by J. T. Wright
The Wolf’s jaws snapped forward, catching the Cat-Lizard in its oversized muzzle, and stained teeth crunched down on the bloody mess the Cat had become. It shook its head vigorously, then opened its teeth sending the Cat plummeting back to the ground. The Cat creature lay on the earth, dead, and the Wolf howled again, this time in victory.
Trent could not process what had just happened. He had expected both Beasts to attack him, but instead… had the Cat been trying to convince him to attack with it? If Trent had, could they have defeated the Werewolf together?
The Wolf didn’t bother consuming the fallen Beast and started to trudge away. Trent shook off his confusion and took the opportunity to activate Identify before the Wolf was out of view.
Werewolf - Trial Beast, Level ???
Identify leveled up. Identify now Level 5.
He had been right, but Trent’s rattled nerves were not soothed by this information. He suspected he only learned as much as he did, because it was information he already had and that was displayed due to Identify’s increase. The important thing was that Trent confirmed a thing he had been told in the past but never experienced for himself. Some Beasts could sense when an active Skill was being used!
The Werewolf whirled around and came rushing back to the tree. It huffed and snarled, white eyes searching for signs of what had disturbed it. Trent breathed softly and thought small thoughts. Fortunately, the Beast never looked up. Stealth and Camouflage, combined with his height, kept Trent safe.
The Werewolf resumed its trek, and once it was out of sight, Trent carefully climbed down from the tree. His knees flexed as he landed softly on the grass. The body of the Cat-Lizard was hardly recognizable beside him.
Trent crouched down. A Beast Core could be seen among the shattered wreckage of the Cat’s breastbone. Trent reached out a hand but ignored the treasure. Instead, he placed his fingers in the dirt and activated Earth Manipulation. That Ability and the Herbalism Skill begged him to pay attention to the green vine, with its silver petals that wrapped its way around the tree he had sheltered in. He ignored their demands and urged the Earth Elemental in his glove, which was starting to stir, to continue its rest.
For the first time, Trent used Earth Manipulation for its true purpose. The dirt he pushed aside with that Ability left a foot-deep hole, more than enough to contain the remains the Werewolf hadn’t bothered to eat. Gently, Trent slid the Beast’s body into its grave and used his hands to push the soil over it.
This was a pointless gesture. Trials cleaned up after themselves. Bodies of Adventurers who fell here would never leave unless their companions carried them out. Before long, the signs of battle, tracks left by the Werewolf, and this disturbance Trent had created in the terrain would all be erased.
Trent knew it was pointless, but he felt the gesture had to be made. Maybe the Cat-Lizard had not been able to express itself, but it had tried to communicate. Trent was the one who failed, and that failure weighed on him.
Despite his inaction, the Cat had taught Trent an important lesson. He wasn’t sure, but he felt the creature was near his Level. In some ways, Trent was stronger than the Beast. If it could harm the Werewolf, then Trent could kill this creation of the Trial. Doing so would be his way of apologizing to the hunter that had wanted to work together with him.
Trent stared at the blood and dirt that covered his gloves. He wondered if there was a Death Elemental housed within them which would respond to the unintentional offering he had provided. When no black dot appeared to clean the mess for him, Trent cast the Self-Clean Charm. He cast it twice and while his gloves looked unstained, Trent thought he could still see the signs of blood on his fingertips.
Trent climbed back into the tree and once he was safely hidden by Stealth and Camouflage as well as its branches, he accessed the message in his Status he hadn’t finished reading yet.
You have entered a Trial, The Moonlit Forest. Clear conditions as follows:
Poor clear - find the exit.
Simple Clear - defeat 10 Wererats and find the exit.
Average Clear - defeat 10 Wererats, 10 Grey Werewolves, and find the exit.
Above Average Clear - defeat 10 Wererats, 10 Grey Werewolves, 10 Black Werewolves, and find the exit.
Perfect Clear - defeat 25 Wererats, 20 Grey Werewolves, 15 Black werewolves, and the Trial Guardian.
The Truce amongst Hunters holds.
