Their group's levels averaged 280. They were very badly armed, though. Only about twenty of their warriors boasted some sort of gnarly bone-topped sticks and primitive stone axes, that was the extent of it.
They were clad in loincloths. Savages with clubs.
How many of them were there, really?
I counted twenty-three campfires, with at least a dozen warriors sitting around each. Rounded off, that's about three hundred. It was pretty clear that the Red Owls wouldn't survive any potential engagement, weapons or no weapons. We had a hundred-fifty warriors at most. The rest of the clan were women and children. So if they stayed here for another day, Laosh might lead his clan directly into the enemy's clutches.
I made another circle over the enemy camp and headed back.
"So what is it?" Droy asked, his voice shaking with worry as I landed.
The others surrounded me, their faces grim, their eyes anxious.
"Nocteans," I said. "About three hundred of them. No idea how this could have happened. Last time I checked that direction, there was nobody there."
Droy's face darkened. Orman spat on the ground. The other warriors commented on the news in a less-than-acceptable language.
"How did they get here?" Seet the Burly asked.
"Where do you want them to be?" Crym grumbled, pointing around him. "These wretched Woods just might be their home."
"It's not your fault, Olgerd," Droy said. "Those bastards can move really fast. They must have arrived with yesterday's snowstorm. You'd better tell me... do you think they'll stay there long?"
"It doesn't look like it. They didn’t have tents, only campfires."
Orman smirked. "Tents! Those savages don't need tents, do they? They sleep in their filthy holes in the ground."
I shrugged. "I didn't notice any holes, either."
"Did you check the direction they came from?" Droy asked.
I nodded. "Judging by their footprints, they arrived from the north west. If they continue in the same direction, they will walk right into our path..."
"To discover the rest of the clan," Droy finished my phrase for me.
"They're too many," Horm the Turtle said. "No way we can win. But we'll have to face them if we want to keep going. The rest of the tribe is too slow — and noisy. By tomorrow night, the Nocteans will know they're coming."
The air heaved with the sighs that surrounded me. Everybody understood that.
"And what if they decide we're too many? Can they just give it a miss?" I asked.
Judging by the warriors smirks, this wasn't very likely.
Droy decided to explain it to me in more detail. "Why do you think the Nocteans arrived in our valley to begin with?"
"No idea," I shrugged. "Could be lots of reasons. From what I hear, the place was good. Plenty of food, too."
Orman bared his teeth in a grin. "Olgerd sees right through it. Only he doesn't seem to realize how right he is."
I frowned and looked up at Droy.
He lay a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Don't get angry with the guys. These monsters have taken too much from us, you see. And you're dead right about food. They're always hungry. With one correction. They feed on us."
Now it was my turn to cuss. Admittedly, I rarely do so but when I do... This time I managed to really excel at it. Crym and Shorve even slapped my shoulder with approval.
"Now you can see our predicament," Droy said. "Any ideas?"
I'd already given it some thought on my way back. "As I already said," I replied unhesitantly, "there's only one direction we can take. We can't go south, west nor east. There's no place for Calteans there. Crym is my witness."
Crym nodded his agreement.
"The Twilight Castle is already within reach," I went on. "And if we-"
"Are you trying to suggest we distract the Nocteans?" Droy interrupted me.
"Exactly," I said. "I'd rather they follow us than attack the clan."
"And once we reach the Forbidden City, we'll have better chances of survival there," Crym agreed. "And I don't think the local dwellers will appreciate a horde of Nocteans enter their city."
"First we need to get there," Horm the Turtle grumbled, cautious as usual. "Who can guarantee the City guards won't start by killing us?"
At these words, all eyes turned to me.
"There are no guarantees," Droy replied for me sternly. "That's why we're the advance team! It's our job to investigate everything! And if we have to die, so be it! You knew what you were getting yourselves into."
Strangely enough, the men didn't look unhappy. On the contrary: they seemed inspired by their noble task.
Droy cast a formidable stare over his men. "Shorve the Hasty is the fastest among us. I suggest we send him back to the clan to warn Laosh. He'll know what to do."
The warriors hummed their approval.
"Follow in our tracks," Droy instructed Shorve. "I don't need to tell you, do I? Avoid engaging with the enemy. Your job is to survive and give them our message."
Shorve nodded.
"We really should send Olgerd instead," Droy said slowly. "But I have a feeling we might find it hard without him."
"We need to get going now," I said. "It doesn't look as if the Nocteans are going to stay where they are for much longer."
"And what if they do?" Horm asked. "That's not what we want either, is it?"
He was right. Our group needed a head start, but if the Nocteans lingered in their current camp for much longer, it would be a catastrophe. Luckily, this was a game. I could always aggro the wretched things. The rest would be a matter of skill.
"Don't worry," I grinned. "Leave them to me."
I DIDN'T HAVE TO AGGRO THEM, after all. By daybreak, the Nocteans had picked up our trail. By midday I knew they were going to catch up with us before we reached the city. That's considering our group had been doubling all through the night and for the most part of the morning. It looked like I'd underestimated our enemy.
There was another thing, too.
