Progenitor's Burden

Heading straight to the Algiz door, Sinclair studied the runes engraved upon its surface, contemplating the nature of the challenge. How exactly would courage and protection be tested? The lack of preemptive guidance was maddening. Sinclair always preferred having a clear picture before diving into any situation (not that this would stop him). This mysterious environment seemed to thrive on uncertainty.

With a deep breath, he selected Algiz and crossed the threshold. Instantly, a chilling mountain pass materialized around him. Oh look, there go my nuts again. Snow, whipped by fierce gusts, whirled in dizzying eddies before cascading downhill. Tracing its path, he spotted a tranquil—if obscured—village nestled at the mountain's base. Its homes, dwarfed by the ink-black silhouettes of towering trees, looked like easily broken toys against the backdrop of such an imposing mountain rage.

A shiver ran down Sinclair's spine, not just from the cold. An unsettling premonition had crept over him hinting, perhaps, at the forthcoming trial. Pivoting on one heel to survey the narrow mountain passage behind him, a prompt shimmered into existence.

New Quest: Tutorial Algiz, the Path of the Protector

Description: Stand firm and defend the village against an imminent Draugr onslaught. The village guards are few, and although reinforcements are on their way, they will not arrive in time to prevent the initial attack. Your bravery and resilience are the village's only line of defense.

Goal: Keep as many Draugr from getting past you as possible.

Rewards: Your endurance will not go unrewarded. The longer you successfully defend the village, the greater your reward will be.

WARNING:

Prepare yourself: The Draugr horde approaches.

The fate of the village rests in your hands, Progenitor.

A wave of apprehension swept over Sinclair, as intense and unyielding as a landslide. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him. Those people in the village are relying on my protection. The stakes had skyrocketed in a matter of moments, leaving him reeling.

As anxiety threatened to consume him, Sinclair recognized the need to center himself. Seeking a flat patch of ground amidst the pass, he settled down to meditate. He focused on his breathing, letting the cold mountain air fill his lungs, and then slowly exhaled his worries with each breath. Once his mind had stilled, two pertinent questions emerged from the clarity, overshadowing all other panic-induced inquiries.

Okay, so first, should I proceed deeper into the pass? Most likely. The path is narrow and that will limit the number of attackers that can reach me at once. I'll start with my small axs, since they're faster, and save my bigger ax for when it's needed. And then secondly, how long do I have to do this? I haven't been given any time limit for when the help will come, so I guess I should just conserve my stamina and not take chances. For all I know, the 'help' that's arriving is set to only appear after I give up.

Standing up, Sinclair withdrew his two axes from storage and slowly walked into the pass. As the path started curving back in on itself, he was left with just enough room for him to swing up and down. I can't swing more than about 45 degrees to the side or I'll get the ax blades stuck in the ice. That's not ideal, but it's gotta be worse for my enemies, unless they're armed with something pointy like a spear. As he edged round a corner, he suddenly came across the first enemy, shambling in his direction. He quickly used Valkyrie's Gaze.

Name: Unknown

Race: Draugr

Level: 2

Health: 75/75

Description: Draugr are fearsome undead warriors. These reanimated corpses, clad in decaying armor, guard their burial sites with supernatural strength and boundless stamina. Their ghastly form is vulnerable to fire and blunt force. Draugr have eyes that glow like dying embers of blue flames and are known for their malevolence and hatred of the living. Some Elite Draugr, known as Shadow Thane, can wield the elemental powers of Cold and Death.

Before Sinclair stood an undead creature clad in armor cloaking a decaying form. As Sinclairs eyes moved rapidly over the body of the Draugr, he found his vision captured by piercing blue eyes that glinted with an unnatural luminescence. Murderers eyes.

As the enemy came close, Sinclair coiled like a spring and, harnessing all his might, swung his right arm down, targeting the creature's skull. The impact was resonant, the sound of bone shattering echoing as the ax embedded itself from the top of the skull to the cheekbone, disfiguring half of its—already unappealing—face. Whew, glad it didn't get stuck. Taking a step back to assess the damage, Sinclair scrutinized the Draugr, searching for an indication of the inflicted harm.