The clear conditions were laid out for him and, for the most part, made sense. Trent could leave anytime he liked if he could find the way out. The perfect clear condition bothered him. It made no mention of the exit, which could mean there were two ways out, or that the exit and the Guardian were located in the same spot.
Trent did not waste time considering this. The last sentence about the Truce amongst Hunters held him enthralled. That phrase, he was sure he had never heard it before, yet reading the words caused his heart to beat faster. It pried at the corners of his mind and demanded to be heard. It whispered about prey shared and the sheltering safety of darkness.
Trent lost his tenuous hold over those thoughts and almost his place on the branch when a snapping noise and a panting growl announced the presence of a Werewolf. How long had he been lost in thought? Hadn’t it only been seconds? If that were true, Trent was in a tough spot.
He couldn’t tell if this Beast was the same from before or a new one. Whatever the case, the Beast behaved similarly. It paused beneath the tree and pawed the earth where Trent had made a makeshift grave. Then, after testing the air, heavy feet continued down the trail.
The glimmer of an idea formed in Trent’s mind; a good idea if he could pull off. Seeing the Cat-Lizard wound the Werewolf gave him the belief that he could kill one. He also knew that he would suffer the same fate as the Cat if he were caught in the Wolf’s strange Skills. The only difference would be that no one would bury Trent’s body.
He did have a few options that might help. Trent still had nearly 2000 XP that he had not spent. Not enough to level either of his Classes, but Trent had five open Class slots and seven Profession slots. His saved XP would be enough to bring a new Class to Level 3 or better.
Was that the answer? A higher level meant more Attribute Points, and if Trent chose one of the Specialized Classes that were available to him, he could get new Skills. But Trent had been told not to level a new Class until he reached a point where his current ones required more XP than he could earn easily. Level 15 was generally considered the point when it was time to choose a new Class.
And 3 levels meant 12 Attribute Points. What would that get him? It wasn’t enough to bring his Strength to 36 and his Dexterity to 40, numbers which would allow him to use the sword gathering dust in his Storage. Thinking of that blade, Trent opened his Storage and examined its contents.
A golden chest holding two books he’d never read, a third book on Herbalism, two broken knives, a sword he couldn’t use, and a short bow that was useless was all he found. There was also a month’s worth of dried goods and eighteen skewers of meat that he had purchased in Bellrise, but Trent didn’t need food, any more than he needed a slight increase in his Attributes or new Skills. He needed…
Trent’s head leaned back against the trunk of the tree. He did not know what he needed! He had been excited to find himself in a Trial. Now he realized he was as unprepared for this Moonlit Forest as he had been for the Land of the Undying Lord! Why hadn’t he bought potions and new weapons in Bellrise? He could have found new armor and clothing.
Martin had talked him out of all that. The man had hustled Trent along and urged him not to waste his money. Sergeant Cullen had once said that Trent listened too well sometimes. He had said it wasn’t wise to be led around by the nose all the time. Ironically, Trent had forgotten the Sergeant’s advice and obeyed a man who attempted to kill him.
Trent swung his arm backward and pounded a fist against the tree in frustration. His action dislodged one of the vine’s silver blossoms. The petals clinked and clattered as
they bounced off branches and fell to the ground.
Clinked and clattered? Shouldn’t the petals have drifted silently to the earth? Trent scrambled down the tree to examine what had fallen. The Trial had restored itself and the disturbed earth was flat, once again covered by frosted grass. Laying in the grass was a glass vial the length of Trent’s little finger.
Picking up the vial, Trent used Appraisal on it. What the Skill revealed banished Trent’s frustration and brought a cold smile to his lips. Trials are meant to be challenged. It was easy to forget that they were not death traps and solutions were all around. You just had to survive long enough to find them.
Liquid Silver - a poison derived from the petals of the Wolf Vine; this highly corrosive substance is the bane of all Were-Creatures.
Trent looked from the vial to the vine. There were dozens of petals. If each of them turned into poison when plucked, Trent could coat his sword or throw the vials at the grey Werewolf, seriously injuring or killing it. Trent set to work to turn his glimmer of an idea into a feasible plan.
