A Small Price

It is a fair morning in the town of Limevale, everyone is up early due to a celebration upon the town’s recent and wonderful harvest of its fields and the rivers run full of fishes swimming up, making for a good catch. It is quite merry, and as the children come out to play, Little Trevy goes near the town’s bridge over a small brook to catch fish with his father. As he hauls the nets full of freshly caught salmon to be sold and others prepped for supper, he notices a figure coming in towards the entrance. He can hear the sound of the hooves, clip-clop and clip-clop, as a horse slowly walks across the paved bridge built from cobblestone. The one riding the long-faced animal is someone, likely a man wearing a suit of armor. Its colors are nearly charred black with accents of orange at the edges of the pauldrons, the plated cuirass, gauntlets, greaves and the sabatons. The rider’s face is hidden beneath a closed helm, and on top of it is a red plume of fabric, with a fur collar around his neck, and also a black cloak with a color of orange beneath.

What is even more curious however is that the horse is dragging something, wrapped behind a sheet of linen and connected with a rope to the saddle. It must be some sort of animal, no, it does not look like one at first glance even, maybe it is one of those creatures from the places they call the “Dungeons”, places highly irradiated by concentrations of particles that it can corrupt and transform mechanisms and other creatures alike.

The rider then sees Trevy’s father, and so then speaks finally…

“Trawler, do you know the way to your town’s guild?” he asks.

The father looks up and replies, “Town Square, but you do not look like a Pathfinder from around here, haven’t seen you before.”

“I am quite new, I just registered yesterday from a caravan they set up outside of your town, my name’s Misha of Lekhia.” the rider then introduces himself.

“I see, be well on your work now, Master Pathfinder, do enjoy the festivities, the town is in quite a celebration for the week.” the Trawler tells Misha.

Misha gives a nod and continues forward, signaling his horse to continue walking with his spurs. As he enters the town, he sees ribbons being put up across the streets along with other decorations, and in the market, fat and plump harvests of the season are put up for display. Not wishing to disturb anyone with what he is bringing with him, he takes another route towards the guild. Pathfinders are a new type of lucrative work that have sprung up in the last few decades in order to help with reclamation, which legalizes several services and volunteers of selected individuals, if there is a task to be done, it is up to a pathfinder to take up the job and get it over with.

After finding his way around towards the town center, Misha hitches his horse nearby as he carries his quarry into the building, dragging it by the rope that it is strung up with. Inside the guild building everyone is also celebrating, particularly returning pathfinders from successful jobs, but also to join the town’s festivities. Not minding the others lounging about the cafeteria or speaking with fellow adventurers, Misha makes a beeline for the reception counter, and drops off the carcass he has been dragging.

“What’s the price on one Bullant bleak?” Misha asks the receptionist.

“Eh, a Bullant?” the receptionist squints her eyes closer as if trying to remember if she has seen Misha from somewhere, “aren’t you…?”

“The recruitment caravan yesterday, you were also the one managing the desk.” Misha reminds her, “your name, Maya, was it not?”

“Yes, that is definitely me!” the peppy blond girl replies to the one before her, “I never imagined you’ll start out immediately as soon as you got registered, so I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

“There was a bounty board around the caravan, I took the chance to take a job, apparently a bullant infestation from some farms some west from here.”

“I see, well, let me get the foreman in a second, and I’ll have him tally up the price for the creature and also the reward for the job.” Maya then goes around the back for a short while.

After a few moments, out came an older man, about twice her age and whose stature is definitely shorter and his body scrawnier. He examines the creature’s carcass that Misha has been lugging with him all throughout just before dawn broke.

“Hmmm…” he makes a humming sound as he looks closer.

This is a “Bullant”, a creature enlarged by the effects of overexposure to the particles that form in springs across the continent. Used to be normal ants before the changes took effect, and now they roam in packs and attack those traveling the roads, or infest local homesteads of food and harvest like pests during springtime and summer. Pathfinders are usually hired to exterminate them, usually for a moderate reward due to their common occurrence, but rate differs per region, and law.

“Making all the regional calculations, based on the size, weigh, and expenses under the guild and its networks…. how does two hundred and fifty gold cogs sound to you?” the foreman asks Misha.

“I see…that will be fine, I accept the reward.” Misha shakes hands with the old man sealing their deal for the reward.

“Oh, by the by, I seem to recall you’re a new finder around in these parts, my name’s Wallace, I’m Limevale guild’s foreman, if you need a refresher what that does, is that I am the one who do the numbers for the creatures you slay and the reward for the jobs you take. If Maya isn’t available, you come talking to me, understand?” the old gentleman tells Misha of who he is with a grounded voice, almost fatherly to some, an indication of respect and authority.

“I understand…” Misha answers just as promptly.

“Our guild also provides lodgings to pathfinders should they have no home to call here or if other Inns don’t have rooms to spare, feel free to ask the guild keepers, they’ll help you, and a word of advice…” Wallace’s eyes sharpen, “don’t meddle with another group of finders, whose leader is named ‘Basia’.”

“Are they a bunch of troublemakers?”

“You can say they’re youngblood just as you are, except they are more volatile, got a bunch of complaints they caused more trouble than they fixed them, they’ve easily influenced others too thinking this work is about all that merry band of adventuring like they were from them fairy tales.”

“I see, very well then, I shall take your words into consideration.”

With nothing more to discuss, both men part ways, Maya gives Misha his earned pouch of reward as calculated by Wallace himself. Misha stares at the cafeteria and Maya sees where his gaze are leading to…

“So, what are you gonna…huh?”

