain,” Oswald blinked as he recalled. “Sorry, I can be distracted fairly easily. Frain, well, Frain is one of those few types out there who can fight even when asleep. Those thieves were lucky their sleeping medicine was strong enough, otherwise she would have massacred the lot of them- which is of course why she’s blaming herself more than anyone for what happened to you.” Oswald shook her head. “She doesn’t show it, but I’m sure she’ll try to make it up to you at a later date, and will probably force her apology onto you. When she comes, just accept it, alright?”

“Okay,” Marstin nodded. “Can I learn to fight in my sleep too?”

“I wouldn’t advise you try,” Oswald said with a frown, and a look of sadness. “That isn’t something you can gain through just training. It’s a skill one acquires after suffering a great . . . loss. One that fills your mind and soul with regret, that you could have done something. That you should have done something. Thus, your body still tries to fight even when you’re unconscious. Make no mistake, Marstin: One must suffer in some form to acquire such a skill.”

Before Marstin could respond, the sound of howling and fighting echoed behind him, and the two adventurers looked down the road toward the other campsite.

“Sounds like those adventurers are under attack as well,” Oswald grinned and stood up. “Since you didn’t get any kills just now, let’s go get you some.”

“I’d rather just go back to sleep really-” Marstin attempted to protest before he was picked up by the neck of his armor by Oswald, who ran toward the sounds of fighting.

“You’ve been sleeping for enough days now! The doctor said you could travel, and you’ve repeatedly said you were fine, so let’s get some battle practice back in you before you get rusty! Charge!” Oswald howled while laughing.

Marstin sighed as he drew his knives yet again. It appeared it would be a rough night.

Chapter 11

There is a—

“There is a…what?” Progen asked, after Stemmy didn’t finish its statement.  Again.  I thought that was over, wasn’t it?

Nothing unusual to report.

“Not again,” Progen whined.  He really had thought everything was fine, but now his assistant was having some obvious issues again.  Or Progen was imagining things, though he really didn’t think that was the case.  Regardless, asking a few additional questions revealed nothing; no reason for the interrupted statement, nor any indication of why it occurred in the first place.

Progen figuratively shrugged, since there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about the food and nutrients that had just been consumed by the body – other than its unfamiliarity, of course.  He let the digestive process continue while he went back to increasing his immune forces, while at the same time monitoring Stemmy’s uninterrupted reports of the progress in the somatosensory system.  The interneuron cell had already finished one foot and was currently progressing up the leg of the body, but seemed to be moving a little more slowly; once that was fully infiltrated with Progen’s mana, Stemmy would move on to the other appendage, keeping a symmetry as the process moved up the body.

Stemmy has eliminated the enhanced sensitivity and feelings of pain being transferred to the brain in the areas that have been infused with Progen’s mana, due to the unnecessary overreaction it has been causing.  Once most of the somatosensory system has been infiltrated, Stemmy will gradually increase sensitivity to an appropriate level.

Progen thought that was probably a good idea, even if it took a little longer.  Whereas the other senses were concentrated in particular areas and the enhancements to them due to his mana could be adjusted as part of a whole, having a single appendage that was exceptionally sensitive might cause the body to become a bit unbalanced.

“Very good, Stemmy.  Keep it going; I’m slowly building my immune cells back up to where they were before the wounding, so we’re looking great.”  The dungeon crystal figured it couldn’t hurt to encourage his assistant, even if it probably didn’t do anything of worth.

Not only was Stemmy making progress on the efforts of infusing his mana inside of the body’s senses via their nerves, but it was also helping to increase his available mana count.  After the ambush in the heart, Progen had spent a lot of time consolidating his hold over the digestive, respiratory, lymphatic, and circulatory systems, covering every single cell in which he could gain access.  The result had been worth it, as it had increased his hold in a firmer “grip”, figuratively speaking, and had doubled his available mana.  Instead of only being able to hold 1,000 mana at one time, he had ended up acquiring the ability to contain 2,000 mana – a significant jump.

Progen wasn’t precisely sure what had caused that type of jump, nor did Stemmy have an explanation, but the dungeon crystal suspected that it had something to do with the lack of that strange entity’s presence down below where it was hiding up in the brain.  Once he was able to go back over everything he had already thought he controlled, the connection between him and those systems was strengthened even further.  As a result, he was able to absorb more of the ambient life force given off and use it for his mana – hence the 2,000 mana he was able to hold.

He was doubly thankful for that, since without that extra boost he likely wouldn’t have been able to prevent the body from dying due to its horrendous wound.  Either he wouldn’t have been able to heal the wound itself, or the body would’ve been overwhelmed by the pathogens that had invaded.  Nevertheless, he had succeeded, and now he just needed to rebuild his forces.

The one drawback from the increase in his dungeon mana was the complete lack of progress in the unlocking aspect of it.  Because, despite doubling his mana capacity, he was still stuck with up to Tier 3 immune cells, as well as Tier 2 trap options.

Immune Cells Available

Available Mana: 1026/2050

Tier 1

Dendritic Cell (Reporters) – 2 Mana

Neutrophil Cell (Newts) – 5 Mana

B Cell (Spawners) – 25 Mana

Mutation 1 (Seekers) – 150 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 2

Eosinophils (Hunters) – 25 Mana

Naïve T Cells (Novice Killers) – 50 Mana

Memory B Cells (Historians) – 100 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 3

Regulatory T Cells (Regulators) – 50 Mana

Macrophages (Cleaners) – 150 Mana

Memory T Cells (Veteran Killers) – 200 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Trap Options Available

Available Mana: 1026/2050

Tier 1

Fibrin Net – 5 Mana

Reactive Flush – 5 Mana

Strangling Villi – 10 Mana

Tier 2

Pepsin Acid Pit – 50 Mana

Suspension – 75 Mana

Localized Compression – 100 Mana

Granted, he wasn’t complaining, but every other time he had significantly increased his available mana, he had unlocked the next Tier in something.  Even with that massive boost, though, there was nothing.

With the recent nerve-related additions, Progen was beginning to see his mana capacity start to creep up.  It was only by small increments, at first, mainly because the nerves that related to the smelling, seeing, and hearing senses were quite small in number, and nowhere near the amount that came from infusing his mana into a small section of the respiratory system, for instance.  After Stemmy started on the nerves in the body’s toes, and then moved on to the rest of the feet, Progen’s mana capacity started to rise in slightly larger increments.  The dungeon crystal’s hopes were that once he reached another threshold, he would finally unlock some additional options; it was possible that those new accessible cells or trap options would provide a way into the brain that he hadn’t possessed before.

So, at least he had that to look forward to with all the boring reinforcement of his immune cells.

As far as the body went, nothing of note occurred inside; outside was little different.  Stemmy passed on all of the information the interneuron cell was intercepting from the available senses, but apart from some conversations about a reward once “Marstin” and his fellow Adventurer’s Guild members returned to the town of Graniton, the rest of the time was just boring travel through dense forests and expansive plains – in all but one occasion.

Stemmy is detecting a potential threat to the host.  Temporarily increasing information transferred to the brain regarding sensitivity to the olfactory and auditory nerves now.  Stemmy is also allowing a temporary increase in the visible infrared spectrum in the optic nerves.

“What?  What’s going on, Stemmy?”

Danger is unclear.  Host is sleeping in a camp, but the fire the others had built has all but extinguished.  Stemmy has detected small traces of muscone, which is a compound typically found in beasts considered prey, but that is also overwhelmed by the musty and moisture-rich odors caused by an excessively oily and malnourished predator.  8 distinct predators of various chemical compositions have been identified, which the auditory nerves have pinpointed as encircling the host’s camp.

“Has the body woken up yet?  I sense no change in its positioning.”

No.  According to the body’s lower temperature, the slower heart rate, and deeper breathing pattern, the host is still in deep REM sleep.

“Well, then, wake it up!”

Stemmy has no access to the hypothalamus in the brain, which regulates the sleep-wake cycle—

“Then do something else!  I haven’t worked this hard to preserve this body just to let some hungry beasts eat it – along with my crystal.”  Progen thought about that for less than a second, before dismissing it.  No, I do not want to be stuck inside of a beast; the potential for growth is much less than inside of a human, he mused.  Even a human that has an unwelcome passenger inside of its brain.  Once he cleared it out, the outlook for the future was practically unlimited.

Stemmy cannot wake the host.

Progen thoughts ran furiously through his mind, looking for a solution.  Progen thought he could probably cause some internal damage to the body if he wanted to, which would hopefully incite enough pain that Marstin would wake up.  He was just about to do that, before he remembered what Stemmy had told him earlier about his current project.

“Unblock all of the information coming from the foot you infiltrated!  You told me that would likely be too sensitive and might even be painful to the body without acclimation, didn’t you?”

Yes, that was Stemmy’s hypothesis.  Unblocking those receptors and letting all of the information through…now.

It didn’t take long for even Progen to feel a change, as there was a large jerk that reverberated the entire body.

Host is awake, shouting about something biting his foot.  Blocking the information again…now.  Host has stopped hopping about, but is attempting to return to sleep. Auditory nerves have picked up a wolf’s hunting sound, and the host has fully awakened and moved into a ready position. Additional enhanced information passed through the other senses has caught its attention…optic nerves confirm 8 wolves closing in on the camp, and the host’s shouting has alerted and woken the others…the host has now explained what it has sensed, and the others are arming themselves.

“Excellent, Stemmy.  Now it’s up to this body and the others with it to save themselves.”

The prospective fight against 8 large, yet obviously starving, wolves got Progen excited, because he could just imagine having wolves in his own dungeon.  If he wasn’t stuck inside a human body, of course, that might have been one of the types of beasts he might have cultivated; he didn’t regret staying inside of his current dungeon, however, because it was turning out to be amazing, with how everything interacted and depended on each other to operate.  And, truth be told, he really enjoyed being able to create tens of thousands of “monsters”, whereas he would be limited in the number he could create and control in a normal dungeon that was found in a cave – or underneath a forest or other such exotic locale.

Unfortunately, the fight against the wolves was anything but exciting.  First off, Stemmy was not the most enthusiastic of commenters with the interneuron’s monotone voice, and important and visceral details were frequently glossed over.  Basically, it went like this:

Armored Human blocks with shield and kills two wolves with a sword.

Large Human with bow shoots two wolves, killing them with arrows.

Human dressed in fur casts magic spell, killing two wolves with long icicle spears.

Red-haired Human uses large sword to kill the last two wolves.

Host is unharmed.

“That…was enlightening,” Progen said sarcastically afterwards.  “Thanks…I think.”

It was interesting to note that one of the Humans was a spell-caster, which could be quite effective inside of a dungeon for any adventurer groups – or so his instinctive knowledge told him.  All that really mattered to Progen, however, was the spell-caster had likely been the one to freeze over the body’s wound a few days ago, based on the fact that some icicle spears had been used during the fight against the wolves.  If the dungeon crystal could’ve thanked the fur-covered Human, he would’ve done it at the first opportunity.

After that fight, Stemmy reported that the host was being coerced into helping another camp which was under attack by wolves.  Progen could only scream in frustration as the body was put into harm’s way again, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.  The interneuron cell kept the body’s senses where they were at for a short time, but quickly reduced all of the extra information to just over normal levels when the fight was over (with no injuries, to Progen’s relief), as they had done their job.  Not only that, but the enhanced senses had done exactly what Progen was hoping to do: keep the body alive, so that he could take over and control it later.  The interneuron cell didn’t seem to obtain any pleasure from the act of saving the body from potential death or injury, but the dungeon crystal was used to that by now.

Aside from those two fights (which weren’t all that serious, overall), the rest of the outside world was rather uneventful.  Travel continued to their eventual destination, while Progen continued to create immune cells and place them in roaming squads; Stemmy progressed in its work infiltrating the nerves in the leg, and towards the end of the body’s journey, success was achieved: they now had access to the information given by the nerves in one whole leg!

The only worrying thing through the few days to arrive at Graniton was the increase in how often Stemmy interrupted itself.  Every time it happened, Progen tried to investigate what was going on, but nothing seemed to present itself.  As a precaution, the dungeon crystal increased the frequency of his patrolling immune squads through every area he had access to, but apart from occasionally finding a stray bacterium here and there, there was no indication that anything was happening inside of the body.  At least, nothing that would cause Stemmy to keep almost mentioning something, and then having no idea what Progen was talking about.

After a while, he figured it was just a strange quirk of the interneuron cell, and tried to ignore it.  Most of the time he succeeded…but other times he had the strange feeling that there was something else going on.  Something serious.  What that was, he couldn’t identify, but the…premonition…was in the back of his mind most of the time, now.

Progen just hoped he could figure it out before it was too late.

Chapter 12

With a tired groan, Marstin reluctantly opened his eyes as the morning sun shone down through the tent fabric surrounding his body. His body ached all over from the strenuous exercise of the previous night, and he had not had the most comfortable of sleeps as a result. It still felt like he’d only shut his eyes for a mere moment before needing to get up.

The memories of the previous night played through Marstin’s head like a bad magical recording. Oswald had dragged Marstin to the campsite where the rude adventurer’s group had set up camp. Like the Iron Yaks, it was clear that the group had not kept a night watch. Unlike the Iron Yaks, it appeared that the team was taken completely by surprise and was on the defensive. The lady adventurer who had apologized was barely fending off three dire wolves with a single shield while bleeding, the jerk adventurer lying unconscious behind her with blood pooling from a nasty gash on his head. The others in the group were each contending with several wolves per person, leaving no one to help the lady deal with her trouble.

Oswald immediately leaped into the fray, yelling loudly and banging his sword upon his shield to distract the wolves, which dispersed away from the new threat but did not leave. Marstin had followed closely behind and taken guard while the lady adventurer applied quick first aid to the fallen. The other adventurers swiftly gathered together in a group with the four of them, and the two sides of human and wolf faced off.

Not dissuaded by the movements of their prey, the wolves had howled and barked as they rushed the group. Even Oswald wasn’t able to rapidly dispatch such a large group and was forced onto the defensive, with the others mirroring him with swipes and jabs of their weapons to keep the distance.

Marstin had taken a wolf out with a well-thrown dagger to the eye, but quickly found that he wasn’t wearing his extra set of daggers, meaning he was down to a single weapon. Luckily, Oswald had moved over and saved the young adventurer from a mauled fate, unleashing a move Marstin had never seen before.

With a shout, Oswald slammed his sword with both hands into the ground, causing it to erupt into a wave of pointy earth spikes that skewered most of the wolves. The surviving dire wolves fled into the night, wailing and crying in fear.

Oswald, looking a bit more pale than normal, had waved off the thanks from the adventurer party and brought Marstin back to the tents, where the two promptly fell asleep. Marstin had been so tired he almost failed to remember to retrieve his dagger from the wolf’s skull. And now he was awake once more, and a little bit cranky.

“Come out and enjoy breakfast, Marstin,” Yarrow’s voice rang from outside. “George pulled out his hidden supply, and so it’s bacon, eggs, and vegetable rolls!” Marstin instantly perked up; he loved egg dishes, and especially George’s take on egg rolls. The smaller adventurer relished the taste as he tore into his plate, much to the amusement of the Iron Yaks. Marstin didn’t care; the hearty meal was delicious enough and filling enough to completely wipe away his cranky mood.

After that quick breakfast and clean up, everyone was ready and eager to go, as they would easily make it back to Graniton that day. Marstin was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed again, which he had started to appreciate after having lived on the streets and near a trash dump for more than half of his life. Being part of the Adventurer’s Guild had a few perks, and relatively inexpensive lodging for its members was one of them. With the promised reward for finishing the Ice Caribou quest, albeit the amount had been minimized, he should be able to support himself in paying the landlady for a few meals for a few weeks, if he scrimped a little bit. Without the need to waste time hunting, he’d have more time to train at the guild and take on quests and make more coins. It was a positive feedback cycle.

The walls surrounding Graniton were a welcome sight, especially since the morning had been unusually tense within the group. Yarrow was still completely closed-mouthed about the bigoted comments made by Harold, and her silence was reflected in the rest of the group. Thankfully, the sight of their destination seemed to perk everyone up quite a bit, even the Polar Wizard. She smiled a little when she saw the town in the distance, which caused Marstin to want to engage in conversation again.

“I sure can’t wait to sleep in a bed again,” he said abruptly, echoing his thoughts from earlier. “And to eat something other than what Oswald keeps in his belly sack.”

The description of their leader’s hidden adventurer’s bag he kept in his chest plate caused the others to loosen up a bit more as they laughed at Oswald. “Yeah, I could use a change from the old smell from his sack, as well,” Frain said with a straight face, before laughing uproariously at her own joke. Marstin laughed softly, noticing that Yarrow was smiling even more now; even if she wasn’t laughing, the Polar Wizard seemed to be feeling a little better.

“I’ll have you know that it was my sack that kept us alive, so you best be thankful I was willing to share it with everyone,” Oswald said mock-seriously, which caused another round of laughter – this time with a few titters from Yarrow. It was extremely crude humor, but after the last week they had, it felt good to laugh at something.

The last leg of their journey seemed to take forever, though from the first sight of Graniton’s walls to their arrival only about 2 hours had passed. It was mid-afternoon by the time they passed through the western gate, and Marstin felt relief that they had made it back relatively safe and sound. Granted, they had nearly been run over by a stampede of Ice Caribou, and he had been sliced up enough to kill any other person; but they were alive.

Thoughts of the thief and Rob and how they had cut him open and left him to die a long, painful death suddenly ran through his mind. If they find out I’m alive, will they send someone to finish the job? It was an irrational fear, perhaps, since the Thieves’ Guild had completed what they wanted to; but Marstin couldn’t help but wonder. The fact that there wasn’t an intact Thieves’ Guild inside Graniton was somewhat of a reassurance, but from his insider’s knowledge of how they operated, there were informants and agents for his former guild everywhere. They weren’t actually thieves, but they were paid well for information and assistance in different matters; it was one of those agents, in fact, who had assisted in his break-in at the summer villa almost a month ago. And Marstin had no idea who any of them were.

There was no telling who would be one of these informants, because on the whole they were ‘ordinary’ people who made a little money on the side. As most of the time their identities were kept a secret from all but the Leader and Co-leaders, even the other members of the guild hadn’t been kept abreast of those who were on their side. Therefore, any person he saw walking around Graniton could be the one to tell the Thieves’ Guild that he was still alive, and that there was a job that needed to be finished. Is that woman over there scowling at us an informant?  Or that man who turned away right after he looked at us? There was no way to tell – so Marstin tried to ignore the looks that everyone seemed to be sending his group, hoping to avoid calling too much attention to himself.

Fortunately, he wasn’t the one they were looking at; in fact, from the side-eye glances he directed towards those they passed, they didn’t even seem to see him. Normally, being rendered practically invisible would be vastly preferable to being the center of attention, but in this case he’d have rather had all of the attention on him.

“Go back to your tribe where you belong, you filthy scum!” Marstin heard shouted at their group, walking past a merchant’s stall on their way to the Adventurer’s Guild, intending to check in and report what had happened on their quest. The speaker wasn’t the merchant behind his counter, though, but a young woman that the former thief assumed was a customer.

“Hey!  What did you just say?!” Frain shouted back, stomping up to the woman with her hand on the hilt of her sword. Violence seemed to be inevitable by her stance, and Marstin was so shocked at what was happening that he felt himself slipping behind the others in response. How could anyone say that?  From what I know, we’ve been at peace with the tribes for so long that there isn’t anything but goodwill between our peoples. We just sent hundreds of groups to help them with their Ice Caribou problem, for the Gods sake!

“I said—”

“You had better shut your mouth, young miss, before Frain here shuts it for you,” Oswald said, putting a restraining arm on the red-headed swordswoman before she could do something more drastic. Marstin felt a similar sentiment; even though he was new to adventuring, he knew immediately that one didn’t just let an attack on a fellow group member go without repercussions or consequences. The other adventuring group in the forest was a bit of an exception, because their leader, Harold, had been taken to task by his own group member. That didn’t make it right, but going any further than that would be causing more trouble than it was worth.

This, however, was entirely different.

“It would be just like you ‘adventurers’ to stick up for trash like her! Those murderers getting away with the lord’s death, and you lot butchering the Thrawnby—” the sneering woman replied with more than a hint of disdain in her voice, though she blanched and flinched backwards as a sword blade came within inches of her face. George and Oswald had quickly grabbed Frain’s arm as she stared in rage at the lady, who was shaking in fright at the aura of malice directed at her from the red-haired adventurer.

“Enough, Frain,” Yarrow said, catching the arm of the swordswoman before she could attempt to strike again. “Just let it go; I don’t want to deal with this right now.”  The Istutian Polar Wizard sounded exhausted and annoyed at the same time.

The red-haired adventurer quickly calmed down, but still retained the vehement indignance on her face. Frain yanked her arm away from Oswald and George and, though she appeared ready to slaughter the woman on the spot, all she did was spit at the other woman’s feet and sheathe her sword, spinning away without another word.

“That’s right, take your sorry—”

Before he could even think about what he was doing, Marstin was behind the woman on his tiptoes with one of his knives at her throat. “Stop talking, or I’ll give you another opening that you can try spouting your filth from,” he heard himself say, feeling himself shake. He couldn’t tell if it was in anger at the woman, or shock at what he was doing; regardless, his threat was enough to shut her up as the others left. She didn’t say a word as he took his knife away and disappeared into the crowd that had been starting to gather at the altercation. Rather than take the woman to task, though – like he expected them to do – from the murmurs he heard, the crowd was on the woman’s side.

What is going on? He was perplexed at what was happening, since the attitudes of the people in Graniton seemed a bit different from what he remembered. Did something happen with a tribe member while we were away, and now everyone’s opinion of them has changed? And what was that earlier about the lord?  Marstin shook his head as he focused back on the new attitudes toward his friend.  Something new having happened was the only explanation he could think of; and he could only hope that it would blow over soon, so that everything could get back to normal.

He entered the Adventurer’s Guild to find it sparsely filled with only a few random adventurers; he figured that was only to be expected, as many of the groups that had gone north were likely still on their return trip back. He quickly found the Iron Yaks waiting for him and stopped as they all had grim looks on their faces.

“I don’t know what that was all about, but—” he started to explain why he was later than them.

“There’s something more important than that, Marstin,” Oswald said in a tired voice that echoed Yarrow’s from just a few minutes before.

More important than…that?  “What’s wrong?”

“The Guild Master – he’s gone.”

Chapter 13

“Gone?  As in, ‘He left for the day and he’ll be back’?  Or, ‘He’s missing and/or lost, and no one knows where he is?”  Marstin asked, thoroughly confused.

“Well, from what I’ve heard, it’s rather complicated,” Oswald said with a pensive expression, to which all of the other members of the Iron Yaks nodded in agreement. Oswald waved his hand to indicate they needed to move, and Marstin followed the group to one of the side rooms available for adventurers to use for discussing things in privacy. When the door closed behind Marstin, all noise from the main lobby vanished.

“The rooms are soundproof, so nothing can be heard from the outside and they can’t hear us,” Oswald confirmed. “This is the best place to come when planning quests, if you’re worried about competition.” The party leader grinned half-heartedly. “Or if you need to discuss something shady.”

“You mean, the guild master being gone is suspicious?” Marstin asked, concerned. He hadn’t met the guild master too often, and didn’t even know his name, but the half-devil had been kind to him and had placed his trust in Marstin.

Oswald sat down at the central table, which caused all of the Yaks to copy him, with Marstin following suit. The leader sighed and shrugged. “It’s always possible that he’s just out on official business, but the circumstances are strange. You’re aware that after arriving at Rockwood we were able to get in touch with the guild master?” Oswald waited for Marstin’s affirmation before continuing. “Well, the guild master passed the information up the chain to the guild. And yet, like we heard from Howard’s party, only the bare minimum reward was to be handed out. That’s still a rumor, mind you, but it was started by the secretaries after one of them overheard a loud and intense argument between the guild master and someone else over the magic communicator in his office. Ah, the magic communicator is a magic orb that allows for face-to-face conversation over long distances, made and used by the Adventurer’s Guild for quick communication between branches.  Anyway, after that argument, the guild master packed up and left for Iora on his horse. That was two days ago, and since then, there haven’t been any responses, nor any other information on his whereabouts.”

“Maybe he’s just in the middle of traveling and will be back soon?” the former thief ventured. “I mean, it would take us three or four days to reach the capital from Graniton.

Oswald shook his head. “A normal horse at a reasonable top speed could make it to Iora in two or three days, but the guild master’s magic can boost his horse’s speed, bringing that down to one or two days. He is the type of person to micromanage his subordinates’ lives, as you have experienced, so it's very doubtful he wouldn’t at least check up on us.”

Marstin thought about it for a moment, before he asked, “That just seems circumstantial at best, right? After all, whatever issue made him angry enough to go to the capital in person could be taking up all his time and attention. And . . . is it really a big deal for the guild master to be gone?”  When he saw their faces look angry, he put his hands up to explain. “I’m not trying to be insensitive here, because I’m concerned for him, too; he was the one who helped me become an adventurer, after all. But why does it matter that he’s not here?”

His honest, questioning tone set them more at ease. “It’s not him, precisely, but his authority that is the issue here,” Frain answered for Oswald. “The guild master is in charge of approving new quests, as well as finalizing payouts from completed quests. There are others that deal with most of the rest of the day-to-day running of the guild, but most of them went north with the rest of us to help. The guild master of a branch rarely ever leaves their jurisdiction, and then only if there is a relatively quick emergency that needs to be taken care of. The last time he left was a month ago, when he made a trip to Iora to chronicle the events of the caravan raid with the main branch. The situation with you and the—” she dropped her voice a bit— “Thieves’ Guild was a special circumstance requiring him to travel to ensure false assumptions weren’t made about you or the Adventurer’s Guild. Besides that, I doubt that he had been outside of Graniton for more than a day or so in the last two decades.”

“There’s more to it, of course,” Frain continued with an annoyed look. “We asked around while you were lagging behind and found a few things out. You picked up that people were being ruder to Yarrow and her kin than normal, right?”

“Yes, and I thought it was strange,” Marstin nodded. “After all, even under the Thieves’ Guild, I never heard a hint of an insult specifically toward the tribes. Though, considering everyone seemed to curse everyone else, I’m not entirely sure that’s the truth. Today is truly the first time I’ve ever heard such hate directed at the tribes.”

“That’s how the elders describe the time immediately after the peace treaty brokered by the Adventurer’s Guild was enacted,” Yarrow sighed softly. “Only, from I heard, it was much worse. Today was one rude man and a hate-filled woman; back then it was entire cities.”

“You’d think after . . . oh heck, 60, 80 or so years of peace these feelings would have been let go,” George snorted.

“100 years,” Yarrow interrupted softly. “Peace was brokered 100 years ago by the Adventurer’s Guild, but loose conflicts continued for another ten or twenty. There has not been a major violent confrontation between the tribes and the country in 80 years.”

“Exactly,” George nodded in agreement. “But those with hate in their hearts still remain, and have passed down their hate to the next generation. They just remain hidden, flaring up whenever a situation provides an excuse for hate.” The large man hit the table in anger. “Every time something happens without a clear cause or culprit, it’s blamed on the tribes. Just like the former lord’s death.”

“The former lord?” Marstin asked, privately preparing himself for the answer.

“Yeah,” Frain nodded sadly. “The old Southern lord in charge of the South. One of the finest men to have ever lived. He turned Graniton into a booming trade city from a village of off-season miners. A lot of the current town was built at his direction, but about . . . eight or nine years ago, he and his entire family were found murdered at their home. Since the culprit couldn’t be found, and as they appeared to have died in such a weird way, the tribal people were blamed, even though they themselves only benefited from the lord’s open policies of immigration. Everyone misses him….” The four adventurers held a moment of silence. While honoring their silence, Marstin inwardly felt anxious: he wanted to ask so many things about the lord -- his late father.

“And just like back then, the hate has returned because the true criminal hasn’t been found,” Oswald continued before Marstin could ask anything. “We found out why the hate is back, and it’s a foolish reason . . . and yet, entirely depressing.”

All four members of the Iron Yaks let out a dismal sigh.

“What happened?” Marstin asked, prompted by his curiosity.

Yarrow shook her head. “Remember the large herd of ice caribou we barely avoided? Well, that herd is the cause of all this mess. At least two villages were destroyed, several trade caravans demolished, and a town heavily damaged by the massive herd. Many lives were hurt, and quite a few were even killed. The bulk of the fatalities were adventurers out searching the country for the cause of the caribou problem, who were trampled by the herds. Since it was the tribal nation that requested aid in dealing with the issue, most are laying the blame at their feet. That’s why the reward is minimal; the original reward is being diverted to pay unfair reparations imposed upon the tribes by the local governments to cover the cost of damages and lives.” Yarrow sighed. “We didn’t do anything, but we have to, as you say, ‘foot the bill’ so to speak.”

Marstin could barely process the words he heard. Two villages destroyed, a high number of fatalities, and undeserved hate being directed toward the tribal people; he was in shock.

My fault, it’s all my fault! Marstin grabbed his head as his breath became labored.

“Marstin, calm down Marstin!” Oswald urged as he grabbed the teen’s hands. “Marstin, look at me! This is not your fault! Understand? You did not do this. We did not do this. The tribes did not do this. Whoever placed that crate is potentially at fault, but not us, remember that!”

Marstin nodded and slowly lowered his hands, his breath slowing.

“It’s a shame the crate burned so well,” Yarrow sighed in regret. “It would have been easier to prove the cause of the stampede with it.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t like it,” Oswald crossed his arms. “Too many strange things have happened back to back. The situation with the ice caribou, the strange crate, the Thieves’ Guild ambush, a change in the attitude toward the tribes, the guild master missing; any one of these on their own would warrant an investigation. And yet the guild seems relatively peaceful. Strange times seem to be upon us, and it feels like someone is playing around in the dark. And knowing this, we can assume why the guild master left. Since we reported the crate, then that makes us the easiest target to pin the blame on. Knowing the guild master’s personality, he would do everything in his power to prevent unfair charges from falling on our heads.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Marstin asked slowly. “Maybe, can we travel to Iora to check on the guild master?”

The other members of the Iron Yaks looked at each other and shrugged, before George – who had been relatively quiet for a while – answered. “If we are right, then going would just place us in an awkward situation, maybe even getting ourselves arrested. Without more information from the guild master, we shouldn’t take any action that could impact whatever it is we are doing. Though, unless he shows up soon, we may have to suspect that something a bit more dire happened to him.” Marstin couldn’t help but agree with the Iron Yaks’ Archer, but he really hoped he was wrong about something dire happening to his mentor.

“In any case, we need more information,” Oswald summarized.

“Well, we can ask around,” Frain pointed out. “I’m sure one of the secretaries might have an inkling about the situation at large, and the other adventurers surely are interested in finding the truly responsible party.”

“Fine,” Oswald nodded. “You take Yarrow and George around. Marstin and I are going to talk with Barklin.”

“Who is Barklin?” Marstin asked.

“Barklin is the head secretary here. He’s one of the ones with the most authority under the guild master and knows everything that goes on here in the guild,” Oswald explained. “The guild master trusts him, and thus he’s more privy to private things. Though, whether he’ll tell us anything is up to him.”

Marstin followed the experienced adventure-leader out of the room back into the lobby. There, Oswald walked up to a man at the end of the receptionist table who was busy working on some paperwork.

“I know why you’re here,” Barklin said suddenly without looking up. “And my answer to you is the same as it was to the others. News will be shared once the guild master gets back in touch with the branch.”

Marstin observed the receptionist with a mild curiosity. Even sitting, he could tell that Barklin was a tall man, with a lankier frame than the typical Istut adventurer. He wore what appeared to be a variation of a butler’s uniform, keeping the black and white motif with golden buttons on his shirt and wrists but in clothes that were more in line with normal formalwear. He had a monocle over his right eye that glowed softly with some sort of magic.

“It’s me, Barklin,” Oswald spoke up. “I know that my team is somehow involved, and we want to help.”

Barklin’s feather pen paused, and he sighed. He looked up. “Well now, if it isn’t young sir Oswald and young sir Marstin. Yes, I did hear about your actions with the . . . ‘incident’. The guild master was quite pleased by your actions originally, saying you brought a bit of spot shine to the branch, and he bragged up the ladder about it. Unfortunately, well, things have occurred since then.”

“I’m aware,” Oswald nodded. “But is there anything you can tell us? Any relevant correspondence?”

Barklin shook his head. “There isn’t anything the guild master left behind that would be useful to you.” He paused for a moment, inclining his head. “Well, in actuality, there was a semi-public notice that came into the guild master’s office a day ago. When looking for the guild master’s instructions, I noticed a parchment left on the quest counter in his office that seemed out of place. I’ll get it for you.”

“You’re okay showing that to us?” Marstin asked, a little surprised. After all, it was something in the guild master’s office.

“As it was in the quest counter bin, that means it was meant to be put up publicly at a later date,” Barklin explained. “As such, there is no need for secrecy, especially when it’s meaning has been . . . well, you’ll see.” The secretary got up and stretched his back before walking over to the far side of the room and snatching something off the counter. He handed it to Oswald, who looked at it and grunted, before passing it to Marstin. When Marstin read it, he saw that it appeared to be some sort of letter written on much fancier parchment than they used in the Guild, and that there had been some sort of liquid spilled onto it, making the ink run in places to become completely illegible.

To: (illegible)

(Illegible) returning to Graniton for the summer and (illegible) property be returned to (illegible). You can find (illegible). I appreciate your (illegible) in this matter.

Best Regards,

G (illegible)

“I don’t understand; what does this mean?” Marstin asked, handing it back to Barklin. In the back of his mind, however, the former thief had a sneaking suspicion that he should know what this letter meant. It could almost be classified as a gut feeling that this letter was somehow, in some way, related to himself.

“I’m not sure, honestly. It could mean a lot of things. But it could be a potential clue to what happened to the guild master,” Oswald said with a shrug, before turning back to Barklin. “Has anything else of note happened here in the last week?”

The tall man just shook his head and copied Oswald’s shrug. “Nothing that I know of; it’s been extremely quiet here in the guild branch ever since the Thieves’ Guild was put down. We,” he waved at the few secretaries in the room, “have been mostly free of work to do, while most of the adventurers have been out investigating the caribou or off on other quests. With the ‘incident’ having occurred and the guild master gone, however, I’ve just been staying here in the branch working overtime. So it’s possible that there is something serious happening in the town, but I wouldn’t know much about it.”  He paused for a moment with his head cocked to the side, as if thinking. “Now that I think of it, though, I had heard that the Graniton mayor had taken ill or something and hadn’t been seen in a while. Other than that, I believe I heard that the merchant fellow that owns the villa outside the walls is coming back for the summer. That’s about it, though.”

A villa outside of town?  Is that who I think it is?  Marstin thought furiously for a few seconds as everything came together in his head; he looked at the others, but they didn’t seem to make the connection. Probably because they didn’t know the exact details of everything I went through with the Thieves’ Guild and the unique jewel I was supposed to help steal.

“Ghevin Drestice?  Is that who you’re talking about?” Oswald asked, surprised, “That ruddy opportunist could be trying to take advantage of the situation again. What’s he coming back here for?” Oswald paused. “Wait, is he the ‘G’ from the letter?”

Barklin chuckled, “I agree with your assessment of the man, but I have no idea why he’s coming back this early. The letter could be from him, but it would be quite odd, considering he’s never felt the need to announce his presence specifically to the guild master. As you know, the two aren’t overly fond of dealing with each other.”

Marstin’s body went cold when he thought about the merchant he’d never met -- or at least, never remembered meeting. The long-forgotten memories of his family’s demise – and the potential culprit behind their demise – flashed through his head, and his fists balled up as a vengeful rage flooded his body.

“Another odd event to add to the bill. Out of curiosity, Marstin, do you know anything about- wait, what’s wrong?” Oswald asked, seeing Marstin with barely restrained violence in his posture.

Oswald’s voice calmed him down a little as Marstin realized what he was doing. His fists unclenched. A few stings of pain on his palms showed him that he had been clenching a bit too hard and drew some blood. You don’t know for sure it was Drestice that killed your family. You have no proof, remember?  Marstin had thought about it many times since the memories had come back to him, but there was never any actual evidence of Drestice being involved; his presence alone wasn’t enough to prove that he had done the deed, as much as Marstin wished it was. He also had to consider the high chance that these long-forgotten memories were inaccurate.

“Sorry, I’m fine. But I’m pretty sure that this letter is from the merchant, because I have it on fairly good authority that the guild was holding something important for Ghevin Drestice.”  Even saying his name made his anger rise, but Marstin was able to push it down and gain control of himself in a few seconds.

“Oh?  What was this “important” item the Guild was holding?  And where did you learn of this?  Was it from your…former associates?” Oswald asked bluntly. Marstin flinched at the imagined hint of accusation in his tone, but the former thief couldn’t fault him for it – it was a legitimate question.

“In a roundabout way, yes; but I know about it for sure because the guild master told me himself,” Marstin said honestly. He really didn’t want to get into all of the details of the raid on the caravan and how he had been “tricked” into joining the Adventurer’s Guild, at least according to the Thieves’ side of the story. “As for what the item is exactly, I don’t know; all I learned was that it was some sort of unique gemstone.”

“That seems like such an odd kind of little thing to entrust the Adventurer’s Guild to keep safe,” Barklin commented. “I’m sure that the villa's compound could keep it just as safe as the Guild house, perhaps even safer. Though,” the secretary gave a knowing wink, “I’m sure the guild has never been attacked by small thieves, yes?”

Marstin blushed, recalling his thievery attempt at Ghevin’s mansion, the event that started him on his road to becoming an adventurer. It was the one thievery story he was okay telling the guild master, who had apparently shared it with his confidants. “I’m sorry, that’s all I know. Though if we connect the merchant’s arrival with this letter, then it could be that Ghevin was expecting the guild master to be here to deliver the jewel.”

“And if that’s true, then that could be the last thing the guild master prepared before he up and disappeared,” Oswald finished. “Or, he wasn’t able to handle the letter before leaving. Either way, I doubt anyone here knows where the guild’s vault key is, right Barklin?”

Barklin nodded. “The key to the vault, which contains all down payments for quests, collected adventurer dues, and requisitioned items, is kept on the guild master at all times, or in a safe location known only to him. It’s the main reason he can’t be absent from the branch for too long. Still, we can make do with the supplements we have on hand, and if needed, loans from the merchant guild, but those are only temporary measures. I suppose I’d best add preparing for Mr. Drestice’s arrival to my to-do list, if his intention is to come here.” Barklin’s face suddenly twitched, and he groaned. “Ah, I hope the guild master left the key to the vault in the secure place here; otherwise I’m going to have to deal with a very angry merchant. It’ll take more than a few drinks to push me through that meeting.”

Oswald and Marstin bid a quick farewell to the secretary, who was muttering under his breath as he waved them off, and they walked over to a table to wait on the other three members of the Yaks. After a round of boiled and cooled water, the three joined the two men at the table. From what Yarrow, Frain, and George had heard, the rumors ranged from the ridiculous to the absurd: like how the guild master was off to see his newborn child, or the guild master was fleeing from his long-lost fiancé, or the guild master was off to conquer another guild to win the affection of a stone-hearted lover. Marstin couldn’t help but wonder what the guild really thought of their guild master, given most rumors were of his love life.

More important, however, was the discovery that not many adventurers were interested in blaming the tribes for the caribou disaster. There was no profit to be made hating, and most were good friends and colleagues with the few tribe members like Yarrow who worked as adventurers in the branch, so the resentment was low. Not zero, of course, because some people thrived on hating and blaming others, while others had personal conflicts in their history. But these numbers were low enough to not be worrisome. If anything, the greater populace outside the guild was more resentful than those within it, thanks to the exaggerated stories passed around the taverns of ‘the tribes’ great revenge’. Yarrow admitted the idea would have been quite amusing as a joking threat, to send a whole 100 herds of caribou at their enemies, if it hadn’t actually happened.

In the end, only Marstin and Oswald had found anything useful, so it was decided it was time to break up for a midday meal. Everyone else got up, but Marstin stayed seated, his eyes just locked onto the table in front of him, pondering. “Are you coming, Marstin?” Yarrow asked, but Marstin just shook his head after a moment’s hesitation.

“No, I can’t; I really just need some time to think things over. My, er, wound is starting to bug me again, so I’ll go pick up a potion from an alchemist. Go have fun without me.”

Oswald, Frain, and George just looked at him funny, but the Iron Yaks’ leader let him off the hook all the same. “Understood. Well, thanks a lot for coming with us on this quest, Marstin. We’ll send you your cut of the reward once it comes in and will let you know if we hear of anything else.”  Marstin just nodded his head in acceptance.

“I’ll stay with Marstin, then,” Yarrow offered, sitting back down across from him. “I’m not that hungry anyway.” She didn’t say it, but everyone understood that Yarrow wasn’t too interested in going to a tavern where stories were being passed to incite townsfolk against her and her people. With all of the developments with the guild master, the former thief had nearly forgotten the altercation that had happened on the streets of Graniton.

“Thanks, Yarrow,” Marstin nodded.

“No problem, I understand the load that’s been dropped on your head, and my own. So…what should we do, now?” the Istutian Polar Wizard asked, sitting back in her chair and looking exhausted.

“Well, I know you said that you didn’t want to go back out there – and you can say no – but I was thinking of heading over to Kyra’s to let her know I’m back. I don’t use the normal routes to get there, so I doubt we’ll run into anyone,” Marstin suggested. The image of a friendly smile on Kyra’s face had peeked through his exhaustion, giving some energy.

Yarrow thought about it for a little while, before she nodded. “Sure, let’s go see your girlfriend.”

“She’s not—whatever, never mind.”  He didn’t want to argue about it, since they needed to get moving. Yarrow had only met Kyra through Rowen’s life-threatening illness, but he hadn’t really heard about their meeting beyond that it happened. Given the cheeky smile playing across Yarrow’s face, Marstin couldn’t help but feel suspicious. More so when she grabbed hold of his arm like a lover, which he quickly shook off to her amusement.

There hadn’t been a lot of time after he had officially become an adventurer for Marstin to work on any potential relationship that might coalesce between him and Kyra Risenflour; regardless, it was something he knew that both of them wanted. Now that he was back in town, the former thief wanted to work on strengthening his rapport with Kyra’s father, who ran the bakery. It was only through the older man’s approval that the teen would be able to fulfill his dreams of being more than just a friend to the baker’s daughter. That, and avoiding a sudden death if he ever accidently made Kyra upset; her father was a former warrior after all, and a very protective father.

Marstin led Yarrow out the back door of the Adventurer’s Guild, into the small courtyard located behind the building. He immediately went towards a few crates of what appeared to be surplus equipment near the fence surrounding the courtyard and used them to vault himself over the barrier, landing easily on the other side. He was only slightly worried that the Istutian Polar Wizard would need some help, but she landed next to him a few seconds later, dismissing those concerns. Marstin knew he couldn’t take some of his more…creative routes – which involved a lot of climbing and traveling over rooftops, but he had seen Yarrow move enough to be fairly confident she could handle the journey he had in mind.

Staying to the back alleys and out of the main streets, the former thief used his knowledge of the town to navigate his way over fences, up and over gates, and once through a very tight squeeze between two buildings. Yarrow was fortunately thin enough to fit through the latter obstacle, which was his only worry throughout the entire trek through the backroads he had memorized as a full-time thief. I never want to go back to that life, but I have to admit that it certainly helped me learn the ins and outs of the seedier parts of Graniton.

The Wizard didn’t seem to be bothered in the least when they had to pass by questionable things hidden in the shadows caused by the rapidly setting sun. In fact, she was indifferent to it all, as if she had seen things like that throughout her life, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“You really know your way around town,” and “You really know how to take a lady through town,” were the two main comments she made, hiding her mirth very skillfully within her words.

By the end of the journey, night-time was nearly settled over the city, and Marstin hurried before Kyra and her father went to bed. They tended to stay open until dark, prepping what they would bake the next day while it was slow later in the day, but shortly after they closed the doors they got their sleep; their day started earlier than most, but that was just a normal part of their job.

Luckily, Marstin and Yarrow arrived while there was still a little light in the sky, and Marstin breathed a sigh of relief. Made it!  He walked up to the bakery door and pushed it open gently, poking his head inside.

“Marstin! You’re back!”  Kyra saw him almost immediately, pulling off her apron and throwing it on the nearby shelf. Marstin could see her father, Olen, in the back of the bakery; when the baker heard his daughter speak, he looked towards the former thief and gave a little grunt, before turning back to his work.

Kyra pulled him inside and gave him a big hug, whispering, “I’ve missed you terribly. I don’t know if I like these lengthy quests of yours. Did you get enough to eat? Please tell me you didn’t get hurt again.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have no desire to do another one of these long quests for a while. I’ve been told that most quests aren’t this lengthy, and I for one have discovered that I don’t like to travel such distances. When the guild master orders everyone to help, though, it’s kind of a requirement,” Marstin said with his own smile, fully enveloped inside of Kyra’s arms – with his face in a spot that caused his cheeks to blush almost instantly. Part of the redness though, was because Kyra’s surprisingly buff arms were compressing him, and he lacked the strength to do anything to resist her.

“That’s good to hear, because it’s torture not knowing if you’re alive when you’re halfway across the country. I’m just glad you’re back now; to think, the guild actually had you helping those—” Kyra abruptly cut herself off and pushed Marstin away from the warmth of her arms. When she spoke next, it was with such a tone of voice that he was dumbfounded that it could have actually come from her, so filled with annoyance, worry, and shockingly, a hint of rage.

“What is she doing here, Marstin?”

Chapter 14

Kyra pouted and folded her arms across her chest. Behind Marstin, Yarrow had a teasing smirk on her face, her own arms crossed under her fur-covered bosom. Marstin looked back and forth between the two girls and blinked, his confusion dancing across his face like a royal ball. He had no idea why Kyra had taken such a tone regarding the older Yarrow. “Um, Yarrow came with me from the guild. I was with the Iron Yaks and . . . is she not supposed to be here?” Marstin considered for a moment. “Oh, did she steal bread when she was hungry, as well?”

A soft thud was heard as Yarrow’s hand slapped against the back of Marstin’s head, accentuated by Yarrow’s annoyed look when Marstin turned with a wounded question in his eyes. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life, I’ll have you know! Even when I didn’t understand money upon reaching the capital, I still paid back those who’s services I enlisted.” The polar wizard turned to look at Kyra, a soft smile returning to her face. “And, on the question of whether I’m supposed to be here or not, I do happen to be a customer at the moment.” The soft jingle of copper coins rang out as Yarrow shook her money pouch.

“Kyra, take the customer’s order,” Olen’s voice came from the back. Kyra’s face turned slightly pink, but she put on her best working smile.

“Dear customer, what would you like today?” she asked, her mouth twitching slightly.

Yarrow considered the board behind the counter, listing what remained of the daily breads. “I’ll take two soft loaves, and a sugared loaf as well. Same as last time, no need to wrap them up. I’ll take them in my own bag.”

“You’ve been here before?” Marstin asked, surprised, as Kyra walked back to collect the requested loaves.

“I found out about this place while you were sick,” Yarrow smiled. “And learned how delicious the bread was here. Didn’t you find the hard bread on our last quest familiar when you ate it? I placed a supply order before we left.”

Marstin nodded slowly as he realized he’d missed the connection, though he had thought that the bread they’d eaten in the woods, though hard, was still quite good. “Oh, I thought something about that bread was strange compared to other bread I’ve had before.”

“That’s right,” Yarrow nodded and said before Kyra could blow up at Marstin’s ill-picked description of her loaf. “This bakery produces the best hard bread for quests, by far; and I would have never found it if it hadn’t been for you. I’m not sure how it was missed, but I’ve been recommending the shop to other adventurers as well.”

“You’re still not getting a discount,” Olen’s dry voice rang out from the back. Yarrow made a ‘tch’ sound with her tongue.

“Here you are, two soft loaves and one sugar loaf,” Kyra’s stone-cold smiling face said as she handed over the loaves. As soon as the bread vanished into Yarrow’s adventurer’s bag, the young baker’s frown returned.

How professional, Marstin couldn’t help but think.

“Kyra, you aren’t angry with Yarrow because she’s a part of the tribes, are you?” Marstin asked bluntly.

The bakery seemed to experience a sudden freezing of time. The silence was broken by the twin sound of slaps striking Marstin on the head; a slap from the front and a fist from the back. The poor, foolish teen was knocked straight on his ass and looked bewildered. Both girls stood over him, painting a striking difference in appearance. Yarrow, taller and older with long, black hair, darker skin with rune tattoos, and covered in furs; Kyra, younger with shoulder-length, brown hair, paler skin, and dressed in a baker’s outfit of overalls and work clothes. Both were glaring.

“Marstin, you don’t ask such a blunt question like that in front of others, especially if you don’t want to know the answer,” Yarrow barked from above.

“And I can’t believe you’d think that of me!” Kyra growled. “I know you’re a clueless halfwit at times, but you need to learn some dignity. Don’t presume to know things and act on them!”

The two girls locked eyes and nodded.

“Daddy, I’m stepping out for a moment,” Kyra suddenly said.

“Okay, have fun,” Olen’s voice came suddenly, though at a much lower pitch than his usual loud voice. Marstin watched as both Yarrow and Kyra exited the room toward the backyard and stared. Without him noticing, Olen appeared next to him and offered his hand. “Boy, you have a lot to learn about women,” the giant man said as Marstin was pulled to his feet. “I don’t envy you, boy. Though, I can sympathize.” And with that, having said more to Marstin than he had in the last two weeks, Olen returned to the back area to finish cleaning. Leaving the young teen behind to wonder what exactly he had done wrong.

*****

When the girls failed to reappear after a few minutes, Marstin decided it was time for him to leave. The not-so-subtle hints from Olen helped to prompt Marstin’s quick exit, as the baker had taken to polishing his bread knives like a butcher with an odd look in his eyes. Marstin let out a sigh as he made his way down the main road toward the east side of Graniton. Previously, Marstin would never have set foot on the main street on the east side of town, where the visiting merchants had their headquarters and the majority of inns were located. His poverty-stricken and starving look would have gotten him arrested or kicked out before he could even take a step in by the guards, or worse, the private merchant guards.

Even these days, as a proper adventurer and member of society, Marstin wasn’t completely comfortable walking the streets at night, or really any other part of the day. However, he had a residence of sorts, now, and it happened to be in that direction. So he made himself walk as confidently as he could, with a couple of tough-looking guards giving him the stink eye. The young teen gave a nervous smile and nod before quickly increasing his pace. Soon, the familiar sight of the inn came into view.

The inn at which Marstin was staying was known as ‘The Starglass’. It was an inn that catered exclusively to adventurers, and only to adventurers under D rank. Outwardly, it resembled a three-story inn with wood board trim next to stacked stone, with a large central double doorway and many large windows scattered around at equal lengths. However, the inside was a different story.

When Marstin entered through the open front doors, the inside was revealed in its entirety. The lobby was massive, containing a sitting area, a full tavern restaurant and bar, a small receptionist area, and a round central staircase going both up to the next floor and down into the ground. The staircase was odd, as if the wood were constantly swirling in place like a spiral, and the people going up and down the stairs didn’t seem to need to move to get to where they needed to go. Marstin stood to the side to appreciate the magical nature of this place before walking over to the receptionist desk. There, as always, sat the ever-present owner of the inn, Yolna Gyver.

Yolna Gyver was an interesting person in Graniton. She and her husband had come to Graniton 15 years ago to retire from their lives as adventurers, and they had built their inn from the ground up. Her true age was unknown, as she was a rare half-elf who aged at a pace much slower than that of a typical human. She stood as tall as an average human male, with a thin, but not lanky, body normally dressed in soft dresses or warm furs. Her skin tone was a darker pale than one would expect from an elf, evidence of her human ancestry, as were her ears, which were only slightly pointed, as opposed to completely pointed. Her face was covered in soft features, with warm, brown eyes, a pointed nose with a rounded tip, thin lips that were normally curved into a small and wide smile, and long, shining, deep-brown hair that was wrapped in braids that changed style daily.

Marstin didn’t know too much about the innkeeper’s husband, only that he passed some time ago. What the novice adventurer did know was that both Yolna and her husband were incredibly strong adventurers, and that they were both skilled magic users. The inn was the result of their collaborative efforts, with the most obvious examples being the inside lobby that was larger than the outside limits of the building, the moving spiral staircase, and the most important and valuable part of the inn, the rooms.

Yolna locked eyes with Marstin and gave him one of her gentle smiles. “Young Marstin, it is good to see you have returned. Was your quest successful?”

“Hello, Yolna,” Marstin greeted his hostess politely. “I suppose the best way to describe it is . . . um, mixed success. The main goal was complete-”

“-but there were plenty of hiccups along the way,” Yolna chuckled. “Yes, I understand you quite well, young Marstin. The longer or more complicated the quest, the greater the chance of plans falling through like rain through a hole-filled roof. It is the most interesting part of adventuring, and the aspect that determines whether one is truly meant for the profession.” She gave Marstin a wink. “Was it to your taste?”

Marstin grimaced as the memories of the quest and all its pain and discomfort played through his mind. “Uh, well, I wouldn’t want all the quests I go on to turn out like this one.”

Yolna chuckled. “Ah, youth. In any case, are you here for your room key? As requested, my children removed the dust from your room three days ago at the end of the allotted week, and replaced your sheets, so it is ready for you to rest in. Your paid dues are now covering the next two months and three weeks; do you wish to add to your time?”

“I haven’t been paid yet, so I’ll hold off for now,” Marstin shook his head. “Do you have any work that needs to be done tomorrow that I can use to pay for a warm bath tonight?”

“Hm,” Yolna hummed as she tapped her chin. A wave of her other hand and a parchment flew up in front of her face and floated in place. She examined it with a detailed glance. “Ah yes, there are several chores that I require help with. Several have been picked up by other adventurers, but I still could use help gathering two stacks of firewood, having three tubs of potatoes peeled, slaying some horned beetles in the basement, and . . . hm, it’s that time of year, is it?” She seemed to be speaking to herself. “Ah, I apologize young Marstin. The final thing I could use help with is the gathering of guiga ore from the mountains.”

“Giga ore?” Marstin asked.

“‘Gui-Ga’ ore,” Yolna explained patiently. “It is a somewhat uncommon ore found in one of the closer dungeons south of Graniton, west of the mines. The dungeon is a mining type of dungeon, but the monsters that spawn there make it more suited for adventurers than regular miners. I use guiga ore to reinvigorate my children when they get worn down, which typically happens around this time of year. They don’t do as well once the warmth of summer sets in.”

“Is getting the guiga ore hard to do?” Marstin asked curiously.

“Well, it's more of a tedious task than anything else,” Yolna sighed. “It isn’t valuable enough in Istut to warrant a large trade of the ore, and other countries have their own mines to retrieve it, so it isn’t a valuable commodity to export, either. Not to mention, this mine requires not only miners but also guards to fight against the dungeon monsters that spawn occasionally. Mind you, it’s only weak rock golems, but by their nature, as inanimate monsters, they are very time-consuming to slay without a team. Most adventurers would rather take on a more profitable quest for the time it would take to mine the ore, to the point where I’ve had to do it myself these last two years.”

“I’d be happy to mine some guiga ore for you,” Marstin offered. “After all, I do need to do some quests closer to home for a while. Um, is there a monetary reward for this?”

“No, but I can offer you additional days of lodging for your help,” Yolna offered. “Mind you, that means unless you gather other adventurers from the inn to help and split the days, you will likely find no other help unless you hire them with your own funds. If you do, I advise you to put yourself in the quest giver’s perspective so that you don’t pay out more than you earn.”

“I understand Yolna, thank you,” Marstin slightly bowed, choosing to show respect for the veteran adventurer. “Can I borrow a pickaxe from the inn?”

“Of course. There will be one waiting for you here behind the counter tomorrow,” Yolna smiled. “Now, I will see that a warm bath is prepared in your room as an extra reward for your help. Is there anything else that you require tonight?”

“Just my room key,” Marstin replied.

Yolna nodded, and held out her hand, palm open and facing up. A key on a chain twinkled into existence, summoned from somewhere Marstin could not discern. This was the most valuable aspect of the inn: the security. If one did not have a key to a room, that person would be unable to find the room, even if they walked through every square inch of the building. It was rumored that to this day, there were several would-be burglars who were trapped in the inn, forever cursed to wander the never-ending halls and unable to find a door to enter. The keys to each door were always kept on Yolna unless in use, and the keys themselves magically vanished after being brought outside the inn or if stolen from their intended owner, so adventurers had complete security when it came to leaving things in their room. Of course, there were limits as to what one could have in the rooms, such as: no volatile magical equipment, no illegal drugs or stimulants, no items reported stolen by the Merchant Guild, no enslaved individuals, and no body parts. Any finding of these things would result in a booting of the individual from the inn -- literally, by a most impressive magical boot, size 50. Beyond that, anything went at the inn; though it was recommended when bringing others, especially the paid sort, into one’s room, one should be careful of one’s belongings being pilfered. Yolna was a personal believer of learning from experience, so she didn’t bother preventing petty theft of that nature.

After taking the key from Yolna, Marstin made his way to the tavern and placed an order for bread and jam to be brought up to his room, before heading to the spiral staircase. He stepped over on the right side and grabbed the railing, placing his feet on the first step. Without an abrupt feeling, Marstin was suddenly rising into the air at a gentle, yet quick pace, leaving the lobby behind him as he traveled up to the next floor. The staircase wound through a couple of identical- looking floors, with other adventurers coming and going while Marstin waited patiently. Finally, he felt a soft, warm feeling coming from his pocket, and he exited the staircase onto the next floor. The young man pulled out his key and pointed it down the hall, noting which direction the key glowed brighter, and followed it. A few doors down, the key glowed its brightest, and Marstin stopped in front of a nondescript door. The key fit perfectly, and the door opened to reveal the room within.

Each room started out the same, but over time would slowly morph to match the person who stayed within. Marstin’s room was still ‘fresh’ with a wood panel floor, two-door window, soft brown-cream colored walls, a side room for the drop toilet, a dresser for clothes, and the center-piece of the room: a single person-sized bed with three pillows and a warm blanket cover. Today, the room also contained a round, wooden tub filled with warm, steaming water complete with a bar of soap and an uncommon liquid hair soap made from local herbs.

Marstin enjoyed his warm bath until the water cooled to room temperature. As he dried his hair, he heard a knock at the door. After putting on his night clothes, he opened the door to find his ordered dinner waiting for him on a wooden plate, sitting on a table in the middle of the room with a chair, neither of which had been there before. He took it and enjoyed the meal in his room before settling himself for the night. As Marstin closed his eyes, and his breathing turned low, he truly felt at peace. A well-deserved, well-earned peace.

Chapter 15

As soon as the body inhabited by Progen and Stemmy arrived at Graniton, the town they had been heading towards the entire time, the interneuron cell stopped passing along most of the external information.

Host has reached habitation.  An overabundance of incoming sensory information is overwhelming Stemmy’s ability to process it all.  Attempting to concentrate on one sense at a time has proven to be difficult, as there are too many stimuli to sort them out with even a modicum of accuracy.

“That’s fine.  If you can, monitor the senses for anything that might seem highly unordinary, but leave them alone for now,” Progen said, now knowing Stemmy’s limitations.  “It will be up to the body to stay alive in this environment, as you – as well as I, come to think of it – don’t know enough about the dangers in a Human town.”

Without the frequent updates of where the body was traveling or doing, things settled down with the situation inside.  Which, inevitably, meant that boredom was back; in addition to the lack of information being fed to him about the outside, Stemmy had stopped interrupting itself when talking to Progen, meaning that the dungeon crystal wasn’t being bugged by cut-off conversations.

At first, he thought it might be a good thing, because now Stemmy was acting normally again.  However, when the only updates he received were of how the interneuron cell was progressing on the infiltration of the somatosensory nerves, which updates were few and far between, Progen started to become a bit worried.  It was a rare hour when there wasn’t some sort of alert regarding a stray bacteria or other pathogen that the body had identified and passed along the nervous system, where Stemmy would learn of it and tell the dungeon crystal.  Worriedly, the lack of any type of alert after nearly a day after the body arrived in the town – which should have been welcome – was not a good sign.

“Stemmy?  One of my immune squads just found a small bacterial infection that had slipped through the traps I set up near the lungs,” Progen asked with growing concern.  It wasn’t the fact that the infection was there, because it could be quickly eradicated by his own squad; no, it was the presence of other immune cells that concerned him.  “I can see that there were some of the body’s immune cells already fighting it when my squad stumbled upon them.  Was there no communication through the nervous system?”

Stemmy has detected no alerts over the last 26 hours, 32 minutes, and 49 seconds.  There are no bacterial infections identified within the host at this time.

That wasn’t good; for there to have been nothing for more than a day likely meant there was   something wrong.  His patrolling squads were quite good at eradicating the pathogens that invaded the body, and were adept at identifying when even an individual bacterium or virion managed to squeeze through his defenses – but there were only so many of them.  There were trillions of cells in the body, and nearly as many beneficial bacteria; without a way to identify issues as they arose, which the body’s lymphatic and nervous systems did an extraordinary job of, even when it didn’t have the immune resources to combat them, it was almost impossible for Progen to find them himself by looking.

Unless it was a massive infection that was easily visible with a quick glance through all of the systems he had influenced with his mana, it wasn’t likely that the dungeon crystal, himself, would be able to find most minor issues.  And minor issues would only stay minor for a short time before they became major problems, so if the nervous system was no longer sending along this information to Stemmy, then Progen was in trouble.

“I can see this happening with my dungeon senses right now, Stemmy, so there certainly is a bacterial infection.  Are you sure you haven’t intercepted any communication regarding these bacteria?  The lymphatic system obviously knows about them; otherwise, it wouldn’t have sent its immune cells here.”

Stemmy has not been informed of any bacterial infections.

Same answer as before.  “Do you think there is some sort of interruption in the nervous system, preventing it from reaching you?”  Progen wished that he had complete access to the nervous system; right now, he could see the blood vessels that ran parallel to most of the nerve cells, but actually seeing most of the nerves would require his crystal to travel in close proximity.  And not knowing what sort of problem he was looking for – unless it was blatantly obvious – it could take days, weeks, or even months to look at all that he could reach.

Stemmy detects no interruptions in the nervous system.  Communications are still arriving from the external senses of the host, as well as information from all of the internal systems.

“Well then, what’s the issue?”

Stemmy has not been informed of any issues.

That line of questioning was getting Progen nowhere.  Nor was trying to investigate it himself likely to happen, since he had no idea where to look, nor any easy access to fixing the problem – if there existed a physical problem in the first place.  Obviously, the body was still identifying the infections by invading pathogens, or else it wouldn’t have sent its still much-diminished immune cells to combat them – so that wasn’t necessarily the issue.  Since his interneuron cell was still receiving some information, there wasn’t a major interruption there.  More and more, given the evidence, the dungeon crystal was beginning to think that something was starting to go wrong with Stemmy, as unlikely as that seemed.

How Progen was supposed to fix something – when he didn’t know the exact problem – was something that he thought was nearly impossible, however.  As Stemmy didn’t think there was a problem with himself, nor the nervous system, the dungeon crystal’s relatively limited knowledge of nerves didn’t help the matter.  Until some sort of physical evidence of the problem was revealed, there wasn’t much that Progen could do to fix it.

What he could do was increase his own information net.  “Stemmy, I’m going to halt production of my larger squads.”

Stemmy identifies no reason to do this.

“I know you don’t, and that is why I need to do it.  I’m going to create masses of Reporters and start flooding all of the systems I have access to.  I’m also going to cut the amount of mana you have access to for infiltrating the somatosensory system in half, because this is now taking priority.”

Stemmy identifies no reason to do this.  There are no issues identified via the nervous system.

Progen ignored his assistant and finished off the last of the squads he was working on – number 87 – and started to create one Reporter after another, 4 every second with his regeneration, and sent them out to scour the respiratory system, as well as the upper portions of the digestive system.  Since 95% of the recent invasions and infections tended to concentrate themselves in those areas, he thought that was probably the best choice.

In less than 15 minutes after the first ones went off on their own, independent from the immune cells’ squads, Progen found that he was correct.

“Stemmy, I’ve already identified over 20 bacterial infections in the stomach alone – are you seriously not getting any information on these?!”

Stemmy has not intercepted any communications regarding bacterial infections.

Half of the infections, the more expansive ones at least, already had a smattering of the body’s immune cells destroying them; so again, it wasn’t a matter of the body not identifying the infections.  Something was preventing Stemmy from receiving those communications; either an external source was doing it, or Stemmy’s interneuron cell malfunctioning or deteriorating was the problem.  Neither cause was something that Progen could do anything about, however, because he was now too busy directing his squads to attack those infections he could now identify.  How many of these have been missed?  The dungeon crystal couldn’t help but be worried.

Luckily, if any luck could be attributed to the infections he found more and more of, none of them were particularly difficult to eliminate.  If the mysterious entity located in the brain was behind the communication block – which he was beginning to think was the case – it didn’t have enough influence to turn the bacteria and the few virus clusters he located into the deadly pathogens they had been after he had first arrived in the body.  Unfortunately, even if that was indeed the cause of the lack of neural communication with Stemmy, Progen didn’t have any way to stop it.  Yet another reason to break through to the brain and eliminate that external entity once and for all.

“Stemmy, I may have located the source of your problem.”

There are no neural communication issues that Stemmy can identify.

“Enough of that; there is an obvious disconnect, even if you cannot identify it,” Progen said shortly, annoyed at the interneuron’s insistence that there was nothing wrong.  “I think the entity that is holed up in the brain is causing some sort of blockage, so that you aren’t getting all of the information you need.  I don’t know how, unfortunately, which is where you come in.”  There was silence as Stemmy processed what the dungeon crystal said; this time, there was a slightly different answer, which was good to hear.

If there is indeed a blockage in the nervous system’s network of nerves, then there could be a disconnect in the automatic response, either at the location of the infection or within the response by the central nervous system.  The release of neurotransmitters, neuropeptides, and neurohormones upon the identified pathogens causes the immune system response.  From Progen’s observations, this process is ongoing, so it is unlikely that there is a disconnect in the initial identification of these pathogens; the likely cause is the response from the central nervous system as it relates to Stemmy’s location.

It took Progen a moment to dissect that response.  If he understood correctly, the body was still identifying these pathogens, but the “orders” for the immune system to eliminate them weren’t reaching Stemmy – even though the immune system was still getting them.  Looking around where he could access via his infused systems over the next hour showed absolutely nothing that he could identify as the source, as the dungeon crystal had feared.  The theory that the source of the problem wasn’t necessarily the mysterious entity in the brain helped, because it then narrowed the search and made it potentially accessible.  Of course, finding that problem was a whole new issue that Progen couldn’t devote his entire concentration on, because his Reporters were finding more and more infections as time went on.

The dungeon crystal was forced to bring in all of his squads that were patrolling around the body to fight the new infections before they raged out of control, and his new squads swept through the stomach and into the respiratory system like a destructive wave, clearing out everything that had been identified with brutal efficiency.  Unlike the body’s immune system, his squads didn’t have to navigate slowly through the blood vessels to attack their targets one at a time, with limited numbers because of its current state; Progen’s squads were “airborne”, swooping down like an avenging force, bombarding their targets with overwhelming and relentless attacks until there was nothing left but the remnants of bacterial cells or shredded virions.

They were brutal and efficient – but there always seemed to be more infections that had been allowed to survive intact because the body’s immune system didn’t have enough resources to fight them all.  After over 24 hours of constant search and destroy, though, Progen could finally sense an equilibrium in the number of infections and his immune cells hunting them down, and the rate of new ones being identified started to drop.  It was still going to take another day or so to completely eradicate all that had been found, but things were starting to look up.  The body’s immune system started to really hit its stride, which only made sense as it was still producing more and more immune cells as time went on – and as the number of infection sites continued to be reduced.  Many times, the infections were already being assaulted when his squads arrived.

Stemmy has intercepted information regarding a viral infection in the trachea, section IW-84.

Progen was shocked.  “Stemmy!  Has the problem fixed itself?”

Stemmy identifies no problem in the neural communication.

“Whatever.  Seems like it’s working now, though.  Sending 3 of my squads to the trachea, section IW-84.”  Now that he knew where to look, the dungeon crystal concentrated on that section, and he could indeed see what appeared to be an abnormal swelling in a large swath of the surface tissue cells there.  Seeing how many there were, he sent another squad there for backup.

It wasn’t surprising that his Reporters had missed the infection, because it was a little more difficult for them to identify viral infections than bacterial infections.  That, and there were so many cells to search that it was inevitable that many small infections would be missed until they were larger.

Stemmy has intercepted information regarding a bacterial infection in the stomach, section AV-32.

“Excellent!  I’m glad you’re back, Stemmy.  This should have us cleared up in much less time.”

The interneuron cell kept up a stream of locations for his immune squads to visit, where they typically arrived before the body’s immune cells had yet to even converge.  Progen stopped his production of Reporters and got back to making more squads, as it seemed as though the reporting issue had been resolved.  Whatever it had been that had caused it in the first place, the dungeon crystal didn’t know or even care about at that point – because Stemmy was back!

Chapter 16

Marstin’s eyes opened sleepily as he felt the first rays of sunshine break through his window, illuminating the room. He sat up and stretched, feeling the benefits of a good night’s sleep on a bed with minimal nightmares to bother him. After scratching his head, Marstin began his habit of going over the previous day's events to make sure he didn’t forget anything.

1.                  A monster attack occurred on the road near Graniton, oddly close.

2.                  Tensions against the tribal people were high, seemingly due to rumors and gossip.

3.                  He somehow made the two girls he knew angry, possibly asking the wrong question.

4.                  He had agreed to mine some guiga ore for Yolna in exchange for lodging days.

“Should I ask the Iron Yaks for help mining the guiga ore?” Marstin wondered out loud. He dismissed the idea a moment later. He didn’t have the funds to afford the four-person, D-ranked adventurer team on his own. Not to mention that none of the four lived at Starglass any longer, so he couldn’t afford to share the lodging days as payment. That left the young teen with recruiting unfamiliar adventurers at the inn.

“I wonder if anyone will be willing to talk with me,” Marstin thought as he rolled out of bed toward the dresser. A few minutes later, he was fully outfitted for the day and ready to go. His outfit of plant-based cloth shirt, leather pants, light leather armor that covered his torso and pelvis, light leather arm and leg guards, his knife sheath-holding belt, fingerless leather gloves, and leather boots with light socks made up his summer outfit with the addition of his old bag worn around his shoulders in preparation for his adventurer bag. Marstin double-checked himself for anything out of place before sheathing his knives and heading out. A couple of steps down the hall and he reached the magical spiral staircase, hitching a ride on the right side, moving down. In front of and behind him, other adventurers were getting on and off, excitedly discussing the coming day and their plans for it. Marstin tuned out most of the noise, mostly because tuning it out was polite, but also because he was too ingrained in his own thoughts to give consideration to those around him.

When the staircase section Marstin was on arrived at the lobby, the young teen almost forgot to get off and tripped as he rushed off, causing some of the other adventurers to snicker at him. Blushing, Marstin made his way over to the dining area to order a light breakfast, which was the sole complimentary meal the Stargazer offered. The waitress, likely the teenage daughter of one of the adventurers living in the inn, came by and asked what Marstin would like for breakfast. Marstin ordered his standard bread and jam, followed by the morning stew and a mug of cool water. It only took the waitress a few minutes to bring the order of freshly baked bread with elderberry jam, a mug of cool water, and a piping hot bowl of the daily special morning stew. That filling entree was what Marstin looked forward to the most, as it was extremely flavorful with many soft, juicy cooked veggies giving it taste and even adding to the ever-changing meat found in the stew. Today, it was chicken.

Marstin made sure to blow properly on each mouthful so as to not burn himself, something that had occurred several times when he had first started staying at the inn, as having regular access to full, hot meals was still a bit of an anomaly for the former street waif. The young man felt like humming happily as the full flavor made his tongue dance in celebration, his favorites being the carrots and the sliced onions that added just a hint of spice and earthy flavor. The bread, on the other hand, was made from the winter grain mostly commonly grown in Istut. Its taste was a mix between the sweetness of the wheat flavor imported from other countries and the slight bitterness of the rye flavor also imported from other countries. The grain had the tendency to form hard bread, but could be cooked into something softer if the right amount of heat was applied. The elderberry jam was made of preserves from the previous season, with a delicious sweetness that complimented the bread.

After downing the last of the stew and a third mug of water to cleanse the meal from his palette, Marstin patted his belly and smiled, holding in a satisfied burp. His morning routine complete, it was time to get to work finding a group to assist him in mining the guiga ore. He scanned the dining room, checking out the adventurers around him for some good prospects. The majority of people he saw were in groups, huddling together and whispering about one thing or another, likely about the plan for their next quest. The loners, on the other hand, didn’t appear too interested in talking with anyone else. Most of them were also drinking ale first thing in the morning, which Marstin took as a sign to not bother them.

“Who can I ask to help . . .” Marstin muttered to himself as he turned his head around to look at the other side of the room. “How much trouble could mining guiga ore really be? Could I mine it without needing to find a group?”

“Going solo to mine guiga ore? Ha ha, look at the stones on this brat!” a loud laugh from behind Marstin startled the boy. “The old saying is right: Newborns are unafraid of the forest lion!”

Marstin turned around and locked eyes with the speaker, a muscular, ginger giant with a wide, beard-covered smile and a massive battle-axe resting next to him. Also at the table was a young, blonde-haired woman in a priest’s outfit, a rarity in the north, and another redhead, though female this time, with a strong-looking body and a large, two-handed sword resting next to her. The bearded man beckoned with his hand.

“Argh, don’t take my words to heart, little boy. Come over here and speak with me.”

The red-headed woman frowned and smacked the man’s arm. “Big brother, you’re being very rude right now. Not only have you insulted him, but you’ve also commanded him like a common servant.” Surprisingly, Marstin could see the family resemblance between the two: same strong chin, muscular build, same-shaped nose, and a similar tanned skin color.

“She is correct, dear; you’ve been rude to this young man,” the blonde woman scolded lightly. “Come now, you know what to do.”

The red giant turned a slightly more interesting color of red on his face and coughed. “Well, if my cute little sister and my wife both say so, then it must be true. I apologize for my abruptness little, I mean, young adventurer. I ask that you join us at our table to talk.”

Marstin shrugged and changed seats. He once again could not help but admire how much stronger the three adventurers looked; even the woman in the priest outfit possessed subtle muscle definition in her exposed arms. She smiled gently at him.

“You must be wondering why I wear a priest’s attire,” she reasoned. “Though it is frowned upon, the role of a priest or priestess is not illegal up in the north, especially when serving the Adventurer’s Guild or any large organization. We are powerful casters of support and healing magic, making our powers quite valuable on the battlefield. In addition, the deities’ influences on this world are so great that it would be foolish to ignore the potential for catastrophe if a country ever truly offended them, not to mention that the Chosen born in the north need religious folk like me to guide them properly. Especially after various incidents of Chosen running amok in the years following the civil war.”

“But, I’ve always heard that the civil war from, uh, 200-300 years ago was over religion?” Marstin asked, confused.

The blonde lady nodded. “To be more precise, it was an ideological conflict between the two sides that occurred 180 years ago. If the North truly had been determined to throw away religion, it is unlikely the civil war would have merely ended as it did in a draw. At the end of the day, it was a war between those in power, as is the nature of most conflicts. Remember, young man,” the priestess’s eyes began to glow ethereally, “Power can only ever be gathered by the few, and by its nature is fearful of the numerous masses that can wrestle it away.”

“Linda, my sweet, you’re sounding like one of the white-robed kooks,” the muscular giant butted in.

The priestess, Linda, frowned and lightly punched her husband, making him wince.

The sister laughed. “Ha, you’re surely going to suffer for dinner tonight, big brother.” She then turned her attention back to Marstin. “Sorry you had to put up with their personalities. My big bro here doesn’t get manners, and his wife, while great, can’t help but lecture others when she’s prompted by their questions and stares. I suppose that is what makes her such a good priestess.” The older girl coughed. “Oh, I suppose introductions are in order. My name is Shane. This is my big brother, Marcus, and his wife, Linda. We are the adventurer team ‘Red Family’, a C-ranked team. All three of us are D-ranks, but our combination fighting style gives us the strength of a C-rank.” She winked at Marstin. “Lucky for us, otherwise Yolna would have kicked my brother to the curb to make room for more newbie adventurers.”

“Hello, there,” Marstin greeted politely. “My name is Marstin, and I am a G-rank adventurer. Um, but I should be getting a promotion when the guild master returns, I think.”

“That makes sense,” Shane nodded, “It doesn’t take too long to move up ranks from G to E, so keep up the good work. But, about what we overheard earlier, you’re looking for someone to accompany you to mine some guiga ore?”

“That’s right,” Marstin nodded.

“So, how’s the split?” Marcus asked abruptly, his eyes shining in excitement.

“The what?” Marstin blinked.

“He means the rewards for the quest,” Linda rejoined the conversation gracefully. “Excuse my husband, but we were curious how you planned to find help for the quest. Would it be a split in the reward, or would you be paying for the services of others yourself and retain the full reward?”

“That’s what I was worried about,” Marstin confessed. “I don’t have that many coins to pay others, so I’d have to split the reward. I just wasn’t sure how many adventurers would be interested in additional nights here at the Starglass-”

Marstin blinked as Shane wrapped her hand firmly over his mouth. She gave him a serious look while signaling with her other hand to Linda, who wordlessly cast a spell.

“Okay, the sound barrier is up,” Shane said a moment later and removed her hand, with Marstin realizing he could no longer hear the sounds coming from around the room. “Marstin, are you telling me that the reward for gathering guiga ore is free nights here at the Starglass?”

Marstin nodded wordlessly, the question dancing across his face.

Shane sighed and rubbed her nose ruefully. “Well, you might not be aware, but this inn actually is a bit more tricky than you might believe. I assume you found this place after a fellow adventurer at a higher rank, perhaps D, recommended this place yes?” She waited for Marstin’s affirming nod. “Well, did you wonder why they don’t stay here themselves?”

