The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 968

Chapter 968: Adventuring’s dead

“Onward home,” the portals exited shy of a den. Few ladies dressed in religious robes; sisters, rare for a world dejected of god’s mighty presence, “-Esh,” said an older one energetically, “-come on in,” she invited the accompanying crew, “-I went into town earlier, I heard great things about your friends.”

“Whatever,” he ducked under the warm embrace and shuffled, joining a click of kids. Sweat and smile, “-innocent happiness,” commented Yuria.

“Blissful ignorance,” returned Kaleem, “-they’re good kids.”

“I would agree,” followed the sister, “-sadly, no matter how good they were, someone thought them a disturbance.”

“Yeah, abandonment is an issue alright,” said Cora, “-we should turn in our quest. Sister, we’ll be back later to deliver the medicine and potions. Yuria,” he turned, “-stay with Kaleem and watch over the kids.”

“Right,” Cora tapped a signet ring with a swipe, “-onwards to the guild,” the broken sight gave a sense of security. Years of battle, and harsh trials against nature’s amazing force worn the structure into a desolate imitation of a scary orphanage. One of those types is perpetuated as unholy and vile in Rosespian cinema. That aside, Cora noticed a familiar building rise to stop after one floor.

‘The depressing expression never changes,’ he gathered himself and approached. What little remaining adventurers fought wore decent armor; nothing to drive home about – bear minimum. Party and party members exhaled at the sound of adventure, “-Cora,” waved a passing team, “-good job on returning home.”

.....

“You guys headed out?”

“Yeah, wormies have attacked the supply cart. We’ll be joined by another town’s party. Take the days off,” he added with a comforting smile, “-it’s good on the skin.”

“Danger and the shitty pay,” Cora resumed, ‘-no one wants to be an adventurer. Traders make more money, the talentless of them can make a profit of a few coins per trade. The skilled lavishly gather necessary funds on multiple, if not a single trip.’ Once inside, similar to the orphanage; time veered its ugly head. A simple noticeboard laid on one side as if someone had thrown a full stop into another’s sentence. Plenty of requests were ignored, a few left to turn brown, and others picked freshly by the budding adventurer. The guild assistant, a lady in her mid-thirties, hovered tellingly over the counter. In no way did she fly, Cora approached, her tall stature was brought by her race; the condemned nonhumans. Seek far and a name would sure be found – though, she herself preferred the name, Montague.

“Lovely weather.”

“Cora,” she said with mild amusement, “-you didn’t die?”

“We’re hard to kill,” he laughed, “-tell me, what happened to the quest listing about goblins?”

“A few newbies took on honor.”

“And the guild allowed it?” he asked with a sense of reprehension.

“What else can we do, we’re out of adventurers. The more experience one has, the stronger one grows. Anyway, how did your trip go?”

“It went alright,” he laid the sack, “-I need the guild master.”

“Right,” she turned and propped her massively tall back, “-GUILD MASTER!” the room resounded. A backdoor barged open hastily, a confused middle-aged man gawked, “-what?” he stood disheveled, with messy hair and an unchanged outfit from nightwear, “-are we under attack?”

“No, Cora requests an audience.’

“Just that?” he exhaled, “-come on then,” said a determined gaze, “-leap over the counter and let’s talk. I’m not changing my clothes for a single meeting.”

“Let’s talk he says,” muffled Cora, the floorboard creaked, “-just me,” he passed Montague, “-no monsters here,” said a reassuring tone. The guild assistant looked away, guild doors opened with familiar faces. Guild master’s private quarters shut. ‘-Good a place as any,’ they sat opposite one another, “-guild master,” the man sat with an amusingly strong aura. The hair was partly gray and black. Long sleeves and trousers gave the impression of a child in hand-me-downs.

“Cora?”

“I’ve completed one of the more difficult tasks. I do think it’s time for a promotion.”

“Right, you and your party have been breezing through the quests,” he blew with an undermining tone at the adventurer, “-tell me, Cora, did you ever think what the actions will entail?”

