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Chapter 57: Darius

  Lana emerged from the back room, her appearance transformed. Gone were the simple work clothes, replaced by fitted leather armor that hugged her athletic frame. Metal plates reinforced vital areas, shoulders, chest, and joints, creating a practical blend of protection and mobility. The worn leather spoke of regular use, its surface marked with scratches and scuffs that told stories of past encounters.

  A sword hung at her hip, its plain pommel and practical crossguard marking it as a weapon meant for use rather than show. The sight startled Elara at first. She'd grown used to thinking of Lana as just an innkeeper's apprentice.

  Being an Artisan didn't mean someone couldn't learn to fight. After all, she'd seen firsthand how skills could be acquired through the system. Her own Dagger Handling skill had appeared after picking up the Solstice Shard and hitting things. How proficient was Lana with that sword? The confident way she carried herself hinted at experience, but actual combat skill was harder to gauge.

  "Are you and Sasa ready to head out?" Lana adjusted one of her bracers as she spoke.

  The nickname made Elara smile. Sasa sounded much gentler than Satan. Her mind drifted to Boogie, remembering how the fire elemental had been bound to her as a companion. Was Sasa tamed to Lana in the same way? The memory of Boogie brought a familiar ache, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the present.

  "Ready when you are," she said, adjusting her own gear. The weight of the Solstice Shard at her hip had become familiar now.

  Satan let out a meow, the tiny spear glinting as the cat moved.

  "Look at her. She can barely contain herself." Lana's laugh echoed through the room. Her eyes sparkled with similar excitement.

  Elara couldn't shake the thought of dungeons from her mind. Her recent experiences with Esme's group had taught her the dangers that lurked in such places. "Have you explored many dungeons before?"

  "Oh no." Lana waved her hand dismissively. "I'll be staying at the camp. But just being there, watching others come and go, seeing what they bring back, there's so much to learn." She patted the sword on her hip. "And the experience gained from feeding and caring for the adventures is enough."

  Elara furrowed her brow. Her brief time in the system had shown her how combat led to leveling. But Artisans? "How does an Artisan level up? I'm afraid I'm not very familiar with the process."

  Lana's gentle smile caught her off guard. "Few combat classes understand how we level. They're too focused on hunting beasts and gaining quick power." She adjusted her leather bracer. "Take down a high-level creature and watch your levels soar. But for us?" She shrugged. "It's different."

  Elara leaned against the wooden counter, intrigued. Her own experience had been exactly as Lana described, fighting creatures, gaining levels through combat. The concept of another path fascinated her.

  "We gain experience through creation," Lana continued, her fingers trailing along the edge of a nearby bowl. "When others use what we make, when our work helps them level up, we get a small share. It's meager compared to combat experience, but it adds up in the years."

  Satan paced between them, the tiny spear bobbing with each step.

  "Food is my specialty," Lana said. "When adventurers eat my cooking before a fight, they get buffs. Every kill they make while those buffs are active? I get a tiny slice of that experience." Her eyes lit up. "That's why dungeons are perfect. Dozens of adventurers, constant fighting, all of them needing food and supplies. The experience trickles in steadily."

  The strategy impressed Elara. While she focused on direct combat, others discovered different paths to power. The system seemed more complex than she'd initially assumed.

  "What about armor and weapons?" She asked, fingers brushing against her leather armor. "Do their makers gain experience the same way?"

  "Exactly the same." Lana nodded, adjusting her sword belt. "The real goldmine is working for the Makers' Guild. Get assigned to craft weapons and armor for the army?" She let out a low whistle. "Thousands of soldiers using your gear every day, fighting monsters, completing missions. The experience flows like a river."

  "The best smiths fight over those contracts," Lana continued. "One good army commission can boost your level more in a month than years of selling to individual adventurers." She traced a scratch on her bracer. "But the Guild's standards are brutal. One flaw in your work and you're done."

  Elara pictured rows of smiths hammering away at forges, creating weapons that would see battle across the land. The system's interconnected nature fascinated her, how one person's craft could feed into another's growth, creating a web of shared advancement.

