Book 1: Chapter 71: Cursed

Book 1: Chapter 71: Cursed

Standing in the center of camp, Cabbot shouted, “They’re just crabs, you idiots! Just kill them!”

Even as he said it, the whole of Ironshore’s defense force waged war against the remaining three pests. They weren’t terribly dangerous – not unless his idiotic soldiers made a bunch of mistakes, which, given their performance so far, wasn’t outside the realm of possibility – but they were difficult to kill. Still, despite taking the camp by surprise, the attack hadn’t claimed any casualties.

He turned to Nirea, demanding, “Have you heard from those idiot scouts? Why didn’t they warn us?”

She looked up, tucked a vivid pink lock of hair behind her ear, then said, “No contact. They are presumed incapacitated, though we won’t know for certain until we investigate further.”

The gnomish woman was an Administrator, which was supposed to be an extremely valuable addition to any force. However, from what Cabbot could tell, she was mostly a waste of resources. All she ever did was tell him things he could have figured out on his own. She was lucky she was beautiful. Otherwise, Cabbot would’ve already gotten rid of her.

“Well, investigate, then!” he growled. “Figure it out!”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and then, without any further conversation, she strode away.

“Not now!” he spat, though by that point, she was too far away. He looked around, seeing that he was safe. At least the idiots had managed to repel a few scavengers; if they hadn’t...

He looked around at the battle-hardened combatants. They were all of a level with him, though he knew most had fairly common classes. Not like him.

The Berserker class had never been his goal, but after seeing his other options, he’d made the only choice that made any sense. And since then, he’d come around to its benefits. However, that didn’t mean he was completely comfortable with some of its downsides. That would take years of pain and effort – neither of which really appealed to him.

Still, it was a powerful class with great attribute bonuses that put him above any other elite in Ironshore. And even if he’d lost the opportunity the captured dragon represented, he was still on a fresh world with plenty of chances to improve.

So long as he could find whatever natural treasure made the island so special. And it was special. He knew that from the moment he set foot on shore. The Ethera was thick, feeling almost solid to his senses, and the crabs’ advanced mutation was even further evidence that there was something worth harvesting in the area.

He just had to find it.

But to do that, he needed to establish a foothold. Cabbot might’ve been impatient, but he was anything but foolish. The first step was to create a defensible position. Then, he would send the scouts to map the interior of the island. Meanwhile, his underlings would begin the process of subduing the local fauna.

And when the time came, he would reap the benefits.

Really, it was probably for the best if a few of his soldiers died. That meant that he’d have to worry less about appeasing them. After all, natural treasures were finite, and Cabbot had no desire to split the benefits with anyone else, least of all the sorts of idiots he’d been able to recruit for an expedition into a newly integrated backwater.

Finally, one of the dwarven warriors – Rockbeard, unless Cabbot was mistaken – finished off the final crab with a vicious, overhead swing of his axe. And then, everything went quiet. A few of the soldiers who knew how to harvest monsters rushed forward, intending to tear the crabs to pieces in hopes of finding something useful.

The shells were durable enough that some of the craftsmen back in Ironshore might be able to use them for armor. The meat would probably be edible as well, and given the thickness of the ambient Ethera, a decent Chef might be able to make something worthwhile with it.

But Cabbot wasn’t concerned with any of that. The real prize was whatever treasure had given the island its increased Ethera density. Unless it turned out that the crabs were more valuable than he expected. If that happened, he would take his cut.

Of course, they didn’t even know who he was. Even if they suspected his presence – as opposed to some guardian – they would only think he was a caster. They didn’t know about his predator form, which gave him the continued advantage of surprise.

All in all, Elijah was happy with how things had gone. He just hoped his advantage would continue. To that end, he retreated from the shore, racing through the forest with experienced ease. All the while, he kept his mind trained on the devastation he’d wrought on the camp.

There were thirty-one survivors, and if his senses were anything to go by, they hadn’t escaped unscathed. Only a couple seemed completely healthy, and the healers were in the process of healing the afflictions. It was no easy task, either, and it took multiple casts for each of the afflicted.

Once Elijah was about a mile away, he settled down to rest. Glancing up at the forest’s canopy, he saw sunlight beginning to peek through the leaves. It had been an exhausting night, but he’d only just begun with the defense of his island.

There were still more than thirty left, and Elijah knew he and his Grove wouldn’t be safe until they were all dead. So, he rested. He regenerated his Ethera. And, more importantly, he considered the tactics he would need to employ if he was going to survive the incursion.

* * *

Cabbot looked around at the devastated camp. Almost twenty dead, all because his moronic and lazy scouts hadn’t been paying attention. If they hadn’t already paid for their inattention with their lives, he would have killed them.

“Sir,” said Iros, one of the goblin mages. He’d just been healed, but his skin still bore the marks of that damnable infection. Even Cabbot hadn’t been capable of resisting it, and though it hadn’t killed him, he still felt weak. And judging by the way Iros swayed on his feet, the goblin was just as affected. “We should go back. We need to regroup.”

“Regroup? No.”

“But sir...”

“Look around, Iros,” Cabbot said, sweeping his arm to indicate the ruined camp. Most of the tents had been trampled by the crabs, and the dead bodies still hadn’t been recovered. Multiple people lay on the ground, groaning in pain, too ill to rise. Healers knelt beside some, but Cabbot suspected that, before they got to everyone, a few more would perish. But that was expected. And, in his mind, it was acceptable.

After all, the less people who lived, the fewer times he had to split the reward for their efforts. More, Cabbot thought of it as trimming the fat. Without the weak to hold the rest of them back, the group would be capable of so much more.

“What am I looking at?” asked the goblin.

“If the natural treasure’s guardian is powerful enough to do this, then think about what it must be guarding,” Cabbot said. It was well known that a guardian’s Strength was directly linked to its treasure.

Iros’s face split into a jagged-toothed grin as he processed Cabbot’s statement. “I see,” he said. Then, his grin faded before he continued, “But sir...what if it’s too powerful for us to kill? Remember what happened to Dena and her group.”

“We don’t know what happened to those three. For all we know, they ended up getting killed by some sea monster,” Cabbot said. “But it doesn’t matter. Those idiots were always too confident for their own good. And anyway, we’re prepared now. We know the guardian’s tricks. Now, we can defend against it. Get the shield arrays set up. Use the coins if you need to.”

Iros said, “Aye, sir.”

Cabbot nodded, then said, “This time tomorrow, we’ll all be taking whatever this island has to offer.” He looked around at the rest of the group. “Well, those of us who survive.”

Once they defeated the guardian, Cabbot intended to make certain that there weren’t many left to split the spoils.