12. The Keeper (I)

ℂ𝕣𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝔹𝕖𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕟!

𝕆𝕓𝕛𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖: 𝟚/𝟛

That was fun.

He was still grinning as he got the notification.

𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕!

ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕟 ℕ𝕠𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕀 (𝔸𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖) [ℝ𝕒𝕣𝕖]

ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕟 ℕ𝕠𝕠𝕤𝕖, 𝕒 𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕦𝕤 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤, 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕗𝕦𝕣𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟'𝕤 𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕟 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕖, 𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕟𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕘𝕘𝕝𝕖𝕤. 𝕊𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕕𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕖. ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕔𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝.

Lovely.

His first thought was, this sure would've been useful before the fight. His second was—no, he had it backwards. The timing was too convenient—he must've gotten it because of the fight.

Apparently, skills could be earned.

...if he'd never thought to strangle something, would he never have learned that skill? Would it have popped up anyway eventually via level up? He frowned. He had so many little questions like these. A tutorial would have come in handy.

Then again it didn't seem the System's style. It was more of a 'drop you into deep waters and see if you can swim' kind of teacher. The only principle it seemed to operate by was natural selection.

𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝕦𝕡!

𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟛𝟛 -> 𝟛𝟜

𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕤

𝕍𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝟚𝟡.𝟟

ℝ𝕖𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: 𝟙𝟝.𝟙

𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕥𝕙: 𝟛𝟙.𝟝

𝔻𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕪: 𝟙𝟠.𝟘

𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕖𝕕: 𝟙𝟚.𝟟

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕙 𝕖𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕔𝕥: ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕙 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕕

Nice. Well however the system worked, it worked, which was what mattered to him. The rest he didn't care so much about. He stuffed his free point into Strength.

Then he turned to the mouth of the cave, and jerked back. But it was only light--and lots of it. A whole region's worth of Boar essence rushed at him at once, soaking into him. He'd almost forgot, kill the boss and you get the minions too.

It wasn't enough for a level, though. He was only three-quarters of the way there. All the Boars on this plane, and not one level, huh. Damn. Really did get a lot tougher the higher you went.

He left the cave in a cheery mood, still basking in the warm afterglow of the fight.

As he walked up the valley, he found the survivors staring at him horrified. All except for Annie, who waved at him. He waved back.

"See," Annie told her mother. "I told you!"

As Zane neared, he took a glance down and realized why everyone looked so off-put. His shirt was bloody. He was baffled why the blood was still there—why hadn't it dissolved into essence.

Then he realized it was his own blood.

"I'm fine," he said. Still, they stared at him, none of them seemed to trust themselves to speak.

A hoarse voice from the back broke the silence. "Fuck you!"

It was Brad. Zane sensed most of his bind had dissolved—it still kept them immobilized, but only from the torso down. His mouth was free to yap. Apparently, three hours sitting here stewing had given him confidence.

"Just you wait," he growled. Then came closer. "Yeah you! Brick, I'm talking to you! Brick Walker! Yeah, you little shit, that's right. You listen here."

Zane took a step, and he saw a flash of uncertainty in Brad's eyes. Still, he put up a brave face. "Untie me this instant!" He seemed like one of those Chihuahuas who barked extra loud to cover for their small stature. It was hard to fathom there was a time Zane had been scared of this sad creature. "I swear—"

Zane slapped him. Teeth went flying. A spurt of blood followed the teeth.

Then Brad collapsed, whimpering. It was like Zane had slapped all the fight out of him too. Zane found he far preferred conflict resolution in this world. So simple. Zane knelt, gave him a moment to let the force of the slap soak in. Then—

"Don't call me Brick," he said blandly.

Sniveling, Brad nodded.

He cast under the sole bind on Brad and his grunts, just to make sure they were shut up.

Then, hands clasped behind his back, he turned to address the group. Faces young and old stared up at him, a little weary, a little wary, a little hopeful.

"So," he said, "Everyone. I said I'm not interested in leading you. This is still true. But this region is now clear of monsters, so. Stay here, rest, do whatever you want. I'll be back soon enough."

"And what will you do?" someone said softly. It was Sophie. He blinked; he was surprised she was talking to him now, though she was looking down at her hands. She couldn't seem to meet his eyes.

"Clear the area, I guess," he said, shrugging. "Then the dungeon should be over. If that box was telling the truth."

They all perked up at that. Surprisingly he felt a pang of sadness. He would miss this place when it was gone.

Then he remembered the message did say there were, what—

𝔻𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕: 𝟙𝟙𝟜,𝟙𝟠𝟛

…

And this was only one of them. And on the grade F. Which implied an E, a D, a C… right?

Like that, he was eager again. New boss time. Then… who knew?

After two bosses, and all the new powers he'd learned, he figured he was pretty damn strong. Unless this next boss—keeper of the Groves—was on a different tier entirely, he doubted it'd be too much of a challenge. He was already thinking ahead, of the outside.

"Stay safe," said Sophie softly, turning away. "We're counting on you." He wasn't sure what her deal was.

"Yeah!" said Cale by her side. "We're rooting for you, man." He made to link his arm with Sophie's, but Sophie shook him off. He looked sheepish.

"Appreciate it," said Zane, to be polite. He didn't much care either way.

"Oh right—you're heading South, yeah?"

"Should be." That was where the Grove of Whispers was marked out on the map. The keeper's domain.

Cale hesitated. "You might just come across Randall."

"Who?"

