Southwest of Arkalis lay the Briny Grove, split from the mainland by the Harbinger River. The area was marked on the map he’d been given as unexplored.

  It wasn’t far from the city, though would take him until a bit after midday to reach.

  He welcomed the time outside the city, as it allowed the mask to recharge. At least according to Zanas. He still couldn’t feel anything of it.

  The journey took him along one of the fay’s old roads, but every so often he’d spot a monster not far off from it. He took out any Coppers, as doing so didn’t slow him down much, and there was always the chance of getting a core or cursed item, though the weaker they were the less likely it was that their essence would coalesce.

  With how weak all the monsters he fought were, he was picking up quite the collection of hollow cores. In Argalis, they sold for practically nothing, and it wasn’t much different in Arkalis. Before leaving, he’d sold off the hollow cores he’d collected and earned fifteen copper for the lot. Not much, but every little bit helped, and it wasn’t as though he had any use for them. They just took up space inside Zanas’s scepter. He’d not been able to find anyone interested in purchasing Akaris’s potions.

  On the way to Briny Grove, none of the monsters he encountered attempted to attack him. Whether this was due to the road’s empowerment, or monsters’ inherent lack of aggression toward him, he didn’t know. He had no way to test it out, as they were even less aggressive toward Zanas, not attacking him unless he attacked first.

  Ashinaro had been trying to figure out how to use that to his advantage, but had yet to come up with anything. If only the skeleton could get farther away from him without Ashinaro being unconscious.

  Not that he was much good at the moment, as he was still unable to damage monsters. Which he hadn’t stopped complaining about since being reminded when he’d tried to eat a voidshell slime not long after they’d left the city.

  “We should try hunting people,” Zanas suggested. He hadn’t found any money under the bed, though he had found a scarf, which he now wore tied around his head. “Maybe that would work.”

  “We’re not hunting people. You said yourself you’re weakened and just need to rest.”

  “That was ages ago. I should have recovered by now.”

  “It was early this morning.”

  “Do you know how much I’ve done in that time?”

  “You’re bound to me, so, acutely.”

  Zanas was floating along as Ashinaro ran, and now he squinted at him. “It’s no fun not being able to bluff with you.”

  “I’d prefer you didn’t lie.”

  “You would, you’re a human. You’re all too straightforward. No fun at all.”

  Ashinaro didn’t see how lying was fun, but up ahead he spotted the Harbinger River narrowing enough that he could see the opposite bank. He checked the map. “Almost there. Getting across the river should be easy, but this doesn’t say if there’s monsters.” Which made sense, since that was the whole reason Ashinaro was here. But it did give him pause. The water here was more likely to harbor Fiends, and the grove itself might as well.

  It was a place he’d been before, long ago as a whelp. His instructor, Denerik, had taken a group of whelps on a journey to Arkalis, and on the way they’d taken a detour to Briny Grove.

  The grove was a densely packed forest that jutted out into the Sea of Fear and on whose trees crystalized salt formed from the brackish water in which they grew. It was said the forest floor was supported by the roots of the trees, which themselves floated upon the ocean’s surface.

  The fact Denerik brought a pack of whelps didn’t attest to its safety. His ethos was much like other drakken: the strong survived. If you couldn’t escape a Fiend among a pack of other whelps, that meant you were too slow.

  The flabbergast was a Gold Beast, but was turning out to be tougher than anticipated, far more than the ropethorn he’d fought.

  Flabbergasts were Beasts that looked like men, save for their sparkling skin and the corrosive goo they spurted from it.

  Joy’s Curse was making its eyes bleed, but if it did anything to impede the monster’s vision, Ashinaro couldn’t tell. It was having no trouble tracking his golem.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The battle was giving Ashinaro plenty of opportunity to test out his newly enhanced Flesh’s Frenzy ability, and the increase to regeneration the blue core provided was noticeable. Combined with the reduced blood loss from the red core, he was holding his own against the monster even without Zanas’s assistance.

  Like he’d expected, he was limited now by how long he could hold his breath for.

  Which he’d reached his limit on.

  He began slowly letting it out as the golem fought the flabbergast with his staff and Zanas’s scepter.

  Immediately, the gooey substance spraying from the monster began doing more serious damage as the golem lost its ability to regenerate now that Ashinaro’s breath was no longer held.

  The golem landed a double-strike across the Beast’s face, but lost an arm for it.

  This was the first time his golem had sustained serious damage, as it was the first time a battle had lasted long enough to run him out of breath. Both due to his instillments, as well as the battle’s difficulty.

  He activated Whirling Rush and flew back into his scales—the flesh of his arm thankfully reattaching—slamming into the monster and covering it with a cloud of blinding, enervating blood.

  He rolled out of the way as it swung wildly at him.