It is the food, it seems Misha is thinking of buying some quick snack for himself, after all he has been on the Path for quite some time and did not have much chance to get provisions.

“Are you thinking of trying out some of the guild’s specials? I recommend the roasted duck; Old Lady Yenna knows how to cook it slow and proper.” Maya tells Misha.

“I understand…” with a brief answer, Misha goes to the cafeteria counter to buy himself some food.

A man indeed of few words and even stricter reservations, Misha does not often say more than anything if not necessary. He seems even unresponsive to the festive music that fills in the halls of the guild by hired bards who often go town to town to sing ballads or take inspirations from the missions of pathfinders. Sitting on one of the empty tables, Misha removes his helmet, beneath it is a rather fair face, and a crown adorned with orange red hair similar to the colors of burning cinders and embers, against the black color of his armor, it waves in curls being kept in for long beneath the headgear.

While eating, all folk around him can be heard discussing several rumors and news around the town of Limevale, particularly some jobs that have been popping up.

“They say that there’s some springs that have popped up in the mountains not far from here, they’re considering dispatching a detachment of finders to investigate it.” another pathfinder tells to another.

“Why’d you sound excited?”

“Cause’ larger groups, means more pay, think on it!”

“A spring alone needs a party of four, what makes you think clearing up a spring will be a cinch?”

“Come on mate, so much for a dream job to set us up for life.”

“Get real, man…”

Then there are others who are far more concerned regarding the pressing matters of the kingdoms…

“I heard Bolamnia is in talks with the Latviria Empire down Southwest…” says one man.

“You mean Bolamnia is to be a vassal state then?” questions another.

“Perhaps…so long as it doesn’t lead to another war with the eastern nord folk.”

“You mean folks like us?”

“What’s the World Sovereign even about if there’s gonna be a third invasion from the South? I thought they are here to protect us and restore the unity of the old civilization.”

“This is a new frontier now man, a new world order, no such thing as unity anymore and those who think it is possible are either naïve or suffers an even worst fate than at the hands of a bleak from a dungeon.”

So on and so forth, though Misha overhears them, he does not listen much and only minds his business. He finishes his duck, and cleans up after his table, as ordained by policies of the guild, even though no one pays it much attention. He catches the attention of one of the keepers, who gives Misha a nod for what he just did, though he barely reacted back.

After a meal is over, Misha heads outside to pick out from his list of things needed. Near the market is a shop that sells various ointments and medicinal mixtures so he goes to it next.

“Good day, sir! Looking for something in particular?” the shopkeeper asks Misha as the store’s bell by the door rings as he comes in.

“Yes, I’m looking for something that can soothe pain and also disinfectants if you have them.” Misha tells the keeper.

“I do have them indeed! Ointment shelves and serums, feel free to browse yourself or you can take a look at my ledger by the counter.” the Keeper says to Misha.

Misha then browses for some bottles of medicines and ointments, something that can help him on his work along the way. For there are many other dangers along the path aside from creatures or other humans and animals. For example, diseases are still rampant, with other cases appearing in the last decade, or pockets of particle enacting as an irradiated poison to anyone who takes in too much of it. Lucky enough, there are treatments to dilute the particle and remove it from one’s system though such treatment and services in severe cases needs intervention from a licensed practitioner.

“Sutures and bandages?” Misha asks next.

“Right in the kit shelves, good sir…there are some alcohols there too, other disinfectants aside from salves.”

“Thank you…”

After taking what he needs, Misha goes to the counter to tally up his purchased items.

“Will that be all?” the keeper asks.

“Yes, that will do for now…”

“Alright, that amounts to, a hundred silver cogs.”

“Will two gold ones suffice?” Misha drops two cogs on the counter.

“Sufficiently so…”

Misha then packs the items he has bought in his satchel and the pouches of his utility belt, adorned with other tools he uses for his missions.

“By the way keeper, do you know of a nearby herbalist?” he then asks as he is about to leave through the door.

“Some lady by the outskirts named Tamara, she has good knowledge on the subject, other doctors consult to her if she’s got any greens available to treat folk.”

“Thanks, take care…” Misha leaves the shop.

Next, he heads to the workshop part of the market area, though he does not seek swordsmiths specifically. Ever since the advent of newer technologies from the centuries past, ballistic cartridges have now been rendered obsolete. Firearms still exist, though they come in different forms, no longer requiring black powder as propellants for projectiles. Directed energy weaponry have also been retained, charged-lock energy pistols, and crank-locked muskets powered by particle battery, though they are particularly effective, they are slow and cumbersome to reload, which meant relying on close-quarters weapons to be more of a necessity as well as the usage of common bows and crossbows, even a mere sling.

Misha visits the armorer instead; there is another detail upon the suit of armor Misha wears. He wears a medallion that contains the visage of large mountain feline. Also, an insignia is painted on his left pauldron bearing the same mark. The armorer stops his work to look at his latest customer. Those who work in the armor smithing business know long enough what the armor represents and who stands before them. Because they are the only one who would rather visit a suit craftsman and engineer them a new suit or maintain their current one, rather than have a sword made to order.

“Armorer, I’m—”

“It’s alright master pathfinder, I know of your kind, quite familiar with your work, only those that belong in your order would seek an armor smithy than a swordsmith.” the armorer recognizes Misha before he could even speak what he wants as a service.

“I’m surprised, are we really that distinct?” Misha says back.

