The Retired S Ranked Adventurer (The Shatterfist Book 1)

by Wolfe Locke

  Chapter 5: A Friend in The Fog

  Sven left the gate and the two guards behind and walked out into the fog outside the city by way of the old country road. The fog was much denser than within the walls, but Sven had no issues with seeing. One of the many benefits of the ways he had trained and honed his body over the years was the heightening of his senses.

  Still though, nothing good can come of being complacent. There was nothing out in the fog that could harm him. But as a rule of habit, Sven had never allowed himself to take safety for granted. Especially not when dealing with the unknown.

  Sven peered up ahead, and saw through the dense fog the wooden sign that marked the fork in the road. One arrow was pointing north on a shoddy road towards the hovel of Quincy, and on the other side an arrow pointed towards the Castle City of Rotterdam, and the last arrow pointed towards him, back in the direction of the city of Woodward.

  The place I’m heading for is a little off the path, towards the bay, but I told those two guards I’d handle things out here. Though the wind wasn’t blowing, Sven felt a chill reverberate through the air. Must be a fell wind out today, for me to feel a chill through this ram’s wool. He clutched his cloak tighter.

  The air was heavy, and an unpleasant smell drifted. The smell of the lingering dead and not the recently deceased. Older undead. They shouldn’t be here. Sven had his suspicions about what exactly he would find in the fog, but hoped he was wrong.

  A man called out from within the fog, screaming "Help me!” Somebody, anybody. Please! I have children with me. Please! Think of the children!”

  Sven immediately sprang into action, heading towards the source of the sound muttering in a language known to few as his hands began to glow. He thrust his fist into the ground using his [Grand Disperse] technique. The fog disappeared in a wide circle around him, revealing an overturned merchant carriage, and the sobbing merchant underneath it who had been crying for help. Of the children, there was no sign.

  Skeletal undead were gathered around, tearing bits of wood and iron bindings as they tried to get at the cowering merchant. Some of the undead had rusted weapons and were attempting to hack their way through. No, that’s not right. Sven admitted giving them a closer glance as he got close. Those weapons are new. Well, newish enough. Even for him it was difficult to see the insignia on the uniforms the skeletons were wearing, but he was able to vaguely make out the Coat of Arms of the King of White Lions, whose capital laid on the other side of the great mountains. Impossible.

  Sven’s heart sank. Though he hadn’t seen the King in many years, he had still counted the man a friend. Either the Thandom has fallen into the dark practice of necromancy, or the kingdom has fallen in general, and these soldiers have wandered far from whatever battlefield they met their end. Nether boded well.

  "I’ll be there in a moment, stay calm merchant and keep the children safe. Show me your mettle. I’ll save you all." The merchant went quiet, and in response to Sven’s voice, the undead turned away from the frantic and relieved man beneath his wagon and bounded towards Sven.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you.” Sven said regretfully and the first of the undead looked at him with lifeless eyes. How long have they been like this? Years? "But you can rest now. I’ll take care of the rest."

  Instead of destroying the undead, Sven reached into his [Spacial Ring] and pulled out a [Vial of Oil] and the another [Vial of Blessed Water]. Sven sprinkled it into the air in front of him and began to chant in the ancient language he had learned from the Warrior Monks of the Monastery of the Soaring Spirit.

  Lines spread out from Sven as pure white energy spread out from him on the ground and covered the entire area. It formed a large circle around him. Within moments, a beam of light shot out of the circle into the sky in a flash, and all the skeletal undead around him dropped to the ground. The bones no longer possessed by whatever magic had animated them in death.

  Sven could vaguely see the shades of the soldiers that he had freed from the curse of undead. They nodded at him appreciatively before moving on to the whatever rest awaited them. I am sorry I couldn’t do more for you.

  "Hey! Don’t just stand there. Help!" The merchant cried out, breaking Sven from his thoughts. "This thing is about to fall on me. I mean us. Those wretched undead just about destroyed my whole wagon. Get me out of here!"

  "Sorry, sorry." Sven responded as he bounded over and bent down, easily lifting the wagon up, allowing the merchant to crawl out from underneath. "Is it safe? Are they gone?" The merchant asked.

  The fog was already starting to lift. It was magic, something sent them here, I’ll have to tell Galen on my way out of town. Sven noticed there were in fact no children. As mad as he should have been, Sven just laughed it off. Typical merchant. "Yeah, I’d say they're gone. Where are you heading to anyways? What’s your name? You’re welcome by the way."

  "It’s Bartleby, pleased to make your acquaintance. Sorry about saying I had kids with me, I just didn’t want to get eaten. I was on my way to Woodward. That wagon over there might not look but much, but its full of ale looking for empty bellies and thirsty gullets. If you help me, I can set aside some of that for you. You seem like the thirsty type." The merchant offered with a knowing grin.

  Sven pretended to consider the offer. "I get it, I do. I’ll forgive it just this once. Actually, I’ll help fix up your cart and I’ll even escort you on my way back to Woodward, but I need you to help me with these bodies. I can’t just burn them, and I refuse to leave them here. They were people once, and we don’t want a greater abomination spawning outside the city."