“Yeah, completing quests is one way of helping people. Many of the postings are old and lifeless, long as money’s involved, I’m happy to fight.”

“That’s the problem,” fired the guild master, “-it’s not about fame, prestige, or fortune. It’s about the future. Adventuring used to be a great job, something to be proud of, vigilantes – our very own heroes. Now, it’s changed; the populous has strayed from said path. It’s a long-lived past. The reason why our guild hasn’t shut down is the number of adventurers who yet live. They’ve learned to pick their battles and only choose danger when the town is in question. What you and your party have done is undoubtedly a feat worth praise and fame, so it would be centuries ago. Now, my friend, nothing matters. To each their own. Everyone for themselves. There’s no unity nor friendliness – we’re united on basis that we’re from the same place, drinking the same water, eating the same food, and breathing the same air. You made it look easy. Youth are an impressionable bunch; they’ll follow what’s cool. Your party’s exploit has breathed a new life into the guild. New recruits sign up every day at the harsh gaze of their parents. The population is low as is, now we have the youngin wishing for glory in battle. As a parent of two, I’d never allow my kids into a battle, not anymore – the skill gap between monsters and us has exploded. We can’t compete, we can’t fight – tis a fool’s game.”

“Kids are signing up for battle,” he narrowed, “-parents shouldn’t be worried. I mean, it is the guild’s responsibility to correctly gauge the difficulty of particular quests. Montague, the recent hire – I heard a tale of how she was captured by monsters. Forced to do unspeakable things. Her hallow stared, and look if a lady of her size can be bested by mere monsters, imagine newbies. Adventuring is not dead, perhaps it’s dead here, but to me and my friends, we’ll be adventurers by heart. So,” he placed a sack, “-there are the supplies for the last quest. The rich nectar of the gods.”

*Smack,* a brisk breeze echoed, “-guild master, we have trouble.”

They hurried outside, “-help,” gasped a deeply wounded man, “-the kids, they’ll be slaughtered, someone, anyone, help them...”

Cora immediately turned at Montague, “-the quest record, give it,” she ran for her desk and panicked. Her large scale shuttered like a leaf. Guild master took no time in popping the cork and administering medicine.

“I’ll go,” said Cora, “-no promises,” he passed the door and teleported to the orphanage.

A humbly rested Yuria waved, “-Cora.”

“No time,” he grabbed her collar and pulled, seamlessly lifting her from her seat.

“I get how Esh felt,” she brooded, Kaleem was spotted inside.

Orphanage swapped into a labyrinth of tall trees and unsettling noises, “-Cora, are you sure it’s around here?” suns set sails towards night. “-Yeah, it must be around here.”

A crumbled piece of paper was nailed onto their bags, “-goblin kill quest,” said the title, “-they were spotted around Loek hills. Please, my daughter was kidnapped. Somebody, anybody, help...”

“Over here,” waved Kaleem, “-I see a cave entrance.”

“Hidden behind bushes,” gritted Cora, “-alright, get ready for battle. This is going to be tough,” on saying so, he noticed a faint smear at the cave entrance.

“Blood,” said Yuria, “-it’s a few hours old, the adventurers, I’m sure.”

“Kaleem, you love killing small monsters, any plans?”

“Let me take the lead,” he swapped the weapon for a short sword, “-Yuria, use a detection spell, maintain it until I say stop.”

“Understood,” mood within the party shifted, “-Cora, kill on sight.”

“On it,” he summoned an assault rifle, courtesy of Phantom – a cross-dimensional package delivery system, one given by Igna in jest. Links to Mantia and the blessing of their respective goddesses. Kaleem slid to a shuddered halt midway, painful screams bellowed within, “-traps,” he laid horizontal with the slope, “-no mana until we fight.”

‘Kaleem always speaks a lot when we’re in battle. I admire his strength,’ Cora followed as did Yuria.

“What about the screams?” whispered Yuria, “-are we not going to save them?”

