Accidental Reaver

The Reaver appeared at the edge of the swirling mists in the Spectral Wing. The blood moon shone down hateful light, and skeletons ambled about not too far from his location.

He'd already taken the boat to the rotting dock, oared by the Grim Reaper-like attendant, to cross the spirit infested ghastly lake. When he entered, the starting banshees and abominations were already dead. The Spectral Wing seemed to spawn monsters at a slower rate than the Vampiric counterpart. With the hunter count being a fraction of what the other wing underwent, it didn't need to.

Despite that, the only monsters he encountered were skeletons at the edge of the graveyard area in which he stood. A small hunter party of three planned to engage them. Cool mists brushed against his ankles as he came closer to the swamps beyond. Going from memory, he followed the path Authoria once led him down.

With the golden mark's assistance, he found the previous charming attempts by ghosts, hags, and other swamp denizens were nullified. To add to that, their numbers dwindled to a fraction of what he encountered before. The cleansing he did must've been a contributor to that. Or so Luke hoped.

A brilliant golden land shone in the distance, unable to be smothered by thick mists. When the Reaver stepped onto the grave site, a golden ghost in noble wear appeared, cheering for joy. Her giant gravestone remained solemn behind her.

Piercing screams pervaded from the path behind him. Luke funneled excess frost essence to his eyes. In the furthest reaches, he witnessed two poor souls being eaten alive by hags. Evidence of being charmed remained in their eyes.

Luke stopped himself from going to help them; both wore the Velvet Hand's outfit. In other words, they tried to monitor him and got caught in the process.

I've been lax with the three leading underworld powers lately. Iona's warning and my time as Rune hasn't scared them off enough. Did something change? Luke thought, putting aside the new problem for another time.

Authoria appeared curious about the source of sound, but she soon lost interest. Gold wisps followed Sylen's First Lady. She etched a golden rune in the air. It floated before Luke, turning into moats. The Interface revealed itself.

[Authoria's mark has been engraved. To unlock the Golden Stigmata, return to these mists at Tier 2, Level 50, and no higher. Authoria's final requirement for eternal peace will be revealed to you. Additional rewards are possible based on performance]

Surprised, Luke looked up at Authoria, "You changed your mind? I'm here now. I can try to take on this request of yours."

The golden ghost appeared to struggle within, but she mirrored a refusal Luke himself had given her—forming an X with her hands.

"You were pretty adamant last time. Why stop me from doing what you wanted? Wouldn't that put an end to this issue of yours once and for all?"

Authoria put a finger on her cheek, then rose that same finger a moment later, pointing at the Blood Red Moon in the gray skies.

The moon? The Reaver wondered.

He'd ask more about it, but Authoria came with the troubling issue of being entirely non-verbal. Although the Interface gave her a manner of written speech. Enough on his plate as it was, Luke embraced the unexpected reprieve.

Putting Xera into her sheath, Luke said, "Tier 2, Level 50 it is, Authoria. I'll be by sooner than you expect."

The ghost came up and tried to hug him, but her arms faded through his body. Stunned, she looked at her hands before stamping a foot against the golden grounds. She withered into the mists, refusing to reveal herself to the Reaver again.

Tracing back the same way he came, the two Velvet Hand trackers were already eaten down to the bone, their skeletons slowly sinking into the swamp. Having seen sights far worse, Luke passed by unfazed. Death was with him every step he took, in the case of the boat, sometimes literally.

He ended up back in the graveyard area, the scant skeletons from before cleared out by the three man hunter party. Ruined town structures scattered the area. Moisture from the surrounding swamp dampened the soil. Taking out the map he'd bought way back when, Luke checked it over.

The way forward happened to be through the cleared graveyard. Since Authoria's request turned out to be a temporary bust, the Reaver opted to see the Spectral Wing to its end. Should he be lucky, the boss would be up. If not, at least he did what he could for the day. The draining aura in the air only empowered the Reaver; all this battling hadn't made him weary physically or mentally.

Carefully trying to avoid disturbing the churned grave sites, Luke slowly moved on what he sensed as the most stable ground. To Xera's disappointment, no monsters showed up, alive or dead. Crossing the mass grave, Luke saw a lantern posted path. The lights were green, with white streamers flowing from them. On each side of the muddy dirt path stood wooden staked lanterns, repeating every ten to fifteen feet.

