The ride out of town had been about as boring as Max had imagined. He was put on the back of a wagon, leaning against barrels that were loaded with some sort of liquid no one felt the desire to talk about.
The other three wagons were loaded with sacks of flour.
Four carts, eight workers, and a guy running for his life.
Sounds like a typical adventurer story to me.
Max laughed at his joke as they rode toward the setting sun. There were still a few hours of light left, and the caravan leader had set a fast pace, looking to maximize the waning rays of the sun.
Setting up camp was about as dull as Max figured it would be. They had circled the wagons on a flat portion of the ground near the road. From the looks of it, this was a typical spot where people often did the same thing, as many ruts and tracks led to this area in the dirt.
The caravan workers had begun setting up for the night, pulling out some food and starting to cook over the fire one of them had gotten going.
Max had done what he could to help, earning a few nods of appreciation and taking the edge off the group, who at first seemed dissatisfied with his presence.
The entire time, everyone ate, no one talked. It was the weirdest thing to experience, and Max wasn’t sure if he caused this or if it was normal for them.
Once everyone was fed and the horses cared for, they began rolling out blankets.
“You want me to take a turn keeping watch?”
The massive man they called Roan looked down at him, reading everything he could about Max with his eyes.
Max nodded, trying to ignore how the man's voice sounded. It was like the guy had gravel in his throat it sounded so rough.
“And you want a turn on night watch even though you paid for passage?”
“I was always raised to do my fair share of work. Why not now?”
Letting out a grunt, the man nodded as he cracked his thick sausage-like fingers.
“If you want to, the men won’t argue. I’ll give you first watch tonight.”
Max nodded, went to where his spear was, and grabbed it, moving to the fire and one of the logs he had carried over.
Sitting down on it, he grabbed a cup, filled it with the tea the men had left near the fire, and watched as the men tipped their heads toward him.
In minutes, snoring came from the collective group, and Max smiled as he sipped his drink.
After an hour passed and ensuring everyone was asleep, Max pulled the backpack out of storage again and opened up the other book.
Inside was a language he had never seen before. Every page of the book was covered in that script, and it felt dark. It was hard to explain, but in his mind, glancing over the pages somehow made him want to shiver. Stuffing it into the pack, Max pulled out the daggers he had taken off Serhmy.
Two were magical, each with a bonus of one to dexterity. The other four were nothing more than a sharp dagger that felt well-balanced in his hand. They all looked alike, and as he stared at one, he finally figured out what these daggers were.
This is what he threw at me.
Sticking all the throwing daggers back into the backpack, Max played with one of the magical ones. He could tell he only got the bonus when he held it.
An idea struck him, and he grabbed his spear which was leaning on the log next to him, and held both.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He resisted letting out a whistle, but those stats were mind-boggling. With his spear and bracers, he was well on his way to some crazy good numbers.
As long as he held the dagger, he kept the added dexterity point, but he didn't get the bonus if it wasn’t in his hand. Realizing it wasn’t worth keeping on his belt since he had forgotten to take the sheaths from Serhmy’s corpse, he tucked it back into the backpack and returned it to storage.
The other six items in storage were all pieces of armor and equipment.
He pulled out the boots and saw they were much nicer than his and in better condition. As he began to try slipping them on, Max suddenly realized a mistake.
Mother clucking goblin shite! I should have taken his armor!
With a sigh, he pulled the boots on, only to find them tight around his feet. The length was good, but they were snug.
Frowning, he pulled them off and stuck them back into storage.
There's no point walking around in shoes that hurt all the time.
All the other equipment appeared to be basic leather armor and, finally, Max pulled out a cloak. It was soft, very soft, and a darker black than the night sky. Putting it on made him feel weird, but examining it revealed it was just a nice cloak. It even had a hood that covered most of his face when pulled up over his head.
I’m not sure I’m ready to be someone who wears a cloak.
Taking it off, he put it back into storage and glanced around the camp again. Everyone was still asleep and snoring.
He wasn’t sure how much time was left in his watch, but there were other things he wanted to try.
Holding his hand out, he cast the magic ice shard, aiming his hand over the carts.
His hand glowed blue for a few seconds, and then a piece of ice appeared before flying off over the cart and disappearing into the night.
