With a sickening crunch, Rowan felt bones snap.
A howl tore out of his throat as the shaman clenched its fist, compacting the earth that had engulfed his leg. His focus almost slipped, the pain piercing through his brain like a sharpened spike.
If he dropped his spell now, he was as good as dead. There would be no do-over or second chances. This right here was it.
Rowan's concentration sharpened to a fine edge, keeping the mana flowing into his whip despite the agony of his broken leg.
Pain was something he could deal with.
He imagined a turbulent stream; the riverbank covered in boulders of varying sizes. It had been a while since he'd last needed to use this technique, but it came to him as easily as always.
The Rivers and Waves was a meditation exercise he'd learned as a child. And while it wasn't a true skill, that didn't make it any less useful.
With an effort of Will, Rowan started throwing the boulders into the stream.
It didn't deal with his injury. His wounds were still there. But what it did do was hide the pain from view. It kept his mind focused on the task at hand.
The shaman thought it had him. That it caught its prey. But Rowan still had a tenth of his mana left, and with his spell active, he wasn't out of the fight yet.
His [Burning Whip] slashed at the shaman, trying and failing to reach it.
The smug bastard stood just out of range, grinning as a [Wind Blast] former at the tip of its staff. It took another step closer, taunting him, wanting to see the fear in Rowan's eyes. But instead, the only thing it saw was a bloody grin.
The two tendrils of flame he'd coiled around each other unfurled.
Rowan had spent the last minute meticulously splitting his spell. He didn't have enough mana for another one, but that didn't mean he was out of cards to play. Holding it active with half the mana was straining his Intent, and dealing with that was where mastery came into play.
Rowan condensed the whips. He made them as narrow as he could, keeping his mana under tension.
But that wasn't the only thing he did.
Making them narrower also made them longer. Something the gloating shaman hadn't expected.
Rowan's whips shot out and wrapped around the monster's limbs.
It snarled in panic, and for the first time since their duel started, Rowan could see genuine fear in the goblins' eyes.
The [Wind Blast] fizzled out, blowing its dirty robe and matted hair back as a tendril of flame constricted around its arm. It dug into its flesh with a loud hiss, charring the skin and burning through muscles. The goblins' agonized scream grew louder as Rowan's spell cut through its arm, severing it by the elbow.
With the shaman's second spell failing, the pressure on his leg decreased, causing Rowan's pain to surge. He barely held it together, throwing everything he had into tightening his other whip around the monster's throat.
When mages fought, a single spell was the difference between life and death. And even though Rowan had been losing for most of the battle, he'd just landed that single spell.
Letting out a triumphant yell—half in pain, half in fury—he clenched his fist.
The whips drew taut, and the shaman's head fell clean from its shoulder. A charred husk joined its severed arm while the ugly-looking staff clamored against the cavern floor.
Rowan stared at the scene, bruised, bloody, and panting. The thrill that came with victory was the only thing keeping him standing.
"I did it," he muttered, a wide smile stretching across his face. "I won."
He fought a caster a tier higher than him, and he'd come out on top.
Rowan's gaze moved towards the center of the cavern—towards the dozens of bodies the Crimson Grove had left in its wake. He focused on the largest one, a hobgoblin with a hole through its skull.
He'd been so focused on his own battle that he hadn't even noticed it. But seeing a Silver-rank threat lying dead beneath them filled him with pride. At the sight, the tension slowly left his muscles. They'd done what they set out to do. The goblin pack was dealt with. Their quest was complete.
The thrill and adrenaline that kept him standing subsided, and with a strangled grunt, Rowan fell to the ground, his leg finally giving out.
Kai was the first to reach him. His familiar swooped down, landing next to his broken leg. He cooed softly, nuzzling his head against Rowan's side.
"I'm fine," he winced, blinking away the stars that clouded his vision. "Just… need a minute."
His thoughts grew cloudy, the blood loss making it hard to think. To move.
Kai's trills grew more intense, his beak pecking at his fingers.
"Stop that," Rowan mumbled, his speech growing slurred. "I'm already… hurt… enough."
Kai pecked again, the soft plink of his beak hitting Rowan's ring cutting through the haze.
Healing, Rowan suddenly thought. I need healing… The Vault… Potions.
Wrestling his mind under control felt like steering a ship with a spoon. Rowan knew exactly what he needed to do. He just didn't know if he could.
As his eyes fluttered closed, Kai grew frantic. He bit at his hand—hard, and for a moment, the sharp sting was enough to refocus his mind.
Slipping into the Rivers and Waves technique, Rowan didn't let the amount of stones dotting the riverside deter him. He got to work, throwing in one after the other, fighting against the pull of unconsciousness with each heave.
A furious intensity arose within him. He'd won his fight. Dying after the fact wasn't an option.