"So how is it?" Droy gasped, breathless from the run, when I finally landed.
The other men took the brief break as a godsend, collapsing into the snow on the spot.
Crym suffered the most. He was puffing like a steam engine but soldiered on.
"Don't play the hero," Droy told me. "Your place is in the saddle. At the moment, you're the group's eyes and ears."
I agreed. There was one problem, though.
"Guys," my voice broke. "I'm a lousy scout, I know. This is my second screwup in as many days."
"What now?" Droy stepped toward me.
"A few four-legged beasts have left the Nocteans' camp," I said. "I swear they weren't there last night!"
As if confirming my words, the foul wind which had been right behind us all that time brought a blood-curdling wolflike howl.
The warriors jumped to their feet as one man.
Orman spat in the snow. "Werewolves!"
"It's not your fault, Olgerd my friend," Droy reassured me. "You're the best scout I've ever met. You can't have known that some Nocteans can shapeshift. So stupid of us. We should have warned you."
"How many are there?" Horm asked.
"Twelve."
"That's all right," Crym said. "They want to tie us up in combat."
"How much time do we have?"
That was Seet.
"They should catch up with us by sunset," I said.
The warriors exchanged grim stares, apparently realizing the group might not survive the engagement. Wretched Nocteans!
What could we do?
But what if...
'Well, brothers," Crym the Hammer hid a smirk behind his gray beard, "it looks like my journey ends here. I'm fed up with all this constant running. Besides, I'm too old to turn my back to the enemy. Go! I'll delay them!"
Excuse me? What the hell was going on here?
No one tried to talk him out of it. No shows of drama or protest followed. Silently the warriors came over to hi
m one by one, touching his shoulder.
What, was that it? Had they already decided? I beg to differ! Now was the moment to use my Reputation.
"That's right!" I said out loud, attracting their attention. "Good decision! We need to delay them! Still, you seem to forget one very important point. I'm the one responsible for it. So it's up to me to sort out this mess."
Crym opened his mouth to speak out but I motioned him to stop. "Sorry, friend, but you're not staying here."
I looked over their grim faces. "None of you are."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Arctic sunsets are awesome and fearfully cold. Today, the fiery-red disk of the sun seemed especially hasty as if it knew what was about to happen and was scrambling out of our way back into its celestial halls. Like, it had seen enough for one day.
Shame about that. We were about to have a nice party here. Or rather, I was. By my estimation, the rest of the group had already left the Icy Woods and were now crossing the Frozen Hills — the last location before the Forbidden City.
The howling of the Noctean werewolves was already almost upon me. They were looking forward to their meal.
Yeah, right, dream on. I wasn't such an easy prey, sorry guys.
You've built the simplest mechanical creature: an Armor-Plated Scarab!
Current level: 170
"There!" I said proudly, studying the brand-new shining beetle which had materialized on the snow. "Now we're cooking!"
The beetle (the size of the German car of the same name) stood still in the small clearing surrounded by trees.
What a difference! Gone were the rust and the lame leg. And the size of him! His golden scales glistened predatorily in the rays of the setting sun, the crests on his head studded with foot-long spikes. If he rammed you, you'd know all about it.
Apart from his eye-pleasing size and stats, the Charmed Scale of the Ylean Pangolin had also given the scarab a new skill. It had a simple, unassuming name: Bone Crusher, giving the scarab +30% to his chances of injuring his opponent.
The approaching sound of the werewolves' expectant howling didn't sound so scary anymore. How funny. Still, I was admittedly quite weak at the knees.
"Let's give these whiney dogs a warm welcome," I slapped the scarab's armored flank.
It felt like I'd punched a cliff.
I placed two of his scales into the Fix Box straight away. This way I could promptly build another scarab when I needed to. Then I climbed aboard Boris' back and told him to stay behind our tank. Prankie made himself comfortable on Boris' neck. We could always use his shield spell if the mobs got to me. His levels weren't up to ours, anyway.
"Looks like we're ready," I whispered, racking my brains for every potential scenario of the upcoming combat.
My heart was about to leap out of my chest.
A new bout of howling made me jump. It sounded very close this time. Mechanically I whipped out my slingshot and gripped it hard, trying to stop my fingers from shaking. Its support sat snugly on my forearm. A burr, one of those cast with the Ice-Bound spell, lay in the pouch.
"Come on now," I grumbled. "The sooner we start, the quicker we're out of here."
All I heard back was silence, disturbed only by the chattering of my own teeth. I was frozen to the bone.
I looked this way and that, about to check the scarab's settings one last time. No chance. Something gray and huge came from behind the trees with a blood-curdling growl.
A Noctean Werewolf
I glanced at the scarab. He didn't look so big anymore compared to the shapeshifting monster.
The werewolf stopped and began sniffing around, peering around him shortsightedly. Mountainous muscles rippled under his matted gray hair.
Finally his black glare stopped, focusing on us.
His hackles stood on end. The beast bared his long sharp fangs. Viscous saliva dripped off his jutting lower lip onto the snow.
Having gotten an eyeful of the miserable idiots stupid enough to challenge his pack, the werewolf tilted his head up in a very doglike gesture. His heavy — and eerily cheerful — howling assaulted our eardrums.