This particular adversary, though menacing in appearance, moved with a ponderous, almost clumsy gait. Yup, it's basically a zombie. Sinclair nimbly dodged its feeble attempts at retaliation, all the while delivering decisive blows with his ax. I don't think this is the best weapon, y'know.

Glancing at the corner of his vision, he realized that the overpowered swing had caused him to lose fourteen points of stamina. True, there was no risk of him running out anytime soon, but this looked to be a battle of attrition. By the end of this, he might be wishing for every single point he could keep ready.

Taking a step back and setting his feet firmly against the ice, Sinclair slammed his offhand ax into the other side of the creature's head for an additional 20 damage, followed by a main hand swipe that finally dropped the Draugr into a pile at his feet. Hopefully not so much of a Zombie that it gets up again. Momentarily distracted by watching the light fade in its eyes, he looked up to see a handful of glowing blue eyes pointing in his direction. I guess they think I'm dinner. As he looked in the direction of the eyes another pair opened. Then dozens. Then it seemed like hundreds of glowing blue orbs were pointing in his direction, and starting to move closer.

Shit.

Sinclair wasn't one for half measures. Where one person, let's call them 'Bob the Sensible', might see an army of quasi-undead coming at them and feel at least some panic, Sinclair's eyes lit up with a newfound confidence. In no world would he be referred to as 'Sinclair the Sensible'. Maybe 'Sinclair the Suicidally Overconfident' would work?

Sinclair (the stupendous, the strong, the slightly slipping on shiny ice) strode forward, eager to unleash chaos in the narrow mountain pass. While the reality of the villagers behind him remained uncertain—whether they were tangible beings or mere constructs of the system—it mattered little. He felt compelled to protect them. His heart, ever the guide, left no room for any other course of action.

Sinclair's proficiency with the ax was, admittedly, rudimentary at best, even with the new skills to back him up. His expertise lay in chopping firewood and taking playful swings at imaginary adversaries back on his farm. But for the present moment, that rudimentary skill was all he had; it would have to suffice until he had the opportunity for further training.

After twenty minutes of relentless combat, Sinclair was beginning to feel tired, albeit only slightly. His heart pounded vigorously, and his breaths grew increasingly heavy. The Draugr, despite their slow, almost clumsy approach, maintained their persistent advance, seemingly unfazed by their fallen comrades. While Sinclair had managed to hold his ground for an almost-ridiculous length of time, their sheer numbers slowly forced him to retreat down the back passage.

The tight confines of the, er, back passage, meant his swings needed room, and the creeping realization dawned upon him: if he were pushed back to the entry point, he'd be vulnerable to their overwhelming numbers. Time was of the essence. Come on, come on, give me all your beautiful experience points before you eat me, you arseholes.

As Sinclair continued to engage with the Draugr, he noted their levels varied slightly, ranging from two up to four. Gradually, he encountered fewer of the level two and three creatures. Despite the ongoing battle, Sinclair's stamina remained at three-quarters, and the single scratch he had sustained was already healing. It didn't turn me into one of them at least.

Soon the increasing density of the advancing Draugr posed a significant challenge. Despite only one of them being able to engage him at a time, the sheer weight of additional Draugr pushing from behind was forcing him to gradually shuffle backwards to avoid being overwhelmed by pure mass. Soon he was facing two at a time, and though their movements were clumsy Sinclair was forced to change his fighting style somewhat. He switched from the potent, decisive strikes he preferred to quicker, more measured attacks, ensuring he kept the upper hand while adjusting to the evolving dynamics of the battlefield.

Briefly glancing over his shoulder, he noticed a flurry of activity in the village. Figures darted about, their actions blurred by distance, rendering it impossible for him to discern their intentions. Part of him wished desperately that he could call out to them and tell the reinforcements to hurry up, but the larger part harbored a selfish desire; it knew a substantial reward awaited his relentless efforts.