  The system of advancement, while clever, relied entirely on violence. Craftsmen leveled up when their weapons killed, cooks gained power when their food fueled fighters. Even the peaceful professions fed into an endless cycle of combat and death.

  Her hand brushed against the Solstice Shard at her hip. She'd taken lives with this blade, gained levels through violence herself. The memory of the Griffin's final moments flashed through her mind, followed by the wolves she'd fought off the cliff. Each kill had strengthened her, each death had fed her growth.

  Satan's tiny spear caught the light, drawing her attention. Even this small cat carried a weapon prepared for combat. Was there any path forward that didn't involve fighting?

  But dwelling on it wouldn't change anything. She was already part of this system, marked by it, changed by it. Her very existence now seemed tied to these mechanics of power and advancement. The skills she'd gained, the levels she'd earned, all of it came from conflict.

  Lana was still talking about crafting techniques, but Elara's thoughts had drifted to her own situation. She needed to focus on the present, on survival. Philosophy could wait.

  "When do we leave?" Elara asked, cutting through her own dark musings.

  "Now," Kurda's deep voice came from behind her.

  Elara spun around, startled. She hadn't heard him approach, a feat that seemed impossible given his current appearance. Gone was the simple innkeeper's attire, replaced by gleaming plates of metal armor that covered most of his body. Unlike Lana's leather ensemble, Kurda's armor spoke of pure defensive power. The metal plates interlocked seamlessly, accommodating his four arms with precision engineering. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each piece fitted perfectly to his unique physique, the joints allowing fluid movement despite the heavy protection.

  The armor's deep silver matched his skin tone, while subtle red accents echoed his markings. His left hands gripped a massive shield while his right ones remained free. The contrast between this warrior and the efficient innkeeper who'd been tallying inventory moments ago was striking.

  Her eyes searched for their travel supplies, but saw nothing. No packs, no provisions, not even a water skin. Her mind flashed to Krill's ring. How he'd stored their entire camp inside it. These two must have something similar. The convenience of such a storage item made her fingers itch. To carry everything she owned without the burden of physical weight...

  She made a mental note to ask about acquiring one later. For now, she had other concerns.

  She pushed herself away from the counter, adjusting her leather armor for a final time. The familiar weight of the Solstice Shard bumped against her thigh as she moved to follow Kurda's armored form toward the door.

  A flash of movement caught her eye as Lana vaulted over the counter, her leather armor barely making a sound. The assistant's agility surprised her. There was clearly more to Lana than her role at the inn suggested.

  A sudden weight landed on Elara's back, making her stumble forward. Sharp claws pricked her armor as Satan scrambled up, finding purchase until the cat settled across her shoulders. The weapon-wielding feline's tiny spear this time not pressed against her neck.

  "Hey!" Elara protested, but Satan just made herself more comfortable, clearly having claimed Elara's shoulders as a preferred perch.

  Lana's cackle echoed through the room. "It looks like someone chose you to be the official cat transporter."

  Satan's purr rumbled against Elara's neck, the cat's satisfaction clear in the sound. The weight was manageable, but the positioning would take some getting used to.

  Elara scrambled after Kurda's armored form as he veered away from the well-worn mountain pass. Her legs burned as they climbed higher up the rocky terrain. Satan's weight on her shoulders shifted with each step, the cat's balance perfect despite the uneven ground.

  Loose rocks skittered down the slope beneath her feet. The path, if it could be called that, wound between weathered boulders and stubborn mountain shrubs. The higher they climbed, the more the vegetation thinned, replaced by bare rock faces that required careful navigation.

  Kurda's four arms found purchase on the rocks with practiced ease, his movements fluid despite the heavy armor. He picked their route without hesitation, as if following markers only he could see.

  The wind grew stronger as they ascended, whipping her hair around her face. Satan's fur brushed against her cheek as the cat ducked lower, seeking shelter from the gusts. The air grew thinner, each breath more labored than the last.

  Lana kept pace behind her, the leather-clad woman showing no signs of fatigue. The assistant's steps were sure and precise, matching Kurda's path exactly. Their familiarity with this route was obvious. They'd done this climb many times before.