More beasts leapt from the woods, answering his call.
Hot with the chase, their tongues hanging, they fell upon us like a school of hungry sharks.
On my command, the scarab accelerated forward, too. In contrast with the leaping wolves, he barged forward like a snow plough, raising a wave of snow in his wake.
I should have summoned him a week earlier, shouldn't I? That way he could have made our progress through the Icy Woods so much easier. Just look at the lovely track he was leaving behind him, all straight and clean!
A second later, my scaly tank had rammed his first opponent. An agonizing scream echoed over the clearing. The scarab had caught the werewolf in midair, piercing the beast's belly with the sharp spikes studding his crest.
The snow turned dark crimson. The wounded wolf's packmates jumped onto their attacker, entangling him in a swirl of gray bodies. I couldn't see the scarab at all anymore, the constant flash of system messages the only sign he was still going strong.
The scene of the bloody battle had become a mess of crimson slush. The scarab's Bone Crusher skill actually worked very well. Three werewolves were seriously injured already. As opposed to the scarab's previous versions, this one was a real swiftie. Just look at him spinning around, dealing out blows left, right and center!
He had it hard, too. Even from where I stood I could see the terrible dents in his armor. His shell, so smooth only a minute ago, was now covered in pits and ragged holes. One of his antennae and two of his legs had been ripped off.
I shuddered, imagining the damage these werewolves could have wreaked on our little group. Crym the Hammer was a hero, and no mistake. Still, his sacrifice would have been in vain. The werewolves would have made quick work of him.
Never mind. Now!
You've built the simplest mechanical creature: an Armor-Plated Scarab!
Current level: 170
"Quick, go help your brother," I motioned the newly-arrived second scarab to the battle scene.
Unhesitantly he took off and scurried along the cleared path toward the canine melee.
A fierce agonizing scream announced the pack's displeasure with the new arrival. Seven injured werewolves already!
The snow around was spattered with blood and flecked with tufts of gray hair. Despite this, the pack's life was still in the green. In order to kill one werewolf, I'd have to simultaneously release a good dozen scarabs like these two. The level gap was just too big.
My slingshot was useless in this situation. Shooting it would just be wasting ammo. In any case, I'd achieved my goal: my group had gained a considerable head start.
I didn't want to waste all of my precious Pangolin Scales. I wouldn't win, anyway. The two scarabs were going to stand their ground for a while, delaying the werewolves.
Time to make myself scarce.
Boris soared up into the sky with a rather hasty effortlessness. He can't have enjoyed sitting there on the ground within twenty paces of the monsters. Admittedly, neither I nor Prankie had enjoyed it much, either.
Boris circled the clearing one last time and headed north.
"Go, kiddo," I whispered. "We can't do much here anymore."
As we were crossing over from the Icy Woods into the Frozen Hills, I finally received a system message reporting the scarabs' complete loss of Durability. It also stripped me of a few XP points for "fleeing the battlefield".
As I was taking all this in, two crystal clear sounds reached me from afar — like two balloons popping.
I swung round in the saddle, trying to discern this new development. Then I realized. My scarabs had self-destructed!
I could only imagine what the epicenter of their combined explosion looked like. I just hoped it would take the werewolves quite a while to recover from this last surprise.
* * *
I flew over the Frozen Hills following our gr
oup's trail. Unlike the never-ending Icy Woods, this particular location was over in a blink. Nothing special, really: the hills below looked quite ordinary. Still, I told Boris to climb over the clouds, just to be on the safe side. You never knew what kind of mobs might inhabit these places.
Some fifteen minutes later, my satnav informed me of an approaching city below. I told Boris to swoop down. I wasn't going to miss this sight for the world.
We welcome you, O traveler, to the glorious Twilight Castle and its environments!
Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to celebrate. Immediately we were consumed by a fierce snowstorm.
This was another one of No-Man's Lands' unpleasant features. You'd travel across a nice quiet location, and just as you were about to cross over into the next one, you'd get caught in a snowstorm; alternatively, a sharp drop in temperature would attempt to freeze you solid. I still thought that these were the admins busy fine-tuning No-Man's Lands. Because if players encountered such rapid changes, they'd bury Customer Support in letters and complaints.
Screaming out in surprise, Boris dove down.
"Hold on, kiddo!" I shouted over the howling wind. It threw us around like a feather, the prickly snow lashing my face, blocking my ears, my mouth and even my eyes...
I couldn't see anything.
I clung to Boris' neck and closed my eyes, feeling his powerful muscles ripple under my hands as he continued to combat the elements.
I pried my eyes open. The land was approaching rapidly. My jaw was locked — I must have been screaming non-stop.
I braced myself for the impact. It took all my self-control not to squeeze my eyes shut like a scared little boy.
What happened next was probably what paratroopers call the "opening shock". Just as we were about to hit the ground, Boris threw his wings out wide. We felt a slight jerk upwards. The next moment we were embraced by a soft, deep heap of snow.
The Way of the Outcast (Mirror World Book #3) LitRPG series Page 28