Chapter Six
Expecting to gather dozens of vials of poison was a little ambitious. Trials provided a way, but there were no free rides. As Trent plucked a fifth blossom, the vine wrapped around the tree withered. Its blossoms folded up and its vegetation plopped to the ground, brown, dry, and dead.
Trent clicked his tongue with disappointment but holding five vials of poison reassured him. He wanted to kill one Werewolf, and then he would be off to find less fearsome opponents. Five should be enough for what he had in mind.
Returning to his perch in the tree, Trent settled in for a long wait. The air was cold in the Trial, but Trent disregarded it. When frost settled on his clothing and eyelashes, Trent cast Spiritual Flame and used Fire Manipulation to hold and spread the heat over his stiffening limbs. He was careful not to do this too often. It wasn’t only Identify that the Werewolves could sense.
Stealth and Camouflage hid him, but any active Skill or Ability could bring a passing Wolf rushing back, snarling and snapping. Trent was careful to make sure only his concealing Skills were being used when he heard a Beast approaching.
Trent had observed the trail for hours. He had to be certain of the pattern he thought he had picked out before he acted. Wolves stalked by the tree every half hour without fail. Once the Trial had reset the terrain, none of them paused beneath the tree, but Trent thought he had an answer to this.
Waiting until the most recent Trial Beast was safely away, Trent dropped to the ground. He stretched and twisted his waist to ease stiff muscles and practiced Military Fencing until his body grew warm and loose. When he thought the time had come, he sheathed his sword and took a meat skewer out of Storage.
Items placed in Storage remained in the same state they entered. The meat on the wooden skewer was still hot, and the smell caused Trent’s mouth to water. He had meant to use the meat as bait but found himself falling for his own trap. He withdrew a second skewer.
Trent stared at it doubtfully. This was a weak point in his plan. Normal Trial Beasts did not eat. The Werewolf that had killed the Cat-Lizard had shown no interest in its corpse. Other Beasts had sniffed the grave, but finding no sign of life, passed by. Now that the Trial had reset and the grave had disappeared, Trent needed something to hold the Beast's attention.
Trent removed his left glove. As he pulled the thin, soft material from his fingers, the protective equipment shrunk until Trent was left holding an ordinary-sized glove. Instead of marveling at this, Trent drew his belt knife and quickly slashed his exposed palm. Dribbling blood onto the skewer, Trent placed his enhanced bait on the ground beneath the tree.
He had to cast the Balm Charm twice to seal the wound he had inflicted on himself. After casting Self-Clean to banish any scent of blood that lingered, Trent climbed back into the Tree. He pulled his left glove back on, activated Stealth and Camouflage, and drew his sword. He took a vial of Liquid Silver from his belt pouch and cautiously poured half the substance on one side of his blade. The liquid spat and sizzled as he tilted his sword this way and that to coat the blade evenly.
Worried that he was running out of time, Trent placed the contents of his belt pouch in Storage and used the leather as a rag to spread the poison. The leather burned and charred when it came in contact with the Liquid Silver, and the air filled with a foul stench.
Once the first side was dry, Trent repeated this process on the other side. Finished, his sword no longer resembled the dull grey from before but now seemed to shine in the moonlight. Trent hoped it would be enough. He put the remains of his belt pouch in Storage. He would have tossed it away for the Trial to clean up, but he was already afraid the lingering smell would cause the Werewolf to ignore his bait.
Preparations complete, Trent was forced to wait again. Standing balanced on a branch, he kept his muscles relaxed and his breathing even. He held his sword away from his body. The poison might be most effective against Were-Beasts, but having seen its effects on his belt pouch, Trent had no desire to touch it.
Trent had not felt stressed from his hours of observation, but the minutes passed like days now that he was ready to act, and his ears waited to catch the sounds of a Trial Beast’s approach. He almost gave away his position letting out a gasp of relief when snarling and snapping told him the Werewolf was near.
The Werewolf lumbered into view, and Trent’s toes flexed in his boots with anticipation. The creature’s nose caught the scent of blood and dropping on all fours, it loped forward rapidly. Drool fell onto the meat skewer as the Beast’s muzzle prodded it. Above, Trent lifted his sword to chest height, placed his right hand on the hilt, his left wrapped around the pommel. He stepped out into the air and dropped like a stone.