  Two hours of steady climbing left Elara's legs trembling. Her leather armor clung to her skin, damp with sweat despite the cooling mountain air. Satan had long since abandoned her shoulders, now darting between rocks ahead of them, the tiny spear glinting in the sunlight.

  The path leveled out as they skirted around a dense forest that clung to the mountainside. Trees with gnarled trunks stretched toward the sky, their branches twisted by generations of mountain winds. Elara's burning legs welcomed the more even terrain, though her breath still came in short gasps from the thin air.

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  Satan darted between the trees at the forest's edge, the cat's spear catching glints of sunlight that filtered through the canopy. Kurda kept them moving along the treeline rather than entering the woods, his armored form casting long shadows in the late afternoon light.

  As they rounded the forest's edge, the encampment sprawled before them. Dozens of tents dotted the plateau, their canvas walls rippling in the mountain breeze. Wooden platforms elevated some of the larger structures off the rocky ground, while smoke rose from several cooking fires scattered throughout the camp.

  A few other merchants had set up stalls along what appeared to be the primary thoroughfare, their wares protected by colorful awnings. Weapons glinted on display next to crates of supplies and barrels of what Elara assumed were provisions. Adventurers in various types of armor moved between the stalls, examining goods and haggling with vendors.

  At the far end of the camp, a massive tent dominated the landscape. Its purple and gold fabric seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, and banners bearing unfamiliar crests fluttered from poles mounted at its corners. Guards in polished armor stood at attention near its entrance, their presence marking it as something important.

  Smaller tents clustered around the edges of the camp, these more practical and weathered. People gathered in groups around cooking fires, the smell of food mixing with the crisp mountain air. Some wore the leather and metal of fighters, while others dressed in the practical garb of crafters and merchants.

  Elara followed Kurda as he strode towards the purple and gold tent at the far end of the encampment. As they approached, she noticed an open space in front of the tent, dominated by a large table.

  On the table lay a map. Elara traced the lines and contours, recognizing the shape of the forest they had just skirted. But the map was far from complete. Revisions and notes littered its surface, some areas marked with bold lines, while others remained blank.

  Scattered around the map were multiple pieces of paper, their edges fluttering in the mountain breeze. Her curiosity pulled her closer, Lana following behind.

  A group of adventurers stood around the table, their voices carrying over the rustling papers. They were engaged in a lively conversation with the map drawer, each one eager to share their knowledge.

  "We came in at that point," one adventurer said, his finger tracing a line on the map. "There's a distinctive rock formation here, shaped like a bear's head. We left a marker there."

  The map drawer nodded, their quill scratching against the parchment as they added the landmark.

  Another adventurer chimed in, "The path splits here, near this grove of trees. The left fork leads to a pond. We marked the trail with red ribbons."

  Again, the map drawer's quill danced across the paper, adding the new information.

  Elara absorbed the details. The adventurers were providing information, each tidbit filling in the blank spaces on the map. Identifying markers, hidden trails, and notable landmarks - all of it was being carefully recorded.

  Kurda strode past the table without a glance, his armored form disappearing into the purple and gold tent. One guard peeled away from his post to follow the innkeeper inside, while the other remained at attention.

  Her gaze lingered on the remaining guard.

  Warrior [???]

  The question marks didn't surprise her. She'd encountered the same limitation many times before - some people were simply too high a level for her to read. The guard's polished armor and practiced stance spoke of experience far beyond her own.

  A gentle nudge at her elbow drew her attention back to the present. Lana stood beside her, eyes fixed on the map spread across the table.

  "We should stay here while we wait for Kurda," Lana said, already leaning forward to examine the parchment more closely. "He usually takes his time when greeting the head of the exploration camp."

  Satan weaved between their legs, investigated the table's wooden legs.

  Elara crouched down, her knees creaking from the long climb. The cat's grey fur ruffled in the mountain breeze as those intelligent eyes fixed on her face.

  "Please stay close," she whispered, conscious of the bustling camp around them. "I know you can handle yourself, but there are so many strangers here."

  Satan's extra set of paws flexed near its neck, the tiny metal spear gleaming as the cat adjusted its grip. The weapon looked almost delicate, but Elara had seen enough of the system's oddities to know better than to underestimate it.

