Book 1: Chapter 11: Unto the redtip.

Book 1: Chapter 11: Unto the redtip.

I had underestimated this task. This was the thought that ran through my mind as my face ran through the dirt. The massive taur-cow snorted and seemed to laugh in amusement as I picked myself up from the dirt, spilled bucket of milk at my side. To say the morning was going badly would be a lie.

Instead, it was horrible. Gol had taken a shit right outside my door and then scampered off the hide amongst the taur-cows. Said cows were less than impressed at me, and even less so at my attempts to milk them. I quickly learned that my massive frame was not an end-all against beasts that weighed more than I did and were much meaner.

The animals werent just strong and mean, but smart as well. They knew to wait for opportune moments of distraction to suddenly ram their bodies into me. As I had painfully discovered. Until finally, I had enough.

Pail in hand, I stomped up to one of the massive cows, focused on it, and called Cloven Crash. A yell escaped from my throat and the beast was frozen mid-laugh. With a grunt, I plopped down my stool next to its frozen form, pulled up my pail, and got to work. The effect did specify that any target would remain frozen until I full-body crashed into it. And as rough as my impatient milking was, it failed to break the effect.

Sometime later, I had several frozen cows and a full pail of milk. The price had been steep, but the reward would be worth it. Gol received nothing but a stink-eye when he wandered over and tried to beg. This was mine. A single sip reminded me of why I hated warm milk. With a grimace, I carried the bucket back to the house.

One of the fortunate purchases I had made in Hullbretch was a terracotta pot. Soaked in water, the cooling properties of the slate would keep the milk at very low temperatures, for a while. But I needed something better.

Ishila had a solution. The lass blinked and rubbed her hair, her fangs biting into her lip as she thought. nôvel binz was the first platform to present this chapter.

Well, you could do it the usual way an dig yourself a cellar to keep things cool.

Not going to happen for a while, I sighed. Ill seriously look into that when I rebuild the house, but thats a way down the line.

You could hire a runesmith to plant cold-runes around your house, but they're expensive enough to give even Pa pause and need to be topped off every quarter-year. She offered.

Not feasible. I shook my head as she nodded. We were leaning against the fence posts, a spot that had become our regular morning meeting place. Out on the pasture, cows were beginning to unfreeze as my skill wore off. Due to time or distance, I didnt know. Gol loudly yawned, rubbing his face as sunlight broke over the treetops. In lieu of me, he had plopped himself by ishila now, given that only one of us was angry at his early-morning defecations.

You could try to go up the redtip and gather frostvines, then. She shrugged. I know miss Lerish has them on her lodge, and the inside is wonderfully cool.

I frowned and tried to remember. I had meant to ask the huntress what those white bundles on her walls were, but had forgotten as the conversation progressed. Ishila nodded at my description and flicked a bug away with her hats brim.

Id tell you the redtip is dangerous, She shrugged. But I think we both know youd go anyway. Between me an you, my moneys on you against whatever monsters up there.

Gods, I wish I shared her confidence. I was a big death machine, but one with only a slim grasp of combat and reliance on Gareks memories. Even yesterday had been all him steering the ship. I was a farmer in a berserkers body, and damn lucky I had the remnants of his instincts and reflexes to fall back on. I still had no baseline for what twenty-nine levels had done to Garek compared to a level one minotaur, but given the contemptuous ease I had killed those men yesterday, it was a lot.

They grow higher up, near the peak, Ishila mentioned, already concluding that I was going. In barren places, mostly. Something about them feeding off heat and sucking it in. Look in rocky places with little other fauna.

Scent flooded my nostrils with every step, a deluge of sensations I could barely pick apart. Instead, I focused on the path forward and trudged along, my course set. The path grew steeper, and my strides grew more careful. The trees were less dense here as I passed from the greenery that ringed the lower mountain into the rocky waste further up.

Here there were caves and craters, decorated by boulders and hardy weeds. I caught the occasional glimpse of wildlife, from a long, thin being that scaled sheer walls to fat, horned lizards. Many ignored me from a distance, most fled and only a few stayed to observe me. I realized now why they called it Redtip.

It was literal. The stone itself was red, the rocks were red, even the vegetation was red. All save for what I was here for. The good part about everything resembling a crimson paint bucket being sloshed over it was that the white plants I sought were easy to find.

They were cold, I found upon approach. Less of a chill and more of a thorough absence of heat in the space around them. Despite the near-oppressive heat here, tinges of frost covered the ground around the stems. With no further ado, I grabbed one near the base and yanked. It tore loose, but Ishila had said the drain would linger for several weeks.

Hands cold all the while, I carefully stuffed it into the pack I carried and moved on. Soon, I was the proud owner of a full satchel of these plants, and finishing a sandwich, I set off back down the mountain.

But fate refused to let me have simple days.

Something stomped from the undergrowth, and I got my first true glimpse at a monster. This was no animal, that much was certain. It vaguely resembled a tree, I say that in the most vague way possible. It shuffled atop a mass of writing roots. Gnarled, thickened bark grew into a tall, thick body that sprouted far too many slender branches.

Crows sat perched upon its crown, silent save for the rustle of wings. It lumbered out of the undergrowth and set itself into my path. Look as I might, there was no easy escape. I had no idea what this thing was, what it was capable of. But I knew it was in my path.

The air rattled as branches were raised, and before I could blink, the ground erupted below me. Earth and stone were hurled skyward, with me in their path. Ravens crowed with laughter as stone and earth alike struck me with enough force to pulverize a man.

The laughter ceased when I emerged whole, my claymore drawn. Boulders rolled towards it, called by whatever force it wielded. Waves of earth rolled beneath my hooves as I charged toward it. If it was meant to throw me off balance, it would need to try harder. Every stomp I took crushed the rolling soil beneath me and the creature redoubled its efforts.

Its roots shifted as it began to propel itself backward, earth and stone alike hurled at me. Cloven Clash was unleashed with a roar, and the monster visibly slowed. I got the vague sense the skill was weakened by several uses already today. But it did its job. Ironhide was already active, and now boulders clanged as they were stopped by my skin.

With a snarl, I stepped in close, swung the claymore and activated Brutal Swing.

And that was it. The claymore tore through magic, bark, and core alike in a single motion.

The monster fell, cleaved in twain. I got the vague sense that I was drawing near Gareks thirtieth level in Bloodstained Berserker, and the flock of ravens nested in the things crown dispersed. Off to find a new host.

Once again, the forest was silent. I bent before the thing to examine it and found little of interest. Save for a piece of bark that wriggled beneath my touch. With A grunt, I tore it free and found a large seed within. For a moment, I debated keeping it but saw no value to outweigh the danger. It took little time to pry it free, crush it beneath my grasp and then continue back down the mountain.

This time, naught dared disturb me.