Chương 7: GB - Chapter 7: Dangers In The Fog

Luke had seven questions in total banked, and as he knew Garran could provide some answers in the near future, he was hesitant to ask anything about the world, the lore, calendar, or any of that. But, he did have questions about his Class, and what he could do.

"Alright," he said as he gathered up all of the documents into a wooden box he had found.

"Let's get some information. I want to know about the Class system." [They are in the category of Conflict or Civilian, with Archetypes beneath those two broad classifications. Gravebound Knight is a Bulwark, Tactician, and Reaver.] Interesting, Luke thought. I would wager that the categories under each split up what a person can do. Bulwark implies frontline combatant—which matches the Arts I've received so far. Tactician is about controlling others, or maybe buffs, also makes sense with my Command stat. Reaver…

I'm not sure. Also, earlier, I was told that I get this VITAE because of my systemized thinking. I wonder… He asked, "What are stat averages in this world by age category?" [A person who is impaired is in 3 to 5. The average is 8 to 10. Professionally trained is 14 to 17.] That explains the Reaver, Luke thought. Eighteen Vigor means that I'm a powerhouse for hitting things. But, maybe I'll get Arts later on which give me special attacks that empower it further, like a temporary power-up.

The idea of being able to, perhaps, cover his weapon in Pale Flame, or amplify his might with some magical power filled him with a sense of giddy excitement.

"Next," Luke said, "I want to know what Power Types are." [Power Types are the primal forces of nature. They come in Martial, Elemental, and Spiritual groupings.]"What are my Power Types?" [Gravefrost is Death combined with Cold. Marrowsteel is Death combined with Force. Pale Flame is Death combined with Heat.] Got it, Luke thought as he picked up the box now filled with lore and headed downstairs toward his temporary refuge and where Garran was sleeping. So we have base Power Types, and then combinations.

I would wager that each deity lines up with a Power Type, and then there are all manner of combinations. He reached the bottom floor and waved for his guard to stand to the side. Opening it, he saw that Garran was awake, and already hard at work making himself a temporary crutch.

"Oh, you're awake," Luke tried to say. But, he had no breath in his lungs. Right, he thought. Gotta remember to breathe. He sucked in a big lungful of air, then said, "Good to see you awake." Luke made sure he stood upright, and put his hands behind his back, clasping them at parade-rest. He wanted to appear as non-confrontational as possible. His body seemed to automatically assume that posture, as if routine. Garran was already looking at him from the moment he entered, and the man's brown eyes bored into him.

His beard was a mess of mud, and his clothes were torn up.

"You…you said your name was Luke."

"That's right," Luke replied as he set the box on the table.

"You saved my life."

"And you're going to repay that by giving me information," Luke replied. He turned to face the man and leaned against the table. Remembering to breathe, he said, "But first, you need food, and a good crutch. There's a few polearms that should do the trick in the other room." He left, went to the place he had awoken where the gear was piled up still, grabbed a halberd with a metal spike jutting from the shaft, and walked back.

"This should do nicely." Garran put down the broken chair leg he had been working on carving a notch into, and gestured for the weapon to be brought over. Luke obliged.

"Thank you," Garran said.

"You mentioned food? My supplies were lost in the attack. I lost" —he choked back a noise that sounded like a mix between a sob and cough— "I lost my Sybil. Luke turned to his right and opened the door to the small kitchen, grabbed a jar of the mushrooms, and dumped it into the pot. As he suspected, they were ready-to-go soups, and he just needed to cook them. He fired off a Pale Flame Bolt at the coals below the suspended pot, and after the Art impacted, the flames turned a cherry red. Huh.

That was just a total guess and test. Good to know that I can set fires with it. He moved back outside, and Garran had composed himself again.

"Spouse?" Luke asked.

"Lover," Garran whispered. He then shook his head.

"You need to prepare. The Fog Creepers do not let people just leave their territory." Luke gestured for him to keep talking, and the man continued.

"You're not from around here, right?"

"Correct."

"They're like Boglings." Luke held up a hand.

"Assume I am not from anywhere nearby, and I know nothing of your creatures."

"Well…" Garran glared at Luke.

"Are you one of those other-worlders?" That caught Luke off guard.