Soon he was up to three and four Draugr at a time - all level three, with some level fours and fives dotting the rows. He fought faster and faster. Swung harder and harder. His stamina dropped point by point. He silently thanked the system for that annoying stone challenge and the constant damage he had to endure from the little canids there. He could feel the blood dripping from some of his deeper wounds.

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

The distant blare of a horn resonated through the chilling air, igniting a flicker of hope within Sinclair. It appeared the villagers had rallied and were now en-route. He could only pray their timing was impeccable, or at least adequate. His stamina was depleted to a precarious thirty percent, and the wounds had reduced his health by half.

After an hour of relentless combat the attacks stopped coming. The glowing blue eyes hesitated, so making good use of the momentary lull, Sinclair propped his axs up against his thighs, ravenously devoured a trail bar, and quenched his thirst.

A single pair of eyes, showing something considerably taller than the Draugr that came before, slowly approached. Must be a boss battle. Sinclair steeled himself. There was a village to defend, treasures to uncover, and a reputation to uphold.

His adrenaline surged, numbing him to the bone-chilling wind. As the moonlight draped over him, his silhouette appeared almost ethereal. He muttered to himself, in his best movie announcer voice: "amidst the fallen, a lone figure stands resolute, covered in gore—he is... The Guardian of the Pass."

Gathering himself, Sinclair traded his twin weapons for his sizable felling ax. For a towering enemy, a mightier ax is required. As the taller enemy neared, unsettling details came into focus and SInclair began to feel a foreboding dread when it halted a mere fifteen feet away. Sinclair received the real shock: In a gravelly yet hushed tone, the creature spoke.

"Who dares obstruct us?" the creature rasped. "How did you discern our approach? Speak swiftly, lest my patience wanes. Step aside, or face your demise."

Sinclair stood rooted, baffled. It was like a dog suddenly talking at him; not only could the monster speak, its language was remarkably flowery. Paralyzed by the weirdness of the situation, he could only stare agape as the monstrous being continued doing a villain's monologue.

"The hoard is imminent. Your fate is sealed. Your valor today was commendable. It's tragic to squander such prowess. Relinquish your stance, allow us to seize this village, and you will be granted a prestigious rank within our legions. Defy me, and I promise an end so brutal, your remains will languish, forgotten, in this forsaken ground."

Sinclair's initial shock ebbed, replaced by a bubbling fury. The audacity of this grotesque, undead behemoth to practically flounce in and demand submission! He wasn't some feeble pushover, a mere pebble in this creature's path. While new to this realm and its challenges, he felt a profound duty towards those he vowed to protect. The blurry line distinguishing reality from simulation blurred further; it ceased to matter. Sinclair wasn't about to be cowed or demeaned by this monster's overtures. His resolve, now unshakable, was clear: he would not falter. "If you want them come and claim them, for I am the Guardian of the Pass!"

On the last word of his declaration he swiftly pulled out one of his smaller axs and whipped it as hard as he could at the monster's face, following it up with a charge, ax raised. As he charged, he Analyzed the fearsome monstrosity.

Name: Elsharroth the Unbowing

Race: Draugr (Captain)

Level: 9

Health: 315/315

Mana: 150/150

Description: Draugr Captains are a menacing presence among the undead. They are distinguished by their tattered, ancient armor and give off a ghostly aura of authority. More intelligent and strategic than ordinary Draugr, it coordinates attacks with chilling efficiency. Unlike its erratic kin, the Captain moves deliberately and has enhanced strength and resilience. Particularly vulnerable to fire and blunt force, this undead tactician represents the undying grip of past warriors and commands its legion with immense authority.

Sinclair's ax spun in the cold air, its trajectory almost perfectly aimed at the Draugr. As the Draugr belatedly realized it had spent too much time talking, and not enough looking out for flying axs, it began to move, but too late. The ax buried itself deep into the creature's shoulder joint, failing to sever the limb but succeeding in rendering it useless. Riding the momentum, Sinclair darted forward and unleashed a powerful swing from his felling ax. It felt as though he had struck an ironwood tree, causing a painful reverberation up his arms. He hastily tried to follow up, but was caught off-guard. The Draugr, suddenly displaying uncanny speed, lunged at Sinclair and smashed into him with its uninjured shoulder.