“When you’re in the craftsman business, you tend to recognize more folk who may need your service. But where are my manners? I am Brom, and the young’un working over there is my assistant engineer, Mano.” the armorer introduces himself and his assistant.

“You know this person, master?” Mano asks.

“Not quite, but I do know what he would ask of us.” Brom says.

“Right, my gauntlets, greaves, and sabatons need some polish and maintenance, sharpening as well.” Misha says to both.

“Sharpening?” Mano is bewildered at the word.

“Just do as he asks Mano…” Brom says, “I take it the cuirass needs some care as well, sir?”

“Yes, but not so much, it only got a few nicks anyway.”

Misha takes off some of his armor to be maintained by the armorers, underneath it is a layer of soft but durable fabric jacket that Misha wears as an undersuit. As the craftsmen work on the pieces they are given with. Some mechanisms hidden in the mail begins to unravel itself. Razor sharp blades that retract into the fingertips of the gauntlets, and the same at the tip of the boots and the sabatons, there are also smaller circular blades located where the heels should be. The knuckles of the gauntlets are studded with spikes and other forms of machine-like mechanisms can be found where it reaches the forearms. The greaves are almost no different, it is laden with a kinetic capacitor that disperses energy on impact. It is as if the pieces of armor themselves not only serve to protect, but has become weapons to be used for some kind of combat or fighting style.

Mano approaches a resting Misha while Brom works on the more intricate parts.

“Are you a knight, sir?” he asks.

“I am…” Misha answers.

“From which land sir? Who’s your monarch?”

“I serve no crown or authority; I am a freelance knight.” Misha straightly answers.

A knight with no master, no flag, no kingdom to bear on his own. Even in the modern times, that will be quite unheard of, and yet here he is, arms folded and answers truthfully to the questions thrown at him by an inquisitive apprentice.

“A freelance…knight?” Mano ponders out loud what Misha meant.

“He means he serves no government, that man has committed himself to servitude of people rather than their Lords, Dukes, or Kings.” Brom interjects, “there are others like him going on and about, ordained knights rarely ever take up work related to the guilds, busy with all the affairs of governors and the Lords.”

“You mean like the Brilliant Seven?” Mano refers to a local folktale of brave knights that served no masters.

“Like them, exactly…”

It took a few hours, by the time maintenance is finished, it is nearly sundown. Brom presents the armor pieces to Misha who patiently waited for him to complete his work.

“Thanks for your handiwork, master armorer.” Misha says as he puts back on his gear.

“It’s still subpar in quality so to speak with those you can find who are experts in these types of suits, I did the best I could with the tools I have, yours is rather well made, one of the finest I’ve seen yet.” Brom tells Misha.

“You did what you can, I don’t ask for much, how much do I owe you?”

“Just two gold cogs will do…”

Misha then gives a payment for the service, “Farewell…”

Afterwards the knight then leaves, with the sun setting soon, he sets off to find an Inn to sleep in for the night. It so happens he has found one, and enough money to spend some on supper too. Not too far from the town square is the “Old Sheep’s Inn”, it is modestly size, unlike the larger ones. However, in such festive days, it will do to have a good night’s sleep as there is not much noise. Misha enters and walks up to the counter and pays the sum required for a room.

“A room for one, for the week…” he says to the clerk.

“Upstairs end of the hall, room with the blue door.” the clerk hands him the key.

“Appreciate it…”

Going up the stairs, Misha enters the room he is told to stay in, and after offloading his baggage, he lies down to bed to rest.

The next day….

Misha wakes up at the rooster’s crow, as if nearly on cue he makes a straight line for the bathroom to do his morning routine before putting on his pathfinder gear once more. After readying himself, he heads back to the guild to see if he can browse for some work, and maybe get some breakfast along the way. It is the second day of the harvest celebration, so today is no different from when he had just arrived. An onion soup for a first meal, and a warm tea to soothe the stomach preparing it for the day, with toasted bread dipped in melted cheese, it is not much but pathfinders rarely ever get a meal befitting that of a noble banquet, and it is hardly necessary for them.

As he is eating, came along a girl in gambeson, her hair is auburn in color, a natural color unlike the ones caused by the particle fallout causing children to have various degrees of pigmentation for their hair. In her hand is a tray of the same meal Misha is having, not meaning to be impolite, she asks the lonesome man…

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?”

“No, by all means…”

The girl sits across from Misha at the table and goes to have her own breakfast. He can sense her giving him some passing glances, as if meaning to tell or ask him something. Upon several moments of back and forth, he finally decides to comment on it…

“If you need to say something, you’re free to do so.” Misha tells the girl.

“Oh, is that so? Well, let’s start with introductions first, my name’s Salia, I’m a pathfinder here myself, my class is that of a lancer.”

“I’m Misha of Lekhia, likewise, I just registered the day before, my class is that…I guess I am one you can refer to as a common ‘Knight’.” Misha introduces himself.

“A knight? Then you must be a swordsman?” Salia speculates, but Misha does not confirm anything.

Not a moment too soon, both are joined by three others, another young woman with a dirty blond hair and two young men, another set of guild members themselves. The young woman approaches Salia, with a smug look upon her face which forms a grin as she puts her arm around her in a sarcastic gesture of friendship.

“Hey Salia, taking a little too long to get what we need? You found out what class he is yet?” the smug woman says.

“Yes Basia, he says he is a knight, just as you wanted to find out.” Salia answers.

“Basia”, the name rang familiar to Misha, the one who Wallace warned about, leading a party of rambunctious pathfinders on their way to cause more trouble than to finish any work posted at the board.