'There's others?' he almost blurted, but kept from saying it. Garran frowned, and must have seen something in Luke's expression as he continued speaking as if his assumption was perfectly correct.

"Explains the lack of knowledge, if that's the case. Never heard of one becoming Undead, though. Sometimes gods summon heroes from other realms. Rare, but not unheard of." Well I knew that I was called a Gravebound Knight, so I know that I'm not unique in that regard. Otherwise I would be the. Apparently summoned heroes are a known phenomenon. I know Soul is a Power Type, so summoning a soul from another reality isn't beyond the realm of possibility. Luke said, "Interesting. I'm unsure.

I just don't remember anything. Maybe part of being resurrected." He hoped that he could play up an amnesiac for the time being, instead of confirming he was from another world, as he had no clue what type of political shitstorm that might bring down on his head. He'd read enough stories on his e-reader about people summoned to other worlds and absolutely bent over by the powers-that-be.

"Tell me about these Fog Creepers," he said, hoping to steer the conversation back to what sounded like an encroaching threat. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"They are ambush predators. Power Types of Life, Toxin, and Caustic. Nasty fuckers. They are territorial, and hard to fight in the fog and forest. If you can lure them beyond? They are easy prey."

"Are they people?"

"What? No! Monsters. Sybil and I were setting traps for them. Essence Shards are a good living." He scratched his beard.

"I suppose you don't know what those are, either." Luke wanted to ask just that, but he heard a loud clang from upstairs. Wheeling around, he pulled his sword, and heard the voice of The Last Warden in his ears and saw text in his sight. [Title: Hold Against the Forest.] [Trigger: Fog Creepers have assaulted your fortification.] [Objective: Defend the living and the dead under your command from a hostile entity.] [Reward: Level 9, Art unlock.]"We're being attacked," Luke said.

"They followed you. Stay here." He didn't wait for a response. Leaving, he closed the door, then ordered the Undead, "Guard this door and the occupant of the room." It gave a curt nod then resumed its post. Luke committed Mana and Stamina as he activated Black Guard and then spent it on Marrowsteel Plate. The black shield formed on his forearm then gained weight, and he felt its comforting heft in his grip as his fingers found the bar that gave some extra grip.

The second Art was fascinating, as his whole body was covered with a film of crimson, which then hardened and grew shards of bone that covered his vital organs like more heavy plate armor. But, it had no weight. [Health: 115 / 115 {Barrier: 12}] [Mana: 84 / 104 {114}] [Stamina: 89 / 104 {109}] [Command Limit: 30 / 39 {Mindless Undead x6}] He barked out, "All Undead, defend the fort!"

He rushed up the stairs, and though he didn't have a heartbeat, he felt a similar sense of exhilaration rise in him, akin to the pulsing rush that would normally accompany an adrenaline spike. Getting up to the first floor, he saw that the front door was already overrun, and one of his minions was being attacked: chunks of flesh and oozing blood being flung about by the assailants. Luke assumed the foes were Fog Creepers.

They were thin-limbed bipeds with narrow torsos, long arms, thin legs, claw-tipped hands, and hooved feet. Bark and plants grew over them—or perhaps the sub-human creatures were wearing it as tribalistic clothing. Their heads were oversized compared to the body, with two eyes and a massive jaw that stretched from one side of the head to the other.

One of them opened its mouth wide, and to Luke's astonishment, the jaw was almost like a hinge, as their eyes and whole top of head went back about 90-degrees before it swallowed down a flung chunk of flesh. Height-wise, they came up to his abdomen at the head. He immediately summoned up Pale Flame Bolt and launched it at his minion. The fire splashed against its back, then fizzled away into the body.

It was suffused with renewed vigor and fought all the harder, swinging its polearm in a wide arc that forced the monsters back. He stayed back, and waited as his minions—all but the one downstairs—joined the fray in front of him. The Mindless Undead were not skilled combatants, but against the tribalistic foes, they were more than enough. The Fog Creepers moved backwards, and the Undead followed: inexorable and unstoppable save for being ripped to bits.

Luke began to follow them, and stopped at the top of the stairs. Outside, in the darkness, he could see dozens of the creatures—and they descended upon the Undead from all directions. I don't have a choice, Luke thought. He ran down the steps to join the fray. The first Fog Creeper he got up next to lashed out with its claws, and the green-coated knife-like protrusions raked across his blood and bone with an ear-rending screech. Luke saw the Marrowsteel slough off and vanish into a red mist.