  The level of difference between them still surprised her. This small creature could probably take down most opponents. Yet those feline eyes made Elara want to protect it.

  Satan's tail swished once, the gesture somehow conveying both acknowledgment and mild annoyance at being treated like a regular house cat. The warrior cat settled into a sitting position next to Elara's boots, though its gaze remained alert, tracking the movements of passing adventurers.

  "Many of these adventurers were at our inn weeks ago. They've been drawing this map since then." She frowned, her thorny vine hairband catching the sunlight. "Why would it take them so long to close this dungeon?"

  Elara shrugged, her attention fixed on the parchment before her. Satan's tail brushed against her ankle as the cat maintained its vigilant watch. The constant flow of adventurers around the table provided new information, each addition making the map more complete.

  A group of five adventurers approached the table, their armor dented and clothes torn. Blood stained one woman's bandaged arm, while another limped slightly. They spread out around the table without blocking each other's view.

  "The path branches here," the woman with the bandaged arm pointed to a spot on the map. "There's a fallen tree marking the split. We left a blue ribbon."

  The map keeper's quill scratched against the parchment, adding the marker.

  "Watch for the hollow around here," a tall man added, his armor missing several plates. "Looks empty, but houses a nest of Thornweavers. Lost two minor healing potions dealing with them."

  The group continued their report, each member contributing details about landmarks and hazards they'd encountered. Their voices remained professional, as if reciting a well-rehearsed performance. When they finished, they moved away from the table as one unit, disappearing between the tents.

  The sun dipped lower behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the encampment. The stream of adventurers returning from the forest slowed to a trickle. Those already in camp gathered around cooking fires or disappeared into tents. The map keeper began collecting their papers, weighted down by small stones to prevent the mountain breeze from carrying them away.

  The dying light caught on armor and weapons, creating brief flashes of reflection between the tents.

  Kurda emerged from the purple and gold tent, his armored form now accompanied by a smaller man. Their boots crunched against the rocky ground as they approached. The stranger's clothes spoke of wealth - fine fabric cut in a practical style, with subtle embroidery at the collar and cuffs. His bearing marked him as someone used to authority.

  His smile, when it came, didn't reach his eyes. Not that Elara expected it to - they were strangers, after all. She'd seen enough false pleasantries in her time to recognize another.

  "Sir Alaric Valemont," Kurda's deep voice carried easily despite the mountain breeze. "Head of this expedition." He gestured to the surrounding camp. "These are Lana, my assistant, and Elara."

  Elara noticed he didn't give her any title or role. The omission hung in the air, but Sir Valemont didn't seem to notice or care. His gaze swept over them both, assessing rather than truly seeing. Satan's tail brushed against her ankle, the cat's presence a slight comfort against that calculating stare.

  Sir Valemont clasped his hands behind his back. “An Artisan of your skill, Kurda,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the red triangle markings on her deep blue skin, “and your assistant’s…,” he added, nodding toward Lana, “are exactly the kind of talents that make an expedition thrive. It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

  Kurda stood with his four arms relaxed at his sides, his expression as unreadable as the river near his inn. He gave a curt nod. “Efficient camps make for efficient expeditions,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “Seems you’ve got the basics covered.”

  Elara lingered a step behind, her arms crossed as she watched the exchange. Valemont’s voice was smooth, his words deliberate, like a merchant haggling over a prized catch. She glanced at Lana, but the assistant’s face betrayed nothing, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

  “Choose any space you like for your camp,” Valemont continued, gesturing toward the rows of tents. “We’ve made sure everyone has what they need—fresh water, firewood, even a few extra cots for those who might’ve traveled light. I believe in treating adventurers well. A well-cared-for team is a successful team.”

  Kurda’s eyes scanned the camp, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Fair treatment keeps people loyal,” he said, his tone neutral but his words carrying a weight that made Valemont’s smile widen slightly.

  “Exactly,” Valemont said, his tone light but earnest. “Loyalty is everything. And speaking of loyalty…” He paused, his tone shifting to something more conversational. “I couldn’t help but notice your work. That inn of yours—flawlessly run. It’s not every day you meet an artisan who can manage so many moving parts with such ease.”