“The thought did occur to me, but I didn’t place too much importance on it,” Marstin admitted.

“Yeah, well that’s because this place is really fricken expensive for D ranks,” Marcus grumbled with his hands across his chest.

“What my big bro means is that the cost per night here at the Starglass Inn is proportional to your adventurer rank,” Shane explained. “Think about it, the higher rank you get, the more coin you make per quest on average. With how great this inn is, many adventurers would love to rent out a room for the rest of their lives here in Graniton, but where would that leave the other new adventurers further down the line? So, Yolna uses rank to calculate cost, with the ratio becoming more expensive the higher you go to discourage higher ranks from staying here. It isn’t common knowledge, but it is a public secret that Yolna actually permits C-ranked adventurers to stay here, but pretty much no C-rank can afford to stay long. So, do you understand what this reward of free nights means to us, and to others of similar or higher rankings?”

Marstin did some quick math in his head. It cost him about 10 copper pieces to stay a night, and with the reward from the Thieves’ Guild he’d been able to afford three months plus other life- related expenses. While he didn’t know the increasing proportions, he assumed by the C-rank comment, that perhaps the cost per night could potentially go up to many silver coins, and perhaps even a valuable gold coin a night. He shivered at the thought, and then realized the issue.

“Since Yolna gave me the quest directly instead of through the guild, that means it isn’t protected,” he said softly.

Shane nodded. “That’s right. For the most part, quests issued at the guild are single-use only, meaning whoever takes the quest can’t have it stolen by another party. On the other hand, quests given by individuals have no such protection, and thus are more open to shady tactics, such as stealing the required objective, not delivering the reward, and worse things. That’s why you should really only accept quests from the guild directly, though in this case Yolna is the right sort to trust. But, I doubt she would mind if someone else delivered her guiga ore, and she would not hesitate to give them the reward instead of you. You’re lucky my family here isn’t the type to steal. Otherwise, we’d have been out the door as soon as we realized what this quest entailed.”

“Oh,” was all Marstin could say, feeling extremely foolish.

You’re a fool for trusting others. They will betray you. They will use you and throw you away.

“But as I said, we are very trustworthy,” Shane said with a big grin, patting her chest proudly. “We didn’t earn our C group ranking by shady means, after all. Tell you what, Marstin, let’s make a deal.” Her eyes turned sly and confident. “You do the quest with us, and we get the free days of lodging. In return, we’ll pay you for double the amount of days we earn, no, triple! A G- rank like you only needs 10 copper a night, so we can definitely afford that over our current rates. What do you say?”

Marstin scratched his head. “Um, would it be too much to ask for some upfront to pay Yolna?”

“Ha ha, he’s a smart cookie on the uptake,” Marcus laughed loudly, slapping the table. “I like you kid, you listen. Tell you what, we’ll give you enough for nine days right now. That means we need to earn three days’ worth of guiga ore yes? You go up and pay for the rooms, and we can make our way to the mine or whatever.”

“You have a deal,” Marstin said, his body unexpectedly relaxing from its previous tense position. He hadn’t realized how nerve-wracking dealing with a different team of adventurers would be. Marcus handed over a small pouch of copper coins with a wide grin.

“We’ll meet you by the . . . uh, where is the mine located?” the red-haired giant asked.

“It's located to the south west, and it’s a mining type dungeon,” Marstin explained. “I don’t know where it is beyond those directions.”

“Okay,” Marcus nodded, “We will meet you by the south gate then, after we confirm the location of the dungeon. We already have two pick-axes for my precious little sister and myself, so be sure you get your own. Might as well pack for a single night also, since it’s possible we’ll arrive there and be too tired to do any work.”

Marstin nodded, and the Red Family got up with him. Linda waved her hands, and the sound of the world returned to Marstin’s ears. Linda gave him a polite bow and left with her husband and sister-in-law. Marstin walked over to the front desk and retrieved the pickaxe Yolna had prepared for him.

“Good luck with your quest,” Yolna gave him a knowing smile. “And good choice. The Red Family is a well-known team with integrity. Marcus just needs to learn to be less rowdy when drunk, and they’d be perfect guests.” She sighed regretfully.

Marstin didn’t even question how she knew what had happened, but just bowed his thanks and made his way out of the inn. Yolna’s eyes followed him out until he was out of sight, before turning to look out of the corner of her eyes at a group of rough-looking adventurers, who were also watching Marstin’s disappearing form. She pursed her lips, but then sighed. “Well, this will be a good lesson for him, I suppose. Best to learn now, while the stakes are still low.” She didn’t say a word as the rough-looking adventurers got up and casually made their way out into the town at a slow, relaxed pace.

Chapter 17

Pick-axe slung across his back, Marstin made his way toward the Adventurer’s Guild within the central district of Graniton. The early morning crowds were hustling about: delivery people taking messages and early deliveries to their intended recipients, bakers preparing the morning loaves, carriages being brought to their client’s pick-up spots, and adventurers maneuvering to and from quests. In his previous life, this was the best time of day to pickpocket, when everyone was in a hurry. Indeed, Marstin soon noticed a small urchin walking somewhat unsteadily into the road toward a more official-looking messenger. His tell-tale swaying, yet firm hands held in position under his tattered sleeves told Marstin everything that was about to go down.

Marstin pursed his lips; he hated getting involved in trouble. And yet, seeing someone who resembled the old him so much made his heart twitch; not the mention, the child was going to fail and suffer the consequences. The official messenger may have looked richer than the typical person hurrying down the streets, but that also meant he likely had more precautionary measures in place.

Marstin’s hesitation cost him the time to intervene, and the events played out before his eyes as he was expecting. The urchin clumsily bumped into the messenger, getting knocked aside from the larger man’s force, but not before the tiny hands had slipped in and out of the messenger’s bag. The urchin rolled to the side of the road, near the alleyway, in obvious anticipation of a quick getaway. Unfortunately for the urchin, as Marstin had been expecting, the formal-looking messenger somehow had appeared between the urchin and the exit, his arms folded crossly.

“Hand it over, brat, or you’re losing that thieving hand right here and now,” the messenger threatened.

Marstin shook his own head in sad resignation, as the urchin’s head frantically moved from side to side, as if searching for his salvation or exit. The poor boy would learn, as he did, that some seeming opportunities were not worth the risk. Having closed his eyes, Marstin was startled by the weight of something crashing into his leg. He opened his eyes and looked down, to find he was looking into the pitiful stare of the urchin.

“Big brother!” The little urchin pleaded. “Help me!”

Marstin’s mouth openly gaped at the diminutive young waif, who had apparently learned the art of ‘passing the blame’, so to speak. As expected, the young adventurer felt an arm clamp down on his shoulder from behind.

“So, you’re the one in charge of this brat,” the messenger’s cold voice rang out from behind him. “Return what you stole, or I’m calling the guards.”

Marstin nodded, his hand having slammed down on the urchin before he made his escape with both Marstin and messenger distracted. The teen-aged former pickpocket couldn’t help but smile wryly at the cunning the little boy already had: If he’d selected anyone else as his mark, they’d have been preoccupied with protesting their innocence while the real culprit escaped. The urchin struggled fiercely, but Marstin was at least strong enough to hold him tight.

“I see you are a reasonable man, so here,” Marstin said slowly, reaching into the hidden pocket in the urchin’s clothes and pulling out a wrapped piece of parchment. He handed it over to the merchant without fuss. “I apologize for the behavior of my younger brother.” As confident as he sounded, Marstin’s inner voice was just trembling in fear at the various possible outcomes from this confrontation.

The messenger took the parchment and grunted before running down the street and resuming his journey. Marstin sighed in relief; luckily the message had been too urgent for the messenger to pursue law-related trouble with him. The source of his stress gone, Marstin locked an angry glare onto the urchin, who ceased struggling after the parchment was gone.

“Hey mista’, how’d you know where I kept dat?” the urchin asked curiously, his eyes playful and wondering.

“You train your eyes for as long as I did, you’ll know what to look for when a thief performs their art,” Marstin said evenly.

“I ain’t no thief!” the urchin protested. “I’s heard that the Thieves’ Guild what-all got arrested and what not, so der no more thieves in the town. I’ma, uh, enterprising individual.”

Marstin rolled his eyes. “Right, and I’m the greatest adventurer thief in town.”

“Wow! Really mista?” the urchin asked with wide eyes. “Your’a thief and adventurer, and the greatest?”

Marstin paused and considered. As far as he knew, he was the only thief profession-based adventurer in Graniton currently, since the two guilds had been at odds for so long. So, saying he was the best thief in the Adventurer’s Guild wasn’t wrong. He nodded in confirmation.

“Wows!” the urchin gushed, “Hey, can yous teach me and my buds how to be like you? You look like yous make a lot of coin working as an adventurer. Is it a good life?”

Marstin let a small smile play across his lips. “Well, it’s a lot better than living on the streets, stealing pocket change and risking your hand every day. But, it isn’t easy. After all, you need to be able to have others trust you to have their backs, and to trust them to have yours. Not to mention, but every quest you take puts you closer to danger, getting more dangerous the stronger you get. I’m still learning, but,” Marstin smiled wide, “I don’t think I’d ever choose to stop being an adventurer.”

The urchin looked at Marstin’s sincere smile and hesitated.

“Could Is and my buds be adventurers one day?” he asked softly.

“Well,” Marstin chuckled, “first, you need to give my coin pouch back.” He gestured with his free hand, and the urchin sulkily handed over the pilfered coin pouch. Marstin weighed it with his hand. “All of it, now.” A couple of silver pieces were handed over, causing Marstin to chuckle, and release his grip on the little urchin.

“Well, your skills are decent at least,” he said with a wink. “Tell you what, I have to go on a quest today. When I get back in one or two days, you and your buds can meet me at the old shack on the south side with the rotten tree, and I’ll teach you all a few things. Take this for now, and buy some bread and jam.” Marstin handed over 25 copper pieces. “Share it with your buds.”

“Thanks, mista!” The urchin smiled happily before shooting toward the alley. “My buds and I will meet ya there in two days! Don’t forget!”

Marstin rubbed the back of his neck as the urchin vanished. “This feeling, is it what Oswald and the others feel when they guide me?” he asked himself. “It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it? Helping others; like father did.” The smile lasted a few more moments before reality returned in a flash of reddening embarrassment. Marstin couldn’t believe how cheesy he had been with the little urchin; the best thief adventurer, what a joke. He was still a G-ranked adventurer, the weakest rank! With a groan of self-loathing, Marstin continued his way down the road toward the Adventurer’s Guild.

The central plaza was as busy as ever when Marstin arrived, and the young teen made his way hurriedly through the hordes of merchants, residents, and adventurers to reach the guild depot next to the main guild hall. The side building, while smaller than the main lobby building, was still quite expansive on the inside, with all kinds of valuable supplies and monster parts and trophies hanging from the walls and ceiling. Many adventurers were standing in place, admiring a new weapon, or suit of armor, or the latest tent equipped with a heating stone to ensure a pleasant sleep. Marstin understood well the feeling of pain on their faces; the ever-persistent struggle of financial situation vs. having better equipment; he was sure he’d have to go through another round of that after going up a rank or two.

He shook his head quickly and made his way to the back, doing his best to not look up and around at the walls. The counter at the back was set up similarly as the receptionist area in the main guild hall, but without the inner partitions so as to give the counter workers more space to dash back and forth with orders. Today, a kind-looking, black-skinned man was waiting for Marstin. The man had to be a foreigner; Marstin didn’t know anyone with skin darker than tan who was born in Istut. He couldn’t help but admire how the color made the man appear as if chiseled from ebony stone, complete with the standard adventurer muscles.

“Good morning young sir, how may I help you?” the man greeted Marstin politely, “May I interest you in a sale on what we have currently in mining lanterns and torches? It’s a buy one, get one free sale going on until lunch.”

These seemingly mind-reading bastards are the reason why every adventurer is terrified to enter the depot with a full wallet. They can smell money and always seem to know exactly what you need.

Marstin didn’t express his inner thoughts as he said, “Actually, I am here about my adventurer bag. I was told it would be ready for me today?”

“Ah, so you’re here for a bag,” the man’s smile dimmed slightly, but was still quite pleasant. “May I please see your adventurer’s card?”

Marstin nodded and handed over his identification card. As he did so, Marstin couldn’t help but admire the fine craftsmanship that went into his, and every other, adventurer ID card. The material was some kind of unique substance that could survive most conditions even if the adventurer who’d been carrying it did not. It was locked by blood to the adventurer to prevent others from using it and could not be stolen, replicated, or faked easily without the permission of the owner and the guild. Even though Marstin’s adventurer ID was of the simplest type, it still gave him more information about himself than he knew himself.

Marstin

Current Profession: Novice Adventurer (G)

Level: 5

Country: Istut

Apprentice Mage: Lvl 3

Professional Thief: Lvl 11 (Warning) (Cleared)

Str: 10

Int: 12

Con: 9

Dex: 16

Cha: 12

Marstin couldn’t but be pleased with how his card had changed. Most of his stats had increased slightly, except his constitution which was still below average, and his levels had increased overall. It wasn’t anything too fancy, but it was progress he could be proud of.

The ebony gentleman examined the card with a keen eye before running a few magical tests to confirm the validity of the card. “Sir Marstin, your card has been found to be in order. Allow me a moment to retrieve your adventurer’s bag for you.” The counter worker vanished through one of the doors into the back room, taking only a few moments before reappearing with a standard adventurer’s bag made to easily work on one’s back, over one or both shoulders, or as a part of one’s belt. Marstin accepted it gleefully, his eyes blazing happily as he examined his personal adventurer’s bag, the mark of a true adventurer. The bag was made of some kind of leather with simple floral decorations and a clasp to secure the lid. It also had the faintest hint of magic that he could sense. Experimentally, he took the pick-axe off his back and placed it into the bag, watching in delight as it vanished within.

“Your bag is in perfect working order, Sir Marstin,” the counter worker smiled and explained. “It can hold the equivalent of eight stacked 2-by-2 boxes arranged in any order. Anything over that spatial limit will not be allowed within the bag. The bag itself is quite durable but can be damaged when placed under extreme duress. If your bag breaks, everything within will be expelled into the surroundings at random. If you find your bag is damaged, you can bring it here to be fixed for a small fee. You are not allowed to sell your adventurer’s bag, and it must be returned to the guild if you retire as an adventurer. You are permitted to decorate the bag as you like, but anything complicated should be left to us to ensure the bag is not damaged. We offer a full range of customization options and upgrades on adventurers’ bags, with our premium product capable of holding the volume equivalent of the entirety of the main hall lobby.”

“That’s alright, I don’t need any of that right now,” Marstin said with a nervous chuckle. Or ever.

“Understood,” the ebony man smiled. “Your new bag comes equipped already with the basic adventuring gear: rope, water flasks, a few healing potions of weak grade, a sharpening stone, torches, sleeping gear, wrappings, light stones guaranteed to light up the night, several weak antidotes, a map of the area, and a compass. These are all yours and do not have to be returned to the guild if you retire.”

“Now,” the man suddenly became more animated. “Given your current status as a new adventurer, the depot has several first-time deals for newcomers like you. Ah ah, please allow me to finish,” he held up his hands placatingly before Marstin could voice his dismissal, “Please do take these particular deals seriously, as they are only offered a single time per rank increase; in this case, your formal status as a G-ranked adventurer.”

Are the deals made at other times not to be taken seriously then?

“For instance, I can offer you a set of 6 medium-grade healing potions for a third of the price,” the man tapped his head knowingly. “Don’t look down on this deal; medium-grade healing potions can heal most mortal wounds, if applied quickly enough. They still require you to rest and recover stamina after, but they are life-savers in emergencies. Another deal I can offer you are 50 beast-repellent liquids for the price of 10. One bottle can enclose a standard campsite and remain active for 24 hours, a single day.”

Marstin’s interest was piqued, and he listened patiently to the other limited-time deals the counter worker offered him. The depot never cheated their customers, so Marstin understood the significance of the prices offered to him, but he couldn’t help but frown.

“I recognize the deals as valuable, but I don’t have enough coin on me to buy what I want,” Marstin admitted.

“That isn’t a problem,” the ebony-skinned gentleman said with a knowing wink. “As it turns out, Sir Marstin, your name is well-credited in the guild currently, and as such we can offer a loan to you to cover the costs of these deals, and only these deals. It’s set at a 2% interest rate per week, and you can pay it off by taking quests, from which we will deduct a minimum of 10% of the reward to pay the principal first. As you are a G-ranked adventurer, you even get your first month’s interest free.”

Marstin didn’t feel too terribly comfortable, but the items offered were really tempting to him. A single medium-grade potion could have saved him a lot of trouble from the knife wound . . . and beast repellent for the wolves. . . hold up.

“Hey, you’ve been offering me things I directly needed in the past and suffered without. What is this?” Marstin crossed his arms and stared suspiciously.

“All your guild-related activities are reported in with the results of the quests,” the counter worker explained easily and without discomfort. “We here at the Adventurer’s Guild Depot pride ourselves in our ability to match our best and most appropriate products to the right customers, and we have access to your guild history after scanning your adventurer’s ID.”

In the end, Marstin was persuaded to take the loan of 5 gold pieces to purchase the set of medium grade health potions, the 50 beast repellents, a basic cooking set for the outdoors, a pair of magical throwing daggers that returned to their sheath after being thrown, a grappling hook and rope enchanted with increased durability, a set of antidote potions covering all standard ailments, and a pair of arm bracers enchanted with the ability to deflect magical attacks, but which required a 24-hour period to recharge.

Marstin couldn’t help but feel off, especially with the wide happy grin on the counter worker’s face, but he accepted everything in the end.

“What’s your name, uh, sir?” Marstin asked curiously

“No need for sir, Sir Marstin,” the man waved him off. “We counter workers call all adventurers sir as a form of respect for how you place your lives on the line for the betterment of others and yourself. As for me, please address me as Elijah. Feel free to request me as your personal counter worker from now on.”

“I will! Thank you for your help,” Marstin bowed his head politely, and left the depot, his new bag feeling a tad bit heavier, filled with dreams of the future.

Before heading down to the south gate, Marstin decided to make a stop by Olen and Kyra’s bakery to pick up some hard bread for the road. The bakery wasn’t too busy this early in the morning, and Olen was too busy baking the rest of the daily bread to bother with Marstin, so Kyra was there at the counter to greet him.

“Good morning, Marstin!” she greeted him cheerfully. “Welcome to the Risenflour Bakery! How may I assist you today, dear customer?”

“I’d like to buy a dozen pieces of hard bread for the road,” Marstin explained, taking the coin pouch out of his adventurer’s bag to count the copper pieces.

“Wow, is that your adventurer’s bag?” Kyra looked on in surprise. “How convenient! That means you’re a real adventurer now, Marstin! Congratulations!”

“Thanks Kyra,” Marstin smiled happily, handing over the copper pieces. “It’s all thanks to you, you know. I’ll never be able to pay off my debt to you.”

“The boy’s right,” Olen’s rough voice came suddenly as the large man appeared next to his blushing daughter. “He does owe you, but,” he said as he examined the bag with a small smile, “you stay committed to your path, boy, and keep up this respectable life, and you’ll pay her kindness forward to others. And they will pay that kindness forward themselves, and the entire world will benefit. Heh, if you become a big famous adventurer like I was, my daughter’s kind act will have become the foundation of your greatness.”

“Daddy!” Kyra screeched, her entire body red with sheer embarrassment at her father’s exaggeration. “How can you even say such words with a straight face? Gods above, get back to working! And you were never a famous adventurer!”

Olen merely chuckled and left without defending his adventuring past, leaving the two teens to blush as the other customers in the store hooted and chuckled at them.

“Here’s your order,” Kyra hurriedly handed over the bread. “And, uh, ignore most of what my father said. I do think you’ll be a great adventurer one day though, don’t ignore that. Now, um, get going so I can serve the other customers.”

“Okay,” Marstin mumbled as he placed the bread into his adventurer’s bag. “Oh, what did you and Yarrow end up talking about yesterday?”

Kyra’s voice turned neutral, but with an odd hidden smile behind it Marstin couldn’t read very well. “That’s private woman-business, Marstin. But, maybe you’ll find out after you get back.”

Chapter 18

With delicious bread in hand and the adventurer’s bag acquired, Marstin had finished all his business in Graniton for the moment. He took the main road to the south gate of the town, where a couple of familiar faces were waiting for him. The young adventurer smiled at the sight of his old friends, the gate guards.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little thief-turned-adventurer,” the right guard, Larry, grinned. “You see this, Phil; his grace has finally decided to grace us with his presence.”

“Oh, leave the kid alone, Larry,” the left guard, Phil, rolled his eyes, “You know as well as I do that he has no idea which gate we’re going to be assigned to each day. Hell, even we don’t know what gate we need to guard until the morning shift begins.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Phil,” Larry groaned. “Teasing this kid might be the most exciting thing that happens to us all day, you know? Not like anything interesting ever happens while we are on guard duty.”

“Good.”

“No, not good,” Larry argued. “Come on Phil, don’t tell me you weren’t envious when that jerk duo Hyde and Curt were called in to deal with the Thieves’ Guild in town and we were left at the gate? Those bastards didn’t even try to use the darn gate to escape, why leave us there? Hells below, the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to us on duty is saving this kid's life.” He jerked his thumb at Marstin.

“Then why don’t you ask him to get into trouble while we’re on duty?” Phil rolled his eyes.

“Hey, that isn’t a bad idea!” Larry grinned, turning back to Marstin. “Hey kid, where you off to? Getting into any trouble?”

“Does going to mine guiga ore count as trouble?” Marstin asked.

“Not our type of trouble,” Larry sighed in defeat. “It’ll certainly be troublesome to you, anyway. Really though, guiga ore? That’s an odd thing for a quest to be put out for. Not many uses for it in Istut; it doesn’t take the cold too well when used in things. And the only mine around here is half a day’s journey south-west into the mountains. Bad luck for us, I suppose.” Larry let out a melodramatic sigh.

“Don’t let this talkative idjit get into your head,” Phil pointily said to Marstin. “If he really was the kind to go looking for trouble, he would still be an adventurer instead of a lazy-ass gate guard like me. Er, not that I’m lazy,” he hastily corrected himself.

“There’s a difference between looking for trouble and trouble coming to you,” Larry argued. “Adventuring asks for all kinds of trouble; I’m more the ‘save the damsel in distress’ kind of trouble-solver.”

“Damsels, eh? And where, pray tell, are they here in Istut,” Phil raised an eyebrow, his gaze settling on an exiting group of female adventurers, laughing as their muscular and scarred bodies glistened under the summer sun. One of the girls posed her arm biceps seductively and winked at the gate guards, causing the other members of the group to laugh harder before they left.

“Er, well, that’s what I heard happened while I lived in other countries,” Larry replied sheepishly. “This country is just filled with scarily strong people. Even the rats are bigger.”

“You’re not from Istut, Larry?” Marstin asked, surprised. Though, in retrospect, Larry lacked the average muscles found on anyone who worked a physical job in Istut, and his skin was slightly darker, as well.

“Nope,” Larry shook his head. “I’m originally from Boswell, but I ended up retiring here after I, well,-”

“The fool here fell in love with an Istutian woman and retired before even courting her properly, so he could become a full citizen,” Phil interrupted with a chortle. “Then when he attempted to court her, she laid him so hard into the ground he shattered near every bone in his body. And then she told him she only liked men stronger than her. So here he is working off medical bills and doing service to the country at the same time to become a proper citizen, as a worthless guard like me. Not that I’m worthless, I mean.”

Marstin gaped, while Larry scratched his chin sheepishly.

“What can I say,” Larry shrugged, “she stole my heart and my wallet. But I’ll make her my wife someday, that I promise you both!”

“But, it doesn’t sound like you’ve made any progress at all,” Marstin frowned.

“Oh, really?” Larry chuckled. “Then why does my future love always leave through the gate I’m guarding and acknowledge me? She just did it again, heh heh.” The gate guard stared wistfully toward the back of the departing cadre of female adventurers. The leader, the one who had flexed at the trio of men, was laughing at a good joke none of them could hear.

“Because maybe teasing the fool helplessly in love with you is a good way to build up morale for a quest?” Phil rolled his eyes.

“Bah, she’s interested in me and you know it,” Larry scowled. “Remember Marstin, the first step toward courting a man or woman is to hold their interest in some way. Even if she thinks of me as a clown, that only goes to show she’s thinking of me, which means I still have a chance!”

“At least until she shows up with a man on her arm that isn’t you,” Phil pointed out. “And gaining attention is the first step toward persuasion, not courting. If you want to court properly, you need to ensure your prospective partner has good feelings toward you. Like when you lift a boulder out of the way for her.”

“How the hell am I supposed to find a boulder to lift, and then lift it? That’s terrible love advice!” Larry scoffed.

Marstin decided it was a good time to leave as the two began to fall into a bickering argument, and he bid farewell to the both of them before heading out of the gate. Outside the walls of Graniton, Marstin found the three members of the Red Family waiting for him.

“About time you got here, runt!” came Marcus’s loudly brash voice, though his eyes twinkled in amusement more than honest criticism. “Ah, only kidding,” he said hastily as both Linda and Shane fixed their glares onto him. Both women starred for a moment longer before turning their cheerful looks towards Marstin.

“I greet you with the blessings of Lord Equinox,” Linda said gently.

“Nice to see you’ve made it, Marstin,” Shane greeted. “Don’t worry, we just got here ourselves.”

Marcus cleared his throat, bringing the group’s attention back on him. “I see you picked up your adventurer’s bag. Congrats on becoming a full-fledged, official adventurer.”

“Thank you, sir,” Marstin bowed slightly.

Marcus scratched his head awkwardly, as if dealing with respect wasn’t something he was used to dealing with. “Uh, yeah no problem. Anyway, we found out the location of the mine, and it’ll be about a half day’s journey there. Shane is carrying a portable cart we can use to transport the ore, so the return trip will take a bit longer. Are you prepared to do a bit of camping?”

“I am,” Marstin said. “The counter worker in the depot was able to give me a good deal on a new tent.”

“Oh ho,” Marcus laughed, “I see you decided to take the offers. Heh heh, well alright then. Good to see another one marrying the life.” Without explaining further, the large red-headed giant-looking man picked himself off the ground and began the hike toward the mine, leading a very confused Marstin and company behind him.

“My big brother is just taking a little laugh from your fortune, or misfortune as it could turn out to be,” Shane explained as she strolled up next to Marstin. “Those were some really great deals the depot offered you, right?” She smiled slyly at Marstin’s nod. “Heh, well of course they are. After all, it is important to the ecology of the guild that youngsters put their all into working for the guild, and don’t retire too quickly due to the stress of the job. Think for a moment, but are you able to pay off your loan if you retired from adventuring?”

Marstin shook his head. He’d never seen five gold pieces beyond the vault in the Drestice Manor, let alone hold them. Given that most transactions were done with copper and occasionally silver, gold wasn’t very common to find.

“Exactly,” Shane nodded in affirmation. “If you quit, then you fall into debt, and worse case have to sell yourself into slavery as a worker slave. So with that incentive behind you, you’re going to work your hardest to be the best adventurer you can be. Ironically, those deals really are the best, and you’d be worse off without taking them, so it’s as if you feel like you’re grudgingly working for your own benefit. Neat trick, huh?”

“Sure, neat,” Marstin said, his eyebrow twitching. “I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t have any plans on retiring anytime soon.”

“But, don’t forget they offer even better deals every time you rank up,” Shane giggled. “Fu fu fu, that’s why my brother laughed at you; he thinks you’re a fellow sucker. The dim-headed fool can’t help but get really into the offered deals and put himself back into debt. Just another reason why this quest for guiga ore is so valuable to us. That battle axe on his back? Top-of-the-line enchanted weapon he got on his deal for rank D, and he is nowhere done paying it back.” Marstin finally couldn’t help but allow a chuckle to pass through his lips, as he watched the muscular giant in front of him swagger forward in a cheerful mood. Shane gave Marstin a knowing wink before hurrying up to start a conversation with her brother. Marstin watched the two family members, feeling a faint sense of envy and loss in his heart.

“Does seeing them hurt you?” Linda’s soft voice came from behind Marstin, startling the young adventurer. He turned his head, and she continued to smile at him.

“Well, I guess,” Marstin admitted a moment later. “After all, my family has been dead for many years. It’s very hard to remember them these days, to the point I’m worried I’ll forget them.”

“There is no shame in this, Marstin,” Linda comforted him. “It is already significant that you could remember them after so many years without a portrait to remind you of their faces. They must have really been special to you to have lasted this long in your heart.” The priestess’s smile suddenly dimmed. “I’m sorry to ask, but how did they pass?”

“I don’t remember that well,” Marstin said, mixing truth and lies together. “But they did not die gently, that I am sure of. Their dying faces sometimes haunt my dreams.” He wasn’t sure why he was admitting this to a relative stranger, but there was something about Linda’s presence that was calming and inviting.

“I’m so sorry you have to live with that,” Linda whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “Tell me, did they have their last rights after they passed?”

“I don’t know,” Marstin said, inwardly doubting anything had been done. After all, no one in town seemed to even remember his family, even though they were the lords of the land. He doubted anyone had paid the time or money for funeral rites to be done. Marstin wasn’t even completely sure how the dead were supposed to be buried; he doubted the Thieves’ Guild manner of burning the evidence was the correct way of doing things.

“Then, if you would permit me,” Linda asked politely. “I would be more than happy to do a passing rites ceremony for them when we return to Graniton.”

“Why?” Marstin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t even know me that well. I can’t afford a rites ceremony, anyway. I think.”

Linda shook her head. “As a priestess of Equinox, God of Seasons, it is my divine directive to ensure that all things have a beginning and an end, that the cycle is closed so it can begin anew. Part of this duty includes the rituals of passage; meant to signal the end of life and its hold on the living. It is no real trouble to me, as the rite is covered by the country of Istut itself, for all of their citizens deserve a proper send-off. However, I will not do this without your permission.”

Marstin went silent. It is a trap, a way to seek out the remaining bloodline and kill them. No one cares about the nameless dead. There is no point in honoring the dead.

“Is there a good reason to do the rite?” Marstin asked a moment later.

Linda nodded. “Yes. Those who remember the dead attempt to hold on to them, and the dead themselves seek to remain to protect those they care about. If the cycle is not broken, then the dead will wither here in the world of the living and be reduced to malicious spirits. In turn, the living who are unable to let go will become haunted and suffer. The rite is an important step of acceptance, to allow the dead to pass on. This is especially true for those whose lives were taken so cruelly away.”

Marstin’s eyes watered as the vision of his mother, with her hand outstretched toward him, flashed through his mind. “All right,” he acquiesced finally.

“I understand. I’ll need a few days to set up the altar and prepare the rituals, and then-” Linda began, before Marstin interrupted her.

“No, I don’t mean now,” he shook his head. “There are things I still need to do for them before I can let them go. If I don’t do them, then they won’t be able to rest in peace.”

So long as Drestice lives, there can be no peace.

“If that is what you wish,” Linda said after a moment. “Merely send the word and I shall prepare the ceremony.”

Marstin nodded his thanks at her understanding. “Oh,” he blinked. “you mentioned you were a priestess of Equinox? Can you tell me more about him?”

“Oh, of course,” Linda’s face brightened immediately. “As I said before, Lord Equinox is the God of Seasons, and is actually the head of the Gods of Neutrality. His main job is to maintain the various cycles of the world, balancing the other portfolios of the gods and goddesses together; for instance, he ensures the great winds of Duren and the massive seas of Leo work together to bring rain to Palos, among other weather patterns.”

“So, he’s responsible for this oddly warm weather?” Marstin confirmed.

“Oh, of course,” Linda nodded. “I am quite sure Lord Equinox has brought this warm weather upon us to balance some other warm areas in the world with cooler weather. Without his work, the world would be so chaotic that nothing could grow. He is the patron deity of administrators, as you can imagine, and many farmers also worship him to ensure a great harvest, though I’ve heard this causes some tension with the goddess Yore, who governs the forests and plants of Palos. In fact, there is a story of a great contest the two had over a shining golden corn cob. You see, it all began with a lost sheep and a young farmer who. . .”

As Linda continued to talk, Marstin was suddenly reminded of Shane’s earlier observation, that Linda had a hard time controlling herself when it came to religion. Unable to ask her to stop without sounding rude, Marstin did his best to smile and nod as Linda continued to preach through the benefits of joining a church and the various many stories and legends surrounding the gods and goddesses. His ears even began to treat her words as white noise, seemingly becoming a constant onslaught of words and phrases of which he had little understanding.

It was almost a relief when Marcus’s booming voice broke through the barrage of information. “We have arrived!” the red-headed giant announced. Marstin let out a subtle sigh of relief as Linda ceased her talking and wandered up to join her husband. Shane retired to the back of the group and patted Marstin on the shoulder sympathetically.

The half-day journey hadn’t been arduous for Marstin, consisting of a sloping climb up between two mountains to reach a third farther ahead. They had arrived without incident, and before the four members of the group was a decently sized cave with various piles of old mining equipment strewn around the front entrance. Evidently, this place had not been completely active for quite some time.

“Seems like the information we found was good,” Marcus affirmed as he examined the dungeon entrance. “Accordingly, there will be various ore spots located randomly inside the dungeon proper, easily identifiable by the color of the surrounding glowing rock. We’re on the lookout for dark blue mixed with grey streaks; the tell-tale signs of guiga ore.” With that said, the leader of the Red Family removed two pick-axes from his adventurer’s bag and handed one over to Shane. Marstin equipped his own and gulped. This would be his first ‘true’ dungeon dive, where it was said danger and riches existed in equal measure. A place where both monsters and valuables could spawn from the ground at any moment. The true place for adventurers, the dungeon!

“Stop fantasizing to yourself and hurry up!” Marcus’ voice awoke Marstin. “Come on now, we’re burning daylight!” The lead adventurer waved from within the cave, where Linda and Shane were also waiting.

“Sorry, I’m coming!” Marstin said hurriedly. But before he entered the dungeon, he couldn’t help but pause, a strange feeling overcoming him. It was as if his gut was telling him this wasn’t a safe place to be, that there was a dangerous thing ahead. Marstin shook off the feeling and, not wanting to waste a moment longer, ran after the Red Family into the mining dungeon.

A few minutes after, a group of hooded individuals appeared outside the dungeon, only to vanish a few moments later into the darkness of the dungeon. Unforeseen even to them, was the small tremor the dungeon entrance gave off, as a transparent wall of magic covered the entrance, like the lid of a cookie jar. Or perhaps, the closing of the mouse trap.

Chapter 19

A chilling wind blew through the dungeon as Marstin and the Red Family made their way down through the stone corridor into it. Marcus led the way, carrying a torch in his left hand and a small shield in his right, his massive battle-axe sheathed safety on his back. Behind him came Marstin, who was on the lookout for any traps or other unsavory devices. Linda followed him, and Shane brought up the rear, she herself carrying her torch and shield combo. Nobody said anything. The atmosphere was as tense as the need to stay aware of their surroundings was intense.

“Hm, copper,” Marcus suddenly announced in a low voice, raising the torch so the others could get a better view. They had entered a roundish room, with the left wall glowing in soft brown and green tones under the torchlight. “The dungeon is in a less troublesome configuration I see. I would have been worried if this first room contained iron, or worse, coal.”

“May I ask why?” Marstin inquired cautiously.

“Sure,” the red-headed giant nodded. “This dungeon has been reported to create its golems based on the surrounding material. Stone and copper golems are the weakest. Iron golems are very hard to defeat with physical attacks, and coal golems have the nasty habit of catching fire and charging. So, for its entryway to have copper is a decent-enough sign that this first layer will be easier, if we can find the guiga ore here.”

“The golems tend to start spawning when you start mining,” Shane reminded Marstin from the back. “But keep your eyes out, still; they can still spawn when you least expect it.”

Marstin nodded in understanding, and the party continued down the next corridor. As they made their way through the floor, Marstin was struck by the sheer atmosphere the dungeon gave off. The quiet was unnerving, reminding him of the giant abode he’d once explored with the Iron Yaks. However, even that place had been homey, with decorations and ancient signs of life.

Here, though, in this place, there was only silence, a chilling silence broken only by the sound of falling footsteps and crackling flame. Even the wind seemed to have ceased after the first room, with the air gaining an increasingly heavy feel to it.

Marcus seemed to notice the air as well, as an increasingly large frown played across his lips. “We’re going to have to leave, at this rate,” he muttered. “Still air is poisonous. But the dungeon should be recycling it through the tunnels, or has something changed at the entrance?”

“This is still tolerable dear,” Linda said from behind Marstin. “We should at least check the entrance to the second layer before choosing to turn back. If need be, my miracles can bless the air for a time, remember.”

“Expending your miracles on breathing seems like a waste, though,” Shane muttered in annoyance. “We should have bought some air herbs or breathing pills in preparation for this. We did know the mine had been out of use since the previous year.”

“Miracles?” Marstin asked, unfamiliar with the word.

“It’s an old term describing the nature of the magic spells priests and priestesses can cast,” Linda explained. “Its direct meaning is ‘divine interventions’, referring to how we channel the power of our worshiped deities into spells. We still suffer a loss in mana when using them, like any other spell caster.”

“Heads up, another room ahead,” Marcus whispered back as he raised his torch a bit higher. The three in the back closed their mouths and opened their ears, doing their best to pick up on anything out of the ordinary. The only sounds were their footsteps.

The corridor emptied into the room, this time a size larger than the previous one. Unlike the prior room, there were clear signs of mining having occurred here, with long crisscrossing cuts on the surrounding walls and abandoned equipment lying across the floor.

Marcus frowned, walking over to an old torch holder and installing his own. He then wiped his battle-axe smoothly off his back, taking a ready position. “Prepare for battle,” the giant ordered.

Marstin barely had a chance to fumble his dagger out his sheaths before the room shook. On the ceiling, a clump of uneven stone suddenly broke loose and dropped, aiming for Marcus. The leader of the Red Family was prepared and rolled out of the way, leaping back up into a ready position. Linda had already retreated between Marcus and Shane, with the female ginger also having attained a battle-ready posture before Marstin could notice.

The clump of stone vibrated, before a large, arm-shaped piece burst off the front, sending pieces of rock shrapnel hurtling toward the party. A glowing yellow barrier burst into existence in front of the four, its source being Linda, who had kneeled and begun to pray. As if noticing its attack had failed, the arm was quickly joined by a second arm, and then a third, and three legs. Marstin looked up into the faceless monstrosity that was his first stone golem, which opened a massive maw on its top and roared at them.

“Stone golem!” Shane yelled out. “Remove its limbs, or aim for the central ore within its mouth. Avoid its rock throws and charging.” Her head whipped back to look at Marstin. “Stay here and cover Linda.”

Ignoring anything Marstin had been prepared to say, the two siblings leaped into battle, axe and sword flashing in the torchlight as the two adventurers fearlessly hacked into the stone golem.

“This way, young Marstin,” Linda beckoned sweetly, having somehow appeared next to him, tugging on his arm. “We need to move to the side to avoid the charge.” Marstin could only shrug and follow her lead, the two tiptoeing to the left side of the room near the equipment. As if a prophecy, the stone golem charged a mere moment later in the direction they had been standing previously, crashing into the wall and shaking the whole room.

“Stone golems, like most of their brethren, are not too terribly bright,” Linda explained. “They are certainly an annoyance to deal with, especially if you lack the strength to pierce their stone bodies. But so long as you know their patterns, they can be defeated with relative ease. If it were smarter, then it would have shot out more projectiles to whittle away at my barriers. Understand?”

Marstin nodded, and the priestess patted his cheek with a grin. “Don’t feel too mad, young Marstin. After all, this was not a quest you were meant to take solo. If anything, I feel like giving Yolna a good lecturing for even offering a quest of this magnitude to one as inexperienced as you.” Linda frowned, though it did little to diminish her beauty. “I wonder what she was thinking. But in any case, it seems this fight is just about done.”

Marstin blinked in surprise as his eyes returned to the fight at hand. The sibling duo were proving as effective a team and as devastating a combo as they looked, with both of their faces alighted in a crazed, excited, battle fury. Marcus’s battle-axe demolished its way through stone with every hit, taking out one of the legs with only three strikes to the thick stone joints. Shane, meanwhile, was leaping around the top of the stone golem with her two-handed sword, parrying the arms away while also striking each joint hard enough to cause cracks to appear.

“Ha ha ha, sister,” Marcus laughed from below. “It appears I win, this round!” With a deafening boom, the stone golem lost its second leg and began to tip over, out of balance.

“Nice try, brother, but this my win!” Shane announced. With a final whirlwind of a strike, the red-headed female adventurer sliced through all three arms, rendering the stone golem fully incapable of balance. Before the great beast hit the ground, she leaped off nimbly, winking at her brother.

Marcus grumbled under his breath as he effortlessly severed the final limb, leaving the stone golem helpless as it roared angrily through its maw on top of its body. Marcus continued to mumble as he made his way over to the maw. “Shut up!” he roared, slamming his axe into the inside of the maw. Upon the killing blow, the golem ceased all movement and cracked apart into many pieces of dark grey stone. Marcus reached into the pile and pulled out a shining monster core, a dull black color in appearance and just ever-so-slightly too small to fit snugly in his hand. The red-haired giant snorted and stowed the core away.

“Tier 2 core, not too useful,” he said before turning back to face Marstin and Linda. He cracked a grin at the bewildered young adventurer. “So, think you could have done this quest by yourself?”

Marstin shook his head quickly from side to side.

“Ha ha, well now you understand why I thought you were a funny boy at the inn,” Marcus grinned. “It would be one thing if it were any other rank 2 monster, I’m sure you’ve dealt with a few before, but these golems require more a strong arm than dexterity or speed. Well,” he paused for a moment and considered. “I have known a few of the speedy types, dagger users and archers, to take on golems by shooting the inner core. But, one bad placement and you’ll be denied a clean shot, just like this one,” He kicked a piece of rock away toward the wall. “Some stone golems even have their opening at the bottom of their bodies, to say nothing of the stronger types of golems that do a better job hiding their cores. An important part of being an adventurer is to know what your potential enemies are and the best way to defeat them; that’s known as tactics.”

“I never thought my big brother would be lecturing someone on the use of their head in battle,” Shane said, actually taken aback. “You feeling sick, brother? Aren’t you the act first, ask questions later, type of adventurer?”

“Ah, shut your trap,” Marcus glowered. “I didn’t get to D rank without learning a thing. And besides, the kid sure as heck can’t go down the standard route of brute strength,” he gestured toward Marstin’s skinny body. “He might as well learn now so he can better plan his future.”

“My my, how considerate, husband,” Linda praised. “Seems I’ll have to forgive you for your earlier comparison of me with those . . . kooks.”

Marcus seemed quite pleased with himself, and held out his arm for Linda to accept, which she did with ease. The two began to walk arm in arm down the next tunnel further into the dungeon after stowing the battle axe away and retrieving Marcus’s torch, leaving Marstin and Shane to bring up the rear with Shane’s retrieved torch.

“Did I miss something?” Marstin asked the older adventurer.

Shane shrugged. “Well, I suppose. For the obvious, my brother is going to be fed tonight and not be starved as a punishment.” She chuckled and elbowed Marstin in the ribs. “Heh, marriage, am I right?”

Marstin looked on blankly.

Shane rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe you’ll get there one day. If it’s the ‘kooks’ comment you’re wondering about, then that’s a bit of a history lesson. I’m sure you were surprised to learn that priests and priestesses were actually permitted as professions here in Istut and the rest of the north right? Well, technically speaking, there are a job, a profession, and a related country that actually are not allowed in either the northern countries, or the southern countries, and they are these ‘kooks’ you’ve heard about.”

“Are they human?” Marstin wondered out loud. “How can an entire country be not allowed into the rest of the continent?”

“Well, it’s a long story,” Shane admitted. “To be honest, the populace of the country isn’t strictly human, as they don’t discriminate against other races. I’ve heard a number of monsters have been accepted into their society, but who really knows for sure. The country itself doesn’t even have a proper name, and most people don’t even know it exists. For those in the know, especially the religious types, the country is merely known as ‘The Country of Philosophers’.”

“What’s a philosopher?” Marstin asked.

“They are kooks,” Shane chuckled. “Well, that’s the most polite way to describe them, anyway. The philosophers are an odd assortment of people who follow a way of thinking instead of a religion. Er,” Shane made a face showing that she was struggling to think of the right words. “It’s like, they think on a fundamentally different level than other humans, in a way where religion isn’t involved much if at all. Theirs is a world of relations between logic, emotion, and rational thought. You’d think that would make them relate more to our science-based north, but even we give due course to the deities. The philosophers do not give any thought to deities, even outright denying their existence in some cases.”

“And that makes them illegal to come into other countries?” Marstin made a confused face.

“If it were just their way of thinking that was weird, then they wouldn’t be an issue. At best, they’d be considered an outlier cult the southern churches would work to eliminate. But, they have a weird type of magic that makes them both dangerous and terrifying.” Shane rubbed the sword’s hilt on her back nervously. “See, this different way of thinking is somehow backed by this magic of theirs, a magic that somehow is not related to any other form of magic on Palos. In fact, it isn’t even powered by mana, but by their own thoughts and will. The reason they are forbidden to enter other countries is that their magic is capable of altering societies: moving objects merely by staring at them; reading the minds of others; seeing the future or the past; and other abilities. The most dangerous philosophers are said to be so strong that they can suspend causality and existence merely by disbelieving in something. Can you imagine, Marstin, seeing an attack coming your way, but you disbelieve it is real so hard the attack becomes an illusion?” Shane shivered. “As a result, all philosophers were exiled to their country, which was then stricken from every map so as to let them die out. But the country still exists today and is seemingly content to stay within its own borders and accept pilgrims seeking to change. If you ever want to be rude to a religious person in the north, compare them to the philosophers. And be ready for their anger at the comparison.”

“Right,” Marstin nodded. “Don’t compare them to the ‘kooks’, got it.”

“Good boy,” Shane grinned, patting Marstin on the head with her shield hand, making him wince at the weight.

The trip into the dungeon kept up the same relative pace. They would find a room, and if there was evidence of mining, a golem would appear. They were mostly stone, but in a different copper mining area, Marstin met his first copper golem.

Unlike the random shapes and configurations of the stone golems, the copper golem was more a uniform shape with an overall humanoid appearance, though lacking a head. Its body was completely made out of copper, which strangely made it easier to destroy than the stone golems. Linda explained to Marstin on the side that copper golems actually had a fair amount of magical resistance but were weaker to physical attacks compared to the stone golems. Naturally, upon defeat the copper golem fell into many pieces of copper, to which Marstin helped himself, with the blessing of the Red Family.

After finding ten mining rooms, six of which contained golems, the four adventurers were beginning to tire. Marcus called for a break, and he and Shane broke out their group’s lunch. Marstin joined them, pulling out his hard bread to munch on.

“Oh dear, look at you,” Linda sighed as she watched Marstin eagerly tear into his bread. “You’re just like my husband was when I first met him; such an unbalanced diet. At least add something leafy or fruity to eat with that bread; here, take this sour plum.” She forcibly pushed the small dark red fruit into Marstin’s hand and waited until he’d eaten it all before she was satisfied. “If you don’t balance your diet, you’ll never get big and strong. And then how will you find a good woman or man to marry?”

Marstin suddenly felt an odd question arise in his mind, but he shook it off.

The meal didn’t last very long, as the members of Red Family weren’t too keen on waiting too long in one place in the dungeon, especially outside of a ‘rest spot’.

“The air is still getting fouler,” Marcus noted darkly as they packed up their bags. “I say we go through two more rooms, but after that we leave for the day. We can always check back tomorrow after the dungeon changes the layout.” The other three members of the party voiced their support, and they continued on their way.

As luck would have it, the next room they came across was not only mining-free, but also filled with the tell-tale colors of what they were looking for. They had found the guiga ore. With a hearty smile, Marcus pulled out his mining gear and set up their temporary workstation. Shane pulled out the portable cart, which Marstin watched in interest. At first, it appeared to be a flat rectangle of sizable depth, but Shane unfolded the edges, revealing an inner system that unfolded wheels and all. In but a moment, Shane was standing over a large pushcart that resembled a mining cart large enough to fit quite a number of Marstins inside.

“Latest foldout cart from Boswell,” Shane explained with a wink. “They were meant for mines, but since they require pushing to move it was found to be too impractical to use in a real mine with their sloping tunnels. So, these ended up at quite the discount. Not every invention coming out of the city of science is a complete success, but at least we can reap the benefits.”

“Now Marstin,” Shane suddenly continued with a more serious face. “Since we’ve reached our objective, this is where the real difficulty of the quest begins. Linda can’t mine, since if we activate a trap or summon a golem, she needs to be on standby to heal us and not in the line of fire. Between the three of us remaining, we’ll be rotating so one person is watching with Linda while the other two are mining. Do you want to mine first, or be on watch?”

“I’ll mine first,” Marstin said after a moment’s thought. “It’s better if one of you keeps a better trained eye out. As I work, I can learn what to look out for.”

Shane nodded. “In that case, I’ll take the first watch. My brother will show you the best way to mine.”

With an understanding nod, Marstin walked over to Marcus, who was waiting with his pick-axe. “All right, Marstin, listen well,” Marcus began explaining. “When it comes to mining, the main goal is to remove the ore from the rock, kind of like digging a hole around a tree so it can be uprooted. The vein here,” he knocked the pick-axe against the stone, “is melded with the rock. Now, the advantage of working in a dungeon mine is that all the extracted ore will magically separate from the rock once it’s removed from the wall. That saves us coin and time from having to smelt the ore free of the rock, but there’s a drawback. The walls here are part of the dungeon and can contain different types of traps. The worst one, of course, is if you mine into a rock, but it’s part of a golem, which will then animate and attack. The other two types in this dungeon are gas pockets, which will poison, paralyze, or put you to sleep, and the explosive rocks, which can kill if you’re really unlucky. Shane and Linda are keeping an eye out for us, but stop mining if you come across stone that is shiny, a different color, or contains glowing lines. Got it? Then let’s get started.”

Marstin actually didn’t quite get it, but he was dragged into the excited pace of Marcus’s demeanor and began to work alongside the red-haired giant.

As to be expected, Marstin’s mining speed was in truth quite abysmal. He lacked the muscles to properly put the force into his pick-axe needed to pierce through the stone efficiently, though he was able to use gravity to assist him enough to accomplish something. Ironically however, his slow speed seemed to work in his favor as he kept coming across the dangerous looking rocks Marcus had warned him about. Linda or Shane was easily able to warn him as a result.

Marcus, on the other hand, was a mining machine of frightening speed. Each downward swing shattered the rock, sending ore pieces everywhere that melted into pure guiga ore as soon as they touched the ground. Linda had expertly pulled a broom and dustpan out for collecting the smaller pieces more efficiently. The larger pieces were left to Shane, who happily piled them into her cart.

Of course, Marcus’s speed also led to a couple of accidents, the worst being when he pierced through two hollow stones and wound up asleep and poisoned. Linda had to use one of her miracles to revive him properly, with Marstin offering one of his simple antidotes to cure the poison as opposed to wasting another miracle. Soon after that, Marcus retired to switch with his sister.

Unlike her brother, Shane was more measured with her swings, though equally destructive. She never swung before staring at the rock wall with traps, ensuring that she managed to avoid every single odd stone she came across, though they were not many. Marstin couldn’t help but wonder if the dungeon had something against him personally with all the trap rocks he kept coming across. Soon enough, it was his turn to keep watch.

With a discouraged sigh, Marstin watched as Marcus got back to work, demolishing the ore vein wall with relative ease.

“Cheer up, Marstin,” Linda comforted him as she swept up more guiga ore pieces. “Comparing your G rank to our D rank is very unreasonable. We’ve been working as adventurers for many years now, and we’ve trained our bodies to the limits in that time. As long as you keep adventuring and training, you’ll be as strong as you want to be one day. Especially if you eat a more balanced diet.”

“I hope so,” Marstin murmured as he watched Marcus accidently activate another stone golem, though ironically striking its core before it could activate and attack. He bent down and helped Linda deposit the ore into the cart.

He paused a moment later, cocking his ear toward the tunnel they’d come from. His ears could pick up something odd, and out of place in the dungeon. He could have sworn he was hearing footsteps.

“Linda, this mine is abandoned right?” Marstin asked to be sure. “Did anyone you ask in town mention people coming to dungeon recently?”

“We should be the only ones here,” Linda said as she dumped her dustpan into the cart. “All the mines in Graniton were closed last year during the winter for some reason, including the dungeon-related ones. The miners have been really worried about their livelihoods because of it. Why do you ask?”

“Do you hear someone else in the dungeon?” Marstin asked cautiously.

Linda frowned and turned her head to look down the tunnel Marstin was staring at.

“I don’t hear anything,” she admitted. “Are you sure you hear footsteps?”

“They sound so clear to me,” Marstin said with an odd face. “You can’t hear them. Like little deep pitter-patters echoing through the stone.”

Linda turned around to face the red-haired siblings. “Husband, Shane, I think something is wrong-”

Suddenly, a knife appeared at Linda’s throat, a hooded figure grasping her tight against their body. Linda and Marstin tensed up.

“What was that Lind-” Shane began as she turned, before her eyes narrowed. “Marcus, enemies!”

The red-haired giant whirled around and, seeing his wife taken hostage, let out a strangled roar as he drew his battle axe.

“I’d stay there if I were you Red Slaughter Marcus,” the hooded figure said evenly, their voice and clothes disguising their gender. “You wouldn’t want your pretty wife getting gutted, would you?”

“Let her go,” Marcus growled, his hand tightening over the axe’s handle.

“In due time,” the figure said. “After all, we have no interest in inciting the vengeance of the one responsible for the victory at the western fort. All we want,” they said as several other cloaked figures appeared from the passage, “is the guiga ore.”

“Quest thieves,” Shane said mockingly, her arms folded across her chest. “You don’t think we can track you down through the ore?”

“Oh, we have our methods of relieving this cargo once we get back to Graniton,” the figure mocked. “Not that you need to know anything else. We’re just going to take this cart of yours and make our way out of the dungeon, with the dear priestess keeping us company until then. Once we are a safe distance away, I can swear on my soul to the gods above she will be released unharmed, unspoiled, and free of any injury given by us. Deal? Good.”

The hooded figures didn’t even bother to listen to the siblings before making their way over to the filled pushcart of guiga ore. Marstin was still standing next to it, locking his scared, but angry eyes on the hooded figures.

“Out of the way, brat,” one of the figures chuckled, before ruthlessly slapping Marstin to the ground. The hit was so strong that Marstin spat out blood, with some landing on the wheel of the cart and some covering the covered hand of the hooded figure, who chuckled and wiped the blood off somewhat onto the cart’s side. Marstin held his hand over his mouth, holding in the blood as he shivered from the blow. The same fear he’d felt from the Thieves’ Guild washed over him, his many beatings playing in his head, paralyzing him.

“What a wimp,” the hooded figure mocked, before the group pushed the mine cart away. Linda looked on angrily as she was dragged away into the darkness. Marcus and Shane waited until the group was out of sight before rushing to Marstin.

“Kid, you okay?” Shane asked carefully, pulling a weak healing potion out of her adventurer’s bag. “Here, drink this.”

Marstin chugged the flask, feeling its healing magic repair the damage in his mouth and clean away the blood back into his body. He smacked his mouth a couple of times. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop them.”

“Not your fault, kid,” Marcus snarled angrily in the direction the group had left. “I should have figured someone would catch on. We weren’t subtle enough, asking around town, after all. And I didn’t bother putting up alarm lines behind us, stupid.”

“We were careless, but not stupid,” Shane comforted her brother. “Those guys have done this before. I doubt I could even identify their true body types from those outfits. We’re just going to have to take this loss and use our adventurers’ bags to carry the ore and hope Yolna is still looking to accept our remainder.”

“It makes me burn up inside knowing those thieves are going to benefit from our work, and that they think they take my precious wife hostage without suffering consequences,” Marcus let out a low roar. “Those bastards, I hope they trip over their own arrogance.”

Suddenly, a low rumble went through the dungeon, like the roar of a beast awakening from its slumber. Marcus and Shane exchanged confused glances, and then the silence was broken by screams in the distance, coming from the corridor leading back to the entrance. Where the thieves had taken Linda. The sound of fighting echoed through the dungeon, alongside the roar of an army. Marstin felt something odd, as if he could hear someone say, ‘I FOUND YOU!’.

Chapter 20

Stemmy might be back to normal with the resumption of signals getting to the interneuron cell, but that didn’t mean the body Progen inhabited was back to normal.  Every time the dungeon crystal had helped to eradicate one infection, another one would pop up.  It wasn’t necessarily as if they sprung up out of nowhere, though; it was as if the information were being fed piecemeal to Stemmy.  It was strange, to say the least, but fortunately none of the outbreaks were too serious or difficult to defeat.  Progen spent a bit of his mana creating more Reporters to help with locating more infections without having to wait, though when they started small, they were extremely difficult to find.

Before the interneuron cell and the dungeon crystal could investigate why the information was still being limited, Stemmy was preoccupied by something else.

The host has left the large habitation and is traveling with a group of other humans.

“What?” Progen asked, slightly startled by the abrupt change.  When the interneuron cell repeated its communication, the dungeon crystal wondered, “Where are they going?”

Accessing the information from the auditory nerve has been difficult, but Stemmy believes that they are going to some sort of mine.

“A mine?  Why would they be going to a mine?”

The group of humans are supposed to retrieve something from there, but Stemmy has not intercepted exactly what this item is yet.

“Well, let me know if you intercept any more pertinent information,” Progen ordered, feeling as though they were missing something important – but not knowing exactly why or what was so important.  “At least we know that the other adventurers are quite adept at keeping this body out of danger.”

These humans are different from the ones the host traveled with before.

At Progen’s prompting, Stemmy described in excruciatingly poor detail what the others looked like; from the general impression the dungeon crystal received, it certainly sounded like a completely different set of adventurers were accompanying Marstin: a tall giant, a cloaked figure, and a female with a sword larger than the other female.  Despite that, it also sounded as if they were a bit more powerful than the others – which would serve to keep the body Progen wanted to take over safe until that time came.

Distracted by the change in external environment, Progen forgot to look into what was still going on with Stemmy’s intermittent neural communication.  Instead, he concentrated on moving from one bacterial infection to another, listening to descriptions of the audio and visual perceptions outside of the body that the interneuron continued to pass along – at Progen’s insistence.  It seemed to take forever for them to arrive at the mine and the dungeon crystal was starting to lose interest; at least, he was losing interest until Stemmy passed on a certain snippet of a conversation.

…there will be various ore spots located randomly inside the dungeon proper, easily identifiable by the color of the surrounding glowing rock. We’re on the lookout for dark blue mixed with grey streaks; the tell-tale signs of guiga ore…

“Wait, did that adventurer just say ‘dungeon’?”

That is affirmative.

“Uh, Stemmy?  What happens when one dungeon crystal enters into another dungeon crystal’s area of influence?” he asked hesitantly.  From his limited knowledge, he seemed to recall that the results of such an occurrence were highly volatile.

As soon as one crystal enters another’s territory, there is an inevitable clashing of influence over the area.  While such events are rare, there is a chance that the battle between the two crystals could end up with mutual destruction – as well as the destruction of the dungeon, as well.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Should I be worried?”  There was no way that Progen could defend against the powerful influence of a dungeon crystal that possessed a mine dungeon, if it was set on destroying him for invading.

It is unlikely that the dungeon crystal will be able to detect Progen’s presence since it will be masked by the host…

“That’s a relief—”

…however, there is a possibility that it will detect Progen’s particular mana signature in its influence over the host’s systems.

“—and now not so much of a relief.”  The thought of the crushing weight of powerful foreign dungeon mana descending on him was horrifying – until he realized that he was relatively safe.  Since the mine dungeon obviously used environmental mana instead of the life force-based mana that Progen used, the two couldn’t necessarily interact or interfere with each other.  Besides, it was nearly impossible for a crystal to directly affect a person, which was why his kind used monsters and traps to kill the invaders inside their domain.

That, of course, didn’t mean the body of Marstin couldn’t be killed by more mundane means.  Despite the absolute ridiculousness of the situation, Progen hoped that his crystal’s signature was so insignificant that he wasn’t deemed a threat.  I think that is the first and last time I’ll ever hope that I’m too weak to matter, he thought with more than a trace of irony.

Host is entering the dungeon entrance now.

Progen immediately felt a change come over what he could perceive within the body, as if it were moving through an insubstantial, warm, but itchy blanket.  It was all external, however, and felt odd – but not necessarily threatening.  It seemed as though Stemmy had been right; the differences in their mana origins were so different that they weren’t necessarily compatible.  That, and Marstin’s body was effectively acting as a screen to Progen’s presence, like some sort of biological camouflage.

“I think we’re safe, Stemmy.  I don’t feel anything threatening, so I think we got lucky.”

A few moments after that – as the body continued to move further into the mine dungeon – the warmth of the mana outside of the body turned cold, the itchiness felt like probing spikes, and there was a noticeable increase in the attention that was being paid to him.  However, moments after that, the entire feeling faded, only to be replaced by the same insubstantial, warm, and itchy feeling as before.

“What just happened, Stemmy?”  Progen had never felt anything like that, and a sinking feeling infused his crystal as he assumed what it meant.

The mine dungeon’s influence passed over the host, likely after it detected Progen’s miniscule presence.  Fortunately, it appears as though it is confused as to where the presence is located.

The tiny dungeon crystal knew what that meant, because it was something that he would do if faced with a mysterious invader.  “It’s going to try to kill all of the adventurers, isn’t it?”

That is the most likely outcome.  If it can’t identify the source of the mana influence, the foreign crystal will eventually resort to eliminating all potential threats.  However, it will probably test these humans to determine if one of them is the actual threat; as Progen no doubt knows, maintaining a fair yet challenging dungeon is imperative to its reputation, and therefore their survival.  Eliminating every human here would severely jeopardize that reputation, so the crystal is unlikely to act rashly.

“Fine, that’s great – so that just means our destruction is delayed.  Is there any way to completely hide my presence here?” he desperately asked.  Progen was more than aware that a larger dungeon that had the sort of powerful mana signature he felt, and its dungeon crystal keeper, were more than powerful enough to wipe out a party of adventurers if they applied themselves.  “Maybe if my influence completely disappears, the dungeon will think it’s some sort of strange anomaly?”

Impossible and unlikely.  There is no way to camouflage your mana presence in the dungeon now, as it has started to leak out from the host.  It is fortunate that Progen is not powerful enough for the other crystal to pinpoint exactly where that mana presence is coming from.

“Thanks…I think.”  Stemmy basically just called him weak, which would normally rile Progen up – but it was a blessing right now.  “If that’s the case, what do you suggest?”

Create a decoy.

“A decoy?”  Hmmm, that might just work.  Progen understood immediately what the interneuron cell was saying for him to do – mainly because it was just a natural part of being a dungeon crystal.  Infusing mana into things, after all, was kind of automatic to him; he just needed to be very specific about what he infused that mana into.

There appear to be golems made from different types of material in this mine.  The other humans are fighting off the dungeon monsters as they search for their objective.

Progen wished he could actually see the battle against the dungeon’s golems, instead of listening to it from Stemmy secondhand, but that was the best that could be done at the moment.  The tiny dungeon crystal tried to think of the optimal way to go about creating a decoy of his mana signature, but there really wasn’t anything that appeared to work.  Anything attached to the body, such as clothes or weapons, was going to stay around his actual location for too long.  He needed something that would part from the body and be specifically separate from the interference that the body played in confusing the mana signature.

As the group of adventurers fought their way through the next few rooms – described in boring detail by a certain interneuron cell – the hope that he would be able to find something appropriate began to fail.  “Why isn’t this body touching anything?”

Unknown.

That was all that Progen really needed to happen, as he would be able to pass his mana through the blood vessels close to the skin of the body’s fingers.  It would be quicker than trying to infuse the skin and flesh of the body with his mana, as he wasn’t trying to gain control of it, necessarily, but to expel enough of his mana outside of the body to mimic his mana signature.  Even if Marstin was touching something, like a rock or something, Progen wouldn’t be infusing his influence into it; non-living material, as it was part of the environment, wouldn’t be compatible.

But it would surely be able to hold onto his mana, to act as the decoy he was planning on creating.

After a short break where not much was happening, though there was consumption of nutrient-rich food full of carbohydrates, fiber, glucose, potassium, and an assortment of ascorbic acids.  Progen briefly thought about trying to use some of the food the body was eating as a decoy, but all of it ended up inside of the body – so that wouldn’t quite work.

The group has entered a room without any golem monsters.  They appear to have found what they were looking for inside of the mine dungeon.

For the first time since they arrived, Marstin started to actually do something – and it was wearing out the poor musculature of his body.  “Stemmy, send orders to increase the blood flow through the affected muscles; we can’t enhance the musculature itself right now, but we can certainly help to keep the body from collapsing.  The faster this whole thing is done, the faster we can get out of the mine – and out of danger.”

Affirmative.  Increasing blood flow through the biceps brachii, brachialis, triceps brachii, deltoid, supraspinatus…

Progen didn’t need to hear about all of the different muscles that Stemmy was sending orders to increase the blood flow; all he cared about were the results.  After a few minutes, the interneuron cell reported that the speed of the body had increased incrementally as a result, which was a good sign…followed by a bad sign.

There seems to be a preponderance of trapped locations within the nearby wall, focusing on this host more so than anyone else.

“That’s not good, Stemmy.  I think it’s found us.”  In fact, now that Progen was actually focusing on it, he could feel that the attention from the dungeon had shifted back to Marstin, and there was an obvious disturbance in the mana concentrations nearby.  “I’ve got to do this – and quickly!”  Progen was starting to panic a little bit.  Another few minutes went by as the mana intensity around the area started to push down on his influenced awareness, prompting the panic to also increase in intensity.

The host is bending down to pick up some of the rocks on the ground—

“Tell me when the hand has made contact!”

The right index finger has touched the—

Without waiting for Stemmy to finish, Progen pushed half of his maximum amount of mana out from the radial artery located in the index finger, willing it to pass through the skin and surround whatever inorganic object was on the exterior.  He couldn’t actually sense or see what was there, so he had to rely on Stemmy to let him know if it had succeeded.

Using the different spectrums located in the ocular nerve, Stemmy has seen Progen’s mana lightly coating the exterior of the ore.  Host is now placing it into a waiting receptacle.

Almost immediately, Progen started to feel a lessening of the attention on the body, though it didn’t disappear completely.  Not only that, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t all on the mana-coated ore, either.

There is not enough of your mana signature to act as a beacon to the other dungeon crystal, especially as your prime mana signature is distorting the current location.

Essentially, what Stemmy was saying was that the mana infusing the ore was like holding a candle out in sunlight – except that the sunlight was so distorted it was difficult to pinpoint where it was coming from.  “So, it needs to move—”

Auditory nerves are detecting footsteps coming down the tunnels towards the host’s location.  Enhancing information transfer now.

“Footsteps?  I’m guessing those aren’t from a golem, I take it?”

Negative…there is another group of humans that have captured and taken hostage one of the host’s humans.  They—

There was a massive lurch in the body as it slammed up against something.

Stemmy has intercepted reports of multiple contusions along the perimeter of the body, including a serious injury in the upper chest.  Large quantities of blood have left the mouth and ended up on the receptacle holding the ore.

“I’m not sure how quickly I can start repairing—”

The other group of humans is taking the female named Linda…and they are taking the receptacle with Progen’s mana-covered ore, as well as the host’s blood, with them.

“Excellent!  But now we have to stop this internal bleeding.”

No need.  A healing potion is being administered momentarily.

Seconds later, a healing wave of barely visible blue light filtered through the entire body, fusing broken blood vessels back together and repairing damage to what he could perceive of muscles and internal organs.  “Good, now we just need to replace the blood that was lost—”

Progen thought about that for a second.  “Stemmy?  The blood of this body…it is thoroughly infused with my mana, correct?  I mean, I do have influence over most of the circulatory system, right?”

That is correct. Stemmy has deduced the most likely outcome, and a slight problem has been detected.

That expression from Stemmy was a bit of an understatement.  Progen was trying to confuse and distract the mine dungeon’s crystal by placing a decoy somewhere, giving it enough of a pause to delay any attack until after they left.  However, now that Marstin’s blood was all over what Progen assumed was some sort of cart….

I FOUND YOU!

“Uh, whoops.”

Chapter 21

“Linda!” Marcus cried out, leaping up to charge into the darkness after his wife.

“Big brother, no!” Shane cried out, trying to hold the larger man back, but she was unable to stop him and landed on her butt as Marcus vanished into the darkness. Marstin ran over to help her up, and Shane looked on with a worried expression.

“My big brother isn’t thinking straight,” she grimaced, running over to grab a lit torch. “Something happened to the dungeon, and we can’t afford to be reckless until we know what’s going on. Sorry Marstin, but we are going to have to go after him.”

“There is no reason to apologize. Even if we stayed here, it’s us against the entire dungeon. Best we face the danger head on with as many comrades as possible,” Marstin half-lied, inwardly not wanting to run towards trouble. “We should hurry after him before anything else happens.” He took the torch away from Shane, gesturing for her to draw her sword.

Shane gave the younger adventurer a grateful smile as the two ran into the corridor, the torch held in Marstin’s hand lighting their way as it reflected off the two-handed blade Shane carried at her side in ready position. Ahead, the light from the next room around the bend was visible, and the sounds of fighting were growing ever louder. Shane’s eyes narrowed, and she shot ahead of Marstin, her sword lifted to rest on her shoulder. She didn’t slow down to make the sharp turn, instead opting to leap into the wall feet first and launch herself into the room with a battlecry.

So much for reading the situation before acting. Must be a family thing.

Marstin turned the corner and was welcomed by the sight of slaughter and bloodshed. The room had previously held nothing besides the tell-tale glow of iron in the walls that had been yet to be mined. Now however, it was a great battlefield of metal. Bodies littered the ground, both from the cloaked men and several golems, stone and copper. However, over 15 golems were still fighting in the room, more than enough to outnumber the adventurers fighting, and more golems were spawning from the ceiling. Worse still, Marstin didn’t recognize three of the monsters. The first two, though, he could safely assume to be the iron and coal golems he’d heard about from Marcus. The iron golem was a towering behemoth with the overall appearance of a knight, if said knight were made of pure iron, bulky and thick beyond reasonable human proportions, and lacking any seam that would indicate the iron appearance could be removed. In addition, their fists were shaped like spiked clubs, with each spike several inches long. One of the golems was fighting with a corpse completely flattened into the spikes, as if it didn’t care for it.

The other golem recognizable by description had to be the coal golem, as not only was it composed of many roundish pieces of black coal, but also it was on fire and charging like a mad beast. It was fitting, then, that rather than a humanoid appearance, the coal golem’s look was more along the lines of that of a four-legged beast, such as a bear, boar, or ram. The remaining hooded adventurers were leaping out of the way every time one of the beasts let out a roar to charge. The walls and floor were covered in scorch marks.

What really worried Marstin however, was the third type of golem, the one Marcus had not mentioned to him. Most likely, Marstin reasoned in the short time it took to look around the room, because the red-haired giant hadn’t received a report on the golem from anyone. Because, no one had ever faced it and lived.

The great golem was a glowing gray color and a strange mix of creature and humanoid in appearance. It stood atop six legs stretched back like a horse, each shaped like those of a horse. The upper torso was human, with two pairs of arms ending with human hands with claws for nails. It then had three heads atop its body: center, human; left, horse; and right, eagle. The lower torso also happened to contain two sets of massive eagle wings, with a single pair of bat-like wings on its human upper torso. That was terrifyingly strange by itself, but it also wielded long, glowing weapons in each human hand: sword, hammer, axe, and spear. This strange-looking golem wasn’t even participating in the fight, but instead guarding the one exit leading toward the outside world, with three dead hooded figures lying dismembered at its feet. Its three heads stared blankly at the fighting in front of it, as if it were a mere stature that was not currently dripping with blood and gore.

Marstin took the scene all in for merely a few seconds, before his eyes locked onto the three members of Red Family. Shane was with her brother, backing him up as they took on two stone golems and an iron golem, the obstacles in the way of reaching Linda, who was sprawled out next to the right wall alongside the cart. She didn’t appear to be moving.

She’s dead. Leave her.

‘Shut your darn mouth!’ Marstin snarled at his inner voice. A fury was arising within him, a feeling he’d only felt a few times before. The same rage he felt after being ordered by Cheven and Bruce to betray the Adventurer’s Guild, the same rage he felt as he beat Bruce within an inch of life. This rage bubbled up and overtook his fear, his hesitation, and his caution. His world turned red as all he could focus on was the still body of Linda lying in the distance. The woman who’d shown him such kindness. The same woman who had taken to teaching him alongside her family.

Perhaps to anyone else, it would have been unreasonable to feel so strongly for people who had only been strangers a day ago. But Marstin could count on both hands the number of people he knew and considered friends, and every single one of them was an important figure in his short, miserable, and wretched life.

A warm feeling blossomed in his gut, sending an unfamiliar feeling of power into Marstin’s body. And he leaped. Marstin leaped through the danger.

With a strength that betrayed the young adventurer’s poor and weak frame, Marstin sailed off the ground like a frog, heading straight at the closest stone golem. Its maw opened and roared at the incoming foe, prepared to chomp down once Marstin landed.

But Marstin had other plans. With the skilled agility and dexterity from years of practice, he threw both of his magical throwing daggers deep into the maw of the golem, shattering its core before it could understand what had happened. As it began to tumble down, Marstin kicked off its collapsing body and leaped forth once again toward the next enemy in his path, a second stone golem.

The mindless monster swung one of its massive arms at him, only for Marstin to bring out his grapple hook and throw it around its torso with enough force for the hook to whip around at break-neck speed. When it caught on the rope, Marstin pulled with such force that he propelled himself forward like a crossbow bolt, easily dodging the arm. He kept ahold of the rope, using it to propel himself around the golem with the centrifugal force needed to sail away, but not before throwing a dagger into the maw on the stone golem’s back, killing it instantly.

Marstin released the rope as his eyes locked onto the last target, the iron golem. The massive beast hadn’t reacted to his incoming yet, distracted by Marcus and Shane’s combined assault. In this moment, Marstin’s eyes suddenly became incredibly focused, locking on precisely onto the weak points in the arm and leg joints of the golem. One throwing knife, then the second, and the first again, and the second again; Marstin’s hands shot out quickly as if they were lightning. The iron golem groaned, freezing in place as its weak points were struck and cracked, giving enough time for Marcus and Shane to break through its unprotected torso and smash into the monster core within. Marstin continued sailing downward, and he prepped himself for a high-speed landing.

His toes hit the ground first, curling up to ensure maximum rotation as Marstin leaned forward into a dive. With years of practice under his belt from being thrown after the beatings, Marstin curled up into a perfect ball as he landed, ensuring his body didn’t impact the ground all at once. He still rolled into the pushcart, and hissed with pain at the sudden stop, but had still made it without any broken bones or severe bruises. He uncurled himself and ran over to Linda’s prone body.

“Marstin, kid, what in the nine hells?” Marcus’s unbelieving voice came from behind the young adventurer. “What did you do? How did you do-”

Marstin stopped paying attention as he carefully inspected Linda. There was a little bleeding from her mouth and nose, but no other external injuries. However, judging by the human-sized dent in the wall, she must have been slammed by one of the golems, and was likely bleeding internally.

If this had been before, Marstin would have begun crying from inability to act. Now, though -- now, he had something that could save her. He reached into his adventurer’s bag and pulled out a medium healing potion, one of the six he owned, and poured it into Linda’s throat. However, she appeared incapable of swallowing.

“Big brother, you need to help her!” Shane’s voice urged, and Marstin moved away quickly. Marcus knelt down a moment later and kissed his wife, breathing into her and forcing the magical healing potion down her throat. Marstin noticed that Marcus’s slightly injured body was looking better, even though he was only in slight contact with the potion. As if a portent, Linda began to look better almost a few moments later, and she coughed into Marcus’s mouth.

“Dear, I can’t breathe,” she complained weakly.

The three other party members let out a sigh of relief, though Marstin let out a hiss of pain a moment later. It felt like a fire had been lit in his belly, painful and burning. However, the effects of whatever had occurred before were still active, so he ignored the pain. There would be time to deal with it after they escaped. The pain wasn’t anything new to him anyway.

“Can you walk?” Marcus asked hurriedly to Linda.

“Yes, but not very well,” she said a moment later. “I feel too weak. Did you use a healing potion on me?” She frowned. “To think a moment of carelessness would result in a waste of something so valuable.”

“If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you,” Marcus thumped his chest.

“Not the best time for that, big brother,” Shane said, her sword at the ready. “More are coming our way.” Two copper golems were taking long strides toward the party, their arms thrusting forward and back in preparation for their attack.

“Don’t worry about me,” Linda pushed her husband away. “I might not be able to move well, but I can still cast my miracles. I see no reason to hold back now.”

With a chant, the blond-haired woman’s eyes suddenly burst out with four different colored lights; yellow, green, red, and blue, the colors of the seasons. She raised up her arms clasped together in prayer, and the blessings of Equinox fell upon every adventurer in the room. Marcus felt the effects of the magic himself; he felt stronger and faster, and his skin had a soft glow surrounding it like a barrier.

“Make use of the blessing while it lasts,” Linda said to the three of them, and the other living adventurers still fighting. “I will heal as I can.”

Marstin could now clearly see the reason why the priest and priestess professions were still allowed in the north. With a single blessing, Linda managed to turn the fight completely around. Every single adventurer attacked with such force that the golems were unable to counter effectively. Marcus was the showiest of the lot, taking a coal golem’s charge head on with his axe and bisecting it from head to tail before cleaving a copper golem in half.