“Ohhh is that right, then that’s perfect! We kinda need someone to take the heat for us in our next mission; a knight shall suffice.” Basia remarks, “oh where are my manners? My name’s Basia and my other companions are named Nicol the archer, and Louis, who prefers using swords but is a scout, I myself belong in the thief category.”

Basia extends her hand to shake Misha’s, but Misha does not return the gesture.

“You already met our lancer, Salia, she’s new blood like you, ‘Carrot Top’, what can I say, we accommodate new faces around here, all we ask is we play nicely along with one another.” Basia tells Misha.

“I see, you guys like to ‘play’, I signed up here for work, it seems we have different purpose.” Misha then gets up and begins to leave.

“Hey, wait up! We don’t mean it like that!” Nicol says.

“Just listen to what our party leader has to say!” added Louis.

“You seem keen on wanting to get to know me, I am open to party up, but I need to be straight down to business.” Misha turns to face the four, “one last time, what do you need me for?”

Basia clicks her tongue, “You’re no fun at all you know that, Carrot Top? At any rate, we have work that would require some muscle to finish, some bleaks have been terrorizing the local homestead around north of here and wants it dealt with.”

“What kind of bleak are we talking about here? Lots of infestations going about, gotta be specific.”

“Koblids, little rascals that are as small as midgets but are relentless, but can grow to the enormous and muscular super koblids. Why am I even telling you this? Aren’t you a pathfinder? Should be basic knowledge to you.” Basia says to Misha.

“Fine, I’ll sign up for a party of five, for the duration of the mission strictly.” Misha replies.

“Great, see? You can be a little nice…”

“Hmm, when are we heading out?”

“So long as we get our bellies full and the horses ready, you do have your own mount, right?” Basia continues to put up a smug expression.

“Yeah…”

Misha goes to Maya at the reception desk who also saw what just recently transpired.

“Register me for a party of five…” he tells her.

“Ran into Basia and her merry band of fools, huh? Well old man Wallace warned you.” Maya says to Misha.

“I see…how long have they really been here?” Misha asks.

“Registered a couple of months back, said they are doing this somewhat as a hobby all with crap eating grins and rather uncouth behavior during the registration interview.” Maya tells Misha.

“A hobby?”

“Basia does not need this stuff, she came from a well-off family in the kingdom of Kofnir, places where manors and nobility often come for vacations and all, away from the turmoil of the central lands and regions.”

“So, she’s doing this for sport?”

“If you can call it that I suppose…frankly I think she is much more interested in messing with the lower or newer finders, often using them as bait for bleaks or making them do the hard labor during more strenuous jobs.” Maya further explains to Misha.

“I see…”

“Oh well, here is the registration form, I hope they don’t trouble you much, we had several resignations because of them, you know?” Maya gives the papers to Misha and he signs them.

Pathfinders have hierarchies too, so does any profession in order to ensure safety of anyone willing to take a risk. Starting with copper, the beginners of the jobs and have come trained with various knowledge from universities they are also assigned to usually minute tasks related to botany research and wildlife survey along with restoration of reclaimed areas, then silver, an intermediate rank that often begins to deal with minor bleak problems, beyond that is gold, where parties are organized to raid and cleanse dungeons. Then finally the highest of them all, platinum, platinum pathfinders are considered to be nearly equal to the commanding officers of various military forces, they not only hold strength, but also wisdom and skill, often organizing actual operations to quell dungeon threats or interfere with any matter that concerns politics in order to ensure peace rather than direct war. Most pathfinders reach between silver or gold, but those in platinum are trusted by many and are often in their wiser years at that point, rare does a young one reach a platinum standing.

Pathfinders are required to take an aptitude test if they want to handle higher paying jobs that require other ranks. Every so often a caravan will pass by to evaluate the pathfinders in a specific guild from town to town, and if they pass the tests, they shall receive promotions. Of course, a lone pathfinder is often a dead one, so each time someone registers, they must mark a specific class and expertise that befits their skill and what one can expect from them. Though it is often said that the catalogue is incomplete, as there are many other talents in which a pathfinder can find themselves great at, apart from the basics of the knight, scholar, and rogue.

After signing with the party, Misha joins the others outside, and he sees that Basia and her friends all have strong and muscular steeds, as if the healthiest from the stables the rich can afford. Their saddles are also adorned with various decorations, displaying such vanity, despite their ranks reaching a lower echelon of the silver. In the meantime, Salia joins them with her scrawny mount, which is all that she could afford from the local stable.

“How long will we be riding?” Misha asks Basia.

“A day and half’s ride from here, don’t worry, we’ve got enough wheat cakes to sustain the mounts, hers especially.” Basia makes a passing remark at Salia’s horse.

All five then saddle up and ride out of the town towards the one who sent the request.

Later on, on the road…

Salia rides up alongside Misha behind the other three while Basia leads the front. While riding alongside the knight, she observes some of the features of his being, his equipment is mostly complete, except for one thing, a sword befitting that of an ordained warrior, but she does not question it.

“How long have you been a pathfinder?” Misha asks Salia.

“Oh? Well, I graduated from the university two years ago, I signed up soon after that.”

“I see…”

“Well, I am not so bad myself, I am after all a silver ranked finder, I have some tenure or two.” a proud tone breaks out from Salia for a brief moment.

“So are they…” Misha refers to the ones before them.

