Hyperion Evergrowing

Chapter 100: Just a Healer

Chapter 100: Just a Healer

Most people in his situation would likely relish the position of power he held over the people he was currently pointing a sword at. Or at least, that's what Sarb thought as he ushered a bunch of dirty farmers out of their homestead point first. He wrinkled his large nose at the smell of piss, dubiously eyeing the wet stain running down the leg of the youngest man. There were a thousand ways he could justify his actions, a thousand reasons and excuses. But being honest with himself he knew exactly why. He wanted money, and there was nobody in this forgotten backwater to stop him.

“Hey boss!” Called a voice from the back room as he pushed the last farmer out the front door.

“What?” He snapped back, a scowl scrunching up his rounded face.

“I found something. Bunch of beans!”

“Great.” Sarb growled, rolling his eyes and giving one of the farmers a kick so he would get moving. “Go help Vince with the next house over, I can hear yelling.”

“Right boss, you got it.” Said the other bandit as he jogged out of the building, sack slung over his shoulder. Beans fell from the sack in a continuous stream from a hole that a rat had likely chewed into the woven material.

“Fucking idiot.” He muttered, marching the farmers down the barely cobbled road and into the main square of the village. The settlement was a bleak and entirely uninspiring place, thatched roofs with half assed repairs, fields full of emaciated and withered crops. He certainly didn’t envy the frontier life, no sir he did not. The plain metallic ring on his finger hung heavy, not with weight, but at the prospect of being used. To think a man like me could have something like this. Sarb mused darkly, deliberately pulling his attention from the artefact and yelling at the sorry lot of dirt peddlers to hurry up.

Three dozen villagers were already in the village centre when he arrived with the latest batch. They were tied together with ropes, all looking miserable as they sat in the dirty plaza, several of his men rummaging through their pockets. They wouldn’t find anything, these farmers were poorer than street rats, less well fed too by the looks of things.

“This is a shit haul boss.” One of his men mumbled as Sarb stomped passed. “Ain’t nuffin but shit and sadness in this place.”

He grunted in acknowledgement but otherwise said nothing. He knew, but he didn’t particularly care. This was more of a supply grab before they returned to hunting the coastal roads for merchant caravans anyway. A yell came from nearby, and Sarb turned to glare at the disturbance. His already poor mood took a dive when he saw two of the recent recruits getting handsy with some of the village girls.

“Hey!” He snapped. “Have some fucking standards and get back to work. Keep it in your pants or I’ll cut it off.”

“Fuck you.” The man snarled, the hole where one of his eyes had been adding more than a little malice to his glare. “Let us have some fun you fat prick.”

“Are you questioning me, boy?” The bandit leader asked as he wobbled over. His gaze stabbed into the man despite being a head and shoulders shorter.

“What if I am?” The man smirked, leering down at his employer. An employer who was over fifteen levels higher than himself. A sharp thwack split the air as the flat of Sarb’s blade hit the side of the idiot's head, sending the man tumbling to the ground.

“You questioning my orders?” He asked the now prone and groaning man’s friend.

“N-no.”

“Good. Now do your damn job, keep watch, and don’t, fucking, get, distracted.”

The man nodded frantically, already pulling his friend up off the ground. The bandit leader spat on the ground, then walked over to where the loot was being collected. A tall and spindly figure was making notes on a wooden pad, mumbling thoughtfully to himself. A spear rested next to a poorly maintained fence, though the weapon was easily within the man's reach should he need it for whatever reason.

“Hey Tio, how long will this last us?” Sarb asked, the other man glancing at him briefly before looking back to the pile of sacks.

“A month, two if we ration.” Tio replied, scratching idly at the back of his long matted hair. “Probably a little more once the last few houses are checked and searched properly.”

“And that's if turbulence doesn’t slow us down.”

“Mhmm. If we keep getting so little from these frontier villages, we may have to go further south.”

“We’ll risk it if we have to, but I’d rather stay out of the patrol ranges if we can help it.”

“The empire is more interested in maintaining their cordon, and Ahle-ho is more likely to put out a bounty and send guild parties than send soldiers.” The tall man said.

Both men lapsed into silence, in truth they were brothers, though nobody would be able to tell by looking at them. Yelling started up again, this time a group of older farmers were throwing insults at their captors. Sarb watched impassively as the instigator of the defiance was kicked in the liver, then once again in the back of the head as the man doubled over.

This place hadn’t put up much of a fight, which was good. Even if he was by no means a good person, Sarb would rather not start maiming people without good cause. If anything he’d rather not dull his already worn blade any further. Another commotion picked up nearby, sighing loudly the bandit turned, only to see a man in slightly ornate robes being tugged along by a grinning bandit lacking all but a few teeth.

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The two brothers watched as the man, a priest judging by his clothing, was pushed to his knees and had a dagger pressed against his throat. Sarb sauntered over, his sword still bare as he walked towards the priest. Several of the bound villagers shrunk away from him as he strode through their midst.

“Well, well, well. What brings such a distinguished man like yourself all the way out here.” He asked, not bothering to keep the derisive sneer out of his voice.

The priest looked up at him with wide, panicked eyes. By the softness of his features and the lack of grime coating his clothing more than suggested he wasn’t a local. “A- A pilgrimage. T-to see the frontier.” The priest stammered, squirming in place as he tried to maintain his composure.

“Name?” The bandit asked, not really caring.

“N-nazan.”

“Sect?”

“I-I’m a Mundanist.” The man cringed, a fact soon proven by his pockets being ransacked and nothing but worthless personal possessions turning up.

“Got any money, dickhead?” A bald man with tiny, squinting eyes asked as he tossed away a leatherbound book.