Shane followed suit, though staying conservative and removing limbs at the joint with every single swipe of her sword. Marstin also joined the fray, using his enchanted throwing daggers to snipe the spawning golems before they could properly form around their cores. However, Marstin’s eyes never left the strange mutated golem guarding the exit.

As the number of golems in the room fell to almost nothing, the three heads on the strange golem turned as one to stare at Linda across the room. With a creaking noise like an old door hinge being used for the first time after many years, the many appendages on the golem began to twitch and turn, like a small child remembering how to move. Then, it charged with the speed of a frightened caribou.

“Incoming!” Marcus roared, dashing back to Linda and picking her up. He only barely managed to leap out of the way as a gigantic form slammed into the wall. And causing it to shatter into pieces. Every adventurer took a sharp breath at the level of destruction the golem had unleashed, and wearily took up combat stances as it turned around to face them.

YOU DARE COME INTO THIS PLACE, came a sudden and unexpected voice from the central human head’s mouth.

YOU DARE HIDE AMONG THESE HUMANS, the left horse head neighed.

YOU DARE TO SHOW YOURSELF AND HIDE, the right eagle head screeched.

YOU WILL NOT LEAVE THIS PLACE ALIVE! All three heads screamed together.

“Whoever stole something, give it back!” Marcus barked out. “Give the thing what it wants!”

“We didn’t take anything!” one of the hooded figures yelled back, “You must have done it!”

“Then why did the golems attack you all instead of us?” Marcus laughed darkly.

The hooded figure didn’t have a comeback and was too distracted by rage to notice the thrown spear that impaled his body into the ground.

“If you want to live, take out that golem!” Marcus roared. Under his orders, the remaining adventurers ran toward the great golem, which met them in combat with merciless action.

Marstin didn’t immediately join the fight, as a gut feeling seemed to indicate he needed to leave. He hesitated, however, for once ignoring his instincts, and analyzed the situation. His brain played through the actions the great golem had taken, and he realized something. He eyed the golem’s great size, and then the corridor leading into the exit. The golem was much too big to properly fit in the corridors, likely why it was guarding the exit in the first place. He then eyed the pushcart and noted how it had rolled away from the impact of the golem with the wall. Marstin’s worries were confirmed only a moment later.

“Oh, nine hells below,” Shane’s shrill voice echoed out. “It’s made out of magical steel!” A collective cry of despair rang out from the adventurers, and Marstin ran over to Linda, who was leaning against the pushcart. Her face was pale from the excessive use of miracles in her weakened state, and from fear.

“Magical steel, an incredibly rare metal that is immune to most physical blows and magical attacks,” she whispered to herself. “We have no hope of defeating such a monster.”

“Linda!” Marstin cried out, interrupting her. “Linda, we need to push the cart to the corridor.”

“What?” Linda blinked, turning to face Marstin. “Why?”

“When it looked at you, it was actually facing the cart,” Marstin said, getting himself into position at the bar. “But it missed its charge for some reason and came at you and Marcus. Whatever it was talking about, it has something to do with the cart. So, it’s paying attention to this, and we can use that to get it to make a mistake.” He pointed at the corridor, and Linda’s eyes brightened.

“I understand,” she nodded. “I can’t help push the cart, but I bless you with the strength of the spring rain and the summer sun.” She held up her hand and pressed her finger into Marstin’s forehead, causing the young adventurer to feel stronger than he ever had before, even with the blessing of Equinox. “This won’t last too long with your body, so hurry.”

Marstin nodded, and he thrust himself into the cart. The heavy vehicle felt as light as a box of bread, and Marstin easily maneuvered the cart into position facing the corridor leading further into the dungeon. Taking in a deep breath, he charged forward with the cart. As the blood- cloaked wheel rolled across the ground, the magical steel golem’s heads twisted to lock onto the cart.

YOU SHALL NOT ESCAPE! The three heads roared. Using all of its appendages, the golem brushed aside the nagging adventurers and ran after Marstin at full sprint.

“Marstin, get out of the way!” Marcus’s voice rang out.

Marstin ignored the voice, focusing only on the rapidly approaching corridor and its immediate right turn. He could hear the golem closing in on him, its speed accelerating much faster than Marstin could run. He would only have a few moments.

With a weak battle cry, Marstin turned sharply with the cart, scraping the edge of the corridor’s entrance and leaping out of the way just in time as the golem sailed past him into the tunnel. As Marstin had calculated, the tunnel indeed was too small for the golem, and the beast shattered the tunnel just like it had the wall from before. However, this meant the beast was stuck in the turn, and was unable to deal with the torrent of rumble that rained down from the ceiling, roaring in rage as the golem was buried beneath the collapsed rock tunnel.

“Everyone, run!” Marstin cried out as he continued pushing the cart toward the tunnel exit. The remaining cloaked adventurers and Red Family did not hesitate to make a beeline for the exit, with Marstin in the lead. A few moments later, Marstin felt the strength in his body leaving him, and the cart getting heavier.

“Nice job, kid!” Marcus’s voice laughed in excitement. “Now, it’s my turn.” With a quick plop, Marstin was tossed onto the pile of ore, thankfully smooth from the mining. Linda joined him a moment later, too tired to even lift herself up into a sitting position. Marcus took over pushing the cart, his muscles pulsating as he led the way toward the exit, Shane right on his heels.

Behind them, the golem continued to roar, and the dungeon vibrated and cracked as the great beast struggled to break free. An unlucky hooded adventurer was crushed by a piece of rubble, and then a great explosion was heard behind them.

“It broke free quite easily, didn’t it,” Shane groaned as she ran. “Just what I would expect from a monster that could even give B ranks a hard time. Why the hell is such a monster in this mining dungeon?”

“It must be the final boss of the dungeon,” Linda said weakly from the cart. “Or maybe it’s the owner of the dungeon. Its existence wasn’t known because no one ever bothered trying to eliminate the dungeon before. Why it is active now is a mystery, but this cart surely had its attention, as Marstin keenly observed.”

“Can’t talk, running,” Marcus panted as he pushed the cart.

Thankfully, even though they could hear the terrifying sounds of the magical steel golem shattering its way through the tunnels toward them, the surviving adventurers were all able to escape the mining dungeon and enter the outside world. None of them noticed the transparent barrier surrounding the entrance, and it vanished as soon as Marstin, who was technically the first person out, came into contact with it. Not taking any chances, the group continued to run down the sloped path until they reached the bottom of the mountain, in the valley leading back to Graniton.

No one spoke as everyone did their best to catch their breath. In the end, the hooded figure with the dagger from before nodded toward Marstin.

“You saved our lives, kid. As such, we’ll leave you all be. We’ve lost enough friends today already, and do not wish to lose more.”

Marcus grunted, but Linda’s restraining hand calmed him down. With a final nod, the hooded figures vanished down the trail.

“Quest thieves they may be, they are still adventurers,” Linda reminded Marcus gently. “And that leader pushed me out of the way during the initial ambush. I was only hit out of my own carelessness.”

“You would have been safe with me,” Marcus grumbled. “If I ever find out who those guys were, I’ll have a nice ‘friendly’ chat with them in the alleyways.”

“Sure sure,” Shane waved her hand. “The important thing is that we are all okay, and we still have this load of guiga ore to deliver. So, the quest is still ongoing.” She then turned to look at Marstin, and held out a thumbs up. “You really managed to save the day, kid. I didn’t expect you to have it in you.”

“Sure, just let me lie still for a while,” Marstin groaned and lay still. The burning pain in his gut seemed to be spreading out into his muscles, which were all complaining as loud as they could about the treatment they’d experienced.

“Sorry, Marstin,” Linda apologized. “The blessing of strength has a cost. But you’ll be fine by the time we get back to Graniton.” She paused and looked pensive, “Well, it actually might take a bit longer than that, given your weaker body. Don’t try to move too much.”

Marstin groaned, causing Marcus and Shane to chuckle.

The ride back to Graniton was swift, with the downward trail assisting them most of the way. Marstin could only groan and grunt as they seemingly passed over every bump and hole in the world. Marcus and Shane kept the atmosphere light with jokes, and Linda occasionally chided their more mature humor, not that Marstin could pay the effort to listen in. When they reached Graniton, the group made their way immediately to the Starglass.

As if she knew they were coming, Yolna was waiting outside for them, a pensive look on her face. When she saw the cart, her face relaxed with relief.

“I had a bad premonition, but I am glad to be wrong,” she explained as she examined the four adventurers. “Hm, a little bit worse for the wear. Hard time at the dungeon?”

“You could say that,” Shane winced, her own muscle fatigue starting to arise. “We didn’t know the mining dungeon held a magical steel golem.”

“It does, but it should only be active on the fifth layer,” Yolna frowned. “How odd. Did you learn what attracted it?”

“Something to do with this cart, but we were too busy running to find out more,” Marcus shook his head.

“I see,” Yolna nodded. “Well. That certainly places me in the wrong, doesn’t it? As I recall, the penalty for improperly rating a quest at the guild is 1.5 times the offered reward plus compensation for losses. As I recommended this quest incorrectly, I shall pay the fine myself. Did you all suffer any losses?”

“We didn’t really, but Marstin here lost a grappling hook and rope, and spent a medium-grade healing potion on Linda, saving her life,” Marcus revealed.

“I see,” Yolna sighed. “I am pleased nothing worse occurred then. Sir Marstin, I will compensate you tomorrow for your lost items.”

Marstin only groaned.

“And I shall arrange hot baths for all of you today and full dinners, free of charge,” Yolna smiled. “I will report the days acquired after going through the ore tomorrow. Red Family, please return to your rooms and I shall assist Sir Marstin here.”

The three members of Red Family nodded and entered the inn, but not before Linda gave Yolna a curious look, which the older woman ignored.

“I know you are not feeling well right now, so I have arranged for a friend of yours to assist you to your room,” Yolna said after Linda had disappeared inside. “You’re quite the lucky young man, Sir Marstin, for having such good friends. Fortunately for you, one of them is well-known to me, from her daily deliveries to our hotel kitchen, and she asked after you with a bit of concern. As you have included her information as your emergency contact, I have summoned her here to assist you back to your room.”

Marstin at this point was beginning to fade into sleep from the sheer fatigue, but a strong set of arms pulled him off the cart and helped upright to walk.

“Not even a full day goes by and you end up like this,” Kyra’s annoyed voice rang out in Marstin’s ears. “Come on, let’s get you to your room.

He wasn’t sure when, but somehow Kyra got Marstin up the spiral staircase and into his room, laying him on his bed.

“You’re such a worry, Marstin, I hope you know that,” Kyra lectured angrily. “If not for the lessons Yarrow has agreed to give me, I’d be worried I’d be spending the rest of life concerned over your safety. But don’t you worry, I’ll be there to help you soon enough.”

Marstin didn’t quite understand what she was saying, but he enjoyed the feel of her warm hands on his as the darkness of sleep overcame his senses.

Chapter 22

As Progen had expected when he heard the voice of the mine dungeon in his mind, things had gone from bad to worse.  After Marstin’s body had, according to Stemmy, started to chase after the cart splashed with his blood and containing the ore surrounded by Progen’s mana, the tiny dungeon crystal shouted, “NO!  You don’t want to go anywhere near that cart!”  Alas, there was no response – because the human body couldn’t actually hear him.

“Stemmy, is there any way we can stop him?  This body will be walking into a trap.”

Negative.  There are no systems that Progen has control of that will provide any means of arresting locomotion…. Host is entering the previous room.  There are numerous golems killing the other group of humans, and the humans with the host have begun to fight.  The receptacle cart is near the wall, alongside what appears to be the unconscious form of the human that was taken hostage.  There is…

“There’s what?  Stemmy?”  It was rare that the interneuron cell ever hesitated to pass along information.

…. There is a tier 5 variant boss golem that appears to be constructed of dense, magical steel.  It has positioned itself in front of the exit tunnel.

“Well, that’s just great,” Progen said despairingly.  “There’s no way we’re going to make it out of here now.  It looks like we’ve really ticked off this dungeon—”

Stemmy has intercepted information regarding the release of adrenaline from the adrenal glands.

“Adrenaline?  What does that do and how is that supposed to help in this situation.”

Adrenaline is a hormone produced by the adrenal glands above the kidneys and is a part of the endocrine system.  The hormone is released in potentially dangerous situations to promote an increased chance of survival.  Adrenaline increases heart rate; dilates the eyes to see better, bronchioles in the lungs to increase oxygen input, and blood vessels in the muscles to strengthen them temporarily; glucose production increases for extra energy for necessary neuron cells; and the blood vessels constrict in the digestive tract to slow digestion.  All of this is done to focus the host’s resources on surviving as long as possible.

“…so that means that Marstin is preparing to fight?”

Yes.  Either that, or to try to make a run for it, abandoning the other humans here.

“From the descriptions you’ve passed along of their journey here to this mine dungeon, I have serious doubts that this body is going to be leaving them to their fate – as much as I would prefer that outcome,” Progen said sourly.  “So, let’s ensure that Marstin has a fighting chance.”

Stemmy had already pointed out where these hormones were starting to filter throughout the body, and as the interneuron cell had mentioned, Progen started to see blood vessels automatically being enlarged or constricted as he watched.  He could only assume that everything else that Stemmy had mentioned was happening as well, though it was happening at a fairly slow rate as it took a while for the hormone to spread throughout the body.

Fortunately, Progen could help with that.  Targeting the hormones, which were tiny molecular globs that were very similar in size to the antibody projectiles his Spawners released, he infused them with tiny amounts of mana, as well as giving them a boost in their speed via a levitation effect.  He spread around over 1,000 mana on the millions of tiny adrenaline hormone molecules now coursing through the body, only stopping when he ran out of mana.

The hormones were now zooming through the bloodstream, passing on their effects to the necessary systems in a fraction of the time they would normally take.  Not only that, but the infusion of mana was passed on as the adrenaline hormones were used up in their activation sequence, enhancing the final effects.  Things were happening fast; Progen estimated that all of that happened within 5 seconds of Stemmy identifying the situation inside of the room.

Warning.  Excessive adrenaline use can cause temporary or permanent damage to the host after the hormone surge has run its course.

“What?  Why didn’t you say that—”

Progen wasn’t able to finish, because even the tiny dungeon crystal could tell when the body started to move extremely quickly.  By observing the movement of the blood vessels under his influence, he speculated that the body had just jumped, using and abusing the muscles in the legs to jump higher and further than should be attempted.

“Stemmy!  Allow more sensory information through, to increase the chances of survival!” Progen ordered, upon suddenly remembering the sensory infiltration, one of the most important things they had done lately to increase the chances that the body wouldn’t die.  “But not too much,” he added, knowing Stemmy had been experimenting with the appropriate information levels lately – so the interneuron cell should know what that meant.

Done.

At Progen’s prompting, Stemmy described the action-packed scene as it unfolded, with the body attacking the golems with magically returning throwing knives – all in excruciatingly little detail that seemed to be the interneuron’s norm.  Regardless of the lack of exciting information, survival was had…at the moment.  There was a jarring impact as Progen’s entire world collided with something external, but a quick look around the body showed very little damage, fortunately.

“I’m repairing some of the blood vessels that broke during that impact – how is the fight going?” Progen asked, using some of his mana to fix a dozen small vessels that had been damaged in the back and side of the body.

The tier 5 variant boss golem is still blocking the exit.  There are multiple golems incoming.

“Well, I hope something changes soon, because we’re dead otherwise—”

A glowing, magical effect enveloped the entire body, infusing the muscles, bloodstreams, and even the bones of the body.  For a moment, the tiny dungeon crystal worried that it was harmful -- until he saw that the blood flow was even greater as the vessels dilated further, the heart pumped extremely fast, which allowed for the increased blood flow, and from what he could perceive, the muscles had been enlarged.  It was an extremely powerful effect – much more than what Progen could provide.

“Stemmy, what is this?”

According to overheard conversation, this magical effect is actually the Blessing of a God called Equinox.

“A Blessing from a God?  This might not end up well; from what I know, the interaction between a divine blessing and the mana from a dungeon crystal don’t necessarily mesh together.”  He was proven right when the blood vessels nearest the digestive system, which had taken the brunt of the enhanced adrenaline, began to burst from the double dose of magical effects.  It started to radiate out from there, and it was all that Progen could do to repair the smallest tears with his mana before it became a problem.

YOU DARE COME INTO THIS PLACE, came a sudden voice in Progen’s mind.

YOU DARE HIDE AMONG THESE HUMANS, came the same voice, though slightly modulated.

YOU DARE TO SHOW YOURSELF AND HIDE, the same voice continued, again changed to create a different tone.

YOU WILL NOT LEAVE THIS PLACE ALIVE!, roared all three voices together, which made the tiny dungeon crystal shrink back in not a little bit of fear.  Although he could hear the mine dungeon’s voice, he was only slightly relieved when it didn’t seem to be focused on his current whereabouts.

The tier 5 variant boss golem is attacking.  Host managed to avoid being hit, but there is still danger.  Host has now correctly identified the receptacle as being the target of the golem’s focus.

“Good, maybe he’ll leave it there and—”

Host has volunteered to push the receptacle out through the exit tunnel.

“Of all the stupid—”

Progen just couldn’t get a full thought out before being interrupted again.  Another magical light passed through the body, targeting the muscles and blood vessels again.  “Oh, no!  The body can’t take this kind of abuse!”

Correct.  The combination of Progen’s mana-infused adrenaline hormones and these two blessing effects may end up with permanent damage to the blood vessels.  The muscular and skeletal systems will recover, but the circulatory system – which has already been enhanced by Progen – may need extensive attention to repair the aftermaths of the ordeal.

“Yes, I can see that already,” Progen said, filtering out his mana to the worst injuries.  It was an ongoing battle to keep blood from pouring out from ruptured vessels, and to keep the circulation flowing; no sooner had he repaired one vessel than another one burst from the unaccustomed strain on them.

YOU SHALL NOT ESCAPE!, the voice came again.

“Oh yes we will!” Progen cried back, hoping that it was true.  Stemmy was silent as there was an explosion of something that the tiny dungeon crystal heard from inside of the body, so that was likely the reason the interneuron cell was quiet: There was too much stimulation to accurately determine what was going on.

Host has escaped from the tier 5 variant boss golem, taking the receptacle along with it.  Leaving the mine dungeon’s influence in 5…4…3…2…1….

After they passed through the invisible bubble that constituted the mine dungeon’s area of direct influence, Progen felt the oppressive feeling of foreign dungeon mana pressing against him completely disappear.  He figuratively sighed in relief, as that had been entirely too close of a call to be appreciated.  There was still a lot of damage that had to be fixed in the circulatory system, though there was no danger of the body bleeding out at the moment.  The dungeon crystal estimated that it would take at least a day to fix and put back the horribly distended blood vessels where they needed to go.

“Please tell me that it won’t be like that whenever we enter another dungeon,” he commented, already hard at work doing repairs.

Until Progen takes control of all the systems in this host, Progen’s mana signature will continue to leak out.

“So, yes, this will continue to happen,” the dungeon crystal grumbled.  “At least, it will until I take control of this body – at which point it won’t really matter, since I have no intention of going back into another dungeon if I can help it.  The risk would still be too great that I will be discovered.”

Eventually, the group of adventurers returned to the town, where Progen’s barely mobile body was already starting to exhibit the aftereffects of the blessings and enhanced adrenaline hormones.

There is something or someone carrying the host, as neural communication indicates that severe fatigue has set in all over the body.  Repairs to the muscular system are ongoing, and Progen’s attention to the blood vessels ravaged by the magical effects will assist in that recovery.  Host is now asleep.

Progen had already noticed how the breathing had slowed in the respiratory system, and the blood flow through the vessels had lessened considerably.  All of which would help immensely while doing repairs.  When the body was at high alert and rushing around, it was much harder to pinpoint exactly where his mana-based help was needed.  I just hope he stays asleep long enough to get this all done.

Looking out over the entire body, Progen couldn’t help but be proud at what he had already accomplished.  Without modesty, he was confident that without the help of his mana, the body would’ve died back there in that mine dungeon.  Of course, he conveniently glossed over the fact that Marstin was only really in danger because of the presence of the tiny dungeon crystal in his body – but that was beside the point.

Knowing his host had a lengthy road to recovery ahead, Progen got back to work repairing the body and destroying bacterial and viral infections that still seemed to pop up consistently.

Chapter 23

Marstin snoozed through the night, and even the entirety of the next day without any trouble. In his honest opinion, however, he would have much preferred to have slept even longer if it hadn’t been for his rumbling gut awakening him. His arms and legs were so sore he could barely hobble out of his clothes and give himself the barest minimum of a wipe down with a wet cloth. He had been shocked to find the cloth covered in a layer of dark sweat, only to find his entire body covered in a thin sheen of the stuff, like a dirt cocoon. The worst bit he picked on a moment later; he smelled horrible. He didn’t hesitate to leap into the room temperature tub of water lying in the middle of the room, the leftover hot bath he hadn’t been able to take. Through painful groans and grunts, Marstin washed as much of the dried sweat and other, unnamable crust pieces off of his body, revealing his original slightly tanned skin color. Once he was satisfied, he vacated the tub as quickly as possible, as the water had taken on the properties of his waste.

It was a good thing he was used to being dirty, otherwise Marstin felt a normal person would have fainted at the gross nature of the current tub. He dried himself off as best he could and grimaced through the excruciating process of putting on his casual clothes. He decided to bring his throwing dagger sheaths and adventure bag though, just in case he needed to store something. Once he was somewhat satisfied with his damp appearance, Marstin made his way down to the lobby.

The sight of adventurers enjoying meals in the tavern told Marstin it was about lunch time. Confirming his suspicions, his stomach let out a low growl, as if to remind him that food was needed, and quickly. The young adventurer held his hunger down as best he could and made his way over to Yolna’s receptionist area. The older adventurer greeted him with a knowing smile.

“So the sleeping dragon arises from his slumber,” she teased him. “I wasn’t sure when you were going to wake up given your condition. You really pushed your physical limits, didn’t you, young Marstin?”

“I guess,” Marstin mumbled as he scratched his head sheepishly. “My body is still sore and aching, and most of the memories of the mine are from the return trip and all those bumps in the road.”

Yolna let out a small chuckle. “Yes, I do understand what you mean. A common saying from my time as an adventurer was that while others can admire the great deeds of an adventurer, the adventurer can only admire their scars and injuries. Fu fu fu, it isn’t an easy thing escaping a magical steel golem you know, so take your pain as a sign that you managed to survive through effort and good luck.”

“Now, shall I go over the results of the quest? Or perhaps you prefer to eat some lunch first?” she asked with a teasing smile.

“Results first, then food,” Marstin said confidently, almost hopping in place from the increasing drive of hunger.

“I question your priorities, but as you will.” She nodded. “After examining through the guiga ore you and the adventurering team Red Family brought me, I found the value to be equivalent to two months of lodging after calculating my penalty of 1.5 times the original reward. As per your agreement with the Red Family, they have accepted those two months and have paid me for your stay for an additional six months, of which I covered half as an additional apology to them, and to you, Marstin, for my mistake. I’ve also taken to rounding up your original stay to the full month; so as it stands you have nine months of lodging remaining here at the Starglass.”

“Also, I’d like you to have this,” Yolna finished, handing over a simple silver necklace with a charm on it in the shape of a bow and arrow. Marstin examined it curiously. “It’s a little something of my own design,” she explained as Marstin put the necklace on. “Think of it as a good luck charm I give to the adventurers who assist me with enough quests. Now, go enjoy lunch; it is on me today.”

“Thank you, Yolna!” Marstin smiled happily. “Talk to you later!” Yolna shook her head with a smile as Marstin ran over into the tavern area and took a seat. She watched as a waitress brought Marstin the daily lunch, roasted boar leg with herb salad covered in meat juice dressing, and a nutritious mashed fruit drink for minors. She silently rubbed something hidden under her sleeve and let out a small sigh. But in the end, she didn’t say anything and regained her typical smile as other adventurers came up to the receptionist desk.

Marstin, having noticed none of this, kept on eating with gusto, savoring the delicious roasted pork and greens and washing it all down with cool juice. When he was finished, the young adventurer leaned back into his chair and went over his mind’s to-do list.

Today was the day he’d asked the urchins to meet him at the shack next to the old, rotten tree. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect from going there, but perhaps it would be something good for his soul, like how his father used to act. Marstin frowned, reminded that his family memories were still incomplete for whatever reason. Yet the memory of his father’s fairness and charity was still there.

Beyond that, his coin purse was still light. He needed to do some quests to bring his purse back up, though, thanks to the mining quest, he didn’t need to worry about lodging expenses for quite some time. Working toward paying off the debt was important also, not to mention the need to raise his Adventurer Guild rank to ensure he could take on a better-rewarding quest without having to team up with established groups. He was getting tired of playing porter.

A full-body twinge reminded Marstin that perhaps he could possibly stand for buying a potion of some sort from an apothecary or doctor to help rid his body of the pain from soreness. If such a potion even existed anyway.

Beyond those few objectives, Marstin couldn’t think of anything else he needed to do. Checking in with the Iron Yaks and Kyra seemed like decent side objectives for the day, but there wasn’t a rush for those.

Marstin decided to visit the apothecary down the street first. As expected, the apothecary, a nice old man, explained to Marstin that the only potion he could provide to treat severe soreness had the added effect of dulling all the body’s senses, which Marstin was decidedly not interested in. A thief losing his senses was only good for being a meat shield after all, or that was what he’d heard from the thieves from before.

Knowing that visiting a doctor would be a probable waste of time, Marstin decided to head into the southern part of town, down the old back alleys and decaying houses to the shack with the rotten tree.

The shack and the rotten tree served as pseudo-landmarks in the southern district. Though both were older than the surrounding buildings, it had always seemed that time didn’t affect them the same as their surroundings. No one knew why, but it made things useful when naming them as points of reference when giving directions, as all roads seemed to somehow lead to them one way or another. It was actually more appropriate to say that all the back roads in the south led away from the shack and rotten tree, really.

As such, Marstin didn’t find it too troubling to reach the tree, where he sat down and leaned against it, closing his eyes to rest his aching body. He didn’t bother attempting to locate the urchins; he knew that someone was watching the area at all times. The word would be passed around quickly; such was the way for things in the back alleys of Graniton. Soon enough, Marstin’s ears picked up the tell-tale sounds of someone attempting to sneak up on him. Without even opening his eyes, the young adventurer flung one of his throwing knives toward the sound, inciting a frightened yelp as someone fell onto their butt in fear. This was followed by the furtive sound of someone attempting to remove the throwing knife from the ground, and their subsequent shock at its disappearance.

“Alright, enough of that,” Marstin said aloud, his hand twirling the throwing dagger around in a practiced maneuver. “Come on out.” He lazily opened one eye and watched the little urchin from before walked into view, an innocent smile on his face.

“Ah sir, it be you,” the urchin said happily. “I promise ya sir I not be realizing that be you sittin here; I never be wanting to rob sir of course.”

“Drop the act kid,” Marstin chuckled. The urchin rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

I’m not much older than a kid like he seems to be. It might look a little hypocritical for me to call him a “kid” like this.

Marstin looked around. “Any more coming?”

The urchin shook his head. “Aye told them sir that you be here to give lessons, but they not met you like I ave and they be nervous sir you know? Aye be coming today to learn and see what you sir be offerin to us. And asking, why?”

Marstin cocked his head and wondered to himself. “Well,” Marstin considered slowly. “If I were to have a reason, it’s because not too long ago I was just like you. Older of course, and perhaps even worse off, but just like you.”

“Aye doubt anyone be worse off than us, sir,” the urchin scoffed. “Bein a poor and dirty urchin orphan seems like the lowest of the low if ya don’t mind me sayin so sir.”

“You ever live in an actual grave next to the town trash heap, getting beaten by the Thieves’ Guild every other day?” Marstin asked with a frown.

The urchin looked mortified. “You lived in a grave?”

“Given my prospects for reaching the next day, it certainly seemed like an appropriate place to stay,” Marstin admitted, the feelings of horrid nostalgia playing through his mind and making him reminisce, with the occasional shudder and grimace. Had it really only been a few months since he’d left that life behind?

Maybe this is all a dream, and you’re still lying in the grave hallucinating from the rotten potion. Maybe this is your second wind before death claims you.

“That sounds a lot bit horrible sir,” the urchin nodded. “But, you got to be a part of the Thieves’ Guild aight? That be the high life for folk like us yes? Even if they beat ya,-”

“No,” Marstin’s voice cut in sharply, glaring at the urchin. “I know what you’re thinking. I heard it, too. To poor urchins like us, joining the guild seemed like the high life. The rumors and stories certainly made it sound like that. But it was all a lie.” Marstin shook his head. “I wasn’t even recruited like a normal urchin. They just dragged my begging self off the street one day and put me to work against my will. They had the actual recruits beat me when I couldn’t work; though ironically, I lived long after those urchins had passed. The Thieves’ Guild here in Graniton,” Marstin stared the urchin straight in the eye, “they only use urchins for two things; “disposal” jobs, and physical relief. And both of those had the same outcome: the trash heap. You’re lucky the guild got smashed; otherwise that likely would have been your fate. Don’t believe me? I’ll show you the little graves I dug for each body I found.”

At this point, the memories were flowing impossibly fast now, overcoming Marstin’s reality as he shivered and shook. Feelings of pain, fear, despair, hate, and sorrow rippled across his face.

“That life, that was hell,” Marstin finally said a few moments later.

The urchin watched Marstin for some time, various emotions playing across his face.

“You know sir,” the urchin said softly. “Aye wasn’t really believing ya when you first described yaself to me. I couldn’t believe someone like sir to be like me. You talk good, like ya got an education, and ya looks like you own things and have a place to stay that be warm at night. I thought you be jibbin me and takin me for a ride. But, I don’t be hearin any lyin from you. You be tellin the truth. But, that means there be no way for me or the lads to be getting out of dis life.” The urchin drooped sadly.

“No,” Marstin shook his head, forcing the memories away. “There is a way out. I got out. You can get out, too.” Marstin stood up and placed a hand on the urchin’s shoulder. The urchin flinched, but soon relaxed into Marstin’s firm, but comforting grip. Marstin forced a smile onto his face. “I’ll teach you how to get out. You and your friends. You’ve given me an idea.”

“An idea, sir?” the waif cocked his head curiously.

Marstin nodded. “I never liked being in the guild, being a thief,” he admitted. “But, I did pick up many important lessons from the Thieves’ Guild, lessons that have proven very valuable to my work as an adventurer. So, there was some good, and I think I should try to preserve that good to pass on to you and the other urchins. If you heard that joining a guild would be the high life, then let’s make that true.”

Marstin retracted his hand. “The Adventurer’s Guild lacks nimble, item-lifting-related types like us. Not thieves, I mean, but individuals who can find traps, open locks, scout ahead, and other such things. So, right, I propose we form our own little guild: The Rogue’s Guild.”

“What’s a rogue?” The waif asked curiously, his eyes getting excited.

“It’s a word I often heard being used to describe thieves, like a scoundrel. But, we can use it to be something different, something better. While the Adventurer’s Guild won’t hire any urchin younger than I am, give or take a few years, I can still train you and your friends to be prepared for that day, and I can pay you to help me out with quests I take. Are you interested?”

The urchin folded his arms and thought about. “So, it’s like a secret club where we learn to be . . . rogues?” The urchin smiled a cracked tooth smile. “Well sir, that be soundin a lot better than stealin on the streets or beggin in da shadows. Will ya be providing food too?”

Marstin fumbled around in his adventure bag and pulled out one of the hard loaves he’d bought from Kyra before the quest. “I can offer this?”

The urchin snatched the bread and sank his teeth into the bread, smiling happily at the delicious taste. “Ya got yaself a deal sir, no, big bro!” Bread in mouth, the urchin dashed away toward an alley, turning around to say one last thing. “I’ll be back with me buds tomorrow here again. And remember, I’m da head of da urchins right now, and me name is Archie. Oh!” The urchin suddenly ran back and pushed something into Marstin’s hand. “Yous remember the messenger I tried to lift from ight? Well, I made sure to copy in me head the way the letters looked in the message I knickered first, before he took it back. And I made you a page that looks like what I remembered. I can’t read, so this be better for you I think. Bye!” And with that said, the urchin vanished into the shadows.

Marstin unrolled the small sheet of paper. It only had a single line written on it.

The Mayer died two days ago

Marstin blinked, shocked. He knew the mayor had taken ill, the guild receptionist second in command person . . . Barklin, had told him as such back when he and Oswald were checking on the guild master. But, no one in town seemed to be in the know.

Pocketing the message for later, Marstin decided to make his way to the Adventurer Guild to check on the quest board. It didn’t take too long to reach the central plaza from the southern district, and he entered into the hustle and bustle of the guild.

“Ah, Marstin,” Barklin unexpectedly greeted him near the entrance. “Follow me to my table, please.”

Not sure what to expect, Marstin obediently followed the tall and lanky man to the farthest table behind the receptionist counter. He waited until Barklin was seated before asking, “What’s going on, Barklin?”

“It’s about the caribou incident,” Barklin explained. “It appears to be mostly resolved. While the actual physical evidence is lacking, independent investigators were able to find the hill mentioned in your report and confirmed the presence of necrotic magic, though the traces were too old and trampled to find more beyond that. In light of this new development, the opposition forces have been forced to take a step back from placing pressure on the tribes and the Iron Yaks, though judgement is still being reserved until more information can be found. Still, this is the best outcome we could have hoped for.” Barklin gave the young adventurer a small smile. “As such, the tribes are more than willing to fork out a more suitable reward to you and the Iron Yaks. The details are still being sorted out, as a few companies had offered to pay a percentage of the reward, but I’m sure within the month you’ll be adequately compensated.”

“So, the guild master is back?” Marstin asked hopefully.

“No,” Barklin shook his head. “The guild master is still caught up with work in the capital. However, he was able to send a letter alongside our visitor that placed me in charge of the guild in his absence, meaning I’m able to issue new quests and earn some coin to be used for guild rewards. A temporary fix for certain, but at least the guild is able to function until the guild master returns now.”

“Visitor?” Marstin asked curiously.

“Yes,” Barklin nodded. “The one we talked about last time, remember. The premier merchant of Graniton, Mr. Drestice. Ah, there he is now.” Barklin turned his head slightly and smiled.

Marstin’s blood turned to ice as he slowly cocked his head around and stared. On the second story of the guild, a man stood, leaning over the bars and staring down at the adventurers.

“Attention,” Ghevin suddenly spoke, his voice booming around the guild. “It is my sad duty to announce that the mayor of Graniton has just passed away from an old illness. I have just finished communicating with the capital through the guild master’s communication device, and they have ordered that an election must be held immediately to ensure the continuing prosperity of the town.”

“As of now, I announce my running in this mayoral race, and I encourage anyone else who feels like running to submit their application to City Hall, where I am heading now. May the three heavens welcome the soul of our beloved former mayor.”

Chapter 24

The Adventurer’s Guild was filled with the sounds of clapping as the adventurers showed their modest support of Ghevin Drestice, who continued to smile coldly as he stood atop the masses from above. Marstin was one of the few who didn’t bother clapping and was the only one giving Ghevin a cold stare that largely went unnoticed.

“Is everything all right, Marstin?” Barklin asked with a raised eyebrow, pausing his own clapping to examine the young adventurer.

Marstin’s cautious instincts triggered and he immediately relaxed his face into a casual smile and turned around to face Barklin, his fists unclenching and leaving behind the imprint of his nails in his palms. “Yeah, sorry, Barklin. I just couldn’t help having bad memories related to that guy.”

“Ah right, the manor incident,” Barklin nodded in understanding. “Well, so long as you remember you were in the wrong in that situation in the first place, I’m sure you’ll be able to get over it with enough time. I’m sure the trauma you took due to that incident isn’t easy to forget; but do try to. After all, you wouldn’t want to be holding it against the future mayor, right?” Barklin chuckled to himself. Marstin chuckled with him, though his forced laugh remained colder and less humorous.

Marstin suddenly blinked in surprise. “Wait, why do you think Ghevin . . . ahem, Mr. Drestice will be the future mayor? Doesn’t there need to be an election, and won’t there be other candidates?”

“Well, to be perfectly frank,” Barklin tapped his desk. “The word ‘election’ is more for the masses than anything else, though that isn’t a real secret. The country only needs someone to maintain the flow of taxes and ensure the security of the area they’re put in charge of without actually wielding power themselves. After all, the true ruler of the southern region is the appointed lord; the mayor is just a bit of formality to the citizens. Certainly, it is much preferred that the citizens pick someone that can both do the job and be popular, but the capital isn’t above sending their own representative to a place and having them win one way or another.”

“In this case,” the tall man continued with a smile. “We are all very lucky to have a capable and willing candidate who is also approved by the capital. I doubt anyone else will even truly bother running against Ghevin, but time will tell. They won’t find it an easy battle; I’ll tell you that much.”

“Sure, okay,” Marstin mumbled, something about Barklin’s attitude toward Ghevin was bothering him but he ignored it. “But, the mayor died today?”

“Oh yes,” Barklin nodded. “A maid in his office found his cold body in his bed, having passed during the night. That old illness of his must have finally caught up to him.”

“Didn’t you say last time that the mayor had just gotten ill, though?” Marstin pressed.

Barklin blinked. “You must be remembering wrong, Marstin. The mayor clearly had a long-running illness for many years that has slowly drained his life away. Everyone knows that. Quite the shame, but it was to be expected.”

“I see,” Marstin nodded slowly. “Well, thank you for telling me about the outcome of the quest, Barklin. I’ll look forward to receiving it-”

“Ah, Barklin,” an oily-smooth voice came from behind Marstin. “Just the man I was looking for. I was given some instructions from your guild master to pass on to you.” Marstin froze in place, hearing candidate Drestice’s voice.

“Ah, very good,” Barklin smiled professionally. “I was hoping to get some.”

“Who is this fine young man?” Ghevin asked.

“Ah, this is one of our newest adventurers, Marstin,” Barklin introduced. “He’s got a bright future ahead of him.”

“Turn around, young man, so that I may take a look at a future pillar of this town,” Ghevin’s voice urged commandingly.

Taking a silent breath, Marstin worked his face into the peak of politeness and turned around, looking up to meet the gaze of the man he thought of as his arch enemy. The villain was tall, though not as lanky as Barklin, and wore an expensive blue fur coat over a pair of dress pants and dress shirt with glistening silver buttons. His boots had silver buckles up to below the knee. His hair was black and shaped out into a ‘W’, with a thick mustache covering his entire upper lip. His gaze was intense, with black eyes and a chilling smile. He looked very different from Marstin’s memories, and yet the features of the servant Marstin had seen could still be found if one looked hard enough. Especially the scar on the left ear; a thick sign of where someone, Marstin’s mother, had once cast healing magic to put it back together. Marstin’s enemy, his family’s enemy, was standing there in front of him. The cold gaze from the tall, fancily dressed man didn’t flinch or narrow, instead continuing to stare blankly as if Marstin’s existence meant nothing to him.

“Marstin, Marstin,” Ghevin repeated slowly, licking the name as if considering. “Hm, what an interesting name. Tell me young Marstin, do I know you? I feel as if I’ve heard your name before. . . have we met?”

“No, sir, you and I have never met before,” Marstin lied smoothly, his heart rate calm and eyes unflinching. “I was a beggar on the streets for most of my life, before being pulled into the company of unsavory sorts.”

“If you must know, sir,” Barklin coughed, speaking up for Marstin’s sake, “you might have read about him from the caravan incident. Our young Marstin played an instrumental part in bringing down the Thieves’ Guild and ensuring the safety of your property.”

“Ahhh,” Drestice’s face widened into a sly smile. “Ahh yes, now I remember. The savior of my property, was it?” His palm suddenly arose, thumb rubbing against the magical-looking gemstone sitting in his palm. “Would not a better description be the traitor to the Thieves’ Guild? The one who tried to break into my manor house here in town beforehand in order to steal my property?”

“I do apologize for my actions while being forced by the thieves,” Marstin bowed his head apologetically. “It is good that your property has been returned to you.”

“Indeed, it is,” Ghevin’s smile faded back into a cold frown. “Barklin, I think from now on it shall become more important that the guild considers carefully who you all deal with. Your policies are quite … lenient, when it comes to accepting personnel. A traitor once, after all, could be a traitor, once again.”

“That will never happen,” Marstin assured the taller man with as honest a tone as he could manage. “The Adventurer’s Guild is my salvation, and I shall ensure it retains a good name.” Ghevin only smirked coldly.

“Marstin, I think it is time for you to go,” Barklin said, his voice ever so slightly colder than before. “A messenger will be sent to notify you once your reward is deposited. Please allow me to continue my work with Mr. Ghevin.”

Marstin’s eyebrows furrowed for only a moment at Barklin’s tone, before moving away toward the quest board. He glanced back for just a moment to see Ghevin and Barklin pouring over a couple of documents before focusing on the quests available in front of him. There were plenty of simple quests for his G rank, and even a few F rank quests he could manage solo. After considering the options, he opted for two city quests to remove basement pests, simple rank 1 monsters that had crawled up out of the sewers. The female receptionist he took them to quickly marked his name into the record, and Marstin left the guild lobby.

As the first quest was in a house in the north district, Marstin opted to head there first. He took the main street north, joining the crowd and weaving his wave through it like a fish in water.

Marstin’s thoughts were incredibly preoccupied as he reflexively avoided other people. He wrestled with so many questions in his head. Why had the message the urchin boy intercepted secretly revealed the mayor’s death two days prior, which really meant four days ago after the delay in reading it. Why was the mayor’s death announced today as having occurred over the previous night? Why was Ghevin Drestice back? Did his focus on Marstin’s name mean he remembered the young man? Why did Barklin suddenly change his mind as to whether the mayor’s illness had been new or old? Why was Barklin so sure that Ghevin would win the mayor seat when so little time had passed after the death of the previous mayor?

Marstin was so focused on these questions, his body finally seemed to crash into someone. The other party yelped as they fell to the ground from the unexpected impact.

“I’m so sorry!” Marstin apologized as his mind returned to the present. “Are you hurt sir, ma’am?”

The figure revealed itself to be a middle-age man in a traveling cloak and hood wearing a pack at his side and carrying a walking cane in his hand. “Ah, no problem young man, no problem at all. Oof, let me get my bearings.” As the man stood up, Marstin could not help but notice the man was a foreigner. His skin was much too pale and his facial proportions too different to be from Istut, and his body seemed more inclined to leanness while not being as tall as a typical Istut man or woman. The strange traveler brushed himself off, only to have his stomach grumble loudly.

“Ah, my mistake,” the strange man laughed heartily. “How embarrassing.”

“Allow me to pay for your meal, sir,” Marstin suggested quickly. “I don’t know how I missed you, but let me make it up to you with this.”

“Of course, of course,” the traveler nodded happily. “Lead the way, young man.”

Marstin led the traveler over to one of the diners located along the main road and took a seat with the other man. As they sat, the traveler examined the menu drawn across the backboard of the diner.

“Ah, dear,” he said, flagging down a waitress. “I’ll have the oily boar flank with winter potatoes and several jugs of wine. And he’ll have a calming tea.” Marstin could only gap; the traveler had ordered the most expensive things on the menu with a straight face. Marstin could afford it, but . . . .

“Quite polite of you to treat an old man like myself, yes, yes, quite gracious indeed,” the traveler nodded. “Mm, you’re generous indeed, quite the makings of a great gentleman you have young sir, yes indeed. You’ll be a great person; I know it from your face.”

“Are you pulling a fast one on me?” Marstin’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh no no no no,” the traveler waved his hand dismissively as he chuckled. “I’d never seek to disenfranchise another like that. No, I’m just an old man who noticed a young man so deep in thought while moving I couldn’t help but place myself in the path your body was taking.”

Marstin’s mind clicked. How had he not noticed this obvious traveler when he’d dodged every other person on the road. Frankly, how had this self-proclaimed old man managed to get in his way in the first place without Marstin noticing?

“Ah ha,” the old man pointed at Marstin. “You have another question; I can see it on your face now. Why bother with it since you have so many others? Living a life filled with questions leaves no room for any answers. Can’t fill a full mind after all.”

Marstin folded his arms and glared at the traveler, who giggled.

“Careful there, forest lion, I’ll get flustered if you keep staring at me.”

“You’re a strange man,” Marstin said with a nod. “I’ll leave the gold to pay for your meal, have a good day.”

“Hold!” the traveler said quickly, grabbing hold of Marstin’s sleeve and pulling him back down into his chair. “Come now, sit and talk with me. A good meal can only be made better with good company and interesting conversation. Speak, what’s on your mind.”

“What’s it to you?” Marstin asked grumpily as the food and drinks were served. He didn’t bother touching the tea as the traveler cut into his boar.

“What isn’t?” the traveler chuckled, savoring the first piece of feral pork. “It is to be as anything else could be to me, interesting. I am a traveler of places and people, my quest being to observe the things and sights, in order to better widen my mind for my final decision, my ratification. So tell me your story young man, I shall listen.”

“I’m not exactly comfortable sharing my thoughts and story with someone I just met, who hasn’t even bothered to introduce themselves to me,” Marstin grunted.

“Ah yes, this is indeed my mistake,” The traveler nodded as he sipped his wine. “Please address me as Jorkan the Seeker. This is my name, title, and identification until my ratification.”

“My name is Marstin,” the young adventurer answered in kind. “And I must be going now, excuse me.”

“Now now,” Jorkan the Seeker said, pulling Marstin back down. “Come young Marstin, surely you could spare a few minutes to humor an old man, especially one you knocked down unintentionally?”

“You made it happen,” Marstin grumbled under his breath, but the sense of guilt was enough to bring him back down to sit. “Fine, I’ll tell you a bit. I’m a former urchin, beggar, pawn of the Thieves’ Guild currently working as an adventurer. Happy?”

“Yes, quite,” Jorkan the Seeker smiled happily as he munched away. “There is so much to unpack from that one sentence. So much to be read, and you’ve only lived for a short time. Quite the amazing turn of events; are you happy with your current life?”

“As happy as I’ve ever been,” Marstin said.

“That’s a lie,” the traveler said as he sipped his wine. “No, you didn’t mess up your expressions or body language,” Jorkan the Seeker chuckled as Marstin started. “Rather, it was your inner self that gave the answer away. You’ve been happier before; I saw you with your family. And-”

Jorkan the Seeker paused mid-speech as a throwing knife sank into his chair, incredibly close to his neck, and waited until the throwing knife magically vanished. He looked calmly into the furious and scared eyes of Marstin.

“How?” Marstin asked, his unseen hands prepared to unleash another throwing dagger, this time at a better target, murderer charges be darned.

“I told you,” Jorkan the Seeker said with his ever-present smile. “Your inner self gave it away. Perhaps you’d understand it better if I said you thought it.”

“My mind, you can read my thoughts,” Marstin realized as he quickly connected the dots. “You’re one of those ‘old kooks’.”

“Old kooks? My, you are quite polite aren’t you,” Jorkan the Seeker chuckled. “I’m used to much more offensive and hate-filled descriptions for me and my brethren. Yes, I am indeed a philosopher, as you think.”

“Why is a philosopher in Graniton?” Marstin furrowed his eyes. “I thought you all were not allowed to enter other countries?”

“We aren’t,” Jorkan the Seeker nodded as he sipped his wine. “But to be fair, it isn’t that easy to recognize a philosopher in the first place. Any individual can become one, and it isn’t like we go around advertising ourselves with emblems, secret handshakes, or anything else. Any traveler could be a philosopher, or even a long-time resident. Don’t be too paranoid, however; there aren’t many philosophers outside of our country anyway; only those seeking enlightenment for their ratification, like me, and wayfarers who maintain safe places, are found outside.”

“So why tell me all this?” Marstin asked, his arms crossed.

“Simple. You told me a deep secret of yours, and I return the favor by telling you a deep secret of mine. As one school calls it, equivalent exchange,” the philosopher explained. “Would you like to know more?”

Marstin considered. The two quests were not time sensitive, and the philosopher had managed to pique his interest.

“Sure. But are you sure this is the place to have that kind of talk? Aren’t you afraid of someone else reporting you?” he asked.

“At the moment, no one even notices we are here,” Jorkan the Seeker winked. “A simple sphere of uninteresting I have cast, one that renders us uninteresting to everyone else.” Indeed, no one else in the diner seemed to be paying any attention to the duo or their table.

“No, this isn’t mind control,” Jorkan shook his head. “It is forbidden to philosophers to take control over another’s mind, because it goes directly against our beliefs of the freedom to think. This is merely a type of perception-filtering ability of mine; the waitress will be back to collect the bill once it becomes more pressing in her mind.”

“So tell me about that then,” Marstin said. “You mentioned schools, and ratification. Are there different kinds of philosophers?”

“Indeed there are,” the cloaked traveler nodded. “There are a number of schools of thought, all different in substance and different in the application of those thoughts. The school of skepticism, for instance, is quite adept at debilitating the will and morale of others with their abilities, but are also good at finding the hidden faults in everything, from the weak points of a building under construction to the best places to mine. The school of equivalent exchange is quite adept at casting blessings and curses, while also creating new things. There are many others, so it is important for all students to carefully consider their options before the ceremony of ratification. I myself am considering the school of Epicurean for my ratification. This school seeks to overcome the fear of death, and the fear of life.”

“Fear of life? How can someone fear living?” Marstin asked.

“Interesting question to ask coming from you,” Jorkin the Seeker smiled. “Are you sure you’ve never lived a day not wishing for the cold embrace of death to save you?”

Instantly, Marstin’s vision was filled with the sights and sounds of his memories, of the grave home, and of the pain. He groaned, and then found himself sitting alone at the table. The payment for the meal was sitting in front of him, alongside a note.

“You can treat me next time with your story. Drink your calming tea, and take your questions one at a time.”

“What a weird old man,” Marstin muttered, but he did take a sip of the tea. It was annoyingly calming like the note claimed.

Chapter 25

“Why couldn’t it have been rats?” Marstin groaned as he dragged his tired body away from the home he’d just exited, a young couple happily waving him a farewell behind him. Marstin turned long enough to politely return their farewell, before turning back ahead and resuming his moaning. “Rats are easy to kill, easy to find, easy to butcher, and easy to fight. I would have been happy with more bats too, or any, other, type of, monster. So, why did it have to be worms?” Marstin looked down at his burned and dissolved armor with tears forming in his eyes, mostly from the burning smell of acid.

As Marstin had expected, the first home in the northern district had been a quick and easy slaying of a couple of tier 1 large bats that had flown up from an uncovered tunnel entrance. After making a temporary blockade to prevent anything else from entering the basement, Marstin had left the lady of the house instructions to call for the mason guild to repair the hole and to notify the guards to check the tunnel and see where it went. Graniton was a very old mining town after all, and parts of the original town had been buried by progress over the years. This included old mine tunnels, tombs and crypts, and the occasional black-market smuggling tunnel; all of which could hold any number of wandering monsters or vermin. A few E- and F- ranked quests, Marstin knew, actually were requests from the town guard to explore areas they didn’t have the time to.

With the first quest of the day completed easily, Marstin hadn’t gone into the second feeling any less jubilant at the ease of coin he was going to earn. The house this time was in the eastern district, in a smaller residential area and owned by a young couple living in their first home. After going through the usual pleasantries, Marstin asked them the usual questions regarding their request to the guild. Evidently, the wife had been hearing some odd noises coming from the basement during the day, especially when it rained. The husband had made the request after confirming the echoing, scratching sound himself. With no other relevant information to be had, Marstin had been allowed into the basement to investigate. This is where things began to go wrong.

Marstin’s first mistake was not considering why a freshly made home would have a basement with a wooden floor as opposed to a dirt floor, which he had thought was the standard for Graniton. Questioning the couple later would reveal the floor was there when they bought it but did know it had been built first. Marstin’s second mistake was not confirming the sound himself before walking over the floor and pulling up a floorboard, resulting in a shocking ambush as a trio of tier 1 monster worms erupted through the floor and attacked him.

Monster worms were the menace of all miners in Graniton. These arm-sized subterranean monsters burrowed through the ground in search of prey, locking onto loud noises and bursting out with their circular mouths and saw teeth to bite onto prey, or using their acidic body fluids to burn enemies and obstacles. Marstin’s reflexes were good enough that he had been able to dodge the bite lunges, but unfortunately, he had taken a direct hit of the acidic body spit, which damaged his leather armor and burned parts of his hair. His throwing daggers had made quick work of the worms before they could retract themselves back into the hole, and Marstin had grudgingly thrown their retrieved corpses into his adventurer’s bag, which thankfully was not affected by the acidity. A quick visual scan appeared to confirm that there were no more worms, but Marstin wasn’t sure of the signs. As such, he replaced the board and nailed it back into place before warning the couple to not go back into the basement, and that he would report the sighting to the guild.

Thus, armor damaged and smelling faintly of burned hair, Marstin dragged himself to the adventurer depot’s backyard, aka, the monster depository. This was his first time coming by himself, but he’d been back here before with other adventurer groups like the Iron Yaks. The backyard was a mix of open yard, large barn, and large stone countertops covered in the faint colors of old butchering. The young adventurer trudged over to an open table and began removing his bats and worms.

“Quest results or hunting?” an elderly muscular woman with a scar across her face asked as she walked up to Marstin, check pad in hand and butcher’s knife hanging off her belt.

“Quest results,” Marstin replied, fishing out his adventurer’s ID card to hand over. “Sorry for the smell.”

“What smell?” the woman asked with a chuckle as she inspected the card and confirmed its authenticity. “What, that li’l bit of worm spit. Bah, you obviously have never tangled with a rank 5 earth dragon worm. Them biters are larger than a person and have five snake-like tongues to grab hold of ya and pull you in. Bastards smell bad alive and dead. This is nuthin.” The woman made a few notes on her notepad. “Hm, but that is strange. Where ya find these little bastards anyway? I wasn’t aware of any mine quests; they’ll all be closed anyway.”

“I found these monster worms in the basement of a home in the eastern district,” Marstin explained. “This is the address. They popped out of the wooden basement floor as soon as I removed a board to inspect below.”

“Rookie mistake,” the woman whacked Marstin’s head with her notepad. “You blathering idiot, why would you remove the floor? All homes with basements in Graniton are required to have dem boards as a floor to dissuade the worms from showing up here. The boards are made of a wood they hate, see; somehow smells as bad to them as dem worms smell to us. Tell me, was it a new home?”

“I think so,” Marstin nodded.

“Che, must be from one o them rotten companies dat cut corners,” the woman snarled angrily. “I’ll be ‘avin someone question the couple later to find out who dey bought it from. Blasted time to not be ‘avin a mayor; we can’t be taking care of the civil court cases coming up.”

“What does the mayor have to do with civil court?” Marstin asked, confused.

“’Tis a bit o’ old country bureaucracy,” the woman shrugged in annoyance. “Easier t’ use him o’ her, ’stead of paying for a judge or something. The old mayor was decent enough about settling cases, but they’ve been piling up with ‘is illness, and now he’s dead. Lot o’ folks be havin’ more time to cause trouble and such with dem mines closed. Blasted worms more likely to show up ‘ere to with the mines closed and filled in. Still don’t know why the order came in for that.

“Ah, I’ve been speaking me mind too much again,” the lady apologized. “I get carried away once I get going; easy thing ta do when you be butchering up monsters all day and have no one else to talk to.” She grinned at Marstin. “Name’s Gertrude, head manager of the backyard. No need to go back to the lobby lad, I’ve marked your quests as complete. Here’s a couple of silver pieces; a little extra since you reported dem worms. Now, you best be getting inside to replace that there armor, yeah?”

Marstin thanked Gertrude for her help, which she waved off and began slicing into the monster bodies. The young man exited the backyard and entered the depot from the back door, ending up near the tables in the back he’d been to before.

“Ah sir Marstin, wonderful to see you again,” Elijah greeted with his merchant’s grin, making Marstin grimace reflexively and cover his coin purse. “I see you’re here to replace your armor.”

“I just need something cheap,” Marstin carefully explained. “I’m earning up the 5-gold loan I owe you, and I don’t need more debt piled on top of that.”

“Ah, but how can this be?” Elijah clutched at his chest dramatically, his ebony face withering under the light in anguish. “Sure you, sir Marstin, are aware that armor is an adventurer’s final line of defense? An adventurer going into battle without suitable armor is the same as running into a battle naked. Surely you aren’t looking to shorten your lifespan with such a choice as buying cheap armor.”

“I don’t have the coin to buy good armor,” Marstin replied evenly, determined to not be tempted again.

“How much do you have?” Elijah’s face suddenly became all business again with his trademark smile.

Marstin refused to rise to the bait. “Just point me to your discount armor, please.”

“Ah,” Elijah’s smile widened happily. “So it is discounted armor is it? Why, we here at the Adventurer’s Depot pride ourselves on the amazing and unique deals we can offer adventurers such as yourself. We make most of our armor in house, as you know, crafted by the finest tailors and blacksmiths from the items acquired through quests, either from the guild itself or from adventurers such as yourself. In fact, in the future, we are quite willing to craft armor at cost for you if you bring us the ingredients yourself, butchers or not. Would you like a free catalog of basic armor and their ingredients?”

“I won’t say no to free things,” Marstin nodded as he accepted the small catalog and flipped through it quickly. It was quite simple of a booklet, with a picture for each type of armor, ranging from light to heavy and listing what each style required in ingredients. It would serve Marstin well later. He put it away into his adventurer’s bag and returned to the conversation with Elijah, who was smiling like a cat.

“Sir Marstin,” the ebony skinned man held up his hand invitingly. “As I’m sure you know, a 5-gold loan is no small amount. As such, it is in the depot’s vested interest to ensure that you live long enough to pay back the loan one way or another. Having our debtors die is quite bad for business, as you can imagine. So, I’m willing to offer you a special discount suit of leather armor for one-fourth of the price, as a rental.”

“You want to rent me armor?” Marstin asked incredulously, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes indeed,” Elijah nodded. “It’s a somewhat standard practice with promising adventurers who know, or perhaps not. I apologize for my presumption of your knowledge.” Elijah bowed low, flustering Marstin.

“It’s all right, please continue,” Marstin urged.

“Yes, we have a number of armor sets reserved for such occasions,” Elijah continued. “The quality is very good, I assure you, and they are highly rated against most rank 2 and 3 monsters. A few even contain an enchantment or two to assist you in completing quests. For you, Sir Marstin, I’m thinking of an enchantment of silent footsteps, or the ability to easily blend into the shadows.”

“As convenient as those sound, they don’t appeal to me,” Marstin shook his head. “If I used those effects, I’d become dependent on them and slowly forget my own abilities to accomplish them on my own.”

“A wise realization,” Elijah nodded impressed. “You are correct, enchantments should never be allowed to replace skill. So, what kind of enchantments would suit your style?”

Marstin considered the question carefully. “I suppose it would be good if I could augment my senses in some way, beyond what I’m capable of doing through training,” he said slowly.

“Then, I advise a nightsight enchantment,” Elijah said after a moment’s consideration. “This will allow you to see in the dark almost as well as you can in the light. A useful tool when in dark places, or at night when on patrol. Does this strike your fancy?”

“It does sound useful,” Marstin admitted.

“You’re in luck then,” the ebony man snapped his fingers, summoning a worker from behind him. The worker was carrying a large box. “I happen to have a fitted armor set perfect for you with the nightsight enchantment already placed. Would you care to try it on in a fitting room?”

Agreeing, Marstin followed the worker to one of the side fitting rooms and accepted the box. Stepping inside and closing the door, the young adventurer opened the package and admired the armor held within. Unlike his previous standard set of leather armor, this new set was much darker and more varied in color, perfect for allowing him to blend more easily into the woods, or a mine shadow. The armor set was indeed a set, consisting of pants with built in armor padding on the knees; a full torso-covering shirt meant to be worn over a light undershirt or over bare skin, with several loops at the end meant to be tied to the pants via a belt, arm greaves, and under-leg greaves meant to be worn under the pants. The shirt also came with a black and dark green hood that could easily be pulled up to cover the face. Marstin put on the armor and found it fit perfectly. He turned around several times, examining himself as best he could. Nodding in satisfaction, he exited the fitting room and walked back over to Elijah.

“Ah wonderful, Sir Marstin,” the ebony adventurer merchant smiled and clapped politely. “It’s as if this armor were made just for you. Anything uncomfortable with the fitting?”

“No, everything feels perfect sized to my body,” Marstin smiled, before a thought occurred to him. “Wait, how do you know my body proportions?”

“It’s part of your guild record,” Elijah said smoothly, “And I have a good eye for estimating those kinds of things. In any case, this armor suits your taste?”

“I would say so, yes,” Marstin nodded.

“Then that will be 50 silver pieces,” Elijah smiled.

Marstin happily paid the price and spoke a little more with Elijah before exiting the depot. It was only when he was outside that he suddenly recalled what exactly he had just done.

“Did I really spend half a gold piece to rent armor,” Marstin muttered a loud. A few nearby adventurers smiled sympathetically and shook their heads, as if Marstin was showing them a scene from their past. The young adventurer could not help but slap his face and groan. He’d allowed himself to be taken by Elijah’s pitch yet again, and now was left with half of what he had previously owned.

“I’m leaving my coin purse at home the next time I come here,” Marstin vowed angrily as he left the depot behind him. He would get the better of Elijah one day, or at least tell him no. Little steps first and what-not.

Following his unexpected investment, Marstin decided it was time to visit Kyra, as he hadn’t the opportunity to thank her yet for helping him, again. At least this time he hadn’t been terribly wounded, but he still felt guilty that she had been pulled into taking care of his injuries again without reciprocating the act of kindness in some way. It wasn’t quite dinner time yet, so he figured he could make it to the bakery after the dinner rush.

A quick side trip through the back alleys led the young adventurer to the back of the bakery as he’d come before with Yarrow. Strangely, there didn’t appear to be the fresh scent of bread, nor the tell-tale signs of smoke in the chimney or light coming from under the back door. Confused, Marstin marched around to the front of the bakery, only to find the building closed. He scratched his head; Marstin had never heard of the bakery being closed before.

“That you, boy?” Marstin was startled by the sudden voice from behind him, which soon revealed itself to be Olen Risenflour’s intimidating frame as he walked up and unlocked the front door. The large former adventurer cocked his head back to look at Marstin. “Well don’t just stand there boy, come in.”

Marstin started and hastily followed the large man inside. It was a bit odd being in the quiet bakery, and the young adventurer looked around curiously as Olen sat himself down in a chair after unloading his pack.

“You’re here to thank my girl again, aren’t you?” Olen grunted, his distaste quite apparent from his expression. “You have quite the nerve to be worrying her so much. First with the beatings, then with the fever, followed by the week-long quest, and now needing her help to climb some stairs and get put to bed like a baby. Quite the embarrassing summary of your relationship if I do say so, and certainly one not to be proud of.”

He’s right. You’re weak, pathetic, and poisonous. Everyone who helps you pays the price. . . wait. Did he just say Kyra and I are in a relationship?!

“Well, most of those aren’t being quite fair to you,” Olen admitted as he continued speaking. “After all, I know the adventuring life can be one of unexpected danger and long recoveries. But seeing my daughter deal with you, heh, reminds me of my wife. She always gave me the works after I’d returned from an adventure or quest all cut up and bruised. She could have gone adventuring, too, but she preferred her cooking and ensuring I had a place to return to.” Olen smiled sadly, before turning serious. “Well, I’m off tracking a bit. Point is, you’ve been quite the influence on my one and only precious daughter in more ways than one. I thought she was only being a good influence on you, which I would have been satisfied with, but it also appears you’ve inspired changes in her as well. For better or ill is yet to be seen.”

“Mr. Risenflour, where is Kyra?” Marstin asked, getting a weird feeling in his chest from how open Olen was being with him.

“She’s training,” Olen grunted with a mixed expression. “Seems she’s tired of waiting on you like a southern wife; she’s following my footsteps, and yours, to become an adventurer.”

“What?!” Marstin gaped.

“That supposed to mean you don’t believe my daughter can be an adventurer?” Olen growled, one-handedly cracking his knuckles.

“No no no,” Marstin shook his head and waved his arms frantically. “I just didn’t expect this. Are you training her?”

“A little,” Olen nodded, his hand resting back on his lap. “I know a few good tricks from my many years of adventuring. And she possesses my talents with both baking and fighting, which makes my skills well-suited to her disposition. But she’s mostly getting lessons from that tribal girl and her friends.”

“Yarrow?” Marstin blinked in surprise.

“Aye, that’s the one,” Olen nodded. “Seems they had some kind of heart-to-heart last time you brought that girl here. Some kind of friendly rivalry, I think. In any case, you won’t be seeing Kyra here for a time. Next time you see her, she’ll be a proper adventurer like you.”

Olen cracked a grin. “Well, not for long I suspect. Best you get a move on, or my precious and strong baby girl will be overtaking your progress before you know it.

Marstin, feeling a sudden sense of apprehension, bowed his goodbyes to Olen and hurried out of the bakery. He could probably manage another quest before the day ended. Maybe one with rats.

As he left the bakery, however, he failed to notice the pair of eyes watching him from the darkness. Yarrow and Kyra waited until Marstin was out of sight before walking out into the back of the bakery.

“Did we really need to hide from Marstin?” Kyra grumbled at her rival/mentor. “I was really looking forward to speaking with him.”

“You wear your emotions too easily on your sleeve,” Yarrow shook her head. “Don’t think I didn’t pick up on the feelings between you two. Have you told your father yet that the two of you have kissed?”

Kyra instantly blushed. “We, we haven’t kissed in months! And they weren’t real kisses, really!”

“Luckily, Marstin seems to be a loyal fellow, or you would have given your love away for nothing,” Yarrow snorted. “He barely even notices my advances towards him when we quest. So as much as I would love to say I stopped you from meeting him because of envy, that is not the case. You’ve just started your training, and need to be as far from distraction as possible. Like the matrons say in the tribe: “Chase males only after gaining the strength to subdue them. To chase without strength is to invite weakness”.

“After all,” Yarrow looked over with a sly smile. “Such a fine, growing man as Marstin is hard to find, don’t you think? He may have his heart set on you right now, but surely as he gets stronger and more visible as a man, he’ll begin to attract flies and vixens. He’s much too vulnerable when it comes to people who treat him well, like an abused puppy searching for a kind hand. As I told you before, you need to be strong enough to fend off those seeking his affection and offspring.”

“Like you?” Kyra glared in suspicion.

“A fine young man is hard to find,” Yarrow smiled dangerously. “So, let’s get back to your training.”

“Fine,” Kyra snorted. “What’s next?”

Yarrow considered with a tilt of her head. “I’ve confirmed your physical ability and limits, so next is basic training to push those limits, get you used to fighting monsters, and teach you how to fight. It’ll take a week, and then you should have the basic ability to join the Adventurer’s Guild. Still, I’d recommend you hold off until I leave Graniton with my party for a long quest.”

“Why?” Kyra asked.

“Because if you do, then you’ll be able to join in an opportunity,” Yarrow giggled sneakily. “I’ll explain once they arrive.”

“Who?”

“My brethren sisters,” Yarrow said.

Chapter 26

“Marstin, heads up!” a cute young girl named Jillia called, her cloak billowing out from behind her as she ran past him like the wind. Marstin, from his high perch in the tree, said nothing, his full attention focused solely on the monstrous trio of frozen-toothed rabbits chasing after her. His arms were crossed, but loose, with his hands holding three throwing daggers each in preparation. When the monstrous, carnivorous rabbits were in range, Marstin’s arms jerked out and launched his projectiles like arrows. Each dagger hit their mark, taking out an eye each and the fourth piercing the lead rabbit’s nose. The monsters squealed in pain and reeled back in a futile effort to get away from the daggers stuck in their eyes.

“Go!” Marstin shouted, drawing his fighting daggers and leaping down to the ground. From behind the trees, he was joined by four other young girls on the blossoming of womanhood. Kyra ran forward with Jillia, both of their fists rearing back to strike out. The third girl was wielding a massive broadsword with both hands, and the last was clutching daggers made of ice with a pair of wands attached to her waist. Together, the five landed their attacks on the confused monsters and killed them after a minute of pounding. Marstin breathed heavily and wiped the sweat off his brow as he examined the kills, retrieving the two non-magical daggers he’d thrown.

“Excellent work, ladies,” he said with a smile. “With this, we’ve acquired the bait for the mist fox. After we return to Graniton to take a break, we will reconvene at the eastern entrance at sunset to finish the quest hunt.”

The five girls cheered happily. Marstin looked at all them, focusing on Kyra, who was pounding fists with Jillia happily. Marstin couldn’t help but smile as he thought back to how he’d ended up in this happy situation.

It had been three weeks since he’d replaced his armor, and they had passed by quickly, bringing the summer closer to its climax of warmth before the quick and bitter descent back into winter. Marstin’s life had fallen into a pleasant routine of questing alone, questing with other adventurer groups, teaching the future rogue urchins, and doing work for Yolna at the Stargazer. Though his days were occasionally marred by stomach pain and cramps, overall Marstin had enjoyed his existence during this time.

Most of his time had been spent completing quests to pay off his debt to the adventurer depot before the month ran out and interest would begin to pile up. His solo quests had been a fairly even mix of hunts for monsters of tiers 1 and 2, both in and out of town, and material retrieval quests. Though Marstin had no trouble dealing with the rank 1 monsters, even the rare monster worm, he did initially find trouble with the tier 2 monsters until he’d been approached by an old friend. Through a curious turn of events, Marstin was thrust into a leadership position for the first time in his life.

During the latter half of the first week, Marstin had finally taken on his first solo monster elimination quest to kill a tier 2, a honey bear in the north woods which had taken to guarding a valuable honey-filled bee tree, a tier 1 non-aggressive plant monster that lived in harmony with bees. The honey bear, with its not giving a flying finkle attitude, had prevented honey gatherers from approaching the tree, putting a small strain on Graniton’s food industry. Olen had brought up the quest recommendation to Marstin during a bread replenishment meeting, citing that he’d be forced to raise prices on his sweet bread if the honey wasn’t freed. Mouth covered in crumbs from the free sample of sweet bread, Marstin had boldly agreed to the request and had marched into the guild lobby to take the quest.

Marstin was easily defeated by the honey bear, a bear-like monster which was actually a slime in bear form made of honey. The slime monster’s highly viscous body had proved impossible to pierce with Marstin’s short daggers, and none of the teen’s tricks, such as paralytics or poisons, affected the beast. In fact, the honey bear didn’t even bother to stop eating honey to fight Marstin, merely waiting until the teen was exhausted before extending a sticky foot and kicking Marstin away.

As such, Marstin found himself back in town musing over his options when he was approached by the Istutian Polar Hunter, Olivia.

“Hey Marstin, been awhile,” the huntress greeted him outside the guild in the sitting area of the plaza.

“Oh, Olivia!” Marstin started, a wide smile covering his face. “It’s good to see you again. Thank you so much with your help in setting me up with the Iron Yaks again.”

“No problem, squirt,” Olivia grinned. “I only did what was right and proper, and it seems I was correct. You seem to have grown into a fine young adventurer in your own right. Reach F rank yet?”

“No,” Marstin sighed. “I think I’ll be able to after I finish this quest, but I’m having quite the trouble with it.” He perked up. “Hey, where have you been anyway?”

“Jules, Emily, and I took on a longer-term quest after the caravan incident,” Olivia explained, taking a seat across from Marstin. “We’ve been out in the mountains slaying a couple of earth drakes that were migrating north toward Graniton. Had a few close calls, too, when we accidentally disturbed a rock giant with our battle and had to heal up for a bit in the nearby caves. Still, quest accomplished; we turned in the quest yesterday and are relaxing before we’re called to do something else.”

“You three are really amazing,” Marstin admitted honestly. “I didn’t understand how significant B rank was before, but after the work I’ve done I still have a hard time believing you took the time to talk with me, let alone help me.”

“What’s there to not believe,” the black-haired woman laughed heartily. “After all, the guild master threw you right at me, and I couldn’t exactly ignore you after his little speech. But enough about the past, let’s talk about the present. What quest is giving you a hard time?”

“I need to kill a honey bear,” Marstin revealed.

Olivia laughed. “Oh, is that all? Ha ha, I can see why you’re having trouble. I bet you thought that the monster was a type of bear didn’t you.” She chuckled when Marstin nodded his head sheepishly. “That’s another lesson for you, never assume your opponent’s identity without doing research first. Did you ask the receptionists about the honey bear?”

“Well, they haven’t been the most helpful recently,” Marstin muttered, leaning back into his chair. Oddly, for the past few days the staff in the guild hall had been treating him a bit more coldly than they had previously. Nothing rude, but their attitude was certainly off-putting, as if they were merely tolerating his presence; a stark difference from the previous week.

“I get what you’re saying,” Olivia frowned. “They weren’t as receptive to me, either, when I reported the completed quest. Perhaps something is stressing them out. I heard the guild master hasn’t returned yet?”

“That’s right,” Marstin affirmed. “They haven’t reported why he’s being delayed, only that it is ‘official’ business.”

“Hmph,” Olivia grunted, obviously disgruntled. “Well, that’s a problem for another day, I suppose. Your current problem is the honey bear, yes? Have you thought about how you’re going to deal with it?”

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” Marstin sighed. “However, my thoughts are that I’m physically incapable of killing this beast on my own. I don’t have the muscular strength to pierce the monster’s body, my weapons are too short to reach the core, and my strategies are rendered pointless by its body composition. So, I need to find help. Maybe I can ask the Iron Yaks or Red Family to help me. Or, maybe you if you have some free time?” Marstin asked hopefully.

“Sorry Marstin, can’t help you there,” Olivia wagged a finger at him. “And you shouldn’t ask either of those groups to help you either. Your rank advancement is dependent on the growth of your own capabilities after all; if you killed the honey bear with an adventurer over F rank, you’d surely be unable to rank up.” She gave him a shrug. “Even if you did rank up eventually, keeping up that kind of carried advancement would only allow you to go so far.”

“But,” she continued. “I do applaud you for realizing your limits. You are correct to search for companions to compliment your strengths; this is why adventurer parties exist in the first place. While I prefer to take on my foes headlong with my bone swords, for instance, I have Emily and Jules watching my back with their archery and magic skills. So, why not set your companion aspirations lower?”

“Look for other new adventurers like myself?” Marstin asked, his face considering. “But I don’t know anyone else at my rank. Nor am I sure I can trust just anyone, either.”

“I’m glad you said that,” Olivia grinned, her smile somehow very similar to Elijah’s for some reason. “Actually, I didn’t find you randomly here, I was searching for you.” Marstin gave her a confused look.

“As you may know from Yarrow,” Olivia continued. “My people send out our younglings into the word when winter is complete. There was a small delay this year with the ice caribou incident, but with that resolved, my sisters and brothers have been sent around Istut. My return to Graniton was actually delayed a bit in order to guide three sisters to Graniton, who have all successfully registered themselves to the Adventurer’s Guild. With Yarrow’s help, we’ve gotten them settled down, but have been faced with a problem. Both Yarrow and I have upcoming commitments with our adventuring parties on quests that will take us away from Graniton, so we are unable to guide them further. My request to you, is that you take these girls under your wing.”

“You’re entrusting me with three Istutian tribal members?” Marstin gaped. “Are you sure? I’m still new and-”

“Yarrow and I have agreed that you’re the most suitable,” Olivia interrupted him with a warm smile. “You know our ways better than most and have been very accepting of our practices. Yarrow herself values her friendship with you, something not easily gained.”

Marstin considered the proposition. Even if they were weaker, he was no stranger to how strong the tribal people were. Gaining their help certainly wouldn’t be a burden.

You’ll let them down. You’ll let them die in pain, suffering, and cursing your name. You are no leader. You are nothing.

“If you’re really sure,” Marstin said, wincing to himself as he chased away his inner thoughts. “I guess I wouldn’t mind guiding them. Especially if they can help me with this quest. I’m not sure what I can do with them afterwards though.”

“Once you advance to F rank, you’ll be able to form your own adventurer group and formally recruit them.,” Olivia explained. “Together, you’ll be able to take on more rewarding quests and slowly gain the needed experience to advance further, both as adventurers and as warriors.”

Marstin considered it for a long moment before finally nodding. “I’ll be honored to work with your tribal sisters if they’ll have me,” he agreed.

“Good, and that won’t be a problem. They already know all about you,” the black-haired adventurer chuckled mischievously. “Yarrow’s student has already told them all they need to know about you.”

“Hm?” Marstin blinked, and then felt a strong tap on his shoulder. He turned around in his chair and met the amused gaze of Kyra, who was dressed much differently than her usual bakery attire. Her body was covered in a light leather, full-body outfit, tied at the waist, feet, and loosely around the neck. Her hands were wearing a light set of leather gloves, which were matted and scarred by use. Even her long hair was tied back into a ponytail. All in all, she looked like the hand-to-hand fighters Marstin had seen walking around the adventurer guild.

“I look forward to fighting alongside you, Marstin,” Kyra grinned happily. “And let me introduce you to my new friends.” She held her arm out, revealing to Marstin three figures somewhat hiding shyly behind her.

“This is Jillia,” Kyra said first, pointing out the first girl. “She’s an Istutian Frigid Monk, similar to me. She’s from the Black Ice Bull Tribe.” Jillia was a shorter girl compared to Kyra, but still larger in size when compared to either Marstin or Kyra. Her thicker body size appeared to be an even mix of muscle and fat, giving her shy appearance an undeniable sense of strength and power. Her hair was the standard tribal black, but her skin tone was much lighter than Yarrow or Olivia, a sure sign of youth as a tribal member, as her skin would darken and develop the intricate tattoos of wintering as she grew stronger and older. She gave him a short wave and smiled.

“This is Yule,” Kyra continued, patting the middle girl’s shoulder. “She’s an Istutian Polar Warrior from the Moon Lion Tribe. She’s a lot stronger than she looks.” Marstin believed her, because Yule was carrying a gigantic broadsword on her back that was twice her size and likely equal to her weight. She was a much thinner girl than Jillia, and yet the animal furs covering her body did a poor job of hiding her muscular definition, which appeared to be even more defined than Olivia. She stared Marstin down, but her body was still somewhat cowering behind Kyra.

