Scroll 52: Cold Delivery Elf
At a distance, sheltered behind a tree trunk, Alaster watched the orc swing his blade blindly at the space he had occupied a second ago. The massive creature spun its head in all directions, expecting a counterattack at any moment. Beside it, the other orc tried awkwardly to stand, swaying and shaking its head from the concussion of the fall.
«I need to finish this fast,» Alaster thought urgently. «Can't give them a chance to raise the alarm.»
He stepped out of hiding fifteen meters away. His mage ring barely held eighty mana, but he didn't hesitate. Channeling his remaining energy, he wove three ice lances in rapid succession.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
The frozen projectiles cut through the air. Alerted by the sound, the orcs raised their heavy swords into a rigid guard. The muscular orc that had attacked him earlier reacted just in time, stepping aside so the first lance only grazed its armor. Its companion wasn't as fortunate. Still disoriented from the blow to its head, it took the other two lances head-on: one to the chest and another to the leg. The tips failed to pierce the thick metal plates, but the sheer impact lifted the brute off its feet, dragging it several meters across the dirt.
«He's wide open. This is my chance.»
Blink!
Alaster's vision blurred for a fraction of a second as the world froze around him. He materialized in midair, directly above the fallen creature, the tip of his longsword aimed straight at its throat. Bringing the full weight of his descent behind the strike, he plunged the blade down.
Steel bit through flesh, sending dark crimson spurting outward. The dying orc tried to raise an arm for a desperate swing, but life left its eyes before its weapon could touch the elf. Alaster yanked the blade free with a sharp jerk and immediately locked eyes with the remaining orc, who stared back in disbelief just a few feet away.
The creature opened its mouth, drawing a breath to let out a bellowing alarm.
"Not happening!"
Blink!
The world froze again. Closing the five-meter gap instantly, Alaster reappeared behind the orc, executing a practiced thrust meant to punch through armor and shatter its spine. Sensing the threat, the monster twisted its torso at the last second. The brutal momentum of the strike lost its edge as steel scraped against the chest plate with a dull screech, the orc completing its turn to face him.
The monster delivered a heavy horizontal slash. Alaster crossed his own blade to block it.
CLANG!
The clash of metal echoed through the woods, throwing off a shower of sparks. They stood face-to-face, straining against crossed swords in a test of raw pressure. Feeling the monster's weight, Alaster realized its physical strength slightly surpassed his own.
«Damn it! I only have forty mana left. I need to kill him now.»
The monster stepped back to break the bind, taking advantage of the space to spring forward with a wide, ferocious slash.
Blink!
Alaster reappeared behind it, driving another thrust forward. This time, the orc was ready: without turning around, it delivered a brutal backward kick. Its heavy boot slammed straight into the elf's hip, sending a jolt of pain shooting down his leg. Despite the blow, Alaster's strike found its mark. The blade buried itself ten inches deep into the creature's upper back, piercing through armor and shoulder blade straight into its heart.
The orc dropped dead instantly, but the momentum of the kick sent the elf flying. He tumbled across the dirt for twenty feet before skidding onto his back.
«Ouch...» Alaster thought, gritting his teeth as he tried to roll over.
He stared up at the sky through the canopy. Pain radiated through his hip and arm, but it wasn't unbearable. Slowly pushing himself up, an acute sting shot through his side as he put weight on his right leg. He quickly checked himself with a free hand—no open wounds or cuts, just a deep bruise from the impact.
«That didn't go as smoothly as I hoped.»
He checked his mental UI to assess the damage: 326/400 HP. Nothing critical, but he couldn't afford to lower his guard. Brushing the dirt from his long coat and scanning the perimeter, he vanished.
He materialized high up on the branch of a dense tree, seeking the safety of height to catch his breath. Shifting from standing to a careful seat, he let his legs dangle in the air and let out a long sigh.
"That was close," he muttered quietly to himself. "I need to keep the ring charged, or I'm going to pay a heavy price."
He glanced at the longsword still in his right hand. The blade was smeared with dark blood. With a quick flick of his wrist that made the steel hum, he cleared the metal and sheathed it.
«Never thought these things would have rear patrols,» he scolded himself, scanning the thicket for movement. «What am I even getting into? Now I'm dodging monsters in a forest when I was only supposed to take out the horde's commanders. I really am missing a screw... Though I guess I've always been like this. I like taking risks. Like those options trading plays... If they had worked, I would've made millions.»
The elf grimaced, remembering how his financial strategy had looked flawless until the market crashed, leaving him with nothing. He shook his head to clear the ghosts of his past.
«Tsk, no time for that. Joseph Moore is dead. Now the fate of that town—and my reward—depends on me killing these things. Just keep the ring charged.»
He oriented himself toward the east using the position of the sun, which had only a couple of hours before dipping below the horizon. The village lay to the east, meaning moving north would allow him to flank the enemy's rear.
Alaster stepped off the branch, dropping from a height of twenty-five feet. He felt the wind rush past his face as his coat whipped in the air.
Blink!
Instead of slamming into the ground, he altered his momentum mid-fall, reappearing moving at high speed through the tree canopy. Landing on a thick limb, he leaped into the void and repeated the process. Reaching another high branch, he locked his eyes on a distant point.