The Werewolf never noticed the Swordsman until his feet struck its back and his blade plunged into its flesh. Trent’s sword sunk to the hilt, and the tip of the blade broke through the Beast’s chest. It had worked! He had replicated the Cat-Lizard attack and avoided the Werewolf’s howling attack to deal a devastating blow! Coated with Liquid Silver, the Werewolf would…
The Beast reared up with an agonized bellow. There was a snapping sound and Trent was thrown backward to the dirt. He rolled as he hit and came back to his feet. The creature wasn’t killed instantly, but with poison circulating through its body, he still had a chance. Trent raised the hilt in his hand.
It was just a hilt. The blade was gone. A familiar sense of dread pulsed through him as Trent stared at the remains of his weapon. He had been here before. In another Trial, he had stood with broken knives before an Orc and without any means of fighting back. This time the feeling of helplessness was more intense; here was no one to rescue him.
The Werewolf spun to loom over Trent. Its jaws hung open and a red light gathered at the back of its throat. Trent threw his hilt and it bounced off the creature’s fangs. He had to dodge the flesh-rending light when it came. If he could do that, if he could avoid the Werewolf’s attacks for a few moments, he could take another vial from Storage. The Beast’s jaws never closed tightly, and with another dose of poison deposited on its tongue, maybe two, Trent could walk away from this.
His calves tensed as the Beast stepped forward, its neck extending to direct a howl into Trent’s face. He had to clear the area of the attack. How far had the light spread? Trent hoped Dodge and Dash would be enough to increase his speed. He couldn’t be hit, not even a glancing blow to the legs.
The Beast howled, and Trent flung himself out of the way, toward the tree with its silver bark. He rolled again and ducked behind the sheltering wood. He heard a thud as he opened Storage and searched for a vial. He imagined the enraged Beast’s claws tearing the earth as it came for him. It took painfully long seconds to find what he was looking for, and as the vial fell into his hand, Trent was sure he would be delivering it into the Beast’s mouth at the cost of his arm.
Not wanting to be pinned between trunk and Beast, Trent darted forward away from the tree. He p
ivoted and raised his arm, ready to slam the vial against the forehead of a Werewolf he was positive was only inches behind him. But there was nothing.
No slobbering jaws or vacant white eyes. There was not even the ever-present sound of hate-filled growling. Keeping his arm up, ready to throw, Trent scanned his surroundings. Nothing. A creature that big shouldn’t be able to move through the woods silently, but Beasts had Skills of their own. Trent took a second vial from Storage while he had a chance and turned in place, trying to anticipate where the creature would attack from.
A minute went by, and Trent wavered. Trial Beasts did not retreat; they couldn’t, no matter how badly they were injured. Was this one smart enough to hide until Trent lowered his guard? Trent shuffled back to the tree and placed his back against it. He side-stepped until he was once again facing the path. That was where he found the Werewolf!
It had fallen forward, and Trent’s broken sword blade protruded from its back. The Beast’s weight had pushed it out so that a few inches were exposed. Trent could see no sign of life or movement. Still, he kept the vials of poison handy as he stepped forward.
He circled around and, stretching out a boot, kicked at the Werewolf’s leg. Leaping back, Trent almost threw his glass weapon, despite seeing no movement from the Beast. He could not believe it was dead. This had to be a trick!
Then a thought occurred to Trent. There was a way to verify the Beast’s state but doing so was as risky as searching through Storage. Adventurers received XP for killing. All he had to do was pull up his Status and check to see whether the amount of his XP had changed. Trent hesitated. Viewing his Status would split his attention. If the Werewolf wasn’t dead and it sensed his preoccupation, it would be on him faster than he could scream.
Trent made the decision. It was not a hard one. He could tempt the Beast into attacking or waste precious resources by pouring poison on a corpse. His Status was opened, and he read the results. His XP had shot up from 1845 to 2345. The creature was dead, and Trent had earned 500 XP for slaying it. It was by far the most he had ever gained from a kill. He had enough to raise his Swordsman Class to Level 8.