“And last but not least, Etna,” Kyra finished. “She’s-”

“I’m an Istutian Sorcerer,” Etna said calmly, interrupting Kyra. “And yes, my profession title lacks the middle symbol representing my destiny. I was born an aberration of the tribe, cursed to be unable to join my ancestors in the winter storm, yet blessed with great magical powers stemming from my bloodline. I am an exile from the Silver Serpent Tribe. I will not be a burden, nor a waste.”

Marstin felt her gaze penetrating him, as if she were as cold as a glacier. And yet, the young adventurer could pick up on the same loneliness hidden in her eyes as he had once felt. He held out a hand to her.

“I’m not looking for someone to merely serve my interests,” Marstin said as he gazed back into Etna’s face. “Nor do I care if someone has called you a burden before. All I need is a companion who is willing to fight alongside me. Can you do that?” He held out his hand to her.

Etna started, evidently confused by Marstin’s admission. But, hesitantly, she took his hand and weakly shook it, and smiled at him. Kyra and the other two girls smiled happily as well, though Kyra’s smile seemed slightly forced.

“Well, that’s a good start,” Olivia chuckled, rising from her seat. “With that, my job here is done. Good luck with your new party, Marstin. But don’t get any ideas; they might look your age, but all three haven’t reached child-bearing age by our standards yet.” The black-haired adventurer walked away laughing, leaving behind a blushing Marstin and three very embarrassed young ladies. As it turned out, all three of them were 15, against Marstin's variable age of 13-15 and Kyra’s 16 years of life, making the baker’s daughter the eldest in the group.

After this chance, or not, meeting, Marstin’s questing became much easier. After registering the four girls to join him on the quest, the new group had returned to the honey bear and fought it into submission. Though Marstin, Kyra, and Jillia were poor opponents against the honey bear, Yule and Etna proved their might, with the latter freezing the viscous body and the former slicing through the bits with her massive broadsword. The honey bear quest complete, Marstin learned he needed to do one more quest to advance, since he’d used a party to eliminate the honey bear. Thankfully, a similar hunting quest against a pack of tier 1 monster wolves allowed him to reach rank F later that day, and Marstin formally formed the ‘Rogue’ party with the four girls.

And thus, another two weeks passed, to find Marstin standing in the forest with the girls, having successfully hunted three frozen-toothed rabbits in order to bait out their main objective, a tier 3 mist fox. The mist fox was tiered at 3 due its nature of being hard to find, rather than its combat strength, which was around a stronger tier 2, because it was only active at night and hunted rabbit-type monsters, which were not as common around Graniton during the summer.

The girls’ skills had all increased over the last few weeks in Marstin’s eyes. Kyra and Jillia had formed a friendly rivalry as they competed with their monk skills to complete their jobs. Unassisted, their physical prowess was about equal, with Kyra’s age giving her the slightest advantage over Jillia. However, Jillia’s Frigid Monk profession allowed her to channel the winter’s cold into her attacks or to form frozen spiked fists to maximize her damage. Kyra, on the other hand, preferred to use her speed and agility to attack quickly with her hard hit, inflicting damage over time, as opposed to in any one attack. The two got along very well when not competing.

Yule, on the other hand, had taken her role as the group’s main frontline to heart and become an unstoppable beast of destruction. Her policy of barging straight into the fight with her broadsword and attracting all of the enemy’s attention had placed her in harm’s way more than once, but she’d persevered through the pain and blood to become quite reliable, even as Marstin was forced to shell out for better armor for the warrior to wear. Yule assured Marstin that as she grew stronger, her skin would eventually become as strong as any armor, which he vaguely acknowledged while bandaging her wounds. Her good sense of humor in the face of danger made her the mood-setter of the group, a task she embraced completely.

Finally, Etna still had more work to do, in Marstin's opinion, both as a fighter and as a person. As an adventurer, Etna’s fighting style was quite strange and somewhat random, as she alternated fighting on the frontline alongside Yule as a magical warrior and on the backline as a more traditional spellcaster. Her weapons of choice were a pair of short wands that could be attacked to her arms like wrist swords. On the frontline, she summoned ice onto the wands to form a pair of sharp tonfas that she wielded against her foes. On the backline, the wands were used to summon up shards of ice and shoot them at enemies. Reflecting her fighting style, Etna walked a fine line of stubborn pigheadedness and awkward shyness, especially when it came to Marstin. In his opinion, Etna was just a young person who hadn’t yet learned who they were at their core, but would eventually find themselves with time.

“Can I carry the rabbits?” Yule asked Marstin.

“Long as you don’t eat them,” Marstin joked. “Or use them to scare the fruit lady again.”

With a couple of snorts from all around, the group walked back to Graniton. The closer they got to town however, the more somber the mood that settled over them all. Marstin’s countenance was dour until he saw the gate guards, Phil and Larry, and sighed in relief.

“Hey Marstin,” Larry greeted with a smile. “Welcome back.”

“I’m glad to see it’s you two here this time,” Marstin said honestly. “The other guards have been getting a bit unpleasant to talk to. How long will you both be here at the west gate?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Phil said gruffly. “Schedules are all over the place these days, with the town gearing up for the election. West gate today, east gate tomorrow perhaps. Don’t be surprised if you see us walking around town later. Or me and another partner.”

“You’re getting split up?” Marstin blinked in disbelief.

“Maybe,” Larry sighed. “Commands from up top. Apparently, a few citizens have been reporting me for being ‘strange’, and it's their belief that non-native Istutian guards should be moved to ‘behind-the-scenes’ roles to settle the populace.”

“A darn cockfoolery if I’ve ever heard it,” Phil spat angrily. “Larry has been a loyal and hard-working guard ever since he came here and is working hard to become a full citizen. I wouldn’t have anyone else as my partner, native or not.”

“I appreciate it, Phil.” Larry sighed. “But, if how I look scares the citizens, then maybe I’m better off not being seen. Regretfully, I suppose that means I won’t be able to see my love exit and enter my gate.”

Marstin couldn’t help but feel bad for the two as he took in their expressions; Larry with a wistful regret and Phil with his indignation. “Cheer up, Larry. You said she goes out of her way to use your gate, right? Then wouldn’t it mean you still have a chance, if she passes by wherever you’re placed to work?”

“Hey, you’re right,” Larry perked up. “That would be a good way to finally confirm to this lummox partner of mine that I do have a chance.”

“Pah, good luck if she visits just to use the outhouse,” Phil snorted. “Maybe that’ll get her real point across to you.”

“Ah, forget you then,” the other guard rolled his eyes. “In any case, good luck with whatever you’re doing,” Larry said as he turned his attention to the next person attempting to enter Graniton.

Marstin and the young ladies entered Graniton and made their way down main street toward Kyra’s bakery, their unofficial base of operations. On their way there, Marstin suddenly stopped. He could hear a crowd in the distance, and a faint voice speaking over it.

“We’re taking the back alley,” he said commandingly as he locked onto the large gathering of people in the distance. The other four didn’t argue and they slipped away between the buildings. Marstin grimaced at the crowd before following the girls into the shadows. The crowd had gathered because of Ghevin Drestice; he was giving another public mayoral candidate speech. He’d been giving his speeches to the public for the last two weeks, and the effects were showing, to Marstin’s displeasure. Ghevin’s platform was simple: a return to Graniton’s past success. He touted that the once-mighty mining town had fallen on hard times in recent years, with even the mines themselves closed since the start of the year for reasons Drestice always seemed to brush over. He would point out the failings of the current city, with the civil issues rising and causing trouble without a firm leader to deal with them. He would preach to the high heaven how a great change was needed to ‘breathe new life’ into Graniton and restore it, even greater than it had been before.

Everything he said sounded great on paper, but it was what he didn’t say that made Marstin unhappy, and worried. Ghevin Drestice was a man who never outright blamed anyone in his speeches, and yet his words always seemed to undercut others as the cause of problems.

Even now, Marstin and the others in his party could hear the faint words echoing through the streets from the cold politician.

“And yet another attack by mine worms has been confirmed in Graniton’s northern district. This time, a child was hurt, but our brave local guards managed to slay the beasts before the young one was put in further danger. The wise doctors have treated her wounds and proclaimed her of good health. But how long can this go on? When the mines were active, the guards and adventurers were there to deal with the monsters, but no one can protect the entire town every waking moment of the day. The mines must be reopened! And yet the so-called ‘experts’ still push in the capital that the mines must remain closed for ‘safety’, and that Graniton can survive well enough through trade. What do they know? Trade with who? The devils? The tribal people? The other human countries impose high tariffs on imports and exports. We cannot hope to rely on outsiders when all they bring is conflict to our way of life!”

“And if we allow for trade with these outsiders, with the devils and tribal people, then what will become of our sons and daughters with their work prospects? As more outsiders come into town, the number of available jobs go down! The lives of our children will slowly decline in value as others take their jobs, and their children will be born lesser, and so on and so forth. We must work to keep the influence of outsiders away, before the value of our lives becomes nothing! Otherwise, jobless and homeless, we Granitons will be forced into the bottle! Already, destitute miners are left without the ability to follow their profession and have taken to fighting each other in the streets for any job they can take. Will you allow this fate to persist and grow ever more polluted? Rise up with me! Rise up, and return Graniton back to its glory days as the capital of the South!”

Marstin shook his head, the words grating against his ears like metal on stone. The speeches from the vituperative merchant were always like this, piercing and persistent, and yet hollow after Marstin stopped hearing them. The rise of tribal people in Graniton, for instance, was great for filling jobs in town, he said, and yet somehow hearing how he said it made it seem like he was insinuating that there weren’t any jobs for non-tribal local Graniton residents. The rising civil cases mostly caused by the unemployed miners could easily be solved with more work, but Ghevin never seemed to propose solutions to the problem, as opposed to emphasizing his spin on the reason for the problems.

These veiled criticisms weren’t limited to the tribal members, either, as it seemed Ghevin would point his finger at everyone else for the problems in Graniton: other countries for raising tariffs and prices, other merchant companies being greedy at the expense of human decency, the country guards not native to Graniton, like Larry, for being incompetent, the devils for stealing away cattle and crops, and so on. To Marstin’s ears, it sounded like Ghevin made it sound like the problems of Graniton were caused by anyone not from Graniton. And others had heard this, too. The rise in public slurs and protests against tribal members were on the rise, and Marstin had been forced more than once to deal with particularly aggressive members of the community before a guard could show up to defuse the situation. It was strange, how Ghevin’s words seemed to sink into anyone who heard them. People who’d previously been friendly now scoffed in disgust at Marstin’s adventurer group.

Marstin didn’t understand it. But he was too nervous to examine the situation more closely. He didn’t want to place his new friends in danger and had taken steps to ensure their safety. Yolna had been generous enough to allow the three tribal girls to live in her inn for a month for free until they got their bearings better, and until the situation outside calmed down more.

“This town is really falling to pieces,” Kyra sighed as she led the way to her bakery and home. “That man is saying some really ridiculous things, though he is right about those greedy merchants. Did you know the price on flour from Bosrol was raised again? My father almost had a fit when he found out.”

“Are you sure it’s the merchant’s fault, though?” Yule pointed out. “Perhaps there are some other reasons.”

“Maybe,” Kyra admitted. “But all merchants are greedy, everyone knows that. It’s just common sense.”

Marstin’s face couldn’t help but frown.

“Hey, Marstin,” Etna interjected, “Isn’t today the Rogue training day?”

Marstin slapped his head. “You’re right, Etna. I completely forgot, in the excitement of the quest. You girls mind making a quick detour before going to Kyra’s bakery?”

“I don’t mind,” Kyra said, with the other three girls mirroring her. “We aren’t expected back home until the start of the lunch rush, so we have time.”

Marstin made a quick turn and led the group through the back allies and over the main street to the southern district and to the withered tree meeting point. There, Archie and the group of urchins were waiting while joking and laughing.

“Ay boys, looksies here, it’s the boss and his posse of lovely ladies!” Archie pointed out, standing up and bowing humorously. “We are graced by the loving presence of da boss and his lady friends. Which ones are the lovers, again?”

The nimble waif scrambled out of the way as all four girls delivered a half-serious attack towards him, though Kyra’s casual punch did seem a slight bit more violent than the others. She smiled sweetly at Archie, who felt a cold sweat.

“Alright everyone,” Marstin said loudly, clapping his hands together. “Today we are practicing with the slingshots again. Does everyone have them?”

The street kids all held up their slingshots in response. Marstin had made the first few before teaching Archie and the others how to make some themselves. A few of the urchins had revealed a talent in the construction process, improving on Marstin’s design until each slingshot was as deadly as a basic bow. Under Marstin’s direction, several targets were set up, and his Rogue trainees took turns firing their stone ammunition at them, with a surprisingly high degree of accuracy.

“I see you all have been practicing,” Marstin praised. “Only a few weeks and most of you can rival a hunter.”

“We been practicin’ as hunters, big bro boss,” Archie explained with a grin. “We been using the old tunnel ya showed us to sneak in and outta town to hunt birdies and such. We be eating them over a fire, and haven't been hungry since ya began teachin us.”

“Speaking of,” Marstin said, reaching into his bag, “Here is today’s bread delivery, straight from Kyra’s bakery.”

The urchins cheered as the bread was passed around, their high praise invoking a little bit of embarrassment from Kyra. While the feasting began, the head urchin walked over to Marstin.

“When do we be gettin’ to practicin’ with the new ammo you showed us, boss?” Archie asked in a whisper.

Marstin winced and looked over to see the four young ladies distracted by a few of the bolder urchins attempting to share their bread with them. “They’ll be delivered tonight by my contact in the depot. Make sure no one catches you using them, especially on people. And remember, when practicing, to let the dust settle before approaching the targets. Otherwise, the smell will knock you cold.

“That Mr. Elijah again?” Archie grimaced. “I don’t like him much, boss. He be smilin’ too much, like one o’ them snake oil salesmen, the ones that actually be sellin’ snail oil, and not the good kind.”

“He’s the only one I could ask,” Marstin explained with a reluctant nod. “Just be polite, don’t tell him more than he needs to know, and walk away from any offer. Remember, the sleep pellets are for hunting worms in town only.”

“And in reality, big bro boss?” Archie asked.

“In reality, for taking down stronger monsters,” Marstin revealed. “Not too many monsters can go without breathing, so getting used to using the sleep pellets will show your skill when your assessments begin.”

“Right-o boss,” Archie smiled happily. “I be understandin’ you.”

With business and training settled, the group of five bid farewell to the urchins and made their way toward Kyra’s bakery.

Chapter 27

The Risenflour bakery was doing good business when the group arrived. Olen’s new sweetbread creation had become quite popular with the townsfolk, and Marstin and Yarrow’s promotion of the hard bread had also made the bakery an important stop for adventurers going on longer quests. It had gotten so busy Olen had been forced to hire two assistants to help him manage the crowd while he focused on the breadmaking. It had become overcrowded enough a week ago that Kyra had volunteered to stop adventuring to help her father, but Olen insisted she not be held back by him. The store’s popularity seemed to have breathed a new sense of life into the retired adventurer, and he rarely went without a smile on his face as he worked.

“Father, we’re back!” Kyra announced as she led the way through the back door.

“Welcome back,” Olen greeted from the oven, using a long tool to maneuver the bread inside the wood-fueled oven. “Did everything go well?”

“We got the bunnies!” Jillia said proudly, with Yule holding up one of the rabbits from her adventurer’s bag. She quickly put it away after Olen eyed her sternly; she’d been reminded more than once to keep fresh kill out of the kitchen.

“The girls and I are going to my room to rest and maintain our gear,” Kyra said to her father, before turning to Marstin. “Care to join us, Marstin?”

“Uh, no,” Marstin said quickly, picking up the subtle, but intense aura coming from Olen towards the younger adventurer. “I need to, uh, run some errands. And I’m sure you girls won’t be there until sunset, so like I said before, we can all meet at the east gate then.”

“Alrighty,” Kyra smiled. “See you then.” She turned away and led the girls up the stairs, failing to notice Olen’s quick nod to Marstin before the baker began removing the freshly baked loaves from the oven. Marstin said a quick farewell and vacated the building, his hands slightly shaking. Olen had never mentioned it before, but Marstin couldn’t help but wonder what rank the older baker had earned before retiring as an adventurer. His emotions stabilizing, the young teen exited the backyard onto the street and walked toward the Adventurer’s Guild. As the quest was soon to be completed, he needed to start thinking about what quest was next. He checked his coin pouch; he’d managed to earn almost 2 gold pieces in the 3 weeks of working, even after splitting the reward with the girls and eating free bread from the bakery; but at this rate it seemed he wouldn’t make the month deadline for the interest.

“Well, at least I’m more than halfway there,” Marstin muttered as he added up the silver he had before the questing frenzy. “Luckily, I don’t have to pay for lodging with the 8 months and week left. Shane was really telling the truth about Yolna’s price hikes.” With his F rank status, one night at Yolna’s now cost him 20 copper pieces, which was double the cost when he was G rank. He suspected the doubling wouldn’t stop there as his rank increased, creating a double-edged sword for ranking up, even if the cost was technically covered by the increased rewards offered for the harder quests.

When Marstin reached the central plaza, he couldn’t help but notice another throng of onlookers crowded around a small stage, where Ghevin Drestice was giving another speech. Marstin kept his disdain to himself as he walked toward the Adventurer’s Guild.

“My fellow Granitons,” Ghevin was practically shouting to be heard over the general level of noise in the plaza. “We live in a time of great instability! The signs are all around us! Was it not enough for our king to die so soon after his ascension to the throne, leaving behind his widow queen and children, for you all to open your eyes to the enemies that lurk in the shadows, seeking the ruin of Istut? Our country is brimming with those searching for our weaknesses, for places to attack and harm our families, our children! This year alone, the violently provoked caribou destroyed two villages, gravely wounded a town, and decimated many trade caravans and adventurers. And yet those in power do nothing, pandering to the whims of those who seek to control our very lives from afar! Even here, the mines that once brought such wealth to Graniton have been forced closed, citing things as ‘safety regulations’ and ‘mountain stability’. Who are they to come here, to tell us what we can and can’t do to earn a living?

“YEAH!”, the enthralled throng cried out.

“Who are they to come here and lecture us on safety, when entire families go back generations as miners, with a heritage of knowledge from your grandparents of what you can and can’t do in a mine. Do they think we are ignorant fools who don’t know a shovel from a pick-axe?”

“YEAH!”, the crowd screamed passionately.

“Even our beloved mayor, the three realms accept his soul, was unable to go against the tidings of these outside forces and buckled until the stress of the job killed him!” Ghevin roared. “And so here I stand, telling you that we will not abide outside forces telling us how to live our lives! We Istutians, nay, we Granitons are a proud and vibrant people who embody the greatest that our country has to offer. Allow me to take up the mantle of mayor, and I promise to bring everyone with me back into the light of the future together, as we were always meant to be!”

“YEAH!”, the horde roared again, waving their hands in the air in support of Ghevin, who waved back to the crowd with a politician’s smile.

Marstin’s ears itched as he made it to the Adventurer’s Guild entrance, forcing him to rub his pinkie finger inside as if something was trying to crawl around inside, disappearing after a few moments. As he entered the guild hall, however, he couldn’t help but notice a somewhat somber mood inside, compared to the usual hustle and bustle he’d come to expect. More adventurers were huddled in small groups around a table, exchanging whispers and examining the room as if searching for eavesdroppers. Other adventurers were sitting alone, staring at the ceiling or wall or into their drinks, deep in thought. Only a few parties were still discussing quests and laughing over a round of drinks, in stark concertation with the rest of the room.

Feeling troubled, Marstin walked over to the questing board and perused the available jobs. As usual, the board was pinned with all manner of written requests, ranging from simple jobs like monster extermination and alchemic reagent collection to more complicated jobs, such as ruin diving, caravan guarding, and crime investigations. At his F rank level, Marstin was underqualified for most of the jobs at the top of the board, leaving him the bottom to scan with a keen eye.

“Let’s see: green flower grass, too simple,” he muttered as he read through the ones that caught his eye. “Tracking down an escaped cow, too risky. Guarding the gate, not enough intimidation for that.  Night shift in the stables -- no way, too filthy. Quest quality is low today.” He frowned before moving over to check the other side of the board. “Hm, now this one has promise. A pack of wind wolves; I can plan out a good ambush for that.” Pleased, Marstin reached out to grab the quest paper, only for a swifter hand to snatch it off the board first. Marstin, frowning, turned to look around. Snatching a quest in this way, while not banned, was considered quite rude behavior. A taller, more experienced adventurer looked down at Marstin with a sneer.

“I had my eyes on that quest first, squirt,” he said.

Marstin shrugged and grunted, turning back to the board. He saw another quest, a mining quest for forest river clay, and reached for it, only for the same adventurer to snatch it again. Marstin’s eyebrow twitched and he cocked his head back.

“Same area, easy to do both at the same time,” the adventurer said smoothly, lying through his toothed cocky smirk.

Marstin took a deep breath and, locking eyes with the adventurer, slowly reached backwards toward a random quest. The adventurer’s hand darted back and grabbed the quest away from Marstin. He stared at the younger adventurer, with a taunting look that clearly taunted, ‘What are you going to do?’

“You seem to have a lot of free time on your hand to select a poop scooper job at the stables,” Marstin smirked back, having known exactly what he’d been pretending to reach for.

The other adventurer’s smirk froze, and his eyes dropped to the quest sheet he had ripped off the board. It read, ‘Nightshift at the stables taking care of the horses- feed, water, and poop removal’ in large, eye-catching letters. The adventurer’s face shifted through several interesting hues of color, as ripping off the quest meant he had to do it or give it to another adventurer/group to do. But no one would be willing to take on the stable job.

“You little horse turd,” the adventurer snarled, clearly missing the irony of the insult. “You must think you’re hot stuff, coming in here and doing this to me.”

“You did that to yourself,” Marstin pointed out, unable to keep the smirk off his own face, now that the tables were turned. “Now why don’t you go be a good little adventurer and report those quests.”

Unfortunately for Marstin, he hadn’t quite learned the correct timings for cockiness or arrogance. As such, he didn’t have enough time to react to the fist swung into his face, sending him flying to the left onto the floor, the tall adventurer’s fist swinging as fast as it had snatched the quests before.

“I’ll smash your face in, you little thief!” the adventurer roared, closing the gap quickly and taking another swing at the prone teen. This time, Marstin had woken up from the pain and rolled quickly out of the way, the fist slamming into the wooden floor and causing it to slightly dent. With that power and speed, Marstin suspected his enemy was an E or D ranked adventurer. He kept rolling until he reached a table and hid under it, similar to his original entrance into the guild. In fact, he couldn’t help but reminisce.

The screaming adventurer tried to smash the table to reach Marstin, only to be tackled to the ground by several other adventurers and staff members.

“Get off me, get off!” he roared angrily, unable to free himself from the number of hands holding him down.

“Arrest him for causing trouble in the guild!” came Barklin’s voice from somewhere, causing Marstin to sigh in relief. What he didn’t expect, however, were a couple of sets of hands to reach under the table and drag him out and up like a criminal. Marstin’s confused look was met by Barklin’s cold stare.

“How dare you cause such trouble in the guild,” Barklin said coldly. “I have half a mind to hand you over to the guards.”

“I think you’re talking to the wrong person,” Marstin said blankly. “He’s the one that provoked me, attacked me, and threatened to break my bones. I just rolled under a table.”

“It’s simple to see what started the fight,” Barklin snorted. “You clearly provoked the man unto attacking you, that much was seen by everyone.” Marstin looked around at the other adventurers watching. A good number were nodding their heads with hateful expressions on their faces, while others were looking away or looking down. Marstin couldn’t see a single familiar or supporting face around him.

You were never a part of them. You have always been an outsider. They hate you. They hate everything about you. Becoming an adventurer was a fool’s dream.

Marstin swallowed the feelings that threatened to rise up and overtaken him. His life in the Thieves’ Guild came back to him, how they treated him. This was no different. What he couldn’t solve with reason, he could only solve with violence, acceptance, or benefits logic.

“According to the law of Graniton,” Marstin said slowly, coldly, and with as much muted hate as he could muster. “A person can only be arrested for violence if they started a fight or participated directly in the fight. A person cannot be arrested for fleeing a fight or being beaten in a fight. According to the rules of the Adventurer’s Guild, whoever takes a quest off the board is responsible for it and cannot transfer it to an unwilling adventurer. The guild rules also state that an individual is only fighting if they attack another. I have neither attacked anyone, nor participated in a fight. If you wish to define this encounter as a fight, then you will set a precedent for every other adventurer here. Can you answer to the guild master for this when he returns?”

Barklin’s face, no matter how good he was at keeping it even, couldn’t help but grimace at Marstin’s logic. The other adventurers around also changed expressions, ranging from concealed worry to vague interest. Marstin only continued to stare, knowing if he showed any weakness those around him would jump on it. He could clearly see the gears spinning around in Barklin’s head, trying to frame anything to his advantage. The only thing Marstin could not understand was why Barklin had become so biased against him. The tall adventurer was still sputtering curses behind them and struggling to escape. How could the staff be so blind?

“Release him,” Barklin finally said, his face screwing up in disgust, unable to refute a thing Marstin had said. The staff members of the guild holding Marstin let go and stepped away, allowing Marstin to rub his wrists. He didn’t break eye contact with Barklin, who was beginning to feel an odd sense of pressure coming from Marstin’s eyes, like the young teen was emanating something unseen from within.

“I don’t know why you seem to hate me now,” Marstin said, raising his voice so that the entire guild lobby could hear his voice. “But, I can’t help but wonder when hate became a core part of the Adventurer’s Guild. I thought everyone here was at least better than the Thieves’ Guild, who ran on hate and cruelty, or the Mercenary Guild.”

“Watch your mouth,” Barklin’s face finally broke into a snarl. “How dare you compare us to those criminals and . . . hate mongers.” Barklin’s face seemed to shiver for a moment, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

Marstin shook his head, failing to fully notice Barklin’s confusion. “I’m leaving now. Sorry for any trouble.” He made his way out of the lobby, leaving behind a room of discombobulated adventurers and staff, the latter who were all looking at Barklin. The head receptionist was tapping his fingers against his pants, before moving swiftly to the stairs.

The young adventurer sighed as he exited the guild and grudgingly walked across the plaza to one of the tables outside a local diner and dropped into a seat.

They are no better than those you were forced to work for. Why should they help you? What are you to them? Why even try and reason with them? Just give up.

“No,” Marstin muttered, his fists clenching and unclenching. “I don’t want to. I want to be good. I want to live a good life.”

You are stained with blood, from your head to your toes. Your blood mostly, and that of those who died because of your pitiful existence. Was the Thieves’ Guild really so bad? At least they thought of you as family. The invitation at the capital is still there. They would value your talents, would they not? Just leave Graniton.

“I won’t leave,” Marstin muttered, “I have friends here. My whole life is here.”

“Marstin?” a voice suddenly distracted the teen from his internal dialogue. He turned to see Oswald and the Iron Yaks standing behind him. The adventurer party leader gave Marstin a bright smile. “Hey, you free? We need a porter for our latest quest.”

Why now?

Marstin’s inner voice wondered at the abruptness of the question, but he still said. “I have a prior commitment to a quest tonight at sundown. Will this quest take long?”

“It shouldn’t take that long,” Oswald shook his head. “But we can wait for tomorrow if you really need it.”

Something is strange.

“Well, I guess I can come along,” Marstin said after a moment’s thought. Since he and the girls had caught the rabbits in the early morning, there was still plenty of daylight left until the sun would begin to fall.

“Perfect,” Oswald grinned, holding out his hand. “Always good to have a fellow adventurer like yourself join us.” Marstin took the handshake but felt weird.

His words are not his own.

“Are you feeling all right?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m not sick, if that’s what you’re asking,” Oswald said after a moment’s consideration. “Let’s get going.”

Marstin bewilderedly followed Oswald as the group made their way to the western gate. He slowed his pace to talk with Yarrow, who had been silent. “Yarrow, what’s going on.”

But Yarrow didn’t say anything. In fact, she just seemed to be staring straight ahead, as if concentrating hard on something.

“Frain, George?” Marstin asked, concerned. But the both of them were also walking while staring straight ahead, dead to his words.

Something is wrong.

“Come join me up here, Marstin,” Oswald called, a bright smile on his face. Once the young adventurer had, Oswald wrapped a friendly hand around Marstin’s back and pulled him close. “So, tell me how things have been going. I heard you started your own adventurer group, right? We haven’t been back in Graniton for too long, just under a week from another long quest. Let me tell you, this one was a real doozy of a quest. And I really mean it; it practically rained the whole time we were guarding that caravan. What a mess, and the reward wasn’t really worth it after our supplies got soaked and the fire wouldn’t start. Real lucky George was carrying an extra-large tent, because those bastards of a merchant group wouldn’t even share a covered wagon for us to rest in. You know all about them, right? Rotten merchants skimming as much as they can wherever they can. That reminds me of the time ….”

Marstin could barely keep up with Oswald’s non-stop chatting as they made their way out of Graniton. Marstin had never heard Oswald be this chatty, ever, and it seemed he was talking more than enough to make up for the silent trio following them along. The group made their way into the forest far from civilization.

Something is wrong. Ask for the quest.

“So Oswald, what quest are we doing anyway?” Marstin finally butted into Oswald’s monologue and asked. “You haven’t given me any details yet.”

“Oh, it’s a real simple quest, you know,” Oswald nodded, his hand still hugging Marstin close. “Real simple, and well-paying too. I’ve never even ever heard of a quest this simple for the reward being offered. Real special thing, I tell you what, and the client even came to us directly to offer it, no questions asked. Easy money in the bag, though it did take a while for him to explain it to us, fools as we are. Yup, big dumb fools, needing so many hours for such a simple quest to be explained to us. In fact, I’m the one who really got it in the end you know. The other three weren’t smart enough to get it, but it’s so simple, you know? Don’t know how I even failed to realize it after so long, but you can’t help but realize how simple a thing it is.”

He is deflecting. Push harder.

“Er, yeah,” Marstin mumbled. “Simple. But, what is it?”

“Oh, we just need to kill you,” Oswald smiled happily and hugged harder, before he swung his sword at the restrained young teen.

Marstin immediately dropped into full dead weight, slipping from Oswald’s grasp and rolling away as he hit the ground. “Oswald, what are you doing?”

“It’s simple, I told you,” Oswald said with a small frown at Marstin’s escape. “The quest is to kill you. See, you’re a thief, and all the thieves in Graniton need to die. It’s very simple. You’re a danger to the town, and I need to protect the town. So, please die for me.” And with that said, Oswald whistled, and the other three members of the Iron Yaks raised their weapons toward Marstin.

“Snap out of it, guys!” Marstin pleaded, backing away slowly. “I’m not a part of the Thieves’ Guild anymore! I’m an adventurer, like you!”

“A thief adventurer, ergo, a thief,” Oswald reasoned with a smile. “Simple, real simple.” He dashed forward, his speed bringing him up to Marstin in an instant. The younger adventurer was barely able to roll away in time, causing Oswald’s sword to get stuck in a tree. The erstwhile attacker frowned and tugged, but the sword was stuck fast after being swung at full strength. An irregular mistake for Oswald to make, Marstin couldn’t help but notice.

Kill them. They are a threat. Eliminate them.

“Something is obviously wrong with them!” Marstin shouted at himself, dodging a couple of arrows shot by George, followed by a large shard of ice summoned by Yarrow. “I can’t kill them!”

They never were your friends. They’ve wanted to kill you since the beginning. Eliminate them.

“Shut up!” Marstin finally screamed at himself, running from the suddenly hostile adventurers. “I’m tired of hearing your voice! I’m sick of thinking these things, these negative, hateful things that worm around my insides. I refuse to listen to your evil thoughts any longer! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

A sudden shattering echoed in Marstin’s ears, a sound that somehow only existed inside of himself, as if the shackles of his body were broken somewhere. In Marstin’s rage, he could feel his senses growing stronger, and his body filling with the same strange strength that had appeared in the mine against the golems.

‘They are coming,” the voice in his head said, a new voice stemming from his instincts. ‘I must fight and win. I cannot allow them to continue being like this.’

Marstin cocked his head slightly backwards, hearing the whistling sounds of arrows and ice being thrown his way. He rolled to the right, dodging the incoming projectiles.

‘Use the brush for cover,’ Marstin thought quickly. ‘They can’t use ranged attacks around obstacles.’ He glanced around and focused on a nearby grove of trees growing closer together. He ran in and took a fighting stance.

As expected, Frain was the first one to appear, her sword and axe knife in hand. She attacked, face and body devoid of emotion. Marstin wielded his daggers against her, parrying her attacks with an abnormal ease. He realized with a gut feeling that Frain’s strange state was affecting her normal fighting abilities, giving him a chance.

With his enhanced senses, his gut feeling even began to take on simple thoughts for him to follow, as if his instincts had a life of their own. He played through the instructions in almost slow motion: dodge to the left, then right; uppercut to the wrist to disarm sword; dodge swinging knife and knock wrist to disarm again. She’ll attempt a side swing to open distance; lean into and swing around to back-handedly hit gut with pommel of dagger. Hit successful. Follow up with strike to neck as body keels forward with fist and pommel. Target neutralized.

Marstin blinked, and Frain was lying on the ground, unconscious. He barely had enough time to register what he had just done before he felt the immediate need to lean backwards, dodging several arrows. He locked eyes on the expressionless George, who had gotten stuck trying to squeeze past two trees into the grove. His agility was lost thanks to his large stature, and Marstin apologized as he ran toward him while dodging arrows. A quick leap up and kicking off the tree allowed Marstin to slam his knee into George’s chin, sending huge ripples through his flesh as the large archer’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped down.

“Yarrow,” Marstin muttered as he slapped away an ice shard shot in ambush. The black-haired girl with tattoos merely continued to stare coldly at him while her staff glowed, summoning up ice shards to send at him. “Well at least it’s only shards ….” Marstin cocked his head with a sudden thought.

“Oh no, I forgot I’m wearing new armor that’s weak to fire,” he called out.

Yarrow blinked, and the ice shards were replaced by pitifully sized fireballs that flew at Marstin.

“Gods above, thank goodness none of you are in your right minds,” Marstin muttered as he jumped off of George and rolled behind a tree. “Can’t believe I’m praying, either.” He waited a few moments until the sound of fireballs dramatically fell off before peering off the side. Yarrow’s complexion was ashen, the signs of mana deficiency showing on her face. And yet she still tried to summon up the mana to cast more spells at Marstin. Marstin ran up and put her out of her misery with a quick pommel hit to the back of her neck, knocking her out.

“Now all that’s left-” Marstin ducked, dodging the swung sword from Oswald.

“Why are you making this hard?” Oswald asked, seemingly genuinely confused. “This is a simple thing. You must see it, simple. It’s simple! SIMPLE!” Oswald’s face seemed to crack into madness as he shouted the last word.

“How is killing a friend simple?” Marstin cried out in response, praying a sword attack.

“YOU’RE A DANGER TO GRANITON!” Oswald screamed, foam flying from his mouth. “I SWORE AN OATH TO PROTECT GRANITON! THE DANGER MUST BE ELIMINATED, NO MATTER THE COST! No matter the cost.” The D-ranked adventurer calmed down, and a more serious light began shining in his eye.

Marstin dropped without thinking, and a massive sword wave erupted over him, slashing two trees at the trunk. They toppled toward the duo, and Marstin rolled out of the way as they crashed. He took a moment to catch his breath, before hearing a sound that made him leap to the side. His previous sitting spot exploded as Oswald remade his appearance, sword slowing with magical energy. He stared at Marstin, an odd look of determination and regret on his face.

“Why’d you have to be a danger,” Oswald muttered. “I thought you were better than them. I thought giving you a chance would be good enough to make you a good person. So why are you still a threat? Why must I kill you?” He blinked suddenly, the mad smile returning. “Oh right, simple, really, because you’re a danger. And all dangers to Graniton must be eliminated, no exceptions.” The sword swept out again, though whatever magic Oswald was using failed to activate, causing the adventurer to frown.

Marstin considered the situation quickly. Crazy Oswald was hard, but not impossible to defeat. Serious Oswald, on the other hand, seemed to be able to use his normal strength, but could also seem to be reasoned with.

“Oswald,” Marstin called out. “Who gave you the quest?”

“Don’t need to know,” Oswald said, looking oddly around him like others were listening. “Can’t have this rewarding quest stolen by others.”

“So it’s a secret quest you’ve been given,” Marstin reasoned, backing away slowly. “That’s strange, since all legal quests are made through the guild and approved by the guild master. Would he approve this quest?”

“No, yes,” Oswald muttered, his eyes starting to lose focus as his sword arm trembled. “He’d make it to protect the town. The guild master loves the town and the guild.”

“And the adventurers,” Marstin reminded him. “Didn’t the guild master ride to the capital to protect your good name, and my good name? Doesn’t that show how much he cares about you and me? Would he want you to kill me?”

“Shut up,” Oswald hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Don’t make this not simple anymore.”

“You claim I am a danger to Graniton,” Marstin continued to speak, not dropping his guard. “Yet I’ve only ever done good for the town since becoming an adventurer. Name one time I got in trouble or was arrested while being an adventurer.”

“A trick, a lie, a cover,” Oswald groaned, his eyes twitching fiercely.

“If that’s what you really think,” Marstin smiled. “Then come here.” With a grin, he outstretched his hands and dropped his knives. “I know I’m not a threat to Graniton, and I know you’d never kill an innocent.”

A sword wave answered Marstin a moment later, causing the teen adventurer to drop and grab his knives. “I can’t believe I even considered that,” he muttered shame-filled to himself. “This isn’t a fairy tale world.”

But his words had had some effect on Oswald, who was struggling between a mad smile and a confused frown.

“Oswald, this isn’t you,” Marstin tried again, getting back up. “You’re the kind of leader who listens to his party about quests before taking them. Did they consent to this?”

“They couldn’t understand how simple it was,” Oswald frantically muttered. “They just wouldn’t see it. They couldn’t see it, shouldn’t, shouldn’t-” he groaned, clutching his head. “It hurts, it hurts so much!” He let out a roar and smashed his sword into the ground, causing an eruption of earth spikes to explode around him. Fallen trees splintered into pieces and Marstin was forced into another retreating leap of faith to avoid the attack, rolling to safety upon landing. He looked back, and Oswald had dropped his sword to clutch his head with both hands. Blood was dripping from his ears, nose, and eyes as he screamed.

“Noo!” he roared. “No!” The older adventurer shook and writhed onto the ground, unable to contain the great anguish within him. Marstin ran over quickly, stopping a short distance away to kick Oswald’s sword farther away. He turned to examine the adventurer.

“I don’t know what’s happened to you,” Marstin murmured, “but I promise I will find out.” And with that said, he slammed both pommels into the back of Oswald’s neck.

The adventurer froze, and both eyes locked onto Marstin. With a soft, but audible ‘Thank-you!’, the experienced D-ranked adventurer dropped to the ground. Marstin quickly flipped him onto his side and checked the older adventurer’s pulse. It was a bit unstable, but at least firm.

Marstin sighed in relief, before falling to the ground next to Oswald, exhausted. Whatever ability he had used was all gone now, and he barely had any energy to move. With light starting to fade away into unconsciousness, Marstin’s last thought was wondering who would want him dead, and why.

Chapter 28

The repairs took much longer than Progen thought they would, mainly because they affected almost the entire circulatory system.  The horrendous wound to the lower digestive system he had needed to repair previously, which was a lot more serious and life-threatening, was actually easier; it was all concentrated in the same area, and the injury had been more than obvious.  With the damage done to portions of the entire circulatory system, the hunt for what needed to be fixed and returned to normal was extremely time-consuming.  Albeit the vessels had been safe from rupture, distended or slightly torn vessels slowed the efficiency of the entire system – which Progen just wasn’t going to tolerate.

Based on the size of this host, there are an estimated 80,000 miles of blood vessels to search through and repair.

When he had heard that, Progen wanted to shout in frustration – but he pushed on, nevertheless.  It had been much easier to suffuse mana into the circulatory system when he was spreading his influence, because he didn’t have to be too particular in where it went.  This, though, was annoyingly time-consuming – and he wished that another healing potion would be consumed at some point to save him the trouble.  Alas, there was no external remedy – it was up to Progen and the body to do the work.

Speaking of the body, it seemed to react sluggishly to repairing the blood vessels.  Only the most severe of tears were addressed, with blood clots and large amounts of platelets arriving to fix the areas, but 95% of the rest was ignored.  Progen asked Stemmy to communicate to the circulatory system to ask for assistance, but there was no response.

It is possible that due to there not being any serious wounds or significant stoppage in function, the normal reactions by the host are non-responsive.

“There may not be any serious drop in function, but I can plainly see that the vessels are damaged,” Progen remarked, annoyed that they couldn’t get the help they needed.  “If I don’t fix them, they’ll cause problems in the future…right?”

Affirmative.  Excessive dilation of the blood vessels is already leading to a drop in blood pressure, which will eventually cause a reduction in the blood traveling to the brain.  This in turn can cause dizziness or fainting in the host, and possible brain damage if the low blood pressure is allowed to be sustained for long periods of time.

So, as much as it felt like a waste of time since the damage wasn’t recognized as damage, it was important to the overall health of the body to fix it all.  Fortunately, Progen was working to repair the blood vessels before they could cause any serious issues, such as the dizziness and fainting that Stemmy had mentioned.  In fact, after about 2 weeks of doggedly hunting down and repairing this or that artery, vein, or capillary, Stemmy announced that he had passed the danger threshold.  But that didn’t mean he was completely done; even if the body was going to be okay and wouldn’t be in danger of being permanently hurt after he had fixed the majority of the damage, it was going to be his someday – and he didn’t want there to be any worrisome problems cropping up in the future.

Meanwhile, his progress toward enhancing the immune system had stalled while he used most of his mana repairing, though he still hunted down infection after infection when Stemmy identified them.  The body’s immune system was still slowly recovering, though it was as sluggish of a recovery as the circulatory system in reaction to the stretched blood vessels.  It was almost as if there were no urgency to replace what had been eliminated since he arrived.

There may be an interruption in the signals sent out from the central or autonomic nervous system.  There may not be an urgency because the immune system doesn’t know there needs to be an urgency.

“Well, can’t you tell it that?”

Negative.  Stemmy can communicate directives for immune cells to address an infection, but the process of manufacturing additional immune cells is controlled by the autonomic and central nervous systems, in which Stemmy does not have access.

Despite that, there was still a significant jump in the quantity of immune cells roaming around, though there weren’t nearly enough to properly protect the entire body as of yet.  Progen’s forces were still needed to assist, every minute of the day; but it had become quite routine by that point, so the dungeon crystal didn’t really mind.  It gave him something to focus on rather than constantly repairing blood vessels.

What really helped to distract him from that mind-numbing process was the increasing frequency of having to help repair external damage that seemed to randomly pop up every once in a while.  Stemmy said that Marstin was doing something called “quests”, which put his body in danger quite often – which usually ended up with a few scrapes or animal bites that needed repairs.  While he couldn’t do anything to fix the skin, repairing the blood vessels underneath to prevent major blood loss was well within his capabilities.  And, of course, every time the body suffered from some sort of wound, no matter how small, pathogens seemed to flock to the site; the cleanup from these delayed the whole blood vessel repair process, but at least it was getting done.

Despite all of the progress, though, there always seemed to be more that needed to be taken care of.  Progen was now more than cognizant as to why there were so many of the different systems that were automated, because it was a lot of work.  Once he was in charge, he would be happy to leave most of that behind, allowing the normal processes to be handled without his direct intervention.

The only worrying part throughout the entire time situation was feeling that he was missing something.  It was almost as if something were being hidden just out of his sight; he couldn’t explain it to himself or Stemmy any better than that.

Stemmy detects no anomalies.

“Obviously, otherwise you would’ve communicated it before this.”  That didn’t mean there wasn’t something wrong, though.

He couldn’t be absolutely sure, but he was almost certain that the body was in pain from some unknown source – despite there being no evidence to prove this theory.  The interneuron cell assisting the dungeon core seemed to indicate that there was nothing wrong, but Stemmy had also had some issues lately in acquiring all of the communications it should have received.  Looking around all of the different systems, himself, as well as via his army of Reporters he had roaming around, there was nothing to indicate that there was a problem.  Granted, his efforts ended up finding a few more minor infections that hadn’t been reported, but that didn’t seem to be what he was sensing.

With nothing obvious, nothing reported, and just a vague sense of wrongness, Progen did his best to ignore the seemingly impossible premonition.  Back to the fun of repairing blood vessels, I guess.

*      *      *

Time passed, the body’s circulatory system finally recovered with Progen’s prodigious help -- yet the sense of wrongness persisted and intensified. And there was still no answer to what it was, exactly.  Stemmy continued to express complete ignorance of anything anomalous, so the dungeon crystal continued to try to ignore the feeling.  He was beginning to think that it was completely internal; without going too deep into his own mind, Progen considered that everything he might be experiencing was a manifestation of the constant feeling of inadequacy and impotence regarding his objective to commandeer the large biological entity he was residing within, and the seemingly insurmountable obstacle that the blood-brain barrier represented.

Or something like that.

Regardless of whatever it was, there was nothing he or Stemmy could do about its presence – or lack thereof.  Instead, Progen got back to the production and assemblage of his immune cells, now that his mana wasn’t being consumed by fixing the blood vessels all over the body.  At least, that was his plan, before his interneuron cell assistant messed that all up; granted, it wasn’t Stemmy’s fault, but the dungeon crystal felt a little better blaming someone else.

Stemmy has detected a strange resonance attempting to gain influence over the auditory nerves.

“What kind of influence—?”

Progen didn’t finish the question, however, because he could feel it.  It felt similar to the mana inside of the mine dungeon, which caused the crystal to tense up in fear for a moment.  That experience had been a bit traumatizing because he had felt so insignificant in comparison, and he barely liked to think about it now.  The sense of foreign mana unwittingly brought those feelings of insecurity back, but he quickly pushed them aside and prepared himself…for nothing.

“Why does this seem different?  It feels like mana, but it is so diffuse that I probably would’ve missed it if you hadn’t mentioned it.”

Unknown.  Interpreting the information from the ocular nerves is difficult because of the large amounts of stimuli, and the auditory nerves are having the same issues.

“Well, where is the body right now?”

The same human habitation, near a gathering place where an individual is speaking to a crowd.

Progen understood immediately what the problem was after hearing Stemmy try to describe sensory information over the last few weeks: Crowds were loud, and there were too many people to effectively identify anything.  Instead of relying on the interneuron cell to pinpoint the cause, the dungeon crystal looked at what was actually occurring – to see what effect it was happening.  He used his influence near the auditory nerves to get a general sense of what Stemmy was talking about, and found that the foreign mana floating outside of the body was indeed concentrating around the head of the body.

But it was a light touch, and not the intense “gaze” of a dungeon crystal looking at something within its influence.  It was largely unfocused and extremely diffuse, as if it were already weak to begin with, before being thinned out over a large area.  Despite that, tiny elements of that mana were trying to burrow their way into the auditory nerves that Progen could observe only peripherally.

“Oh, no – I don’t think so!” Progen declared with more than a bit of heat, incensed by the intrusion.  Whether the mana was trying to take over and influence the auditory system of nerves as a stepping stone towards complete control, the dungeon crystal didn’t know, but that didn’t really matter.  Only he was going to control this body, and foreign interlopers would be summarily ejected upon their trespass.

“Stemmy, infuse my mana back into those nerves!  We can’t allow this other mana to take hold!”

Affirmative.  Infusing Progen’s mana now.

There was a very brief war between his influence and the intruder, which he couldn’t actually see, but he could sense the quick conflict.  He equated it to how he used to be able to get a general sense of what was happening in another mine tunnel back when he had been a newly born dungeon crystal inside of the mine; he couldn’t see what was happening in the other tunnels or rooms, but he could hear what was going on in sharp quality, piecing things together from those auditory clues.

The war was extremely brief, mainly because there was no real fight from the foreign mana – it was basically pushed aside without much resistance.  There was no real power or focused intent behind it, as if it just happened to be there and thought it would try to invade since it was convenient at the time.

Foreign influence has been eradicated, and no more seems to be trying to invade; Stemmy is consistently passing mana through the auditory nerves, which seems to easily repel the invasion.

The invasions just seemed to occur non-stop to the body, though Progen was accustomed to only seeing microscopic pathogens – not foreign mana.  “Could that have been the malevolent entity up in the brain?” he asked, though he stopped Stemmy from answering.  He already knew the answer.

“No, nothing about the entity has ever shown itself to be mana-related, and somehow permeating the outside of the body and invading through the auditory nerves so unsuccessfully doesn’t seem like the wisest choice.”  If it wasn’t the entity, however – what was it?

Before long, though, the feeling of mana completely disappeared and things calmed down while the body traveled a few places around the city, which the dungeon crystal thought seemed dangerous due to their hard-to-get-to and clandestine locations.  Not too long after, though, Stemmy reported that the “host” had entered a familiar building, which quickly felt safer to Progen.

A sudden jolt through the body reminded him that foreign mana and suspicious city locations weren’t the only dangers in the world, however.

Host is temporarily unconscious.  There is damage to the supra-orbital artery, the middle temporal vein, and the supratrochlear vein.  Host has woken up and is now attempting to avoid additional impacts to its facial structure.

“First an invasion by foreign mana, and now the body is getting hit in the face?  What is going on out there?  I thought you said the host was in a safe building?”  Progen was already sending mana up to fix the broken blood vessels in the face, though it was difficult operating so close to the brain – due to proximity of the entity that was taking up residence inside the skull.  He had a lot of practice repairing the circulatory system over the past few weeks, though, and with a location pinpointed to him by Stemmy, it was easy enough to start the repair process.

Correct.  There is an unexpected altercation between the host and another human…the host is being restrained.  Stemmy is listening to the conversation, and it seems as though something is much different from how it is supposed to be between these humans.

“That’s a bit vague, Stemmy.  Is there danger?” the dungeon crystal asked, before he caught a hint of something pressing against the body.  It was very faint, but Progen was convinced it was the same mana he had felt earlier, though in extremely low concentrations; it was strange, though, because it had disappeared a little while ago when the body had entered the building.  Now, though, there were little hints of it pressing against his awareness outside the body, though it wasn’t trying to infuse the auditory nerves anymore.  In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, it felt as though the mana had already infused something else….

“Stemmy, do you think that it’s possible that foreign mana has infused these other people here?”  That was the only thing that made sense, but the how and why of it all was beyond Progen’s comprehension at the moment.

It is quite possible.

“Alright, I want you to try something for me,” the dungeon crystal asked his assistant, before explaining what he wanted to do.

Stemmy will attempt to do what you ask.

Progen felt about half of his available mana, which sat at approximately 1800 after using some to repair the blood vessels in the face, fed through the optic nerves.  While he couldn’t “see”, Stemmy could – and the mana would hopefully help to reveal the foreign mana in a visible spectrum.  Progen could see his own mana when he concentrated enough to pay attention, so he was hoping the same would apply to other mana sources.

Progen is correct.  There are faint traces of foreign dungeon mana around the cranial features of the various humans the host is looking at, concentrating near the ear canals.

“I knew it!” the dungeon crystal practically shouted in glee.  Then he realized that knowing the truth was only half the battle; it didn’t really help in the current situation, though it was an interesting tidbit of information.

Concentrations of Progen’s mana are leaking out of the ocular cavity, which is slightly disrupting the resonance of the foreign mana.  Stemmy may have overutilized Progen’s mana in an effort to observe the phenomenon.

“That’s great!”  A happy and unexpected accident, he couldn’t help but think.  “Can we push even more out to disrupt the influence entirely?”

Inadvisable.  Excessive mana concentrations through the host’s retinas could cause serious damage, including temporary or permanent blindness.  Until you fully control the entire visual sensory system, any damage to the senses would be difficult or impossible to repair.

“Yes, but if it gets us out of here—” he ventured, but was rudely cut off.

Not necessary.  The host has extracted itself through the use of negotiation; the resonance disruption was enough to allow reason and logic to temporarily override the foreign mana’s influence.

“Good.  Now maybe we can get back to safety and I can work on building up my forces again.”  Progen thought that was enough excitement for the day, especially since he was still a bit shaken up from the whole presence of foreign mana.

Host has met with a previously met group of humans and has been corralled into finishing a quest.

“Here we go again….”

Chapter 29

This was likely no ordinary quest, however.

“What is going on with this place?” Progen asked the interneuron cell, not really expecting an answer.  Now that he was starting to become accustomed to sensing foreign mana, he could feel that there were concentrations of it scattered all around; the mana was denser than he had felt before, however, which was probably how he sensed them without it pressing insistently against the body.

Unknown.  Progen’s mana is still heavily concentrated in the host’s eyes; Stemmy can observe large concentrations of the foreign mana around the humans’ ear canals.

“Can we send more of my own mana out there to disrupt it like before?”  The dungeon crystal thought he already knew the answer, but wanted to make sure.

Inadvisable.  The amount of mana needed to disrupt these concentrations would do more harm than good.

That’s what Progen thought as well, though he wanted to make sure.  His own mana had regenerated enough that he had some options, but trying to mess with the influence of the foreign mana seemed unlikely at that time.

However, the more that the body was around the other people – the adventurers that Marstin had journeyed with not that long ago, when he had been severely injured – the more Progen became uncomfortable.  Stemmy passed on the conversation being held outside of the body, and the dungeon crystal was convinced that something was seriously wrong.

…and the other humans are not speaking.  The foreign mana seems to be thicker around the others’ heads, so that could play a part in their silence.  The large, armored human has now grabbed the host and has his sword unsheathed.  Host is now insisting to know what the quest is that the group of humans is supposed to be completing.  Oh.

“What?”

Apparently, they are supposed to kill the host.

Progen thought he didn’t hear the interneuron cell correctly, because such a thing seemed impossible.

Armored human has swung sword at host; host has escaped the other human’s grasp.

Progen ignored Stemmy’s poorly described events as they unfolded, as the anger and worry at whatever was going on filled the dungeon crystal’s mind.  How dare this foreign mana cause them to attack Marstin!  They should be helping him, not trying to kill him!

“Stemmy, I need you to—”

There was a sudden feeling of rage coming from around him, resonating and amplified by his own anger at the situation.  “What is this?”

The host’s rage is being turned inside, targeting something unknown.  Your own anger has augmented this rage—

A sudden shattering of…something…echoed through the entire body, sending a wave of understanding flowing through Progen’s crystal.  He wasn’t exactly sure how he knew, because something like this had never happened before; but there was a slight connection between Marstin’s consciousness and Progen’s own.  It wasn’t enough of a connection to elicit any type of control, or even influence; but their resonating anger must have unlocked some sort of deeper bond – though it felt temporary.

“Stemmy, I think the malevolent entity was attempting to control the thoughts of this body,” he said slowly, still trying to figure out what he was feeling.  “Marstin must have broken that control – and now I think we can help.  Stemmy…let through most of the sensory information and use my mana to flood the muscular system for reaction speed enhancements.  Also, infuse that adrenaline again, as that worked before; plus, there aren’t any divine blessings to interfere with the process this time.  Let’s keep this body alive, shall we?”

The muscular enhancements aren’t permanent and Progen will gain no influence over them.  Overuse of muscles will eventually exhaust—

“I know, Stemmy – but the current situation is more important than anything else.  Do it.”

Almost immediately, mana rushed out of Progen’s crystal like a sieve, and for a moment he could feel it infusing and enhancing the muscles all over the body.  It was only a temporary enhancement, however, and he would get no influence over the muscular system – but it would do its job to keep Marstin alive.

Reflexes of the host have been increased significantly, and Stemmy is attempting to filter some of the sensory information out to help increase threat detection.  Overabundance of information will detract from survivability rates; therefore, maintenance of that information is required.

“Excellent, Stemmy.  Use whatever you need to streamline the knowledge this body needs to survive.”

Evaluating fighting styles and predicting correct defensive procedures.  Passing through the relevant information now.

“Wait…you can do that?”

Stemmy can analyze the muscle movements, eye-tracking, and skeletal posture of the other humans and extrapolate future actions.  By focusing on letting that pertinent information through via the sensory inputs, a specific plan of action can be constructed.

That seemed too good to be true.  “Are you saying that you’re controlling the body now?”

Negative.  The specific sensory information sent through the thalamus is then directed to various centers in the brain, where it is processed and evaluated; only then does the host respond to that information of its own accord.  There is no control – only a…suggestion…of how to respond.

“That’s better than nothing.  Is it working?”

Affirmative.  The host has rendered the female sword-wielding human unconscious, and is currently dodging projectiles from a large male human.

“He’s dodging arrows?  I guess my mana has really helped with the reflexes, huh?”

Somewhat.  The host already had improved agility from previous experience, but Progen’s mana has helped it react slightly faster.  Most of the defensive benefits can be attributed to the heightening of the senses, as that allows the host to start moving to avoid danger quicker than normal responsiveness.

“Oh, so you’re taking all of the credit for that, are you?” Progen asked, slightly affronted at the interneuron cell disparaging the crystal’s efforts.

Negative.  The enhanced senses are due to Progen’s mana, after all.

That was true, even if Progen hadn’t actually done the infiltration himself.

Host has rendered the second human unconscious, and is in the process of repeating the process on the third.  The infused adrenaline and temporarily enhanced muscles are starting to exhaust the host.

“Will he survive, though?”

Yes, if this fight ends soon.

Stemmy then went on to describe – again, in excruciatingly poor detail – how the third adventurer was taken down, only to have to avoid powerful attacks by the fourth, and fortunately last, adventurer.

Exhaustion is becoming more prevalent as the host uses up its reserves of energy.  Host has managed to avoid damage, and is now speaking with the last human.  Obvious signs of distress are evident in the other human, and the foreign mana concentration is starting to thin.

“Is it being used up?”  Progen didn’t think that was possible, as once his mana was permanently infused into something, it stayed there.  Granted, the dungeon crystal didn’t exactly know what was going on with the foreign mana, but it was worrisome, nonetheless.

Unlikely.  The previously antagonistic human appears to be internally fighting the foreign mana.

That was an even more worrisome prospect.  If the body figured out what Progen was doing to it – in an effort to take it over and control it – would it then fight against his spreading influence?  He could only assume that since he had started his campaign of domination from inside, as well as in systems that were more autonomous than the brain and central nervous system, nothing had alerted the body to his presence or ultimate objective.  This foreign mana, however, was being almost heavy-handed in its approach to control.  Is that what the foreign mana is ultimately trying to do?  Take control of these adventurers…or just influence them enough with a modicum of control?

Either way, what it meant to Progen was that he had to take his time when he finally got up to the brain, because it didn’t appear to be so straightforward anymore.  The last thing he needed after going all that way was to have the mind and body of Marstin fight him over control.

Progen was interrupted by these future thoughts by Stemmy, however.

Final human has potentially hurt himself by fighting against the foreign mana and is writhing and screaming on the ground.  Host has rendered the armored human unconscious.

There was a sudden jerk in the body that startled Progen for a moment, before everything went silent and relatively still.  “What happened?”

Host has suffered from syncope due to the rapid reduction in blood flow throughout the body as the infused adrenaline ran its course.  The exhaustion caused by the enhanced muscles reacting to Progen’s mana while not a part of an influenced system has now rendered the host unconscious.  Minor damage has been reported throughout the body, including a few distended blood vessels.

“Syncope?  Do you mean that the body…what?  Fainted?”

Correct.

“I guess that means he can’t get into any more trouble right now, at least,” Progen said, relieved and worried at the same time.  The presence of foreign mana, which felt familiar enough that he was positive it was from a dungeon crystal, was a problem that he didn’t know how to face.

The only thing he could do, and the only thing that really concerned him, was keeping the body he was in alive.  To do that, however, he needed to help repair any of the internal damage that had been done during the fight for survival.  Getting the body back to its conscious state would certainly help with that – especially if one of the other adventurers that had been knocked unconscious woke up before this body did.

Therefore, it was back to work…

Chapter 30

A jolt of pain from his abdomen woke Marstin up, a low pain that made him moan. Grimacing, the young adventurer rolled onto his side and coughed, becoming increasingly aware of the backlash of muscle pain his body was suffering. Luckily, it didn’t feel nearly as bad as the previous incident following the golem attack; still hurt, though. As the memories rushed back through his mind, Marstin rolled around to search for Oswald’s downed figure. The older adventurer was still lying on his side where Marstin had left him, dead to the world yet still thankfully alive.

Marstin breathed hard as he lay still, eyes just locked on Oswald’s face, the grateful smile still there from being knocked out. With another groan, Marstin dragged himself up onto his arms and crawled over to Oswald, double-checking his pulse. Finding it even, the young adventurer slumped back onto the ground, his harsh breathing echoing softly around the fallen trees that surrounded him. Without warning, Marstin let out a yell and slammed his fists into the ground, inflaming the already dull pain throbbing through his arms. When the young teen looked back up, soft tears were rolling down his face.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Marstin reached into his own adventurer’s bag and pulled out a coil of rope, using it to expertly tie together Oswald’s arms and legs just in case he woke up. After double-checking the strength of the knots and checking for any hidden weapons or tools, Marstin removed Oswald’s adventurer’s bag and stood up onto his shaky legs. Achieving balance, he walked over to also pick up the fallen sword, enduringly depriving Oswald of any tools he might be able to use to escape. Marstin stumbled away and dropped the pilfered items behind a tree, before noticing Yarrow ahead of him. The Istutian Polar Wizard was still lying on her back, sprawled out in her animal pelt clothes, her wand a small distance away from her. Her black hair was splayed around her and covering a good portion of her face. More importantly, Marstin noticed that Yarrow’s arm was twitching, a sure sign that her consciousness was slowly returning to her.

Cursing under his breath, Marstin pulled out another coil of rope and made his way over to the fallen girl. He knelt, but before he could begin tying her limbs together, he felt the cold, sharp point of blade on the back of his throat. Wincing, Marstin dropped the rope and raised up his hands in surrender.

“I thought better of you, Marstin,” Frain’s familiar, and cold, voice rang out from behind him. “I never expected you were the kidnapping sort.”

As terrifying as the situation was for Marstin, he couldn’t help but flare up at the mere thought of kidnapping Yarrow. “Funny, I never took the Iron Yaks as the murdering sort,” Marstin countered, quickly cursing his trouble-causing mouth as soon as the words had left.

“We aren’t,” Frain growled, pressing the point slightly harder both literally and figuratively, bending Marstin’s upper body over Yarrow. “But seeing you trying to tie up my group mate is really tempting me to reconsider.”

“I’m not tying her up to kidnap her,” Marstin protested, taking the time to keep his words unaggressive. “I’m tying her up in case she wakes up and tries to kill me again, like you and the other two. I’m actually surprised you haven’t sunk the sword in already, given how eagerly you were trying before.” He blinked, considering. “By the way, do you remember anything from the last hour or two?”

There was a long pause that made Marstin sweat. Whatever his words might say, he was inwardly quite nervous to be once again at the hands of another’s mercy.

“I don’t remember trying to kill you,” Frain said finally. “Nor do I remember why I’m in the forest; most of the day feels... blank actually. I found George’s unconscious body back there between the trees -- as though he tried to force his way through, instead of going around. Now I find you here with rope, attempting to tie up Yarrow, who is also splayed across the forest floor like a corpse. I’m honestly not sure what’s going on, Marstin; so why don’t you tell me, word for word, what you saw, starting with Oswald’s current location.”

“He’s up ahead,” Marstin used his right hand to point where he had come from. “I’ve already tied him up, but I’m not sure if he’s okay. His pulse was there, but I’m not trained enough to tell you more.”

“Then you’d better summarize a bit of the story,” Frain said coolly. “Starting with why you seem to think I had a reason to kill you before finding you trying to tie up a young woman.”

Marstin took a deep breath and began to go over the events of the last hour or two. How Oswald had invited him out for a “quest” without explaining the requirements and goal. How Frain, George, and Yarrow had acted without emotion, like silent guard dolls. How Oswald had led him into the woods and sprung the ambush with the other three members of the Iron Yaks. And finally, how the four had fought at less than their maximum strength and Marstin had managed to knock them all out.

When Marstin was done, he kept silent and kept his hands up, despite the protest of his arm muscles. Frain was silent, with not a single sound escaping her lips.

Marstin felt his body begin to cold sweat, when he picked up on a soft, sniffling sound. “Darn it,” he heard suddenly. “Darn it all, not again. Not again.”

Marstin felt the cold metal leave his skin, and he turned around slowly to find Frain crying slowly, softly, and silently with her face contorted into sorrow, and a deep grief. The sword she was holding was shaking and wavering, before finally falling to the earth as Frain collapsed to the ground and sobbed without making a single sound. Marstin, bewildered, stood stupidly and looked on without doing anything.

“It happened again!” Frain suddenly screamed, slamming her fists into the ground. “Again, AGAIN!” The red-haired adventurer had completely changed into a storm of violence, grief, and rage leaving Marstin only just enough time to move backwards out of range as she threw whatever she could get her hands on and swung her fists out indiscriminately. Distracted as he was by Frain’s outpouring of grief, he was startled when Yarrow’s hand grabbed his leg, using him as a crutch to help stand up. The tribal adventurer didn’t say a word, instead choosing to watch her companion deal with her grief. Out of the corner of Marstin’s eye, he also saw the injured George approach, a solemn frown adorning his normally peaceful and happy face. When George reached them, he knelt and embraced Frain, who just turned her fists onto the adventurer’s large body. George took the blows without reacting to them, allowing Frain to calm down in his warm embrace until her fists turned into a return hug.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Yarrow said to Marstin, finally breaking her eyes from Frain, “But I think you should tell us.”

Marstin nodded and repeated his story. The two remaining adventurers had different reactions, with Yarrow shaking her head in disbelief and George gaining a menacing look across his face.

“So, those bastards survived somehow,” George said without explanation.

The young teen gleaned some information from that simple sentence. “This weird attack,” Marstin said slowly, “It’s happened before? With all of you?”

“Not all of us,” George said a moment later. “Oswald and I arrived during the aftermath. But Frain was in the middle of it. Yarrow, Marstin, you would know this as the unspoken Thrawnby Incident, the event that broke the relationship between the Adventurer’s Guild and the Thieves’ Guild. It was a tragedy of unimaginable proportions, and one that forced many a surviving adventurer into retirement.”

“What happened?” Yarrow asked softly.

George opened his mouth, then closed it as he looked down at Frain. He sighed. “It was years ago now. Back then, the largest trade caravan in the north was owned by the Thrawnby Merchant Group and ran across the entire north from the Devil’s Country to Talen, coast to coast. They were responsible for the quick dissemination of goods and ideas across the north, but because they kept the prices of imported goods low they were also the subject of hate and anger from rival merchant groups and all manner of selfish folk looking to steal from the richest. So, in every country, The Thrawnby Group hired a large assortment of local adventurers to serve as guards until the border. This was an annual event, and one very popular with strong adventurers. Rumor was the owner of the Thrawnby Group had played a hand in the formation of the Adventurer’s Guild as well, so the networking between the two was always good.”

“That year,” Oswald continued. “The caravan had finished its business in the Devil’s Country and was making its way back across Istut. Frain was part of that group, while Oswald and I, as well as many others, were working with the now guild master of Graniton, who at the time was an almost A-ranked adventurer. We were searching for the rumored existence of a violent religious cult that had fled into Istut from Bosrol, but we had lost their trail a few days north of Graniton. In the middle of our investigations, the current guild master received an emergency summons from the head branch of the guild to hurry to the Thrawnby caravan and provide backup. When we arrived, all we could see was a sea of fire and blood, with bodies littering the ground like snow. Most of the caravan staff was dead, as were most of the adventurers assigned to guard the caravan. There were other bodies, too, but we didn’t pay them any attention at the time.”

George shook his head. “It was pure chaos, and we all believed some great enemy had fallen upon the caravan. To our shock and disbelief, the survivors revealed that the attackers had been adventurers. To be more precise, a fight somehow started in the group and somehow ended up spreading to every member of the caravan like an illness. Most survivors, like Frain, were left completely traumatized at either having killed their comrades or killing to protect themselves. It was later revealed in the following investigation,” George grimaced, “that the cult we had been tracking had infiltrated Istut to attack the caravan. They hired members of the Thieves’ Guild working as adventurers to do their dirty work, sowing doubt among the guards and installing magical circles to amplify the cultists’ spells. They cast mental manipulation magic onto everyone, using the budding inner demons as fertile ground to manipulate everyone into attacking their comrades, thinking they were enemies.”

“However, the fools failed to realize the thieves had betrayed them, as well, marking them with their own magic and causing the cultists to all kill each other before we arrived. With the main culprits dead, the blame fell on the thieves, and war almost erupted between the two guilds. The consequences were swift: As almost all the thief adventurers had come from Graniton, the local branch of the Thieves’ Guild was cut off from the main branch and left to stew in resentment. The guild master was also forced to take the blame for not stopping the cultists and was forced to retire and take up the desk job of guild master in Graniton. Finally, the Thrawnby Caravan was discontinued as they were left unable to pay back their loans, which their rivals pounced on to pressure them into bankruptcy. As such, international trade was left in tatters as every merchant company and their mothers leaped on the chance to gain new trade routes, resulting in a complicated web of agreements and back dealings that raised prices and ruined the import/export trade for basic goods. To this day, no one was quite sure how the cultists entered Istut, nor what kind of magic they used. We all hoped this would never happen again.”

Frain stopped her meaningless attack on the dirt and nodded slowly. “The Thrawnby incident, this is the Thrawnby incident all over again,” she explained through sobbing chokes. “Friends fell upon each other as deep doubts and hidden resentments were brought to the surface of their thoughts, with me among them. I was there with my partner, my best friend, Shelia, thinking that we’d make enough silver to tie us over for a few months, when she revealed her intention to retire as an adventurer after the quest was complete.” Frain shuddered. “She wanted to get married to her lover, a cute receptionist at the guild hall. I said I didn’t mind, but deep inside I felt she was leaving me behind. I felt hurt and hid it.”

“When the spell was cast,” Frain sobbed, “I was overcome with the sight of her turning her back on me, when she was just going to get dinner. And, I stabbed through the heart of my best friend with the only thought being she was going to leave me behind; she bled out quickly in my arms asking ‘why’ while I looked on in rage. And the screams, they echoed all around me, and I was attacked and forced to defend myself. I couldn’t even be by her side when she breathed her last, her cold body staring wordlessly into the night sky.” The red-haired adventurer took a deep breath and choked. “When I finally realized what I had done, I couldn’t live with myself. If it weren’t for the guild master leading a counterattack and disarming me, then I too would have been listed among those dead from suicide. The darn thieves and cult bastards were killed, and the Thieves’ Guild claimed ignorance while I and the others called out for blood. But without proof, our hands were tied, and they just received a slap on the wrist and the excommunication of the branch, with those bastards going to ground quickly and hiding before we could find and exterminate them  -- until two months ago.”

She finally looked up into Marstin’s eyes. “I’ve always wanted to thank you, Marstin, thank you for helping me finally take revenge for the pain I’ve suffered, and for the pain I caused others on that night.” Marstin could only nod in acceptance, his mind reeling from the tragedy of which he’d just so shockingly learned.

“It’s no wonder no one was willing to speak of the incident,” Yarrow said a moment later. “But I have to question whether that was the correct thing to do, since it seems that this mental manipulation magic seems to still exist.”

“But from what George just said, the magic at play now runs counter to what happened back then,” Martin said, his finger scratching his chin. “Oswald was the only one who seemed under a kind of mental manipulation, but one very different from the spell that affected insecurities.  And more importantly,” Marstin pointed at the three other adventurers, “you all were just completely mindless and unresponsive to the world around you, aside from Oswald’s command to kill me. Like human-sized dolls.”

“Something was different,” Frain said, a furious snarl beginning to take over her face as sorrow was replaced by hate. “It’s clear how strong the four of us are in comparison to you, no offense intended Marstin. And yet, you were able to overcome all four of us D-ranked adventurers and knock us unconscious. We were not fighting at near our full strength, which means we were bait. Someone wanted you dead, Marstin, that much is clear -- but they also acted with the intention of you having to kill us in self-defense. Given the impossibility of you being able to slay us normally, then your story would have been suspect, and possibly even used to justify arresting you for murder. Two possible goals, using a single adventurer group pawn. This reeks of conspiracy.”

“As dreadful as that sounds,” George shook his head. “It’s going to have to wait, I think. Where is Oswald, Marstin?”

Marstin quickly led the trio over to their leader, still sleeping like the dead and tied up like a pig. George leaned down and inspected the older adventurer before shaking his head. “He’s clearly in bad shape, and we lack the medical capabilities to manage him. We are going to need to take him back to Graniton.”

“But that will alert whoever sent us that Marstin is still a problem,” Yarrow pointed out. “He’ll be placed in danger.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Marstin patted his chest, settling his nervous heart. “I put you all into this mess, after all. It’s only right, and I’m used to staying outside town.”

“Nonsense,” Frain snapped. “Just come with us and we’ll protect you.” Ignoring his protests, Frain began to drag the young teen adventurer behind her while George hoisted Oswald over his shoulder. The five adventurers began their return trek.

“Whoever did this to us needs to be caught and arrested, maybe killed,” Frain growled as she stared ahead at the path, Marstin having given up on resisting her iron grip. “I’d like to be the one that sinks the sword through his or her neck.”

Yarrow furrowed her eyebrows, “But, I can’t seem to remember how we were forced into this in the first place. My last memory is returning to Graniton and checking in our quest at the Adventurer’s Guild. Oswald almost got into a fight with another adventurer who harassed me for my tribal identity.”

“Right,” George nodded, releasing his grip on Frain and getting back up. “And then we were pulled aside by Barklin to discuss the reward for the caribou incident-”

“--And we were interrupted,” Frain finished. “But, by who ….” Her head shot back to look at Marstin. “What day is today?”

After Marstin told her, Frain’s eyes widened. “By that count, we are missing an entire week’s worth of time. So, we were under someone’s control for seven days?” She almost stumbled over a tree root in her distracted state, allowing Marstin to free himself from her grasp.

“It must have been someone you met at the guild,” he reasoned while rubbing his wrist. “Which means someone else must have seen this event occur. But I’ve heard of nothing out of the ordinary . . . except for today’s incident.” Marstin quickly explained the treatment he’d received at the guild before meeting the manipulated adventurer group.

“That sounds more familiar,” Frain growled. “The bias toward you from being a thief, that sounds like the magic I was inflicted with except at a much lower potency.”

“It still sounds like an insidious poison,” Yarrow observed. “Everyone knows Marstin in the guild by now and his history as a former thief, but most everyone has learned to trust him. To treat him like an outsider after all this time, it has to be evil magic at work.”

“What did you just call me then?” Marstin asked quickly, his mind racing as he realized something.

“Um, a thief?” Yarrow blinked.

“No, after that,” Marstin urged quickly.

“An outsider,” Yarrow recalled. “The treatment they gave you was like that of meeting a newcomer with a bad history.”

“I’ve heard that word a lot lately,” Marstin said slowly, his eyes shining in horror at his new- found understanding. “That word, ‘outsider’ being used to separate citizens from visitors, strangers from relatives, and neighbors from enemies. Not a day goes by now I haven’t heard the word outsider being used to great effect as a means of uniting the people of Graniton.”

“You mean?” George realized as well, and he almost dropped Oswald in shock.

“Yeah,” Marstin nodded, his heart rife with hate. “Ghevin Drestice, the merchant and only mayoral candidate currently running for office. His words have been riling up everyone, and perhaps doing more than that.”

Chapter 31

Having name-dropped the culprit, Marstin and the members of the Iron Yaks were all shocked into silence. Frain was biting her lip with a mix of confusion and fury, George looked worried, Yarrow was shaking her head softly, and Marstin was keeping a tight control over the bubbling anger in his heart. He must have been doing a good job, because he could feel some heartburn.

“Ghevin Drestice has long since been a thorn in Graniton’s side,” Frain snarled out. “When the former lord of the South was murdered, the town of Graniton was left in an awkward state when the newly appointed lord decided to make the hot spring destination of Rookwood his new capital, leaving us as the fallen former capital of the South on paper. Ghevin moved in seemingly out of nowhere and used his funds to buy the old lord estate and supposedly save the town’s finances. In reality, he just took advantage of the panic and bought out every large business he could get his hands on, thus becoming the unofficial ruler of Graniton. Every business owner in town walked a tightrope on the edge of being forced to close while paying taxes to the bastard. The only solace to be found was he disliked the climate and preferred to stay in the capital.”

“Seems that isn’t enough to whet his appetite anymore,” Marstin murmured, his eyes alight in the memory of the former servant appearing in his shattered memories. “Now he wants to be completely in charge.”

“It doesn’t match his personality, though,” George observed, moving Oswald into a better position over his shoulder. “He’s taking quite the risk using magic to manipulate the populace, very different from the attitude of a merchant working toward delayed gratification. This behavior is more akin to a gambler than a seasoned merchant.”

“Why he’s doing it doesn’t matter,” Yarrow reminded them. “He has always leaned toward the nationalist party and hated tribal members like me. Now he’s taking the steps to ensure his views are the dominant view, which can only mean that an incident is going to happen sooner or later when the budding anger overflows. We need to stop him.”

The members of the Iron Yaks all nodded, then turned to look at Marstin.

“Marstin, you were right earlier,” Frain suddenly said. “You need to stay in the woods for your own good. Ghevin is obviously aiming for you for whatever reason. So for right now, he must think you’re dead or ready to be accused of murdering us.” She gestured with her shoulder at Oswald. “Our leader needs medical attention, so we are going to reenter town and find a doctor to help. We’ll report we were ambushed on the road heading to the mines by a group of wolves, and that you were killed. We’ll organize with the adventurers and find a way to take down Ghevin.”

