Chương 17: The Rewards of Loss

Ch. 17 - The Rewards of Loss What makes an Adventurer? Gear, or levels? It is not quite so clear cut, but to a Bronze Ranker, finding a useful Artefact might be enough to catapult them straight to Iron Rank. An enchanted weapon making them more dangerous, more of a threat. However, there is a noted phenomenon with artefacts adversely affecting the levelling of a class. For example, an [Archer] with a bow that is enchanted to never miss will not receive a skill that aids them in hitting their target. Why would they?

Their bow takes care of that for them. They might instead receive a skill that allows them to shoot faster. This is fine, except that if the [Archer] ever loses their enchanted bow, their class is now disadvantaged — built upon an unstable foundation. All the way through to Silver Rank, you will see savvy Adventurers eschewing enchanted gear, relying solely upon mundane weapons. They will instead sell the Artefacts they find to less discerning Adventurers, those who are looking to advance quickly.

Very few Adventurers with this mindset make it to the higher ranks. - from the writings of Steadholder Eckhart Wyatt stood up, straightening his back, ignoring the throbbing ache of his muscles. His hands were ingrained with dirt and dried blood, his nails cracked. At his feet was a discarded piece of armour, similarly dirty; the best tool he could find for the job. He felt numb, hollow. Empty. He had busied himself for hours, anything to avoid having to think or remember what had happened.

The sun was starting to get low, approaching the horizon, but he had finally finished. Wyatt looked over the graves he had dug, the graves he had buried his friends in, and wasn't sure what he should do or say. Nothing he could think of would do any justice to the moment. Wyatt had dug the graves next to the path they had been travelling on, in the lee of a nearby hill — some distance away from the churned earth and blood-stained ground that had been their final battle.

Wyatt had used his spear to cut away the top layer of sod, removing the grass in large clumps. Then he had dug through the soft earth, going down as deep as he could, but not as deep as he would have liked. Burying Losmer had been horrific. The [Archer's] remains had still been impaled upon the conjured rock spire, and Wyatt had had to shatter the stone into pieces to recover the body. He had been extra careful carrying Marie, cradling her head as best he could.

Trying to keep himself together as he placed her in the earth. There had been a faint smile on Raek's pale face, stiffened only slightly by death. An acceptance for his fate that Wyatt had found equally hard to face. Wyatt had made a cairn on top of each grave, using the largest stones he could find. He wished he could have given them a proper marker, but it was the best he could do. It was a lonely place for a gravesite, but at least it had a beautiful view. The rolling green hills, small woods dotted about …

even the path painted a picturesque scene as it snaked its way through the dungeon. Wyatt fixed the site of the graves in his mind, determined that he would come back when he could.

"I … don't know what to say. But, Raek, Losmer, Marie … I wish I could have known you all longer. Thank you. All of you." As epitaph's went, it was far too short, but it also seemed to be the most honest and meaningful. Wyatt sighed, and then turned his attention to what he should do next. He glanced around, but didn't see Kit anywhere. The little fox had sat by Wyatt as he saw to the Adventurer's bodies, but she had left sometime around when he was replacing the grass.

She had appeared mostly fine from their fight with the Orcs, but she'd been limping slightly, favouring one leg.

"Kit?" Wyatt called out as he walked back down to the path. He had left his belongings there, and he wondered if she had taken it upon herself to guard them. Kit wasn't there though, and he eventually found her by the dead bodies of the Orcs. She had been … busy.

"My god, Kit …" At hearing Wyatt, Kit backed up out of the hole she had made in the [Shaman's] torso. She had burrowed her way in under its ribs, tearing and eating, until the Orc looked decidedly hollow. Kit turned to look at Wyatt, licking her chops. The fur around her mouth, head, and shoulders were tinged pink. Wyatt just stared for a moment, and then shook his head.

"You know what? I'm not addressing this right now. Don't expect me to feed you tonight." Wyatt walked some distance away from Kit's grisly meal, and stood, just staring up at the sky. It was changing, the colours shifting towards sunset. He knew he needed to get moving, but it was so hard to care. Wyatt might be able to make it to the dungeon's exit before dusk, but he didn't know for sure. He was going off of Raek's carefree directions after all.

And even if he did make it, Wyatt would be alone in a city he didn't know at night. No, it was better to spend one more night in the dungeon and set out in the morning. Wyatt walked back to where he had placed all the gear and belongings. It was a surprisingly small pile, since he had the three Adventurer's bags of holding. Wyatt had spent some time working out how to use them, since he'd been hoping to find a shovel of some kind.

