Second Skin: Wayward: A litRPG Adventure (Second Skin Book 7)

by M Damon Baker

  Scar didn’t like his question any more than I did and issued a low growl that caused the man to recoil in fear. I let my anger flow freely as I approached him, illuminating his face with my fury as I replied.

  “I’m the person who’s going to put an end to animals like you.” He turned his head, unable to withstand the glare I shined on him. “Vistaal and that Nér-vrogan piece of shit you served are only the first of your masters I intend to kill.”

  In what seemed like an act of defiance, he finally met my gaze once I’d told him my intentions. His fear slowly transformed into a look of resolve as we continued to stare at each other, but when he opened his mouth to reply, it was not at all what I expected to hear.

  “Good,” although his voice was tinged with anger, I had the distinct impression that it wasn’t aimed at me. “If the cost of ridding us of those bastards is my life, then my death will atone for at least some of my sins.”

  I’d thought the Sentinels were devoted servants of their Nér-vrogan masters, but if our prisoner’s tone was any indication of his true feelings, that clearly was not the case. Yet I wasn’t about to be deceived into trusting someone who’d served as one of their officers until we’d taken him captive. It would take much more than mere words to convince me that his sentiments were anything other than a ploy.

  “Your conversion comes at a very convenient time,” the dismissive note of my voice managed to convey my skepticism quite well.

  “I don’t care if you believe me,” he responded, and even in the face of the continued blaze of my eyes, he didn’t waver in the slightest. “All that matters is that you succeed. Whatever you may require from me, it’s yours.”

  ‘He speaks genuinely, Ashíel,’ Scar nosed closer to me as his words filtered into my head.

  This is not something we can afford to be wrong about, despite my faith in him, I needed to be certain.

  ‘There is no smell of deceit,’ Scar replied with a degree of confidence that I found difficult to ignore. ‘He is filled with hate, but it is not directed towards you.’

  “Explain yourself,” I commanded as I returned my full attention to the prisoner.

  “Like many others, my service is not voluntary.” Even though he answered immediately, the man was clearly reluctant to tell his story. “We are compelled to join the ranks of the Sentinels under threat of death—not just for us, but our families as well.”

  Well, shit. I had no idea that was the case. A quick glance towards Kyrah told me she hadn’t been holding out on me either; the stunned look on her face made that all too apparent.

  “I’ve hated every day of my life since I was forced into doing the Nér-vrogans’ bidding,” he continued speaking, growing more eager to relate his tale as it went on. “Nor am I alone; many others feel the way I do. But with the tight hold they have over us, there was never anything we could do to oppose them.”

  “There’s no way for me to make up for all the evil I’ve done,” his jaw clenched tightly with conviction. “All I ask is that you allow me the opportunity to tell you everything I know before you kill me.”

  Despite his firmness and Scar’s insight, I still wasn’t completely convinced. “You’ll have that chance once we reach our destination. Until then, just behave yourself, and we’ll treat you fairly.”

  Apparently, that was enough for him, and he nodded his acceptance of my terms. With our conversation at an end, I sat down to eat my dinner—yet another round of cold rations.

  Thanks, Leshel…

  As I took a sip of water and recast Detect Life, I remembered how the Spell had failed to reveal the Nér-vrogan’s presence. At first, I’d thought either its magic had failed or that the bastard had some inherent resistance to it, but playing around with my UI revealed the truth to be much less ominous.

  The simple fact was that it actually had shown him there; it was just that the dots on my map had blurred together, making two of them appear as one. If I’d only taken a more careful look or dialed in just a little closer, that would have been readily apparent to me. It was yet another issue I needed to be aware of, and I added it to the long list I was trying to keep track of in my head.