“That’s not going to work,” Marstin protested. “The adventurers have been infected by Ghevin’s words. You’ll just be putting yourselves back in danger. I-”

The young teen was interrupted by a sudden force as ice wrapped itself around his body, holding him tight. Marstin gaped at Yarrow, who was putting her staff down. She gave him a warm smile. “Don’t underestimate a D-ranked adventurer team,” she said. “Now, this ice will hold you for less than an hour before vanishing. Hide yourself well after that, and wait for us to send a messenger for you. The safe word will be ice orc.”

“Don’t do it! Frain, Yarrow, George! Don’t go!” Marstin cried out, but the group had vanished into the trees. Marstin struggled, but the magical ice continued to hold him fast without a sign of melting in the moderate temperature. He gave up his efforts after a few minutes, resigned to being stuck in place for the next hour.

“There has to be a way out of this,” Marstin muttered out loud. “I can’t believe they did this to me.” He continued to grumble, yet he couldn’t help but feel worried for them. Still, they seemed to have some sort of plan, so who was he as a barely competent adventurer to lack faith in their plans.

“Fine,” he decided. “I accept that this situation has grown far outside my ability to control it. I want to stick a knife in Ghevin Drestice, but I have no desire to be a town hero or patsy.” With this acceptance, Marstin decided to just close his eyes and enjoy the wonderful cooling effect the ice was having on his body’s aching soreness. He even began to snooze lightly under the magically cool ice, which thankfully did not go as far as to freeze his innards. He was even a bit disappointed when the ice finally began to melt, from which he begrudgingly freed himself. After taking a quick stretch, the young adventurer looked up and marked the status of the sun.

“Guess I was out for a little longer than I thought,” he muttered, “It’s getting closer to sunset.” He considered for a moment. “The girls should be by the gate by now. I don’t have to show my face to the guards, just wave the group flag to get their attention. This way, we can complete the quest and I can stay out of Graniton.” Marstin nodded at his own ingenuity.

By the time Marstin made his way around the town, the sun had reached the point of sunset, and Marstin had met up with the girls. After enduring a stern lecture from Kyra about group communication, as the four of them had become concerned when they couldn’t find Marstin at the gate until Etna saw him waving a flag from the woods, the adventurer group Rogue made their way into the rapidly darkening forest.

Jillia and Yule together had determined the area where the moonlight fox was active the day before, so they led the way to a small clearing near a river brook. Yule pulled the rabbit bodies out of her adventurer’s bag and handed them to Jillia, who expertly prepared them to maximize their bloody scent. Etna, meanwhile, set up the trap by inscribing a magical glyph on the ground beneath where the rabbits were to be hung. Kyra and Marstin were left with preparing the wooden stand on which to hang the rabbits.

“So, what were you up to all day?” Kyra asked casually as she wrapped her rope around several sticks.

“A lot,” Marstin said off-handedly. “I really don’t want to talk about it. It was a rough day.”

“I understand what you mean,” Kyra sighed as she pulled at her knot. “When I went shopping with Jillia and Etna, a couple of townsfolk threw garbage at us, telling the two to get lost from their city. They even yelled at me for being a traitor.” Kyra shivered softly. “One of them was my neighbor. She was always such a nice lady; how could she say such mean things to me, and to them?”

Marstin cocked his head around to look at Kyra, who looked despondent. “Kyra,” Marstin asked slowly. “What do you think of the tribal people? Like Yule, Jillia, and Etna?”

“I . . . I’m not sure anymore,” Kyra confessed, after looking back to make sure the other three girls were out of earshot. “They seem really nice, and I like being their friend, but I can’t help but have doubts. They are just so different from me, from us you know? Yule keeps trying to bring fresh meat into the bakery kitchen and has trouble understanding why that’s bad. Jillia still has trouble paying for things. And Etna is always ready to pick a fight; I can’t take her shopping because I’m scared she’s going to hurt someone.”

“Are you not also scared that Etna herself could get hurt?” Marstin wondered.

“Are you kidding?” Kyra giggled. “All three girls are so strong, Marstin, it’s really amazing. They aren’t scared of anything. But . . . that strength of theirs, what if they were to turn it on us? The atmosphere in town is so heavy these days, and the tensions between the tribal people and the citizens are rising. What if they finally decide enough is enough, and try to fight us? We’d be in real trouble.”

Marstin didn’t say anything, prompting Kyra to raise her head from her work to look at him questioningly. He returned her gaze with an emotionless look. “Kyra,” he finally said. “Do you think there is any relevance then to what that Ghevin Drestice is saying?”

Kyra bit her lip. “I don’t like the man. He caused a lot of trouble for my father back when he first opened the bakery years back. But, I can’t help but think he isn’t wrong. We need to protect ourselves first before we can be kind. Otherwise, we could lose everything. And more and more outsiders keep coming into town--”

Marstin reached over and flicked Kyra’s forehead, with enough force to push her head back for a moment. Startled, Kyra yelped and began to cry, her face asking Marstin why he did such a violent thing. The other girls looked over, but Marstin waved them off and they returned to their preparations.

“Kyra,” Marstin said finally, his heart coming to a new conclusion inside him. “You’ve been using a lot of inclusive and exclusive language. When did you start treating your comrades-in- arms as strangers?”

“I’m not,” she whimpered with an angry expression as she rubbed her forehead. “But I’m just saying that maybe we shouldn’t trust them--”

Marstin interrupted Kyra with a self-deprecating chuckle. “You know Kyra,” he said finally. “I really like you.” He watched the young woman blush before continuing. “But, it’s not your looks that attracted me, nor your bakery, nor anything else physical. It was your kindness and generosity that drew me to you, like a moth to a flame. Despite the urgings and warnings from your father, and others I’m sure, you still took it upon yourself to help me, a miserable urchin thief who could at any point rob you or place you in harm’s way. I wasn’t ‘one of you’ back then; I was an outsider. In a way,” he indicated the three girls behind him. “I was far worse than any of your current fears toward those girls. But where has your kind spirit gone? Where did the girl I admire go? Because all I can see right now is a mouthpiece of distrust and exclusion. You might as well jump into Ghevin’s arms as a lover.”

SLAP!

The three tribal girls looked in shock as Kyra let out a martial arts-infused slap, sending Marstin flying back into a tree stump. The young adventurer spat out a mouthful of blood from his teeth chomping his cheek, but he kept his eyes locked onto Kyra’s crying, furious face. When he failed to respond, Kyra sobbed and ran into the woods back toward town.

“Marstin, what happened?” Yule asked in concern as she ran over to cast some basic healing magic on his mouth.

“Don’t chase her!” Marstin called out, stopping Jillia in her tracks. “Just, let her go. She needs time to think for herself, for once.”

The three girls looked nervous, but Marstin reassured them with a warm smile that Kyra knew her way back to town from here, and she would be okay. If she did encounter any danger, then Marstin’s adventurer’s card would inform him; it was part of the privilege of being the group leader. Reassured, the four remaining adventurers finished up their work and baited the trap. Then, they waited for the moon to rise.

The plan went perfectly, with the moonlight fox drawn out by the smell of its favorite prey, and Etna was able to freeze its movements while the other three took it down with relative ease. Marstin only smiled softly while the other three celebrated, his thoughts pointed back toward the town. Perhaps he should have chased after the Iron Yaks to solve the problem.

His mind distracted, Marstin didn’t pay too much attention as he led the girls back to the town gate. However, he was surprised to find that the gate was sealed, with a number of travelers and residents trapped outside of it. Confused, Marstin walked over to the gate guards, recognizing them.

“Larry, what’s going on?” Marstin asked.

The gate guard shook his head and grimaced. “The town has been sealed, Marstin. A group of adventurers tried to assassinate the mayoral candidate Ghevin Drestice earlier today. They’ve been arrested, but we’ve been ordered to close the gates as other guards round up the group’s co-conspirators. Good thing you’re out here; otherwise, you’d probably be arrested due to your close association with them.

“Don’t tell me,” Marstin grimaced.

“Yeah,” Larry nodded in confirmation. “The Iron Yaks have been arrested and charged with treason, assassination, and subterfuge on behalf of a foreign state. They are going to be executed tomorrow.”

Chapter 32

Host has woken up.

Progen could sense that for himself, as the blood started to flow faster through the vessels he was working on repairing. This time, as opposed to before, the damage to the blood vessels was much less severe.  While it was still going to take some time, things were looking good: Although the body wasn’t beyond the risk of danger quite yet, its eventual recovery was inevitable.

Host is tying up the individuals that had attacked him previously.

“Good idea.”

Host has been captured with a sword to the outer throat.

“There’s always something new with you, isn’t there?” Progen asked, exasperated.  “As much as it could harm the body even more, send some of my mana to—”

Host is explaining what happened to the other humans, who appear to have changed from their previous homicidal tendencies.  The influencing foreign mana has all but dissipated.

Progen halted what he was about to say and do when there didn’t seem to be any more danger.  After a few minutes when Stemmy described the other adventurers talking about some sort of “Thrawnby incident” involving thieves, adventurers, and merchants, Progen got back to what he was doing – and was done in the fraction of the time he thought it would take.  The dungeon crystal couldn’t take complete credit for it, though, as there were some external factors that contributed to the recovery speed.

The host has been encased in a layer of ice, cooling down and helping to ease the strain and minor damage to the muscular system.

That was a good thing, too, because the infections throughout the body hadn’t taken a vacation. Although he had kept up with them while doing repairs throughout the body – both recently and from the damage caused by the mine dungeon situation – he hadn’t gotten a chance to really increase the numbers of immune cells he had available until the most-recent repairs were done.  Now, though, he was finally able to rebuild his forces—

At least, he was about to, before the body was jerked around again, and a quick damage report came in from Stemmy.

Host has open lesions in the buccal mucosa, and the masseter muscle attached to the jaw has several deep tears—

“What and what?”  Not again!  Progen was starting to get really tired of having to try to fix this body every day. Why can’t he stay out of trouble?

The buccal mucosa is the inner lining of the cheek, and the masseter muscle is one of the four muscles that are responsible for the chewing motion of the jaw.

“Well, there isn’t anything I can do about the muscle itself, but I can—”

No need.  Magical healing is being applied.

As soon as Stemmy said that, a wave of energy flowed through the entire body, reverberating off of Progen’s crystal, before concentrating in the head area – specifically the mouth.  The energy wave completely ignored all of the bacteria and viruses still in the body, unfortunately, but he could see through his influence that the blood vessels that had been damaged were being rapidly repaired – much faster than Progen could accomplish.

It would be an understatement to say that he was slightly envious – because he was extremely envious at such ease of healing.  It made his efforts to repair the body after all of the strain it had gone through seem weak and paltry in comparison; it was small consolation knowing that such power was just out of reach – he just needed to take over the body completely.  Being able to access the mana that a human generated, without having so many restrictions on it, would be phenomenally beneficial.

After the healing was complete and things settled down (a few pathogens had snuck inside the body while the wound had been open, which required some cleanup), Progen was able to turn back to what he was doing.  Another hour passed while he continued to build up his immune squads, when the interneuron cell alerted him to a new threat.

Stemmy has intercepted information regarding a massive bacterial and viral infection in the superficial palmar arch in the right hand.  Stemmy recommends Progen sends most of his immune cells to that location.

“On it!”  The dungeon crystal automatically routed his squads not actively engaged in destroying an infection – which included over 70 of them, leaving 2 dozen behind – to enter the nearest blood vessel they could access.  It took a little bit of effort in some places, and Progen had to use his mana to expand the space between cells a few times to get each squad into each red blood cell-filled pathway to the hand.  There were usually very few infections that required transportation to the bloodstream, as they usually occurred when there was some sort of wound.  He was so busy getting them inside the blood vessels that Progen didn’t even look at where they were going until they were all on their way.

The superficial palmar arch, as it turned out, was a major blood vessel that passed through the upper palm of the hand in an arch-like pathway, so it wasn’t that unlikely of an occurrence that there was an infection, especially due to the prevalence of incidents in which humans suffered cuts to their hands.  However, when he went to look for the infection and possible wound – which he then thought strange that Stemmy didn’t mention – he didn’t see anything right away.

“Are the body’s immune cells on site?” the dungeon crystal asked his assistant, not seeing anything that looked like a massive bacterial or viral infection along the blood vessel.  He was hoping that the body had already responded, so that he could have an idea of where he needed his squads to go.

No.  Progen’s immune cells will likely arrive first.

That was unusual.  Lately, most of the larger infections were already being attacked by the body, and Progen had only needed to help clean up.  “Not a problem.  Where is this infection?”  Although the superficial palmar arch wasn’t excessively large by any means, it still took a little bit of time to search the entire thing.

Strangely, Stemmy took a few moments to respond.

Stemmy has no clear location communicated through the central nervous system.  It is proposed that the infection is on the move.

It was even more important that his squads arrived as soon as they could, then, because he had learned with the Insidious Virus that migrating infections could be a pain to hunt down and eradicate.  He hurried his immune cells along, all the while using his dungeon senses to look through the entire blood vessel for any sign of the pathogens.  He still hadn’t found any signs of the infections by the time his squads arrived, spreading out so that they could sweep through the entire vessel as they arrived from both directions.

Each group converged on each other in the middle of the palmar arch, finding nothing.  Progen looked around the smaller veins branching off from the arch, seeing nothing as well, and was thoroughly confused.  Where are these infections?

Before he could ask Stemmy, he found out – and they were certainly not what he was expecting.

“Stemmy!  Where did these come from?!” Progen shouted, completely taken by surprise.  “Stemmy?  What’s going on?”  The interneuron cell didn’t respond for a few moments, which was a few moments too long considering what was happening.

Stemmy recognizes no reports of an infection in the superficial palmar arch.

“You and I are going to have words after this, Stemmy,” the dungeon crystal responded, thoroughly annoyed.  “I can tell you for a fact that there is an infection in the arch – and a serious one, too.”

That was a bit of an understatement.  As soon as his 70 squads – over 7,000 immune cells in total – had reached the center point of the arch, four large sections of innocuous-looking cells lining the walls of the blood vessel collapsed, spewing forth a horde of deadly looking pathogens.  There were bacteria that weren’t just any old bacteria, but monstrous mutations of the bacteria he had seen before.

The invasive cells were at least 5 times the size of the previous versions, with thick bundles of flagella along both sides of its oblong shape, which whipped back and forth in a spastic dance that promised serious amounts of damage if they hit his immune cells.  They rivaled his Newts in terms of their current size and shape, though they were about 25% smaller.  That didn’t bode well for his most numerous of the immune cells currently engaged in a battle with them, because his Newts usually relied on engulfing their victims and “digesting” them – which wouldn’t work too well with something that was three-quarters of their own size.

Joining them on the attack against his squads were thousands of virions that were in general the same shape as the Insidious Virus, but these ones were slightly larger as well.  They didn’t seem too deadly, however, because there wasn’t really anything they could do to his immune cells—until he saw a dozen of them slam into one of his Newts, piercing through its capsule and outer cell wall.  That didn’t kill it, which turned out to be unfortunate, because a few seconds later it exploded, sending out two dozen more virions of the same kind that pierced it.

“Stemmy, this isn’t good!”  Within the first few seconds of the two forces clashing, 200 of his 1,400 Newts that were acting as the front line of defense against the new threat had been practically ripped apart by the thrashing flagella of the bacteria.  A further 150 or so had been impregnated by the altered Insidious Virus and exploded, releasing even more of the Virus to attack the others.

The enemy suffered casualties as well; a few dozen bacteria had been enveloped by a Newt and newt-ralized, though the one-for-one trade-off wasn’t necessarily a good thing.  Once they had “swallowed” the bacteria, they were basically useless for the rest of the fight.  There were a few instances of his Newts being impaled by less than a dozen virions and surviving, because they were able to process them like they would the bacteria; but if they were hit with a dozen or more they were doomed.

Luckily, his Historians were quick to react, imparting their knowledge of both the bacteria and the Insidious Virus to his other immune cells waiting for their chance.  His Spawners received the information regarding the bacteria, while the Killers were being charged up to demolish the Virus.  It didn’t take too long before they were ready, but it still required about a minute for them to adjust to the new information – time during which the pathogen horde tore apart another 600 of his Newts, leaving only a few hundred to act as a shield between the enemy and his other, more vulnerable forces.

“This is an ambush, plain and simple,” Progen stated, feeling worry for the rest of his immune cells filling his crystal – as well as quite a bit of anger.  “Please don’t tell me you had a hand in this, Stemmy.”

Stemmy does not have hands.

“It’s just a figure of speech—you know what, never mind.”  Progen ignored the interneuron cell as he watched the battle progress, the outcome becoming inevitable as the time passed.  He wasn’t going to let his squads be destroyed without a fight, however, so he considered everything he could do to save them.

His other squads were too far away, and besides, they were involved in eliminating a few other “normal” infections – so they were not going to be of much help.  Progen could create more Newts or more of his other immune cells, but that didn’t seem like it would help.  His Newts were being slaughtered by the dozen, and creating more Spawners and Novice Killers would take too long to arm with the proper information – if that information even worked for these enhanced pathogens, which was yet to be determined.  The additional Cleaners he could create might be the key, which he was currently moving the 70 he already possessed into position after the Newts, but the dungeon crystal was worried that even his large and powerful immune cells wouldn’t be able to withstand the new pathogens.

While they were much larger than his Newts, the Cleaners had the same vulnerabilities, which were seen almost immediately after moving them up to the front line.  Instead of a dozen virions putting them down, though, it took over 100; most of the initial impacts by the Insidious Virus were absorbed and processed within the massive Cleaner.  It was only when they were hit by so many virions that they couldn’t possibly be processed that his large immune cell was overwhelmed.

So, that’s out.  The only other option he had was to employ the Viral Whips, the special mutation Progen had created to defeat the gigantic bacteria-shaped Insidious Virus conglomeration in the heart.  He normally didn’t keep them around because they were dangerous to allow to multiply unchecked, and he was pretty sure they didn’t actually obey his directives.  That made them little better than the bacteria and Insidious Virus attacking the body and the dungeon core’s forces right now, but they were the only thing that would work.

Cell Options Available

Available Mana: 1200/2100

Tier 1

Stem Cell – 10 Mana

Immune Cells – Unlocked

Foreign Bacteria Cluster 1 – 10 Mana

Foreign Bacteria Cluster 2 – 15 Mana

Gut Bacteria Cluster 1 – 5 Mana

Gut Bacteria Cluster 2 – 5 Mana

Gut Bacteria Cluster 3 – 5 Mana

Gut Bacteria Cluster 4 – 5 Mana

Bacterial Mutation Cluster (Viral Whip) – 100 Mana

Each cluster of Viral Whips used up 100 mana, but they also included 20 of each mutation, bringing the cost of each one to only 5 mana.  Accordingly, Progen used 800 of his mana to create 160 of the Viral Whips, placing them behind the enemy lines; he didn’t want to accidentally have them target his own immune cells, after all.

As they materialized in place, the bacterial mutation immediately attacked the enhanced Insidious Virus, slicing them up with their dual-sided flagella.  As they absorbed the remains of the Virus they destroyed, they started to replicate until there were 320, then 640 of the Whips versus what appeared to be over 10,000 of the Virus by that time.

The last of his Newts had fallen to either the Insidious Virus or the large bacteria, and half of his Cleaners had been destroyed by that time – but things were starting to turn around.  His Spawners, all 280 of them, were now equipped with their correct antibodies, and they released them without hesitation.  The projectiles shot out of the immune cells in a wave, directed towards the incoming bacteria that surrounded the remains of his forces.  Once that initial wave was released, another wave of antibodies was quickly manufactured inside of his Spawners, though it would take a small amount of time before they were ready.

Progen watched with anticipation as the antibodies closed the distance between them and the bacteria, hoping that they would indeed work the same as the bacteria’s smaller form.  When they seemed to hone in and converge on the lead elements of the pathogen horde, his hopes were realized as they seemed to be drawn to the bacteria like iron to a lodestone.

From behind the front line of bacteria, however, an answering wave of the Insidious Virus swarmed ahead, propelling themselves into the antibodies.  The resulting collision between the smaller virion and the antibodies was enough to destroy them both, blunting his counterattacking wave of projectiles.  Not all of his Spawner’s antibodies were hit, however; nearly 100 made it through and slammed into the bacteria they were targeting, tearing gaping holes into their forms.  Over two dozen of the bacteria were destroyed as their nuclei were pierced by an antibody, but it was far from an ideal attack.

“That certainly wasn’t normal,” Progen said, describing what was happening to Stemmy, who still couldn’t even acknowledge that there was an infection in the palmar arch.  “The malevolent entity, which has been relatively quiet lately, must be behind this ambush.”  Obviously, it has learned since our last fight, he couldn’t help but think.

That was even more obvious when the virions of the Insidious Virus turned on his Viral Whips.  When his new mutation had first attacked the conglomeration in the heart, the reaction of the virions had been instinctual and ineffective; they had inserted themselves into his mutated bacteria, attempting to replicate and destroy them that way, but his Viral Whips had used them as food to replicate themselves instead.  The entity controlling the Insidious Virus kept repeating that tactic even after it was proven to be ineffective, because it probably didn’t know better.

It knew better, now.

Just like his Newts and Cleaners, if his Viral Whips were loaded with too many attacking virions, then they would be destroyed just as quickly as his immune cells.  Shortly after his Whips attacked them from behind, the deadly virions turned their attention to the interlopers and fell on them in a frenzy.  More than a dozen virions impacted his mutation and burrowed their way into their forms, overloading them so much that they exploded.  The only benefit to this was that the Virus didn’t get a chance to replicate, and those that invaded his Whips were killed along with his creation.  It wasn’t necessarily a fair trade-off, especially when there were thousands of the Insidious Virus still in play, but he figured it was better than nothing.

The last of the dungeon crystal’s Cleaners fell to the Insidious Virus filling their insides with virions, and there was now nothing to prevent the Virus and the bacteria from reaching his other forces.  There were still at least 150 of the bacteria and 5,000 of the Virus, which were slowly reducing in number as they battled his Whips – but that still left plenty of them to take out the rest of his forces.

Fortunately, his Novice Killers were ready – and out for revenge.  They shot forward from the back lines, starting their deadly spinning even as they moved; the Virus wave was in front of the bacteria as they streamed towards Progen’s remaining immune cells, and they took the brunt of the assault.  Virions that came in contact with the spinning cells of death were quickly ripped apart at their most basic level, and none could hit the Killers with enough force to break through the capsule surrounding the cell.  More than a thousand of the Virus were destroyed within the first few seconds, and even more were wiped out as the virions instinctively targeted the Killers.

However, just as the Insidious Virus had protected the bacteria from being hurt by the previous wave of antibody projectiles, the bacteria jumped in to help the Virus.  With the remaining bacteria outnumbering the Killers 2 to 1, a pair of bacteria surrounded each Killer and struck out with their flagella at the same time.  Their flagella, stiffened during the point of contact, pierced into the larger immune cells; this didn’t necessarily hurt his Killers, but it did cause them to stop rotating.  A few Killers managed to rip out dozens of flagella, piercing them by their sheer rotation speed alone, but more than 90% of his deadly immune cells were trapped in place.

Which was when the Insidious Virus struck, filling the activated Novice Killers with so many of their number that the immune cells swelled up and exploded.  The perceived vehemence of the Virus towards the Killers was so great that the immune cells filled up too fast, which resulted in there not being any time for them to replicate.  When the cells burst, all but a handful of the virions were killed alongside them, meaning that over 100 of the Virus sacrificed themselves to take out a single Killer without any other benefit.

That sacrifice was worth it for the enemy, though, because now there were very few things preventing the complete and utter annihilation of his forces.  But Progen’s immune cells weren’t ready to give up the fight just yet.  Another wave of antibodies shot out of the Spawners, which the Insidious Virus wasn’t prepared to defend against.  The projectiles slammed into the bacteria that were just releasing the shredded remains of the exploded Killers and were preparing to swarm the half-dozen that remained.  Without being blunted by the Virus, the antibodies tore all but a handful of the bacteria to shreds.

The destruction of so many of the Insidious Virus and bacteria granted Progen hundreds of mana alongside of his regeneration, so he used some of it to create another 100 Viral Whips in the heart of the Virus clusters, which were marshalling their numbers on a final attack against his Spawners and Historians.  The disruption was too much for the virions to adapt to quickly enough, and hundreds more were smashed apart by flailing flagella.  To add in some more confusion, Progen sent his 70 Seekers and 350 Reporters he had clustered in the middle of his remaining forces towards the enhanced Insidious Virus.  They couldn’t do much in the way of attacking, but they helped to corral the virions towards the Viral Whips, taking horrendous losses at the same time.

His few remaining Killers also participated in the slaughter, before two of them were caught by the few bacteria still present and held in place for the Virus to finish off.  Another wave of antibodies were soon released from his Spawners, many of which were blocked by the Virus, which was ready for it and starting to adjust to the new battlefield, but there were enough of the projectiles that got through and eliminated the last of the bacteria.

Unfortunately, there were still over 3,000 virions left, which were now wreaking havoc on the Viral Whips.  What had started as 100 extra Whips and quickly turned to 400 as they replicated twice were now being systematically hunted down and swarmed by the enhanced Insidious Virus.  Dozens were overwhelmed in seconds, and in less than 30 seconds he was down to less than 50; at the same time, there were fewer than 500 of the Virus left.

Luckily, the dungeon crystal still had 4 activated Novice Killers, which waded into the fray with terrible destruction.  They were indiscriminate, however, and tore into the Viral Whips just as much as the virions; another few minutes saw the numbers of his Whips drop to 0, and the Virus was down to 100 virions left – when the enemy broke and ran.

Except that they didn’t run away – they shot towards the Spawners, who were relatively inert now that all of the bacteria had been eliminated.  Progen’s Killers were deadly, but they weren’t particularly fast in comparison to the Virus, which outpaced them towards the defenseless Spawners.

“No, I don’t think so,” Progen said, before using the mana that he had just gained from the destruction of so many virions and bacteria over the last minute.  Three Cleaners popped up in between the Insidious Virus cluster and his Spawners, creating a wall that the virions slammed into, disappearing into their depths, few enough in each large immune cell that they were absorbed and processed instead of replicating.

When he was sure that all of the pathogens had been destroyed, Progen directed his Cleaners to perform the action they were so great at: cleaning up the remnants of the battle.  The dungeon crystal looked around at his once 7,350-strong force of immune cells and despaired at his losses.  All told, he was down to just 500: the 3 Cleaners he just created, 4 activated Novice Killers, 280 Spawners, 70 Historians, 112 Reporters, and 31 Seekers.

In the matter of 10 minutes, his immune cell squads – which he had spent days rebuilding – had been reduced by more than 90%!  He still had a dozen intact squads elsewhere in the body that hadn’t responded to this ambush, but that was very little consolation to the incensed dungeon crystal.  “Stemmy – this is unacceptable!  You led my strongest forces directly into an ambush!  What do you have to say for—"

Stemmy has intercepted information regarding a massive bacterial and viral infection in the left lung, sections TK-36 through 38.  Stemmy recommends Progen send most of his immune cells to that location.

“What?  This better not be another ambush.”  Progen looked at that section before he sent anything there, wary of another trap being laid for his forces.  Fortunately – and unfortunately – there was no ambush, but there certainly was an infection: more of the bacteria and Insidious Virus were causing havoc in the lung.

“I’m sending what I have—"

Stemmy has intercepted information regarding a massive bacterial and viral infection in the right lung, sections PX-12 through 15.  Stemmy recommends Progen send most of his immune cells to that location.

Progen was starting to panic.  This is going from bad to worse too quickly, he thought despairingly.  How did these infections stay hidden for so long?  He had no way of knowing at that point; all he could do was react to these sudden attacks the best way he knew how: by throwing everything he had at them.

Stemmy has intercepted information regarding a massive bacterial and viral infection….

Chapter 33

The cancer cell had its attention focused in hundreds of different directions, monitoring the flashes of information being created by various receptors lining the internal organs.  It was difficult for the special nerve to pinpoint exactly when understanding suddenly flowed into its awareness regarding itself and the wider world around it; all it knew was that it suddenly comprehended its place in the vessel it found itself living within.

It wasn’t just any vessel, however; the nerve cancer cell now knew that all of the cells around it, and even ones he couldn’t see, were all part of a massive conglomeration of individual cells that made up what was essentially one giant organism.  After it had understood that, the cancer cell felt very small and insignificant.  Then it realized that it wasn’t so small, after all; it had replicated and extended its awareness over vast distances, traveling up from the lower internal organs of the giant organism to something called the spinal cord.  That was where it experienced its first feelings: an emotional response of awe and wonder at seeing the gigantic bundle of nerve cells that traveled far into the distance.

As soon as its furthest replicants reached this tunnel of awesomeness, a flood of information filled its awareness via the flashes between the nerve cells it had grown alongside.  Comprehension was slow to follow, but soon enough the cancer cell understood everything that seemed to be happening all over the organism, though putting it all together to create a wider picture was still a little beyond it.  There were hints that if it expanded far enough, it would be able to access something that actually controlled and directed these flashes of information that traveled through its nearby brethren.

And brethren they were, these “normal” nerve cells.   To many of the flashes, there were responses from certain cells that roamed around the organism, whose sole purpose was to destroy invaders from the outside who wished to do it harm.  One of those cells, something called a Regulatory cell – if it was understanding the name correctly – was designed to hunt down and identify cells that had suffered from unstable mutations: such as cancer cells.  From what it understood, these mutations happened very rarely, and it was only chance that led to their formation; it was only a fortunate chance that none of these Regulatory cells were around when it had been formed, otherwise it probably would’ve had a very short life.  After it had been granted awareness by the voice in its head, the cancer cell had acted instinctively to suppress knowledge of its presence via the nervous system – in which it was nominally still a part.

Luckily, there didn’t seem to be a lot of those Regulatory cells around, although they were becoming more and more prevalent the more it expanded.  There had been dozens of times it had been located, but each of those times it had disrupted their communication from reaching the other “immune” cells; he was fortunate that the Regulatory cells didn’t try to attack cancer cells themselves, but instead only issued a warning and an order to attack.  A few of those attack orders had slipped through its net temporarily, only to be caught before it could pass beyond its reach – but it was close.  It worried that, at some point, information regarding its presence would get out. But hopefully by that time it would reach that mythical area in the organism that could potentially stop its destruction.

Disrupt.  Distract.  Destroy.

Those words never really stopped filling the cancer cell’s awareness, but it was able to ignore them; this became much easier once it had reached the spinal cord and understood better what the imperatives meant.  Not only was the cancer cell supposed to disrupt information concerning its own presence, but it was supposed to further disrupt information about invaders that wanted to do the larger organism harm.  These “bacteria” and “viruses” were harmful to the organism, so the cancer cell initially balked at that instruction, since if the organism died, so, too, would the cancer cell. Eventually, it settled for only blocking information about these invaders to the neuron cell that was helping the glowing, foreign intruder.  The cells that the organism employed to stop these invaders were still doing their job, at least.

With its new knowledge, disrupting that same glowing intruder made a whole lot more sense.  By creating its own flashes of information and sending them to the neuron cell helping the intruder, it could lead the glowing crystal’s defenders away from it and into a trap.  Additional bacteria and viruses were hidden in different pockets around the organism, kept in place by some external force that the cancer cell didn’t understand; the only thing it knew was that these invaders were special, because they didn’t try to cause the organism harm – so it didn’t pass on information to the organism’s cells that were designed to destroy them.  That, and the special nerve cell got the impression from the voice in its awareness that they were needed for destroying the glowing invader.  That was enough of a reason to leave them alone.

As the nerve cancer cell continued to expand at a rapid pace up the spinal cord, there came a time when the voice changed its message.  It became urgent instead of insistent, and the special cell knew that this was the time when the plan to destroy the glowing intruder began.  More “feelings” flooded it, as a sense of relief passed through its long-ranging cells; there were more and more sites around the organism where new bacteria and viruses were concentrating, and the cancer cell was beginning to suspect that there weren’t enough cells around to fight them.  It’s hope – another one of those new feelings – was that things would go back to normal after the intruder was destroyed, because the voice seemed to indicate that it was the intruder’s fault that there weren’t enough of these “immune” cells.

So, without questioning it, the cancer cell released most of the communication towards the neuron helping the glowing intruder regarding these infestations of bacteria and viruses; the only thing that it kept silent about were the hidden bacteria and viruses that weren’t expanding out of control or hurting the organism.  Almost immediately, there were new reports of additional cells joining the fight against the invaders with unerring efficiency, which confused the cancer cell.  Where were they before?

Soon enough, the invader hotspots around the organism started to be destroyed, until a point was reached in which there weren’t any reports of new invasions, only those that had yet to be eradicated.  The cancer cell was pleased by this, because it meant that the organism was going to survive; it was less pleased as it began to suspect that the only reason there had been a lessening of these invaders was due to these new immune cells appearing out of nowhere.

Before it could ponder the origin of these highly reactive and efficient immune cells, it received another series of images that corresponded to a certain area inside the larger organism, near the apex of one of its appendages.  The cancer cell immediately knew that was where the glowing intruder’s defenders were going to be ambushed and destroyed, as there were four of the hidden caches of bacteria and viruses there.  Therefore, knowing it was for the best to get rid of the invader as soon as possible, it sent along a fabricated communication to the neuron cell helping the glowing crystal, and then waited.

The next thing it knew, there were reports of multiple cells being destroyed in that area…and then silence.  Shortly thereafter, more images streamed towards its awareness, indicating that knowledge about the rest of the hidden pockets of invaders could be communicated.  The overall plan was a mystery to the cancer cell, but it had no reason to ignore the order; moments later, those bacteria and viruses escaped from where they were hiding, and the organism’s immune cells were alerted.

Then came what was supposed to be the actual cause of the glowing invader’s death.  A long time ago, or at least that was what it felt like to the cancer cell, there was something that had arrived in the organism that sent up hundreds of alarms throughout the nervous system.  The special nerve cell managed to quiet those communications at the urging of the voice, and it had promptly forgotten about it – and it was so well hidden afterwards that the organism hadn’t even identified it.

The word with which the voice had temporarily interrupted its constant instructions was another word that began with D: Dormant.  It sounded innocuous at the time, especially since the cancer cell hadn’t been as well developed at that stage, and it still seemed relatively harmless.

At least, it appeared to be harmless – all the way up until something woke up.

Disrupt.  Distract.  Destroy.

The cancer cell did its job, disrupting the veritable flood of warnings being communicated through the nervous system; the special nerve cell was suddenly glad that it didn’t have to disrupt the flashes warning of the bacteria and viruses located throughout the body, because it probably wouldn’t have been able to keep up.

It couldn’t help but think, with its new awareness and new ability to comprehend, that it was making a mistake.  What have I done?  Only the hope and desire for the glowing intruder to be destroyed kept it going, as well as confidence that the voice in its awareness knew more about the situation and wouldn’t command the cancer cell to do anything that would deliberately harm the larger organism.

Chapter 34

“Instruct the body’s immune system to concentrate on the stomach, section YP-19!” Progen shouted – unnecessarily – towards Stemmy.  The interneuron cell assistant didn’t really need to be motivated with shouts, as it would do anything he asked no matter what.  Or at least, it should, he thought; with everything that has gone on over the last few days, I’m not entirely sure anymore.  It wasn’t something the dungeon crystal wanted or needed to worry about at the moment, however, because there were bigger problems.

Those problems included the sheer number of pathogens assaulting the body.  Regular, non-murderous pathogens weren’t really the problem any more, even though there were still at least 100 different infections all along the respiratory and upper digestive systems; the body’s immune system was currently handling those, though if left alone without Progen’s help, they might become an issue.  No, the problem was the enhanced bacteria and Insidious Virus that had erupted out of 2 dozen hidden locations along those same areas in the respiratory and upper digestive system.  Fortunately, none had been identified inside of the circulatory system, but the dungeon crystal figured it was only a matter of time.  He couldn’t spend the time to look, anyway, because he had his figurative hands full.

Stemmy has communicated Progen’s instructions.  The body’s immune system is pulling back most of its immune cells from the other infections and sending them to the stomach, section YP-19.

A few quick glances at the other “regular” infections showed the immune cells pulling back many of their number, leaving just enough to maintain equilibrium, then transferring the extras through the bloodstream to the stomach.  They would be going up against an army of the same enhanced bacteria he had encountered in the palmar arch, which were currently eating away at the lining of the stomach and replicating rather quickly.  Most of the body’s immune cells heading to help were Newts and a smattering of Cleaners, which were the best that they could provide on short notice.  Luckily, there hadn’t been any sign of the Virus nearby that location, so they were safe to throw themselves in a sacrificial stream until they overwhelmed the bacteria with numbers.

It was a waste of the body’s immune cells, granted, but it was better than the alternative.

“Those Newts are attacking the outbreak in the right lung again, Stemmy!  Tell them to pull back!”  Progen had been predominantly on damage control since the infections burst out of their hiding places – which the dungeon crystal was still shocked had been hiding in place for who knew how long. The body had tried to combat these new infections at the same time that Progen’s remaining dozen squads had simultaneously attacked, but there were many issues that sprung up almost immediately.

One, the body’s immune cells didn’t have the advantage that Progen’s own cells had: Levitation.  While the dungeon crystal’s forces could attack from a distance in the different systems, the innate immune cells were “land-bound” and could only attack along the surface of the different organs.  This meant that the enhanced and deadly bacteria could agilely maneuver over the surface with their dual flagella, assaulting the incoming immune cells with whipping strikes that practically shredded Newts and Cleaners alike.

Even worse was the Virus, however; the Newts had very little defense or sense of self-preservation, and when a lining cell burst with replicated virions, they immediately fell victim to the Virus, unwittingly becoming a hatchery for even more of them.  That was why it was better for the body’s immune cells to fight against the bacteria alone, even if they were at a disadvantage, because it at least ensured that no more of the Virus was being created.  Which is why I need those Newts out from the right lung!  They’re making my job harder!  A harder job was the last of the things he needed, because things were already starting to fall apart.

The infection in the trachea, section JM-24 has grown significantly worse.  Stemmy predicts a 70% chance that it may consume enough of the trachea wall to cause significant damage and bleeding.  This will also likely present a way for the bacteria and virions to enter the blood vessel located nearby.

“Great, just great…” Progen whined, moving over two of his squads from the nearby bronchial tubes to assault the infection on the trachea.  The dungeon crystal needed to prevent that from happening, because out on the surface of the organs his immune cells were at an advantage; their long-distance attacks and ability to pull out of range had resulted in some progress against the out-of-control infections with relatively few casualties on his part.  As a result, and because he was gaining oodles of mana from the pathogens he helped to destroy, Progen was slowly rebuilding his forces even as the infections raged out of control.

Of course, they looked a little different, since his Newts were nearly useless, the Cleaners were too expensive to create many of, and there was so much visible to his perception that he needed very few Reporters.  Ditching those, he instead filled them with Spawners, Novice Killers, Seekers, and a single Historian.  Each squad was approximately the same size as the previous ones, though they cost nearly 5 times as much mana – but they were highly effective.

Spawners rained down their antibodies in sheets of deadly efficiency, shredding bacteria and infested cells alike.  The Novice Killers, once activated, tore into clusters of the Virus without stopping, avoiding the grasping flagella of the bacteria as much as possible.  Lastly, the Seekers helped to pinpoint exactly where the Killers needed to target to be as efficient as possible.

Progen even threw in a few Veteran Killers to see how they performed, and was impressed at their lethality.  Costing 4 times as much as a Novice Killer, they weren’t always the best choice, however. Unlike the Novice Killers, which were adaptive and could be set up by a Historian to combat new pathogens that appeared, when the Veterans were created, they were infused with the necessary information to combat a single pathogen.  This was advantageous, because they didn’t need to suffer through a lengthy activation and could attack right away; but it was also limiting, because if something else attacked, they would be nearly useless.

Granted, the fact that the Veterans were at least twice the size of the Novice Killer sort of made up for that.  They were destructive in their attacks, shredding apart virions and nearby cells without reservation, as they were only focused on one thing: destroying their targets.  The Novice Killers were similar in their objective and disregard for nearby cells, but they were also much smaller and didn’t cause as much collateral damage.

Therefore, it was a bit of a balance that Progen had to maintain.  On the one hand, the Veteran Killers could wipe out hundreds or even thousands of virions in a matter of seconds, but then the dungeon crystal would have to expend some mana to repair the damage to the surrounding area. On the other hand, the Novice Killers weren’t as destructive, so there was no need to repair the damage they caused right away: Either it would heal naturally, or it could be patched up later.  But those Novice Killers didn’t destroy nearly as many virions as the Veteran Killers in the same amount of time.

“Stemmy, why does it seem like there are more and more pathogens every time I turn around?”  Despite the increases in his forces, the mana streaming into his available mana pool, and the two full infections that he had helped to eliminate from the original 24 that had appeared out of nowhere, Progen couldn’t see an end in sight.  Worse than that, the “end” seemed to be getting further and further away.

Progen is not eliminating enough of the bacteria and virions to contain them.  Stemmy predicts that the body will be overwhelmed within the next 48 hours if there is no change in the current defense.

“Well, that’s great, but it doesn’t help me.  What do you suggest I do?”  The dungeon crystal was at a loss for what to do. While his efforts had been marginally successful against the new infections, even with the help from the body’s immune system he couldn’t keep up with them.

Unknown.  When all current options have been exhausted, Progen must pursue new options.

“New options?”  Progen was about to ask what Stemmy meant by that, but he thought he knew.  The dungeon crystal wasn’t as pressed for time in a life-and-death situation like he had been when being held captive by the Insidious Virus in the heart, but it was a similar situation, nonetheless.  If he didn’t succeed here, then the body would succumb to the pathogens and Progen would likely perish, as well.

What the dungeon crystal needed, he surmised, was a way to quickly eradicate any of the bacteria and virions in an infection site, while at the same time not having to spend too much mana on it.  That was the major limiting factor Progen was running into: While his mana was regenerating and he was earning more with all of the pathogen destruction, the expansion of his immune forces couldn’t keep up with the spread of the infection.  If the bacteria and virions multiplied at a more “normal” rate, then he would have no trouble; as they were enhanced, and likely controlled by the malevolent entity up in the brain, the foes he faced could replicate faster than the dungeon crystal could contain.

Something like the Viral Whips he had created before were relatively inexpensive and effective, but they were also a danger in and of themselves.  If they defeated an infection, which was by no means a guarantee by that point, then they could spread unchecked and cause even more damage than the pathogens they were set to exterminate.  At the moment, he didn’t have the resources to spare to eliminate them when they were done with their job, and he couldn’t control them like he could his other immune cells; while he could initially direct them to eliminate the infections, once they were done with that they were “unleashed”, so to say.

Progen couldn’t help but ponder that possibility, however.  Would that be preferable to what’s happening now?  It would be trading one problem for another, granted, like lighting a forest on fire in order to destroy a tree-killing fungus that infected a small portion of otherwise healthy trees.  It was a plan of last resort, and one he seriously considered, but for the moment he would put that off until he had no other choice.

So that left something new.  Progen looked at his available immune cells again, but he didn’t see anything new there that might work better than what he was already using.  Turning to his other cell options, he saw that he still had his Stem Cells, Bacteria Clusters, and his Viral Whip as options, but none of them really seemed like a viable possibility.  Through some conversations with Stemmy shortly after he had designed the Viral Whip, he was fairly confident that it was due to the mutation’s classification as a bacteria with “viral” replication abilities that prevented him from being able to control them, unlike his immune cells.

Some sort of hybrid, then – like my Seekers? What had performed well against the new infections had essentially been his Spawners and Novice or Veteran Killers, but how would a hybrid of those two things be better?  Being able to replicate them inside of a stem cell might be a solution, but they were better utilized for smaller cells that could replicate quickly; he had a feeling that any type of hybrid would be nearly as large as a stem cell, which would cut down on replication quite drastically.

Besides that, even if he were to combine them somehow to make a more-efficient killing cell, then wouldn’t it just cost more mana to produce?  That was something he was hoping to stay away from, because he needed an inexpensive alternative.  It’s too bad my Newts are practically useless right now, because I can make thousands of those fairly quickly.

Progen was getting nowhere, going back and forth between different ideas and discarding them immediately.  At first he thought of some way to combine a Newt with a Spawner, giving it the ability to absorb a bacterium while at the same time shooting out antibodies.  However, that wouldn’t help with its major weakness, which was close-quarters combat; they could still be sliced apart by the bacterium’s flagellum, or overwhelmed with virions until it exploded.  The idea of combining a Newt with a Killer of some type was also out, because he was fairly sure that would be too expensive to make it worthwhile.  As was the thought of somehow combining all 3 together; entirely too much mana to create something like that, even if it turned out to be particularly effective.

While he was thinking about everything, Progen was also watching the futile stalemate in the stomach, between the body’s Newts and Cleaners and the enhanced bacterial infection there.  Neither side had an advantage; there were more Newts and Cleaners streaming out from the cell lining of the stomach than bacteria present, but for every bacterium they managed to absorb, 3 of their number would be destroyed.  Unless the dungeon crystal intervened, the constant back and forth would last for a while, at least until the body started to run out of Newts, though that was likely to be a while.  They were the most numerous of the immune cells, which was why Progen used to have more than 300,000 of them a short time ago, because they were that easy to produce.

Newts…Newts…Newts….  Why does it seem as though the answer is there?  The more he looked at the body’s Newts fighting the bacteria, the more Progen figured that the solution was staring right at him.  It wasn’t until he looked closer at the enhanced bacteria that an idea came to him.

“How did those bacteria become stronger, Stemmy?  Is that some sort of mutation?”  That had been bothering him since he had first seen them, but he had been reacting to the crisis and hadn’t gotten a chance to really dig into where they had come from.

Stemmy believes this is so, but it isn’t due to a hybrid mutation.

“Hybrid mutation?  Is that what I created when I made the Seeker and the Viral Whip?”

Yes.

“Then what other mutation is there?”  Combining two different cells together to create something new was the only mutation with which Progen was familiar.

They appear to be a forced evolutionary mutation.

“A…forced evolutionary mutation?  What is—” the confused dungeon crystal started to ask, but cut himself off when he stopped to really think about it.  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

As Stemmy has stated before, Stemmy has no access to Progen’s thought processes.

“Good enough for me.”  Progen now knew what he had to do.

Instead of imagining a combination of different microorganisms, such as a Reporter and Insidious Virus like he did when creating the Seekers, the dungeon crystal only imagined a single cell: a Newt.  Keeping the image of one of his most versatile immune cells inside of his mind, he pictured it forming near the emergency in the trachea.  While he normally wanted his experiments to be a little more controlled, with necessary precautions in place, he didn’t have time to play around.  If what he was trying to create ended up being out of control, then at least it was nowhere near his crystal and near some of his other immune cells.

But truthfully, he wasn’t too worried; he was still dealing with an immune cell, after all, instead of one that was a combination of an immune cell and something else.

Progen’s few minutes of inactivity while he was considering what to do allowed his mana to regenerate up to nearly 2,000. Here’s hoping it’s enough for what I’m planning and not just a waste of my valuable resource.   Without waiting for anything else, the dungeon crystal started pumping mana into the image of a Newt he was holding in his mind, and…nothing seemed to happen.  First 100, then 500, then 1,000 mana left him and poured into the image, the rapid expenditure straining his crystal.  Once it hit 1,500 mana without a sign of it slowing down, Progen started to grow worried.

Fortunately, at 1,800 it started to slow, but it wasn’t until it hit 1,995 that it completely stopped; he was doubly thankful that he hadn’t started the process when he was only at around 1,000 mana because then it probably would’ve been wasted.  The point where it stopped was a bit odd, but as the image in his mind coalesced into a massive flash of bright light inside the trachea, a tidbit of information was shared by Stemmy, whom he really should’ve asked more precisely about the process.

It appears as though forcing a Stage 1 evolutionary mutation requires 2,000 mana minus the original cost.

“Wait—Stage 1?”  Before the interneuron cell could answer Progen’s startled question, the bright light disappeared.  In its place was a Newt – but a Newt unlike anything he’d seen before.

“This…this could work.”

Chapter 35

Progen’s new creation received a capsule and a levitation effect, because as soon as it appeared it began to fall down the trachea.  It cost more than usual – approximately 25 mana – but that was only to be expected, considering its size.

Immune Cells Available

Available Mana: 154/2250

Tier 1

Dendritic Cell (Reporters) – 2 Mana

Neutrophil Cell (Newts) – 5 Mana

B Cell (Spawners) – 25 Mana

Mutation 1 (Seekers) – 150 Mana

Neutrophil+1 (Mega Newts) Stage 1 Evolution Mutation – 500 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

Progen automatically nicknamed the new “Neutrophil+1 – Stage 1 Evolution Mutation” a Mega Newt, because that certainly was an apt description.  Three times as large as a Cleaner, this Newt was drastically unlike its smaller brethren.  For instance, while a regular Newt was basically a spheroid shape with a trio of nuclei connected together in the center, this Mega Newt center had a hollow, a void that created a strange little pocket inside of the cell.  It also had three separate sets of nuclei, spaced out so that they were separate from each other.  Progen instinctively knew that as long as at least one of the sets was undamaged, the Mega Newt would continue to operate normally.

“What is this thing?” the dungeon crystal asked, astounded at what he was seeing.  It was so unlike what he expected, and so far beyond what he believed he could create, that he froze and just stared at it.

Stemmy does not have knowledge of this immune cell.  Progen has created something entirely new.

Shaken out of his perusal of his new creation, Progen decided he might as well try it out against the infection causing so many problems in the trachea.  He wanted to see if he had just wasted his mana on something that would be as ineffective as his normal Newts – especially as the Mega Newt cost 100 times as much mana as its smaller version.

The dungeon crystal stopped the attacks his other squads were raining down on the massive infection, which crawled with bacteria ranging over the epithelial cells of the trachea walls, as well as a burst cell erupting every few seconds with chunks of additional virions exploding outward.  As a precaution to keep the Insidious Virus from expanding further, Progen had already placed a variety of Suspension traps around the outer edges of the infection site, where they would catch the virions as they tried to spread. Even those were starting to fill up, however, and it was going to take some time to empty the traps out safely with the help of a few Killers.

Granted, this didn’t help with the infection itself, but it helped to contain the majority of it in a centralized spot.  Unfortunately, that just concentrated all of the destruction in one place, which was quickly becoming a large concave section where the wall was starting to be “eaten” away by all of the pathogens.  Stemmy was correct in estimating this as the worst infection site, because Progen could see from his influence over the respiratory and circulatory systems that they were close to breaking through to the blood vessel behind the wall.

It was time to put a stop to that…he hoped.

His Mega Newt immediately shot forward and slammed into the infection, completely ignoring his more-cautious command of gently working along the edges first.  As soon as it impacted a dozen bacteria underneath its giant bulk, they were immediately absorbed into its cell.  However, instead of the breakdown process beginning where it would start to consume the bacteria, some internal force within the jelly-like substance of the cell pushed the still-flailing bacteria towards its inner void.

After shifting through the malleable inner cell wall, the bacteria were squished up against each other in the tight space.  Progen was confused at first, because if the inner void was supposed to act like some sort of prison, it wasn’t doing that great of a job; he had no doubt the bacteria would be able to force themselves out of the soft cell wall, and there was nothing breaking the bacteria down like they would in a normal Newt.

Which meant that Progen was shocked when the clear inner cell walls of the Mega Newt turned opaque, visibly hardening…and then compressing together so quickly that the bacteria inside exploded from the pressure, rendering them all inert and a gooey mess.  That mess was then quickly absorbed into the softening walls as they decompressed shortly thereafter, leaving the void empty – and ready for more.

“Stemmy, I think I’m in awe.”  Progen had seen the entire process happen, but he still wasn’t sure about the how or why of it.  That didn’t really matter, though, because his Mega Newt was already on the hunt for more victims, rolling over bacteria as it wandered around, collecting them up like it was picking up trash.  A dozen, 2 dozen, 10 dozen – it just kept absorbing them and compressing them one after another, seemingly without difficulty.

The pathogens had temporarily paused all over the body for almost a minute after the Mega Newt had arrived, as if they were shocked and trying to assess the new threat.  When they finally began to move, they fought back with a vengeance.  Flagella from the bacteria flailed at the outer cell wall of the Mega Newt even as they were consumed, creating massive gouges in it that appeared ready to rupture at any moment.

Nearby virions swarmed over and around the immune cells, forcing their way inside; they too were pulled inside of the void and compressed with the bacteria.  However, there seemed to be a small period of time when the internal void was hardening and compressing, when the “suction” wasn’t present, that the massive Mega Newt was vulnerable.  Hundreds of virions started to fill the internal jelly of the immune cell, replicating in the rich environment and heading towards the vulnerable nuclei sets.  One, then two of them were destroyed, one after another. Just as Progen had predicted, however, the Mega Newt continued to operate.

Before the third – and last – nuclei set could be destroyed, the giant immune cell finished with its compression process and sucked up the invading virions into its void – but there were already too many in there to fit inside the space.

“What am I doing?  Support!  I should know better than this,” Progen cried, immediately setting his squads hovering above the Mega Newt, raining down antibodies to destroy the bacteria trying to take advantage of the damaged immune cell.  His two Novice Killers the dungeon crystal had on location descended and tore into the virions attempting to swarm again; as a sacrificial move, he also had the 40 regular Newts swoop in and swallow up more bacteria and random virions, ascending back into the air once they had grabbed their victims and took off.

The sudden support was enough for the Mega Newt to finish processing all the pathogens it had managed to absorb, narrowly avoiding being ransacked by the remaining virions that were trying to destroy its nuclei set.  It was ready to go back on the attack, but it was also extremely damaged and was leaking out fluid from its walls where the bacteria had flayed it.  Progen placed a brand-new capsule over the cell in hopes that it would keep it together, and that seemed to work enough that it could continue.

But the time required for the Mega Newt to recover had taken its toll on his support; one of his Killers had gotten impaled by three bacteria and held in place while the nearby virions filled it up and made it burst.  A dozen of his normal Newts had been snatched out of their dive and were now being ripped apart by flagella or filled with more of the Insidious Virus.  This cost, in terms of immune cells, but it was worth it to keep his Mega Newt rolling.

Not only that, but all of the destruction over the last few minutes – as well as his natural mana regeneration – gave him more than enough to create another Mega Newt.  Since it had already proven that it could be an extremely capable eradicator of pathogens, Progen didn’t hesitate to add a second Mega Newt to the destruction of the infection, along with another Killer to replace the one that had been killed.  The 2 Cleaners that had been in reserve he sent down to follow in the Mega Newt’s wake, doing what they were designed to do: Clean up after the destruction.  There were dozens of virions, and even a single bacterium, that had managed to hide from the initial wave of pathogen devastation; the 2 Cleaners picked these up, as well as cleaning up the remnants of other destroyed bacteria and virions from the antibodies and Killers’ handiwork.

Another few minutes went by and there were some more casualties to his immune cells; the severely damaged Mega Newt finally took one hit too many and collapsed upon itself.  Another of the Killers was overwhelmed, but by that time the quantity of pathogens destroyed was enough to produce 2 Mega Newts, as well as a trio of Veteran Killers to protect each massive immune cell on their rampage over the infection.  Everywhere they passed, through the Mega Newts and Cleaners, Progen used his excess mana to start repairing the damage to the epithelial cells of the trachea, completely erasing the evidence that there was an infection there in the first place.

It wasn’t perfect, by any means, but it was a start.  There were still many hours ahead of Progen and his immune cells in just that particularly large infection alone, but the evolutionarily mutated Mega Newt had proven to be just the thing he needed to take the body back and eliminate the threat to the body.  After that was taken care of, then the dungeon crystal could investigate more into how this all happened in the first place.

When the situation in the trachea had stabilized enough that Progen could turn his attention elsewhere, he started dropping Mega Newts at the infections where he already had a squad in support.  He now had some of his immune cells at all of the more dangerous, malevolent entity-controlled infections, so this took a few hours to complete.  Even when they were there, the Mega Newts weren’t the end-all solution to each infection, as each of them needed support and time to get the job done.

There were setbacks early on, when his Mega Newts decided of their own volition to drop right into the worst possible situations and were quickly overwhelmed even with support, but those were learning opportunities for Progen.  He now knew to create each new Mega Newt at the edge of the infection so that it could gradually work its way inside; it took a lot longer that way, as it had farther to travel to get to the heart of the infection, but it was much safer.

Now all the dungeon crystal had to do was watch and monitor each problem area, adding more immune cells of different types when necessary, and everything would be just fine.

*       *       *

The cancer nerve cell was enjoying its newly improved awareness as it continued to expand up the spinal cord.  Despite its current 1.4 million cancer cell count, it still considered itself to be singular; with that singularity came a sense of self that it had never experienced before.  Not only could it think and reason much faster and with a sense of purpose, but it had also adopted an identity – as in a name for itself.

Chance.

Adopted from the knowledge that its existence was all a chance mutation in the nerve cells near the larger organism’s digestive organs, it fully embraced its origins in its name.  While it didn’t strictly need a name to survive and thrive, the application of self-identity helped Chance to feel more independent, and…alive.  The more it expanded and learned about the world around it, including its knowledge that it was approximately 75% of the way up the spinal cord into the brain – the originator of all of the organism’s orders and self-regulation, the more it revelled in how that same world was, in its estimation, perfect.

The way that the different cells worked in conjunction with each other to operate successfully, the complex systems put in place that meshed together into a symphony of organization, and the steps it took to control those systems were just extraordinary.  It was something that Chance wanted—no, needed—to preserve, and everything that it had been doing up to that point was towards that goal.  Even its own presence, while normally unwanted because cancer cells were harmful and therefore were eliminated as soon as they were located by the larger organism’s immune system, was meshing with the nervous system; Chance had deliberately avoided interfering with its normal operations, instinctively choosing to stay as unobtrusive as possible in its replicated cell placement as it expanded.

It was only now that Chance understood that instinctive choice, its self-awareness lending itself to want to preserve both itself and the larger organism as a whole.  The cancer nerve cell was more than aware that it could be harmful if it let itself, but with a bit of foresight and care it could co-exist with the larger organism without any issues.  Once it reached the brain, in fact, Chance was confident that it could integrate itself into the normal operations the large organ handled, therefore gaining a bit more control over itself – and potentially the larger organism itself.  The cancer cell had great plans, and preserving the organism was key to those plans.

However, with the release of and broadcasted communication regarding the invasive pathogens at the sites of two dozen infections, Chance was starting to worry that the organism was in trouble.  There had been some significant damage to many areas as the bacterial and viral infections continued to expand, though as of yet, nothing was dangerous.  Most of that was due to some unseen force keeping their numbers from becoming too much of a problem, and the infections were just now starting to reduce in size and area.

Direct.  Dispel.  Destroy.

The words being communicated by the voice, which Chance was partially convinced was some sort of internal guard in the organism’s brain, changed slightly.  The overall goal of the images that were sent still included the glowing crystal invader’s destruction, but now there was something else.  Despite the increase in its cognitive abilities, however, it still took a little while for Chance to understand what was being asked of it.

When the cancerous nerve cell finally comprehended the instruction, it was confused at first.  Why?  What benefit will that have?

Distrust.  Disobedience.

Disobedient?  That’s not what I’m trying to be, just to understand.  Chance tried to convey a sense of curiosity instead of refusal, and thankfully the cancer cell received back a little more information in the form of images. These images were of something that it hadn’t really had a good picture of before: the invader’s defenders.  Apparently, they were copies of the organism’s immune cells, but they were disguised to blend in with “normal” cells with some sort of shell around them.  They were hiding in plain sight behind this shell, and the organism’s immune system was none the wiser.

Since it was imperative that the invader be destroyed, and its defenders might prevent that from happening, Chance knew what it had to do.  Using the image and information it received from the voice, it started to Direct a very familiar-looking immune cell to look for these certain shells around the disguised defenders.  It felt a little strange interacting with the Regulatory cells that were constantly identifying Chance’s cancer cells as a threat, but perhaps this new idea might lessen some of the scrutiny it had to endure and camouflage it from the rest of the organism’s nervous system.

With that taken care of, Chance got back to monitoring and disrupting the flashes of information being passed through the nearby nerve cells.  The ultimate goal was progressing, though it was much slower than the cancer cell had anticipated -- and the end was inevitable.  Based on the information it was receiving, there was nothing the intruder could do to stop it.  It was all just a matter of time, now, and the organism would be free from its interference.

Chapter 36

Half a day with his new Mega Newts ended up making a massive difference.  Progen had already destroyed over half of the infections entirely, and the rest were on their way.  The dungeon crystal now had 150 of the Mega Newts and had expanded his older configuration squads to 102, a significant jump in his forces after the ambush less than a day ago.  Not only that, but his newer configuration squads developed to defeat these enhanced bacteria and virions were now at just over 50, which helped immensely with the cleanup.

Things were going so well that Progen had focused back on helping the body’s immune system wipe out the other, smaller, and less-dangerous “normal” infections throughout the upper digestive and respiratory systems.  The entire body wasn’t safe quite yet, and it would take at least another half a day to catch up, but it was progressing about as well as could be expected after the events of the day.  The mana he was gaining from the destruction of so many pathogens was highly beneficial, and that was what had allowed the dungeon crystal to come back after a near defeat.

The only thing he couldn’t figure out, however, was the purpose behind all of the infections.

“Stemmy, why would the malevolent entity do this?” he asked his assistant.  “Granted, I know that things were a bit hectic and dangerous there for a while, but it was hardly the best plan.  It had to know that there was a better -than-good chance that I would defeat the bacteria and virus, even with their enhancements.  Added to that, I find it hard to believe that it could know the exact disposition of my immune cells, nor how many I had left after that disastrous wound to the lower digestive tract.”

Unknown.

“And now that I have a few moments to think about it, how were all of these attacks coordinated?  How were you involved?  Will this type of thing happen again?”  There were just too many unanswered questions, and it was highly annoying the dungeon crystal.

After some reflective assessment, Stemmy confirms that there was indeed an interruption in communication throughout the body.  Where this interruption emerged from is something that Stemmy cannot answer.

It felt relatively reassuring to hear the interneuron cell admit that there was something wrong, but the inability to accurately pinpoint the cause was disappointing.  Nevertheless, it was something that Progen had to figure out, if only to prevent something like this happening again in the—

A sudden sense of completeness slammed into Progen’s consciousness, the abruptness of it scattering his thoughts.  It was nearly painful in the amount of information flooding into his mind, and he could immediately feel an expansion of his influence throughout the entire body.  It took him a few moments to understand where it was coming from, but when he did, the dungeon crystal was angry and thankful at the same time.  He was…thangry.

“Stemmy!  What did you just do?”

Stemmy has just finished infiltrating Progen’s mana into the peripheral nervous system.

“Wait…you were using my mana to continue that whole process…when I needed that mana to fight those infections?!”  Progen could barely restrain himself from slamming his crystal into the interneuron cell in his anger.

Affirmative.  There were no instructions from Progen to cease the infiltration.  Progress increased after Stemmy began to understand how to easily merge Progen’s mana into the nerve endings and receptors, so it was completed ahead of the previously proposed timeline.

“But…but—” The dungeon crystal fairly vibrated in anger, his utter incomprehension at the situation hindering his ability to speak.  That was why I always felt a little short of mana!  I thought my regeneration was greater than what I could readily access, but I didn’t think it properly through at that time because of the urgency of the infections.  Progen couldn’t help but think that they had nearly died because Stemmy hadn’t stopped the project it was assigned to do; he was almost as angry at himself for not thinking to stop the interneuron cell, but he still thought that Stemmy had enough sense to do that on its own.  Guess I was wrong.

When he finally recovered and calmed down enough to communicate again, Progen shouted at his assistant.  “You nearly killed us!”

Stemmy did nothing but follow Progen’s instructions.

As much as he wanted to continue to blame and yell at the interneuron cell, he knew that Stemmy was right: His assistant was only doing what Progen had wanted.  It was all done at the behest of the dungeon crystal, so it was technically Progen’s fault for not stopping the use of mana on something that could’ve waited.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t still angry, though, even if part of the blame fell on himself.

“Fine, but I’m still not done with you.  What I want to know, though, is what exactly you mean by the ‘peripheral nervous system’?”

The peripheral nervous system consists of the nerves and ganglia outside of the central nervous system, which is composed of the brain and spinal cord.  The peripheral nervous system is what allows the central nervous system to communicate with the other parts of the host’s body.  While Stemmy has infiltrated everything possible within this system, there is very little that Progen will be able to control or manipulate without access to the central nervous system.  Due to the imprecise infiltration of Progen’s mana, awareness will also be minimal; the ability to create cells and traps within the peripheral nervous system is additionally hindered.

That didn’t sound like a great benefit, but it was the other aspect of gaining influence over the peripheral nervous system that had Progen thankful; it wasn’t likely to overcome the simmering anger he felt, but it was a nice bonus, nonetheless.

Trap Options Available

Available Mana: 1635/2500

Tier 1

Fibrin Net – 5 Mana

Reactive Flush – 5 Mana

Strangling Villi – 10 Mana

Tier 2

Pepsin Acid Pit – 50 Mana

Suspension – 75 Mana

Localized Compression – 100 Mana

Tier 3

Shocking Discharge – 150 Mana

Concentrated Burn – 250 Mana

Wall Constriction – 350 Mana

“So, I guess it wasn’t all bad that you continued to infuse my mana…but next time try to let me know you are still doing something like that, and then I can make a decision.”  With the unlocking of something new, finally, the additional traps were going to be an enormous boon – or so he hoped.  Stemmy started to describe exactly what they were after Progen asked about them, trying to make the best of the situation and attempting to simmer down.

Shocking Discharge is an elemental-based trap that was just recently adapted from your acquisition of nerve cells under your influence.  Once a victim enters the predetermined field, a small electrical current is discharged for a limited amount of time, which is full of condensed negatively charged ions.

“And this will do…what?  Shock some pathogens and hold them in place?  I don’t understand why I would use this.”  It didn’t seem much better than some of his other traps that he had unlocked as part of Tier 2, if all it did was hold something in place.

The negatively charged ions will start to break down the structure of any pathogens passing through the Shocking Discharge field.  The smaller the pathogen in terms of size, the faster this will affect them.  Larger pathogens, such as these bacteria your forces are assaulting, will suffer a breakdown of their extremities such as their flagellum first, before their structure starts to deteriorate.  This deterioration will also serve to slow down their method of locomotion.

“Huh.  Doesn’t seem much better than the Localized Compression trap, but perhaps I will eventually find a use for it.  What about the Concentrated Burn?”

The Concentrated Burn trap creates a momentary, concentrated burst of super-heated elemental flame that will incinerate anything that comes in contact with it.  This elemental flame is entirely magical in structure, as it does not need oxygen or fuel other than mana to burn; despite those benefits, this trap is limited in its area of effect and duration, is single use, and there is also a potential for great harm to the host if used incorrectly.

“I can just imagine that.”  Envisioning elemental fire loose in the middle of an organism – such as the human Progen was inhabiting – probably wasn’t the best way to maintain a healthy state.

The Wall Constriction—

“Hold up, Stemmy,” Progen interrupted the interneuron cell before it could explain the last trap he had unlocked.  Not that he necessarily needed an explanation, because it seemed self-explanatory; but that wasn’t why the dungeon crystal stopped Stemmy.  It was for another reason entirely.

For some odd reason, there were a bunch of what Progen identified as Regulatory cells, which he non-creatively decided to call Regulators, interspersed in between the body’s Newts that were helping the dungeon crystal’s squads clean up another infection.  He didn’t seem them around very often, because they typically roamed around other areas of the body and away from infections, so that was enough to catch his attention.

One of his Mega Newts was nearby one of the Regulators and just barely brushed it as it passed by; that was enough for the Regulator, which was vaguely spheroid with a massive nucleus and small cup-like protrusions all over the outside of its cell, to stiffen as if shocked.

Stemmy is intercepting communication from the immune system; somehow, the Regulatory immune cells have identified your Mega Newt as a hostile invader, despite its capsule.

“What?  That shouldn’t be possible—”

The rest of your immune cells, including your Neutrophils, Dendritic cells, B Cells, T Cells, and Macrophages have also been targeted.

“Well then, stop them!”

Stemmy is attempting to now.

……

Unsuccessful.  No responses to Stemmy’s request have been intercepted.  Communications are not reaching the spinal cord from Stemmy’s current position.

“What?!  How is that possible?  It was working only minutes ago, wasn’t it?”

Unknown difficulty.  As of this moment, Stemmy is suffering from suspended communication.

The bright side, if there was one, was that Stemmy admitted that there was a problem, rather than acting as if there were nothing wrong.  When quickly asked about it, it was revealed that each of Stemmy’s communications through the nervous system always had a response, whereas information from other parts of the body traveled only one-way.  That was the reason the interneuron cell didn’t know there was anything wrong before, because it hadn’t received any communications, not just a lack of a response to its instructions.

That was neither here nor there, however, because there were now other things to worry about.  Within seconds of the orders being given, the body’s immune system started to attack his Mega Newt and Killers that were sweeping through the dangerous infections; the body’s Newts attempted to blindly consume his forces, but were destroyed or absorbed in turn.  Cleaners began to appear next to the body’s Newts next, and they started to finally have an impact; three of his Novice Killers were abruptly swallowed by the large immune cells, and when stopped by a trio of Cleaners, one of his Mega Newts was held in place and slowly taken apart.  And that was just at one of the infection sites; the others were having similar difficulties.

“This isn’t good, Stemmy.  Why are they targeting my squads rather than the other pathogens?”

As the more-dangerous target, your immune cells are taking priority.

Progen could see that this was indeed the case, though it wasn’t as if the body’s immune cells were completely ignoring any other threats.  As they passed by the bacteria and virions of the Insidious Virus, they would attack those, as they had been doing, but there was also an obvious surge from them in his squad’s direction.

“I can’t just take them out, Stemmy; the body isn’t strong enough to defeat these infections without my help.”  Despite the losses to his own and the body’s immune cells, the dungeon crystal resolutely kept his forces going along the infected sites.  “This is for your own good,” he said to the body he was inhabiting, even though it couldn’t hear him.  “We’ll figure out how to fix this after—uh, what is that?”

A brand-new immune cell appeared from the lining of the stomach cells where he was observing the eradication of the infection there, and it immediately sped towards his Mega Newt and remaining Killers.  It was larger than the Veteran Killer there, but it also had the same general shape; unlike the Novice and Veteran Killers, though, this one had an exterior cell wall with bumps, but they didn’t protrude out very far.  It was hard to imagine that it could be dangerous based on its appearance.

As he described the new cell to Stemmy, another dozen of them appeared where he was looking, and then even more were seen at the other infection sites he was participating in eliminating.

That is an NK Cell.  They specialize in eliminating tumorous cancer cells and can act as a final line of defense against virally infected cells.

“How come I haven’t seen them before now?”

They take the longest to develop out of all of the immune cells and aren’t as much of a priority to the immune system as the others Progen has seen.

“Are they dangerous?  And what does ‘NK’ mean?”

Yes.  NK stands for Natural Killer.

“Oh.”  Before the dungeon crystal could react to that tidbit of information, one of the Natural Killers – he didn’t even bother to rename the cell in his mind, because the name fit it quite well – approached one of his Veteran Killers that was spinning around, churning up virions at a furious pace.  The NK Cell paused for a split second, before a sharp protrusion connected to its outer cell wall shot out, impaling his Veteran Killer and piercing through its nucleus, destroying it instantly.  The Natural Killer pulled its protrusion back out of the dying Veteran cell and retracted it back into its body, as if it was a sword being sheathed.

“What?  Ok, I’m getting them out of there.”  Without any more hesitation, Progen ordered his squads to lift off the surface of the infection sites he was trying to eliminate, out of the range of these Natural Killers.  The Natural Killers were immediately assaulted by bacteria and suffered from the same fate as his Veteran Killer, which made the dungeon crystal hopeful that these new cells would take over the fight.  Unfortunately, after another minute or so of searching around for something – which Progen assumed was his immune cells – they disappeared into the cell lining again, retreating to the bloodstream to wait and leaving the Newts and Cleaners to suffer under another onslaught as the bacteria and virions experienced a resurgence in their expansion.

“Why did these appear now?”

The host’s immune system must be under the impression that your immune cells are cancerous tumors, making them a priority to eliminate.

That was certainly true, as every time he touched down with his squads, a minute or so later, the Natural Killers would be back and looking for them.

“What am I supposed to do now…?”

Chapter 37

Progen had to resort to dropping antibodies on the infection fields at the current time, since he couldn’t get close without suffering from the wrath of the body’s Natural Killers.  He was halfway sure he could probably overwhelm the new immune cells and destroy them, but he didn’t want to have to do that.  If they took as long to create as Stemmy said they did, he didn’t want to eliminate them unnecessarily.

His Spawners weren’t nearly as effective attacking from the air as his “ground” troops were, but they were easier to control and direct compared to what he was just doing with so many moving parts.  That left him time to figure out what was happening with Stemmy’s communication problem.  Of course, he didn’t know where to start.

“Stemmy – where would I look to see how to fix your ability to communicate through the nervous system?”

Since Stemmy is not receiving any signals through the nervous system further away than the nearest sections of the small and large intestines, there must be something interrupting those signals.  What that might be, Stemmy does not know.

“Great,” Progen responded sarcastically.  “So, could this be something like a single nerve cell that is malfunctioning, or is this a sign of something larger?”

Unknown.

Without anything else to go on, the dungeon crystal started to spiral out from the appendix, looking at the thick strands of nerve cells branching off from the large intestine.  The only issue he had was that it was a lot hazier when using his dungeon senses to observe the peripheral nervous system; he could only assume that it was because the infusion of mana wasn’t done normally, instead having to be infiltrated using some not-so-perfect means.  What resulted was as though there were a large piece of poorly made glass in front of his vision.

Therefore, he could see, but it wasn’t very defined.  If he was indeed supposed to be looking for a single cell that was causing the issues, then there was no way he was going to be able to locate it accurately, unless he was very lucky.

The nerves around the small and large intestines nearest the appendix appeared normal, as far as he could tell – which matched what Stemmy had mentioned.  Ranging out further, he still didn’t see anything that stood out to him; he spent over an hour looking over every nerve branching that led back to the interneuron cell in the appendix…to no avail.  Progen even looked over, as much as he could, the main branching coming out from the as-of-yet invisible spinal cord, but with only as much luck as with the rest of his perusal.

“There are no obvious areas that might be cut, suppressed, or otherwise interrupted, Stemmy,” he said regretfully.  Progen wasn’t only regretful that he couldn’t help Stemmy’s problem; further, he lamented that the lack of communication was starting to make a difference in the infections still raging in the upper digestive and respiratory systems.  It wasn’t a disaster quite yet, and the dungeon crystal continued to help out where he could – and even increased the number of Spawners bombarding the masses of bacteria from regenerating mana – but the result would be a forgone conclusion if something wasn’t done soon.  Either they solved this communication problem, or Progen was going to have to war against the body’s still-recovering immune system in order to save it from its misguided ways.

The problem, which he had identified from the beginning of his search, was that he couldn’t get an up-close, clear picture of the nerves themselves.  He could be missing something that was right in front of his senses and he wouldn’t even know it.

As he backed out from near where the main nerve branches merged into the spinal cord, Progen got a better look at the entire area from a bit of distance.  Granted, it was still blurry and hazy, but he did notice something that seemed off.

“Stemmy?  Should the main branching out from the bottom of the spinal cord be thicker on one side compared to the other?”

Typically, no.  The ganglia leading to the submucosal and myenteric plexus should be similar in size initially, though they will narrow as they approach the different organs in the lower digestive tract.

“O….kay.  From that, I assume that I have a lot more to learn about these nerves.  If I’m hearing you correctly, though, then that could be suspicious?”

Yes and no.

“I just can’t get a straight answer from you, can I?”

Stemmy always gives Progen the answer he needs.

“Just not the one I want, obviously.”  Instead of trying to extricate more information from his assistant, Progen concentrated on one of the larger-than-normal nerve strands, getting as close as he possibly could to the nerve cells themselves.  As he had already experienced, the clarity of his viewpoint was still extremely poor, but when he concentrated on the nerve bundles he could see right away that there was something…odd.  The nerve strands were essentially nerve cells connected together, allowing them to send signals to each other that flashed through them, only to be passed along to the next, and so on and so forth.  As he zoomed in on them, he could finally start to see these flashes, which he had never actually seen before.

The issue that he saw – despite being as unknowledgeable about the nervous system as could be – was that there seemed to be many, many flashes that seemed to spark and then…go nowhere.  It was as if they hit a wall, a wall that was deliberately set up to prevent anything going down the nerve towards the lower digestive tract where Stemmy was located.

Progen tried to get an even closer look at this “wall”, and was rewarded when he saw a few strands of nerves that appeared thicker than the others.  The fuzziness of his viewpoint didn’t allow him to be certain, but the dungeon crystal was fairly confident that the nerves themselves were a bit different in their general shape.

Stemmy surmises that those are some sort of cancerous mutation of a nerve cell.  Normal operation of the immune system should have identified them and sent Natural Killers to eliminate them before they could multiply.

“So, why haven’t they?  They would be much better served doing that than hunting down my own immune cells.”

Unknown.

“And is this the reason for the communication failure?”

Stemmy is uncertain without more evidence, but Progen is likely correct.

Progen moved his vision down the nerve bundle he was looking at, finding that the larger nerve cells seemed to start near the upper part of the small intestine.  For some reason, the area appeared very familiar. It took him a few moments to realize why: It was one of the particularly difficult sections of the intestines that had needed to be repaired after the damage had been done.

“Stemmy?  Did I do this?”

Progen explained what he was looking at to his assistant, dreading what he was going to hear.

The probability is high that Progen inadvertently created the original cancer cell.  The damage to the cells may have resulted in a mutation, which was a result of your mana being used to repair the injury.

“So, this is my fault.”  It was a statement, rather than a question. Stemmy wisely didn’t respond.  Now he just had to figure out how to fix it.