“N-no, It isn’t proper for me to carry such things.”

“I think you’re lying. I think you’re hiding a fat stack of-”

“He doesn’t have shit.” Sarb snarled, waving the man to silence. “These types never do, they’re practically beggars.” The bandit could see the look of relief in the priest's eyes, and that infuriated him more than anything. Fucking worthless preachers, at least he and his boys had to work for their pay. As Sarb saw it, they were both parasites, they just sucked blood in different ways. “His robe is worth something at least, take it off him.”

“W-what?” Nazan squeaked as laughter erupted from several of the nearby bandits. The dagger around his throat was withdrawn as grimy hands started tugging away at his garb. Then a crack rang out from a street over, the sound was like wood snapping, and it was followed by a loud yelp of alarm. Everyone in the village square, bandit and local both, turned to see the source of the commotion.

A bandit with large, bushy eyebrows and a grimy unkept beard ran into sight, he was followed a moment later by two other men. “Boss!” The man screamed, voice panicked. “There’s some fucker coming!”

Endless gods damn trouble. Sarb fumed internally, snapping at his men to spread out and get into position. “How many?” He called.

“Just one boss!” Came the reply, followed shortly by another loud crack. “He’s got a shield skill boss, it's all glowy like!”

Another two bandits ran into the clearing, including the source of the sounds, a skinny man with a sling. “My powershot ain’t doing shit!” The bandit with the sling yelled, scrambling to get distance and fumbling to reload. “But I woulda split his head open if he wasn’t cheat’in with that shield skill!”

Everyone in the clearing held their breath as weapons were drawn and skills were readied. Then, a cloaked figure strode into the village square. They were tall, their bulk clear even under the heavy cloth that shrouded most of their form. They had hardy leather boots, and when the cloak shifted simple clothing was revealed underneath. The most striking feature of the newcomer however, was a plain brown wooden mask that covered their face, a golden glow coming from the eye slits. Their hands and forearm seemed to be clad in ivory white armour that appeared unlike any metal Sarb had ever seen, perhaps it wasn’t metal at all.

“By the Bringer of Rain, by the Mother of Solace.” The priest mumbled under his breath, but other than a smack to the back of the head he was ignored. Who the fuck prayed to the god of rain in a time like this? Was the priest damaged in the head? Sarb thought, trying to analyse the approaching man. To his discomfort the skill produced no result, this stranger was either significantly more powerful, or their aura skill was developed enough to block his analysis.

“Who are you?” Tio called, spear resting casually against the lanky man’s shoulder. Despite the way Tio was acting, Sarb could tell his brother was tense and ready for a fight. Of all the shitstains who followed him out into the frontier to pillage and loot, the only one of them he trusted to have a good head on his shoulders was Tio.

“A traveller.” Replied the masked man as he slowly scanned the situation he had walked into. Outnumbered as he was, the newcomer was remarkably calm. Either it was an act, or they had a reason for their confidence.

Sarb felt the man’s aura brush up against his own, several of his men likely feeling the exact same thing as their postures relaxed, one even laughed. It was the aura of a healer, soft and gentle. Healers were rare, Sarb had only met a handful throughout his entire life. But the ‘traveller’ was clearly one of them, his aura was unsuppressed so the likelihood of deception was relatively low.

“You came to the wrong place.” A bandit called, his voice dripping with newly found confidence, several of his fellows snickered at his words, clearly feeling the same way. “I mean, what’s a fucking healer going to do?”

Though the man’s aura clearly denoted what he was, Sarb couldn’t help but be hesitant to lower his guard. He hadn’t spent half a decade in this line of work to not notice danger when he saw it, even if his own combat oriented aura from his promoted [Fighter] class pushed out his perception. He pressed against the aura of the hooded man, but it was like a solid wall, there was no further information he could glimpse. Was it a trap? An ambush? Was this man truly alone or were they being surrounded at that very moment?

“You should take your men and leave.” The masked man said, his glowing eyes turning to lock onto Sarb. The bandit leader gulped, taking a step back involuntarily. Nothing about the man before him had changed, but the air seemed to hum with the sound of his voice. As if the very idea of defying his suggestion carried an ancient implication.

“We ain’t doing shit.” Yelled a bandit from the left before he could reply, not that he could with his throat tightening and heart racing. Sarb couldn’t tell who had spoken, his entire world had just gone very narrow. [Mind for Battle] only triggered in combat, its effect increasing depending on the difference in power between him and his opponent. His breath began to come quicker, even as one of his stupid, stupid men rushed forward to bash the travellers head in with a cudgel.

With his senses enhanced, Sarb saw for the first time a faint heat-haze surrounding the cloaked man, like a near invisible ripple in the air around him. Faint traces of golden light flickered into being, then the bandit was there. The cudgel fell with enough speed that the weapon was nothing more than a blur, wreathed in deadly power from a skill the strike was empowered to the point even high level combatants would have their bones crushed and flesh pulverised.

The man simply raised his hand, catching the blow without any apparent difficulty. The cudgel stopped dead, the stranger reacting to the blow not at all. Everything went silent as both bandit and villager stared, their hair and clothes being blown back as a shockwave from the attack’s impact blew across the clearing.

Then the aura changed, it rolled out from the man like a physical weight. Suddenly the masked stranger loomed twice as tall, his latent authority pressing down on everyone, stifling breath and suppressing power. Bandits flinched back, several cursing and rushing to conjure any skill they could. The villagers… the villagers were fine, somehow unaffected despite the oppressive presence bearing down on the village square.

A cold sweat broke out on Sarb’s back. Just a healer my ass.