  With the combination of the curse and effect from Whirling Rush, it was finally blinded.

  Only problem was now the goo was on his flesh. It was eating through his armor and scales both, and his Renewal trait didn’t stand a chance against it.

  He used Whirling Rush again, the primary effect this time. The damage he was taking was redirected to his weapons, which began to smoke. At least his staff did. Zanas’s scepter seemed unharmed. He directed himself at the flabbergast, slamming into it and knocking it off balance.

  He kept flying until he was a good distance away, then took in a breath to cancel the effect.

  Most of the goo was gone now, but there were still spots where his scales had been burned through.

  Before the flabbergast could regain its feet, he tossed his staff aside so as not to damage it further and activated Flesh’s Frenzy, directing his golem to lay into it with Zanas’s scepter.

  He still wasn’t as adept at wielding it as he was his staff, and that went doubly so for his golem, but it was enough to keep the monster pinned down.

  Blinded and weakened, the monster soon fell to repeated blows from Zanas’s scepter.

  Ashinaro took in a breath and his flesh flew back to him.

  “We’re going to be out here all day and night if that’s how long it takes you to kill just one,” Zanas said, looking at Ashinaro as he lay on the ground, panting.

  He was more physically tired than anything. He could use his relics again right now if he needed to. Though he’d prefer not to.

  But Zanas was right, he didn’t have much time to rest.

  “We’ll avoid any more Golds.”

  Hornblade settled heavily onto a stool at the bar of Brightflower Tavern. “The Works.”

  Rosewind regarded him from behind the bar. She was working today. Of course she was. That was the kind of luck he’d been having lately.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  Hornblade grunted but gave no other response.

  The woman was taunting him.

  He did so hate the elves.

  They thought they were like him, but he was a shade. Just because they shared a similar appearance in battleform, did not make them the same.

  And unlike the other races, their Charisma had no effect on him.

  In theory this was because of the similarity of their essence. An idea which contradicted his belief they were nothing alike, and so one he chose not to believe.

  Rather than be displeased, Rosewind laughed and heaped a plate with one of everything from the containers behind the counter and didn’t even ask for coin. She knew he was good for it.

  And if he wasn’t, she would simply bill his father when she returned to Fayreion.

  Hornblade bristled at the idea and dug around in his pouch, withdrawing a handful of silver coins and slapping them down with indifference.

  In truth, it hurt to overpay so much, especially given the stipend the TTC paid to anyone making or selling food, but it would be worth it to see the elf’s—

  Rosewind simply raised an eyebrow and took them with a sly grin.

  He hated her. Her Charisma didn’t work on him, but she was not without her other charms.

  And those… well, they had nothing to do with essence.

  He took his plate and went to a table, facing away from her, knowing it would just please her more, but he didn’t care.

  He was starving and exhausted.

  Five days, and still the effect of the arnaphen’s poison gas lingered.

  He would need to find an alchemist to extract it from him. Which was galling. A Beast shouldn’t be capable of affecting a Champion, and certainly not for so long.

  He looked down at his hand as he ate. The cut he’d gotten from blowing through the arnaphen just before he’d lost all sense still had not healed.

  Shades were no trolls or even drakken, but it should have healed by now. A wound made by a Beast had no right to persist for so long.

  Yet there it was, glaring back at him.

  His failure enraged him.

  The drakken had taken what Hornblade had rightfully stolen, and done it in a manner that Hornblade still could not reconcile.

  And now this bloody quest from his god. She wanted him to go back there and pursue the false god following the drakken around.

  Still, he would have turned it down, patronized his father’s god.

  But he couldn’t simply patronize another god now, not when his own was offering him a Divine Gift as recompense. Each god could only give out one of those—not to each godsworn, but in total. Other than Divine Champions—which he had no interest in becoming—everyone else who had received one was an Ascendent, and as far as he knew, even then there were only two of those, the Verdant Sands Ascendent, and the Ascendent of Shadows.

  His father’s god would never offer such a valuable prize.

  It only angered him further. Rage couldn’t force him to complete the quest, couldn’t prevent him from going to another god, but she could entice him by offering something he was helpless to resist.

  Something she had in common with the elf.

  He found himself glancing over at Rosewind, who grinned as she polished a glass, watching him.

  He grunted and got up, leaving his meal unfinished, and approached her.

  He needed to release some of this frustration if he was to think clearly.

  She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting patiently.

  She was going to make him say it.

  Right now, he didn’t care.

  “Where is Tarnbane?”

  “Oh,” she said lightly, “he’s around here somewhere. Why do you ask?”

  “You need him to take over your shift. You’re going to be busy for the rest of the night.”

  “Oh, rest of the night, am I? And what am I going to be busy doing?”

  Hornblade grinned against his will.

  He really did hate the elf.

  “Me,” he growled.