  The merchant paled, looking at the bones all around and balked. "Why exactly would I do that? I can get by just well enough on my own."

  "Maybe you can, and maybe I’ll reminder those children you were claiming." Sven shrugged nonchalantly. "I won’t force you to help me, but I doubt you really want to try and go the rest of the way alone. Besides, you might not have heard of me, but I’m Sven the Shatterfist. S-Ranked Adventurer."

  The merchant shut his eyes in exaggerated fashion and put a hand to his face. "Aye, I’ve heard of you. They call you the Pauper Hero and not in a good way. But we can work something out. As I said, you look the thirsty type, and I’ve heard you like to drink, and I’m here to sell plenty of it."

  Sven reached out a hand to seal the deal. "I don’t need your ale, just the cart. But I’ll keep you in mind for a favor."

  ************************************************************************

  Not even an hour later the two men finished repairing the merchant’s wagon and loaded it up with the bones of the recently silenced undead. Though the merchant had initially bitterly complained about helping, Sven was surprised at how fast the merchant worked.

  "Alright Sven., where are you planning on taking these bodies anyways? You know we can’t take them into the city." the merchant asked, wondering what Sven had in mind.

  "Yeah, I know that. I was actually on my way to Pauper’s Field to pay my respects." Sven answered, his voice taking on a harsh tone.

  "Ah." commented Bartleby. "You got family, there do you? A Cobble’s boy?"

  Sven nodded. "My mother, and yes. I was. That was a long time ago though."

  The merchant hopped into the wagon, and Sven opted to walk beside the wage rather than ride inside. Being a man of large statue, the little bit of space leftover once the ale had been rearranged left little room for comfort. Very little was said between the two men.

  Pauper’s Field wasn’t far away, just a little outside the walls of Woodward heading towards a natural spring just a bit away from the bay. It didn’t take long to reach it, and once there, Sven felt his heart drop again.

  The old iron fence that marked the edge of Pauper’s Field had come down in places and was heavily rusted. Bits of fencing dangled uselessly. Nobody has kept up the upkeep out here. It’s gone to complete ruin from neglect. Sven looked passed the fence to the gravesites. The graves were all over
grown with weeds and the headstones were covered in dirt and grime. Sven grimaced when he saw the tell-tale skeletal footprints that meant the undead horde had walked through the formally hallowed grounds, but a keen look around showed none of the graves had been disturbed. At least none of these dead have risen.

  But undead have been traveling through here. I’ve put coming here off for far too long. Sven thought before turning to Bartleby with a grin. "Alright merchant. If you’ve any dark secrets or hidden demons besides my own favorite vices, I suggest you leave."

  The merchant backed away slowly. “I haven’t, but I don’t altogether trust whatever is about to happen.”

  Once again, Sven took out the [Vial of Oil] and the [Vial of Blessed Water] and sprinkled them in the air overheard and began to speak in the same ancient language. White light rippled out from Sven in waves, purifying the whole area and reconsecrated it. The signs of the recent passing of the undead through the field disappeared.

  "Aye! Sven! You should have mentioned you were a God Blessed. Which one do you follow?" The merchant asked stunned that the powerful, though seemingly simple adventure was able to use such an ability.

  Sven laughed. "Ha, merchant. I don’t know you like that. Be polite and at least buy me dinner first and ply me with alcohol before asking my secrets."

  He stopped smile when he turned around and looked at cemetery again. That won’t last forever, but it’ll do for now, but Ma deserved better, and I can do better. Sven walked through the gravestones towards the back of the field where a much younger man had once dug a grave and covered it in rocks he gathered from the seashore.

  Sven bent down at the grave, embarrassed and ashamed of the state it was in. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Instead, Sven leaned over and started pulling up weeds and grasses that had grown through the rocks. Afterwards, he used his hands to sweep away the leaves and the debris. More than a few of the rocks had fallen away and he lifted them up and gingerly put them back in place and grabbed a few others that he should have added the first time.

  It was a slow-moving labor of love. When he was finished, Sven finally spoke. "I should have been back a long time ago. I’m sorry Ma. I’ve been a lot of places and done a lot of things. You’d be proud of most of them. I kept my promise to you. I kept sending money back, the others stayed fed. I haven’t heard from any of them in years though. Probably for the best. We never did agree completely. Anyways, I brought you something, it’s been with me a long time."

  He reached into his [Spacial Ring] and pulled out a polished limestone grave marker and placed it at the head of the grave. It read "Elizabeth "Ma" Riley, Beloved Mother". Sven wiped his face with a sleeve and then pulled out the marigolds he had bought from the flower girl and completely covered up the grave in a blanket of yellow.

  Dignity. There is some dignity in this. Sven stood there looking down, not knowing what else to say and walked over to the natural spring in the center of the field and reached one more time into his [Spacial Ring] for a [Sacred Artifact].

