Jackal Among Snakes

“Someone is following you,” Galamon informed Argrave as they walked side-by-side out of the gates of Mateth.

“Really?” Argrave asked, surprised. He was tempted to look back, but that might give things away. “I suppose Prince Induen took a greater interest in me than I thought he would.”

“Doubtful. He’s an amateur, and rather young.”

“He?” Argrave repeated, getting a hunch. “Describe him.”

“Tall for a human. Shorter than us. Well-built. Dark red hair. White clothes—expensive, somewhat worn.” Galamon listed off monotonously.

“Damn it,” Argrave complained. “Really? And he’s alone?”

Galamon grunted in confirmation.

“How annoying. Just… scare him away,” Argrave commanded in exasperation. “Like a stray dog. No violence, preferably. I’ll take the time to clean myself off.”

Galamon turned on his heel and walked away without so much as a confirmation. Argrave moved onto the beach in his absence. He conjured some water with simple F-rank magic and cleaned some of the blood off his handkerchief, wiping what spots of red remained on his gear and body and draining them into the ocean. Responding to the blood, something swam up to shore. Argrave backed away warily, but then started smiling.

It was a small school of Irontooth Piranhas. As their name suggested, they were vicious predators. In the game, they appeared whenever the player swam too far from the shore, killing them instantly. They kept the player locked on the continent of Berendar. It was one of the reminders that the game was a game—few and far between in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ where immersion was a top priority.

But this isn’t a game anymore. I could buy a boat ticket, sail from the continent, leave this nightmare behind. Let the continent fall into disarray. Why is this my problem? Why should I step forward to deal with these things?

Argrave felt a lump in this throat. Almost vomited from seeing my own blood. Almost cried from getting punched. The future holds a lot of that—taking hits and giving them. I talk nonsense about killing druids. I’ve never even killed an animal. I’m no hero. What the hell am I doing?

It was difficult to appreciate how good life was in the 21st century until one was deprived of its basic liberties. Cruelty and tyranny were relics of a bygone era for many people living well in first-world countries. He had a warm bed, cheap food, and trivial concerns. He missed that. Argrave blinked quicker, holding back tears—a fact which only made him angrier at himself.

“It’s done.” Galamon’s deep, grating voice drew Argrave out from his depressive haze.

his mind back to the task at hand. He wiped his face down thoroughly until

communicate with an ancient god. I implore that you restrain yourself in the event of seeing strange, inhuman creatures and

#####

turned into certainty. He kept an unsteady hand on the pommel of his Ebonice axe as he watched Argrave converse with an emissary

knew of Erlebnis and had a moniker for him: ‘Hand Reaching from the

or perhaps the push or pull of a hand, and one would be forever

namesake, Veid, governed justice and contracts and guided the Veidimen through the world. To surrender oneself to the flow of the world was considered

Galamon developing vampirism, he fled execution. He was afraid of death. It left him with an indelible guilt, though. He had made his peace with his blasphemy

were related to Vasquer’s prince somehow. Galamon used this to explain

only be a

on near everything around him, clear direction and purpose, and direct communication with one of the ancient god’s emissaries… what else could it be but a

Galamon was not at all swayed to break contract. Veid guided all Veidimen, sinners or no. That She had guided him here only affirmed his faith. If this task should be his atonement for fearing death, let it be so. He refused to accept

just as uncertain as—if not more so—than his

the one he spoke with last time. His proportions resembled a T-rex: giant legs, and two tiny, baby-like arms. The voice was identical to the previous, but Argrave was not sure if that was more or less

in for an unpleasant interrogation or a lovely treat.

spoke of. It is an utmost privilege for

things went well. Oril

If so, it has a

fate hardly concerns me. I

stubby arms to the side.

up the stairs carved into the tree’s roots. He followed behind, keeping a fair distance away. It moved

the emissary commanded. Argrave looked at it for a second, confused. “Bow,” it

teeth. Argrave slowly dropped to his knees and bowed before the statue. When he straightened his back, he kept his eyes fixed on the portal. He had seen what happens when one

portal, directly towards Argrave’s head. It was difficult to suppress his base instinct to dodge. He felt nothing touch his head, but the

refreshing. It felt as though he’d just taken a drink of icy water, and he could feel it moving through