“It’s amazing what a substantial number of cogs and bearings can buy you know, that is why I…I became a pathfinder in the first place.” Salia says, “the fighting they teach at private academies differs from what we are trained to do at the universities, where we have to grit our teeth.”

“Mhm, I noticed that you’ve barely earned a cog or two, despite being in a silver rank, where the pay could be substantial, what gives?”

“I’ve got my little brother and sister in the academy at Oxfort city, little Tyson and Tyrene, our parents passed from a scourge some time ago, and I had to move things on our own since our distant family couldn’t help much, every earnings I get, gets sent to them. Tyson is to become an engineer, and Tyrene wants to take up botany and agriculture, and pathfinding is a very lucrative job.” Salia tells Misha more about herself, “what about you, Sir Misha? What was the memory of your past like, before all this?”

“Snow…” Misha utters.

“Huh?”

“I remember snow, and the mountains, they’re mostly what’s been pretty clear for me.” Misha elaborates.

“I see…”

“Oy, you two catch up, or we’ll leave ya behind!” Basia calls out to the two, and both sped their horses up to a gallop.

Later that night…

The party stops to camp in order to pass the night. During the whole ordeal, it is Misha who is the one who collects the firewood, while Salia starts the fire. All three are busy lying about under the guise of planning, Misha observes this, though he does not comment on it. As the sun sets, Salia sets the woodpile ablaze with a bit of dry wood and a lighter she has packed on her person. When it is everyone’s turn to have supper, Salia only brought a piece of a small bread with her, due to her lack of funds to buy additional provisions.

“Ah, too bad that’s all she can afford, a long day in the road requires a proper meal!” Basia condescendingly remarks towards seeing Salia’s food, while she and the others unpack succulent cooked meats and fish.

Seeing this, Misha offers Salia a roasted potato he has for himself.

“Thanks!” Salia accepts Misha’s share.

“A potato? Come on, something cheap like that won’t be able to satisfy! Here, I have a chicken leg!” Nicol throws the cooked meat at both Misha and Salia, though there’s barely any meat even left on it.

“Hmm, I see, this could be rather dangerous…” Misha says, “certain animals are attracted to scent of cooked meat, no wonder I can sense wolves prowling upon us.”

Everyone stops what they are doing, and their eyes widen in shock, their silence is nearly as loud as their heartbeats that jump in speed as soon as they heard what their companion said. Misha listens for a minute, but relaxes just as quickly.

“They are not here yet, we should be safe, but someone needs to stand on guard, they will likely attack if our guard is down.” he tells everyone.

Basia shudders, “C-Come on now, what’s a couple of mutts gonna do to us? We are armed!”

“I heard there were a group of soldiers that got torn apart by wolves once because of how unprepared they were, took meat as a trail snack and they became dinner during the night.” says Salia.

“When going out on the road, if you cannot finish your protein meal quickly on a hunt, it’s best to bring vegetables, fruits, or bread for provisions, animals and mutants will smell you for miles wide.”

“Then—” Louis remembers the potatoes Misha packed.

“A large potato alone is enough to fill for the night…” Misha then stands up, “I’ll make some patrols and make sure nothing enters the vicinity of our camp.”

“I’ll join too—” Salia moves to join Misha, but he stops her with a gesture.

“No, you are needed in this camp to guard what’s left, I know you can fight, so I trust you on that duty, is that clear?” Misha tells Salia.

“Alright, I got it…”

Misha then leaves the group to go out on his own while the rest set up their tents and some sleeping mats. Salia pitches her own tent while the other three work on their own, no words between them are uttered, other than brief glances of sneer and looks of disdain. Salia told everything to Misha earlier, all except one, the reason why she accepted to be under Basia’s party. After everything is set up, they stifle the fire and douse it, preventing it from signaling possible vagabonds who are after traveling pathfinders and are waiting to ambush them.

Later on in the night, while Salia sleeps, she is briefly awoken by brief thudding sounds and some shaking. Due to her body being trained at least to sense danger in the wild, she picks it up by the touch of the ground through the mat. Though it did not seem to be of any danger, more or less just a rumbling sound coming from nearby, with that thought, Salia goes back to sleep.

The next morning…

The following dawn, Salia takes her flask and goes to a nearby flowing river to fetch some water. Everything is still covered in thick mist and the biting cold can still be felt through the thick jackets. As she is filling up her flask, she sees Misha has just finished with his own gourd, kept hanging on his horse’s saddle.

“Did you actually sleep last night?” she asks him.

“I did, for a brief time…” Misha answers, “come, we must wake the others and depart quickly.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right with you…”

As Salia follows after Misha, she looks to her left and sees a large oak tree. Now oaks are known to be hardy, with time, hardly any axe could cut one down, its wood is often used to make furniture due to how sturdy they are. Then she sees it, massive marks, almost gaping holes, the imprints of what seems to be hundreds of fists embedded into the tree as if someone punched their way in through sheer brute force. She gulped and felt her stomach sink for a second upon seeing it, as it is the first time she has seen such a thing, what even happened last night? Were those rumblings even connected to this?

“Lord, what on earth…” Salia mutters her thoughts out loud, she then struggles to get up and regroup with the rest.

After taking a brief moment, Salia helps in packing up the campsite they made last night and they saddle back up their belongings. There is much silence between the party after what had happened last night with Salia having had enough of Basia’s attitude and their habits almost leading them to peril regarding the dangers of the road. They get back up on their mounts and simply rode away.