Sinclair tumbled across the ground, disoriented and gasping for breath as the sound of the Draugr's advance filled his ears. Pushing off against the ground, Sinclair launched himself into the air, narrowly avoiding the blade that sought to cleave him in two. Seizing the moment, he brought his ax down once again, finally severing the Draugr Captain's wounded arm.

I have to immobilize this monster, it obviously knows how to fight better than I do.

The Draugr Captain advanced, sword held in a diagonal guard across its body, ready to first deflect any incoming strike and then launch straight into a riposte. Using Valykyrie's Gaze again, Sinclair could see the Draugr was down over half its health points, but the movement of the two combatants had now shifted enough that the remaining 'normal' Draugr had a free route to exit the pass. If I don't end this quickly, I'm going to be drowning in the dead. And then I'll be dead, and I don't want to discover if that's permanent here the hard way.

Stepping in toward the Draugr Captain , Sinclair planted himself firmly and threw out a horizontal slash. Responding with a block, the Captain's body turned slightly and the human spotted a small window for attack. Tilting the base of the handle, he gave a deft twist of the wrist and swung the ax along the edge of the sword like a skateboarder grinding a rail. The sword guided the ax perfectly and Sinclair's weapon embedded itself deep into the neck of the undead commander. Falling to the side, the Captain sacrificed any attempt at hitting the ground gracefully, and instead swung his sword in a wide arc, smacking into Sinclair's rear end and almost giving him a second ass crack.

It felt like someone had poured boiling hot water down Sinclair's back, and for a moment he was too absorbed by the pain to concentrate on the wall of Draugr now approaching. Desperately stumbling backwards, Sinclair equipped his remaining small ax and stalked towards the floored Draugr Captain, which was trying to get back to its feet. He stumbled forward without a weapon in his hands only to rebound off the wall of Draugr before him. He pushed back from them, taking a few injuries as he turned. As quickly as he could he stumbled over to the Captain who was bent over on one knee trying to get up. Approached by Sinclair, the Captain looked up at him with hatred on his face. Sinclair gave a bloody smile in response and launched his entire body weight behind the ax, shattering the Captain's skull. Hasta la pasta, you boney bastard.

Overbalancing with the force of his blow, Sinclair found himself lying on top of the Draugr Captain's body. I need to stand up. I need to stand up. I need to stand up. With effort, he dragged himself to his feet and a sense of despair washed over him as he viewed the small horde of Draugr still remaining before him.

Gritting his teeth, Sinclair tightened his grip on his ax, standing tall. Despite his weariness. "If I fall, I fall," he shouted determinedly, "but not without giving everything I have! Raaaaah!!"

His mind was calm amid the storm of battle, and with his battle cry he charged, swinging his ax left and right, cleaving two skulls within the first seconds of the melee.

The fight became a relentless nightmare of grunts, curses, and the shrill screams of pain—always his, the Draugr were disturbingly quiet—from wounds inflicted. Sinclair found himself increasingly encircled, the sheer number of enemies slowly forcing him to his knees.

Feeling his strength waver, Sinclair half-shouted, half-screamed. "No! I will not fail these people!" and the now-familiar fire surged within his chest. He felt the electric energy run down his arm until pooling in his clenched fist briefly, then bouncing back and forth, desperate for an outlet. Wait, can I channel this?

Sinclair willed the force outwards, guiding it down his arm and through his ax, and the world lit up.

Sinclair's ax seemed to absorb the energy, its blade igniting with a vibrant, glowing red which brightened and expanded at a colossal rate, forming a radiant arc that swiped around him. Draugrs in close proximity simply collapsed, as if an unseen force had severed their very lifelines. Holy crap, my ax is a lightsaber. And it can cast Cleave!

And then he collapsed.

*****

"What happened here? There are so many bodies."

"Do you think he did this all by himself?"

"The gods must have sent us one of their champions to protect our village while our warriors gathered!"

Sinclair could hear people talking back and forth but he did not want to open his eyes. He let out a loud groan, giving away his return to consciousness.