  Kurda’s expression didn’t change, but one of his upper arms shifted slightly, as if ready to dismiss the compliment. “It’s what I do,” he said flatly. “People need food, shelter, and order. I provide it.”

  Valemont nodded. “A rare talent. I admire that kind of dedication. If you ever find yourself looking for new opportunities, my house could use someone with your skills. No pressure, of course,” he added, holding up a hand. “Just know the offer’s there.”

  Lana’s expression remained stoic, but her gaze flicked to Kurda for the briefest of moments before returning to Valemont. “We’re content where we are,” she said, her tone polite but firm.

  “Understandable,” Valemont replied, his tone easy. “Well, I’ll leave you to settle in. If you need anything—anything at all—don’t hesitate to ask. My people are here to help.”

  As he strode away, his cape billowing slightly in the breeze, Lana leaned toward Elara. “Sounds too good to be true.” She muttered, mimicking Valemont’s tone.

  Kurda’s eyes followed Valemont, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Words are cheap,” he said gruffly, one of his lower arms adjusting the strap of his pack. “Actions matter.”

  Lana nodded in agreement, her voice low. “We’re here for the expedition. Not his recruitment pitch.”

  Elara glanced down at Satan, who let out a soft huff, his tail swishing against her leg. “Yeah,” she said, her gaze lingering on Valemont’s retreating figure.

  Kurda turned away, one arm gesturing for them to follow. "Let's find a spot before-"

  A shout cut through the air. Elara spun toward the sound, her hand instinctively reaching for the Solstice Shard.

  A young man stumbled through the gap between two merchant stalls, his light pink hair matted with dirt and blood. His clothes hung in tatters, revealing cuts and bruises beneath. Despite his injuries, he moved with purpose toward Valemont's turned back.

  The guards flanking the purple tent rushed forward. The first reached for the man's arm, but the young man twisted, using the guard's momentum to throw him aside like a child's toy. The second guard met a similar fate, his armored body crashing into a nearby weapons display.

  Satan’s fur bristled against her ankle. The cat’s tiny spear raised as they watched the scene unfold. The young man advanced on Valemont, who was no longer oblivious. His posture straightened, his hand subtly moving toward the sword at his side.

  Elara watched as Valemont's composure shifted, his earlier charm replaced by something harder. "You," he said, his voice calm but edged with warning. "What is it? Where is the rest?"

  The young man stormed forward, closing the remaining distance between them in three quick strides. His light pink hair, matted with blood and dirt, caught the dying sunlight.

  "Your people," he spat, getting right in Valemont's face, "are at the healer's tent because of their incompetence." His light green eyes blazed with fury. "I'm done babysitting nobles who can't tell a sword from a butter knife. I'm going solo."

  Valemont's jaw clenched, his eyes darting to the gathered crowd. "Now, Darius," he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture, "you know we're doing important work here. These setbacks-"

  "Setbacks?" Darius cut him off. "Is that what you call three people almost dying because they won't listen?"

  "They are trained in following proper protocols—" Valemont started, his voice rising defensively.

  "Your protocols are worth less than a broken compass," Darius snarled. "And I'm not sticking around to watch people get hurt because you're too proud to admit you don't know what you're doing."

  The crowd's whispers grew, and Valemont's face flushed red. "You're speaking out of turn—"

  "No," Darius said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm the only one here to say what everyone else is thinking. And if you had half the experience at leading an expedition camp you pretend to have, you'd admit it too."

  Valemont's face darkened, his earlier charm completely vanishing. "Fine. Go alone. But don't expect any support from House Valemont. No food, no supplies, and definitely no access to our maps."

  "Fine with me," Darius spat. He spun on his heel, his blood-matted hair whipping around as he stormed off between the tents.

  Elara watched him disappear into the growing shadows of the camp, Satan's tail still bristling against her ankle. The crowd's whispers grew louder, a buzz of speculation filling the air.

  Valemont stood rigid, his face flushed as he surveyed the gathered onlookers. His composure cracked, revealing the anger beneath his polished exterior. Without another word, he turned and strode toward his purple and gold tent, his steps quick. The tent flap snapped shut behind him with more force than necessary.

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