It took about a couple of hours more before they reach their destination, the esteemed estate and vineyard of Silver Orchard. Despite the name, the vineyard is more known to grow its grapes to be sold to local markets or be juiced and converted into beverages. The recent harvest has attracted some local pests in the area, but none could have prepared them for arrival of the bleaks. As the pathfinders arrive, a well-dressed man in his fancy robes waves at them. The five then hitched their horses at a nearby post as they went on to meet the man with a gray beard, bald head, and stout build.

Naturally, being the party leader, Basia goes on to meet the man first and shakes his hand.

“We are the pathfinders who found your request at Limevale guild branch, I’m the leader of the party, Basia, you’re the owner of this estate, yes?” Basia speaks with eloquence in her tongue.

Observing it now, it seems more of a meeting between nobles than an actual servicemen and client introduction, though neither Misha and Salia has anything to say about it.

“Oh, thank goodness you have come, I’m Eduardo Valentein, and we have been besieged by these creatures since the last few days, come and inside and we’ll speak more.” the man introduces himself and invited the rest to his house.

Being a prominent vineyard, the farm has a fairly large house with a single floor and an attic. The walls are painted beige, but some of the furniture is showing their age, some paintings are hung on the walls, the ink on the canvass having some fade to them. The party is then seated in the living room, and Eduardo signals his servants to bring some accommodations to his guests.

“Fairly modest for a man with some wealth…” Salia quietly comments.

“At any rate, these bleaks you said were troublesome, where are they exactly?” Basia asks the man of the house.

“The attacks started about a week ago, when we discovered some underground tunnels that runs north of the farm…” Eduardo begins to describe the events beforehand, “there were some rumbling noises coming in from beneath our feet, we thought at first they were earthquakes of some sort, but we went on to investigate and found a sizeable cave system underneath, that’s when problems started arising however.”

“Is that when koblids started to appear?” Misha interjects.

Eduardo nods, “Little fiendish creatures, they’re small but relentless, as they describe them.”

“Koblids are Orcish-types, they are usually bipedal and humanoid in shape but possesses high aggression and moderate amounts of intelligence, usually they’re not that smart however.” Misha explains.

Bleaks come in many different types and forms, in general they are the result of the warping corruption induced by the mutations of the particle and its leftover springs. The radiation breaks down the body and the body tries to reconstruct itself only to gain flawed traits from where it should have healed naturally. The mutation also coincides with biological agents like bacteria, and viruses, making for other forms of mutation as one goes. Particles also corrupt and warp technology, however there are materials that can resist its irradiating effects. In general, bleaks are often hunted down due to the danger they pose for common folk of society, and they rarely offer any form of aid other than research data with the parts salvage from the creatures they create. Military forces around the world are made in order to deal with various attacks, but frequency of these disasters meant they will be spread too thin, hence another reason why the Pathfinder Guilds are established and why they exist in the first place.

“Orcish?” Basia turns to Misha.

“Yes, they are among the common types of bleaks, mainly because mutations that lead to them don’t come in short supply, as there are always population that can be turned.” Misha explains

“What about the ones they call ‘Super Koblids’?” Nicol questions.

“Those don’t exist, they bear resemblance to koblids, but we call them simply as giants because of how massive they are, mainly like a ‘super mutant’ in a more simplified manner.” Salia adds, “bleak bestiary knowledge is often a main subject before someone decides to be a finder because it’s an important part of our job to clean them up.”

“This chick, hey spear girl, don’t get too cocky now, just because you’re more knowledgeable than us…” Basia says under her breath.

“At any case, when do the attacks usually start?” Misha asks Eduardo.

“Come nightfall, my men and hands are barely hanging on, I sent my wife and daughter to the city because of the danger.” Eduardo tells him

“We’ve got nearly eight hours to move, if there is a spring under there, it will just reset the problem.” Misha says.

“Then what do we do? No way we can clear that with just a single party!” Louis slams his fist unto a nearby table.

“Might I offer a solution, if anyone wants to listen?” Salia raises her hand and everyone’s gaze turns to her.

When everyone seems ready to listen, she begins to speak.

“We are not ready for a cleaning operation, and by my calculations, we’ll be overrun if we rush under there with what we have on us. But koblids usually come in waves, they often roam around areas like a form of a hunting and gathering pack, the chances of having a spring down there is quite minimal, considering that they might have just dug into the wrong territory.” Salia explains.

“Then, what do you propose we should do?” Misha questions.

“Koblid waves are often numbered at about seven, once per night, if they started a week ago, then tonight will be the final wave.” Salia answers.

“Thank Lord that this is the last then…” Nicol remarks.

“However, it is also the largest of their forces since they will give everything they’ve got, they probably have grunt koblids with them too, larger than average variants of a koblid, normally as big as a normal human.” Salia adds.

“How massive would the wave be?” asks Misha.

“About a hundred or so…”

“A…hundred, koblids?” Basia utters.

“I’ll take them on…” Misha says, as everyone looks towards him.

“Hold on carrot top—” Basia tries to interject with what Misha just said.

“That’s why you recruited me, right? I can handle the heat just as you asked.”

Basia grits her teeth at Misha's response, unsure about his confidence.

“Alright then, if you got a death wish, so be it…” Basia turns to the rest of the party, “you heard what the spear girl and carrot top said, let’s move it.”

Just as Basia says, everyone goes on to get ready for the battle ahead. But Salia tarries a little longer, staring at her, having gained some confidence now in this brief journey. And can no longer tolerate how much Basia has been a thorn towards her, she begins to speak…

“What’s the matter? Are you realizing the reality of our work now?” Salia tells her.