Blink!
He warped in an instant, but materialized in midair, over fifteen feet short of the target branch. He had miscalculated the distance. Gravity dragged him down immediately as he watched the limb slip away above him.
Blink!
Before dropping even a few feet, he repositioned himself onto firm wood. Crouching on the branch with his heart hammering against his ribs, he let out a breathless gasp.
«Almost fell... I need to gauge the distance properly or I'll end up splattered on the ground.» Carefully turning on the branch, he looked down at the thirty-foot drop. «Well, at least I know I'd make a decent circus performer. And that I can chain Blinks in midair.»
He continued through the foliage. After twelve consecutive warps, the tree density thinned out, revealing a much larger concentration of enemies. Four orcs and at least twenty goblins were gathered around an improvised camp with several tents.
From his elevated vantage point, Alaster noticed a peculiar detail. Among the orcs stood a shorter, slender figure completely shrouded in a black hooded robe that hid its face. Before this individual lay a deep trench dug into the earth, emitting a thick, dark mist.
«What in the world is that? Don't tell me they have cultists here too.»
The hooded figure extended both hands over the pit while chanting in a monotone voice. Beside it, a dark-bound grimoire floated in midair, receiving fleeting glances from the summoner.
"Darkness supreme, flesh and horror forged in unholy embers... Take shape, grow, feed the abyssal corruption... Genesis: Orc Warrior!"
Alaster watched in disbelief as an iron-clad skeletal hand emerged from the mist inside the pit. Within seconds, strips of muscle, tendon, and skin rapidly wove themselves over the bone. A fully formed orco dragged itself out of the trench.
The summoner began breathing heavily, visibly exhausted from the effort. It rasped an order, and two guard orcs stepped forward to drag the newly created, naked creature into a large tent.
«So that's the brain behind the orcs,» Alaster analyzed from the treetop. «This guy is mass-producing troops. And he's probably the one who gave them the barrier artifact... Should I capture him?»
He considered it for a moment before shaking his head.
«Not the most immediate threat. If I try to capture or attack him now, I'll alert the mounted squad. They'll hunt me down or go on high alert, ruining the element of surprise. I have no choice but to ignore him for now; the riders are the real direct threat to the wall.»
Deciding to gather intelligence before pressing north, he executed a short Blink and reappeared behind the main tent—the largest one in the camp. An orco guarded the front entrance, but Alaster ignored it. Peering inside through a tiny tear in the canvas, he used his teleportation magic to slip inside.
He materialized in a crouch, scanning for threats. The interior was deserted. There was a simple cot, a table covered in maps and half-eaten food, and several stacked wooden crates that seemed to hold supplies. Treading silently over to the table, he spotted a stool holding a pile of open correspondence. Taking one of the letters, he skimmed it quickly while keeping an eye on the tent flap
**Brother Istis,
I have read every single one of your complaints regarding the sacred duty I assigned to you. I am disappointed by your lack of faith in our glorious task for Crame and his grace. However, I trust your intellect to secure the necessary sacrifices. I would not have entrusted this sacred mission to anyone else.
Regarding your request, gold is no issue. You must be preparing something grand if you have already spent the three hundred coins I sent; regardless, I have arranged for four hundred more to be dispatched to Sibar. Use them wisely, and remember to destroy this letter. It is my duty to remind you, Brother, that this mission dictates the fate of our order. That noble promised much to the High Priest should this succeed...***
The rest of the text consisted of religious rhetoric regarding their deity's greatness.
«Wow,» Alaster thought. «A fanatical cult. I really hit the jackpot for weird problems.»
Opening a small fracture into his dimensional storage, he tossed inside the documents containing relevant information. He then scattered the remaining papers across the table to make it look like the wind had blown them around.
«The letter said this Istis guy handles the money. Better take it; leaving resources to someone like him is way too dangerous.»
He searched the area quickly until his eyes landed on the cot. Approaching with a smirk, he lifted the thin mattress. Hidden in a corner of the wooden frame sat a small, reinforced chest. He picked it up and opened it carefully.
A golden reflection illuminated his face. At a glance, he estimated at least a hundred gold coins, stamped with a lion on one side and a man's profile on the other.
«Wait... If I take this, the guy will know someone broke into his tent.» He shrugged mentally. «Not really my problem. I just need to report this to the guild. It's not like I'm going to solo-dismantle a cult.»
With his conscience clear under the justification of financially crippling the fanatics, he stashed the chest into his spatial rift and sealed it with a wave of his hand. Taking one last look around, he vanished.
Back in the branches, he glanced over his shoulder at the camp.
«I'll come back after the main mission. With any luck, the summoner will still be here.»
He advanced north until he positioned himself behind a thick trunk surrounded by bushes. From there, he observed the primary force: a thirty-eight-strong platoon of orcs mounted on bloody wolves. About twenty meters from his position lay the outer boundary of the magic dome, barely visible to the naked eye. Inside, the beasts and riders looked imposing. These were hulking orcs atop red-eyed wolves with massive jaws; according to the girls, they hovered around level thirty—double his own level.