It seemed like you couldn't just up-end them, shaking everything out; you had to know what you wanted to take out in advance. This was easier than expected however, as you could see into each bag of holding, see every item it contained. This was a dizzying experience though, as it was like a folded dimensional space. Everything inside occupying the same space, yet was somehow distinct from every other item. It had given Wyatt a headache by the time he had cataloged everything.

In the end Wyatt had taken one bag for himself. He was sure that his three friends wouldn't begrudge him that, and he had placed all their personal belongings into the other two bags. These he intended to take to the Adventurer's Guild like Raek had requested, along with their Bronze Tags, to send back to their families. The Adventurer tags weren't just mundane items; they hummed, alerting Wyatt's novice magical senses. They were inscribed with the names, classes, and levels of Raek, Marie, and Losmer.

Wyatt had been shocked to see that only Raek had been over level 10 in his main combat class. He knew they had been under level twenty, but he had truly thought that they were at least of a higher level than he was. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. It had given Wyatt something to ponder as he had laboured for hours digging the graves. Something to distract his mind from the awful task he was about. Why was he levelling so fast?

In only a few weeks he had reached a similar level to the three of them, and that had apparently qualified them as full members of the Adventurer's Guild. The only thing he could think of was that they had only started learning their combat classes recently, and had been focused on their job classes before that. But if that was the case, why were their secondary classes low as well? Losmer had been a level seven [Hunter], and he'd apparently been hunting and providing for himself for years. It didn't make sense.

Setting that aside for the moment, Wyatt went over his own supplies. He had left any personal items alone of course, but he had taken some of the gear that he felt he would need. He felt a bit guilty, thinking that he was perhaps taking valuable items that would otherwise go to the families, but morality went up against practicality and lost. Wyatt was now the owner of a bag of holding that contained all the items that he wished he'd had when the doomed expedition into the forest had begun.

He'd put the spear into the bag as well, having first checked that he could quickly call it out into his hand. It had taken some trial and error in placing the bag of holding on his belt in the optimal position, but he could now arm himself in only a few seconds. Wyatt understood that in a combat situation seconds could count, but he was planning on avoiding trouble rather than seeking it out. Plus [Danger Sense] should be able to give him enough advance warning.

In addition to his spear, Wyatt was now in possession of a handful of magic potions; seven potions of healing, and four potions of stamina. There had been a number of other potions as well, but as Wyatt had only recognised those two, he had left the others. He hadn't taken Raek's hangover cures, smiling sadly as he placed them back into the [Swordsman's] bag. The rest of the gear was more diverse; despite what had happened, Raek, Marie, and Losmer had tried to prepare for everything that they might face.

They had just been under levelled. So Wyatt also had two coils of rope, a small tent — more of a bivy, but he'd welcome it if it rained — enough bedding to make up a bedroll for himself, some spare clothing, water skins, a small forest axe, and some of the firewood from the night before. He also took a smaller knife, one more suited to everyday tasks than his large combat knife. Wyatt had hesitated over his original gear, meagre though it was.

In the end he had just put his entire pack into the bag of holding along with all his belongings. It felt strange to have so little accoutrements when preparing to set off; he knew mentally that he was carrying a lot of equipment, but the bag of holding was so light, with no indication of just how much it held. Into his own bag, Wyatt had also added the weapons from the two Orcs he'd killed.

He wasn't intending to use them, but he had a vague idea he could perhaps sell them when he got to Skalholm, the city outside of the dungeon. He would need some kind of funds when he was out after all. There had been a few coins spread across the bags, all bronze, and going by what Wyatt had gleaned, they weren't worth much. It seemed like the three Adventurers had been counting on their trip to the dungeon to be profitable. With that in mind, Wyatt gingerly examined the grisly trophy of the goblin ears.

It wasn't just what they were — it was what they represented. The decision that had cost his friends their lives. In the end he placed them in one of the other bags of holding, unsure of whether he would turn them in for the bounty himself or if he would just let the money go to the families of his friends.

"Kit? Come on, we are leaving." Wyatt knew his voice was flat, without any life or expression in it, but he just couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. He took one last look at the graves he had dug, fixing the sight in his mind. Facing the loss, staring it down. Remembering so that he'd never let the same thing happen again. Kit trotted over to Wyatt, her limp almost gone. She had done her best to lick her face clean, but her fur was still decidedly stained with blood.

