Born a Monster

Chapter 536 - 536 Stumps

536 Stumps

I’d like to say my initiative paid off, and I’d gotten away. I’d like to say that I slaughtered those sent after me, or that they chased me until nightfall, and then broke off for their camp.

Alas, the truth is messier than that. Shortly before noon, their archers ran out of arrows. Their sergeant concluded a single squad wasn’t enough to finish me off, and then they marched off to the south.

Ass.

If I knew my prey was already wounded, and fired off some three dozen or so arrows, I’d have my squad press what had to be an advantage. I’m glad that sergeant didn’t; he’d have probably killed or worse captured me.

Instead, I was left on a hillside within line of sight of half the army. They looked... well, they looked harried, dragging their feet as though they hadn’t slept in a few days. Like their holy war had sprung a leak, and let all their motivation drain out.

What had happened while I’d been absent? <1 >

Well, I wasn’t about to raise their spirits by letting them finally kill me. I limped my way north, to the next wrinkle, also covered with stumps.

I was even able to remove one, pulling it loose from the earth so that I could deposit it into my inventory. Like I said, my inventory was huge.

<System. Display Costs. System Crafting Module.>

.....

Merciful gods, how many development points that would have taken to develop significantly. Options for different tools, different processes, use of different skills, of automatic crafting, or of crafting in multiple steps...

So I started with a basic set of pioneer’s tools, and carpentry, and ability to repeat whatever I’d just done. Oh, and not having to watch the completion bar. Watching how slow my System was at simple planking... it wasn’t the sort of thing to put me in good, fuzzy moods.

And that was AFTER the hours-long process of letting it scrape off the dirt, which I just plunked right back into the hole.

It required almost all of my Earth mana casting [Move Earth] to change the deep bowl into a wider, narrower depression. The scars are still on that landscape, so far as I know.

The entire process took almost six hours, not counting the making of odd-shaped boards, the imbuing of them with Nature mana, and the moving of them to my stomachs. I set up basic alarm wards, but nothing more violent than a curious plains cat showed up that night.

Okay, so I woke up to a mess of boards that looked like a child had made them. Most were cut improperly, or had cracks running along the grain... Gods, I could have done a better job during a thunderstorm. There were piles of chips and sawdust in my inventory, which fed me enough I could take a healing potion.

Stumps and their root systems are mighty things, even when they’ve had a few years to rot. I could have spent years there, removing a stump every other day, recharging my mana on the next.

I could have, but there was an army of red skinned scavengers despoiling the land so they could siege the city that, on paper, was our capital.

Yes, on paper. We know what that is. It’s not like we have papyrus leaves, or enough sheep to make vellum a practical alternative. Now shut up and listen, we primitive peoples have been known to be violent when provoked.

So, where was I? Yes, Yes. Rakkal’s Glory, formerly known as Montu’s Glory, a city carved out of reddish brown rock, and home to what passed in Achea for industry. Oh, each of our cities had smiths, had shrines to various and sundry gods, had their own carpenters and bakers and butchers. And certainly Whitehill had no shortage of craftsfolk.

But it was Rakkal’s Glory where our only acid factory was. It was home to Hawk’s Wing Forge, and enough tanners and leather-workers that even with Uruk ranching, it was literally impossible for us to provide them with enough hide to remain working all year. The air was dirty, the ground of the city itself polluted...

It was and remains a pit of horrors, when I look at it from the perspective of nature.

But, villainy or no, that was our pit of nature’s despair and pain. It was part of Achea. Of the Tidelands. The Red Tide Empire. And...

Damned if it didn’t look like the invaders were going to just roll right over it, wreaking whatever havok they wanted and taking it for their own. They were tired, sure. But they had one soldier (or “soldier”) for every two people inside the wall.

No, I don’t think my outlook would be better or worse for knowing the number of hobgoblins already inside the wall. Cities have always been made of people as much as lumber and masonry. People are just people. Sometimes, it takes only one bribed guard to leave the main gate open.

Only, that hadn’t happened. Not that day, not the night before. As the sun began to descend in the west, the kobolds came out to play again. Not that I could see them from that far away, but certain war noises are distinct; panic is one of them.

I saw the physical fight unclearly; but just a hint of Duty faith, and I could see the emotions. The hate, the rage, the duty, the fear... it was like a cathedral of emotion, built to the glory of war.

I’d had to dig up that day’s stump in pieces, littered with an entire hive of termites. No special evolutions, none of them with the sentience to beg for life. Whatever, protein was protein, and there was no shortage of fiber in my diet. It made for a nice change.

It looked like an entire company (four squads) was trying to circle to my right, except that they weren’t. About half an hour later, I figured it out. They were going up the trail towards Hatton.

But... why?

I didn’t need the cane as much already, but I wasn’t free of it yet.

So, they moved in darkness, thinking themselves stealthy. I moved in parallel, not even bothering to [Shroud] myself. Actually, attempting that would have given me away to anyone with mystic sight. So in retrospect, I guess I was being stealthy.

Just before dawn, they set up a camp. They posted sentries, or else very alert guards who looked close enough to sentries, and settled in for the day.

So, for three days, I did the same. I traveled at night, and slept with a band of woven bark fibers over my eyes during the day.

Let me confess one thing the bards got right; lone people travel faster than a marching company. I had time to forage, if not do a proper hunt. I had time to cook and clean and weave foliage into a lean-to and a cot so I wasn’t sleeping on the dirt during the rain storm that night.

I was tapping the storm for energy when it came to me.

Where was the caravan?

Well, it should have been well south of us. It should have already arrived at the latest siege.

But if it hadn’t... I might send a company or so of soldiers back along our path to see that they were still coming. To ensure they hadn’t gotten lost, or say, eaten by giant spiders. To save or avenge them, whichever was in order.

I’d have sent a mix of archers and spearmen; hunters and scouts, maybe with some bandits.

No, a mood waxing from the new revealed spears and axes and swords, most of them with shields and clad in shiny metal links. Helms of brass and iron and bronze, all polished to give away their nightly positions.

Well, no. I’m sure that they did that as a matter of discipline and pride. But whatever their intentions, those troops would have been better served by leather. Or at least something to take the reflective glare off.

My curiosity sated on this matter, I snuck in close to their camp. I’d been intending to take out one of their two pairs they had patroling... only I missed both, and ended up in the camp interior. It was a long affair, seven tents on each side, with the captain’s tent capping one side.

And the supply tent on the other.

It didn’t take long for the plan to come together after that. A quick bit of messy work, and a literal cartload of supplies was suddenly inside my inventory. I unstaked their mules and neither of them being aware, a simple shove encouraged them to wander off into the night.

An army, even a professional one, travels on its stomach.

But they barely spent time catching the mules (which hadn’t wandered nearly as far away as I had expected) and loading up the tents before just falling into ranks and marching as though nothing had happened.

By the merciful gods, what would it take to STOP them?

Or, was it just easier for them to go onward, the convoy being closer than their camp?

They marched. I followed.

<1 > Yes, I’m aware that you know. They came upon a war between morlocks and ghouls for Hatton, and had been stupid enough to start breaking apart the iron fencework with the intention of melting it down. Even a week after, most of them hadn’t recovered from what happened that night.