  With Detect Life and the magic of my snares protecting us, we typically didn’t bother setting a watch. Unfortunately, since the prisoner was already inside our camp, that wasn’t going to be enough to ensure our safety. Scar and I quickly ‘volunteered’ for the first two shifts, while Kyrah and Agna argued for a moment over the rest. Once she’d won the right to the final turn, Agna sat down to feed our prisoner, and I let Scar watch over them both while I tried to sleep until it was time for me to take over. The little shit never woke me, though, and I only rose when Kyrah nudged me the next morning. Despite the nasty look I sent him, Scar only smiled back at me, obviously quite pleased with his deception.

  That’s wasn’t fair to either of us, I grumbled as I washed down a few bites with a mouthful of water.

  ‘I wasn’t going to sleep anyway, and you needed the rest,’ his stupid grin only grew wider when he replied.

  Jerk.

  Picking up right where she’d left off the night before, Agna made sure our ‘guest’ ate before we packed up our camp and headed out. With the path already defined for us, she seemed to feel no need to scout ahead, keeping a close watch over our prisoner as she journeyed alongside us for the entire day. Having so recently gone through the same territory, we felt safe enough to travel at a brisk pace and made it to our next camp early in the evening. After a brief discussion, we agreed to resume our rapid march the following morning, hoping to reach Leshel’s outpost before nightfall. While Agna fed our new ‘friend’ once more, I asked her a question that had been bothering me ever since our encounter with her fellow orcs.

  “Agna,” despite my soft tone, she startled slightly. “The Sentinels didn’t seem too concerned with their safety. Why don’t your people attack them when they encroach on your lands?”

  “Because the Nér-vrogan retaliate any time they do,” the bound man swallowed his mouthful of food before responding. “While their Sentinels may be vulnerable, the Nér-vrogan themselves are not. Whenever anyone dares to defy them, they ride out with an overwhelming force and make them pay dearly for it.”

  “We have eliminated their spies before,” Agna’s voice was tinged with a familiar-sounding pain, reminding me of her loss. “On every occasion, the Nér-vrogan struck us back many times harder. With their resistance to damage, there was no way for us to fend off their assaults. We were able to kill a few of their Sentinels, but the Nér-vrogan themselves slaughtered us with impunity.”

  “That’s why there’s hope now.” I could see the faint glimmer of that belief reflected in the prisoner’s eyes as he picked up where Agna had left off. “The Nér-vrogan feel no need to maintain large armies. They rule through fear and rely on their own powers to both protect them and enforce their will. Behind their united front, they’re also quite paranoid; few of them actually trust each other, and The Thirteen are frequently at each other’s throats.”

  That sounded like a very familiar story to me. Arrika had nearly fallen into darkness before Dreya had unified its fractured Realms. Perhaps with the right application of force, I wondered if the Nér-vrogan Empire might be toppled by that similar weakness…

  I drew my dagger as I stalked over to where the prisoner sat on the ground, unintentionally provoking exactly the opposite response than what I’d intended. Agna actually moved to block my path, only stepping out of my way when I told her my intentions.

  “I’m only going to slice through the ropes, not his throat,” she let out an odd sigh of relief when I explained my purpose.

  “What’s your name?” He was clearly pleased to not feel the edge of my blade against his neck.

  Our introduction was completed as he rubbed at the raw skin of his wrists. “Derrik.”

  20

  While I’d felt confident enough to release and even rearm our former captive, I still insisted on s
etting a watch that night. Although I was certain he’d told us the truth, a lingering bit of doubt still gnawed at the back of my mind. I guess that was only to be expected; after finding out just how wrong I’d been about so many other things, I had little faith in my ability to discern the truth.

  We’d covered a fair distance the previous day, so when we resumed our journey the next morning, it didn’t take long before we were within the borders of the Free Lands. Having made our way back with not only a prisoner but a willing convert to our cause, I began looking forward to enjoying a hot meal and sleeping under an actual roof in the comfort of a soft bed.

  Yet I knew nothing of the place I’d be calling home for at least the foreseeable future. Agna had spent some time there, but only as a raider, so I knew her knowledge was somewhat… limited. Derrik, on the other hand, was a spy. His forays into the Free Lands had undoubtedly given him a great deal of insight, and I decided to take advantage of his former occupation to learn as much as I could before we arrived. As we walked, I asked Derrik to tell us what he could, and he was incredibly forthcoming, providing us with some very useful information.