Wyatt noted her disheveled state clinically.

"You need a wash, you're not going anywhere near me like that. What even possessed you to — no, I don't want to know. Come on." Wyatt headed perpendicular to the path they had been travelling on, following his skill [A Safe Place to Rest]. He had been tempted to just camp by the road, unable to find it within him to care overmuch about his own safety. But it had struck him as a poor way to honour the memories of his friends, dying by chance to something he could avoid.

The spot Wyatt's skill was leading him to wasn't far, only a couple of minutes away. It was a small grouping of trees with a creek running through it, barely more than a trickle. It was nowhere near as nice as the place they had rested the night before, but the immediacy of it suited Wyatt. He was not just exhausted, but weary. Weary and heartsick. Wyatt busied himself with the task of setting up camp, anything to distract him from thinking.

However, he was finished disappointingly fast; there wasn't much to do since he was now alone.

"Kit, come here. Let's get you clean." Kit had been uncharacteristically quiet with Wyatt, not making a sound. She had just been watching him, giving Wyatt the impression that she was concerned. The fox obediently trotted along behind as he led them down to the tiny stream. There, she sat with good grace, letting Wyatt crouch down and wash her fur with a damp cloth. The blood came away easily, as though Kit's fur somehow repelled it.

Once clean, Kit propped herself up with her front legs on Wyatt's chest, stretching so she could lick his cheek. He absently brushed her aside though, shaking his head.

"Not now, Kit." Wyatt stood, stretching. He looked blankly around, momentarily at a loss. He spied one of the wizened shrubs growing on the bank, boughs laden with ugly fruit. Wyatt mechanically reached out and picked one, snapping it in two to reveal the sweet golden interior, and took a bite. He chewed for a few moments, his face expressionless, and then swallowed. It tasted like nothing so much as ash in his mouth. Wyatt lost track of the next hour or so.

He sat by the small fire he'd made, staring, letting the dancing flames hypnotise him. He was aware of Kit pressed up against his leg, but he didn't acknowledge her. He knew he was being unfair to the little fox, but he just didn't have anything left in him to give. He only got up when Kit started grabbing at his sleeve, pointedly tugging him towards the bedroll. It wasn't that he wanted to sleep, it was just that he couldn't think of anything else worth doing.

Wyatt got under the blankets, and stared sightlessly up at the boughs of the trees above him. They moved gently about in the breeze, their trunks protecting Wyatt from feeling the wind himself. Then he closed his eyes, aware of Kit moving up to lay on his chest, and willed sleep to take him. He was restless at first, unable to fully fall asleep. He would have tossed and turned, but Kit seemed heavier than usual, holding him in place.

When he eventually started to drift off, Wyatt thought he felt a brief surge of heat, a flash of light that he sensed even behind closed eyes, but it faded quickly. As he slept, the now familiar voice of levels spoke. It didn't try to assign Wyatt a warrior class, having perhaps come to know him better now. [Survivalist Level 11!] [Skill Change: Lesser Fortitude —> Advanced Fortitude] [Skill - Lesser Resist Magic] That morning, Wyatt blearily blinked himself awake.

He took stock, feeling like something had changed profoundly within him. Wyatt felt different, like his body had somehow become more real. More solid. He'd gone up two levels again; the life or death struggle being enough to take him past level ten. Wyatt found it hard to be happy about it though. The price had been too high to pay. As Wyatt tried to get up, he became aware of something else that was different.

There was a warm weight perched on his chest, but far heavier than he was used to, substantial enough that he couldn't sit up. Wyatt peered down along his body, and his eyes widened in shock. Kit was perched on his chest, sitting primly with her tail wrapped around her body. That in of itself wasn't out of the ordinary, but her size was. She had grown, and was now easily twice as big as she'd been the night before. Before Wyatt could question this change, Kit cocked her head as she regarded him.

The silver fox nodded in satisfaction.' Yes, you smell stronger. You passed one of the levelling thresholds, didn't you? I am pleased; you are far more befitting of my company now.' The words appeared in Wyatt's head, as clearly as if spoken aloud. He just stared, too surprised to speak. Kit sniffed at the lack of reaction on his part. She raised one paw and slapped it down on Wyatt's chest, her tone imperious, although there was an amused lilt running behind it.' Up, up! I am hungry!'

Wyatt's mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments before he finally managed to get a word out.

"… what?!"