He heard the rapid footfalls of the Grove closing in, yet he didn't let that distract him from his task. Annie was the first to reach him, rushing to his side and gently cradling his head.
"Hey, we've got you," she said, concern lacing her tone. "You're alright."
Rowan could barely make out her voice, but as she pulled a vial up to his lips, he turned his head away.
"Drink, you idiot!" she said firmly.
The riverbank was far from fully cleared, but he'd done enough to keep himself from falling unconscious.
"W-wait," he muttered, groaning in effort as he summoned a potion from the Vault.
Name:
Healing Potion
Grade:
Rare
It was a higher rarity than the one Annie offered him, and with the sheer scope of the damage he'd suffered, he was going to need it.
Her eyes widened in surprise as she took it. She threw a quick glance towards the ring on Rowan's finger. But right now, he didn't care about what he was revealing.
He'd already made up his mind to trust them. At least with this.
In Litwick, a storage ring would definitely draw attention. They weren't all that uncommon in the grand scheme of things, but it was mostly mages who had access to them. And with there being only half a dozen of those in the city, that made them scarce.
The Vault was so much more than just a storage ring, but he would keep that to himself.
Annie uncorked the vial, tipping the soothing liquid into his mouth.
Rowan eagerly gulped it down, feeling it settle in his stomach. His body slowly absorbed it, turning the alchemical properties imbued into the liquid into Life Essence. Healing his injuries.
A soft, green haze appeared around his leg, and Rowan braced himself for what followed.
He yelped as his broken leg snapped into place, his bones slowly knitting themselves back together while his wounds closed. It was a deeply unpleasant experience, like worms burrowing out and leaving something behind to fill the hole.
He shuddered at the sensation, but a relieved breath soon followed. It was better to feel pain than nothing at all. It would take a few minutes for him to be healed up. And a few hours for his blood to regenerate, but Rowan would live.
He pushed himself up, wincing as a twinge went up his leg.
"That went well," Rowan muttered, a tired smile on his face.
Nemir nodded, glancing at the decapitated shaman. "Yes, it certainly did."
Rowan could see the tension slowly leave the burly swordsman's body as he realized their fight was done. He thrust his sword into the ground, leaning against it and letting out a long, drawn-out breath.
"Gods, that was something else," Silvia added, plopping down on the ground and unstringing her bow. "I'm never going to get used to seeing mages fight."
"You can say that again," Annie said, her eyes taking in the carnage Rowan's battle had left, a strange hunger in her gaze.
There were furrows dug into the scarred ground where his whips and spells had left their marks, with pillars of earth and rock jutting out like the jaws of a wild beast.
"Seems you weren't just talking out of your ass," Omi smirked, handing Rowan a waterskin.
He chuckled, taking it with shaky hands and washing the blood from his face. "It was closer than I would have liked. But I still have a head, so I'll take it as a win."
Rowan finally let himself relax. His wounded leg was slowly knitting itself back together, so the only thing he could do was wait.
Kai nuzzled into his side, trilling softly.
Rowan smiled, scratching the little menace under the chin. "You did good," he praised him, once again grateful for having such a loyal companion by his side.
Seeing that he was alright, his familiar turned towards the cavern, a greedy glint in his eyes. It was a scene of death and mayhem, with dead bodies covering the ground and the stench of blood and guts permeating the air.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Rowan snorted. "Go wild."
He didn't need to be told twice. With a flap of his wings, Kai flew towards the carnage, landing on the massive hobgoblin. His beak widened the hole Silvia's arrow had left in the monster's skull and he started his feast.
"That's certainly a sight," Rowan muttered, shaking his head. "What level was it?" He asked, curious about their fight.
"Eighteen," Annie said, smiling proudly. "You should have seen Nemir go. He took on its Aura head-on," she clapped him on the back. "Didn't even break any bones," she said with a smirk.
Rowan looked at the swordsman, an appraising look in his eyes. "How close are you?" he couldn't help but ask.
Nemir closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips as he took a deep breath. "Close," he whispered. "I felt it there, at the end. Like a well of power I haven't tapped into yet."
Rowan nodded. "That's good," he said. "With the direction things are headed, having a Silver-rank on the team is going to be important."
This fight confirmed that there was a tribe settling in the area. Shamans and hobgoblins weren't monsters that just wandered around without purpose. They had been expecting a pack, a dozen or so goblins. But what they found was a village in the making.
Nemir's expression hardened. "You're right," he said, glancing over at the shamans' tent. "Omi, could you cut out that sigil? We'll need it for the report."
The rogue nodded, moving away to do his task.
"Would you stop it with the doom and gloom?" Silvia said, walking around and plucking arrows out of corpses. "We just won a huge fight. We're allowed to celebrate for a bit before you downers spoil the mood."
Nemir chuckled, and a small smile appeared on Rowan's face. They shared a knowing glance, deciding to leave that conversation for later.