Alaster leaned his back against the tree, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to settle his nerves.
«It's simple. Get close, cross the barrier, cast the spell, and run. Foolproof.»
He raised his hand and channeled mana into the ring for nine seconds. With his reservoir full, he stepped silently toward the perimeter. Most of the orcs kept their eyes glued to the village wall, while a few ate or talked among themselves.
Taking advantage of the low grass, he crossed the artifact's threshold unseen. Directly before him stood a rider with its back turned. The rancid stench of the orco and the damp fur of the wolf hit his nostrils, but Alaster didn't waste a second. He began weaving the formula for Wave Spikes.
In that instant, the orc's laughter cut short. The monster snapped its head around, locking eyes with the elf. For a second that felt like an eternity, both stood frozen—until the giant reacted.
"GRRRRAARRR!"
The orco let out a roaring alarm that drew the entire platoon's attention, but it was already too late to stop the spell. Alaster raised his ringed hand.
Crack!
A wave of sub-zero cold radiated from his feet, instantly freezing the grass and turning the dirt to stone. The orcs turning to face the intruder tried to spur their mounts, only to find the wolves' paws stuck to the frozen ground. The nearest rider reached for the sword on its back, but in that exact second, a surge of jagged ice pillars erupted from the earth.
The sound of shattering ice and crushing armor filled the air. Most of the orcs and their mounts were impaled instantly by the frozen spikes. Others remained pinned, roaring in agony as they struggled to break free, while a few began desperately hacking at the ice structures to clear a path, heavily wounded.
Suddenly, the muscular fatigue and hip pain vanished from Alaster's body. He had leveled up. Facing high-level enemies instead of simple goblins, the experience yield was massive.
The nearest orco, clutching a deep abdominal wound, continued hammering at the ice blocks to break free.
«I need to finish him, but I can't waste mana on ranged spells.»
He drew his longsword. Seeing the success of his opening attack, his ambition grew: «I'm taking that artifact. Thanks for sharing.»
He closed in on the wounded orco and delivered a transverse slash.
CLANG!
The orco raised its sword to parry. The impact was so violent that Alaster's hand vibrated painfully, his arm rebounding off the block.
«He's strong,» he analyzed, taking two steps back.
Switching tactics, he delivered a rapid thrust. The point slipped past the orc's guard and buried itself deep into its right flank. Blood gushed out, and the creature—half its body still trapped in ice—collapsed over its frozen mount.
Alaster looked past it into the center of the frozen array. Among the remnants of the patrol, a leaner orco was barely holding onto a worn metallic sphere covered in silver runes.
Blink!
He appeared directly in front of the cultist, snatching the artifact from its trembling hands. Reacting on instinct, the orc pulled a dagger from its belt and lunged forward in a desperate strike. Alaster leaped backward to dodge.
The orc glared at him with a sadistic grin, trying unsuccessfully to pull itself free from an ice shard pinning its lower body. Alaster smiled, thinking he had escaped unscathed—until a strange coldness spread through his chest. Looking down, his smile froze: a dagger was buried hilt-deep in his left shoulder.
Pain flared through his arm immediately.
"Shit! Shit!"
Blink!
He reappeared on clear ground outside the barrier, dropping to one knee. He let go of his sword and gripped the dagger's hilt with his right hand.
"AHHH!" he roared, yanking the blade out in one pull. «Movies make this look way easier...»
In the distance, a group of goblins heard the scream and began charging toward his location with weapons raised. Alaster didn't wait for them to close in.
Blink!
He returned to the safety of a high treetop, straddling a thick branch while breathing heavily, his shoulder throbbing.
"Argh... I think I want to change professions," he groaned through gritted teeth. At that moment, hauling crates at the market for a silver coin a week didn't sound so bad. «Need to charge the ring... Only forty mana left.»
The pain made concentrating difficult, taking him nearly forty seconds to channel the four hundred and fifty mana required to fill his ring's reservoir.
Blink!
From atop the timber wall, Denderatrix observed the battle unfolding. The militia below maintained a tight shield line against the goblins, but the overwhelming numbers made it obvious that fatigue would breach their defenses sooner or later.
«Unless handsome Al actually accomplishes something,» the mage thought, taking a small sip from her glass. «I hope he doesn't waste his energy throwing more fireballs.»
Just then, a strange phenomenon caught her attention in the enemy's rear. Among the mounted orcs within the barrier, an array of jagged white ice pillars erupted at blinding speed.
"Hmm... What is that?"
Detrix slowly swirled her glass as she watched the frozen spike field expand. Suddenly, her hand froze. Her relaxed expression shifted to a mix of surprise and concern. Shifting her weight from one leg to the other, making her soft dress sway, she narrowed her eyes.
"I can't just stand here watching... What if I go find him?"
She fixed her gaze back on the massive ice structure that had consumed the rider formation.
"He's probably fine... You're starting to sound like your mother, Detrix," she teased herself softly.
Turning around, she prepared to head down the ladder.
"It's not like I'm going to check if he's alright... I'm just going to congratulate him on such a well-executed ice spell. Yes, that's definitely why."