“You think someone shows up and you can just have the stones to tell me off? Who do you think you are!?” Basia goes off on Salia, much to Eduardo’s shock who is watching nearby.

“I am a pathfinder just like you, I spent my time doing actual work so that I can survive in this world, for what little I have left. That is what I am, I can’t blame you for how you see me, or what our job is, but I don’t aim to be buried here.” Salia smiles at Basia.

“You think you can mock me and see if you can keep your brother and sister’s status as students at Oxfort?” Basia threatens.

“If that is how you see it, then I won’t hold it against you either, but will you be able to afford it when our lives are on the line? I really implore you think on that, for I am no longer afraid.” Salia tells Basia before leaving with the others.

Basia feels her breath shorten and her chest tighten, as she comes upon the realization of the work she took. Her family from Kofnir is from a line of merchants selling trinkets and wares beyond the desert towards the Far Eastern Lands through the Linen Road. As she grew up, Basia grew tired of the things being handed to her, leading her to assume the work of a pathfinder to find what it is like to be in the frontier, along with her two friends, rich sons of the associates of her father. The trio did all they can to climb up through the hazards of the industry, even among the copper ranks. When mishaps happen, they usually blame it on their new party members, who would take the fall for fear of losing their support in the background.

Though now is the time for her true mettle to be tested, and she could only feel everything catch up to her. She is trained to fight others in sporty combat, but to survive will require more than reading others.

Later on, few moments before nightfall…

The party set some basic traps as they await the waves of bleaks that are about to arrive come sundown. Pitfalls, and some snares are laden across the northern side of the farm, the remaining able farmhands and the party await the attack with Misha sitting on one of the crates containing bottles of grape juice.

“I overheard you and Basia earlier…” Misha tells Salia.

“Oh, you did?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude…”

Salia then giggles, “You’re a silly man, Misha…”

“How so?”

“Of course you would have overheard it, we were yelling.”

“Yeah…” Misha briefly glances at Salia but faces forward once more, “I never asked, why did you really join them?”

“It’s simple really, I want a better life and track for my siblings, she told me she can pull strings so that it wouldn’t be so difficult, I was such a fool…I ended up funding the whole thing myself and they got away with the time I gave them.” Salia continued their earlier conversation on the road.

“Why be so confident now?”

“I don’t know, perhaps because we are close to certain definitive things, tonight decides it all, I’ve mulled it over a day ago, this might be the last time I can even say these things and be who I am, and so, I won’t have any regrets, all I wish is for my brother and sister to grow up even on their own, and I’m glad to have met such a companion like you, Sir Misha.” Salia muses on what lies ahead.

“Nobody needs to die…” Misha says.

“You sound optimistic despite the stoicism, but you know the reality of this, don’t you?”

“I do, but…doesn’t mean it has to be the outcome, I won’t let it be.” Misha declares.

That’s right, it is not necessary, never was, never will be, what matters is a life lived to the fullest. It doesn’t have to be grim, and we can make it even from the darkest pits we are casted into. That is what you wanted, right, Master?

Misha stands up as the rumbling from afar can be felt, as if a small army is about to descend on them in a grand battle.

“Here they come, get ready…”

Everyone assumes a combat stance, with their left foot forward and right back, weapons at the ready. But Misha, he has no sword at all, he walks slowly towards the approaching horde, flexing his arms.

“Sir Misha…?” Salia ponders what her fellow party member is doing.

The first koblid stepped into a trap, a pitfall laden with wooden spikes below set before hand while the others are caught in snares. Standing at a mere three feet in height, the koblids are definitely small in stature yet they are strong and agile. Misha signals Nicol to shoot his arrow at the oil barrels they set up, he does it and it sets alite the trench they dug up earlier, causing numerous koblids to be set ablaze.

A koblid then lunged at Misha, however he loaded his fist and delivers a powerful straight punch, exploding the bleak with sheer force. Salia sees this happen, and her mind flashes back to a sight she saw earlier, the tree they camped under the night before. Meanwhile more bleaks descend on them, as the farmhands try to push them back with their pitchforks and rakes, Louis tries to swing his sword at them but ends up missing a swing, resulting in several cuts in his arms and lower body as several koblids begin to overwhelm him.

“Louis!” Basia screams, but a koblid jumps towards her and tackles her, with its knife raised, she is then stabbed in the shoulder, and she wails in agonizing pain.

Misha then reaches for his belt and throws chevron shaped projectiles at the ones who have broken through their defenses, the razor-sharp blades of the ‘wingcutters’ pierces the backs of their skulls rendering the koblids neutralized. Misha then turns his attention back to the rest of the koblids, he then sees that the remaining waves are all grunts, the strongest of the horde and stands around nearly the same height as they are.

Come on then, you monsters, just go and try to make it past me!

Misha charges at the grunts starting with a strike from his arm, the claws of his gauntlets then bare itself, along with the razor blades tucked in his sabatons. A swipe then cuts through one of the grunt’s faces, destroying it instantly, while his leg sweeps slice around him like a sharp blade swathing through blades of grass. Salia and the others begin to realize, Misha does not pack a sword, and this is his true combat form.

In his vision, Misha sees a landscape covered in snow, around him are other knights wearing similar armor as his. Some have already fallen, while others are barely standing. As he looks up, he sees what looked like hundreds of bleaks descending on them, as they face the monstrosities and charge towards what seems to be an impossibility. While seeing this, words echo in Misha’s head, repeating itself like a metronome.