Wet fog pervaded either side, held back by the weak light. Only the central path, worn as it was, remained uncovered. Luke could overcome the vision disadvantage easily enough with Wayfinder's vision boost, and flooding attributed essence to the eyes, but he still favored staying out of zones that hinted he should not go into.

Unlike the Vampiric Wing, this ghost paradise seemed different. Tier two monsters roamed in its swamps, and when Luke encountered them, only with Authoria's burning gold could he face their swarms. In light of that, he'd keep to the map. Underestimating things was something he did enough as is.

Cautiously going down the withered path, Luke came across recently defeated monsters. By their appearance, they came off as Risen Mages and Ghostly Knights. From how they grouped up in fives, the Reaver became alert. Since they were dead already, Luke couldn't use the Interface to inspect them, and their loot was picked clean.

"Another party is ahead of us."

"You think it was those three from before?" Xera said.

"Chances are, it's likely. Yelaris said other hunters rarely come to this wing, specialized teams could handle it easily, though, like I do. If anything, this wing is easier than the other for me."

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Luke could feel Wayfinder twisting his needle, wanting to say something, but the compass stayed shut. The two 'watchers' from earlier came to mind. Neither of them could be confident that they weren't being watched at this juncture. Should they be, Luke wondered what the would-be trackers were up to, or why they didn't attack when he was alone. Did they think he'd end up seriously weakened again? He guessed the first failed attempt meant extra caution this time.

Better keep some trump cards in reserve this time, just in case. Luke planned internally.

The Reaver had to admit he felt tier 2 aura off the Velvet Hand trackers when they were being eaten alive by Swamp Hags. His elder Defiers may have kept the tier 3's away from him, or perhaps there were too few such people under the underworld's command to escape unnoticed.

That would be enough. The Reaver could handle whatever else they threw at him. In fact, if they ended up harassing him enough, Rune could enjoy an early return. Who liked being observed without permission?

Matters for later. Luke took out Xera in wand form, applying Infusion in advance. Essence Bond would wait. Straining his ascended senses, he heard sounds of struggle deep down the road, beyond what his vision could perceive.

Going what felt like at least a mile in the distance, Luke repeatedly came across dead monster spirits. The outlier was a dead hunter, his skin grayed, with no vitality within the man. Luke searched the man for an identity sigil, but either it had already been taken, or he didn't have one. He made a quick mound to the path's side, shrouded by mist. It was shoddy at best, but better than nothing. Placing the man inside, Luke shoved the dirt back over.

Usually, he'd leave well enough alone or happened to be in a situation where honoring the dead wasn't feasible. This time around, conditions were met, so Luke took the time. The Reaver continued down the path, sounds to the side tried to distract him, and his golden mark glowed each time when the influence became great.

"Feels like I'm going down a monster memorial, the corpses are getting fresher, should be a sign we're catching up to whoever is ahead."

Luke could go into a full sprint to get it over with. He convinced himself to remain cautious in this case. While he lacked time to waste, shortcuts could be a double-edged sword.

A domed building was on the mist's edge, led up by the deteriorating path. Its design was green stone, brown interlayers, and gray trim. Luke sighted the culprit of all the monster slaughtering without inviting him.

A group of four hunters. Not the anticipated three from before.

Staying in place, Luke decided to observe the small group. Around them were five spectral corpses, other Risen Mages, and Ghastly Knights. A larger one lay dead at its forefront, a mix of the two types.

The group consisted of a well geared bunch, if Luke had experienced enough to tell that sort of thing. Which he believed he had. The one who appeared to be the leader was a burly elf with a Boreal Basilisk companion. It struck Luke as odd. The elf kept no visible ranged weapons.

A Warlord? He thought, searching for possible classes based on what research he'd accomplished since settling in Sylen. A rare class, to the point he'd never seen one before.

Star swirls surrounded the group, tethered to a black robe wearing monic woman with deep purple cheek runes. The stars shimmered white-yellow pulsing power, engaging with a struggle against the air. Luke would bet this was their team's method of combating the rotting aura prevalent in the Spectral Wing.