“No,” echoed Kaleem, “-we’re heroes in name, not in application, Remember, we’re here to dispatch the horde, the screams will stop soon enough,” as finished, the cries of mercy halted, “-told you, time’s nigh for them to come out,” they crouched at the entrance, “-we’ll wait for them. Going in without knowledge is a death trap.”

Tiny shuffles shortly told of the green devils. Many bore long noses, gnarly teeth, bald heads, and a face only a mother could love. All held weapons; daggers, clubs, staffs – unmistakably from previous kills. The unknown horde approached in rows of four or five. Kaleem had his hand open, an invisibility spell was cast upon the party. He held, tension increased, “-NOW!” Cora rolled over, and Yuria cast a blinding spell. Bright lights and muffled snaps, “-twenty dead,” said Kaleem,”-scouts,” he grabbed and flung Yuria across.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” the land felt harsh, she hit her head on a goblin’s stomach, “-KALEEM!” no chance at rebuttal – he dashed past and flew a flask that crashed in the distance.

“Why did you throw me?” the silent, current leader faded into the shadows, “-Kaleem?” muffled feet ran, another horde leaped viciously at Yuria, *Blessed lights from Mantia, shine thy strength into the mortal world, cross boundaries of black and white – dazzle and fry, electrocute and kill,* “-disgusting fucks,” *Euen Z’Dah!* the spell chained one onto the next, leaving a pile of bodies, “-STOP THE SPELL!” exclaimed Cora, she clapped, “-WHAT NOW?”

“You’d have killed the survivors...”

“Good job,” Kaleem returned from the shadows, “-the area’s clear. Honestly,” he said with a hint of disappointment, “-a high-tier spell on goblins?”

“Oh shut up,” she stood and dusted her clothes, “-wait until we get back, I’ll have a meal ready.”

Footsteps echoed, the darkened corridors exposed to the visitors, “-this place, it’s haunting,” added Yuria.

“A stagnant feeling of dread looms,” commented Kaleem, “-it’s the trapped souls of the fallen. There’s more to this place than we understand,” and from what he said, the comment turned sour. “-Poor kids,” exhaled Yuria, “-tortured and killed.” The bodies were left to rot, most naked and few in good conditions, a standard set very low for charred or maimed bodies were considered acceptable, “-never had the chance to live a full life.”

“Leave them alone,” passed Kaleem.

“Trouble,” added Cora, “-yeah, this place has gotten worse,” after stooping under a small passage, a great room opened. Five altars were laid at the extremities of a pentagram.

“Symbol of the Aapith nation,” added Cora, “-I know demons are quite wondrous creatures seeing they’re partly born from our master. This... yeah, doesn’t look right.”

“Fake,” said Yuria, “-it’s make belief. Looking at the texts here,” she skimmed a notebook, “-the necromancer tried to create life.”

“Yeah, create life the biological way,” cringed Kaleem, “-we have one survivor,” he pointed, “-look.”

“Poor creature,” Yuria reached out her hand.

“WATCH OUT!” abyssal-colored sockets opened and leaped, Kaleem barely pulled, Cora turned and fired – brain splatter washed the dirty and repugnant altar darker. “-CAREFUL!” puffed the shooter.

*Lightning bolt,* a flash passed his head and hit, “-same to you, idiot.”

A dagger flung,” “-you both are,” commented Kaleem.

“Ambush, they’re formidable, I’ll give them that.”

“Well,” she dusted her clothes, “-no survivors.”

“Think twice,” said the ominously pleased Kaleem, “-best’s yet to come. A dungeon.”

Complete darkness shrouded the inside. No distinction made – right, left, whatever it was, a solemn whimper fluttered. ‘Breathe,’ a press of the trigger, “-there, no more enemies left.” Yuria lit orbs of white, “-good thing they included night vision.”

“Looking at it rationally... Cora, using a gun in a world where technology has yet advanced into the industrial era is simply bringing a machine gun into a knife-fight.”

“Shut up,” the weapon vanished into a blue glove, “-not my fault we’re superior.”