  Before describing the individual realms, Derrik thought it wise to warn me of the ‘strange’ people I would be meeting there. While there were humans and elves just like in the Nér-vrogan territories, we should also be prepared to encounter dwarves and halflings walking about as well. When none of us seemed the least bit surprised by this ‘revelation,’ he paused in obvious confusion.

  “Thanks for the warning, Derrik, but Agna already told us this.” He nodded his head in understanding when I explained. I didn’t bother to let him know that this was actually quite a normal thing for me.

  While I already knew that the Free Lands were divided into three distinct realms, Derrik was able to tell us much more about them. The land we were entering was part of the human-led Kingdom of Haven. Although its people had fled the Nér-vrogan, they always expected their persecutors would someday follow, putting an end to their brief period of freedom. But the lands to the south held more than the Nér-vrogan needed, and the overlords were content with the well-stocked larder within their borders, so the invasion they feared never came. As simple as the kingdom’s name was, they’d clung to it for so long that by the time the people realized their realm would last, it was too late for any change.

  Northwards from Haven were the great mountains of Barun-Ur, the Dwarven realm that Agna had mentioned before but not named. If the Nér-vrogan ever came, it would have served as the final bulwark against their deprivations and had been heavily fortified in preparation for that eventuality. Now the home to nearly all the surviving dwarven people, it was the main source of metal, both raw and finely worked, for all the Free Lands.

  Finally, to the south of Barun-Ur and west of Haven lay the Kingdom of Tarsíl. The elven refugees that settled there millennia ago had claimed those heavily forested lands as their new sanctuary, finding solace in the familiar-looking trees so far from their former homes. They, too, anticipated an impending assault from the Nér-vrogan and were similarly relieved to discover that they’d managed to truly escape the horrors of that empire. Just like Haven, the Kingdom of Tarsíl shared a border with the untamed lands where Agna’s people roamed, and each of those border realms maintained a series of fortified positions to ward off their intrusions.

  “The Last Forest,” I commented when Derrik described the elven kingdom. “I guess that must have seemed like a suitable name at the time.”

  My companions all came to a dead stop in the middle of the woods to stare at me, and I had no idea what sort of mistake I’d made until Derrik told me.

  “The Nér-vrogan made sure to wipe out every trace of history that was not their own. Along with the elvish language, the meaning of that name has been lost for thousands of years,” he inquired with obvious suspicion as both Agna and Kyrah’s heads nodded along in agreement with his words. “Nothing survived their purges. How could you possibly know this?”

  I realized that I didn’t have an answer for him, or at least not a good one. Although I could speak a handful of elvish words and phrases, Arrika had undergone a similar history—what little I knew was almost the entire remaining lexicon. Yet none of those few words were ‘Tarsíl,’ and even though I was certain I’d gotten it right, I had no idea where that knowledge had come from.

  “My mother taught me a little elvish.” I brushed my hair back, uncovering one of my slightly pointed ears, only realizing the subtle implication of what I’d done afterwards. “I guess some of it stuck.”

  Kyrah glanced at me sideways, silently asking me the same question that was on my own mind: Do you trust Derrik enough to tell him the truth?

  Nope, we’re not there yet.

  A slight shake of my head communicated my answer to her, and even though she said nothing, I caught the brief look of disappointment in her eyes. Derrik’s reformation was certainly inspiring, and I truly wanted it to be real, but I wasn’t ready to tell anyone else about my past or even where I was from just yet.

  “I see,” Derrik replied, unconvinced. He hadn’t missed the unspoken exchange between Kyrah and me, so I understood his skepticism.

  That pretty much ended our discussion for the day, but thankfully, we were close to Leshel’s fortress, and the uncomfortable silence didn’t last for too long. When we approached, the gates slid open as the guards easily recognized us—I guess there weren’t very many orcs who sought admittance to the garrison.