Bringing up their rear would be a typical human Mage, Luke couldn't sense what type, and a bony elf woman that, at first glance, also seemed to be a Mage, but Luke felt an uncanny sense they couldn't be categorized that way. The rot around them appeared to have the same effect it did on him. They were invigorated constantly. Deathly aura clung to their clothes, and pale skin whitened by the second. Heavy bags hung from their eyes, her left hand weakly holding onto a bone staff crowned by a red jewel.

The four were speaking in whispers. Luke could see them attempt to cover it with an aura technique. Unless they were of a higher tier, that'd be plain useless against him. Powering frost essence to his ears, Luke could hear their conversation plain as day.

An elfish masculine voice entered his range of sound first, "When we're all rested and recovered, we enter the Rotted Vault."

Coming afterward, a human Mage said, "Good thing the soul barriers aren't covering it this time. Means the boss is up."

The elf woman followed, "Dragging me all the way out here, this better go smoothly. The rot here is a problem for the rest of you."

The monic with stars spoke, "While you three dally about, my stars are wavering. We didn't have to let that human die on his own, did we? Could've helped him out enough and convinced him to go back."

The burly elf refuted, "We allowed him to strike on ahead, coming here alone is what idiots do. The mists will consume him in a couple of hours, grouping with him would've been a cut to our gains."

That stung Luke's pride. Staying hidden by remnant mists, Whisper Tome's silence passive proved to be prudent. He already didn't want to interact with a group this callous, at least its leader being that way. However, by the sounds of it, the building held the boss for the Spectral Wing.

There was no way he'd give up that opportunity to grow further.

So it was simple what Luke would do, a goal he wanted to accomplish nearby and an untrustworthy group ahead of him. Killing them seemed like overkill. Then, the next best option would be to enter the building first. At face value, Luke played with the idea of talking it over.

Sighing, Luke began to collect frost around his feet for later use. Since the four were in the midst of conversation, and Luke's utter silence in his movement, the party failed to notice him until about thirty feet away. The misty, low light environment also contributed.

Luke's icy mist spread out from him in preparation, mixing well with the ambient natural mist within the dungeon. This created an elemental 'sphere' of perception, not perfect, but it gave reliable enough feedback. With the added advantage of 'seeing' what his eyes could not from blind spots.

Taking out two handed mace, the burly elf challenged Luke, "Afraid the Rotted Library is reserved by our group today, friend. Head on back."

"On what grounds?" Luke asked.

"On the grounds we killed everything up to here."

The other hunters got into a formation with the burly elf in front, the monic and second elf to the far back, Mage to the center, and Basilisk by his master's side.

Luke didn't need his mists to know these hunters were tense, ready to fight at the first spark. Offering to group was off the table for him, one look at he could tell any amicable ending would be impossible. Lucky for the hunters, the Reaver preferred to avoid bloodshed without any tangible reason.

Blinking slowly, Luke said, "I'd understand it in your shoes, all this hard work, yet the chance at the boss is going to slip from your fingers. From your leader's earlier words, trusting you enough to group up is an idiotic move." Luke stared at the burly elf, "Only idiots come here alone, am I right?"

The monic woman groaned, "I told you those policies of yours would give us trouble eventually, Caleric."

All this time, Luke inched forward, the distance between the two forces a mere dozen feet. Luke calculated the span between him and the grey doors to the domed building. Roughly speaking, about fifty feet.

Absolutely nothing to the current him.

The pale elf woman made a motion, and pale ghostly light sparked at the tip of her staff. The stars surrounding the group began to blaze, and Luke already ceased any peaceful resolution.

Raising his free hand, he said, "Silence."

A power burst from Whispering Tome created a silencing dome on the five opponents. The Basilisk companion, elf Warlord, and the monic underwent horror, stiffening with wide eyes. Curses seemed to flow from the human and elf woman, not that they could actually speak them.

Luke rushed past using Triple Step, and once that momentum died out, bursting the frost around his feet created additional speed. He darted through the air, crashed against the gray doors, and cracked them open.

Rolling forward, he came inside; a wall of souls covered the way Luke came in.

[Party detected, boss room lock initiated]

Breathing out all the air in his lungs at once, Luke rolled to his back and said with a smile, "Success."