Three seconds or so. Good to know.
Having tested out one of the skills he wanted to try and managing to go through everything else in the dimensional vault, Max crossed his arms and sighed.
At this moment, he found out why night watch was no fun.
The hours had dragged by, and after what he figured had been long enough, he went over to the person he had been told to wake and gave them a shake.
They got up without complaints and thanked him before moving to the fire.
Lying down, Max was asleep the moment he closed his eyes.
Halfway through the second day, a wheel busted, almost tipping over the cart filled with grain sacks.
It had taken a while, but they emptied the cart faster than expected, with Max chipping in. The men had commented on how strong he must be as Max easily grabbed each sack and tossed them with exceptional proficiency in a pile.
“You seem a little bit beyond most adventurers we meet,” Roan said as they both watched the men replacing the wheel. “Why did you stay so long in Windsor Wheel?”
“I had some friends there adventuring and wanted to help. Always better to have someone around to ensure you stay alive.”
A hearty laugh came from Roan as he nodded and motioned to two men standing slightly away from the carts.
“Both of them are adventurers who gave up early on. They have some skill with their sword, but nothing big. I believe each is above level five.”
Max recognized one of them as the man he had woken up to take over at night. They moved with a little more grace than the others.
“Always good to have trained men on the road. I have had some encounters at night before when traveling alone.”
Roan’s eyebrow danced a little as the large man looked at Max.
“You survived a night attack?”
Laughing, Max shook his head and pointed toward the wood, away from the road.
“I sleep in a tree if it's just me. Not the best place for a good night's rest, but beats a goblin sticking you as you sleep.”
Breaking into laughter, the large man slapped Max on the shoulder and paused his laughing when he saw that Max had barely moved.
“Good gods, you are tough. You didn’t even react.”
Shrugging, Max motioned to the cart.
“You want me to help them or let them do it?”
Snorting, Roan shook his head.
“If you do too much of their work, it will take me weeks to break them of the thought that they don’t need to.”
Max smiled and then began to walk toward the trees.
“I’ll be back. Might as well take this chance to use the restroom.”
The wheel had taken over an hour to be fixed and get back on the road, upsetting Roan as they were not where he wanted to be when they camped.
Max caught the men glancing around more frequently as the sun disappeared, and the light was replaced by darkness.
Roan leaned over and whispered, “I would have preferred to be further down the road. We are on the outskirts of a dungeon, and depending on how things turn out, we might see some wolves.”
Max saw the look in Roan’s eyes and knew it was more than he had said.
“How bad are we talking?”
Roan motioned to the treeline that was only about fifty yards away.
“Bad enough, we will have two people on every shift.”
Sitting across from Dexter, the older adventurer Roan hired for the crew, Max felt uncomfortable as the man barely spoke during the first hour of their watch.
He had tried asking questions and making jokes, but the man sat there, bouncing his sword on his knee.
Dexter’s brown hair was never combed, he needed a good haircut, and his clothes were always wrinkly from sleeping in them. His eyes told Max there was something dark inside.
A few howls from deep in the forest near them had snapped Dexter’s attention away from the fire as he stared at it, but when nothing came of it, he would return to the eerie gaze, keeping his eyes on the fire.
Max went to bed when their shift ended, more exhausted from his watch partner than anything else.
Max jerked himself awake as the cry ended, grabbing his spear beside him.
Jumping up, Max scanned the area, seeing everyone else getting up and grabbing anything they could to prepare for what must be coming.
A few loud howls came from the direction of the woods.
“How many?” he heard Roan call out as the man grabbed a sword.
The man’s voice trembled as he shouted an answer.
“Ogre shite!’ Roan roared as he ran toward the fire with a stick in his other hand. “You fools, get up! Protect the horses and stay in the circle! Watch your legs, and don’t go off alone!”
Max ran toward the direction of the howls, looked through the break in the wagons, and saw a pack of eight wolves moving along the ground as one.
They were spread out, each of them larger than any wolf he had seen before. One in the middle was completely white, a good foot taller than all the others, and was out in front just a little bit.
He heard Dexter curse and realized the man was next to him.
“We are all going to die.”
Turning his head, Max saw the man’s face.
Max could see that Dexter believed the words he had just spoken.