  The soldiers once again surrounded us while we waited for their Commander, and Leshel kept us waiting on the road until he finally strolled out at a leisurely pace a few moments later. His arrogance was fraying my last fucking nerve, but I managed to hold my anger in check as I told him of our success.

  “We took out the enemy spies for you,” I began, taking a deep breath to calm myself as Leshel listened inattentively. “Including a Nér-vrogan your scout apparently missed.”

  That drew his attention immediately, but as I’d feared, Leshel was once again skeptical. With a careless wave of his hand, he not only dismissed my claim but also tried to send us away.

  “Yes, I’m sure you also slew several trolls and a dragon as well,” a handful of soldiers snickered at his derisive response. “Yet you’ve failed in the one thing I actually sent you to do. I see no prisoner to question, only one more fool in your motley little band.”

  The bout of mocking laughter that followed was more than I could take, and I felt the rage rising inside me as Leshel seemed quite pleased with himself. I’d already unslung my pack in anticipation of his need for proof and reached down to pull out the lump of wadded up fabric I’d stuffed inside it. The sneer vanished from Leshel’s face when I flung the bundle at him—perhaps a bit more forcefully than was necessary—but the smears of blood on Leshel’s perfectly crisp uniform and the look of absolute shock on his face when the Nér-vrogan’s head struck him in the chest was absolutely priceless.

  The Commander fell silent as he stared mutely at the evidence on the ground by his feet; the Nér-vrogan’s long fangs still making a fearsome display even in death. It was only when Leshel lifted his gaze and looked at me in surprise that I realized that I was also putting on a show of my own—the green flames of my anger were shining brightly through my eyes.

  Well, fuck it, I guess…

  “Listen, asshole.” I took two steps forward, letting my eyes bore holes into him. “I’m sick of your shit. We did more than you asked; it’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

  “This,” I continued, pointing towards my newest companion, “is Derrik. He’s a former Sentinel who’s agreed to aid us. We want to help you strike a tremendous blow against the Nér-vrogan, but if you’re willing to turn down both my help and his information, just let me know, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Even in my fury, I’d known exactly what I was doing. My words weren’t meant for only Leshel’s ears; in fact, my real audience was the soldiers standing bes
ide him. As their commander, he’d have a tough time explaining why he’d rejected such obviously valuable assistance. Between Derrik and me, our aid could not only help save the lives of his subordinates but also lead them to the first victory they’d ever had against their oppressors.

  I let the light fade from my eyes while Leshel seemed to weigh his options for a moment. The guards around him shifted about nervously while he delayed, each passing second swaying more of them to my side. When he noticed that the prospect of an open mutiny wasn’t entirely out of the question, Leshel relented, allowing us inside the garrison as he extended an invitation to continue our ‘negotiations’ in the privacy of his office. The rapid turn of events left him completely off balance; Leshel was so preoccupied with wiping the blood from his tunic that he didn’t even object when Scar followed us into the chamber.

  I saw the reluctance written clearly on his face when Leshel sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk. Instantly fearing that this was only a ploy and he was just searching for some way to be rid of us, I prepared to unload on him once again. But then as he looked up and began to speak, Leshel’s expression suddenly shifted to one of… hope?

  “We’ve had no shortage of supposed liberators coming to us over the years, claiming to hold the secret to defeating the Nér-vrogan.” His eyes told me of the price he’d paid for believing in at least one of those false prophets. “But you’re no mere charlatan, are you?”

  I could tell that speaking the thought aloud hadn’t been easy for him, and I began to have a new appreciation for the position Leshel was in. As Commander of the Fortress, he was responsible for the lives of every soul who lived there—not just his own soldiers, but innocent civilians as well. His doubt had never been quite as personal as I’d perceived; he simply couldn’t afford to trust anyone too easily.

  “I can promise you that Ashíel is for real,” Kyrah spoke on my behalf. “She’s reluctant to disclose the full truth about herself, but there’s far more to her than just the little bit you witnessed outside the gates.”