  He had long been carrying it for this day. A glowing crystal that he placed into the spring that began to crack once it touched the water as if hatching. The ethereal form of an undine was revealed on the water’s surface. "I have kept my promise. This is to be your new home. Please, guard it well. Extend your hallowed protection to this humble graveyard of children and beggars."

  The undine flipped her hair and smiled before diving into waters leading to places Sven would never be able to reach. A sense of peace filled him. A peace that let him know the undine had accepted his request.

  "Thank you." Sven walked out of Pauper’s Field and found the merchant looking at him red eyed. Neither of the two men said a word as each touched their faces with a sleeve.

  "I’ll escort you back to Woodward now," Sven said tiredly. "Let’s go, and don’t mention this to anybody."

  The merchant nodded. "I have no intention of doing so. You don’t see something like that every day. It’s a shame the city stopped sending people out here to clean up."

  The two of them got back to the city uneventfully, and though the two guards had wanted to award Sven for his help, the merchant waved them away as Sven headed back to the inn where he stayed.

  As for Sven, his thoughts were full, wondering, what should I be doing now? I’ll send a report to Galen later, I don’t want to keep living like this.

  Almost as if by providence, Sven looked up to see a sign in a window that read ALL NEW BUSINESSES REGISTER HERE. TRACTS OF LAND AVAILABLE. VARIOUS SIZES. APPLY THIS MONTH AND APPLICATION FEES ARE WAIVED!

  Sven stroked his beard thoughtfully. He was beginning to come up with a plan, at least the seed of one.

  Chapter 6: The Worth of A Name

  The meeting in the City Contracts Office didn’t go quite as well as Sven had hoped for. When he’d noticed the sign, the Chief Official was getting ready to close down the office for the day and head on home.

  "One second, please, I’d like to talk about starting a business," Sven shouted as he ran over, practically piling into the startled man whose papers went flying everywhere. That’s not going to help my case at all. Sven grimaced.

  The man gave Sven an irritated look and made an exaggerated sign of looking at his watch while picking up the papers from the cobblestone street.

  "You’re in luck. “ The man rolled his eyes. “Just two more minutes and these doors would have closed for the night." The man stopped and took a deep breath. "But as is my duty, I’ll assist you. Come on in."

  A key turned in the lock and the man ushered Sven in, pointing him towards an almost criminally small chair on the other side of a criminally large wooden ornate desk. "Go ahead and sit down. My name is Mr. Matthews and I’ll be your case manager. Now, what manner of business were you hoping to start?"

  The shock of the question almost ruined the whole thing for Sven. I never actually thought that far ahead. Let’s see, let’s see. Aside from adventuring, what do I know? Drinking? Fighting? Bartleby might be of help. Sven thought back to his happiest of days and remembered all the tavern’s he’d stayed in with his companions. Late nights, good drink, good music and better company. "I was hoping to open a tavern."

  Mr. Matthews nodded his head. "That makes sense, now that kind of undertaking requires significant capital and has many risks all of its own. Are you prepared to self-finance? We’d need at least a 20% cost down payment, and an additional 6% financing fee with a rolling interest of 4.93% compounded annually, with a direct to principal option for additional payment, and that’s after we’ve established your credit worthiness for the investment. Do you have a business plan or proposal?

  Sven grimaced. He might have been an S-Ranked adventurer, but as others had pointed out, he wasn’t called the Pauper Hero without reason and he wasn’t about to admit that he had almost no idea what any of that meant.

  Time passed with an awkward pause. Mr. Matthews rubbed his face and reached into his desk and grabbed another stack of papers and pushed them across the wooden surface towards Sven. "Normally, this is where the conversation would end. I would politely, though firmly, usher you right through that door behind you and never speak to you again. But I recognize you Sven, you haven’t aged much, not nearly as much as I have. When the plague of undeath tore through Ravensdale, you gave up the king’s ransom to help the people rebuild. I remember that Sven, aye I do. For a season at least before I moved here you put food on my table. Gratitude has its own demands."

  Sven felt a faint smile rising up in him, feeling like this conversation was going his way. One step closer to leaving adventuring behind. A tavern does seem like a great idea. Women, ale, and coin. What could go wrong?

  "But" continued Mr. Matthews, "I’m also a representative of the City of Woodward and by extension, the City Treasury, and though you typically would not be granted a line of credit, this one time, on my authority for what you have done. I’ll extend an offer, and gods hope I don’t live to regret it. If you look
at the contract, you’ll find that these are the best terms I can do, but it’ll still require a down payment for the plot of land, which if you don’t currently have, we can discuss alternate means of financing through a hybrid reimbursement model.”

  "Aside from that, I’ll just need you to sign a few blocks and explain a few others," said Mr. Matthews. "This should only take an hour or two."

  ***************************************************************

  Two weeks later, Sven was standing in an empty field away from the city. His field, now. It had cost him a pretty penny, too. He grimaced, thinking of the cost. He’d spent the last week dungeon guiding double-time, trying to make good on the down payment of his newly acquired debt. He cringed to think of the way he’d had to bow and scrape to lower-level adventurers, fishing for tips that would allow him to pay the city off more quickly.