"Get back, he's waking up! Get the Jarl over here and bring the first healer you can get your hands on."

As his eyes opened, Sinclair found himself surrounded by several humans who stared at him as if he was a talking mongoose with seven arms. Simultaneously smiling and looking amazed—somehow—one of them stepped forward and offered him a hand up.

"Ah! Back on your feet, yes? I do not know where you came from, but you saved my village and my family, yes? We are in your debt, my friend. I am Jarl Hrondir and I welcome you to my lands. Please now, drink water, eat food, rest a while. My men will clean up the... mess you made. They will pile the bodies over here for you to collect your loot, no?"

Slowly, Sinclair reached for the water and took a sip before trying to speak, "You got here just in time. I wasn't sure how long it was going to take before reinforcements got here."

"Aha! I am correct, yes? The Gods did send you, truly, yes? Praise to the All Father, Odin One-Eye, All Seeing, no? We arrived right after that blast of red light."

I am talking to a Viking! I'm talking to a real, pinch-my-ass-and-call-me-Shirley-because-I-must-be-dreaming Viking. Come on, Sinclair, under no circumstances are you allowed to squee. Trying to avoid showing his sheer joy at the experience, Sinclair distracted himself by looking around for his axs.

The Jarl spoke up once more. "I have bad news, no? Your large ax was badly damaged. The handle is broken and the blade is beyond repair. And your hand ax is worse, no? The entire ax is ruined beyond repair. But have no fear, friend. I will replace your axs with ones from my own personal collection, yes?"

"Thank you, Jarl." Sinclair responded appreciatively. "That would be most kind. I have many more places to go before the Gods let me rest." He continued internally: Okay, let's be honest. I was more worried that I wouldn't have any choice except to return back to Earth for replacements and just accept the 24-hour penalty.

The Jarl stepped away to take a bundle from another man, then returned to Sinclair's side and held it out. Taking the bundle, Sinclair unwrapped them to find two beautiful axs. Wow, they're like oversized tomahawks or something. Each ax was decorated with intricate scrollwork down the handle, and there was bronze inlay on the handles in the shape of a wolf with its mouth opening, as if it were launching the blade from its maw.

Lifting the axs, Sinclair was astounded by the magnificence of the larger ax hidden beneath. It was four feet long, with the lower part of the handle wrapped in the best quality leather he'd ever seen. It had the same scrollwork on the upper part of the handle, and the entire ax practically glowed; it was so well maintained. Brimming with excitement, he graciously—and excitedly—accepted them. I got my baby back, baby back baby back… breakers.

"Jarl Hrondir, you honor me with this gift. I am truly glad that I could be of service to you and your people. However, I must now return to my world; please do not be alarmed if I disappear in front of your eyes. I feel the Gods calling me home, so with my departure please accept my wishes of the greatest of luck." Sinclair found himself amused at how formal he suddenly felt the need to be.

As Jarl Hrondir watched, the traveler faded from view, taking his beloved weapons with him. Those weapons had meant a lot to him, but the lives of his family and friends meant so much more; there had been no other fitting reward for their savior.

*****

Heroti was, as always, looking through the logs. Repeated, unexpected lines showed strings of mana being fed from one of the only intact nodes that preceded their entry into the solar system. The mana threads were incredibly weak, but they pulsed irregularly and each pulse was met with a change to the tutorial. Unfortunately, the area was somehow shielded from their view.

"Something is there and it is messing with our experiment."

Kafor responded. "I have finished launching the replacement nodes; they are all in their landing spaces and are digging to below the crust. It will take a few more days before they are able to begin mapping the pathways, but once they do, we will be able to find out what is going on"

"I think this planet has beings on it that reside in the mana," mused Heroti. "I think there was a war here at some point that damaged or destroyed the nodes and lay lines so much that they were no longer able to repair themselves"

So focused were they on the abnormalities that they failed to watch as Sinclair finished the second door of the tutorial. If they had, they would have seen, just for a moment, a figure standing behind Sinclair as he faded into the tutorial hub.