"This team leader of another group. Former marine, I think he said? We were going to go together, but he had a falling out with Brad and, umm, we split off. They went south for the Grove, we came here."

How bad did Randall have to be for them to pick Brad over him?

"He's… not a nice dude," said Cale, wincing.

How bad did Randall have to be for Cale to badmouth him?

"…Noted," said Zane. "I'll be careful."

He gave them all a wave before he set off. They were still staring at him, each one of them. Somehow, he had a feeling they kept staring until he passed out of sight.

By then the sun was setting, shading the darkening plains rust-orange. The farther south he went, the less rugged the land got—but no grass replaced it, just bare dirt. A few trees stuck out of the ground, stubby ones, leafless as though in winter. They rose straighter and taller the farther he went.

By the time he got to the Grove boundary, night had fully fallen. The moon washed everything pale white.

Where the Emerald Forest was lush and thick and glowing, the Grove of Whispers was tall and skeletal. All there was were barren trees, the branches reaching uselessly, like arms of the damned clawing for heaven. In the moonlight, they seemed made of bone, not wood. The earth was hard and cracked, infected with patches of withered grass. As he made his way in, his footsteps echoed unnaturally, like the ground itself was hollow.

Leafless vines snaked across the ground, up the tree trunks; they seemed to move when he wasn't looking at them. Fingers of fog splayed out against the ground, grasping at the trees, wrapping his legs in a cold moist embrace. Ancient stones lay half-buried, far too eroded to make out the letters. And over it all came the wind, pouring between the branches, shrieking like a dying animal.

He got the feeling it was a mistake visiting this place at night.

It was a visibility thing. These things didn't scare him, but all that dark, all those hiding places unsettled him. He kept searching for a place to settle down to rest, but not an inch of this land seemed hospitable.

Not an inch of this land was alive. There weren't people. There weren't animals. Not even treasures or monsters popped up on his mini map. It was just… empty.

He remembered the last time he was struck by how empty a place seemed. He started checking for shadows where they shouldn't be. The annoying thing was it was night; of course, they were everywhere.

He'd hardly taken 100 steps in—barely a scouting mission—but he was very close to turning back. Trying this again when the sun was up. Then something popped up on the edge of his mini map—he crept closer, into a clearing.

Oh, never mind. It was only a cluster of X's. A bare clearing with nothing around. So there's that Randall, I guess.

And if Randall had died here…

His eyes slowly swept the clearing. So this place wasn't as deserted as it seemed.

Yep. He'd stuck a toe in, and he was pulling out. It was the smart thing to do. He'd head back, make camp, get a good night's sleep. Then tackle this again tomorrow when the sun was up. Sighing, he turned and made for the edge.

He'd hardly taken five steps back when the notification hit him.

𝕃𝕒𝕚𝕣 𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕂𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝔹𝕠𝕤𝕤 𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣

… What.

He whirled around. Where? Where was the lair wall?!—

Slowly, he turned. And blinked.

The border between the Highlands and the Grove of Whispers had sprung up a pale blue.

The wall ran wide—so wide he couldn't see where it ended. But he suddenly knew where. It was following the lines of his mini map.

A cold fist gripped his heart.

This entire region was its lair.

The moment he'd set foot in here…

He frowned at the trees. At the branches. How had it known? It had locked it as soon as he turned—it must have been watching him. But for the life of him, he could not figure out where.

He felt a little sweat on his palms. Now he was getting a little spooked. And if he was a little spoooked—

Sudden motion. Not in his vision—in his mini map. A red dot 20 paces out from him. Then another. And another and another and another—all around him, everywhere they came, it's a horrible life. He stumbled backwards into the clearing, not sure where to look. Branches swooned, but it wasn't the wind. They were moving on their own.

All around him, every single tree began to bend. A huge creaking, groaning ripped across the clearing.

All at once, the forest was coming alive.

…Shit.

The vines slithered out like snakes, massing along the paths, clogging the exits. The trees were moving. Impossibly, they were coming closer, their branches thrashing wilder as they did. He backed up farther into the clearing—he was painfully aware he was now standing over the X's—as they swamped in around him. They loomed over him; he swore their branches were reaching for him.

He looked at one.

𝕂𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕖 (𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣)

𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟛𝟠

Another—

𝕂𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕖 (𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣)

𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟛𝟠

The fuck? They were closing in far too fast; he turned on Sage Mind, and finally got answers.

𝕂𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕖 (𝕄𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣)

𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟛𝟠

𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤:

ℕ𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕒 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕪 (ℙ𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕧𝕖) [𝕌𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕠𝕟]

ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕣𝕡𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕝𝕠𝕣𝕒, 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕂𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕖𝕣'𝕤 𝕓𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘.

𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕡 (𝔸𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖) [𝕌𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕠𝕟]

𝕊𝕒𝕡𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕧𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕠𝕣 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕩𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕥𝕪, 𝕣𝕖𝕛𝕦𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕂𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟.

𝕌𝕞𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝔼𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕖𝕤 (𝔸𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖) [𝕌𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕠𝕟]

𝕄𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤. ℂ𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕪 𝕕𝕦𝕡𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕚𝕥𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 𝕠𝕣 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤, 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕓𝕤𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕖 𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕞𝕚-𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕓𝕝𝕖, 𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕧𝕚𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥, 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥 𝕕𝕚𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕦𝕝𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕟 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕖 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕗𝕒𝕜𝕖.

He was fighting a Necromancer.

In the middle of a graveyard.

Oh, boy.