Progen concentrated on a single one of the cancerous mutations, willing his mana to make the image clearer.  After almost a minute, his vision of the single cell he was looking at suddenly popped into perfect clarity – for all of a few seconds.  Those few seconds, however, were enough to verify that his assistant had been absolutely correct; the nerve cell was larger, had multiple nuclei, and looked…off.  It wasn’t necessarily an abomination, but it also didn’t appear as if it were natural and belonged there.

That brief moment of perceptive clarity had an unintended side effect, as well.  Even as Progen was looking at the cell…something was looking back.

The dungeon crystal sensed a brief moment of shock, though it was hard to tell whether it was his own, or emanating from whatever was looking back at him.  The surprise didn’t last long, mainly because anything he was sensing quickly disappeared when the fuzziness of his viewpoint snapped back into place, but it was enough to shake Progen a little.  The sense of whatever was there didn’t feel hostile, luckily, though the dungeon crystal could detect a hint of the same malevolent entity that resided just out of his reach in the brain.  Almost as if it were some sort of independent tool being wielded by the entity—

Whatever Progen did, there was a momentary re-establishment in Stemmy’s connection to the wider nervous system.  The only communication received had to do with an issue in the upper small intestine in section CE-17; additional details have been cut off.

“Whoa, what?   Did you get any indication that there was another presence there?”  Progen was still recovering from the odd experience of being observed, even if it was for a short time.

Negative.

That didn’t surprise the dungeon crystal, because it had been so quick that he was beginning to doubt that it actually happened.  He tried to push his mana again into looking at the cell again, but it stubbornly refused to become clearer.  I wonder if pushing my influence through the entire nervous system will clear this all up, he thought.  Too bad that isn’t going to happen anytime soon.

When he was unsuccessful in establishing any sort of connection to the presence again, Progen turned his attention back to the infections that were steadily getting worse…but not as quickly as he had feared.  The stripping of his immune cells’ “camouflage” had the strange side-effect of increased immune response.  It was as if they could sense his squads floating above the infections, lending their assistance where they found an opportunity; since they were already there, trying to reach him, they went ahead and attacked anything else nearby – which just so happened to be the bacteria and Insidious Virus Progen was trying to destroy.

Seeing this and deciding to use it to his (and the body’s) advantage, the dungeon crystal started to bait the immune cells, including the Natural Killers, out to where they were needed most, into the thickest parts of the infection sites.  Though it resulted in his own Veteran Killers and one Mega Newt being destroyed, it was worth it; as soon as they died, there were plenty of targets for the Natural Killers and hordes of Newts to attack nearby.  For the most part, the NK cells didn’t retreat like normal, because they were being attacked so frequently that they had to defend themselves.

When he had a fairly consistent bait-and-switch process going, Progen finally turned back to what Stemmy had mentioned.  Section CE-17, huh?  If I remember right, that’s up near the start of the small intestine, a short way down from where the stomach empties into it.  The dungeon crystal zoomed into that section, looking for some sort of bacterial or viral infection.  Lately, there hadn’t been any alerts down in the lower digestive system even when Stemmy’s communication hadn’t been interrupted, so it was entirely possible something had snuck down when he wasn’t paying attention.

“Stemmy, where exactly was this alert about an infection down here?  I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.”  A quick perusal of the wall lining the small intestine in that section showed nothing obvious, like an infection would show.  It was possible that it was a very small infection that hadn’t exploded into dangerous territory yet, so he could’ve missed it; that was why he was asking his assistant for more clarity, because it could take hours to hunt it down otherwise – time which he’d rather use for more important matters.

Stemmy didn’t mention an infection.  The issue was a sudden lack of nutrient absorption in the jejunum area of the small intestine, which starts around Section CA-01.

“Huh?  So, I’m wasting my time looking at a lack of nutrients?  We’ve got better things to do, Stemmy,” Progen said testily, wishing he had decided to ask before he actually spent time looking.  As he pulled away from the small intestines, he quickly looked to see that there was indeed an interruption in the food particles being pushed through the small intestine, but there were still plenty of them for the body to absorb.  What is all of that about?  A “waste” of my time—

Except that when he pulled away even more, the food he was looking at moved on its own, independent of the villi along the sides of the small intestine.  And it was connected together into one extremely long piece of food, was a strange whitish color that he normally didn’t see in the food being processed in the digestive tract, and…it had a head, jaws, and fangs, and it was swallowing the nutrient-rich food particles drifting by it at an alarming rate.

“WHAT IS THAT?!” Progen yelled, quickly describing in fright what he was looking at.  It wasn’t a single-celled organism, nor even a hundred-celled organism; this…creature…was composed of hundreds of thousands of cells, perhaps millions, creating a living, nutrient-stealing monster.  And it was slowly moving through the small intestines on its way to, eventually, the appendix.

What Progen describes is a parasite, namely an Anisakid Nematode, which is typically found in raw fish.  However, what Progen describes sounds as if this parasite has been altered from its normal parasitic appearance.  Stemmy’s assumption is that it has been enhanced the same as the bacteria and virions Progen is currently fighting against.

“Enhanced?!  I’d say so – that worm looks like it could crush my crystal in its teeth.  As in actual fangs, Stemmy – fangs!”

How the worm got inside of the body without either him or Stemmy knowing was a mystery, and one that they weren’t going to solve at that point.  What mattered most was that there was a literal monster heading towards his dungeon crystal – and there was nothing he could do about it.

Chapter 38

In a panic, in light of the enormous, fanged worm working its way through the small intestines with the likely intention of eating his crystal, Progen turned to the wall of the appendix nearby and fled into the void between the organs.  It was only when his crystal was safely in the void and away from everything that he stopped and calmed down enough to think.  Okay, I’m safe.  Now I’ll have time to figure this all out: the infections, the body’s immune system, the cancerous nerve cells that have a mind of their own, and – let’s not forget – the giant murderous worm that is coming for me and Stemmy…Stemmy!  I left him out there all alone!

Progen felt a little ashamed for abandoning his assistant, especially considering that the interneuron cell couldn’t move.  He needn’t have felt too bad about it, though, because it turned out that the monster striving for his destruction wasn’t interested in Stemmy at all.  From his “safe” location in the void, Progen watched the enhanced parasite somehow sense that Progen had left the appendix; it turned to the side wall of the small intestines and started to bite it with its fangs, tearing into the villi and lining.  Its head was precisely in line with Progen’s crystal, even outside of the digestive organs, as if it could track him wherever he went.  He started to move back towards the appendix, and the worm stopped trying to tear into the sidewall of the intestines as it sightlessly tracked his crystal.

When he stopped, the parasite paused for a moment before resuming tearing into the wall.  Progen moved again, watching the fanged worm stop again, and Progen thought he had a solution.  All I have to do is keep moving; then I can figure all of this out while this monster is stuck there—

Wise to his method already, the parasite – though, since it wasn’t the same kind of parasite anymore, Progen decided to think of the enhanced monster as a “Parasyte”, a necessary distinction – stopped tracking his movements after about a minute and resumed tearing into the intestine wall.  The Dungeon Crystal tried to use his mana to repair the walls from his location, but the Parasyte’s proximity was somehow interfering with his efforts.  This isn’t good. I can’t stay out here. If I do, the Parasyte will break out of the intestines and cause all sorts of havoc in the rest of the body – and probably hunt me down wherever I go, leaving destruction in its wake.

With great reluctance, the dungeon crystal floated back to the wall of the appendix, using his mana to create a gash just large enough for him to slip through, before closing it up again.

“Sorry about that, Stemmy,” Progen apologized to his assistant as soon as he was inside.  “I shouldn’t have abandoned you.”

Progen did Stemmy no harm.  There is nothing to apologize for.

“Yeah, well, my fleeing didn’t really help, so it was a bit pointless all around.”  He proceeded to tell Stemmy about how the Parasyte was somehow tracking him.  Looking at it again, he saw that it had given up its efforts on the wall and continued to wiggle its way down the small intestines, swallowing the body’s nutrient chunks – along with the good bacteria trying to break those nutrients down – as it went.  As he watched, he swore he saw it increase slightly in size, though that was hard to judge based on how it filled almost a third of the small intestine all by itself.

“How am I supposed to defeat this thing?” Progen asked despairingly, not really expecting Stemmy to have an answer.

Eosinophils.

“What?  Oh, those things?”  The dungeon crystal had originally created one of them when he first gained access to them, but he hadn’t really been particularly impressed at the time.  First, the Eosinophils, or “Hunters”, as he called them, were of a similar size as the Newts, but cost 5 times as much mana.  During the crystal’s initial production of Hunters, his apprentice had mentioned that they weren’t as effective as the Spawners and Newts to which he already had access, so he had basically forgotten about them.  Now, though, they might be exactly what he needed.

Looking at his mana, which was currently at 1536 / 2250, Progen spent 300 mana to create a dozen of his Hunters a small distance in front of the head of the Parasyte. The dungeon crystal endeavored to spawn additional Hunters to deploy along the Parasyte’s more vulnerable sides. Unfortunately, whatever was preventing the dungeon crystal from repairing the sliced-up intestine wall was somehow also rendering that spawning impossible.

The Hunters looked just like the last time he had seen them: an immune cell the size of a regular Newt with a paired nucleus inside, surrounded by small molecules that filled up the rest of the space inside of the cell.  There didn’t appear to be any component with which it could engulf and absorb a pathogen, like the Newts did, and the molecules were different from the antibodies that his Spawners could launch at a target.  In fact, when looking at the Hunters, their interior didn’t seem capable of launching anything.

“Tell me again what these molecules are supposed to do?” he asked, as he sent the Hunters on an experimental attack against the Parasyte.  He needed to know what they could do before expending more mana on them, and the best way to learn that was to throw them right into the thick of battle.

Eosinophils release poisonous granules full of peroxidase, neurotoxin, cationic protein, and other major basic protein molecules.  Prolonged exposure to these poisonous molecules results in parasitic death.

“Poison?  Why didn’t you say so?”  Progen suddenly thought that this might go much better than he thought.

With Levitation on his Hunters to help them move more swiftly through the digestive juices of the small intestine, they streamed ahead, aiming to flank the giant worm, which was – in comparison to the tiny, one-celled Hunter – basically a giant.  Looking at it from their perspective, the entire head of the Parasyte wasn’t even visible as more than a formless wall that they were aiming to float around to attack its more vulnerable sides.  At least, the dungeon crystal assumed they were more vulnerable; there was a hesitancy there that prevented him from wanting them to be swallowed by the monster, rendering them ineffective.  Then again, if they are poisonous, then maybe that is a good thing?

Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, it turned out that he was going to have an opportunity to see both outcomes.  The Parasyte moved slowly when compared to his Hunters, but it also had the reflexes and senses of a snake; as soon as it detected his immune cells closing in on it, 6 to its left and 6 to its right, it darted its head to the right, swallowing up his Hunters in its jaws.  Though, to be fair, “swallow” was a bit of a misnomer, as it was more like they were sucked into its mouth with a powerful suction from which it was impossible to escape.  They disappeared inside the fanged worm, and Progen lost sight and awareness of them.

The other 6 Hunters managed to escape being swallowed as they shot to the left of the head, smacking into the side of the massive organism at high speed.  Instead of splatting against the cells making up its external shell, the immune cells used their paired nuclei like a pair of fangs themselves, sinking deep into them.  The “fangs” created tiny holes in the cell walls of the monster’s skin, and the granules filled with poisonous molecules were pumped inside.

Almost immediately, the punctured cell started to deteriorate, collapsing in on itself as if deflating, and the poison molecules drifted out of it, spreading to the nearby cells and settling on their cell walls.  Within seconds, the poison started to eat through the walls and the molecules were able to wiggle their way inside, destroying those cells as well.  Overall, his 6 Hunters had destroyed just under 30 cells, which wasn’t too shabby, if he said so himself.  Moving his viewpoint back, he could see what appeared to be a tiny little chunk that was missing from its outer surface, though Progen doubted it felt like more than just a tiny pinprick to the Parasyte – especially as it didn’t seem to be fazed by the attack in the least.

He pulled his Hunters back so that they could make another go of it…and they fell apart.

“These are what?  One-time use?”

Correct.

“Seriously?  That’s not a good sign; how many of these things does it take to kill a parasite in the body?”

Quantity depends on the size of the parasite; most parasites that are killed by Eosinophils are in their larvae stage and are much smaller than this one here.  Once they reach a certain size, it is very rare that the body’s immune system will be able to coordinate enough immune defenses to destroy a parasite.

That wasn’t what Progen wanted to hear.  “And I’m assuming that this Parasyte has passed that ‘certain size’?”  At Stemmy’s agreement, Progen was starting to lose all hope.  “As a hypothetical scenario, how many of these Hunters do you think I’ll need to kill this monster?”

Based on your description of the parasitic worm, as well as your description of the Eosinophils’ results, Stemmy estimates that it would take well over 1.5 million Eosinophils, 2 million to be safe.

“Yeah…that’s what I thought.”  Progen was at a loss of what to do.  This wasn’t just a simple problem of creating a larger Hunter, like he did with the Mega Newt; the enemy he was facing was so many times more dangerous than all of the infections in the body put together.  Any methods he thought to employ were futile as soon as he thought of them, and a solution didn’t present itself right away.  Perhaps if the body’s immune system wasn’t targeting me, and they knew about this parasite down here, then maybe we’d have a chance.

Ideas of how to go about doing that fell flat as well, as Progen just didn’t have enough influence over the nervous system to make any necessary changes.  Even sending in his immune cells would be practically useless, as none of them were suited to destroying cancer cells.  That was a job for the Natural Killers, after all, and he didn’t have access to them—

At least, not yet, he thought.

Plans and strategies raced through his mind, rejection and approval of different schemes happening at a rapid pace.  After a furious few minutes of deliberation, Progen thought he had an idea.  It was risky, and it might not work, but it was better than sitting there awaiting the inevitable.

“Ok, Stemmy, I think this might work,” he told his assistant, firming up his plan even as he spoke.  “This is what I want you to do….”

*       *       *

Chance was still reeling from the shock of the glowing crystal looking right at it.  Somehow, the intruder had located its original cancer cell among all of its other replicants, numbering in the millions now, and focused on it with so much energy that the experience was overbearing.  The suddenness of it, coupled with what it thought was an impossibility, was enough to cause the special nerve cell to temporarily lose control of what it was doing.  As a result, some of the information it had been preventing the neuron cell helping the glowing rock from receiving managed to squeeze through the net Chance had set up to prevent such a thing.

Shortly afterwards, the cancer cell was informed that the glowing crystal had learned about the presence of the parasite – the means of its destruction.  It didn’t know if it would really matter, now that it was on its way and getting stronger as it progressed, but the sheer anger directed towards Chance from the voice was a bit disconcerting.

Incompetence.  Mistake.  Displeasure.

Obviously, the voice was mad at what the special nerve cell had inadvertently done, but it really didn’t think there was anything it could’ve done to prevent it.  The intrusion into its world was so sudden that there was no way it could have prepared, and even had the cell known about it beforehand; the power that the crystal wielded was immense – stronger by far than what the voice had demonstrated.  Or at least, it was vastly different, so that might have a factor on the feeling behind it.

But that wasn’t the only feeling Chance encountered when being peered at by the glowing crystal – it also felt confusion and irritation.  Not from itself, though it did feel that later; no, the cancer cell felt that from the crystal – completely opposite of what it expected.  Not only was there no malice or malevolence behind the feelings Chance received from the brief sighting, but there was a hint of what it could only categorize as despair.  Despair not just for itself, but for the larger organism as a whole.

That was why the special nerve cell was still in shock.  Why would it be despairing for this large organism?  Didn’t the crystal invade the organism in order to destroy it?  It was this existential pondering that held Chance in a state of perpetual shock, as it continued to automatically interrupt further communications, not allowing anything to reach the neuron cell helping the glowing crystal.

Disrupt.  Distract.  Destroy.

The abrupt shift from anger to the normal litany of orders jarred Chance out of his shock.  The word “destroy” took on a whole new meaning as the nerve cell started to contemplate its own existence and the purpose behind it.  It had expanded enough to have discovered more about the organism, about its fellow nerve cells, as well as about the neurons in the brain, to know that Chance was not normal.  Not in the sense that it was a chance mutation and cancer cell, but that its awareness and cognitive ability was unique.  As in, it shouldn’t even exist.

Where did all of this come from, then?  As far as it could tell in its limited capacity to observe the world around it, there were only two sources that could’ve enacted the change: the voice, or the glowing crystal.  Experiencing the confusion from the crystal when it spotted it within all of its other replicants was telling; Chance had doubts that the invader even knew that its cancer cells even existed before that.  That left the voice – but why?

Obviously, it knew that the goal of the voice was the destruction of the crystal.  Is that the right thing to do, though?  From the beginning, ever since it had been a singular cancer cell, Chance had trusted that the voice had the best interests of the organism as part of its objectives.  Lately, the cancer cell could tell that the voice originated in the organism’s command center, the brain, which Chance was still trying to reach and eventually take over; that being the case, he wondered, Wouldn’t it make sense that the voice wanted to protect everything in the organism?

Lately, though, as the chains of obedience started to slip off of the cancer cell with each new moment of learning, comprehension, epiphany, recognition began to dawn that nearly everything the voice had asked Chance to do had led to the release of dangerous pathogens – and a parasite that seemed capable of killing the organism if it continued to grow at the rate it currently progressed.  The special nerve cell had been reassured by the voice that it was all so that the glowing crystal invader could be destroyed, but what exactly was going to happen after the deed was done?

There wasn’t enough evidence to disprove the voice, and it didn’t have enough understanding of intricate tactics, so Chance was reluctantly forced to take those reassurances as truth.  Nevertheless, it would continue to watch and hope that everything would work out; if the organism was suffering from the depredations of this crystal invader, then in order for the initial cancer cell to survive – and the cancer cells filling up most of its spinal cord at that point – then Chance would do anything to keep the organism alive.  For now, it would continue to follow the voice’s instructions.

Even though doing so seemed inherently wrong.

Chapter 39

“Alright, Stemmy – how is your progress coming?”

Stemmy is progressing quickly.  Influencing the muscular system is much faster than infiltrating the nervous system.

Progen had to agree.  His own progress influencing the skeletal system was also fairly quick, especially when compared to the digestive and respiratory systems.  There were no infections to contend with, for one, which made the process much smoother and more constant.  Secondly, since most of the skeletal system was closely related to the circulatory system – as well as the peripheral nervous system – the infusion of his influence seemed to progress much faster, as if the bones of the body were soaking up the mana like a dry sponge.  From what she could tell from Stemmy’s objective, he was having the same sort of experience.

All of that was a good thing, considering that the Parasyte was still making its way through the small intestine.  By his own and his assistant’s estimates, it would arrive at the appendix in about 12 hours. It was moving very slowly, gobbling up all of the nutrient-rich food as it went, getting bigger (and Progen could only assume, stronger).  As a result, the dungeon crystal and the interneuron cell were racing against the clock.

Luckily, the mana was still pouring into his available pool as Progen continued to attack the still-raging infections in the upper digestive and respiratory systems.  They hadn’t grown large enough to really affect the body too much, fortunately, but that didn’t really matter to the dungeon crystal at the moment; if he didn’t find a way to stop the Parasyte, then the infections would be the least of ‘Marstin’s’ problems.

Nearly every drop of mana he had went towards influencing the two systems, and he only kept a very small amount in reserve for any emergencies.  As they progressed, starting from the feet towards the head, the more natural mana regeneration was gained, until every minute he was obtaining 300 mana from that alone.  The ongoing elimination of bacteria and virions contributed another 200 or so to that number, allowing his mana pool to entirely fill up in less than 5 minutes – if he and Stemmy weren’t using it to expand his influence throughout the body, of course.

Every once in a while, some of his mana was needed to replenish his few destroyed immune cells that were trying to participate in the infection battle, which was helping to prevent the spread of them.  No other surprises popped up, thankfully, which helped to mitigate a lot of the worry that Progen had by constantly using up his available mana.

Finally, only 2 hours after they started, both the dungeon crystal and the interneuron cell finished their spreading of influence throughout the two systems.

Progen’s mana has enhanced the excitability, extensibility, contractility, adaptability, and elasticity of the host’s muscle tissue; this allows for greater movement and reaction speeds, far and above what was possible before.  In addition, the strength, structure, rigidity, and mobility of the bone tissue has been enhanced due to infusions of mana.

As a bonus, with influence over both the skeletal and muscular systems, the ligament connective tissue – which connects bone tissues to other bone tissues, forming joints – and the tendon connective tissue – which connects bone tissues to muscle tissues – have been enhanced.  This allows for greater flexibility and strength in bone tissue joints, as well as a greater ability to produce and withstand tension.

“That’s all great, Stemmy, but that isn’t precisely what I was interested in,” Progen said, feeling the nearly overwhelming increase in his awareness expand as his influential mana took control of the two systems.  “No, this is what I was hoping for.”

Immune Cells Available

Available Mana: 415/3000

Tier 1

Dendritic Cell (Reporters) – 2 Mana

Neutrophil Cell (Newts) – 5 Mana

B Cell (Spawners) – 25 Mana

Mutation 1 (Seekers) – 150 Mana

Neutrophil+1 (Mega Newts) Stage 1 Evolution Mutation – 500 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 2

Eosinophils (Hunters) – 25 Mana

Naïve T Cells (Novice Killers) – 50 Mana

Memory B Cells (Historians) – 100 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 3

Regulatory T Cells (Regulators) – 50 Mana

Macrophages (Cleaners) – 150 Mana

Memory T Cells (Veteran Killers) – 200 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Tier 4

NK Cells (Natural Killers) – 400 Mana

Custom Myeloid Progenitor – 3000 Mana

Custom Lymphoid Progenitor – 3000 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Unlocking the last Tier of his immune cells had been the primary purpose behind infusing mana into the two new systems, though Progen wasn’t going to complain about his additional mana regeneration and maximum mana.  He couldn’t help but wish he had done it all earlier, but he also realized that having infiltrated the peripheral nervous system helped to complete the infusion of mana at a much faster rate than without it.  Now that it was done, he was excited for the future – if they all lived past the next day.

Progen had been fairly confident that acquiring 2 new systems as part of his repertoire would unlock something, though it had been a gamble as to exactly what would be unlocked.  His gamble had paid off handsomely, though, and now he could implement the next part of his plan.  With the ability to finally create the Natural Killer immune cells, it was time to free up the stranglehold those cancer cells held on the nervous system, so that the immune system would stop attacking his own squads – and help with the fight against the Parasyte.  The dungeon crystal had a feeling that he was going to need all the help he could get.

“What are these other cells, Stemmy?  These expensive ‘Custom Myeloid Progenitor’ and ‘Custom Lymphoid Progenitor’ options?” Progen asked, waiting for his mana to fill back up before he started on the next phase.

The custom cells that Progen has available are the base immune cells involved in the creation of all other immune cells.  For instance, the Myeloid Progenitor can eventually turn into Neutrophils, Eosinophils, Dendritic cells, and even Macrophages; the Lymphoid Progenitor is what creates B Cells, Memory B Cells, Regulatory T Cells, Naïve T Cells, Memory T Cells, and NK Cells.

“So…what exactly does that mean?”

The custom portion of the option means that you can customize and create the cell of your choosing, giving it whatever properties are desired within that base progenitor’s options.

That halted Progen’s thought processes somewhat as he considered what he just heard.  “I can do…what?  Create my own custom immune cells, without risking a hybrid of some sort?”

Precisely.

That certainly was powerful, but it wasn’t exactly what he needed right now.  What he needed, in fact, was a very specific cell – the Natural Killer immune cell, which was ready to go and didn’t need to be customized.  They were cancer cell destroyers, and that was precisely what he needed.  The only problem was that he needed a lot of them in order to wipe out the cancer, because it appeared that there were already hundreds of thousands of them, if not millions.

How would he go about getting enough Natural Killers to make a difference, considering they cost 400 mana a piece?  Just a little fun with stem cells and viruses, that’s how.  Progen had already done that when creating his Seeker mutation, by combining a Reporter and an Insidious Virus – and then letting it replicate within a stem cell, thereby reducing the cost of each one.  He just needed to combine the two, which was why he needed a full mana pool.

When the dungeon crystal was full of mana, Progen combined the Natural Killer immune cell and the Insidious Virus in his mind, before projecting it with an infusion of mana outside of the appendix.  As usual, when he created something potentially dangerous, he had it surrounded by a cadre of Newts that would destroy it immediately if it seemed not to obey his commands; they were blocked out from his vision when a bright light suddenly blossomed in the spot where his new mutation formed, and Progen felt the mana pouring out of him at an extraordinary rate.

Within seconds, over 1,000 mana had been consumed; a few seconds after, another 1,000 was practically ripped out of his crystal.  The flow didn’t stop until an additional 750 was mercilessly yanked out, leaving Progen with only 250 in reserve – though his crystal felt almost empty and drained after the experience.

Despite the unpleasant siphoning of his mana, the result was worth it – or so he hoped.  While he had been imagining a bit of a larger Natural Killer/Virus hybrid, the creation he ended up with was much, much smaller – only about 3 times the size of an Insidious Virus virion, and a bare fraction of what a normal Natural Killer looked like.  Otherwise, it had the same basic shape; a bumpy-looking sphere with a large nucleus inside its cell, with tiny molecules inside that appeared very similar to his Hunters.  He hadn’t seen these molecules in action when the body’s Natural Killer cells had attacked his immune cell squads, but Stemmy had informed the dungeon crystal that they had some of the same effect, though were different from the ones his parasitic Hunters used.

“Will these even be effective against those cancer cells?” he asked, suddenly worried that he had made a mistake.  The sheer deadliness he had seen the Natural Killers exert against his Veterans had to do with their “sword” that shot out to pierce the nucleus of his immune cells; if these did the same, then the size of their “sword” would be more like an itty-bitty knife.

Stemmy estimates that it will take more than one of Progen’s new mutation to kill each of the tumorous cells.

Progen hoped the interneuron cell was right, because otherwise he had spent all that mana on nothing.

To test the ability of the new mutation to reproduce quickly, which the dungeon crystal dubbed an Ankle-Biter – due to its small size and need for quite a few of them to take down a cancerous cell, he created a stem cell and—

Before he could react, the Ankle-Biter shot toward the stem cell and plunged into its depths, where it immediately began to multiply.  Excellent!  It’s working exactly like my Seekers.  In another minute, the inside of the stem cell was crowded with Ankle-Biters and eventually ruptured, spilling forth just over 200 of the new mutation.  Looking at his Immune Cells Available list, he saw that each Ankle-Biter only cost 50 mana --a huge bargain, compared to the 400 a normal Natural Killer required.  However, just like his Seekers, it was more cost-effective to reproduce them with a stem cell – 200 for the cost of 60 mana; he didn’t bother to add any type of capsule to them, though for an extra 5 mana he added Levitation to the entire batch so that they could move through the body more easily.

That was something Progen could work with.

With his regenerating mana, the dungeon crystal created one stem cell after another for 10 mana and then added Levitation to the resulting spawn for 5 mana.  In a half-hour, at approximately 6,000 new Ankle-Biters per minute, he was up to 180,000 of his new mutation.  “I think it’s time; I’ll continue to create a few more of these, but I’ll also need some Reporters.”

Progen needed to venture into the peripheral nervous system with his new Ankle-Biters, but it was going to be difficult to see where they were going without some Reporters to lead the way.  Although he had influenced the system, the clarity of his view was still hazy and unclear; the Reporters would allow him to see much more than he would normally.  After creating 100 of them over the next minute, he was ready to move.

Stemmy suggests Progen direct his immune cells to enter the appendicular artery behind the appendix wall.  From there, it should be easy enough to pass through the blood vessel wall to enter the vagus nerve, where Progen’s cells should be able to locate and start to eliminate the tumorous cancer cells.

“Seems easy enough.”  Using a trickle of his mana, Progen parted the Appendix wall and sent his new forces through, the Reporters leading the nearly 200,000-strong army of Ankle-Biters.  As they passed into the appendicular artery, the dungeon crystal suddenly had a bad feeling, as if he were walking into a trap.  When nothing showed itself or stopped his forces, however, he kept going; it was easy enough to look through the blood vessel wall to find the nearest nerve ending, which Stemmy had called the vagus nerve.  Another quick application of mana allowed his army to pass through the wall of the artery, as well as a few outer layers of what appeared to be fat cells surrounding the nerve – and that’s when things became a little more difficult.

“Why is this here?  What is preventing my immune cells from entering?”  A wall of some sort of fluid acted as a spongy barrier that prevented his army from entering the nerve.  To be stopped this close to his objective was not only disappointing, but worrying.

After passing through the connective epineurium tissue surrounding the entire nerve bundle, as well as the fat cells that create the perineurium sleeve, Progen’s immune cells passed through the endoneurium, which surrounds the individual nerve fibers in the nerve bundle.  The substance that is stopping progress is called the endoneurial fluid; this low-protein liquid prevents most molecules from passing through to the nerve strands inside.  It is similar to the blood-brain barrier that is preventing Progen from accessing the brain and spinal cord.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?  Am I barred from entering, then?”

Progen’s influence over the peripheral nervous system should allow access, though it will require an application of mana to infiltrate the nerve directly.  This, in short, is the same issue Stemmy encountered while exerting Progen’s influence throughout the different senses of the host.  Fortunately, the barrier here is much weaker than the blood-brain barrier.

“Ah, that explains it much better, Stemmy.”  Now that the dungeon crystal could see it himself, he better understood the difficulty the interneuron cell had in accessing those different aspects of the nervous system.  The biggest difference, though, was that Progen was bringing his immune cells inside, where no other immune cells could venture – instead of just infusing mana.  Therefore, it was going to take a bit more finesse to accomplish via his mana.

As he started shaping and infusing his mana into creating a sort of one-way doorway into the nerve strand itself, because he didn’t want the fluid to escape and potentially harm the body, he wasn’t paying attention to much of anything around his waiting army.  That sad fact was the reason why he hadn’t seen the wave of the body’s immune cells arrive and start devastating his Ankle-Biters.

“Stemmy!  Where did these come from?” he asked in a panic, as a wave of the body’s Newts slammed into the rear edge of his vast formation being held in place in the gap between the artery and the fat cells he had left open so he could access the nerve.

Unknown.  The response time to Progen’s immune cells’ presence here is unusual.  It is possible that whatever is preventing neural communication with Stemmy has also alerted the immune system to Progen’s forces.

“Ah – it doesn’t like what I’m doing, does it?”  The dungeon crystal couldn’t help but feel a little satisfaction from that, because it meant he was on the right path.  Granted, most of that satisfaction disappeared as 30,000 Ankle-Biters were destroyed within the first half-minute of the body’s immune cells arriving.  Rather than fight back and potentially lose more of his new mutation in the process – as well as reducing the number of Newts the body could use to fight the other infections still raging – Progen doubled his efforts in gaining access to the nerve.

The dungeon crystal pumped even more mana into creating a portal leading into the depths of the nerve fluid, and after another 15 seconds he felt something shift into place with an inaudible click.  Suddenly, there was a small doorway large enough to fit 2 of his Reporters across, or dozens of his Ankle-Biters at the same time leading deeper into the fluid.  Without any hesitation, he instructed his Reporters and then his vast numbers of his new mutation inside, and they streamed inside with speed borne from their Levitation.

The Newts from the body attempted to follow, but they were much slower. As a precaution, though, Progen kept 1,000 Ankle-Biters back to act as a screen while the rest of his immune cells progressed through the doorway.  It was a good thing that he did, it turned out, because the body’s Newts were striving for the opening. Only Progen’s reserve of mutated Natural Killers prevented the body’s Newts from following.

Once the last of his Ankle-Biters were inside, Progen removed the trickle of mana keeping the portal open; it slammed shut just before the Newts arrived, preventing them access just as it had his own immune cells.  Unlike his own, thankfully, the Newts didn’t have a way into the fluid and were repulsed immediately – though they did try to force their way inside, with predictable results.

Turning his attention back to his Reporters and Ankle-Biters, the dungeon crystal looked around at where his forces were.  Using his Reporters, he was able to see the inside of the nerve much more clearly: The strands of nerves running up the tunnel that made up the nerve itself stretched off into the distance, whereas behind his now 140,000-strong army of Ankle-Biters was where the nerve connected to the artery he had just left.

The nerves themselves were much different from his immune cells in appearance.  First, they were fairly small. If pressed to compare them, he would say that one of his Newts was at least 10 times larger, if not a little more.  Second, their shape looked like they had dozens of small Reporters surrounding their central cell body, stretching out branches of their cells in different directions like tree roots.  Third, and most uniquely, it had one extremely long tentacle covered in some sort of sheathe that extended out from its cell body, connecting it to the next nerve in the strand.

The visible flashes of different signals passing through the nerve cells were impressive, rapid, and constant.  This close to the appendix, most of these flashes of information were reaching Stemmy, but Progen knew that the further he ventured, that wouldn’t necessarily be the case.  “We’re successfully inside and going hunting for these cancer cells.”

Affirmative.

Moving through the nerve fluid was much more difficult than anything else his immune cells had traversed, as it acted as if it were trying to solidify his immune cells in place.  It was so thick and viscous, in fact, that Progen didn’t think they would’ve been able to move, if it weren’t for his Levitation effect on his cells.  Using that with great effect, however, his forces were able to traverse quickly enough.

Five minutes brought them to the area in which he had seen the cancer cells begin, as well as where he had the unusual experience of something looking back at him.  Prepared for anything, his Reporters reached the edge of the cancer cells, which were larger than the other nerves, had multiple nuclei, and just looked…off.  Once his Ankle-Biters were in range, he sent them ahead—

“NOOOO!  I will not let you destroy this organism!  I will stop you, no matter what!”

Chapter 40

Shock made him halt his Ankle-Biters’ progress, though it was difficult: Just like his Seekers sought out otherwise-invisible cells filled with virions, his new mutation had a strong pull towards the cancerous nerve cells.  It wasn’t quite as inexorable of a pull as the Seekers, but it was nonetheless insistent.  Only Progen’s great willpower over his immune cells kept them from slaughtering the cancer cells, and even that was starting to slip.

“Did you…did you just communicate with me?”

The voice in his mind was clearer, faster, and more direct than the communication he received from Stemmy.  It was almost like talking to another entity like himself, instead of what he quickly learned was a bunch of nerve cells.  “Of course I did, foul intruder!  Your death is coming for you, and there isn’t anything you can do about it; your plan to destroy this larger organism has been foiled!”

Faint memories of learning about adventurers, either in a past life or as remnants of the pixie he had consumed, flashed through Progen’s mind.  That sounds exactly like what I would imagine an adventurer would say if they were going up against a villain of some sort.  The thought made him chuckle inwardly for a moment, before he sobered up when the import of that statement hit him.  Wait…does that make me the villain?  While that’s slightly accurate, it’s not accurate in the way this…thing…thinks.

“What are you talking about?  And who are you?” Progen mentally asked, now thoroughly confused.

There was a slight hesitation before a response was heard.  “I am Chance, and the voice told me that you’ve invaded so that you can destroy this organism. I’m going to do everything in my power to stop you, because if this organism dies, so do I!”

Voice?  Organism?  “Are you talking about this body?  This human body?”  There was no response, so Progen took that as an affirmative.  “I’m not here to destroy this body.  On the contrary, I’ve been working to save it, ever since I got here accidentally, because there is a good chance that if it dies, I would be destroyed, as well.”

“That’s not true, the voice said—”

“If you’re talking about the malevolent entity somewhere up in the brain, then I get the feeling you’ve been deceived.  It’s that entity that wants to destroy this body—this organism—and most of what I’ve done is defend against its vicious attacks.  Who do you think engineered those bacterial and viral infections, hmm?  It certainly wasn’t me.”

Chance seemed a little more hesitant as it spoke this time.  “Yes, well, they were only there to act as a distraction so that you wouldn’t notice your death coming for you.  Once you are destroyed, everything will go back to normal and I’ll be able to reach the brain and take over control.”

“Normal?  Do you have any idea how dangerous those bacteria and virions are that the malevolent entity has unleashed upon this body?  Not to mention the gigantic parasite working its way down through the small intestine.  The ‘normal’ immune system isn’t up for handling those kinds of threats, and I’m the only thing standing in between them and the health of this body.  If my crystal is destroyed, it won’t be long before your world suffers the same fate.”

As soon as he finished communicating that, Progen finally comprehended the rest of what the cancer cell had said.  “Wait, you’re trying to take over control of the brain?”

“Yes, and you can’t stop me!  I’ve almost reached there, in fact.  Once I’ve taken control, it’ll be all over for you.”

That was interesting enough that all thoughts of why the dungeon crystal was there in the first place nearly left his mind; were it not for the fact that the Ankle-Biters were straining at the figurative leash he had placed on them, he would’ve forgotten it entirely.  “How?  How did you get through the blood-brain barrier?”

“Simple, foul intruder!  The spinal cord directly intercepts the brain, leaving a backdoor into which my replicants can sneak through,” the cancer cell said matter-of-factly.  “Not that it will do you much good, because it will be mine before you can ever reach it.”

The similarities in their goals was interesting. Progen thought he might be able to take advantage of that.  “What are you going to do when this ‘voice’ of yours starts destroying everything?”

“I don’t believe you.  The voice told me that you were the intruder here, and it’s obvious that you don’t belong.  Therefore, you must be what is wrong and need to be removed.”

Hmm, it’s got a point, unfortunately.  “Tell me, then, what exactly have I done?  I’m assuming that you can intercept and interpret the nerve signals that pass through here and the spinal cord, so tell me this: Since you’ve been…aware…what has caused the most harm?  Me? Or this voice of yours?”

There was no answer, which the dungeon crystal pretty much expected.  “Fine, don’t answer that, because I’m sure this ‘voice’ gave you excuses for it.  That’s not pertinent right now, though; what is important is that you have a crucial decision to make.”

The tone of the cancer cell was much less confident than it had been a short time ago.  “And what decision is that?”

“Well, it’s an easy one, honestly.  Would you like me to destroy you…or would you be willing to work with me?”

Silence greeted him for almost a minute before it responded, and Progen nearly released his little Ankle-Biters.  “You cannot destroy me; I can replicate much faster than you can keep up with.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Progen replied.  “Here, let me demonstrate.”

“Wait, what—?”  Targeting a cancer nerve cell on the edge of where the tumorous cells started, and different from the one the dungeon crystal was addressing, Progen separated a dozen Ankle-Biters and had them slam into the side of the cell.  They quickly disappeared inside, using their itty-bitty knives to pierce through the multiple, mutated nuclei. Before the last nuclei was destroyed, however, the number of Ankle-Biters doubled and then tripled inside of the cancer nerve cell.  At that point, there were too many inside to be contained; and with an additional stab at the remaining nuclei, killing the cell, they burst forth, looking for their next victim.

It took more of his concentration and even a bit of mana to get them to back off and join the rest of his army.  Despite that, Progen was impressed; every minute or so, his army would triple in size, steadily making their way up the cancerous nerve strand.  He was tempted to release them, but he didn’t want to give up the opportunity to gain an ally – and solve his and Stemmy’s communication problem at the same time.

“Do you understand now?” he asked, once he was sure he had all of his mutated immune cells under control.  “I don’t want to have to do that, but make no mistake: I will do anything it takes to keep this body alive.”  Silence was the only response.  “You and I share the same goal, Chance.  We want to control this body; it makes no sense for me to want to destroy it.  I’m willing to make a deal, though; in exchange for allowing you to gain access to the brain and controlling it, you’ll share that control with me, and I will do everything inside and outside of this ‘organism’ to ensure it survives.  If it survives, then so do you.”

“If you are telling the truth, then I think I can do that.”

Gotcha!  “Ah, but there’s a caveat, there.  I need to survive through this assault on my crystal, and the only way to do that is for you to stop interfering with my assistant.  Stop intercepting signals, changing them in any way, or creating false communications.  We have a plan to survive, but we can’t engage our plan if you continue what you’re doing.  This is the easiest solution for both of us, as well as the fastest – and we’ll both survive.”

More silence.  Progen was starting to worry about all of the time he was wasting; it had already been about 10 minutes since he started the conversation with Chance the cancer cell, and every minute was another that the Parasyte was getting closer.  “Fine, if that’s the way it is, then I can just start the eradication of your—”

“What about the voice, this… ‘malevolent entity’…you were talking about?” the cell finally asked.  “It seems to wield great power.”

“We’ll deal with that as soon as you gain access to the brain.  From what I can tell, whatever it is has a limited amount of power throughout the body, though that power can be utilized in some destructive ways.  Once you’re in its home territory and I can extend my influence there, I’m confident I can eliminate it.”

Progen wasn’t completely confident he could eliminate it, mainly because he wasn’t even sure what it was, but it had to be hiding behind the blood-brain barrier for a reason.  The dungeon crystal could only imagine it was vulnerable to direct interference, and that it used the barrier as a shield.  Whether or not that was actually the case would have to wait until Progen – and now, Chance – could find out more about the mysterious malevolent entity.

Stemmy has now re-connected to the entire peripheral nervous system.  Incoming information is now being processed.  Sending out orders for assault on Progen’s immune cells to cease, and to participate in the elimination of the remaining infections.

“Thank you, Chance,” Progen immediately said after receiving a communication from Stemmy.  “Now, go forth and get to that brain – we’re all counting on you.”  The dungeon crystal thought about it for a moment, before he added, “My name is Progen, by the way.”

“Just be sure to hold up your end, and I will do my part…Progen.”  The cancer cell seemed subdued, as if it were already dreading having to deal with the entity.  Progen figured that Chance would be fine, mainly because it had so many cancerous nerve cells as part of its make-up that the entity would have difficulty hurting it severely.

Even though the release of the neural communication didn’t seem like a trick, Progen wasn’t going to take any risks.  To that end, he moved the Ankle-Biter army and Reporters down to the nerve endings through which they had entered and stationed them there.  As soon as he released the “leash” holding them back, he worried that they would stream forward towards the cancer cells further up the nerve strand. Fortunately, it seemed as though proximity was the determining factor in whether they would attack or not.  Leaving them there with a reminder to himself to check up on them, he moved his attention back to the upper digestive and respiratory systems.

A few cautious attempts to join in on the eradication of the remaining and extensive infection sites produced no hostile immune cells from the body. With that no longer a danger, Progen sent every squad of immune cells nearby into the fray, wiping out hordes of bacteria and virions in the sudden attack.  The delay from the immune system attacks had set back the progress a bit, but it wasn’t disastrous.  It was still going to take at least 3 to 4 hours to be infection-free, as long as there were no other surprises, but it was going to be necessary.

Progen only had about 10 hours to live, after all.

*       *       *

Chance was still trying to recover from the confrontation with the glowing crystal when the voice contacted it, which didn’t help its concentration.  The conversation with Progen was not only a surprise, but it was also a revelation.  Thoughts that it had been having lately about the purpose behind the voice’s actions were only confirmed, despite its own insistence that it had taken the right course.

When it had first seen the swarm of immune cells aiming for its precious replicants, the cancer cell thought that was the end.  It had taken a lot of courage to stand up to the glowing crystal, and Chance almost thought its words had prevented its destruction.  Of course, that was just wishful thinking, as demonstrated by how easily one of its replicants had been torn apart – spawning additional attackers at the same time.  There wasn’t much that the cancer cell could do to defend itself, other than to replicate so quickly that it would be impossible to destroy all of it.  That hope was dashed when it saw that Progen could do the same thing at a greater speed.

The shame it felt for being duped into trying to destroy the large organism soon faded as the cancer cell considered its future.  The threatening tactics employed by the glowing crystal aside, the potential for success was now greater than ever with Progen’s help. Without having to dedicate a large portion of its activities to cutting off the flow of information to the glowing crystal’s helper neuron, it could concentrate on expanding into the brain, where it could take control and do what it wanted.

At least, that was the plan.

Anger.  Confusion.  Disappointment.  Outrage.

The images that accompanied these words from the voice, or “malevolent entity” as Progen called it, were graphic scenes of Chance’s cells bursting open or being ripped apart by some sort of shadowy vision.  The sheer violence directed towards the cancer cell showed how violent the voice was better than anything Progen had ended up saying to Chance.  How did I fail to see this before?  It seems so obvious now!

The original cancer cell could only blame the lack of a cohesive network of its replicants on the misguided obedience towards the voice, and only now could it comprehend the absolute horror of what it participated in orchestrating.  Now that it was really paying attention to the signals that passed through the nearby nerves and into the spinal cord, it began to get a much better picture of the organism, or body, that Chance inhabited.

It was a mess.  Alerts of dangerous pathogens being seen in multiple infection sites were prevalent, though that wasn’t really a surprise; the shock came in how precarious the seriousness of the infections had become.  Given another few hours of Progen not helping the organism’s own immune cells fight the exceptionally deadly bacteria and viruses it now had knowledge of, they probably would’ve spread too far to stop.  Yet another of the voice’s lies exposed by the glowing crystal; there is no way that the organism would’ve been able to eliminate those infections on its own.  Even with the occasional help by the targeted cells that Progen provided, the infections had been slowly getting worse – and the tipping point hadn’t been that far away.

But now, as Chance struggled to figure out some sort of response that would placate the voice from the brain, it could see that Progen’s own immune cells that the glowing crystal had created were now joining the fight – and they were winning.  If the “intruder” had wanted to destroy the organism, there was no reason to even fight the infections; leaving them alone would’ve done the job all by itself.  If nothing else had been shown or told to Chance, that fact alone was evidence that the glowing crystal was beneficial to the organism’s survival.  Granted, it wanted to take over control of the brain just as much as the cancer cell did, but that was something else entirely.

Chance sent back images of its own confusion, as it decided to act as if it didn’t understand what had happened.  “I don’t understand; I have lost all control of the nerves.  This evil intruder must have done something!”

It sounded entirely fake to its own awareness, but it apparently helped to alleviate some of the violent thoughts directed towards its cells.

Troubled.  Furious.  Confident.  Destruction.

From what Chance could gather, the voice had accepted the explanation and was troubled by the news.  It was also furious at the glowing crystal, which was a relief – because that fury wasn’t directed towards the cancer cell any longer.  There were images of confidence in the gigantic parasite down in the small intestines being able to destroy the intruder…but then all of that faded from Chance’s awareness.  In fact, for the first time since it had become self-aware, the cancer cell couldn’t detect anything being directed towards it, positive or negatively.

The cancer nerve cell suddenly felt alone, even among millions of replicated cells.

I guess the only way to fix that is to continue on into the brain, so I can regain contact with Progen.  Seemingly forgotten, or discarded like a tool that had been used and then broken, Chance continued to expand upwards up the spinal cord, slowly getting closer and closer to the blood-brain barrier it knew was located a short distance ahead.

It won’t be long now….

Chapter 41

Without having to worry about being assaulted by the body’s immune system, the clean-up of the infections went much smoother and even faster than Progen had thought it would.  In fact, the dungeon crystal was expecting some sort of shift in the pathogens’ tactics, or surprise revelations of new infections, or even some sort of counterattack – but nothing happened.  It was almost as if the bacteria and virions he was fighting against had been abandoned by the malevolent entity.

Even without the special attention afforded to them by that mysterious force up in the brain, the infection sites were still quite dangerous.  Progen ended up losing dozens of Veteran Killers and a half-dozen Mega Newts – along with scores of smaller immune cells – during the hectic battles against the pathogens; but after 3 hours, he had persevered.  Truthfully, it was more that they had persevered, because the body’s immune cells were finally pulling their weight.  Although it wasn’t quite at 100% by that time -- more like 85% of its normal capacity for immune cells -- the defenses of the body were showing that they were more than capable of taking care of it themselves.

Fewer and fewer of the body’s immune cells were being slaughtered indiscriminately and incessantly when assaulting the bacteria with Newts, or when hunting down virion-filled infected cells filled with Killers.  Basic, simple strategies of defense were being employed by the body, leading to a more coordinated assault on the invading pathogens.  Something such as accumulating large numbers of Newts before attacking in an overwhelming wave – instead of blindly sending in those same Newts one at a time as they arrived, where they would then be slaughtered individually – seemed like an obvious solution, but was also one that hadn’t been employed until just recently by the immune system.

Either it was learning from all of these repeated attacks, or Progen’s influence was having a positive effect on the system. The dungeon crystal thought that his mana – already proven to enhance some of the other systems in the body – was finally doing the same thing to the immune cells.  Regardless of the reason, though, the immune system was actually becoming a force to be reckoned with.

“Any other reports of infections, Stemmy?”

There is a minor infection situated near the esophagus from some incoming bacteria being breathed in by the host, but the infection is not part of the enhanced bacteria that Progen has seen.  The host’s immune system has already been informed, and there are neutrophils currently on their way.

“Good.  It’s time for the next step in the plan, then.”  Now that the serious infections had been dealt with, and any new infections would be dispatched by the immune system, it was time to turn to the looming threat inside of the small intestines.

The Parasyte was still making its way through the digestive organ, eating every source of nutrients it could find.  And it was getting bigger as time went on; in the 6 hours or so since Progen had located it, it had grown at least 25% larger and longer.  It didn’t seem like its growth would slow down, either, as there were still plenty of food-based chunks full of nutrients that the gigantic worm would consume on its way down to Progen in the appendix.

“Alert the immune system about the Parasyte; we’re going to need it to transfer the majority of its available forces down here,” the dungeon crystal told his assistant.  “Make sure that this monster is reported as a bacterial, viral, and parasitic cancer that needs to be eliminated immediately.  That should bring just about everything.”

Passing on the commands now.  Progen is aware that the host’s immune system won’t be able to kill this parasite on its own?

“Oh, yes, I know – but what we need to do is slow it down,” Progen responded.  “What we need is to slow that thing down, giving me enough time so that I can create something that will kill it.”  He just wished he knew exactly what that was.

The dungeon crystal had some ideas, but in the meantime, he needed to assist in the slowdown efforts.  Progen was looking at it like defending against a powerful adventurer; just like said adventurer could potentially enter his dungeon, looking to destroy his crystal, so too was this Parasyte.  This was his dungeon, and he would do everything in his power to prevent its invader from progressing any further.

The body’s immune cells were going to act like his basic defending monsters, slowly chipping away at the defenses of the great Parasyte.  He didn’t expect them to kill the horrifically large parasite – though he would be happy if that happened; they were there to distract, damage, and delay the worm until Progen got his own defenses in place.  Without being modest, his own squads and cells were more of an elite monster force, a higher tier of organisms that were faster, stronger, and deadlier than their immune system cousins.  Just like a normal dungeon, though, there were only so many that he could produce in comparison to the fodder the immune system produced, which made their placement all that more important.

Just like any other dungeon, as well, traps were important to hindering the progress of hostile adventurers.  The majority of them were designed to be deadly by themselves, or to act in conjunction with a dungeon’s monsters to become deadly; Progen’s own traps reflected that, of course, but they were also designed for much smaller prey.  Nothing he had access to would kill the Parasyte – only slow it down…hopefully.

Trap Options Available

Available Mana: 3000/3000

Tier 1

Fibrin Net – 5 Mana

Reactive Flush – 5 Mana

Strangling Villi – 10 Mana

Tier 2

Pepsin Acid Pit – 50 Mana

Suspension – 75 Mana

Localized Compression – 100 Mana

Tier 3

Shocking Discharge – 150 Mana

Concentrated Burn – 250 Mana

Wall Constriction – 350 Mana

Progen dismissed most of Tier 1 in his available trap options immediately.  The Reactive Flush, while effective against single-celled organisms like bacteria – or my immune cells, he remembered sadly – wouldn’t have enough force behind it to move the gigantic worm.  The Strangling Villi would be ineffective as well, as they wouldn’t do more than tickle the Parasyte.

Suspension, from Tier 2, would likewise be ineffective unless he could create one the width of the small intestine.  Prior experiments with that particular trap inside of the respiratory system revealed that it would likely require 10 times more mana than he currently had access to, in order to make such a thing.

That still left a lot to work with, however, so he got into gear, setting traps in the Parasyte’s path as his mana allowed.  First, he started with his Fibrin Nets, which were sticky and stretchy enough not to be torn apart immediately; in order for them to be effective, though, the dungeon crystal needed to stack quite a few on top of each other.  Using 50 mana, he extended a single Fibrin net that stretched all the way across the small intestine. Normally he wouldn’t do that, because it would block food particles and waste from moving through the digestive organ. But as there was essentially nothing flowing through because of the worm, it didn’t really matter.

When that first Net was in place, Progen added not just 1 or 2, but 9 more, directly behind the first net so that they all touched and strengthened one another.  Then, spending another 100 mana, he thickened up the areas where the Net connected to the intestinal wall. This would serve two functions: to prevent the trap from being ripped out of the wall, and to keep the wall intact if there happened to be some damage, giving Progen time to repair it using his mana.  In all, he spent 600 of his mana on the trap – and then he added another, and then another, and finally a fourth, separated by a small distance inside the intestine.

Letting his mana regenerate before he set any others, his now-numerous squads of immune cells started to arrive from the upper digestive and respiratory systems.  In all, he was able to cobble together 6 full original squads full of various immune cells, ready for nearly any threat. In addition to that, he currently had a count of 224 of the new squads he had started to create to combat the newer infections, composed of 1 Mega Newt, 20 Spawners, 5 Novice Killers, 5 Seekers, and a single Historian.  The harvesting of mana from destroying so many bacteria and virions had been lucrative, to say the least.

Progen also left nearly 15,000 Newts up above to assist with recently invading pathogens, stationed near many of the traps the dungeon crystal had set up to catch many of them as they entered.  He didn’t bother bringing them down below, because they would be useless against the Parasyte – and they were more useful in preventing any more infections from getting a hold on one of the systems up there.

Behind the Fibrin Nets, Progen positioned 50 squads’ worth of Spawners along the wall of the intestine. He wasn’t sure if their antibodies would be effective or not – once he had a Historian grab a sample from the Parasyte to match it up – but it was worth a shot.  Next to them were the same squads’ Novice Killers, which he was hoping would actually do some damage.  They were great at destroying cells, so he was hoping that would translate to destroying the individual cells that made up the body of the massive worm.

In addition, 50 Historians were just behind the first Fibrin Net, waiting for the chance to gain knowledge of the Parasyte so as to arm the Spawners and Killers.  They would retreat through the nearby intestinal wall once they swooped in and touched some part of the worm, flowing through the nearest blood vessel to reach the assembled immune cells behind the traps.  Progen had briefly thought about placing some in between the Nets, but figured they would be too vulnerable to the thrashing of the Parasyte as it worked to break through the trap.

He had no doubt at all that it would eventually break through.

Which was why he started on the next trap a little further down the intestine.  The Pepsin Acid Trap was a powerful defense that would likely work well against the Parasyte, using the acidic fluid inside to eat away at the exterior of the worm.  The problem was that the “pit trap” was only able to be placed near other cells, such as the cells lining the intestinal tract.  Therefore, unless there was some reason the Parasyte decided to rub up against the walls, which he had yet to see it do for more than a moment when swallowing more nutrient-rich food particles, then it was of very little use.  At least, it would be, if it weren’t for one of Progen’s newest traps.

The dungeon crystal spent nearly his entire pool of mana – 2,800 mana – to create a giant ring of the Pepsin Acid Trap, covering a section that was 5 times as wide as his Mega Newts over the wall of the small intestine.  He tried to make it bigger, but since anything bigger would likely interfere with the normal operations of the intestine (i.e. nutrient absorption), it just wasn’t happening.  What he could do, however, was space out a second ring of Acid a little further down, leaving a gap that was 10 times its own width in between.

That took nearly a half-hour to complete because of having to wait for the regenerating mana, and then another 25 minutes went by as he filled up again.  Using his new pool of mana, he used his new trap, with which he hadn’t had a chance to experiment: Wall Constriction.  It was relatively expensive at 350 mana, but there was a reason for that: The sheer size of the trap was extensive, because it encompassed the entire width of the small intestine.  From some additional information given out by Stemmy, Progen knew that it could be used in any tube-like area inside of the body, such as the esophagus, trachea, intestines, blood vessels, and even nerve bundles – all for the same cost.

The dungeon crystal pumped even more mana into placing the trap, though, because he wanted it to encompass both rings of Acid along the walls.  After spending 2,800 mana, or 8 times the original amount, the new trap extended from just before the first Pepsin Acid Trap to just after the second trap.  Theoretically, when it was activated, it would constrict the “tube” it was placed within, using the cellular walls to smash and completely destroy whatever was caught inside.  Since that really only referred to single-celled organisms like bacteria or immune cells, against the Parasyte it would probably just feel like a nice massage.

Unless the walls pressing down on it were filled with acid, of course.

Now, Progen didn’t think that even this trap was enough to really stop the massive worm, though he hoped it did enough damage to slow it down.  Truth be told, he was hoping that it would help dissolve the outer layer of its exterior shell, allowing either his own or the body’s immune cells to enter into it and wreak havoc.  It was a good thought, anyway.

At this point, the Parasyte was a little over 2 hours away from reaching the first of Progen’s Fibrin Net traps.  He used that time wisely, allowing his mana to refill and placing some additional traps, as well as positioning more of his immune cells.  After the Acid and Wall Constriction trap, the dungeon crystal placed the rest of his Spawners and Novice Killers (which would hopefully be activated by the Historians) to take advantage of the wounded exterior of the massive worm.  Compared to the size of the intestine, the amount there was still relatively miniscule, but sometimes even the smallest cell could make a difference at the end of the day.

A short distance after his immune cells, he set up the third of his traps, utilizing another of his newest acquisitions.  The area of the Concentrated Burn trap – when only 250 mana was applied to it – could expand into a spherical shape that was the size of one of Progen’s Mega Newts.  Unfortunately, against a gigantic parasite, even super-heated flames would do next to nothing at that size.  Therefore, by using 10 times the amount – a full 2,500 mana – and the discovery that he could compress the sphere so that it was more like an extremely long oval, he was able to increase its size so that it was large enough to do some serious burn damage.  Progen ended up placing 4 of these large burn areas, which were essentially invisible, along the main path the Parasyte was liable to take.

To take advantage of that burn damage, the dungeon crystal also stationed all 224 Mega Newts he had available.  It was his thought that they would be able to insert themselves into the burned areas and start to absorb more of the cells constituting the body of the worm, digging ever deeper into it, harming it that way.  Whether or not it would work was something yet to be seen, but Stemmy didn’t have any objections.

It is possible that the cells of the parasite will be recognized as a pathogen, and Progen’s immune cells will do what they are able to do, in order to stop it.  This is still an unknown.

A lot of it was unknown, at least until he had a chance to see some immune cells facing off against the massive Parasyte – other than his Hunters, of course.

After the Mega Newts, Progen placed another 3 Fibrin Net traps, to further slow down the worm.  Immediately following them was the last of his newer trap options: Shocking Discharge.  The dungeon crystal had some real hopes for this one! He spent nearly his maximum amount of mana on creating one in the middle of the small intestine.  Its spherical shape didn’t have that large of a diameter, only about 40 Mega Newts wide, but it was large enough that it actually scared the dungeon crystal a bit.

The discharge, once it was used, was going to be epically impressive.

Progen needs to ensure the electrical current discharged through that size of trap does not reach the nervous system.  Such a current could cause harm to the nearby nerve endings, and if it flows through to the brain, irreparable harm could be inflicted.

“Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine,” he reassured his assistant.  “The trap is placed precisely in the middle of this part of the intestine, so there shouldn’t be any danger.”  At least, he hoped that was the case.  Dealing with magical flames and electrical currents inside of a human body wasn’t the smartest of ideas, but Progen was running out of options.

After the Shocking Discharge trap, he was out of time and nearly out of mana.  The dungeon crystal had enough to place 3 more Fibrin Nets before he stopped with his traps; instead, he worked on another project that he was planning on unleashing after the last of the traps.  By that point, if the massive Parasyte wasn’t already half-destroyed, what he was creating would hopefully finish the job.

And if all of that didn’t work, there was one more backup plan he could turn to, but it would be a last resort.  He didn’t want to risk doing the malevolent entity’s job for it, after all….

Chapter 42

The body’s immune cells arrived en masse a few minutes before the Parasyte encountered Progen’s first Fibrin Net trap.  As if sensing that it required everything it could manage to marshal together without endangering the rest of the body, the immune system had gathered all of its defenders together at the nearest blood vessels running alongside the small intestine, waiting and preparing their counterattack.  When it did come, it almost appeared as if there were some sort of rupture in the wall of the digestive tract, because the immune cells poured out in a wave wholly unlike the first time the dungeon crystal had encountered them.

Progen remembered how the body’s Newts had poured into the small intestine through a central gap in the wall, where they were quickly slaughtered by the waiting bacteria.  This time, there was no central gap or even concentrated area they arrived from. Rather, they squeezed through the intestinal wall cells, as though the organ were crying through tens of thousands of different eyes.  They practically wept from the walls, entering the juices of the intestine with a singular purpose: destroying the parasite within their midst.

It seems as though the immune system, enhanced by Progen’s influential mana, has finally learned to adapt and strategize.

“I’d say so.  Let’s just see how they do, though, because it could all be for naught.”

Millions of Newts, Spawners, Novice and Veteran Killers, Hunters, Cleaners, Historians, Regulators, Natural Killers, and even Reporters descended on the Parasyte, enveloping the head and upper portion of its body in two- or three-deep layers.  It took the massive worm a few moments to really understand what was going on, but when it did it went berserk.  It closed its mouth repeatedly, crushing the single-celled immune defenders in its jaws, swallowing tens of thousands of others, and then began to bang its head against the sides of the intestines.  Within the first few moments of its response to the attack, at least a hundred thousand immune cells of different types were destroyed upon impact.

The lengthy body of the Parasyte started to writhe around, doing its best to scrape off the attacking immune cells against the walls.  Luckily, the walls of the intestine were relatively “soft” because of all of the villi along the cell walls, cushioning some of the impact from the worm’s body rubbing against it.  Tens of thousands of the attacking cells were indeed scraped off but were unharmed; it didn’t take long before they were back into the fight, working their way back onto the parasite.

Strangely enough, the gigantic worm didn’t stop moving forward, as if pressured into continuing its progress no matter what.  Even as its body and head tried to shake attackers off or slam into the walls, the lower part of the lengthy Parasyte continued to push it ahead.

After a minute or so, Progen could see that the immune cells were starting to make some progress…though not nearly enough.  As the cells got smooshed or scraped off, large flakes of the worm's outer skin-like shell were also breaking off, leaving parts of itself along the small intestine, from which the villi there eagerly started to extract nutrients.

However, it soon became apparent that these flakes were only the outer layer, and just like a snake would shed its skin, the flakes concealed a newer body underneath.  A body that was made of a harder material that was nearly impenetrable.

“What?!  How is that possible, Stemmy?”

That chitinous material is typically reserved for the eggs of the Anisakid Nematode, but this particular parasite has apparently adapted it for use upon its own body.

That didn’t bode well for the body’s immune cells, who continued to assault the giant worm with abandon.  The strategy it had used in the initial ambush was entirely forgotten, as individual cells did whatever they could to damage or infiltrate the Parasyte, all to no avail.  By the time it reached Progen’s Nets, there were probably only 300,000 immune cells left of differing kinds; that might have seemed like a lot, but in reality, they were barely enough to cover a large patch on the worm’s head.  Pits and gouges were seen along the chitinous material now covering its body, and there was a large chunk of its softer head missing, but that didn’t seem to slow it down.

It crashed into the first of the Fibrin Nets without seeming to see it, and it broke through half of it right then and there.  The rest of the sticky trap stuck to its head and face, holding it in place momentarily as it tried to figure out what was going on, while at the same time thousands of the body’s immune cells were, in turn, stuck to the Net.  It was then that the Historians Progen had laying in wait swooped in and touched the Parasyte, acquiring the necessary information they needed to pass along to the Spawners and Killers waiting beyond the first set of Nets.

As they were leaving, however, the Parasyte came to its senses and surged ahead, uncaring that it was partially stuck to a Net.  The force of the push ripped out one side of the Net from the intestinal wall, tearing a little of the intestine at the same time, but the Fibrin Net he had placed on the wall itself helped to hold it together for the most part.  There was a little leakage, but it could be fixed fairly easily after the massive worm passed.

The Historians, however, couldn’t be so easily fixed.  All but a dozen of them had been hit by the surging Parasyte and fell apart from the sheer force.  The remaining Historians were able to get away, escaping through the wall and entering the bloodstream for a short time, before re-emerging near Progen’s other forces.  As they acquired the necessary information to arm themselves against the worm, the Historians moved on to the next set of Spawners and Killers.

The Parasyte wasn’t idle.  Continuing its incessant push forward, it slammed into the second Fibrin Net, tearing a hole right on through it, before coming to a halt against the third Net.  Instead of forcing its way through this trap, the worm just opened up its fanged mouth and bit down on the Net, tearing a hole through half of it.  Its fangs got stuck against the sticky substance of the Fibrin, but a quick yank backwards was enough to tear it free, widening the hole it had already made.  After that, all it took was a simple strong push to squeeze through the hole in the trap.  As if it had planned it that way, the tight squeeze managed to scrape off a lot of the still-attacking immune cells, where they got stuck to the Net and couldn’t easily get free.

“Whoops.  I guess I didn’t think that part through.”  It didn’t appear to really matter in the long run, however, because the majority of the damage the Parasyte had suffered because of the immune cells – what little there was – had already been done.

The giant parasite used the same tactic to slice through the fourth and then the fifth Fibrin Nets, scraping off even more immune cells attacking it at the same time.  As soon as its head poked through the last Net, however, it was met by a wave of antibodies released from Progen’s Spawners.  The projectiles slammed into the eyeless head of the worm, digging into the cells covering its softer “face” and destroying at least 100 of them.  Yes!  It worked!  The worry as to whether they would actually work was hard to determine from the assault that the body’s immune cells instigated, because it was such a chaotic mess that it was hard to determine much of anything.

Unfortunately, those 100 cells were like a pebble compared to the mountain that the Parasyte embodied.  The damage done was so miniscule that the worm didn’t even seem to notice it, or even the next wave of antibodies that impacted its head.  The 50 activated Novice Killers moved in to join the thousand or so of the body’s immune cells still attached to the worm, and that the Parasyte noticed.  With a sweep of its head and a bite by its jaws, it slammed into one half of Progen’s Killers and demolished their cells, before whipping back to the other side of the intestine and doing the same to most of the other Killers.

A third wave of antibodies hit the worm’s face, finally catching its attention, allowing the 3 remaining Novice Killers to approach uncontested.  They immediately dug into the cells near the jaw, spinning and tearing them up, digging ever deeper in their efforts to destroy as much as possible.

Obviously feeling the attack, the Parasyte quickly crushed that side of its head against the wall of the intestine multiple times.  It appeared to take a little bit of damage from the process, going so far as to break off a tiny portion of its left fang, but the impacts managed to squish the Novice Killers inside, killing them instantly.  Locating the source of the antibody attacks, the worm writhed towards his Spawners, swallowing them up or just straight-up squishing them with its massive body.

The destruction of the immune cells that Progen had stationed after the Nets didn’t diminish his hope, however.  Proof-of-concept was more important, and it had been proven that damage could be done to the worm, even if it was difficult.  At first, the dungeon crystal had assumed the best way to kill the Parasyte was to tear into its body, essentially decapitating the worm; with the revelation that it basically had armor all along its lower portions, leading all the way up to its hard-to-see “neck”, it seemed as though the only way to easily kill it was to destroy the entire head.

The deadly parasite continued to move down the intestine, visibly unaffected by the obstacles it had encountered.  There were a few small chunks missing out of its head, scars where the body’s immune cells had slightly damaged its chitinous lower body, and the barest tip of one of its fangs was broken – but the speed and power behind the worm was undiminished.  It moved at its normal speed through the next trap, the Pepsin Acid Constriction, without seeming to see the Acid traps on the intestinal wall.

Progen had set it up so that it would trigger once the head was halfway through – and that was exactly what it did.  In less than a second, it was as if some force had taken the intestine in its grasp and then clamped down on it.  The walls slammed shut, trapping the Parasyte inside, at least temporarily.  The Acid traps also constricted…and had an interesting – but fortuitous – side effect he hadn’t been counting on.

The Acid in the traps was squeezed out because of the constriction, permeating the entire constricted area, spreading the powerful substance all over the head of the Parasyte along with its lower body.  Progen worried for a moment that it was going to completely destroy the intestinal wall along with it, but his mana extended itself to protect the entire area affected by the Acid, saving him that worry.

The massive worm did not like the Acid.  As soon as the first drops of the dangerous fluid touched its head, the Parasyte frantically wiggled its way forward, using its body to propel it even through the constricted intestinal walls.  By the time it emerged, the constriction was starting to ease up after the mana it was infused with was used up – though the worm didn’t seem to care.  The acid was still covering its head and body, eating through the softer parts with amazing speed, while its chitinous body wasn’t affected quite as much.  Through the few gouges in the shell, the Acid had gotten beneath the chitin, but overall there wasn’t much visible damage.

The head of the Parasyte, however, was a mess in Progen’s viewpoint, appearing as if it were melting.  The fangs fell off, there were gobs of worm flesh separating from the head, and most of the mechanisms that operated its mouth, its jaws, were basically gone.  It had been defanged, damaged so extensively that it didn’t appear to be able to hurt anyone – and the dungeon crystal was ecstatic.  The Spawners and Novice Killers that were positioned after the Acid trap didn’t even get a chance to attack because it moved ahead too fast, though he didn’t think it was even necessary.

“Stemmy!  I think we did it!  Even now, it’s still blindly racing ahead and about to run into my Concentrated Burn traps…and BLAM!  One of them just burned off half of its head, though it hasn’t slowed down.”  Progen watched as it continued on, setting off one Burn trap after another, until the last one finished off the rest of its head…where it stopped moving completely.

“YES!  IT’S DEAD!  We did it!  I can’t believe that worked—”

There has been no absorption of mana from its deceased state.

“W-What?  That can’t be right.”  Whenever a pathogen was destroyed inside of his influenced areas in the body, Progen always received some sort of influx of mana.  Sometimes it took 100 virions to equal even a single mana point, but it still added up somehow.  For the massive parasite not to provide any mana was wrong; it should have provided so much mana that he’d be siphoning off of it for days.

To his viewpoint, the only reason why it wouldn’t provide mana would be because—

Nerve receptors are reporting movement.

—it wasn’t dead.

Progen looked again at the gigantic body of the worm and saw that Stemmy was correct.  The entire thing twitched near the side of the intestine, where the Parasyte had drifted after its head was blown off.  After a few seconds, something started to happen towards the front of the worm; the forward fifth of the entire body started to shake violently, and the chitinous shell started to fall away, some of it being flung hard into the walls of the intestine, doing damage.  Progen reflexively used some of his mana to repair the damage while he watched in utter astonishment and horror as a new head was revealed underneath the chitin.

There it was, appearing exactly like it had been before, with deadly fangs and a wide-open jaw – and absolutely no damage to its softer worm-flesh head.  Granted, it was now 20% shorter, but that didn’t really matter since it was liable to be just as deadly as before.

“How?!  What?!  Why?!”  Progen could barely comprehend what he had just seen.

There are some species of flatworms that can regrow their bodies and heads from as little as a small stump of a tail; this isn’t usually seen in parasitic nematodes, however.  Something has obviously altered the genetic makeup of this parasite.

“You think?!  This is entirely unfair.”  Progen had done it, he had destroyed the head of a massive monster parasite, using nothing but the tools given to him as a dungeon – and he had been thwarted of his victory.

The dungeon crystal was practically seething as the shorter Parasyte started moving forward again, unfazed by the fact that it had just regrown an entire head.  The Mega Newts positioned after the Concentrated Burn traps attacked at Progen’s half-hearted order, though he knew they would now be highly ineffective; they were supposed to attack a wounded and dying giant worm, not a basically healthy and undamaged Parasyte.

It wasn’t a surprise when half of the Mega Newts were smashed apart or crushed by the jaws of the enormous worm, while the others latched onto the fleshy cells of its head and started to absorb them – only to be smooshed and burst apart when slammed against the intestinal wall.  Despite their size and strength, the Mega Newts were no match for the Parasyte at full strength.

The three Fibrin Nets were absolutely no trouble for the worm; and it tore through them, undeterred.  Progen had a momentary spike of hope when the Parasyte encountered his large Shocking Discharge trap immediately afterwards.  As the head of the worm triggered the trap, the entire parasitic form locked up and then started to twitch violently as an electric current ran through its body.  The external parts of the head started to dissolve or flake off as the electrical force shocked it so badly that it was starting to fall apart; numerous cracks spiderwebbed through the chitinous lower shell, but nothing actually fell apart like he was hoping.

After about 20 seconds, the limit of the Shocking Discharge trap at that size, the Parasyte was released from its frozen, electrified state.  At first, it didn’t move, and Progen took that as a good sign.  That hope was dashed a few seconds later as it twitched one more time and then started to move again, with the topmost layer of its head flesh melted off and small cracks through its chitinous shell, but seemingly no worse for wear.

It slammed into the next set of Fibrin Nets without a care, slashing its way through just like the previous set…except that it was noticeably slower.  He wasn’t sure at first, but after watching it for nearly a minute, Progen was positive that it wasn’t moving quite as fast as it had been.  It was still plenty fast, though, and getting closer to his crystal by the minute.  He just had to hope that his next plan would work out, because otherwise he was running out of options to survive.

Chapter 43

A faint shadow flowed over the perimeter wall of the Drestice Family’s villa on the outskirts of Graniton, cast by a set of flickering torches near the front gate. The dark shape immediately froze, before quickly disappearing as the origin of the projection seemed to merge with the smooth stone of the 12-foot-tall fortification.

Never thought you’d be returning here, ay, Marstin? the young adventurer muttered to himself as he furtively peered around to see if his shadow had been spotted. Here you are, back where it all began, taking the same cursed route in as you did before. At least it isn’t riches you’re here to steal this time, but friends, instead.

After hearing of the fate that had befallen the Iron Yaks, Marstin had taken immediate action. Knowing he would be the only person in Graniton willing to free his friends, the young adventurer had switched his adventurer’s card with Etna’s, so the girls could use his to track down Kyra wherever she had run off to, while he left the gate to head to the villa of Ghevin Drestice outside of town.

As before, his temporary misstep hadn’t been seen by the dozen patrolling guards who traveled along the outside of the disgustingly rich merchant family’s summer villa. Stretching himself out from his position, he looked along what he could see of the narrow walkway atop the wall and saw two more guards slowly making their rounds, with a third following close behind serving as a new addition. They didn’t move very fast, but they didn’t necessarily need to in order to secure the perimeter of one of richest Families’ estates in the country of Istut, let alone in Graniton. As there had been before, dozens of guards were still outside of the villa proper, but there were another two-dozen inside – and this wasn’t counting any of the new guards Ghevin must have hired since Marstin’s original break-in. Not to mention that the man had supposedly just been targeted for assassination, which meant that the guard count was likely even higher in the best places to break in.

Counting to exactly one minute from when he glanced at the slowly walking guards, Marstin pulled out his new small padded hook attached to his waist with an extremely thin – but very strong – wire, swung it twice in a circle to gain momentum, and then released it overhead. There was just the barest scuff as it hit the top of the embrasure, and he slowly pulled on the wire as he held his breath. When he felt the tough pull signaling he hadn’t messed up his throw, the former thief exhaled a sigh of relief.

As he climbed up the wall, Marstin’s mind played through the most recent events. After learning of the lockdown and the reason for it, Marstin had set up a tent for the girls to stay in before making his way into the town through one of the old secret access points he remembered. After that, he traveled into the southern district and met up with his urchin followers, asking them for information. From them, he learned that the Iron Yaks were scheduled to be executed tomorrow, and were currently being held prisoner in Ghevin’s manor house dungeon. Thanking and dismissing the future rogues, Marstin decided that it was time he took action. And this led him here, once more breaking into the manor with the intention of taking valuables away from the corrupt merchant.

He’d briefly considered going to his friends to ask for help, but remembering the attitude in the Adventurer’s Guild earlier in the day, Marstin decided that he couldn’t put his faith in anyone. Not for something as important as this. And it was better this way, after all; he could still see Kyra’s sobbing face if he closed his eyes. Marstin inwardly sighed; it was better that he be alone. That’s what had kept him alive to this day, after all. Relying on others too much was poisonous.

Marstin managed to ascend the wall completely, only wincing slightly from a dull ache in his stomach, possibly a sign of hunger. He hadn’t eaten a proper dinner, after all. Ignoring the sensation, he crouched down so as not to present a silhouette to the still-patrolling guards. The young adventurer undid his hook and wrapped it back around his waist, securing it tightly so that it wouldn’t flail around when he didn’t want it to. When he was sure the coast was clear, Marstin dropped himself over the inside of the wall, landing on the soft grass of a carefully manicured lawn. Thankfully, a quick look around confirmed that Ghevin had not shelled out for guard dogs.

Marstin once again shook his head at the pointless display of wealth, as the grass only grew that rich and thick for a couple of months because of the normally cold weather. And like last time, the grass made his footsteps practically silent as he raced for the large villa in the center of the compound, gliding across the lawn with the ease of someone used to slinking around town, while at the same time being as silent as possible. Suddenly, Marstin picked up on a new scent and jumped. He narrowly had avoided falling into a pitfall trap, which seemed relatively new. Still, the scent of dirt was enough to allow Marstin to avoid the others, though all the jumping didn’t do his gut any favors with calming the pain.

After leaving the pits, Marstin dodged the guards protecting the interior of the compound, and he slunk around to the south side of the villa itself. As before, the southern wall faced the huge mountain range against which the town butted up, and Marstin could still feel its presence as one of the largest landmarks around. The view from here was still wonderful, as if the mountains served as the arms that held up the sky over the ground.

‘Now, where was it again?  It should be over here,’ Marstin grumbled inwardly as he searched over the southern wall of the manor with his fingers, looking for the small, abandoned refuse chute that he’d used last time. The chute should be still closed, as Ghevin hadn’t been back long enough to get a workman out to unclog it. At least, that had been Marstin’s hope, but after seeing the number of new pitfall traps the young adventurer was not as sure as he had previously been. Thankfully, he hadn’t yet come across any dust or other signs of work having been done on the back wall.