Do you know what this is, Misha? It is a dice, once rolled it can land on certain sides with a specific number, maybe a one, or two, three, or let alone four, sometimes to twenty. This is how things are, but when you let it roll, you leave it to chance, you must be the one to dictate what number you want the side to face you. If you want everyone to live, then do it, if you want to live, do it…make it yours.

Misha pulverizes through the group of grunt koblids, one by one, they fall to his lethal swipes, and kicking sweeps. Though he did not feel them, some of them had managed to get a few hits on him, cuts on his armor, and dents made by clubs and cudgels, yet he pushes on as if on an unstoppable march. Until then, there is no one left standing but him.

Don’t let it roll, don’t let it roll, don’t let it roll, this time, everyone shall live. No prices nor toll to be paid.

After a brief moment, Misha collapses, and Salia along with others run towards him.

The next day…

It was quite a night, everyone rests up though bandaged and has some sleep, they are still wounded. After the night’s ordeal, the smug faces of Basia, Nicol, and Louis have now been replaced by glum, as if witnessing the end of the world over night and having managed to live through it. Misha despite his wounds managed to gain consciousness early, though still unable to move much, he has managed to put on his armor with some struggle. Salia herself has had some lacerating cuts from the battle, and she has to treat them with provisions taken from Misha’s satchel.

Eduardo approaches Misha, since he cannot speak properly to Basia, the supposed party leader.

“I have prepared a wagon for you, in your condition, you’re in no shape to ride a horse.” Eduardo tells Misha.

“I see, thanks, and sorry to bother you so much.” Misha replies.

“Son, it is your other party members who need to learn a lot more from the road, you and that lancer have done plenty for me.”

“You seem to be a man who actually knows the Path.”

Eduardo then rolls up his trousers up to his knees, and there Misha sees a scar on one of them.

“I used to be one myself, how’d you think I managed to afford a place like this?” he tells the young pathfinder.

“An arrow to the knee, huh?”

“It isn’t really a joke when it happens to you.” Eduardo lets out a chuckle, “but those days are over now.”

“You ever regret quitting?”

“Nope, it is a small price I have to pay if I have to stay, for them.” Eduardo looks at a painting of his family.

Salia then enters the living room to say something.

“The wagon and horses are ready; we can leave now.”

Misha stands up, “Time we are on our way…”

“I’ll put a good word in for you all, you did good.” Eduardo tells both pathfinders.

Salia and Misha then nods before leaving.

Later on, back in Limevale…

The party arrives back at the town with a taste of bittersweet victory looming over their faces. However, despite the glum on their situation, Salia still manages to smile, which Misha does notice, enough so that he comments on it.

“You seem happy…”

“I’m just glad it is over, I really thought that was gonna be it for us, or even for me.” Salia leans back riding beside Misha on the wagon’s driver seat.

“I see…”

“During that night, you said that death is not a necessity for it, I still wonder what you mean by that.”

“I don’t see it as a necessity for the mission to be successful.” Misha then turns to Salia, “is it something you would have chosen?”

“Of course not, nobody goes and chooses something like that as the outcome of their journey.” Salia answers, “still, I am thankful I came out of it alive, that is always the choice I’d make for myself, and for my siblings.”

“Well said…” Misha compliments Salia's answer

They arrive on the guild’s doorstep, Salia and Misha then assist their fellow party members get down from the wagon as they are wounded. Wallace is there waiting for them and approaches…

“Boy oh boy, I take it you lot have done it this time?” Wallace tries talking to a fugue state Basia.

“I…am, still alive…” she utters along with some incoherent whispers.

“I take it this will be the last time you’re gonna cause trouble, oh well, feel free to hand over your retirement papers to Maya if you want.” Wallace then face Salia, “oh and Salia, you’ve got visitors inside the guild, I think you’ll be happy to see them.”

“Oh?”

Salia then enters the guild and sees two children, a boy and a girl, they both run up to her going for a tight embrace.

“Big sister Sally!” their tiny voices said in unison.

“Tyson, and Tyrene!” Salia wraps her arms around her small siblings, “how did you get here?”

“It’s semestral break big sis!”

“We decided to spend it to see you! Our classmates gave us a way to ride a coach here.”

“I’ve missed both of you dearly…” a single tear of happiness falls from Salia’s eye.

Misha watches the scene unfold from the doorway, with Wallace by his side.

“The reward will mostly go to her and you, I heard you were the ones who stood your ground the most.” Wallace tells Misha.

“The others did their part too…”

“Don’t matter, witnesses already vouched for it, we do reward calculations based on participation during a signed party.”

“I see…”

“I found out something else too during your mission, you know?”

“What else did you find?”

“Some years back, there was a massive raid involving an order of knights originating from the Sky Piercing Peaks, against a dungeon, I remember that well because it is among the latest operations conducted by the guild with an order of knights.”

Misha stays quiet, and Wallace goes on.

“The name of the order is the Berserker Vanguard, most of their activities are well hidden, but there are a couple of things people know about them, that they don’t use weapons like spears or swords, anything in particular, and that they wear specialized armor combining old technology with current engineering, and specializing in hand-to-hand combat. They are freelance as supposed to be ordained by local lords or other rulers.”

“Did you also know about the casualty count?” Misha asks.

“Somewhere between five hundred…”

“A thousand, a small price they said for the victory over the dungeon.”

“Hardly a necessity if you ask me…”

“It wasn’t, never was, it was something neither side have to pay for.”

“What are you gonna do now?” Wallace asks

“I will walk forward…” Misha answers.

A Small Price--- End