She was right. Now wasn't the time for that kind of talk.
Nemir stood back up, dusting off his clothes and pulling out a dagger. His eyes moved over the graveyard they left in their wake, and Rowan could see Silvia's expression fall.
"Do we have to?" she grumbled.
"If we want to get paid," he shrugged, moving from goblin to goblin, prying out their fangs.
Rowan leaned his back against the cavern wall.
"Let me guess, you're too wounded to help?" Annie smirked, crossing her arms.
"Of course," he nodded. "I think I might faint if I stand up." Rowan groaned for emphasis. "In fact, you might need to carry me back."
She rolled her eyes. "Stop bitching."
Taking her canteen, she emptied it over Rowan's leg, washing away the blood and revealing the healed skin beneath.
"Don't think I didn't scan the potion you gave me," Annie said, plopping down next to him. "Or that you pulled it out of a storage ring."
Rowan sighed. "Can we pretend you didn't?"
Annie snorted. "Fat chance," she eyed him for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I'm guessing it's not something you want to talk about?"
"No. Not really," he said after a moment. "And I'd appreciate it if it stays in the group. The last thing I need is some desperate moron trying to steal it."
That wasn't the whole truth, but it'd do for now.
The only people in the kingdom who had any shot of taking it from him weren't anywhere near Litwick. And taking it wasn't the same as getting access to it. The bloodline lock on the artifact made sure of that.
Breaking a soul-bond required a special set of skills. Ones that were considered rare even in the circles he grew up in. And even if someone did manage to break it, the only thing they would get was a plain stone ring.
"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with us," she said, a playful glint in her eyes. "But from now on, you're carrying all the loot."
Rowan laughed, letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Secrets had a way of weighing on him, and while he couldn't spill all of them, getting a few off his chest left him feeling lighter than he had in a long time.
"Deal."
"Good," she nodded, standing back up. "Enough sitting around. Put on some pants, and get to work."
Rowan glanced down at himself, noticing his state of undress. His pants were more a suggestion than a real article of clothing at this point. And while he wasn't what one would call shy, walking around half-naked was just plain rude.
Cleaning away the last remnants of blood covering his body, he pulled out a fresh set of clothes from the Vault and followed after her.
There were goblins to loot. And those teeth weren't going to pull themselves.
.
.
.
Half an hour later, the team stood in what used to be a goblin village. Omi held a pouch filled to the brim with goblin fangs, throwing it casually into the air.
"Now that's what I call a payday," he grinned. "Three dozen lesser goblins, a dozen Iron-rank ones, and a hobgoblin?" he tossed the pouch to Rowan. "New armor, here I come."
"You're thinking too small," Rowan smiled, holding a smooth orb in his other hand.
The shaman's Core shone with an inner light—a soft orange, with flashes of green and brown visible deeper in. Rowan's duel had left it mostly depleted, but even still, it was worth ten times the amount they'd get from the quest itself.
Omi's brows furrowed. "Not our kill. Besides, aren't Core's useful for mages?" he asked. "Might be better for you to keep it."
"Not really," Rowan answered, willing it into the Vault along with the fangs. "I'm not an enchanter, or an alchemist, or a blacksmith. The only thing I can do with it is keep it as a trophy," he shrugged. "And we decided on the distribution before we left the city. Changing it after the fact wouldn't be fair."
If the shaman had a Fire affinity, Rowan might have been able to absorb what mana was left to refill his reserves. But besides that, it was just a pretty bauble.
"You won't hear me complaining about free gold," Silvia said, casually sharpening an arrowhead. "I've been eyeing a new bow. And selling a Core is going to go a long way towards that."
"Alright, enough messing around," Nemir said, standing up. "We need to get back to the city before nightfall. If we go now, we should make it with a few hours to spare."
The rest of the team followed suit, but Rowan raised a hand. "Can you give me half an hour?" he asked, feeling at his Core. The fight had drained him fully, and walking around the Wilds defenseless was a fantastic way to get eaten.
Nemir nodded. "Probably for the best," he said. "But half an hour, and that's it."
Rowan took out a mana potion and gulped it down. He sat on the ground, closed his eyes, and started meditating. After a fight was the only time his mind seemed to stay calm. There were no stray thoughts, no heavy memories plaguing his mind. He took a deep, calming breath and got to work.
The combination of a mana potion and meditation worked wonders on his depleted Core. It vibrated with a fierce intensity, slowly but surely filling back up. But less than five minutes later, the sound of weapons being drawn broke his concentration.
Rowan's eyes shot open.
He looked at the Grove, all of them standing with their backs to him, their eyes focused on one of the cave entrances. Just as he was about to ask what was going on, he heard it.
Voices, faint but unmistakable.
Nemir's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. "Get ready," he said, a fierce expression on his face. "We have company."