Finally, Marstin found the slightly protruding brick just below waist-height on him, indicating where the chute was sealed up. The brick he had once removed was still there, still free of the rest of the building after Marstin had removed it last. But, he couldn’t remember if he had taken the time to put it back during his escape. However, Marstin didn’t feel his gut instinct telling him that anything was wrong, so he cautiously removed the brick. The chute was open, and he could crawl in.

The chute was just as much of a nightmare now as it had been back then. In fact, this time the journey was worse since Marstin had put on weight and was no longer malnourished. But, it seemed that someone had taken the time to clean the chute at least, because the horrendous stench was no longer around and there was just slightly more space to allow Marstin to climb uncomfortably without taking off his clothes or shoes. This was good, because Marstin no longer had the special potion that would remove the stench from him if the rotting corpse had still been here.

The climb eventually led Marstin back to the second blockage, but this time the stone brick sealing up the chute from inside the house was actually mortared back into place. Cursing under his breath, Marstin was thankful he had remembered to bring his file, though it was a bit of a struggle wiggling his hand up to grab it off of his belt from its hiding place. He began to remove the mortar once again, slowly and surely. As the first hint of light streamed through a small hole he had created, he had to force himself to keep going slowly, so as not to make any unnecessary noise. After another ten minutes, he finished his task and felt the stone brick shift enough that he was able to push it.

Gingerly shifting the brick out and wincing at the screeching of stone against stone that sounded horrifically loud to his ears, he held his breath as his fingers lost their pressure on the stone block. He was able to turn his head just enough to look above it, and he saw the stone block fall. He was halfway expecting it to make a crashing sound as it hit the floor of what was supposed to be a little-used storage closet now, but he was pleasantly surprised when all he heard was a faint *thud*. Marstin sighed in relief; the second time was still just as stressful as the first.

Pulling himself out of that cramped space and landing inside the dark innards of the storage closet, Marstin looked around until his eyes caught the tell-tale soft glow of light shining from beneath the door leading out. Looking down near the entrance of the refuse chute, he saw there were a few bags of building sand conveniently placed on the ground in front of it, where the brick landed safely without much noise. Looks like fate is playing a little more in my court this time, Marstin thought to himself.

Marstin kept low and alert as he crept into the kitchen from the storeroom, seeing that it was completely empty – as expected of the late hour. His stomach rumbled as he saw some food, but the urgency of the situation and the dull pain made him ignore the tasty morsels in favor of finding his companions first. Ignoring the throbbing in his belly, he lithely sprinted across the massive kitchen, arriving at the open doorway leading to the first hallway he needed to navigate.

The memories of his repetitive training inside of an abandoned warehouse building, set up with a make-shift facsimile of the villa, came back to Marstin as he silently navigated his way through the empty hallways. A few times he spotted various guards sleepily making their rounds, and he was able to stick to the few shadows and alcoves to hide while they passed.

Just as last time, there were as many magical traps as before, with a few new inclusions that Marstin was sure were meant to capture thieves thinking themselves great for finding the magical glyphs that had been intentionally rendered easier to discover in the rug. A few other physical traps were a bit easier to avoid, since he knew exactly where they were supposed to be, and he was happy that he didn’t trigger anything else – though he made sure to look for them, just in case. As he made his way further and further down inside the villa, Marstin came across a number of new editions in the form of guards with enchanted helms of nightsight. Thankfully, as his own armor was enchanted with the same, Marstin was well aware of the enchantment’s physical limits and was able to skirt around them without causing a disturbance. Three floors beneath the surface, in a place virtually impregnable from thieves, he found the vault he had been looking for. This was a joke; Marstin ignored the obviously heavily armed vault and made his way further down toward the dungeon.

The closer he got however, Marstin began to doubt himself. Beyond the actual question of getting the Iron Yaks out of the manor, didn’t it seem too easy? Even though his instincts weren’t screaming at him ‘trap’, Marstin’s years of experience just couldn’t come to terms with the fact that this entry into the manor had gone just slightly too well. If anything, his instincts seemed to not be working somehow, which made Marstin even more nervous than the idea of walking into a trap. A thief only lived as far as instincts could guide him or her.

The young adventurer shook his thoughts off as he reached the dungeon, where a singular hall of barred prison rooms stretched into the immediate distance. Looking around didn’t reveal any guards, nor any occupants in the first pair of parallel rooms, so Marstin continued. His pace quickened as room after room was found empty, until he reached the end of the hall. There, in the right-side room, lay the unconscious forms of Frain, Yarrow, and George, though Oswald was nowhere to be seen. Marstin looked around, but he couldn’t see a keyhole or anything else that would serve as a means of opening the door.

“How can I get you guys out?” Marstin muttered out loud. “Best I wake you up first, though.” Reaching into his pocket, the teen pulled out several stones he’d picked up on the road. But when he threw the first stone, it passed right through Yarrow’s head as if it wasn’t there. Likely because it actually wasn’t there, as Yarrow’s entire body seemingly flickered in and out of existence.

Marstin cursed as he immediately dashed back toward the staircase. The Iron Yaks weren’t being kept in the dungeon; it had been a setup. He should have realized something was wrong when there hadn’t been any guards; he should have been more suspicious of the heavily guarded vault. But at least he hadn’t seemed to trip any alarms-

Marstin’s thoughts as he raced up the stairs were broken when an incredible burst of pain erupted within his abdomen. The young teen couldn’t even suppress his screams of pain as utter agony ripped through his body, and his vision began to fade away. There was nothing he could do, as he stumbled on the staircase and rolled back down. The last thing he saw and heard were the booted figures of guards coming down the stairs after hearing his scream. Marstin had failed.

Chapter 44

“I really hope this is enough, Stemmy,” Progen remarked worriedly.  “This is certainly more immune cells than I’ve ever produced before.”

At the height of his power, just before the body’s lower digestive system had been torn apart, the dungeon crystal estimated that he had nearly 500,000 immune cells of different types, with the bulk of those being Newts.  At the moment he had a bare fraction of that amount, especially as many of his forces had been killed trying to assault the Parasyte to no avail.  Compared to the many millions of white blood cells that the body’s immune cells still possessed, despite losing so many on its assault against the massive worm, Progen was only a small player in the immunity game.

Until now.

Stemmy estimates that Progen has a 35% chance of succeeding.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy.”  Truth to tell, the dungeon crystal didn’t think he had much chance, either.  The setback of the Parasyte growing another head was frankly overwhelming, and Progen’s outlook was a bit fatalistic at this point.

However, a little over 2 million immune cells were hopefully going to help.  Unfortunately, they were quite small, but Progen had confidence that they would perform admirably.

After he had finished placing all of the traps earlier, the dungeon crystal had begun his final project a little way down the small intestine.  It took him some time to decide how he wanted to go about it, because there were two choices: quality or quantity.  It was about time to employ his Hunters in doing what they do best – killing parasites – and Progen had to determine exactly how to go about that.

Should he create an upgraded evolutionary mutation of the Hunter, where it would be larger and theoretically deadlier?  The problem with that was, while it would likely be more effective, it would also cost more mana; given enough time, he could create an unstoppable army of “Mega” Hunters – or whatever he chose to call them – but time and mana were two things he didn’t have enough of at that point.

Should he create a hybrid of a Hunter and a virus, allowing for him to produce more of the hybrid mutation through the use of stem cells, similar to his Ankle-Biters?  The problem with that was the inevitability of the new mutation being smaller than a normal Hunter, which might neutralize their effectiveness against the Parasyte.

In the end, after an agonizing decision knowing that he only had the resources for one, Progen decided to go for quantity over quality.  His Seekers, Viral Whips, and Ankle-Biters had already proven effective against the enemy, so he had been fairly confident that this would work out as well.  At least, he had been confident, but most of that confidence had evaporated away over the last few minutes.

Therefore, after placing the previous traps, Progen had created a mutated hybrid of a Hunter and an Insidious Virus, which required just over 1,000 mana to form.  When it had initially appeared, he began to rethink his decision; the resulting Hunter hybrid wasn’t just smaller, it was practically tiny in comparison to the original.  At approximately 5% the size of a regular Hunter immune cell, the new viral mutation was a mere shadow of its former self.  Hence, the name the dungeon crystal had assigned them: Shadow Hunters.

Surprisingly, each Shadow Hunter only required 3 mana to create, which helped with the rapid build-up of their numbers.  For 13 mana, he could create both a stem cell and a single Shadow Hunter, which immediately inserted itself inside the larger stem cell and started to multiply.  Each stem cell produced 100 copies of the small Hunter hybrid, so after using just under 2,000 mana to start the process with 150 stem cells and their Shadow Hunter “seeds”, he had 15,000 Shadow Hunters.  From there, it was just a process of creating more stem cells, a few every second, as his mana regenerated.  The destruction of so many of the body’s immune cells during the attack on the Parasyte only helped to give him more mana in which to produce even more.

Which is how he ended up with over 2 million of the little cells by the time the Parasyte arrived.  Without any particular tactics, the Shadow Hunters left their hatchery and swarmed forth, immediately blanketing the head of the giant worm, even as 200,000 or more were swallowed by its enormous maw.  The rest went to work immediately, plunging their tiny nuclei-knives into the cells making up the flesh of the Parasyte’s head.  Progen held his figurative breath in anticipation, hoping that the “poison” inside of them was still strong enough to work.

His hopes were answered as the head of the worm started to dissolve rapidly, the loss of so many cells completely destroying its face, jaws, and fangs.  Progen also saw that it was starting to fall apart from the inside of its mouth, as the hundreds of thousands of Shadow Hunters it had “eaten” hadn’t gone down without a fight.  In fact, there was evidence that even more damage was caused further down, inside of the closest body segment nearest the head.

The Parasyte attempted to slam its deteriorating head against the wall of the intestine, but the Shadow Hunters had already executed their attacks.  The only thing that happened was additional damage to its head, causing it to fall apart even faster – it essentially finished the work his immune cells started.  Another minute went by as the worm’s head finally stopped deteriorating and fell apart, leaving another headless Parasyte.  This time, however, Progen could see that the poisonous aspect of his Shadow Hunters had gone even further into the “neck” of the worm, destroying quite a bit of the internal flesh of the worm past where the head used to be.

Unfortunately, no mana was yet funneled into his crystal that would indicate its death.

Progen frantically used all of his available mana, all 1,500 of it at that point, to create more of the effective Shadow Hunters.  Stem cells were placed a short distance away from the worm’s body with their Shadow Hunter seeds, and they were starting to spawn just as the Parasyte started to twitch.  The dungeon crystal watched as the front 25% of the worm shook violently, even as his first Shadow Hunters arrived; before a new head could be grown, all of his immune cells slammed into the Parasyte, destroying even more of the flesh underneath the shell.

The damaged section shook even more, eventually revealing a mass of flesh underneath the falling chitinous shell pieces that looked nothing like a head.  My Shadow Hunters have done enough damage to stop it from regrowing!

His elation was short-lived, unfortunately, when the mangled mass of worm flesh abruptly and violently broke apart, almost as if there were some sort of explosion inside.  Before more Shadow Hunters could be created, the hunk of flesh was gone, and the next section vibrated uncontrollably.

“NO!  How can this thing have so many heads!”  If Stemmy answered him, Progen didn’t know; he was too entrenched in watching another head appear as the chitin fell away, revealing a new, relatively healthy Parasyte ready to destroy his crystal.  Granted, it was only about 40% of the size of the worm that Progen had first attacked, but that didn’t diminish the danger it represented.  If anything, with a smaller body, it was even faster than it had been.

That speed was proven as it immediately wiggled its way ahead, leaving behind the dozen new stem cells he had hatching full of Shadow Hunters.  By the time they spawned, the Parasyte was already too far away to easily catch.  In fact, it was moving so quickly – and not stopping to eat the nutrient-rich food particles along the way – that Progen was suddenly alarmed.

He had been counting on at least another 5 or 6 hours before it arrived near the appendix; he would’ve easily been able to create even more Shadow Hunters and perhaps another few of his more effective traps in that time.  Now, though, with the speed the Parasyte was wiggling down the small intestine, the dungeon crystal estimated he only had an hour before it arrived.

Stemmy estimates that it will arrive within 43 minutes, 17 seconds at its current speed.

“Great, thanks, Stemmy,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm – which was completely lost on the interneuron cell.  If his assistant was correct, then that meant he had enough time and mana to create 2 traps, another million or so Shadow Hunters, or 1 trap and half a million Shadow Hunters.  He might be able to squeeze out a little more than that, but that was a conservative estimate.

The issue was the regrowth of the heads, however.  If he was reading the situation correctly, then even if he destroyed another head, Progen was 99.9% sure there would still be a head inside another section that could be grown.  With 2 traps, it was possible that he could destroy 1 of the heads, but that wasn’t a guarantee; with a million or so Shadow Hunters, that might be enough to destroy a head, but that also wasn’t a guarantee since he had used twice that amount last time; a combination of the two strategies might also work, but it again wasn’t a guarantee.

There was no sure solution, and Progen hesitated before he started on anything because of the indecision.  Even Stemmy’s next announcement didn’t help, but it did give him a little bit of hope.

The immune system is reporting the preparation of its second wave of immune cells.

“Perhaps I can plan some sort of attack in conjunction with them?”  The dungeon crystal could see that there was another mass of immune cells forming in the blood vessel just up from the appendix, where they would emerge in the last section of the small intestine before it emptied into the cecum.  From the cecum, which was essentially the start of the large intestine, Progen’s home base was located just below it in the appendix.

Stemmy can alert the immune system of the most opportune time to attack, based on instructions given by Progen.

“Then I think this might work.”  A hybrid model of defense, in synchrony with my hybrid mutations of immune cells.

Progen set up another Shocking Discharge trap, preceded by a single Fibrin Net wall in order to slow the Parasyte down.  He would rather have used another Pepsin Acid Constriction trap or Concentrated Burn traps, but it was too expensive mana-wise to create those and some additional Shadow Hunters.  His plan was to use the invader’s brief pause after being shocked to descend on the electrocuted worm, tearing into it with both his Shadow Hunters and the body’s immune cells.

Theoretically, the damage done to the outer layers of the Parasyte’s head by the Shocking Discharge would be enough to give the swarm immune cells sent by the immune system a chance to dig deep and do enough damage to destroy the head.  Also, if it was timed correctly and the worm was positioned perfectly, most of those immune cells would concentrate only on the head, instead of ineffectually trying to tear through the chitinous body.

Then, when the head was destroyed, his army of Shadow Hunters would flow inside of the stump where the head used to be and destroy its insides, pre-empting another emergence of a head.  An easy, simple plan…and likely to go wrong as soon as battle was joined.  Regardless of his pessimism, Progen started creating the traps, watching as the Worm continued to speed through the remaining sections of the small intestine.  The process of hatching new Shadow Hunters started soon after, when he had enough mana, and everything was thankfully in place before the Parasyte showed up.

And, just as he predicted, things started to go wrong right then and there.  Looking back at it, he realized that it was his own fault for putting the Fibrin Net so close to the blood vessel the immune cells were waiting inside for the signal to attack – but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The Parasyte had been moving at such speed, unlike when it encountered his traps before, that the Fibrin Net didn’t just tear in half – allowing the worm through – but it also tore open large rents in the walls of the intestinal wall.  Instead of small tears that were held in place by the additional Nets adhered to the wall, the force of the impact of the Worm against the Fibrin trap practically tore the intestine apart.  Blood started flowing inside, taking the immune cells waiting there with it, depositing them inside the intestine before the signal had been given.

Now that they were free to attack and without anything preventing them from doing what they were designed to do, they descended on the Parasyte wherever they could reach – which included the chitinous shell covering what was left of its body.  There were an estimated 2 million immune cells from the body that assaulted the giant worm, but more than 90% landed on the body instead of the head, wasting their efforts.

Worse than that, the Parasyte kept going after recovering from the sudden impact with the Fibrin Net, carrying along the immune cells attached to its head and body – and landing right into the Shocking Discharge trap.  Progen had to turn away in horror as the body’s immune cells were fried, popping or disintegrating within the first few seconds of the worm activating the electrical trap.  Just that quickly, 2 million cells were destroyed, never really having ever had a chance.

The Parasyte suffered just as much as it had before, with its extremities starting to melt from the sheer electrical current passing through it, and even more cracks were seen in its chitinous lower shell.  Just as it had been then, it wasn’t enough to destroy the head; before the trap even stopped, however, Progen had his Shadow Hunters moving.

“I can still salvage this,” he said, infusing as much belief as he could into the words.

His forces – of which the dungeon crystal had managed to squeeze out just under 600,000 – hit the paralyzed worm a mere second after the trap ceased its electrical current, and proceeded to absolutely demolish the face and head of the Parasyte.  It didn’t take long before the head started to fall apart as the poison from his Shadow Hunters did their work; still, the worm was able to start moving again after recovering from the Shocking trap and before its head was entirely destroyed.

Except, unlike when the head had been attacked by nearly four times the number of Shadow Hunters before, the head did not completely disintegrate.  Half of it fell apart, including the lower jaw, but it was somehow still functional.  As the poison ran its course, destroying many of the cells, but not nearly enough, Progen was left with a Parasyte that was heading in his direction, injured and moving slower than it had been, but with still enough power behind it that he was in trouble.  The giant worm was too close now for Progen to set any significant traps up, and he didn’t have nearly enough mana to hatch more than 10,000 or so Shadow Hunters before it arrived – a far cry from being enough to have an impact on the Parasyte.

“Stemmy…I think it’s time.”

Chapter 45

Stemmy does not recommend this course of action.  The possibility that Progen will—

“Believe me, I know all of that, Stemmy,” the dungeon crystal cut off his assistant before he could get another lecture on what he was about to do.  “Sure, I could kill this body…Marstin…but if I don’t do this, then he will die anyway.”  It still felt strange giving a name to the body that Progen wanted to take control of – but it also felt like a justification to himself that he was doing the right thing.  What he was going to attempt wasn’t just to save his crystal from destruction, which he selfishly wanted to preserve, but also to save the life of his host.  It was the least he could do for the host, with it having been generous enough to allow him to live there, even if the body didn’t know it.

Progen’s course of action could have unintended consequences—

“I know, I know; all of that I’m well aware of, but I’m going to do it anyway,” he interrupted Stemmy again.  “The time for small measures is done; only through taking a risk will we both survive.”

The Parasyte was still coming, and Progen estimated that he didn’t have more than 2 minutes before it made its way into the appendix, where it would make short work of his crystal, not to mention Stemmy.  He briefly thought about trying to run, but he thought that might do more harm than good; it wouldn’t do to kill the body as the Parasyte chased him all over, destroying everything in its efforts to catch him as he fled.

Even going so far as to flee down the large intestine to buy some time was considered and discarded, because – as silly as it sounded – he didn’t want to abandon Stemmy to whatever fate awaited the interneuron cell when it was at the mercy of the giant worm.  The more he worked with his assistant, the more Progen realized he relied on it to do almost everything, especially related to the nervous system and communication between the different systems.  Losing the interneuron cell was just as much of a death sentence as the Parasyte, so he – foolishly or not – decided to make his stand where he was.

With no more time to lose, Progen centered himself and concentrated on forming a Hunter in his mind.  He pushed his regenerating mana into it, but before he let it go and fully form, he repeated what he did when he created the Mega Newt.  He wanted to force an evolutionary mutation, but he only had just over 1,000 mana in reserve – not nearly enough to enact the change.  When he drained almost every last drop of mana in his crystal, Progen felt himself slipping away, the mana that sustained his crystal flowing out of him without end.

To combat this, he reached outside of himself to grab even more mana – in the exact place where his dungeon mana came from: the body of Marstin itself.  Shortly after he had arrived, Progen had ceased gaining mana from his environment and had started to exclusively absorb mana from the host body; as he expanded his influence, the more he could automatically take from the lifeform without harming it.  The dungeon crystal had self-regulated the intake so as not to absorb too much, which could end up killing the body – the opposite of what he wanted.  Now, though, he was about to push the limits of what he could absorb without causing the body to pass the threshold into death.

Stemmy will monitor the signals from the nervous system and attempt to alert Progen of impending death.

Progen sent a mental nod to the interneuron cell, as his concentration was fully on the Hunter he was pumping mana into, which he had placed just outside the appendix, in the cecum area of the large intestine.  It was surprisingly difficult to break through the mental barrier he had placed in his mind preventing himself from absorbing too much, but once he did, he felt the mana flowing into him in a deluge.  This…is…amazing! he couldn’t help but think, feeling the rush of mana passing through his crystal and into the image of the Hunter he was attempting to hold steady.  Actually…this is a bit painful.

The sheer amount of mana entering and exiting out of his crystalline form was so powerful that it was starting to stress it horribly.  Each time a crack rippled across his crystal, Progen felt a stab of excruciating agony that nearly caused him to stop what he was doing – but he couldn’t stop now.  The image of the Hunter was absorbing the mana like a sponge, passing 10,000 mana, then 50,000, then 200,000 mana in the space of only a few seconds.  Soon enough, with cracks now spiderwebbing all over his ovoid crystal, he was reaching 1 million mana…and that was when Stemmy’s voice came in with a warning.

Life force levels of the host are reaching critical lows.  If Progen continues to absorb mana, the internal organs will start shutting down one-by-one.

“Just…a…little…bit…more…” Progen managed to gasp out, straining with everything he had to hold on just a little bit longer.  As more flowed mana flowed in and out of him, he could sense some sort of threshold approaching that he knew he needed to reach.

The digestive system is starting to shut down as blood flow and the peripheral nervous system have been removed from the network to conserve life force.

“Almost…”

The respiratory system is starting to shut down—

“…there!” he shouted, removing the flow of mana from entering his crystal, which was starting to stutter in consistency; the raging deluge that had arrived at first was gradually becoming a slow-flowing stream.

What had first been the size of a single-celled Hunter had expanded before his senses into a humongous blinding light; it filtered all the way into the appendix and fully lit up the cecum portion of the large intestine.  Progen was so exhausted and damaged by that point, though, that he could barely watch as the light eventually faded, leaving behind…well, it wasn’t a single cell, whatever it was.

Immune Cells Available

Available Mana: 1/3000

Tier 2

Eosinophils (Hunters) – 25 Mana

Naïve T Cells (Novice Killers) – 50 Mana

Memory B Cells (Historians) – 100 Mana

Eosiniphil+9 Stage 9 Evolution Mutation – 750,000 Mana

(Potential Mutation)

(Potential Mutation)

Instead of a single cell, the new evolutionary mutation was a conglomeration of large cells, creating a massive monster that was approximately half the size of the Parasyte’s head.  From the scattered memories inside of his crystal, he likened its look to a multi-clawed crab.  It had a relatively squat body that appeared to be full of the same poisonous matter that the normal Hunters possessed, but that was where the similarities ended.

Six arms, three on each side of its squat body, extended out, ending with sharp claws composed of cells that had been altered to have sharp edges and extremely hard cell walls.  Just under the claw portion of the arms, there were hundreds of concentrations of nuclei that extended outwards, and it didn’t take long for Progen to figure out that they were intended to be used as small needles…or perhaps projectiles filled with poison.  It was too hard for the damaged dungeon crystal to concentrate on it enough to tell for sure, but either way they were sure to be effective.

Underneath the squat body were a dozen tentacles, which Progen could see would help the new mutation move around much better than legs would, especially with how much fluid the body contained.  A dozen stalks that ended in a point sat on top of the body of his new mutation, which he unoriginally decided to call a Hunter Crab in his exhausted state, which he assumed were meant for detecting things…somehow.  It didn’t have eyes, at least, so it probably used some sort of extrasensory mechanism to “see”, just like his other immune cells did.  These stalks just happened to be more obvious.

Respiratory shut down has ceased, but there is not enough life force to restart the digestive system.  Stemmy recommends spending mana to help reestablish the system as soon as possible.

“Yeah, well, I would do that – except that all my mana comes from that life force, so that’ll be a bit hard right now.”  Progen didn’t have time to argue with his assistant or admire his creation, though, because the Parasyte was already arriving.

The Hunter Crab immediately sprang into motion as soon as the massive worm was visible, using its tentacles to quickly flow through the digestive juices.  When it was about 5 Crab-lengths away from the head of the Parasyte, the worm reacted to the threat by stopping and brandishing its one remaining fang like a melee weapon toward its assailant.

Progen’s mutation was prepared for that; it also stopped and raised its claw tipped arms towards the Parasyte.  The Crab, however, wasn’t ready to attack in a straight-up fight.  Instead, the protrusions of nuclei shot out at great speed, propelled from some unknown mechanism, and impacted the face and head of the giant worm like darts.  The impacts themselves didn’t do much other than damage some of the worm flesh, but the poison that was expelled when they hit was certainly effective.  The head of the Parasyte thrashed around even as its face melted quickly; the poison must have been extremely powerful in comparison to a regular Hunter or Shadow Hunter, because the whole process was over in moments.

The flesh essentially dripped off the front of the worm’s body, though it didn’t penetrate too deeply inside of the rest of the chitinous portion.  As soon as the rest of the head dissolved due to the poison, Progen knew what was going to come next; as such, he ordered the Hunter Crab forward to attack the severely wounded, but not dead, Parasyte.

Or at least, he tried to order his mutation forward, but it wouldn’t move.  “No!  What happened?”

Attempting to control a dungeon-created entity that is far above the crystals current access is very difficult, if not impossible.

“That’s not good, Stemmy?  What happens when the Crab is unleashed in the body, hmm?  I wish you had told me that before.”

Stemmy did try to warn Progen—

“Yeah, I know…”  He didn’t think that this was something he had to worry about, though.  “Well, we’ll deal with that later; the important part is that the Parasyte is stopped once and for all.”  It really was going to be a non-issue if the giant worm survived, because then Progen’s crystal would be destroyed.  Even if he had wanted to flee now, he barely had enough mana to survive right where he was, let alone try to escape through a wall of cells or two using his non-existent mana.

The Crab didn’t move while the Parasyte was temporarily inert, though it wasn’t exactly idle.  Inside of the large body cell, large concentrations of the poison it was filled with started to filter towards the protrusions on its arms.  Progen quickly understood that it was in the process of reloading its poisonous darts, which made the Hunter Crab even more deadly and versatile as far as the dungeon crystal was concerned.

The evolutionary mutation wasn’t going to be able to finish, however, as the body of the Parasyte started to shake violently, catching the Crab’s attention immediately.  Without anything yet to shoot from a distance, Progen’s creation used its tentacles to swim forward, closing within range so that it could use its claws to attack.

Unfortunately for the Crab, it arrived just as the new head on a short, stumpy worm body emerged in an explosion of chitinous shell.  A piece of the shell broke off so forcefully that it shot towards the mutation; the Crab sensed it coming and tried to avoid it, but the shell hit one of its right arms and sliced it off cleanly, claw and all.  The distraction also proved to be well-timed for the Parasyte, because the head of the enormous worm followed right after, its fangs striking down and piercing the body of the Crab in two places.

The mutation, now pinned in place by two giant fangs sticking through its main body, fought back by using its claws to slice up the mouth and face of the worm, eventually managing to slice through one and then the other fang still embedded in its body.  Drifting away from the mouth of the Parasyte, the impaled Crab slowly tried to get back into the fight, but its body was starting to leak fluid into the large intestine at a prodigious rate.  Progen predicted that it would probably succumb to cell death within a few minutes if nothing else happened, and he despaired because the humongous worm was still almost as deadly as it had been before.  In other words, it was still powerful enough to shatter his crystal and smear Stemmy’s interneuron cell all over the walls.

The Crab was weakening even as it struggled to reach the Parasyte, which seemed to be relishing in the defeat of its opponent, staying just out of reach because it was now much faster than the mutation.  Progen’s hope that the poison darts would be ready soon was dashed as he noticed them not filtering towards the arms anymore, as they were leaking out the giant holes caused by the fangs still inside of the Crab’s body.  Finally, after another 2 minutes of drifting along, becoming weaker and weaker, the powerful evolutionary mutation stopped moving and died.

“I’m sorry, Stemmy, I did all that I could—” he started to say, but then the Parasyte made its first – and last – mistake.

It decided to eat the remains of Progen’s Hunter Crab for some reason.  Whether it was because it was conscious of how close it was to death and needed any types of nutrients to get stronger, or it was some sort of obscure post-battle ritual that worms instinctively participated in, the result was the same.  Ingesting poison was probably worse than having poison darts shot into its face, because as the victor wiggled its way towards the appendix, it suddenly stopped and opened its fangless jaws wide in a silent scream.  Within seconds, the concentrated poison within the Crab’s body started to eat away at the insides of the chitinous body, expanding out until the back of the head, featureless face, and the mouth of the worm dissolved from the inside out.  It was horrific to watch, honestly, but it was also a joyous occasion.

“Stemmy…it’s dead...”

The exhaustion, lack of mana, and the stress fractures of the incident were too much for Progen.  His sense of awareness around his crystal, as well as the rest of the body’s systems, started to fade as he started to succumb to all of the damage that he had caused.

Chapter 46

The sudden rush of freezing-cold water thrown over his head brought Marstin back to consciousness. Bleary-eyed and woozy, the former thief thought for a moment he was back in the Thieves’ Guild’s dungeon getting tortured by Burch for failing a task. Marstin let out a groan as he tried to open his eyes, only to find himself too tired to manage it.

He heard the sound of someone clicking their tongue, ‘tch’, and suddenly a painful slap was delivered to Marstin’s face. Coughing, the young adventurer opened his eyes and took in the sights. His wrists and ankles were chained up, his arms over his head as he somewhat floated above the ground, though thankfully a harness attached to his waist ensured his weight wasn’t focused on his wrists. It also seemed that the ankle and wrist chains were attached to a swiveling hook, because the slap had caused his body to begin turning in a helpless circle. Still, at least he could confirm he was in a dungeon, complete with a stone room and iron bars.

“There, now that you’re awake, we can begin,” came the unmistakable, velvety-smooth, cold voice of Ghevin Drestice, causing Marstin’s blood to boil just as much as his heart trembled in fear. A rough hand grabbed the chain and violently jerked Martin back into facing the front. In front of the barred door, Ghevin stood dressed in his fine fur-lined clothes with a faint smile. He was flanked by two burly guards, one of whom was holding Marstin in place.

“It is good that I can finally meet you in person, on proper terms,” Ghevin smiled and made a mocking bow to Marstin. “A thief like you deserves no better than this after all; chained up like the wild mutt you are hiding within human clothing.”

“Former thief,” Marstin coughed, his voice coming out faintly.

The bodyguard raised a hand to hit Marstin, who winced, but Ghevin stopped him.

“Now, none of that,” Ghevin warned. “His body is already weak enough without you adding anything else to it. I don’t want him falling unconscious again; I have a timetable to keep.” The bodyguard nodded and put his fist down. Ghevin turned his attention back to Marstin. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, you being in your proper place. Honestly, I wasn’t sure whether this would be preferable to having you killed, but I must say I do receive so much more satisfaction seeing you like this. I suppose it’s good then that you survived my little play, though you do seem a little worse for wear. Really puts a damper on the affair to deal with an already-injured prisoner.”

Marstin only growled and shook the chains, though this only caused his body to ache more.

“Pity I must set aside the fun to merely appreciate you as a prisoner, but such are the breaks in life,” the black-clothed merchant shrugged. “Honestly though, it annoys me I could only acquire you; you’re barely worth my attention in the first place. I sincerely regret not getting a hold of those bastards in the Thieves’ Guild’s upper echelon; oh, how I wish I could have inflicted the pain they deserve on their lying, traitorous bodies.”

“So, you caught me, and tried to kill me, because I’m a former thief?” Marstin finally got out, slightly unbelieving.

“Well, of course,” Ghevin raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound as if I enjoy dealing with filthy street urchins. Let’s just say for the moment that the Thieves’ Guild and I had a prior business relationship that was ruined when they failed to keep their side of the bargain. Those lying cheats even forced me to come back to this stinking hovel and play the merchant so I could smoke them out, but they hid for 9 blasted years! I was almost ready to give up when your little shindig went down, but had the cursed timing of doing so while I was away. Now they’re dead or captured, leaving only a broken pitiful you for me to take my anger out on. And you’re not even good enough for that- though perhaps if I invest in a medium health potion, I can get some fun out of you.”

“My friends,” Marstin muttered. “What, what did you, do to them?”

“Those adventurers?” Ghevin waved a hand dismissively. “They’ve served their main purpose to get you to me. But, I do need a convenient scapegoat for my plans to ensure the Adventurer’s Guild loses all credibility in town, so they’ll be executed as their last duty.”

“No!” Marstin cried out, struggling uselessly in his chains, but the trio of men didn’t even bother flinching.

“You’re quite cute when you’re angry,” Ghevin chuckled darkly. “Yes, I do think that health potion will be a worthy investment. I’ll send word after we are done here, do help me remember, Hives.”

The bodyguard on Ghevin’s right nodded. Marstin just bared his teeth angrily and rattled the chains.

“Now then, try to keep still, young thief,” Ghevin taunted. “Before I get my full bit of fun from you, I just need a bit of your attention, you see. A social butterfly like myself gets rather cooped up having to keep my plans to myself, and you are just the perfect little disposable listener I need to rid myself of these pent-up thoughts.”

Before Marstin could respond properly to Ghevin with the appropriate amount of vulgarity, however, the young teen suddenly threw up a mouthful of blood. Ghevin’s smile vanished as he took a step back to avoid the splashing. When Marstin was finished, Ghevin calmly walked up to Marstin and grabbed the young teen’s face, looking Marstin over like a prized horse.

“You, what did you do to me?” Marstin choked, groaning as a small wave of pain rolled through his body. It felt like his insides were on fire.

“I suppose your ears aren’t working either,” Ghevin chuckled, releasing Marstin and moving back to his original position. “As I implied, I have done nothing to cause your current state. Judging by your condition however, I would say that you’re dealing with a host of internal injuries caused by improper care. Or, perhaps malnutrition,” Ghevin’s eyes glowed excitedly in the torchlight. “Did you know that by depriving a person of certain foods for a long period of time, they will actually begin to die of wounds long-since healed? It’s quite a fascinating thing to watch, like ghosts of the past dicing up the individual until they expire. You seem to be suffering that, I think, and so is this town.”

Ghevin threw his arms out with a wide, mad smile. “Yes, this town -- like so many others, and even the entire country -- is covered in scars! The pain dealt out for so long by so many: wars with each other, wars with the tribes, war with the devils, and so many other forms of conflict. But this country was founded on these wounds and grew to overcome them. Istut was once the strongest military in the north, even surpassing the knight country of Talin in raw power thanks to the constant conflict. Those were glorious times, GLORIOUS!

“But,” Ghevin’s mad smile flipped into a cruel and resentful snarl. “Those who desired peace arose from the muck like sores on the back of this great country. Those blasted legends of the Adventurer’s Guild who appeared and forced peace on us; they ruined this country. RUINED IT, and they forced all the wounds to heal. This country no longer bleeds, and we grow weak. Already, our reputation has changed from mighty warriors to ‘the cold country’,” Ghevin spat onto the dungeon floor in disgust. “We are fallen people. My ancestors were once the owners of a great mercenary company that was ruined by this false peace, forcing my birth status to be that of a commoner and servant. Had I not taken my own destiny into my own hands, then that’s all I would have amounted to.”

“But,” Ghevin winked evilly. “Scars are things that don’t just vanish. They are always there, after all, just waiting to be reopened. All the people need are a few teensy little reminders of the pain, and the blood will flow again. Just deprive them of their unity, and all the stitching falls apart once again.”

“You make it sound like you’re doing a good deed,” Marstin muttered. “But you’re only doing this for selfish reasons! You aren’t noble at all!”

“Great change requires great sacrifice,” Ghevin chuckled. “What I do now doesn’t matter, only how I will be remembered. And history is always written by the winners.

“Still,” Ghevin’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold frown. “It has been quite the ordeal to reach this point. Those thieves delayed the plan for far longer than we originally intended, almost ruining it. But at least things are moving along as intended now. And I finally have this back in my hands.” Ghevin removed a familiar looking gem from his pocket, showing it to Marstin. “Isn’t it pretty? Oh, this thing is my lucky charm you know; I absolutely hated having to leave this as bait here in my vault and was livid when it was almost stolen by you and the Thieves’ Guild. How lucky I had it moved beforehand; otherwise those thieves would have taken charge of Graniton.”

Marstin stared at the gem. It glowed softly under the flickering torchlight in a hue of many colors, and Marstin had a thought.

“You used this on the Iron Yaks,” he whispered.

“Nice intuition,” Ghevin winked. “No prize, though, for a correct answer. This little beauty was a gift from a friend. It’s the perfect match to my merchant’s tongue, you know, and even works for someone like me born with low mana.”

“All I need to do is hold it, and talk,” Ghevin’s voice suddenly turned warm and even as he leaned forward. “It’s so easy to listen to my voice, isn’t it? No need to focus on anything else. Just listen to my voice, and relax.”

Marstin gave Ghevin an angry stare, but the bodyguards both seemed to be listening intently. Ghevin ‘tch’d’ and leaned back up. “Well, it isn’t foolproof, after all, especially when you’re so biased against me. But it does wonders for anyone with just the tiniest crack in their heart to latch on to.”

“You’ve seen the effect yourself,” Ghevin continued. “I can use the crystal in three different ways. The first, which I refer to as ‘Silver Tongue’, is a tiny bit of magic that coats the words I speak so as to catch the attention of anyone listening. As they say, a person is 50% persuaded as soon as you catch their attention. The magic is so low that it can’t be detected, either.

“The second,” Ghevin wiggled his hands suggestively. “Is a bit more complicated. As opposed to my natural persuasive skill, this second ability, ‘Creeping Doubt’, requires me to lean on the listener’s own inner feelings of doubt and distrust. I can bring those thoughts to the surface and force them into the forefront of the listener’s mind, overriding their natural inclinations. Of course, I can’t force it. I have to take it slowly, to ensure the thoughts stick and are felt as natural. The last ability, ‘Marionette’, you’ve fought first-hand.”

“Oswald and the others,” Marstin muttered, growing dizzy from the ebbing pain.

“Humans are such logical creatures, you know,” Ghevin gloated. “If A is B, and B is C, then A must be C as well, the basic syllogism. Any sane person would understand that the world is more complicated than such easy definitions, but ‘Marionette’ takes away those pesky connections. All I had to do was have your adventurer friend admit and agree that you were a thief and that thieves are a danger to Graniton, and his mind forced the conclusion that you are a danger to Graniton.

“I don’t enjoy using ‘Marionette’,” Ghevin admitted with a careless flourish of his hand. “The human mind isn’t meant to be controlled so directly, and oftentimes a mind will break as a result. So I normally use ‘Marionette’ in its most literal form and turn the brain off in my puppets. Even then, they lose their normal abilities in both fighting and living, so it’s still just as worthless as direct control.” Ghevin let off a shrug.

Marstin only answered with a glare of pure hate, and another episode of blood emesis at his nemesis.

Ghevin shook his head. “Oh you, no dying here and stealing my fun.” Ghevin gestured his henchman to approach. “Here, force this weak healing potion down his throat. That should be enough to ensure he lives long enough for proper medical treatment.” The merchanted handed over a vial to the bodyguard holding the chains, who then pulled Marstin’s head back and forced the potion into the teen’s mouth. Marstin choked, but he was able to swallow the entire potion down. The pain decreased in his gut but continued to persist at a weaker intensity.

“Now, where was I?” Ghevin asked. “Right, your adventurer friends. They will die in a few hours at the newly built public execution stand in the main plaza, right in front of the Adventurer’s Guild. Their deaths will inflame the other adventurers, who will attack and surely cause collateral damage to the watching populace, thus giving me the inside track to raise the town against the guild. Once I drive the adventurers away, then Graniton will truly belong to me, and the revolution will begin.” Ghevin smiled widely, madly, and threw out his arms. “No more will this country be forced into this dying peace! We will reopen the wounds of the past and bleed out the old and rotten blood, making way for the return to greatness!”

“You’ll try,” Marstin said. He locked eyes with the mad merchant. “But, don’t hold your breath. You murderer.”

“Murderer?” Ghevin raised a curious eyebrow. “While I admit I’ve done many things that could be considered a crime, I’ve never killed before. Not that I can recall anyway. And yet, your tone leads me to believe that you truly believe it….” he trailed off, before smiling. “Well, we’ll have plenty of time for answers when I return from today’s lovely execution to start to Istut’s salvation. Until then, young thief.” Ghevin gave a final, mocking bow before exiting the cell, followed by the two bodyguards. Marstin was left behind to hang helplessly from the ceiling in pain, suffering, and impotent anger. There was nothing he could do; his equipment had all been stripped away, even the hidden tools. The locks were magical as well; expanding and tightening with every wiggle he made to try to slip out.

“So this is how it all ends,” Marstin murmured as his head drooped. “I couldn’t do it after all. I’m sorry everyone. Oswald, Frain, George, Yarrow . . . Kyra. I can’t go any farther on my own. I’m too weak.” Despondent, Marstin began to cry softly in his cage, feeling the walls and darkness closing in on him.

You did your best. Death is your only escape now. Accept it.

Even his inner voice had returned to taunt him, though it did so in an oddly comforting way, as if a seductive siren song was arising from within. Marstin’s eyes drifted down to the rope wrapped around his torso, the one thing preventing his full weight from falling on his wrists. The rope wasn’t magical, and it looked old. All it would take was a single snap, and the fall would begin. It would hurt, but he was already in pain. What more could pain do when all that awaited after was sweet release.

Marstin began to swing his body back and forth, causing the rope to endure additional stress as it was pulled tight and loose in a rhythmic motion. Soon, soon.

And then a noise distracted him. Marstin looked up toward the source, but it was coming from down the hallway. He focused on his hearing; the sound of many light footsteps. But who was coming?

He blinked when the first figure appeared outside of the room.

“Well aint’ch’ in a bit o’ a pickle, boss” Archie grinned. “Aye, don’tcha be worryin’ none, we be here to get youse out in a jiffy!” A second urchin appeared, carrying some keys with him, followed by a third with Marstin’s gear.

“How?” Marstin croaked as he was swarmed by the urchins who climbed on top of themselves to reach his arm cuffs.

“Lot o’ the guard taken to the big plaza for da eggs’acution,” Archie explained as he unlocked Marstin’s ankles. “And we done used da skills youse taught us boss to knock out the remainder with the sleep shroom pellets and slingshots. Once we’s heard ya were inna bit o’ bother, we scurried over to help and save ya! Can’t be ‘avin da boss die so soon.”

“Who told you?” Marstin asked weakly as he was helped out of the cell.

“She done it,” the urchin said, pointing. Marstin looked up into the crying, smiling face of Kyra. The swole-looking fighter strode out from behind the urchins, a work of art in the torture chamber’s sea of filth. She caressed his cheek, still matted with blood.

“They said you were caught trying to break your friends out, that you were part of the assassination plot,” Kyra whispered. “But, I never doubted you for a moment.” She took out Marstin’s adventurer’s card, which shone in response to Etna’s card in his adventurer’s bag. “Now, let’s get you out of here.”

“My bag,” Marstin requested, and he pulled out and downed a medium healing potion once the bag was handed over. He groaned as he felt the warm waves of healing sending the pain down to manageable levels, and he shook his head. When his eyes opened again, they were resolute.

“Take me to the main plaza. We have to stop Ghevin from executing the Iron Yaks.”

“Rightio boss!” Archie cheered. “Let’s take it to the man for once, aye lads?” The little urchin army cheered.

*         *          *

Suddenly, an influx of mana shot into Progen, a river of energy that abruptly woke him up in shock.  The Parasyte is dead!  This is the life force of it being converted into mana!  Using the mana flowing into him, Progen immediately used a large portion of it to fix the cracks in his crystal; when he was done, he felt even better than he had before.

Progen needs to fix the digestive system—

“That’s right!  Thank you, Stemmy!”  Now energized by the incoming mana, he sent it out to blanket the entire digestive system, seeing for the first time the damage his over-absorption of Marstin’s life force had done.  The entire nervous system running through it was starting to fall apart, blood was no longer flowing through a lot of areas, and the digestive organs were starting to go through necrosis, where thousands of cells that relied on the blood flow were starting to die.

Progen used his incoming mana to reverse the process in those cells that were dying but not dead, healing them up enough that there was still damage but nothing was falling apart. For those cells that were already dead, his mana was also useful for replacing those epithelial cells with brand-new ones.  He also repaired most – but not nearly all – of the severe damage that had been done to the small intestine because of the Parasyte, using Fibrin Nets to seal up the tears and eliminating the remnants of his traps that could hinder future digestive processes.

Of course, all of that effort would be worthless if all of the other problems weren’t fixed, so Progen turned to the circulatory system and infused more mana into it, moving the sluggish blood around and forcing it through the digestive system again.  Lastly, repairing the nerve cells that had essentially destroyed themselves through apoptosis to shut down access to the system was a little more difficult, as they were hard to pinpoint exactly, but he was able to fix them within a couple of minutes.

There was quite a bit of excess blood build-up inside of the stomach from all of the damage and leakages that had been repaired, however, which needed to be absorbed over time.

Host movement is causing some issues in the stomach and lower digestive tract because of the excess material.  Permission to expel the excess blood by preparing the duodenum for emergency stomach flush?

“Granted.”  Within moments, most of the blood (and other contents) of the stomach had been expelled through the mouth of the body, followed by another load a few minutes later.

Shortly after the last of the most serious repairs were finished, and all of the systems seemed to be operating relatively normally again, the flow of mana disappointedly stopped.  There was still a lot of work to be done, however.  Looking at his available mana, he saw that he was just short of full at 2,800/3,000 – enough to get some more done – but there was also a lack of regeneration.  Looking internally at what he was doing, Progen realized he had automatically stopped absorbing the life force of the body after he had created the Hunter Crab, and hadn’t turned it back on quite yet.

Knowing that and acting upon that knowledge were two different things, though, because the dungeon crystal, at the urging of Stemmy, decided not to turn the absorption back on…yet.

Stemmy would advise limiting absorption for at least the next 24 hours, or until the life force levels of the host have stabilized.

Progen couldn’t help but think that was a good idea.  I never thought I’d say it, but I need a break from all of this mana flowing into my crystal.

Sensory information is once again being communicated.  Host has been captured and is being held prisoner in an unknown location.

“What?!  What has been going on?”  As much as his own issues surviving had been an ordeal, if Marstin was a prisoner then that didn’t bode well for the future.  Progen didn’t want all of his efforts to eradicate the threats inside the body, as well as keeping it from dying due to the excessive extraction of mana, to be all for naught.

There is a human here talking to the host and—

There was no need for Stemmy to say any more, because Progen could feel it.  There was a dense concentration of the same foreign mana pushing against the entire body, stronger than he had ever felt before.  It wasn’t trying to infuse or infiltrate Marstin, however, so it wasn’t threatening – but it sure made Progen uncomfortable.  He couldn’t help but think that the other dungeon crystal was nearby; the interneuron cell confirmed that seconds later.

There is another dungeon crystal here, though its consciousness seems to be either gone or fully suppressed.  It appears as though this human has been using the innate mana inside the crystal to influence the populace of the human habitation.

Progen felt an invasion of foreign mana occur inside the auditory system, though all it took was passing a little of his own mana through it to completely negate what the other crystal was trying to do.  Or more accurately, what this human is trying to do.  It made him angry that someone would try to use one of his kind to do such a thing, and as much as being near the foreign crystal was uncomfortable, he wanted to do something to release the consciousness inside the other crystal.  No one should be subjected to that type of abuse against their will.

Is not that what Progen is trying to do?

“What?  No, uh, not at all.  Completely different,” Progen deflected, worried at how close to the truth the interneuron cell had been with that simple question.  As much as he wanted to ignore it because it was completely different, the thought stuck around at the back of his mind.

The other crystal’s consciousness is likely so damaged at this point that it is irretrievable.  Prolonged use of its inherent mana by a secondary source has inevitably destroyed everything but the automatic processes inside of the crystal, such as mana absorption.

Hearing that whoever had been inside of the crystal had been destroyed, after what had likely been months or years of torturous handling, made Progen’s crystal figuratively shiver in response.  Listening to Stemmy describe the conversation happening, he was frightened that the same might happen to his own crystal if the body were killed – as seemed to be a future inevitability.

Suddenly, a small wave of healing energy spread throughout the body, fixing a little bit more of the severe damage that Progen hadn’t been able to repair.

The captors have administered a weak healing potion to the host, and are now leaving.

“Great,” Progen responded sarcastically.  “That just means that they are keeping the body alive long enough to torture it some more, later.  We need to get free – but how?”  The dungeon crystal was happy that the pervasive feeling of the foreign mana was now gone, but that didn’t really help the overall situation.  There was nothing he could think of that would help Marstin escape, even with the increase in the body’s muscle and bone strength; Progen could sense the magical effect that permeated – what he assumed – were the shackles around the body’s wrists.  No amount of trying to brute force a way out of them would work, and his mana wasn’t quite strong enough – nor did he have enough, anyway – to break through the magical enchantment.

Multiple light footsteps can be heard.  They are not from the captors.

“A way out, perhaps?”  His hope was answered when Progen felt the magical enchantments recede from contact with the body, and Marstin was released.  Moments later, a much larger healing wave shot through the body, repairing and restoring even more of the damage that Progen and the Parasyte had done.  It wasn’t fully healed yet, but by that point the body’s natural healing was starting to take control and help.

Looking around the body, it appeared as though all of the infections had also been eliminated as a result of the newer healing potion.  His remaining Newts were still operating efficiently up in the stomach and respiratory system, using the nearby traps to eradicate any incoming pathogens before they could take hold somewhere.  It was a blessing that there were no more infections, because the once again much-diminished immune system was in the process of building its numbers back up.  This time, though, Progen could see that the immune cells were forming at a highly increased rate; just like they had started to employ basic tactics in their defenses, they appeared to have taken advantage of the enhancements his mana provided and ramped up production.

In short, after all of the craziness of the last few days, things seemed rather calm inside of the body.  Instead, it was things outside that were going crazy.

Chapter 47

Marstin, Kyra, Archie, and the other urchins easily made their escape past the sleeping guards slumped over throughout the compound. Even a couple of the stronger-looking guards appeared to be waking up, Kyra’s quickly delivered chop to the back of their heads was enough to ensure they were asleep long enough for everyone to complete the getaway. The urchin led the group through the open window they’d used, and the group found themselves on the green grass lawn of the manor, alongside a small squad of 10 guards, all of whom were pointing spears at the youths.

“Stop right there, criminal scum!” one of the guards yelled. “You’ve violated the law! Surrender peacefully, or we will use force!”

“We don’t have time for this,” Marstin grimaced.

“Don’t worry,” Kyra said with a twinkle in her eye. “I didn’t come here with just these short fellows.” As if answering her statement, a powerful burst of air exploded onto the guard’s backs, sending them flying into the ground face first. As the other urchins smashed the sleeping pellets into the guards’ faces, Marstin let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Jillia, Yule, and Etna. Jillia was smiling widely, her outstretched fist still wisping with magical energy.

“I finally did it!” she cheered. “The spirit of my ancestors responded to my call!”

“Let’s hurry up and leave,” Etna prompted, tapping the ground with her foot. “That blast was loud enough to alert someone else, as well, after all. And we need to hurry and save Yarrow!” Needing no other persuasion, the newly reunited Rogue quickly vacated the premises through the conveniently teen-sized hole in the wall surrounding the yard, which Marstin looked over at Jillia for explanation. The tribal girl merely smirked and used her eyes to indicate Kyra, who was blushing.

“Maybe I was a little more worried than I first admitted,” she mumbled. Marstin kept his smart mouth shut; no need to risk further injury before a fight.

A loud commotion alerted the young group of a mass of approaching guards.

“Not good,” Kyra frowned. “We won’t make it in time if we have to fight our way through guards. And they could also overpower us, given the sound of their numbers.”

“I hear dogs, boss,” Archie said nervously, “Me and da boys don’t do well with dogs.”

Marstin quickly looked around for any chance of escape. The sound of guards was coming from the gate in the wall, around either side of the villa, and even behind them from inside the house. They could only attempt to streak across the grassy lawn, but knowing Ghevin’s true personality now, there were probably worse things than pitfall traps waiting out in the green. As Marstin began to struggle under pressure, he suddenly noticed a small light coming from under his armor. He reached down and pulled out Yolna’s glowing bow and arrow silver necklace. Revealed in the light, the necklace gave off a bright light that formed a dome centered around Marstin.

“Everyone, get inside!” Marstin said quickly. He, the urchins, and the girls quickly huddled up together, though it was a bit of a tight fit. When everyone was inside the dome, the necklace flashed, and the group vanished from the villa.

Marstin blinked and looked up, staring at the entrance to the Starglass.

“What just happened?” Etna asked in shock. “Did we just move through space? That’s high-level magic!”

“We can figure it out later,” Marstin stopped the rest from speculating. “We’ve been given time, so let’s not waste it. Let’s go.” As they left, however, Marstin turned his head back to watch the entrance to the Starglass Inn fade away. He couldn’t see her, but he felt Yolna’s eyes watching him as they vanished down the road.

With them free of the manor and compound, the young teens ran unobstructed down the streets of Graniton, which were all oddly vacant for the time of the day. However, the sound of a large crowd could be heard echoing in the distance, as if all of Graniton had gathered in a single place. Marstin bit his lips hard enough that he could taste the faint aroma of iron on his tongue.

“The execution is supposed to happen at noon, the center of the day,” Kyra reassured Marstin as she ran next to him. “It isn’t time yet. But have you thought about how you’re going to save them? Most, if not all, of the guards in Graniton should be there, not to mention the other adventurers and townspeople. We don’t have the strength to fight everyone.”

“We probably won’t have to,” Etna interjected with a sly smirk as she leaped over a toppled chair. “Our tribal kin are there for sure to protest the killing of Yarrow. They have all been on edge for a while now, and they don’t need much of a reason to begin a fight. If anything, the guards and other adventurers are all expecting it and have prepared themselves for it.” The young teen flicked her fingers dismissively. “Even if they don’t start a fight, I’m sure with the urchins’ help we can make them all fight.”

“Tricking our brothers and sisters like this is sure to be an affront to one of our laws,” Jillia pointed out. “I don’t have them memorized though, but it sounds wrong.”

“Using tribal brothers and sisters as bait in the hunt is forbidden by common tribal law,” Etna giggled darkly as she winked at the others. “But, an exile like me isn’t considered subject to such laws, and the urchins here aren’t beholden to anyone.”

“That’s right, boss,” the urchin grinned his crooked smile. “We’s are up for anything that youse need. And youse been training us for des kinds of ruffles, right? My mates and I are looking forward to making the name ‘Rogue’ cause shivers down all de boots of those bad fellows, and this here be the start of our legend!”

“If the enemy is using the law as their weapon and shield, then it goes to show that the law has become rotten,” Marstin said after a moment’s thought. “We need to rescue the Iron Yaks no matter what, so let’s just go all the way! Etna and the urchins will cause the distraction. Yule, Jillia, Kyra and I will go through the back to wherever the Iron Yaks are being held and free them. Once they are safe, I’m going to confront Ghevin Drestice.”

“Why?” Kyra asked, concerned. “He’s the future mayor. He may have locked you up falsely for an assassination attempt, but....” she grimaced and shook her head. “I’m, it, you shouldn’t try to confront the future mayor. He’s trying to bring glory back to Graniton . . . Gah, my head!” The older teen groaned and stopped to lean against a shop wall entrance.

Marstin and the other stopped, with the young adventurer grabbing Kyra’s hands.

“Kyra, look at me,” he ordered. When she did so, he grabbed her head and forced her to look at him. She blushed, but Marstin was too focused to think about what he was doing and what it looked like to others. “Kyra, you trust me, right?”

“Yes,” she peeped like a frightened baby bird.

“I know that, too,” he gave her a warm smile. “I know because you broke into the future mayor’s house to rescue me, despite his accusations against me. Think about it: Why didn’t you trust Ghevin Drestice’s words?”

“Be, because I know you and I know you wouldn’t do it,” Kyra stammered. “He, he couldn’t be right.”

“No, Kyra,” Marstin shook his head. “It’s more than that. He was wrong. Say those words: ‘He was wrong’.”

“I, I can’t?” Kyra muttered a moment later, her face turning confused as she began to pick up on the inconsistencies in her thoughts. “I don’t want to? And it doesn’t matter right now, Marstin; we need to go save the Iron Yaks!”

“It does matter, Kyra,” Marstin insisted, turning his head back to lock eyes with the other teens and small children around them. “It matters that you say it right now. Because if you can’t, then you’ll be susceptible to anything he says to you. His words will poison your thoughts and pollute your conscience like a parasite, feeding off your good intentions until he has no more use for you.”

“So,” he turned back to look Kyra in the eyes, “You need to say it, admit it, and acknowledge it right now, before we face him. Ghevin Drestice is wrong. Say it.”

“Ghevin,” Kyra said unevenly, her eyes beginning to dart around. “Ghevin, Drestice, IS WRONG!” Once the words left her mouth, Kyra’s body suddenly relaxed and began to fall, forcing Marstin to release her face and pull her into a hug before he realized what he was doing. At the same time, Kyra’s arms flopped awkwardly up to grasp around the closest thing to support her, in this case, Marstin. The two finally shared a deep blush as they embraced each other in such an intimately expressive way, in front of a live audience. The three tribal girls had wolfish smiles on their faces, while the urchins let out a few wolf whistles, causing the two to become redder than a tomato imported from Alevone.

“Ahem,” Marstin coughed, his arms frozen in place hovering just above Kyra’s body. “How do you feel?”

“Good!” Kyra squeaked, throwing herself off Marstin as if he were a hot coal. “I feel good, great, just perfect!”

“He meant about Ghevin Drestice,” Etna said with a sneaky chuckle.

“What?” Kyra blinked, before becoming serious again. “Right, him. As soon as I said he was wrong, I felt something break inside me. It’s like there was a light fog in my mind, in my eyes, that I couldn’t realize was there until I said those words.” She took another breath in. “Ghevin Drestice is wrong. I fully believe this now. So, let’s go stop him!”

The urchins all cheered, and the group resumed their hurrying to the town plaza. With the last bit of worry cleared away from his mind, Marstin could focus completely on forming a plan. After all, he couldn’t kill the corrupt merchant, as the task would be not only impossible with his strength but also unlikely to fix anything. Nor could he capture the merchant, as the guards were on Ghevin’s side and it was impossible to separate the manipulated guards from the paid guards. So, the young adventurer needed to somehow break the hold the merchant had over the ears of the townspeople.

In his mind, Marstin began to replay all of the meetings he had with Ghevin Drestice, starting with the man’s first manipulation of Marstin’s image at the Adventurer’s Guild.

“I think from now on it shall become more important that the guild considers carefully who you all deal with. Your policies are quite lenient, when it comes to accepting personnel. A traitor once, after all, could be a traitor, once again.” Barklin’s attitude toward Marstin had changed ever so subtly, until full-on bias took over his view of the former thief.

During Marstin’s imprisonment, he’d finally learned how the evil merchant and murderer had manipulated the townspeople of Graniton.

It has been quite the ordeal to reach this point. Those thieves delayed the plan for far longer than we originally intended, almost ruining it. But at least things are moving along as intended now. And I finally have this back in my hands.

All I need to do is hold it, and talk.

Humans are such logical creatures, you know,” Ghevin gloated. “If A is B, and B is C, then A must be C as well, the basic syllogism.

Well, it isn’t foolproof, after all, especially when you’re so biased against me. But it does wonders for anyone with just the tiniest crack in their heart to latch on to.

“Ghevin Drestice has long since been a thorn in Graniton’s side,” Frain snarled out. “When the former lord of the south vanished, the town of Graniton was left in an awkward state when the newly appointed lord decided to make the hot spring destination of Rookwood his new capital, leaving us as the fallen former capital of the south. Ghevin moved in seemingly out of nowhere and used his funds to buy the old lord estate and supposedly save the town’s finances. In reality, he just took advantage of the panic and bought out every large business he could get his hands on, thus becoming the unofficial ruler of Graniton. Every business owner in town walked a tightrope on the edge of being forced to close while paying taxes to the bastard. The only solace to be found was he disliked the climate and preferred to stay in the capital.”

With a flash of insight, and his gut feeling backing him, Marstin knew exactly what he needed to do. His eyes darted quickly to each of his companions before he inwardly dissuaded himself from speaking. This could only be something he could do by himself. Resolute, Marstin led his group of miscreants into the central plaza.

As expected from the increasing sounds of a throng, the group of teens and younglings from across almost all of Graniton crowded into the huge plaza, surrounding a central newly constructed hangman’s post connected to a large stage. Three figures were there on the post, strung up with ropes and prepared for the plunge, with an extra-large hole for George. The crowd was a mix of angry cries for justice, a few protests, and mutterings of prayers. A quick scan by the urchins standing on each other’s shoulders confirmed that the guards were scattered through the crowd, around the crowd, and separating the crowd from the hangman’s post.

“Can you see the tribe members?” Yule asked.

Archie nodded and pointed. “They have been separated from the crowd on the far side and are being blocked by a lot of adventurers and guards. They seem to be arguing, but I can’t read lips that far away. Lotta angry hand gestures though.”

“Good,” Etna nodded. “In that case, let us go over there, little urchins. Give me some pebbles to enchant with loud noises while we reach that side.”

“You’re speaking our language, mister,” Archie said gleefully. Marstin blinked at the incorrect description but didn’t get a chance to say anything before an angry Etna chased the urchin into the back alley, followed by the other street orphans.

“What do we do now?” Jillia prompted, punching her fists together.

“We need to get through the crowd without arousing too much attention,” Kyra said, frowning. “But they all seem too wound up. Should we just wait for the distraction before attempting to crowd-surf?”

“It’s too risky to wait,” Marstin shook his head. “There is always the chance that the ropes will drop as soon as the distraction occurs, so we need to be as close as possible before Etna and the others let loose.” As Marstin considered his possibilities, Yule came up next to him and smiled mischievously.

“Follow me, I have an idea,” she giggled. Then, she pulled out from her adventurer’s bag several rotting animal corpses. She handed them to Jillia, who gagged but accepted them, and directed her to throw them, using her martial prowess, before Marstin could stop them.

The weaponless fighter obliged, and the air was filled at once with the sight of soaring rotten carcasses. The effects were quick and immediate, as the crowd was turned into a screaming mess as people, scrambling out of the way of the stink and scattering of putrid flesh.

“The whole point of the distraction team was to not call attention to us,” Marstin groaned at the chaos in front of him.

“It’s okay,” Yule grinned. “Jillia and I will go left, so you and Kyra go right.” She pulled the other tribal girl into the crowd, with Jillia waving a cheerful farewell before she vanished into the mass of bodies.

“Let’s go, Marstin,” Kyra called, pulling him with her greater strength into the crowd. Marstin did not resist, and soon found himself joining the mindless, screaming flesh of humanity. Pushed and pulled by the bodies all around him, his weakened body was unable to exhibit the strength needed to resist the flow of the crowd. Without Kyra there to assist him, Marstin realized he would have been crushed underfoot by the panicking townspeople. Her hand was warm as it grasped his wrist and led him through the crowd, his beacon of light in the chaos. After a while, Marstin gave up trying to resist the crowd and just allowed himself to be pulled like a child’s kite through the wind, or a sailboat on a string up the stream.

To have someone there to support me, isn’t too bad a feeling.

To Marstin’s left, he could hear the angry shouts of guards, and the taunting voices of Yule and Jillia, which Marstin realized came from the two girls being caught and blamed for the rotten flesh attack, using themselves as a second distraction to allow him and Kyra to make it. Marstin breathed a wordless prayer to some god or goddess to protect them as the crowd began to become denser and less panicked.

“We are almost there,” Kyra muttered back to Marstin. “Get ready.”

And then, Marstin saw the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. Before him was a large empty space separating the crowd from the stage and the hangman’s post. Yarrow, Frain, and George were gagged and tied up thoroughly, with a single noose around their necks leading up to the solid piece of wood above them. On the stage, Ghevin Drestice sat on a comfortable-looking chair that resembled a throne, wearing his typical smug, cold smile and fancy outfit, surrounded by his personal guards and Barklin, who was standing to his left with a chilling expression.

“Now, we wait,” Marstin whispered to Kyra as he locked his eyes on the path only he could see.

Kyra, despite her calm demeanor, couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Marstin’s serious look. Her eyes glanced down to his hand, which was timidly gripping the corner of her shirt, as if using her presence as an anchor of confidence. She hid a warm smile and didn’t point out Marstin’s hand, instead moving her own to cover his.

“What are they waiting for?” Marstin murmured to himself as he examined the gallows carefully for signs of weakness. “Is Ghevin truly going to wait for midday to pass before hanging them? That seems a bit unlike him.”

“An orator like him will be using the occasion to give a speech,” Kyra reasoned. “If I were him, I’d hold off the hanging until tensions reached their peak . . . so perhaps he’s waiting on the tribal people to begin making a larger fuss.”

“Right,” Marstin nodded in understanding. “Hang them if tensions are high or use a speech to inflame reason and punctuate with the hanging. That sounds like a merchant’s deal to me.”

“Then when’s the best time to move?” Kyra asked.

“The best time to steal is when everyone is looking somewhere else,” Marstin revealed with narrowed eyes. “So if he’s going to make a speech, then it’s best the distraction occurs while he’s talking…. Perhaps I should have told that to Etna and the urchins.” Inwardly, Marstin groaned at his ineptitude. A good heist always had the plan made before the event, not during. He should have thought it over more before letting his allies break off into teams.

“I don’t mind you being a bad thief,” Kyra chuckled in jest, forcing a wry smile onto Marstin’s face. “And, I don’t think you will have a problem finding your opportunity knowing Etna. She’s a lot smarter than most give her credit for, and those urchins are the perfect little bundles of chaos.”

Before Marstin could answer, the dong of a bell rang out over the plaza, signaling the arrival of midday. The nostalgic tones of the ringing bell today seemed almost mournful, like a funeral’s dirge playing in the background.

Ghevin Drestice stood up with the bell, his stony smile unwavering as he walked up to the center of the stage. “Fellow citizens of Graniton,” he cried out, his magically-enhanced voice echoing over the hums of the crowd. “The appointed hour has arrived upon us. Under the midday sun, we have gathered here to condemn these vile assassins for their treachery against me, this town, and the future!” He pointed wildly at the Iron Yaks. “These so-called adventurers were once considered allies, friends, and good citizens of this great town. Their record as a D-ranked adventurer team can only show that they’ve accomplished a great variety of merit for this town. And yet,” he paused dramatically, “here they stand now, awaiting a death fit only for traitors. How could this have happened?”

As Marstin was jostled by the crowd, he pressed himself to stay at the front as much as he could. A particularly violent shove from behind, however, almost forced him out into the clearing. The young adventurer attempted to stop his momentum, and was only saved when a strong hand reached out and pulled him back upright. Marstin turned to thank the individual, only to look up into the stern face of Marcus, leader of the Red Family.

“Kid, you shouldn’t be here,” the red-haired giant said as soft as he could.

“They were corrupted from within!” Ghevin suddenly shouted in anger, thrusting his finger like a knife at Yarrow, who was glaring back. “This team of adventurers was infiltrated by outsiders! They worked together, lived together, and fought side-by-side. Their trust taken advantage of, they were unaware of the poison and deceit the outsiders slowly spread through their minds. After all, is it not right to help a friend? But to assist in murder,” Ghevin shook his head sorrowfully. “It is a sin of sorrow that these two citizens of ours were so polluted by the outside forces that they truly believed that slaying me would be for the best. In fact, if not for the wisdom of their leader, their plot might have succeeded!”

With a snap of his fingers, Ghevin summoned a small group from behind the gallows. Marstin’s eyes twitched fiercely as Oswald was half-led, half-dragged onto the stage by a pair of guards, his appearance gaunt and pale. Even Marcus’s stern face broke at the sight of a fellow D ranked adventurer being treated roughly and in bad health.

“The leader of this party stands here before you all!” Ghevin cried out, his arm thrust out towards the crowd. “This patriot and hero of the town fought back against hypocrisy and treason alone and was terribly wounded by those he once called friends, but he bought enough time for the noble guards of this town to subdue the assassins. I announce here that he will be treated at my home with the highest of honor and best medicine, at no expense to him, until he recovers, or I will have the finest crypt made for him, should he perish from so great his wounds.”

Oswald seemed to be trying to say something, but another snap from Ghevin and the adventurer was escorted off the stage without a chance to say anything. Marstin’s fists bled as he clenched them, the roars of approval from the crowd around him serving as knives piercing his ears as Ghevin’s blatant hypocrisy was met with thunderous assent.

I will not allow freedom to die with exultant applause.

The young adventurer turned back to Marcus. “I can’t let this happen, Marcus. They are innocent. I am innocent. You might not know me as well as I know them, but I beg of you, please trust me. Let me do what I need to do.”

“So you see!” Ghevin continued his screaming rant. “It's their kind that pollutes us! Their kind that we have approached with good intent, only to be met with a knife to the back! We must not allow ourselves to be tempted by those who are not like us! We must overcome the whispers of deceit and evil! Only then can we truly overcome the hardships that the world has given us, and stand united as true, free people!”

The red-haired giant scowled and mashed his teeth, his mind clearly at work. Marstin looked on, dividing his attention between the stage and the adventurer. Kyra didn’t say anything to make herself known to Marcus, but instinctively Marstin felt she had already been made as his partner.

A sudden explosion drew everyone’s attention, including Marstin’s. On the east side, a brawl had broken out between the tribal folk and the guards, with the adventurers splitting down the middle to help either side.

“There, there you see!” Ghevin screeched and pointed. “They show their true colors now! But they will not be able to stop this sentencing of justice! Nooseman, prepare the lever!”

“Marcus, please,” Marstin begged. “I once took a chance to trust your family with my life. I only ask that you return the favor.”

The red-haired giant adventurer closed his eyes, and gave the slightest of nods. For his size, Marcus quickly vanished into the crowd, and Marstin and Kyra returned their full attention to the stage.

Marstin tensed up and readied his muscles as he watched the hooded executioner approach the lever that separated life from death. Kyra joined him, and the two teens were ignored by the shouting people around them.

“On my signal, pull the lever!” Ghevin shouted. “One-”

Before the evil merchant could begin counting, however, a second explosion rang out on the south side, a much louder one that startled the crowd even more. The explosion was followed by a light fog of noxious stench that caused people to gag and wheeze and choke: a mix of rotten egg and rotting flesh. Even Ghevin began to gag on stage, distracting him and the guards.

Go!

Marstin, his sense of smell sealed by his concentration, dashed into the open space even as Kyra was delayed behind for just a moment, she herself unable to block her sense of smell. The young adventurer’s body seemed to hum with an odd flow of energy, somewhat similar to the times he’d gained strength beyond his abilities, but this time the flow of mana felt more natural, as if Marstin were casting a spell upon himself. If the previous times were like an unstoppable mudflow within his veins, then this time was a clear river of ever-increasing power, pushing himself to his limits without going over. Each of his senses felt the benefit: Marstin’s eyes were locked on the optimal path, his ears picking up the sounds of his opponents and their location, and his sense of touch allowing him to read the wind and the movement of others.

The 30-foot gap between the crowd and the stage vanished in only ten steps, and Marstin found himself at the gallows. Using his momentum, the young adventurer roundhouse-kicked the nooseman off the stage and hurled a throwing dagger at the same time, severing the nooses around the necks of the Iron Yaks. Landing, Marstin’s eyes locked onto Ghevin Drestice, who had just begun to realize what had happened. As the merchant’s face began to shift into an expression of recognition, Marstin kicked off the ground and shot toward the merchant. Ghevin was only barely able to pull out his decorated sword to block Marstin’s dual-wielding daggers. Meanwhile, Barklin and the guards were completely taken aback by Marstin’s sudden appearance.

“You finally reveal yourself, thief!” Ghevin roared hatefully, his eyes glistening with malicious intent as his voice was still echoing around the plaza. “Woe be unto the people who are born with evil amidst them, for they will try to drag others down with them! Let your death be a warning to all those with evil in their hearts!”

“Has anyone told you talk a lot of crap for someone so high off the ground?” Marstin said with a frown. “Why don’t you come down back to the ground with us normal people!”

Despite his appearance and conflict rousing-personality, Ghevin Drestice was not a capable fighter. It only took Marstin three strikes to disarm the man and force him down onto his knees, a dagger at his throat.

Ghevin looked up into Marstin’s steely gaze and sneered.

“Go ahead, thief,” Ghevin taunted. “Do it! You’ll change nothing!”

Marstin could sense the gaze of the entire town on him, from Barklin and the guards near or on the stage to the farthest child at the edge of the people. The pressure of a thousand gazes seemed to be threatening him, even as their voices began to rise up against him. If this had been the old Marstin, the young teen would have likely crumbled from the pressure. But, the Marstin of today felt nothing of the sort.

We are thieves, not assassins, came the voice of the mysterious thief from the capital city from Marstin’s memories.

Marstin held the dagger to Ghevin’s neck only for a moment longer, before using it to cut the voice-enhancing necklace from Ghevin’s neck. He took it and the magical gem from Ghevin, even as Kyra arrived to hold the merchant down. Marstin looked over at Barklin, but the lead receptionist of the Adventurer’s Guild didn’t seem to have any interest in stopping the young teen. If anything, Barklin appeared to be ignoring Ghevin’s not-so-subtle looks searching for assistance. The receptionist made a small nod toward Marstin, who returned it.

Quickly glancing around at the guards to ensure they were not preparing to attack, Marstin stood up and walked to the edge of the stage. He gazed out at the crowd of townspeople all looking at him with hate, anger, and fear. He tied the necklace back together and put it around his neck.

“I’m not a killer,” Marstin began, his voice softly echoing over the crowd. “I am many things besides that, however. People know me as urchin, street rat, thief, adventurer, friend, customer, and teacher among other names. I can see a number of those I consider friends in the crowd now.”

Get off the stage!

Release the mayor!

You traitor! Siding with them!

Marstin shook his head. “I’m not a good speaker, so I don’t know what to say to wake you all up. However, I do know that actions speak louder than words, so allow me to show you the truth!”

Marstin thrust the magical gem into the air, letting catch the light and the attention of everyone in the crowd.

“You cannot look away from this!” Marstin ordered. “You cannot ignore my words! This one command I give, is that everyone here must look within themselves and ask if what you are doing and thinking is just! Are these your ideals, or are these thoughts forced into your minds?”

Ghevin’s belittling chuckle came from behind Marstin. “You fool, your words have no power here. You lack the elegance of persuasion and the charisma of an orator, not to mention the knowledge of how to use that correctly.” A dull thud and Ghevin’s groan told Marstin that Kyra had punched the man for good measure.

Marstin ignored the man, watching the expressions of the townspeople. While most were still angry and scared looking, he could see that a number had odd expressions on their faces, as if they had tasted something disgusting. Barklin behind Marstin was one of the more obvious ones, and his face was warping quickly between emotions.

“You all have been manipulated by this evil merchant,” Marstin continued. “Have you not wondered why many of you are calling him ‘Mayor,’ when the election has not even occurred yet? Have you not wondered why you believe that voting for the man who maliciously bought out most of the businesses in Graniton in unfair deals would be the best choice? Have you not wondered what he has to gain by driving away anyone who could question him?”

More faces were twitching now, and a few heads were being held, as if the individuals were in pain from headaches.

“You should be wondering why!” Marstin roared out. “So, I release you all! Let your minds be free!” With a cry, Marstin threw the gem up and reared back.

“You fool!” Ghevin laughed, having realized what Marstin wanted to do. “The gem can’t be broken by your feeble attempts! It is a power beyond that of a mere mortal!”

Marstin ignored the man, his sole focus being placed on the dagger in his right hand and the gem falling from the sky, everyone’s gaze locked onto it. Unknown to everyone as they failed to see it, Marstin’s dagger was coated in a light coating of blue and brown ethereal fire, as if something were breathing mana into the weapon.

With a cry of defiance, Marstin slashed the dagger through the air. The gem, shining and magnificent, was torn asunder by the dagger, which lost its glow as soon as it finished slicing through the gem. The magical crystal, which had until then been rainbow-colored and eye- catching, suddenly reverted into an ugly stone of dirt and grime and exploded. The smoke rose into the air and took the shape of a demon, which screamed in pain under the sunlight and melted into nothingness under the Istutian sky. Marstin watched in surprise as the remnant pieces of soil scattered onto the stage; the ironic revelation of the gem itself actually being a lie as well serving as a final surprise.

Marstin turned around to look at Ghevin, whose face had frozen from mocking laughter to horrified gaping. Marstin turned back to face the crowd. All around, people were wincing, rubbing their heads, and groaning in pain.

“No!” Came the sudden cry, and Marstin whirled around to see Kyra being blasted back by a scroll Ghevin had whipped out from his cloak, and Barklin being pierced by a magical dagger in the shoulder. The enraged merchant charged Marstin with a wild expression of hate, his sword drawn out and ready to slice the teen’s neck off. Marstin moved to defend himself, only for the fatigue he’d been keeping down to suddenly explode through his body. He faltered and fell to his knees as the weakness of the flesh caught up to him, leaving him unable to defend himself as the sword came swinging down at his neck. Marstin refused to close his eyes as death approached.

“YOU DARE!” somebody roared out from behind Marstin, followed by a black blur whistling by his vision and impacting the evil merchant like a ram. Ghevin Drestice let out a supreme cry of pain and agony as he was sent flying into the stage, even denting it with his full figure as he sprawled out, clearly unconscious. Marstin looked up at the devil tail whipping around in anger in front of his face. He blinked at the strong back in front of him, and then darkness took him. Again.

Chapter 48

Chance watched the events unfolding between the glowing crystal’s forces and the massive parasite from the safety of its nerve bundles; though, to be fair, “watched” wasn’t necessarily the right word.  “Became informed” would probably be more accurate, because the cancerous nerve cell couldn’t actually observe what was going on in the small intestine of the large organism.  Instead, signals sent out from the nearby nerve receptors passed through its replicants as to what could be detected. Sadly, most of the activity wasn’t necessarily detected, but Chance could piece together quite a bit even from the limited information.