[Health: 115 / 115 {Barrier: 2}.] He counterattacked, slashing down with a vicious chop, and the weapon cleaved right through the chest, dropping the thing. It lay on the dirt and grass, bleeding a thick, goopy, yellow blood that coated the ground like sap fallen from a tree. Luke immediately went on the defensive, as two more came in from his left and swiped at him. One, he caught on his shield, the other cut through the Marrowsteel, and into the armor of his shin.

He could feel the heat of a cut along his leg, and then a throbbing. Green energy glowed from the wound, then faded after a split-second. Life, Caustic, or Toxin, he thought. He shield-bashed the one he had blocked, and then swung with a horizontal slash at the other one who had gotten at his leg. That one nimbly backed away, and Luke followed up with a Pale Flame Bolt. [Mana: 74 / 104 {114}] The blue-core, white flame shot out and impacted the creature's torso.

It let out a shriek that sounded like a mix between a cat yelling for attention and the yelp of a dog whose tail was stepped on. The flame didn't carry an impact, but did damage, as Luke saw the lichen covering its body fizzle away, revealing a brown-purple flesh beneath. It didn't die, but he expected that—only five percent of its maximum health as damage was what he knew the Art would do. The one who he had shield-blocked made for his leg, and Luke pulled that back, bringing his sword back across the other way.

He caught the thing in the midsection, and sliced it cleanly in two. It went falling to the ground. He then chopped at the one still reeling from the flame impact, and took its life, too. Luke took in the combat briefly. His Undead were doing OK—two had fallen, but for each of them, four of the assailants had fallen. To his dismay, the Undead who had fallen were slowly liquifying, turning to goop. To be expected, he thought. I can't raise the same body multiple times.

Or, maybe, the Life power of these things attacks are destroying the once-undead flesh. Luke fired off another Pale Flame Bolt to heal a minion, and then tried again right after. [The power of Pale Flame Bolt, at its current power, cannot be used in this way more than once every three seconds.] Luke cursed under his breath and pulled back toward the building as he saw more of the Fog Creepers advance.

"Fall back! Hold the door!" The Undead did as told, and Luke was beset by three of the Fog Creepers who must have identified him as the leader, and went for him. He used Marrowsteel Plate multiple times in a row, but received a similar message. After one use, that Art had the same cooldown timer; it could be used once every three seconds.

[Health: 102 / 115 {Barrier: 12}] [Mana: 54 / 104 {114}] [Stamina: 74 / 104 {109}] The monsters got close and Luke was able to block one with his shield, let the second get through to strike at his Marrowsteel defense—trusting it to take the hit—and used his sword to gut the third one. He stabbed it through the stomach, and it squealed in pain as he withdrew the weapon. Luke hissed in pain as he felt a cut along his leg again: the same leg.

He fired off a Pale Flame Bolt at the thing, and the flame surged into his sword-hand while he held the hilt, then darted down to strike the monster at his feet. The head was set alight, and the thing shrieked as it ran off. That let Luke take a moment to get the last one, spinning 90-degrees as he flicked his shield, sending the Fog Creeper he had blocked stumbling back. It gave Luke the opening needed for another quick slash using the momentum of his turn, which cut the head clean off.

He backed up into the doorway fully, and his Mindless Undead filled the breach, keeping the remaining Fog Creepers at bay. Luke stood his ground right behind them, waiting for openings where the monsters got close enough for him to stab them through his defensive line. Another Undead fell, and Luke let out a curse as he stepped into the breach at the center of the line. Easily twenty of the creatures were dead, and seven remained.

Luke fired off his Pale Flame Bolt at the farthest one, whom he had already hit once and set alight on the head, sending it running into the night like a grisly torch, a white beacon. He then brought his shield to bear and slammed it into the face of one of the Fog Creepers, sending it reeling. An Undead next to him stabbed it through the neck with its polearm, and Luke saw another of the monsters rush in under his guard.

He couldn't react fast enough to stop it, and the lack of a helmet or other protection for his head made itself known in the most painful of ways: the monster slashed him across the eyes.