As I pushed past the front door and stumbled over the corpse of the goblin there, the wheezing whistle arose from all around as the fields of wheat began to bristle and stir. Had there been that many dead sitting around? Why were they stirring now? I sprinted for the wall I had climbed over and hopped over it, as the shambling dead woman whistled and scraped after me.
I had to stop to catch my breath a hundred or so yards from the end of the wall. I glanced back to make sure that I had lost it. The shambling dead approached the wall and was thrown back as if yanked by some invisible chain. It was only then that I took notice of the strange symbols engraved in the stone. The symbol was a six-pointed star encased inside a circle. In the middle of this star was a pair of keys crossed in an X with a crown on top. A pair of moons sit in each of the points changing cycles with the two full moons at the top, and two crescent moons at the bottom.
Wards. The Ego spoke. Wards were erected around the valley to keep the undead from invading outward, it seems.
"So I just need to not go back in and I'll be safe?"
I breathed a sigh of relief, as tens of more undead pulled themselves up out of the amber grain and shambled around and over the packed dirt path that cut through the valley toward the mountains on the other side, but as long as they were there, I wouldn't have to worry about anything. I strode confidently at a comfortable pace back toward the tower: the wounds
Not going to take advantage of this situation?
I glanced at the sky: painted in bright oranges and scarlet as it hung by a thread over the horizon.
"No," I answered. "This is a good enough haul for the day." I tapped my thigh over the pocket that held the two rings. "A really good haul."
Don't you want to get stronger?
"Yes, but…"
I glanced back down the sloped path to the woman, whistling and limping toward the entrance to the valley. A terror struck me. I had seen many unreasonable things since coming here: giant rats, crows with metallic rings, and half-mammal, half-reptile creatures, but looking at this...abomination of a thing. The baby's corpse in the sling across its back glared at me as well — its head reattached through some unknown means and hissed in the same, monotonous whistle.
Though dead, that whistle sounded sad. Pained. Like a wounded, dying animal. Their expressions: though hollow, echoed the same. A visceral disgust and hatred hung in my stomach and brushed against my heart as hot as coal, and for the first time in my life, I felt anger for something other than myself.
"I can't stand looking at them." I say, as I turn away, "I feel like throwing up just by being here."
Why not put them out of their misery then?
"Not my problem. I'll just hunt goblins. I don't need to go back here."
How about for your quest.
"I'll do two goblin bounty quests. How about that?"
Or you can just do as I say. There's an ample hunting ground here not even a mile away from Lyle's Stead.
"Please don't call it that."
Why not, it's a good name for a new town.
"I'm not making a town."
That's the least you could do: literally put your name on the map.
The conversation continued while I walked back to the tower. I kept to the shade of the trees so that the giant birds that occasionally flew overhead didn't spot me.
"I don't know anything about construction," I answered.
True. Perhaps you should ask for a Construction skill book.
"How expensive would that be?'
You got a good haul, remember?
True.
And you have plenty of salvage material in the valley.
"I'm not going to go back."
Tsk.
"What, you're not going to threaten to kill me?"
I am much enjoying seeing the world. The Ego said. And I cannot do that if you are dead. I have forgotten what it was like to experience existence.
"Well, is there a way to make you alive again?"
Ha. That would require you to find my body.
"Where would that be?"
I do not remember. However, whenever you advance one of your stats or skills to the next rank, I catch flashes of memory.
"Are you saying you don't remember your life?"
Not in the least.
"Then how do you know you were a dragon?"
How do you know you're a human?
"What do you mean? I know I am because I am."
As it is with me.
"Or perhaps you deluded yourself and you're like a goblin or something."
Perhaps you've deluded yourself and you're actually a slug.
"That's insulting."
So is calling me a goblin. Even you were able to kill a goblin.
"Yet you can't even kill a slug in your current state."
All that comment got me was a sharp headache that lasted until I came back to the tower. By the time I set the blanket of things down on the stone ground, night was already approaching: yet still enough sunlight remained to do a few other things. I got a bucket that they had left for me and walked over to the river nearby.
Fish darted underneath the surface of the water as I put the bucket in the middle of a small, three-foot waterfall. I knew, from my days in the Scouts back when I was 13, that porous rocks acted as natural water filters. And the rocks that held up this portion of the waterfall, certainly fit the bill. I filled the bucket up, and dunked my head underneath the cool, rushing currents, to wash the blood and sweat from my scalp. I then drank my fill of the life-giving water.
The walk between the waterfall and the tower was a short one. I even got a +1% increase in Strength for the trip. I set the water on the ground in the middle of the camp to act as a kind of temporary well.
Using one of the shovels I got from the barn, I dug a small fire pit and lined it with discarded bricks, and random stones I found in the grass around the building per the instructions that Aurora had snuck into the fire-starting bag.
What will you do tomorrow?
"Probably start working on the road to connect the tower to the road," I answered.
Why that?
"I wanted to read this tonight." I answered as I tapped the alchemy book, "I'm running low on potion, and I want to make sure I don't run out."
You could always rely on your Low-Grade Regeneration.
"That's too slow." I answered, "And would it work for serious wounds?"
Eventually.
"But not now. And I figured while doing that I could do some foraging and set up some rudimentary snares."
Are you actually enjoying your isolation?
I thought for a moment.
"I am." I answered, "I'm not getting my ass kicked by Daniel and his crew while being out here, and it feels as if I'm actually chasing my childhood dream of being an explorer."
And you can't be near that substance you're addicted to.
"I'm not addicted." I snapped. "I'm able to quit whenever I fucking want. Always could. Do you see me getting sick over not having it, huh?"
You take a drink of potion several times a day to just quell the urges.
"So? I am not addicted."
You are.
"Fuck you."
Child.
Ignoring the Ego's insults, I continued working on further setting up my campsite: setting the cardboard plugs that Liam and the others had left for me. I lit them with the matches provided and stuck the metal rack in the middle while the orange flames. I set the pan that I had bought my first day here on top of the rack, and one of the chunks of goblin meat on top of that.
I seasoned it with a bit of wild parsley and thyme that grew near the tower, and some wild Allium: and cut into little rings with my knife. Picking them yielded a little bit of foraging experience. It smelled wonderful, and by the time the sear was right, and the meat was cooked through, I cut into it took a bite...and immediately spit it back up. The meat itself had the taste of raw acorn, and the juices that flowed out of it had the taste of raw fish, pulled straight from a dumpster.
I tossed the goblin steak into the woods and closed the container. I suppose I'll find some use for it eventually. Perhaps as bait to catch larger animals or fish. It did accomplish one thing: put me off eating that night. I ended the night by brushing my teeth rinsing my mouth of the lingering taste of goblin meat, and reading the [Basics of Alchemy] book on top of
It imparted knowledge of common herbs and their effects, how to make potions, poisons, salves, and balms, and incense, and how to prepare them. Of distilling and grinding, and calcinators. By the time I was able to pull myself out of the trance, it was nearing dusk once more. I looked at my PID: nearly a whole day had passed. I slumped down onto the sleeping pad and drifted off to sleep.