True to its word, the cancer cell had released its stranglehold over the nervous system communications, allowing information to pass into and out of the lower digestive system.  The neuron cell that was helping the crystal, Progen, was then able to receive all of the updates that Chance had been suppressing and was then able to send out communications of its own.  With the cancerous nerve cell having a better ability to comprehend as time went on, it was finally able to understand and even learn from what the neuron cell seemed to do effortlessly as it communicated with the organism’s immune system, coordinating an attack on the infection sites.

Chance was pleased to see that it had been accurate in its trust in the glowing crystal; within a short length of time, faster than it would’ve thought possible, the infections full of the bacteria and viruses that had been planted by the voice were eradicated.  That alone was proof to the cancerous cell that the crystal wanted to save the organism and didn’t have plans to destroy it.

Only then did Progen’s focus turn to the giant parasite working its way through the small intestine.  Through some more expert communication from the crystal’s helper neuron, the organism’s immune system attacked in a coordinated fashion – though the results of that attack were never determined, as most of it happened outside of nerve receptors.  There were signs of trauma visited upon the intestinal organ in multiple areas, as well as unusual signals regarding unfamiliar sensations recorded that Chance could only interpret as something called “heat”, but for the most part there was no direct communication from the fight itself.  At one time, the bulk of the parasite was pressed up against the intestinal wall; but it soon moved from there, and only a few signals of further trauma to the wall were passed along.

At least, that was the way it was until there was suddenly a massive injury to the digestive organ, millions of the organism’s immune cells that were lying in wait for another attack were spilled out, and a few nerve receptors were ripped apart.  The lack of communication from that area was worrisome, mainly because Chance didn’t know what was going on; that worry only intensified as the cancerous nerve cell suddenly experienced the lower peripheral nerve system instantly going dark.  It could see exactly where a band, along the roots of the major nerve bundles leading down there, had destroyed themselves to preserve the energy they used to pass along their flashes of communication, so Chance assumed that it was the organism’s instinctual reaction to a life-threatening internal situation.

The fact that the life of the large organism was in danger made the cancer cell think it had been tricked, that the glowing crystal really did want to destroy its home.  There wasn’t really anything that it could do to either help or hinder, though, because everything leading down to Progen and the helper nerve cell had been entirely cut off.  In short, Chance was blind to whatever was happening down there.

Fortunately, the shutdown hadn’t affected his replicants, which were all connected to and feeding off of the energy coursing through the spinal cord – all of which meant that Chance was able to continue expanding.  Just as the forward replicants reached the blood-brain barrier and were stopped as if they had hit a wall, there was a sudden change that seemed to flow through all of the nervous system as those nerve cells that had been destroyed were repaired – and a surge of information flooded into Chance’s network of replicants.

Even as the cancer cell processed trauma reports, trying to put it all together to get a better understanding of what just happened, there were new reports coming in that indicated positive changes in the damage that had been done.  While Chance couldn’t be sure of the source behind all of the rapid repairs to the organism, the fact that it could still determine that the helping neuron cell was still directing things from the crystal’s side was promising.  Whatever had been done was in the past, and Progen was working to fix the damage that the voice had caused.

As if thinking about the voice had summoned it, a weak projection of words and images streamed into Chance’s awareness.

Astonishment.   Anger.  Abandonment.

The words were accompanied by flashes of images of the massive parasitic worm fighting against some sort of monstrous immune cell half of its size – and eventually losing to it.  In addition, there was a sense of withdrawal, of a retreat that didn’t quite make sense to Chance.  The words and images started to fade and grow quieter until the cancer cell couldn’t even hear it anymore.

Suddenly, the wall that had been blocking his access to the brain thinned out considerably, as if it had lost its power somehow.  Instinctively, Chance convinced its nearest replicants to replicate again and push through what was left of the barrier.  Luckily, those nearest to the barrier were primed for replication, so it wasn’t long before more cancerous nerve cells appeared and forced themselves through the former border.

As soon as they were established and in place, connected unobtrusively to where the spinal cord attached to the lower brainstem, Chance was overwhelmed with more information than his nerve cells could process.  More knowledge about the organism’s processes, the role that nerve cells and neurons played in controlling those processes, why the blood-brain barrier was in place, and knowledge about the information processed from external sources flooded into its cancer nerve cells.  The comprehension about the wider world outside of the large organism was almost impossible to believe, and in order to keep its awareness from failing, Chance stopped trying to understand it.

The most important knowledge the cancer cell gained from the extensive information overload was about the nature of the crystal and the voice.  The glowing crystal, who had named himself Progen, was in fact some sort of dungeon crystal that had wound up inside of the organism’s body.  How it got there wasn’t exactly known, but the understanding that he was expanding his influence in order to turn the different systems the organism possessed into a dungeon was somehow subconsciously known.  It wasn’t the most altruistic of motivations, but it also firmed up the fact that Progen wanted to keep the organism alive – so as to take it over and control it.  That was completely opposite of what the voice had told Chance, of course, and now he knew exactly why.

The “voice” was none other than the semi-sentient emanations of a weak, depleted magical entity called a Blood Curse.  It had no physical presence, and couldn’t directly affect anything within the organism’s systems – but it could use its magical power to affect certain pathogens or abnormal cells that invaded or otherwise wound up in the organism’s body.  From what Chance understood, the powerful Blood Curse was normally fatal to the organism within the first few minutes of it taking root inside of the brain, but something had been done to this particular Blood Curse within moments of its investiture.

Weakened almost to negligibility, it had gathered strength and more of its magical power over an extended length of time, waiting for a time to strike and complete its purpose: to destroy the organism.  It would not stop striving to complete its purpose and could not be removed even through magical means.  Apparently, the only way that the Blood Curse could be removed was if the originator of the Curse or its medium was destroyed; the Curse was tied not only to this organism, but to another organism that acted as the originator, as well.

What Chance learned last was that the Blood Curse had used its magical power to create…Chance.  While Chance’s original, special, and unique nerve cell was borne of pure chance as a result of Progen’s use of his dungeon power to repair the organism, it was through the infusion of the Blood Curse’s magical power that self-awareness blossomed.  The cancer cell could understand the intent behind the infusion of magical power, as it would give the Curse the ability to manipulate the nervous system in ways it never had before, but the self-awareness backfired; the cancerous nerve cells developed a mind of their own.

Which brought it to its current state: Chance was now inside of the brain, ready to take control of it for itself, not for this “Blood Curse”.  Even as it assimilated all of the information it had gained access to, over what was likely hours of time, the intrusion through the barrier previously blocking the cancerous cell from the brain released something else.  It wasn’t the voice, however, but some other force that it sensed spreading throughout the body.  At the same time, the obvious defeat of the parasite down in the intestine by Progen, the piercing of the barrier, and the release of the powerful force had greatly drained the magical power of the Curse.

Chance could feel the magical power draining from his uppermost replicants, and its self-awareness drained along with it.  Not only did the self-awareness start to fade, but with the removal of magical power, Chance’s replicants started to die off.  While they had been operating physically by absorbing energy from the nearby “normal” nerve cells, their internal nuclei were sustained by the Curse’s power; without that power, the cancer cells essentially melted and fell apart.  It started with only a few nearest the brainstem, but it soon became a wave of dead cancerous nerve cells that cascaded down the spinal cord.

“NO!  This can’t be happening!”  As Chance felt the quality of its self-awareness start to quickly fade, it searched around for some sort of solution.  Unfortunately, without the ability to physically move, it had nowhere to go; without the magical power the Blood Curse provided, as sinister as the motive behind it was, Chance couldn’t operate the way it had been; and despite the new knowledge it had, the cancer cell couldn’t do anything to stop the Curse from continuing to strive for the organism’s destruction.

Or…can’t I?

Chance had become quite adept at manipulating the nervous system by intercepting the flashes of energy that constituted communication, altering those messages to provide false information, and even creating its own transfer of information.  That was its expertise – and just about the only thing it could do.  Therefore, leaning on that strength, Chance gathered up all of the knowledge that it had recently acquired from peripheral access with the brain, bundled it into an exceedingly large package, and sent it slowly forth.

As the cascade of dying replicants reached his original location near the intestines, the cancer cell once known as Chance – now barely conscious – inwardly smiled as it knew its knowledge would live on in the only place it could survive: in a lonely interneuron cell in the appendix.

Chapter 49

“Stemmy, what’s going on?  I sense the pressure of that foreign mana again.”

The host has arrived at a large gathering of other humans, and the same human that held this host captive is now using the dungeon crystal to influence their thoughts with its mana.

“That’s not good – but it doesn’t seem to be affecting us, is it?”  While he could sense the mana floating around outside of the body, a lot stronger than he had felt as of yet, none of it felt like it was trying to burrow its way into the auditory nerves like last time.

Affirmative.  Stemmy has kept a miniscule amount of Progen’s mana cycling through all of the somatosensory nerves that have been influenced, which has prevented any foreign mana intrusions.

“Good.  The body is still recovering, after all, and the last thing we need is for—”  Progen was suddenly cut off when he heard an explosion; it was strange because he heard an explosion from outside of the body, which meant that it was quite loud.  “Stemmy, what was—?”  Another even louder explosion occurred, cutting him off again.

From what Stemmy can determine from partially understood conversations, there is some sort of rescue attempt…hold on…host is subverting Stemmy’s informational blockage somehow.  The somatosensory nerves are no longer listening to Stemmy’s communications.

“What?  How—?”  Progen was getting tired of being cut off mid-sentence, though this time it was his own doing.  He could feel another foreign mana flowing over the nervous system, though this mana wasn’t invasive or even trying to subvert his influence like that of the other dungeon crystal.  Instead, it felt…natural, for some reason.

The origin of the mana seemed to come from beyond the blood-brain barrier inside of the body.  A few seconds of contemplation and surprise was all it took for the miniscule dungeon crystal to realize that it was Marstin’s innate mana that was flowing through the body.  And flow it did; muscles were energized, the sensory systems were hijacked and put to the body’s own purpose, and adrenaline again raced through the bloodstream.

“Uh…Stemmy?  I can’t see this turning out well.  The body was already fatigued and recovering; won’t this…?”

Progen is correct.  While this foreign mana is benefitting the host, overexertion and collapse is now inevitable.

There was nothing that Progen could do.  The dungeon crystal had a bit of mana to play with at the moment, but he wasn’t regenerating any right now off of the life force of the body, because it had already been overdrawn.  If Marstin didn’t stop soon, it could end up with the fool doing irreversible damage to himself that not even a healing potion could fix.

A few familiar assaults by the foreign dungeon crystal mana occurred again, but were easily beaten back – not by Progen’s mana, but by Marstin’s.  Then, strangely, an unusual and insistent presence invaded his consciousness, as something came in contact with his influence.

LISTEN!  FORGET!  OBEY!  CORRUPT!  CONTROL!  DOMINATE!

“Whoa, what is that?  That doesn’t sound or feel like that malevolent entity hiding out in the brain, Stemmy?”

The host has acquired the dungeon crystal from the other human and has tied it around his neck.

“What?!  No!  Get it away!”  Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could see a faint essence leaking into the blood vessels underneath the skin along the body’s chest.  When he reached out to touch it, he recoiled in disgust; it felt to him like some sort of poisonous sludge coating everything within its presence.  It was slowly eating up his mana that had been used towards influencing the circulatory and peripheral nervous system.

Ironically, if Progen hadn’t influenced those systems, there probably wouldn’t have been an access point for this dungeon crystal to—

“You’re not helping, Stemmy!” he shouted, unable to come up with a solution as he watched the corruption spread, while continuing to block out the incessant screaming about death and destruction in his mind.

Abruptly, the presence was removed, leaving behind the corruption – but thankfully, no more was entering the body.  “Good, he got rid of it.  Now, I just need to figure out how to get rid of this nasty stuff.”

Negative.  The host appears intent on destroying the dungeon crystal.

“How does he expect to do that?  Powerful enchanted weapons can easily destroy a crystal, but I don’t remember you saying that Marstin had any.”

Progen is correct.  Host is using a basic steel dagger.

“Well then, he’s out of luck.  I agree that the foul thing needs to be destroyed, but the only thing that can destroy…it…is….”  Progen paused for half a second as a thought occurred to him.  “Hold on, Stemmy, I have an idea.  It might end up killing us all, but we can’t allow that other dungeon crystal to touch us again.”

Stemmy would advise against—

“Yeah, yeah – I know.”  Progen reached out again to the body for mana, though instead of converting life force into mana, he pulled at Marstin’s innate mana infusing the different systems.  At first, it didn’t want to budge as he tried to yank it away, as it was held in place by a strong will – much stronger than his own.  When that didn’t work in the slightest, he reevaluated his strategy.  I’ve found that working side-by-side with the body’s systems instead of trying to take control has been much more effective.

So, using that thought, Progen sent an extremely tiny amount of his own mana – less than a single point – into the largest concentrations of Marstin’s mana in a nearby blood vessel, letting the two manas mix together.  Since it was inside of the circulatory system – which Progen had nominal influence over – the other mana didn’t immediately reject his own; instead, it incorporated it into itself, giving him a unique perspective that left him nearly overwhelmed.

The mana inside of the body, which originated somewhere in the brain, was a force that responded to Marstin’s will.  However, untrained in its use, there wasn’t much that Marstin could do with it; it had followed the same pathways that Progen had essentially carved out with his influence, allowing the body to take advantage of the enhancements Progen’s mana had provided.  It was nearly the same way that the other dungeon crystal had corrupted its way into the body, because Progen had carved the way for foreign influence.

But that was about all that Marstin’s mana knew how to do, despite the will of the body insisting on destroying that other dungeon crystal.  Fortunately, Progen was an expert in manipulating mana, so he could work with the body’s innate mana to carry out its will.

“If he doesn’t have access to an enchanted weapon…then we might as well make one.”  It wasn’t going to be a permanent enchantment, but one that would serve its temporary purpose: to destroy a dungeon crystal.

It was easy enough to tell the body’s mana what to do to carry out its will, because Progen knew exactly how it needed to be shaped and infused into the dagger Marstin was holding.  He instinctively knew that trying to direct the mana to do something against the body’s will would be impossible at the moment…though once he gained control of the brain and the entire central nervous system, that might change.

The mana flowed out of the different systems that it had previously infused, rushing out through the body’s right hand and presumably into the dagger being held by Marstin.  He couldn’t actually see it happening, but Stemmy reported that it seemed to be working.

Then there was a sudden movement of the body and a horrid, demonic screech that Progen heard even down in the appendix.

The…stone was destroyed.  Apparently, there was some sort of demon bound to it, which might explain a few things.

“That wasn’t a dungeon crystal?”

It may have been at one point, but it had been so corrupted that it basically crumbled into dust when the host’s mana came into contact with it.

Speaking of crumbling into dust, when Progen looked at the corruption near the body’s chest, he saw that the corruption that had been invading the circulatory and nervous system was starting to fade away, as whatever had been powering it had been destroyed.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that had been destroyed.  When Progen had redirected the mana that had been flowing through the body, it had basically wrecked the already poorly recovered state of everything from the sudden absence.  Different systems were starting to lose whatever energy they once had, though nothing expressly shut down; nevertheless, everything was operating much slower than they should from the excessive fatigue.

Stemmy warned Progen that this might happen.

“I know, I know.  Not much we can do about it, though.  Time for Marstin to take a nap, I think; I hope nobody kills him while he’s sleeping.”

And with that, Progen sensed the body collapsing and losing itself to unconsciousness.  Sadly, Marstin wasn’t the only one that was having problems -- Stemmy was having some sort of breakdown.

“Stemmy!  What’s going on?!”  The interneuron cell was starting to shake violently, as if it were going to explode.

Too…much…information…

“Too much information?  What does that mean?”  Progen had no idea what his assistant was talking about, because it had been fine just a few short moments ago.  He had been assessing the body, looking for anything that he could do to speed up recovery, when all of a sudden there was a surge through the nearby nervous system, and a bright flash had hit Stemmy.

Nge…brslker…shfsnr…ahreioshr ... hfnnd…pqweiten…fsadln… zlsiernx…

None of that made the smallest bit of sense, even as the interneuron cell stopped shaking and started to expand violently.  “No!  What is going on?”

Stemmy was inflating like one of the lungs from the respiratory system, though it didn’t look like there was any deflation in the near future.  Inflation…inflation…the lungs inflate because they are sucking in air from outside the body…so, why would Stemmy inflate?  The only thing I can think of is what it said – too much information.  How would I help remove that information?

The answer was so obvious that he couldn’t believe he didn’t think of it before.  Doing what he had done shortly after he arrived in the appendix in order to move Stemmy’s memories and knowledge out from his crystal, Progen created a stem cell next to Stemmy’s interneuron cell; after a brief second’s reflection, he went ahead and created two-dozen more.  Then, using his dwindling mana, he infused the interneuron cell and then infused the 25 other stem cells with a large chunk of his power.  Then he withdrew as all of the cells started to glow…and the dungeon crystal waited to see if it had been enough.

The interneuron cell continued to swell, growing large enough that Progen was expecting it to burst at any moment.  The glow that his mana had created started to fade and he almost infused some more into them, despite not having much left, but held off when Stemmy started to rapidly deflate.

The stem cells started to change shape as well, mimicking the form of the interneuron cell until they became a cluster of identical interneurons surrounding the slightly larger original cell containing Stemmy.  The glow that had accompanied his mana faded completely and Progen was faced with a large cluster of cells that…just sat there.

“Stemmy?  Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.  There was no response for nearly a minute and the dungeon crystal kept repeating his question, hoping for some sort of reply.  He was concerned that something had been damaged inside of his assistant, destroying who Stemmy was on a fundamental level.

I am…as you say… “okay” now.  I apologize for the delay; I am adjusting to networking through my new interneuron cells and sorting through the vast knowledge I have just recently acquired.  Thank you for reacting quickly and expanding my personal neural network; otherwise I may have been lost.

“Stemmy!  I’m so glad you’re okay! You had me worried there for a moment—wait a minute!  Did you just say, ‘I’?”  Progen’s assistant had always spoken in the third person as it didn’t really have an individual identity.

Yes, I did.

“How?  Why?  What even happened?”

The expansion of my personal neural network along with your infusion of mana has expanded my awareness and my sense of self.  I now identify as an individual, where I recognize that doing so before was impossible being limited to a single interneuron cell.

That was good, as it meant that Progen’s assistant was growing and expanding as an individual – and would hopefully mean that the dungeon crystal wouldn’t have to prompt Stemmy for information; that his assistant would instead volunteer it.

As for what happened, the cancerous nerve cell transferred its accumulated knowledge to me through the nervous system in one large chunk, instead of piecemeal.  It was this sudden rush of information that nearly caused my destruction; only through disseminating that knowledge through the additional stem cells – that you so helpfully provided – did my cell not explode from overstimulation.

“Uh…why would the cancer cell do that?” he asked, now even more confused.

Because its destruction had been inevitable, and Chance wanted to preserve its knowledge.  If you observe the nerve bundles where the tumorous cells had been located, you’ll find that they have all been destroyed.

A bit dazed, Progen did as was instructed – and through the fuzziness of his viewpoint, he saw that the cancer nerve cells were now gone.  There were barely visible remnants of them floating around, as if they had literally fallen apart.

“Again, how?  Why?  I’m not complaining, but this doesn’t make any sense, Stemmy.”

The reason for all of that is a bit jumbled, as I’ve gleaned from the information sent to me by Chance, but I’ll have it sorted out soon enough.  I have learned two bits of important information that you’ll likely appreciate, though.

“Oh?  And what are those?”

The first is that Chance, shortly before all of its cancer cells were destroyed, managed to pierce through the blood-brain barrier.  I’m positive that the necessary information to do that yourself will be inside of the knowledge I received – just as soon as I organize it appropriately.

“That is great, Stemmy!  I can finally move up there and wipe out the malevolent entity and take control of this body—wait, what’s the second bit of information you learned?”

Well, it turns out that your “malevolent entity” isn’t quite what you thought it was.  Tell me, have you ever heard of a Blood Curse?

Chapter 50

Visions swam around like echoes of time in the darkness of the void. Awareness was loose and forgoing, yet managing to stay lucid in the elusive happenstance. The images of light pierced the dark, and yet could not help but remain partially in shadow.

A scene: a grand dinner party. A family get-together filled with laughter, joy, servants, and food. Happiness.

Another scene: pain and loss. The spilling of blood and red wine running across the cobblestone like rivers of death. The anguished cries of children, mothers, and fathers, and the panicked screams of the revelry. And then it all stopped, like the flick of a switch.

And a knife came hurtling toward the eye.

“No!” Marstin cried out, shooting up from his pillow, eyes wide and cold sweat pouring down his neck. He instinctively reached for his daggers, only for a pair of strong, yet gentle, arms to hold him back. Marstin’s gaze focused on the rough-looking appearance of the guild master, who was sitting beside Marstin’s bed, in a room Marstin did not recognize.

“Easy there, boy, you’re not in any danger,” the guild master said calmingly. “You’re alright. You’re safe. And you did some darn fine work.”

“You’re here,” Marstin murmured as his reasoning returned. “Wait, but, Ghevin, and the Iron Yaks, the hanging!”

“It’s all been settled, boy,” the guild master reassured him, pressing Marstin back down onto the comfy pillows. “Take a deep breath now and relax. Your body isn’t in very good shape, after all, and the women out there would be very angry with me if you reopened any wounds.”

As if those words were prophecy, Marstin immediately felt an aching burning throughout his body which caused him to lose any strength for trying to sit up. He let out a groan and allowed himself to relax back into the warmth and comfort of the oddly well-made bed.

“Told you,” the guild master chuckled. “Now, would you like some tea before I begin answering your questions?”

“Um, yes,” Marstin confirmed. “Some tea sounds wonderful right about now.”

The guild master chuckled again as he stood up and walked to the other side of the room. Marstin took the time to take in the appearance of the guild master once again. Like so many other Istutians, the guild master was a very large and muscular man. He possessed a deeper bronze skin color than before, a full beard of black hair under a bald head, and wore a set of full leather armor that covered his neck down to his legs. Just this appearance alone made the man intimidating to behold, even without considering the large scar crossing his left eye from forehead to cheek. And finally, a quivering black tail, much like a rat, twisted and whipped back and forth from behind him as well. All in all, the guild master resembled an experienced and capable warrior through and through.

The guild master busied himself opening a series of cabinets and revealing a mix of ingredients, cooking supplies and tools, and books. As the man perused through his collection, Marstin noticed curiously that the cabinet was very familiar. In fact, he’d seen that exact cabinet and things inside it once before, the last time he was in the guild master’s office, when he first entered the Adventurer’s Guild, back after he’d been abandoned by the Thieves’ Guild. A quick glance around the rest of the room confirmed Marstin’s suspicions; he was lying in a bed in the guild master’s office. Light was shining in from the one window behind the desk, and a single candle sat in the back corner to Marstin’s right.

Just like last time, the guild master appeared to be quite adept at the process of making tea, despite the visual disparity of his muscular form and the delicate-looking teacups he was handling with grace and a soft touch. His right hand whipped the tea brush around with a brisk and even movement in the tea leaves, even as a small flame on the tip of his tail was used to heat the tea kettle. Once the tea kettle reached an unseen condition, the tea leaves were gently added into the kettle. While the tea cooked under the fire of his tail, the guild master’s hands gracefully prepared the cups and additions, including a rare sugar cube from across the continent. It barely took a minute before the kettle whistled, and the tea was prepared. The guild master returned to the bed, holding a teacup in each hand on a small delicate platter and the kettle on his tail.

“Like last time, I have prepared a cherry leaf tea,” the guild master gave Marstin a smile. “Do you have the strength to drink it?”

Marstin gave the guild master a pitiful look as he lay limp on the bed.

“Only joking, only joking,” the guild master winked. “Here, let me help you.” With a wave of his hand, Marstin felt a force under him lift his body into a sitting position. When his arms lifted up without any strength, Marstin noticed what appeared to be a visible air current acting as his muscles wrapped around his body.

“Just a small trick, nothing to think too much about,” the guild master explained haphazardly with a causal wave of his hands as his tail poured the soothing liquid into both cups. “Now, enjoy your tea.”

With the help of the wind, Marstin was able to grasp the teacup well enough and blew on the surface before taking a small, savoring sip. His favorite beverage was warm and tasted of the cherry leaves found commonly in the Istutian forests, a common enough taste on its own, but being accented by the proper level of heat allowed the distinct tartness of the leaf to exist without becoming bitter. Marstin smiled softly as he enjoyed the nostalgic taste; it had been his father’s favorite tea, as well. The young boy measured his sips slowly, taking the time to enjoy the fragrance and the soothingly warm feeling building up in his stomach. The guild master said nothing, only continuing to watch the young man in front of him as he, too, sipped his tea.

The two finished imbibing at roughly the same time, and the guild master retrieved Marstin’s cup before directing the wind to gently return Marstin to his previous position lying on the bed. The cups and kettle he then carried back to the cabinet and put away before returning to Marstin.

“So, shall I begin answering your questions?” The guild master smiled. “Perhaps you want to know why I didn’t follow through with my original promise of raising you from G rank to E rank?”

Marstin blinked. He had completely forgotten about that particular promise, made in this very same room after drinking tea. “Um, not really. I’m rather okay working my way up to E rank on my own.”

“Good boy,” the guild master nodded happily. “Because I completely forgot about the promise myself.” The large man then let out a loud laugh and slapped his thighs as if he had just told a funny joke. “In all seriousness, you rented a room at the Starglass Inn before I could go through the paperwork,” the guild master explained seriously a moment later. “Yolna contacted me, as she likes to do, and so I held back on your promotion so that old . . . woman wouldn't charge you more than an arm and leg per night.

“But distractions aside, I assume what you really want me to ask is what happened after you lost consciousness, yes?”

“Please, sir, are the Iron Yaks safe?” Marstin begged softly.

“They are fine, for the most part,” the guild master sighed softly. “Yarrow, Frain, and George are recovering in the guild’s medical center. Oswald, unfortunately, is in a coma, alongside a few others. And I am not sure we will be able to get him or the others out of it.”

“No,” Marstin whispered. “But, he was awake before, even if he didn’t look good.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” the guild master shook his head. “Why not ask the other question on your mind first, before I explain.”

Marstin thought quickly. “What happened to Ghevin Drestice?” he asked coldly.

“He is in heavy chains, in the darkest room into which I could throw him,” the guild master’s smile curled up into a hateful snarl. “He has numerous crimes pinned against him, growing ever longer as we move through the records kept in his house, and dig through the mass grave he had hidden in his basement. Suffice to say, it is unlikely he will survive the year.”

The guild master shook his head ruefully. “You’re a hero Marstin, yes -- whether you like it or not,” he emphasized, over Marstin’s look of disgust. “That’s what you get for ruining the perfect crime in front of the entire town, you know. When you broke that crystal, its magic was instantly shattered through every mind it had wrapped its slimy tentacles around, so everyone was able to ‘wake up’ from the state Ghevin had placed them in. Oswald and a few others took it worse though, as their minds had all but shattered from attempting to fight off the influence of the magic; and thus, the comas.”

“I see,” Marstin murmured sadly. “Sir, what was that crystal? How could it have done all those things without anyone else knowing what it was?”

The guild master clicked his tongue and leaned back into his chair. “The easy answer is that it was a tool made to manipulate minds. That’s what most people need to know. The real answer? An enchanted dungeon core, to put it as simply as possible.”

“Dungeon core, like, a dungeon, dungeon core?” Marstin asked in surprise, remembering the demon head made of smoke. “But, what about the demon? And that it was actually made of dirt and not crystal?”

“As I said, that’s the simple answer,” the guild master chuckled ruefully. “It’s common knowledge that dungeon cores are very valuable as materials for magical items, serving as the power source, for instance. But, what many don’t realize is that a dungeon crystal can be much more useful than a mere power source. After all, dungeons can do incredible things while they are alive: create monsters, manipulate the world around them, create items from mana, and other remarkable accomplishments. Even dead, the crystal is still capable of those feats -- so long as the user understands how to use it. It can channel magic through the expenditure of mana, and this includes spells of the divine nature.”

“George told me he had told you about the truth of the Thrawnby Incident,” the guild master suddenly let out a huff. “Well, those cultists we were tracking were followers of Helgrima, the Demon God of Discord. At the time, it was assumed that they entered Istut to take out the Thrawnby Caravan to promote their beliefs. But in the years since, I have been collecting evidence, which shows that the cult actually came to Istut to trade with an organization. The nature of the trade eludes me, but obviously the price was the attack on the caravan. Only, the thieves ruined the trade when they sabotaged the cult members with their own spell, so the trail was left cold. However, the nature of the gem you destroyed has finally put the pieces of the puzzle together for me, because that dungeon crystal was clearly a demonic artifact, enchanted to invoke the power of discord, and to manipulate minds via the power of Helgrima. That demon face made of smoke was the soul of a sloth demon, Helgrima’s descendent.

“This is just my assumption now, since I’m unfamiliar with the making of demonic artifacts,” the guild master mused. “But I believe the demon of sloth was summoned from one of the nine hells to inhabit the gem and use it to amplify its powers when in use. When not in use, the artifact would just be a pretty innocuous gem meant to be admired, hiding its true polluted appearance. When the demon soul was slain, the dungeon crystal was depleted of mana and returned to the dirt and dust it had once started as.”

“If all of that is true, then why didn’t Ghevin use the gem before? I was supposed to steal it months ago,” Marstin asked.

“He didn’t have it until this year.” The guild master wore a strange look on his face. “Evidently, the thieves took it off a cultist during the commotion, thinking it a pretty piece. Records from Ghevin’s villa show that he was only able to acquire it from a pawn shop here in Graniton via a proxy, and that attracted the attention of the Thieves’ Guild. With the mess it was involved in, the merchant had no choice but to come here himself to retrieve it and use it.”

“So, it’s over now?” Marstin asked.

“When it comes to these kinds of things, who knows,” the guild master sighed. “A lot of innocent people were implicated in this affair. Many relationships have been damaged by the mistrust. And Ghevin himself may not even be the final individual in charge of this affair. All we can do is keep digging until we reach the end.

“But that’s for us to figure out,” the guild master slapped his thigh and stood up. “Your job is done now, little hero. So you just rest and let the adults do their jobs. Alright?”

“Wait,” Marstin said, catching the guild master’s attention before he could leave. “You said Oswald and others had damaged their minds? I think I might know someone who can help, if he’s still in town.”

***

Later that day, Marstin made his way down the stairs of the prison, assisted by a cane, conveniently provided by Elijah upon his house call to Marstin, informing him that the town of Graniton had paid off Marstin’s debts on his behalf as thanks. The sly man had also maneuvered a medium healing potion into Marstin’s blanket, allowing the young adventurer enough strength to sneak out of his sick room down to the prison, which was located near the guild hall.

Marstin didn’t want anyone to come with him or know why he was there. He had some questions to ask, and he didn’t trust anyone else to hear them. Not after what he had just been through, and what he suspected.

On the bottom level of the prison, there was only a single cell reserved for prisoners awaiting death. There, now, lay the figure of Ghevin Drestice, stripped of his finery and wearing only tattered cloth and iron chains. The merchant raised his head when Marstin approached, having been allowed to hear Marstin’s footsteps.

“So the thief returns,” Ghevin sneered. “Poor timing. I have nothing left for you to steal.”

“I’m here for answers,” Marstin whispered coldly.

“And, pray tell, why should I give them to you?” Ghevin chuckled darkly. “A man on death’s row holds no fear beyond death, and you lack the status or capability to even offer life as a possibility.”

“You said before, you’ve never killed a person,” Marstin said, ignoring the man’s words. “How confident are you?”

“Completely. I don’t like getting my hands dirty,” the merchant scoffed. “Don’t demean me with such thoughts.”

“Because manipulating others to do it for you is such clean work,” Marstin retorted. “In any case, tell me, did you ever work as a servant in the house of the lord?”

Ghevin’s smile vanished. “No one knows that. How do you know that?” For once, the merchant seemed generally angry, and nervous.

“You were there, when they died,” Marstin continued speaking. “You did something to their drinks, to their food. You killed them, didn’t you? All of them?”

“I DID NOTHING!” Ghevin suddenly screamed, his body flailing uselessly against the chains. “THEY DIED BY ANOTHER’S HAND!”

“That seems to have set you off,” Marstin smiled darkly. “Not that it matters what you say. Last question. Do you remember the name, Marstin Hardgrove?”

Ghevin froze completely, and Marstin could no longer see his face.

“That name,” a whisper suddenly came from the darkness. “Hardgrove. Hardgrove, Hardgrove. . . that’s the lord’s name, isn’t it? Funny, I seem to have forgotten it, somehow. Strange . . . strange, how could I forget my master? My master? I respected my master?” the voice suddenly began to babble, “But he kept letting them in. Those outsiders, even though I warned him they would bring nothing but trouble. He waved me off, and I was so angry, and . . . and . . . a little sprinkle, just a little sprinkle. A warning . . . too much. Too much, TOO MUCH!”

Ghevin screamed in pain, startling Marstin. And then, Ghevin went limp, and blood began to pool around him, framing his body as if the merchant was served on a crimson platter to Marstin. The former thief, young adventurer, and growing man looked on in shock and horror, as the implications only just began to set in.

Epilogue

“I call upon the great god Equinox, Lord of Seasons and Cycles, to watch over this ceremony and bless it, to free the un-living from their place here on the world of Fortum to begin their travel to their final destination.” Marstin’s eyes wavered slightly as Linda began her prayer, sitting at the front of a series of pews and chairs before the altar.

The priestess truly looked her part in this moment, wearing a long, flowing traditional dress of white with sewing that seemed to constantly shift from white, to green, to red, to brown, before repeating the cycle. Upon her brow, a headdress and veil covered her face and hair, making her look like a statue carved from fine marble. If not for her voice, and the occasional movement of her arms to spread incense and bless water, Marstin truly would have believed her to be a statue.

The two were standing in a small chapel room at the back of the Starglass Inn, a place that had been provided by Yolna for adventurers seeking prayer and guidance. Joining them in the long room were several others: Kyra, Olen, Marcus and Shane, Yolna, the guild master, Jillia, Yule, Etna, Elijah, Archie, Phil and Larry accompanied by a female adventurer, and several others close to Marstin. They had all gathered to give Marstin the support of their company, showing their friendship. Even Yolna had left her post at the receptionist desk in the inn to join them for the ceremony, and she was joined by a certain robed man. Jorkan the Seeker gave Marstin a subtle wink from the back, which Marstin returned a moment later with a nod as his gaze drifted to the other surprise participant.

In the back, Oswald was sitting in a makeshift rolling chair with Frain standing behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder, which he grasped shakily with his own. Oswald and several guards had been the most adversely affected by Ghevin’s foul enchantments, and it had been a bit touch- and-go for a few days. But after Marstin successfully persuaded the guild master, the former adventurer had unofficially employed Jorkan as a healer, with the payment of the guild master’s official support for Istut citizenship. The philosopher had taken the deal graciously and gotten to work immediately. With the wondrous mental nature of his magic, Jorkan was able to coax the minds back together long enough for their souls to repair the worst of the mental damage, saving their lives. However, Oswald and the others would forever be touched by their experience and would require extensive physical rehabilitation, for their minds to remember how to control their own bodies. And they would never regain their full abilities.

While the guards could switch over to administrator duties, Oswald was left to face forced retirement from being an adventurer, and the man still hadn’t come to full terms with this reality. The guild master seemed to have a plan for Oswald, however; so, hope still existed, and the other members of the Iron Yaks stood by their leader to help him recover, Frain most of all.

“And now, a surviving relative shall join me before the altar, to call forth the souls and spirits of the deceased,” Linda’s voice rang Marstin out of his musing, drawing attention back to the ceremony at hand. He stood up and approached the altar at Linda’s beckoning.

The altar was a simple wooden table covered in a ceremonial white cloth, with two incense burners and a pewter bowl in the center. Normally, Linda had told him, there would be pictures of the dead, or some other representation for them, but Marstin could not remember enough to adorn it with anything with which to enshrine his family. Instead, he had proposed a different idea, which Linda had confirmed was appropriate.

As Marstin stood in front of the altar, he removed his dagger and made a small cut on his finger. Drip by drip, he let his blood fall into the pewter bowl until the bottom was covered in a thin layer.

“Blood calls out to blood,” Linda chanted beside him. “The torment of the living calls out to the peace of the dead. May the spirits gather to be purified of their worldly regrets.”

Suddenly, the room felt ever so slightly colder. Marstin blinked as his breath became slightly visible, even as before it had been impossible to see. As his mind began to consider the situation, he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, and then his back, and a tug at his sleeve, and so on and so forth as the sensation of many hands began to grasp at his body. And Marstin found he was unable to turn his head or move his eyes away from the bowl of blood, as if his entire body was frozen in place.

Marstin was suitably terrified, as he had never dealt with ghosts or other types of un-living before. And the gasps and muffled screams coming from behind the teen did not do his ability to stay calm any favors. Yet, he didn’t feel any sense of danger from the unseen hands. It rather reminded Marstin of the time he and Kyra had spent together back when he was still a thief; the huddling in dark places as they held hands, the faint warmth of affection being all there needed to be said. Even the chill of these hands still held the faintest warmth, of love.

The two hands on Marstin’s shoulders gained in pressure, until Marstin could make out the feel of each hand. On his right side, the hand was larger, rougher somehow, with several rings on the fingers. On his left side, the hand was smaller and daintier in a way, wearing only a single ring. The warmth suddenly intensified, and Marstin’s eyes began to cry.

And then, the hands all vanished.

“And with the blessings of Equinox, may these passing souls be granted the passage to the eternal rest of their final destination, where upon one day we shall join them in the three heavens. In the name of order, neutrality, and chaos,” Linda prayed, as if she’d been unaware of or ignored Marstin’s experience next to her. She turned to Marstin now, breaking her illusion of stone. “It is done, the ceremony is complete. They will rest well now.”

Marstin nodded, a weight on his chest, as his hand stretched up to his shoulders to search for the last embers of warmth.

His hand movement was calmed by Kyra, who had run up with tears in her eyes.

“Did you see them?” Marstin choked, his voice hoarse.

“Yes,” Kyra murmured.

“Did they look, okay?” Marstin asked carefully.

Kyra hesitated. “Not at first,” she admitted. “They were horribly scary ghosts at first, dripping in illusionary blood and hollow beings of . . . it wasn’t pretty,” she corrected herself. “But, when they touched you, they got better. I couldn’t see their faces, or their clothes very well, but they looked like people when they vanished. Are you okay?”

“I will be, now,” Marstin muttered, his head hanging low.

As he turned around with Kyra, his friends approached to share in his sorrow. The warmth that had been lost was replaced by a warm flame.

***

A dark figure stood in front of a window. The sound of tongue being clicked occurred, as a letter burned into cinders on the desk.

“Another trifling inconvenience, and yet piled together they form more than a mere nuisance,” the dark figure noted. Behind him, in the shadows, another figure stood, with red eyes, without speaking, only awaiting orders. The shadows warped and wisped around it like mist or smoke.

“I will not bother with a letter this time,” the figure in the window spoke. “Inform D that his failure, while regrettable, is still not yet uncorrectable at this point. He should lay low in Rockwood for now until this blows over. I will make the next move, and he’d better be prepared to succeed this time. Otherwise, the plan will fall to ruin and waste years of work. Tell him these things, exactly.”

The shadowy figure nodded and vanished into the dark, leaving only a dark corner behind. The man in the window shook his head slowly and moved back to sit at his desk. He reached down and pressed a secret button disguised as a nail hole underneath the panel, causing a well-hidden drawer to pop out. The man reached in and removed an ornately carved wooden box. He opened it.

Inside, 18 small, shining gemstones glistened under the light of the candles, with two empty slots of a similar size.

About the Authors

Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue

Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue was once a normal reader on Royal Road Legends. It was there he found the first example of Dungeon Core, except the stories never finished as they became too boring to write or ended before the story really began. Inspired by the idea, and noting the lack of slime-related literature at the time (2015), he wrote and published the first modern Dungeon Core story, “The Slime Dungeon,” on Amazon in 2016. Since then, he has graduated college and written 12 books, as well as maintained the Dungeon Core Facebook group to expand the genre.

If you would like to contact him with any questions, comments, or suggestions for future books you would like to see, you can reach him on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/groups/Dungeonstories

Visit his Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/falconstories and become a patron for as little as $1 a month!  As a patron, you have access to works, game builds, chapters in development, and art.

In addition, you can check out and like his Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/falconstories/ if you want to be kept up to date.

Jonathan Brooks

Jonathan Brooks fell in love with the Dungeon Core genre after reading every story he could get his hands on.  After consuming practically everything available, he didn’t find a story that included all of the elements that he wanted to read – so he decided to write it himself.  From that first book, Dungeon Player, he has published over 25 books, including the rest of the Glendaria Awakens Trilogy, Uniworld Online Trilogy, Station Cores series, Spirit Core series, Dungeon World series, Dungeon Crafting series, and the Hapless Dungeon Fairy series.

If you would like to contact him with any questions, comments, or suggestions for future books you would like to see, you can reach him at jonathanbrooksauthor@gmail.com.

Visit his Patreon page at https://www.patreon.com/jonathanbrooksauthor and become a patron for as little as $2 a month!  As a Patron, you have access to his current works-in-progress, which he updates with (unedited) chapters every Friday.  So, if you can’t wait to find out what happens next in one of his series, this is the place for you!

He will try to keep my blog updated on any new developments, which you can find on his Author Page on Amazon.  In addition, you can check out and like his Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/dungeoncorejonathanbrooks

To sign up for his mailing list, please visit: http://eepurl.com/dl0bK5

Beta Readers

A big shout out to our beta readers, who helped us to make this book even better than it was!

Aaron Wiley

Brian Oles

Joshua Chausse

Kegan Hall

Nate Martin

Sean Hall

Zack Devney

Books by Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue

The Slime Dungeon Chronicles

The Slime Dungeon (Audiobook available)

The Dungeon’s Town (Audiobook available)

The Dungeon’s Child (Audiobook available)

The Dungeon’s Burden (Audiobook available)

Milly’s Story: Knife in the Dark (Slime Dungeon Novella)

Dungeon Wars Series

Dungeon Wars (Audiobook available)

Dungeon Wars: Inner War  (Audiobook coming soon)

The Journal of Magus Falcon: with Claire’s notes

Everlife Series

Hero of Naught: Re-Mastered

Tales of Dungeons Anthologies

Tales of Dungeons

Tales of Dungeons 2

Tales of Dungeons 3

The Body’s Dungeon (with Jonathan Brooks)

Bio Dungeon: Symbiote (Audiobook available)

Books by Jonathan Brooks

Glendaria Awakens Trilogy

Dungeon Player (Audiobook available)

Dungeon Crisis (Audiobook available)

Dungeon Guild

Glendaria Awakens Trilogy Compilation w/bonus material

Uniworld Online Trilogy (2nd Edition)

The Song Maiden (Audiobook coming soon)

The Song Mistress

The Song Matron

Uniworld Online Trilogy Compilation

Station Cores Series

The Station Core (Audiobook available)

The Quizard Mountains (Audiobook available)

The Guardian Guild (Audiobook available)

The Kingdom Rises (Audiobook available)

The Other Core (Audiobook available)

Station Cores Compilation Complete: Books 1-5

Spirit Cores Series

Core of Fear (Audiobook available)

Children of Fear (Audiobook coming soon)

Carnival of Fear (October 2020)

Dungeon World Series

Dungeon World (Audiobook available)

Dungeon World 2 (Audiobook available)

Dungeon World 3 (Audiobook available)

Dungeon World 4 (Audiobook available)

Dungeon World 5 (Audiobook available)

Dungeon World Box Set: Books 1-5

Dungeon Crafting Series

The Crafter’s Dungeon (Audiobook available)

The Crafter’s Defense (Audiobook available)

The Crafter’s Dilemma (Audiobook available)

The Crafter’s Darkness (Audiobook available)

The Hapless Dungeon Fairy Series

The Dungeon Fairy (Audiobook available)

The Dungeon Fairy: Two Choices (Audiobook coming soon)

The Body’s Dungeon (with Jeffrey “Falcon” Logue)

Bio Dungeon: Symbiote (Audiobook available)

Tales of Dungeons Anthology

Tales of Dungeons Vol. 2

Tales of Dungeons Vol. 3

Medical Glossary

Adrenaline / Adrenal Glands: Adrenaline is a hormone produced by the adrenal glands above the kidneys and is a part of the endocrine system.  The hormone is released in potentially dangerous situations to promote an increased chance of survival.  Adrenaline increases heart rate; dilates the eyes to see better, bronchioles in the lungs to increase oxygen input, and blood vessels in the muscles to strengthen them temporarily; increases glucose production for extra energy for necessary neuron cells; and constricts the blood vessels in the digestive tract to slow digestion.  All of this is done to focus the host’s resources on surviving as long as possible.

Aerosol Chemical Detection: When liquid droplets, of fine solid particles, become suspended in air or another gas, this aerial solution is called an aerosol, and the process of becoming an aerosol is called becoming aerosolized. Examples include contagions within exhalations/coughs/sneezes, fog, mist, dust, etc. There are ways to detect what chemicals are in the air, such as with air quality monitoring devices.

Anisakid Nematode: Also known as “herring worm,” this is a parasite, typically found infesting the walls of a patient’s esophagus, stomach, or intestine, typically derived by consuming raw or undercooked fish or squid.

“Ankle-Biters”: A Progen-created immune cell that is a combination of a Natural Killer and a virion of the “Insidious Virus”.

Apoptosis: Apoptosis is cell death, as a natural part of the growth and development of an organism, or potentially induced.

Appendage: Synonym for limb (arm or leg).

Appendicular Artery: This is the blood vessel that brings blood to the appendix.

Appendix: The appendix in humans is a mostly inactive organ attached to the large intestine, originally acting as a storage unit for raw meat, among other functions. It has recently been found to be an important potential repository for a reservoir of immune cells.

Ascorbic Acid(s): Chemical name for the water-soluble Vitamin C, found in various foods, such as citrus fruits, which has detoxifying, antioxidant, and immune system support functions, as well as helping to form collagen and to prevent scurvy.

Auditory Cortex: This is a part of the brain that helps with hearing, and with analyzing what one hears, in terms of time, frequency, language comprehension and speech. It is located bilaterally at the upper sides of the temporal lobes.

Auditory Nerve: The 8th cranial nerve, also known as the auditory nerve, has 2 branches. One is the cochlear nerve, which takes information about sound received in the cochlea and transmits it. The other is the vestibular nerve, which assists with balance.

Auditory Senses: Auditory senses refer to the ability to hear and to detect the vibrations of sound waves. Receptors for auditory senses are located in the inner ear, and assist someone to discern volume, distance, location of sounds.

B cells (“Spawners”): B Cells are producers of antibodies, which target specific pathogens through the use of proteins.  These antibodies are smaller cells that can surround and swarm invading pathogens, taking down larger targets with greater numbers. They are known to use IgE protein, which causes the production of histamines. An overproduction of histamines causes inflammation, and is one of the main parts of nasal allergy congestion.

Bacteria (singular: Bacterium; adjective: Bacterial): Bacteria are single-celled organisms, only a few micrometers in size, that abound at an uncountable level and which are found in clusters of millions, on and within the human body, among other places. Some bacteria can be harmful to human health, while others, such as in the gut, are essential for human health.

Basophils (“Informers”): Basophils are a type of white blood cell, part of the immune communication system. When an immune response includes inflammation, it is because of basophils. They can also bring about mild or serious allergic reactions.

Biceps Brachii: This is a primary muscle of the upper arm, with 2 heads: one acting upon the shoulder joint, and one acting upon the elbow joint.

Blood: Blood is a liquid in varying shades of red that courses through the human body. This liquid contains a combination of plasma, red blood cells, platelets, and white blood cells.

Blood-Brain Barrier: This border, comprised of endothelial cells, which is semi-permeable (some stuff can flow through it), yet highly selective (only very specific stuff can flow through it), has the goal of maintaining segregation between solutes in the bloodstream (stuff dissolved in blood) and the central nervous system’s extracellular fluid (where neurons are found).

Blood Circulation Within the Bloodstream: It takes about 45 seconds for red blood cells to circulate through the body once, through an intricate system of blood vessels of various types and sizes. One might compare this time to holding one’s breath, as one’s red blood cells will acquire carbon dioxide during this time.

Blood Pressure: This is a measure of how one’s body is circulating blood. It is most often measured at the upper arm or the wrist. It is conveyed as a fraction. The top number, the numerator, is the systolic pressure. That is the amount of pressure in your arteries when your heart muscle contracts. The bottom number, the denominator, is the diastolic pressure. That is the amount of pressure in your arteries when your heart is between beats. Both these numbers are measured in mmHg, which stands for millimeters of mercury. Normal blood pressure is about 120/80. High blood pressure is about 140/90.

Blood Vessel(s): These are the tubes that connect the circulatory system to all major parts of the body.  Arteries, veins, and capillaries are examples of blood vessels.

Bone Tissue: 4 types of cells make up bone tissue: osteoblasts, bone-lining cells, osteocytes, and osteoclasts. Bone itself is basically mineralized connective tissue.

Brachialis: This muscle in the upper arm helps flex the elbow.

Brain: The brain is the hub of conscious and unconscious thoughts. It is made of countless billions of neurons linked together like a root system, with 4 major sections, each specializing in certain bodily functions.

Brain Damage: Brain damage is destruction or deterioration of brain cells, such as within tissues or nerves. Traumatic injury to the head, such as from violence, sports, car accidents, etc., can result in damage to the tissue, fluids, or nerves of the brain. Strokes, tumors, and illnesses are additional causes.

Buccal Mucosa: This is the inner lining of the cheek.

Cadaverine: This is a foul-smelling chemical caused when animal tissue is putrefied (rots, decays).

Cancer Cell: Cancer cells are normal cells that have lost the ability to self-regulate growth. As a result, they multiply and spread in an area and trick the body into feeding it. At its worst stage, cancer spreads out from its original area through the body to take up residence elsewhere.

-Cancer can result from injury, old age, and radiation, causing damage to the DNA.

-Cancer can begin at any age, in any part of the body, at any time. However, the immune system can usually kill cancer before it becomes a problem.

Capillaries: As blood is sent away from the heart, it is pumped into smaller sections of the body, and thus, into smaller blood vessels. The smallest vessels, known as capillaries, are only large enough to accommodate one cell at a time.

Carbohydrates: These are sugar molecules in food, which the body digests into glucose to become bioavailable (ready to be used by cells).

Cationic Protein (Eosinophil cationic protein): When eosinophils become degranulated, this is one of the molecules released. Degranulation is a cell process whereby a cell releases a cytotoxin (a substance that can kill other cells) to kill microbes.

Cecum: Essentially the start of the large intestine.

Cell(s): All known living organisms have cells as their building blocks. Within living organisms, cells are the smallest living structure. Organisms can be made of multiple cells or just one cell. Bacteria are among the single-celled, or unicellular, organisms.

Cell Body (Cell Bodies) / Nucleus (Nuclei) / Cell Masses: A cell body is the concentrated part of a cell, containing its nucleus (plural: nuclei) and cytoplasm. In a neuron, or nerve cell, it is also called a soma. The brain of the cell.

Chemical Communication / Neural Communication: Cells pass each other messages, by electrochemical means, through neurotransmitters, as conveyed by dendritic cells or nerve cells. The body is a very complicated system of on-off triggers, metaphorically speaking.

Chitin(ous). Chitin is what makes up the cell walls of fungal cells, and also, the exoskeletons of arthropods (insects, crustaceans, arachnids, and myriapods). Chitinous means made of chitin. The material itself is fibrous and made out of polysaccharides.

Chloroform: This is an organic compound that is a clear, dense, foul-smelling liquid that is used in refrigeration, but is also a “knock-out drug” when applied to nose and mouth.

Circulatory System: The circulatory system is quite extensive.  It travels through every part of the body, where the blood vessels bring much-needed nutrients to the cells of the body, taking waste away from those areas at the same time.  As such, it is one of the largest and most important systems in the body.

It is responsible for gas exchange, heat distribution, waste extraction, nutrient delivery, and other functions.

“Cleaners”: Macrophages.

Coagulation (noun; to coagulate, verb): This is a synonym for the process of forming a clot (noun), aka clotting (verb), engaged by changing blood from a liquid to a gel. When clotting is a beneficial process, it is to attenuate (stop the flow of) hemorrhaging (excessive blood loss), to cause hemostasis (ending blood loss from a damaged vessel).

“Commanders”: Helper T cells.

Compression: Joint cartilage alternates between being in a state of compression or decompression. Compression is being pushed/pressed together, while decompression is being relaxed.

Contractility (of muscle tissue): This is the aspect of muscle tissue that allows it to forcibly shorten (contract).

Contusion(s): A hematoma is when blood is present outside of a blood vessel. A contusion is when that hematoma was caused by leakage from an injured capillary or other blood vessel. It’s a fancier term for a bruise. A colloquial term for this might be “a black-and-blue mark”.

Cortisol: Cortisol is a steroid hormone naturally produced by the body. It is involved in regulating immune responses, metabolism, and responses to stress, often referred to as “fight or flight”.

Decomposition: Decomposition is breaking down dead or decaying organic matter into smaller components, to facilitate reuse thereof by something else.

Dehydration / Malnutrition (Being Dehydrated / Being Malnourished): Dehydration is a state of depletion that occurs if a living organism loses more fluids than it replenishes, or cannot maintain the benefits of the fluids taken in because of issues in processing. Malnutrition is a state of depletion that occurs if a living organism loses more nutrients than it replenishes, or enters a state of starvation, either by deprivation or by inability to access, absorb, or retain the beneficial portions of the nutrients.

-A human can survive 3 days without water, and about 2 weeks without food (variable depending on body weight and composition).

-The human body will devour itself in this order: sugars, fats, muscle. Humans die upon reaching the muscle phase, as even the heart is cannibalized.

Deltoid: This is a muscle in the shoulder. It is referred to as deltoid because it is triangular, like the letter Delta.

Dendritic cells (“Reporters”): Dendritic cells are immune cells that coordinate chemical communication from the frontlines to the backlines, and between them; which is to say, between the adaptive immune cells (the ones that are developed and retained to fight specific pathogens at the time of infection) and the innate immune cells (the ones that are there before an infection occurs). They can also activate other immune cells, making them stronger, though they themselves do not attack pathogens.

Digestive System / Digestive Organs: The digestive system is an elaborate set of interacting organs that collaborate to take nutrients in, break them down so cells can use them, and expel the waste products of this process from the body. This system is also the home of beneficial bacteria, the microbiome.

Distended: This is an adjective describing the state of being bloated, i.e., stretched or swollen, from pressure or fluid built up inside.

Duodenum: This is the area of the small intestine between the stomach and the jejunum.

Elasticity (of muscle tissue): This is the property of muscle tissue being able to return to its original state after movement.

Electrical Impulses: These are the action potentials that human brain cells utilize to communicate with one another. The impulses are released when a neuron is stimulated. The impulses travel along the neuron axon.

Endocrine System: The endocrine system is an elaborate set of interacting glands and organs that collaborate to produce, secrete, and regulate hormones, which themselves control some of the functioning of some cells, organs, and tissues.

Endoneurial Fluid: This low-protein liquid prevents most molecules from passing through the layers of connective tissue around a nerve bundle to the nerve strands inside.  It is similar to the blood-brain barrier in that regard.

Endoneurium: A type of connective tissue that surrounds individual nerve fibers in a nerve bundle.

Enteric Nerves: The enteric nerves are nerves that govern the digestive (gastrointestinal) tract. The enteric nervous system is also known as the intrinsic nervous system.

Eosinophils (“Hunters”): Eosinophils are a rarer type of white blood cell, making up 2% of immune cells. They specialize in locating and destroying parasitic organisms within the body, as well as in mediating inflammation.  Eosinophils also release poisonous granules full of peroxidase, neurotoxin, cationic protein, and other major basic protein molecules.  Prolonged exposure to these poisonous molecules results in parasitic death.

Epineurium: Connective tissue surrounding an entire nerve bundle.

Epithelial Cells: The surfaces of the human body, such as skin, blood vessels, the urinary tract, and organs, are lined with epithelial cells. Because they are surface cells, they can be thought of as a first line of defense or contact with external stimuli.

Esophagus: This is the tube, made of muscle and lined with mucus, that connects that throat and the stomach, and is used for digestion.

Excitability (of muscle tissue): When a motor neuron or a hormone stimulates a muscle, excitability is the property describing the muscle’s ability to respond to that stimulus.

Extensibility (of muscle tissue): This is the extent to which a muscle may be stretched.

Facial Nerve / Facial Nervous Cells: The cells of the 7th cranial nerve control the muscles involved in facial expressions and conveyance of taste. It starts at the pons of the brainstem.

Fatty Acids: These are the molecules that combine to make both that fat we eat and the fat in our bodies. When three such molecules combine, that’s what a triglyceride is.

Fiber (Dietary): This component of nutrition consists of the portions of plants which human bodies are not able to fully digest. Nicknames for it are “roughage” and “bulk”. It comes in 2 types: soluble and insoluble. Soluble fiber attracts water, turns into gel, and slows digestion, to aid absorption of nutrients. Insoluble fiber bulks up stool and helps it pass more quickly.

Fibrin Net: A fibrin net is the first stage of repairing external or externally generated wounds. When blood clots, the coagulation at the site of the wound produces threads of this fibrin. A bundle of those threads is a fibrin net.

Flagella (singular: Flagellum): Flagella are tendrils that help bacteria move rapidly. They move in a fan-like fashion. One singular thereof is a flagellum.

Flatworm: This is the descriptive term for the phylum of Platyhelminthes, a simple, soft invertebrate. Of all animals that don’t have body cavities, this is the largest phylum (the second-highest-level grouping after Kingdom: Remember “King Philip cried, “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Victoria!” -- Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species, Variety. Believe it or not, there are 25,000 known species in this phylum!

Ganglion (plural: Ganglia): Nerve cell bodies linked by synapses form a structure that can produce a swelling on a nerve fiber.

Glossopharyngeal Nerve: The 9th cranial nerve carries two types of information from the brainstem, both the afferent (sensory) and efferent (motor) types of information.

Glucose: The basic nutrient required by cells to live, glucose is a basic form of sugar, and is used in cellular respiration alongside oxygen to produce carbon dioxide and water.

Glucosinolates: Brassicas are a family of vegetables, with such cultivars as broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, kale, bok choy, mustard greens, and so forth. They are also known as cruciferous vegetables, because their leaves characteristically form a cross shape. The thing that gives them their pungent taste and aroma is that they have sulfur-containing components. Those components are glucosinolates.

Granules: A teensy little particle of a thing. Like a singular granule of sugar.

Gustatory System: The gustatory system is the mechanism whereby one experience taste, and it consists of the gustatory complex, multiple cranial nerves, and the receptors in the mouth for the 5 taste sensations: sweet, salty, sour, bitter, and savoriness (aka umami).

Helper T cells (“Commanders”): These cells have a guiding role in immune response. They use chemicals to trigger immune cell aggregation to specific sites.

“Historians”: Memory B cells.

Hormones: These are the molecules that the endocrine system produces to send messages throughout the body to regulate body processes and systems.

“Hunters”: Eosinophils.

Hunter Crab: An amalgamation of immune cells that looks like a large crab, which Progen created by absorbing life-threatening amounts of mana from Marstin.  It is an advanced-stage Eosinophil immune cell.

Hyperosmia: Hyperosmia is a condition of the body in which the sense of smell becomes greater in ability than compared to normal circumstances. In some situations, hyperosmia is a direct result of illness related to the nervous system or the digestive system, and it is often a sign of an impending health disaster or trouble.

Hypothalamus:  A portion of the brain which regulates the sleep-wake cycle, among many other bodily processes, such as appetite and emotional responses.

Ileum: The third portion of the small intestine contributes to digestion by being a site for removal of nutrients and water from food to be utilized by the body.

Immune Response / Immune System: The human body has an elaborate set of systems to try to detect, identify, prevent entry of, contain, eliminate, expel, or respond to invading organisms. When the body detects or suspects a foreign invader, it triggers those steps, and that is called an immune response. The cells that conduct that response, and that track what they remember from previous responses, are cornerstones of the immune system, along with the lymphatic system, the spleen, the thymus, and bone marrow.

Indole: This compound, produced by the activity of bacteria, is among the sources of odor of feces.

“Informers”: Basophils.

Intercostal Nerves: 22 nerves (11 on each side of the body) between ribs.

Interdigital Nerves: These flow under and between the metatarsals of the foot to innervate the toes.

Interneurons: The interneurons are the processing cells of the nervous system. They relay communications between motor or sensory neurons and the brain, and they are instrumental in such things as reflexes.

Intestines (Small, Large): The small intestine and the large intestine are both part of the gut and the gastrointestinal tract. They process food for absorption of nutrients and preparation of wastes for exiting the body. The small intestine has 3 parts: the duodenum, the jejunum, and the ileum. The large intestine is also known as the colon or the large bowel. The colon is where water is absorbed from wastes, preparing solid waste to exit the rectum.

Jejunum: This is the middle section of the small intestine, between the duodenum and the ileum.

Kidneys: Kidneys are essential organs involved in the filtration of blood. The circulation system refreshes blood through the kidneys multiple times a day. Specifically, what they filter for is removing waste while maintaining homeostasis of fluid balance and electrolytes.

“Killer T cells”: Lymphoblasts.

Ligament Connective Tissue: Connects bone tissues to muscle tissues.

Liver: An organ part of the digestive system, and the largest internal organ. It is responsible for breaking down toxins, creating certain proteins, and manufacturing chemicals to break down food. It also assists in the decomposition of red blood cells and produces certain hormones.

Lymphatic System / Lymphatic Tissue: Lymph is a fluid full of types of white blood cells that fight infection. Lymphatic means involving lymph. The network of organs and tissues (lymphatic tissue) through which the lymph flows, in order to help the body get rid of toxins and waste products, is called the lymphatic system. There are channels throughout the body, much like the circulatory system for blood. Lymph nodes are small glands that filter lymph. When infections and/or tumors are present in the body, the lymph nodes swell.

Lymphoblasts (Killer T cells): The lymphoblasts are the last line of immune defense. At this stage, deployment of them can lead to damage of the body as a last resort in order to eliminate the pathogen.

Lymphoid Progenitor: A base immune cell involved in the creation of all other immune cells. It is what creates B Cells, Memory B Cells, Regulatory T Cells, Naïve T Cells, Memory T Cells, and NK (Natural Killer) Cells.

Macrophages / Monocytes (“Cleaners”): The largest of the cells, these become monocytes outside the blood vessel (literally the same cell, like lava and magma). They clean up dead invaders, inform the T-cells about what pathogen the body is facing, and are the second phase of immune response. Their form of clean-up is as phagocytes: They bind with and engulf antigens. They see an invader, attach themselves to it, wrap themselves around it, and destroy it that way. It sort of reminds one of a Pac-Man eating a dot.

Masseter Muscle: One of the four muscles that are responsible for the chewing motion of the jaw.

Mechanoreceptors: Touch and sound are considered forms of mechanical stimuli. The sense organs and cells that respond to mechanical stimuli are called mechanoreceptors.

Median Nerve: Colloquially referred to as “the laborer’s nerve,” this is the primary nerve in the front of the forearms, which controls the movements of the hands.

“Mega Newt”: Among Progen’s creations, while a regular Newt was basically a spheroid shape with a trio of nuclei connected together in the center, this Mega Newt center had a hollow, a void that created a strange little pocket inside of the cell.  It also had three separate sets of nuclei, spaced out so that they were separate from each other.

Memory B Cells (“Historians”): Memory B Cells record data on different pathogens, for use in assisting other immune cells in the production of antibodies.

Memory T Cells (“Veteran Killers”): Memory T cells are T cells changed in order to counter an old enemy. They “remember” how to fight it.

Mercury: Mercury is an element which is known to be a carcinogen when present too much in fish from pollution in the water, and which is used in thermometers and barometers.

Muscle Tissue / Muscle Decline / Muscle Degradation / Muscle Strands / Musculature System: Muscle tissue is responsible for every physical movement made in the body, and is the second-strongest type of tissue, after bone. It is made up of thousands of individual strands connecting bones and flesh. If the muscles are not sufficiently exercised, and/or if the body is not sufficiently nourished, muscles can begin to decline in strength and size, which is muscle degradation.

Muscone: A compound typically found in animals that are considered prey, it is the primary source of musty odor, and it can be matched by moisture-rich odors caused by an excessively oily and malnourished predator.

Myeloid Progenitor: A base immune cell involved in the creation of many other immune cells. The Myeloid Progenitor can eventually turn into Neutrophils, Eosinophils, Dendritic cells, and even Macrophages.

Myenteric Plexus: The myenteric plexus receives input from the autonomic nervous system that it translates into fomenting the peristaltic movement in the bowels. It is the main source of nerve input to the gastrointestinal tract and controls its motility (ability to move independently).

Naïve T Cells (“Novice Killers”): Naïve T cells are newborn, potentially powerful T cells in the bone marrow. They have never fought an antigen/pathogen before. Therefore, they are relatively ineffective until they are activated with a specific type of antibody.

Nasolacrimal Duct(s): Informally known as the “tear duct(s),” it is through the nasolacrimal duct(s) that tears are carried from the eyes downwards and backwards into the nasal cavity.

Natural Killer T Cells (“Mutant Killers”): Cancer hunter cells. Activated by laughter, weakened by stress (more than usual; all immune systems suffer when stressed).

Nausea: Queasiness; discomfort in the stomach; a feeling of wanting to vomit or being on the verge of vomiting; may include some reflux.

Negatively Charged Ions: When an atom or molecule has a net electrical charge, it is an ion. When the net charge is positive, it is a cation. When the net charge is negative, it is an anion. What makes something an anion, a negatively charged ion, is having more electrons than protons.

Neurohormones: When neuroendocrine cells produce hormones and release them into the blood, those released hormones are called neurohormones. They are chemical messengers that the blood carries to other parts of the body.

Neurons: At the most fundamental level, neurons are the unit at which work begins in the brain. Consisting of an axon, a cell body, and dendrites, neurons are the portion of the nervous system that conduit information to muscles, glands, or nerve cells.

Neuropeptides: Neurons create these small proteins, which modulate (set the pace and direction of) synaptic transmission (the way neurons talk to cells across neuronal junctions).

Neutrophils (“Newts”): The Neutrophil Cell is the most common immune cell, and therefore the weakest variety.  They are the first responders to an invasion, and they can easily transmigrate through blood vessels to congregate anywhere in the body.

Nerve Cells:  A nerve cell is part of the nervous system, originating in the brain. Nerve cells are responsible for carrying out both voluntary and involuntary orders from the brain or spinal cord, and they can store limited information outside the brain.

Nerve Ends: We each have millions of these points, the terminations of nerves, at the surface of the body and inside it, where we experience sensations.

Nervous System: A nerve cell is part of the nervous system, originating in the brain. Nerve cells are responsible for carrying out both voluntary and involuntary orders from the brain or spinal cord, and they can store limited information outside the brain. There are three types: sensory cells (receivers); motor cells (relays); and interneurons (processors). The body is primarily controlled by interneurons, whose responsibilities include the storage of active and inactive memory.

Neural Network / Neuron Cell: The neural network of the human body is its means of internal communication. It basically has 3 parts. The receptors receive external stimuli. The core neurons receive the communication from the receptors, rendered as electrical impulses. The neural network is the processing core that transmutes the impulses into decisions about output. The effectors receive those messages and translate them into instructions as to how to relate to the outside environment. The neural network itself is built of neurons. Neurons each have a dendrite, a soma, and an axon.

Neurotoxin:  A type of toxin that targets the nervous system. Common examples include lead, ethanol, botulism, tetanus, etc. They have the ability to compromise the development of nerve tissue or to affect already mature nerve tissue.

“Newts”: Neutrophil cells.

“Novice Killer Cells”: Naïve T cells.

Nutrients/ Nutrient Absorption: Substances that when ingested/imbibed may provide nourishment are nutrients. For the body to benefit from the introduction of the nutrients, it must be able to adequately absorb the nourishment.

Ocular Cavity: This is the orbit, the skeletal structure around the eye, part of the ocular cranial nerve, etc., and it consists of 7 bones.

Ocular Nerve/ Optic Nerve: The paired portions of the ocular nerve, cranial nerve II, conduit visual input from the retina to the brain.

Olfactory Nerves: The first ocular nerve, and the shortest, the olfactory nerve transmits scent information to the forebrain, that it receives from the mucosa in the nose.

Pain Receptors: A type of nerve cell receptor responsible for signaling pain to the brain, so as to warn of damage being done to the body.

Pancreas: This is an essential organ within the abdomen. It has 2 main roles: to help convert the food we eat into substances that can fuel our cells; and to regulate blood sugar.

Parasite (noun) / Parasitic (adjective): A parasite is an organism that sustains itself by attaching itself to or immersing itself in another organism and draining that organism, feeding off it. The fact that it lives at the other organism’s expense is what constitutes the adjective, “parasitic”.

Pathogen(s) (noun) / Pathogenic (adjective): A pathogen is an infectious agent. There are 5 types of pathogenic organisms: viruses, bacteria, fungi, protozoa, and worms. (The worms are sometimes called helminths.)

“Parasyte”: The main physical antagonist for Progen, this is an enhanced Anisakid Nematode.

Pepsin Acid: In the digestive process, one of the things the stomach secretes (makes and sends out) is pepsinogen. Pepsinogen is an endopeptidase, which means that it is an enzyme (a catalyst substance) that can break down peptides (chains of amino acids, which are the building blocks of proteins). When this pepsinogen comes into contact with hydrochloric acid, another item the stomach secretes into gastric juice (the digestive mix of fluids), that mix forms pepsin acid.

Perineurium Sleeve: Fat cells associated with connective tissue.

Peripheral Nervous System: The peripheral nervous system consists of the nerves and ganglia outside of the central nervous system, which is composed of the brain and spinal cord.  The peripheral nervous system is what allows the central nervous system to communicate with the other parts of the host’s body.

Peroneal Nerves: Movement and sensation in the lower legs, the feet, and the toes are innervated by the peroneal branch of the sciatic nerve. When something goes wrong with these nerves, that’s a common cause of peripheral neuropathy.

Peroxidase: This is a type of enzyme, in plants, in humans, and even in bacteria, that helps break down hydrogen peroxide, which is a byproduct of the respiration of oxygen.

Platelets: When a human body is bleeding, platelets are the tiny blood cells that ride to the rescue, to clot the blood and repair the damaged blood vessel. Think of them as the first responders to the emergency of hemorrhaging. They do their rescue work in 3 ways. They spread out little tentacles over the injured part of the blood vessel to stick to each other. This is called adhesion. They ring the bell, so to speak, to summon other platelets to the area. And then they pile themselves into the clot, in a process called cell aggregation.

Potassium: This mineral and electrolyte is essential for the functioning of muscles -- including those which regulate heartbeat and breathing.

Proprioceptor(s): A proprioceptor is the type of sense receptor that helps interpret stimuli related to movement and balance, and one’s location within one’s physical space.

Protein(s): Protein is one of the 3 macronutrients of which nutrition is composed and which nutrition requires, alongside fats and carbohydrates. Proteins are found not only in animal products, but also in nuts, legumes, and other non-animal sources.

Pus: Infected tissues produce this liquid, full of dead white blood cells, bacteria, tissue debris, and serum. This liquid is often white or yellow, but could have a tinge of pink or green.

Putrescine: When amino acids break down in the cadavers of formerly living beings, multiple foul-smelling chemicals, toxic in large doses, are produced, and this is one of them.

Radial Artery: The artery that travels to the hand on the radial (inner) side. Often used to measure a person’s pulse.

“Reactive Flush”: This is a trap of sorts that Progen creates. Deploying his mana into this operation causes an abrupt wave of nearby fluid to flow backwards, forcibly relocating whatever gets caught up in the wave.

Red Blood Cells: Red blood cells are the main component of blood, playing an important role in: air circulation throughout the human body; heat distribution throughout the body; transportation of crucial elements throughout the body, including nutrients, chemicals, waste, and immune cells; and healing of the body.

“Regulators”: Regulatory T cells.

Regulatory T Cells (“Regulators”): These ensure all immune cells are not targeting normal body cells. Can malfunction with cancer, preventing attacks.

REM Sleep: ‘Rapid Eye Movement’ sleep is a part of the sleep cycle, denoted by the rapid movement of the eye. This is the portion of the sleep cycle during which dreaming most often occurs, and it is the shortest cycle, as well. In this state of sleep, the body locks up (as if trapped in its own delusions).

-REM sleep is the state required to ensure a good rest is achieved. The shorter the REM cycle, the more fatigued one can feel upon waking.

Replication (of cells): Cells within the human body undergo replication through either Mitosis or Meiosis.

-Mitosis is the process of a cell replicating itself and separating out into 2 similar cells.

-Meiosis is reserved only for reproductive cells and involves a single cell becoming 4 variable cells.

“Reporters”: Dendritic cells.

Resonance: When sound is reflected from a surface, and/or it synchronizes its vibration with a neighboring sound, that can prolong the sound and make it reverberate. That’s the state of having resonance.

Respiratory System: The respiratory system is responsible for taking in oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide; this process is primarily done through the lungs, though there are different components that work in tandem with these organs.  Oxygen is an important part of normal cell health and functionality, while the carbon dioxide is a waste product of that cellular function.  Any significant disruption or termination of the respiratory system can have severe consequences, including the death of the body within minutes.

Retina: The retina is the light-sensitive layer of tissue within the eye that holds the ocular nerves, which serve to create the initial image of the outside world, before translating that image into electric impulses to send to the brain for deciphering.

Rigidity (of bone tissue): Rigidity is the quality of not being able to be forced to change shape, position, angle, become bent, etc. Rigidity in terms of bone tissue is wrought by mineralization, the binding of the inorganic mineral salt, calcium phosphate, into calcium hydroxylapatite.

Skatole: The compound that gives feces (poop) its distinct odor. Ironically, in low concentrations it smells of flowers and is found in them, such as in orange blossoms. It is often used in the making of aromatic oils.

Skeletal System: The system of bones within the human body. It is responsible for maintaining shape, supporting and protecting the inner organs, serving as anchor points of muscles, and producing blood and all of its components.

Sodium Bicarbonate: Common name: baking soda. It is produced by the stomach to help control the level of acidity in both the stomach and blood.

Somatosensory System / Somatosensory Nerves: Encompasses all of the nerves related to the sense of touch throughout the body.

Spinal Cord / Spinal Nerves / Central Nervous System: The central nervous system consists of the brain and the spinal cord. The spinal cord is a bunch of fibers and tissues, bundled in a cylindrical shape, that is inside the spine, and through which the brain and the rest of the body connect.

“Spawners”: B cells.

Stem Cell: A stem cell is the originator of all cells. It is the most basic type, capable of transforming into any kind of cell, depending on what is required. Original stem cells exist at conception and form the embryo. From then on, lesser stem cells are formed within the bone marrow to become red blood cells, platelets, immune cells, etc.

Stomach Acid: Also known as gastric juice, this is the mix of liquids that one’s body uses for digestion, especially of proteins, and its primary ingredient is the hydrochloric acid produced by one’s parietal cells (which line the stomach) and one’s gastric glands.

Submucosal: The layer of tissue underneath the mucosa layer. Found in the organs of the gastrointestinal, respiratory, and genitourinary systems. Blood vessels, lymph vessels, and nerves run through this layer.

Superficial Palmar Arch: A major blood vessel that passes through the upper palm of the hand in an arch-like pathway.

Supra-Orbital Artery: The artery that splits from the eye to provide blood to the forehead.

Supraspinatus: One of the four rotator cuff muscles that connect the shoulder to the scapula.

Supratrochlear Vein: The vain that splits and covers most of the face.

Syncope: Fainting. Fainting is caused by a sudden loss of blood pressure, resulting in the brain becoming starved for oxygen.

Temporal Lobe: One of the four major sections in the brain. It is responsible for processing sensory information to derive meaning for the retention of visual memory, language comprehension, and emotional association.

Thalamus: A part of the brain located between the cerebral cortex and the midbrain sections. It is responsible for relaying sensory information (motor and receptors) and regulates consciousness, sleep and alertness.

Thermoreceptors: A type of receptor involved in the detection of heat. It is important to note these cells only work within normal levels of temperature. Nociceptors are responsible for detecting dangerous temperatures.

Trachea: The trachea, commonly referred to as the “Windpipe”, is the conduit of air that proceeds from the larynx (voice box) to behind the sternum (breast bone), in the form of a tube. The nasal passages, throat, and larynx receive air, and the trachea is its pathway to the bronchi, which lead to the lungs.

Triceps Brachii: (Triceps) A muscle in the upper arm, the opposite muscle to the biceps. It connects the lower elbow to the shoulder, and is responsible for allowing the arm to extend out.

Vagus Nerve: The vagus nerves are referred together as a singular nerve. It is the longest nerve of the autonomic nervous system and is composed of both sensory and motor nerves. It is responsible for directing the heart, lungs, and digestive track.

Vestibulocochlear Nerve (8th Cranial Nerve): The nerve that connects the brain to the part of the ear known as the Pons. It is responsible for transmitting auditory and equilibrium information to the brain.

“Veteran Killers”: Memory T Cells.

Villi: (singular: villus): Villi are small tendrils covering the inside of the small intestine. They are responsible for nutrient absorption.

Virion/Virus: A virion is a whole particle of a virus, consisting of a nucleic acid, meaning a strand of either RNA or DNA, within a capsid, meaning a shell made out of protein. Viruses replicate by invading a host cell and forcing the cell to create multiple copies of itself before being released and spread to other cells. The process occasionally destroys the host cell in this releasing process, though not always. Regardless, the host cell will continue producing virions until the host cell is destroyed.