Proofread by: PervySageChuck (thanks!)
It was the 8th week since the declaration of the Martial Arts Tournament was made.
The sun was casting a long shadow on an ant hill on the ground. On first glance, it might have appeared that they were marching in a haphazard fashion, but their movements were organized and intelligent. They moved like water flowing through the cracks of a rock, a single stream with divine purpose and obscene power.
A single ant is just an ant, but together they could build monumental structures taller than a hundred ants stacked together. Each ant was separate, yet united. They worked together in choreographed harmony and ferocious mechanical efficiency. They were motivated by a single unifying purpose; to build up the colony. Elaborate passageways sprawled in every direction deep underground as they worked with a single purpose.
And so, every man, woman, or child, despite each individual having their own unique background, ambitions, abilities, and motives, worked with single minded determination and motivation akin to colony ants in remodeling E-Rantel in preparation for the upcoming tournament.
Unified in their cause, the residents of E-Rantel worked day and night to the best of their capabilities in making E-Rantel a better place. They were not forced to do so. They slept when they needed sleep. They rested when they needed rest. They ate when they needed to eat.
The men mostly worked in all jobs that required heavy manual labor and construction. When they slept, the stone golems continued their work. The unstoppable juggernauts needed no rest.
The women mostly worked in domestic responsibilities such as preparing food stocks, tending to livestock, and brewing, baking, and manufacturing textiles. When they slept, the undead dealt with the routine and menial tasks such as transcribing and preparing materials.
The children were taught matters of tourism and hospitality.
Everyone had their role to play, living or undead.
For two months, E-Rantel was like an ant hill.
And in 60 days, the city was transformed.
..
…
The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer.
The day of reckoning was drawing near.
Eorlund rode in to the city, nervous with excitement.
The breath of men and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air as others like him rode alongside him as they neared the fabled city.
The only sounds that were heard were the groaning of the wheels of loaded wagons filled to the brim with an assortment of merchandise as they were dragged by harnessed horses.
They marched on the dirt and gravel path to the main city gates.
It was neither as large or as imposing as the gates of the capital.
The gilded metal and oiled oak doors were left open and unguarded.
They were no stewards or attendants stationed outside.
There were no guards to screen the wagons and visitors.
Typically, the entrance of any city would be noisy from the chaos and discord as men shouted and horses snorted as they made their way inside.
However, today was different.
It was eerily silent.
The high brick walls surrounding the fortress city of E-Rantel was overgrown with pale ivy.
Everyone was anxious.
Even the animals sensed the tension.
The early dawn sunlight cast a surreal glow on the city that was both beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
The leaves were turning again, and the chill of autumn swept across them.
They were about to enter the fabled city.
They were about to enter the city ruled by the Undead King.
They were about to enter E-Rantel.
…
…
…
A flood of relief washed over Eorlund as the sight of a people standing in the streets chatting came into view.
It was odd that such a simple sight would have granted him so much comfort.
However, for now, he was desperate for any sign of normality. Of humanity.
He heard similar sighs of relief around him.
Soon, as he approached the crowd, the sounds of banter and chitchat reached him, and he felt at ease.
Time to get to work!
Eorlund was a scribe. He worked for the Re-Estize Kingdom Chronicles. In other words, he was the modern day equivalent of a journalist.
In truth, most of his work would eventually be heavily edited and censored. Controlling the flow of information was power, after all. Paper was expensive, and the printing press was still in its primitive stages. The official version would most likely be filled with propaganda and re-written to suit the political objectives of the ruling power. However, every article needed a grain of truth in them. And that was his role.
However, it has been rumored that the original articles were often sent in secret to independent publishers and smuggled to the general public.
Those were only rumors though.
Being caught would mean imprisonment or execution.
Eorlund's body was tired. His muscles ached and his joints were sore. His hands were rough and raw from reining the horse. His coat was splattered with mud and his shoes were dirty with grass, pollen, and manure.
But he felt full of energy.
He was excited.
Still… I need to find an inn.
The Shining Golden Pavilion was one of the most impressive structures in E-Rantel. It was a luxurious inn where only nobles and the wealthy could afford to live in. The walls were rich with history and their beds were warm, soft, and covered in silk. The restaurant served some of the most expensive and extravagant dishes money could buy.
But that was not his destination.
With the meager allowance provided by the state, he could only afford the bare minimum.
Eorlund stopped and studied a worn map provided to him by a colleague.
I hope the city layout has not changed too much in the last few months.
Eventually, he reached his destination.
It was a small brick and mortar but quaint little inn near the outer edges of the middle wall.
He dismounted and handed over the reins to the stable boy nearby.
When he entered the inn and approached the reception table, he was shocked by what he saw.
A lich?
No, that's not it.
The receptionist was a bent and elderly grey man.
His eyes were grey.
His beard was grey.
His hair was grey.
His nails were grey.
His robes were grey.
His teeth were grey.
His skin was grey.
The grey man lifted his arm, and pointed a single bony grey finger at Eorlund.
He expected the cavernous shriek of the dead.
Instead-
"Hey! Boy! Don't just stand there like an imbecile! Do you need a room or not?"
…
…
Eorlund stepped outside and breathed in the fresh air.
He was a middle aged man with a scrawny beard. He was tall and lanky, but also thin. He wore a simple brown leather coat lined with fur. His breeches were a darker shade of brown. Ink stains were visible and his wrists and his fingers were bent. His hair was tied in a short pony tail and fastened with string. His brows furrowed in a permanent squint from years of being bent over and writing under low light conditions.
But his skin was not pale or free of blemishes like other scribes. On the contrary, he was tan and fine scars pockmarked his body.
This was a man who was used to adventuring and taking risks to get his story.
…
His shoulders felt good with the heavy weight of his back pack lifted. He had stored all of his cumbersome belongings in his room.
Time to explore the city.
He clutched his notebook tightly.
First, I should check out the Adventurer's Guild.
…
…
On his way, he eavesdropped on the conversations held by the crowd.
Everything seemed superficial and bland.
It was mostly people exchanging pleasantries and monotonous banter.
It felt artificial and forced.
It felt flavorless and boring.
It was as if they were still uncomfortable with the thought of actually being here.
The fresh new arrivals were even worse.
Most of them remained completely silent, as if they were not sure if they were allowed to speak.
In contrast, the locals were unexpectedly carefree and jolly. They were beacons of light that cut through the thick fog of cowardice and uneasiness.
Slowly but surely, they would dispel the mist of doubt and dread.
…
Eorlund arrived at the Adventurers Guild.
When he went inside, he was greeted with the scene of heavily armed individuals chatting in a lively manner while comparing weapons and armor. Their conversations were loud and boisterous. They babbled on about monsters, quests, political scandals, and adventure. They complained about money, lodgings, and the weather. They jabbered on about magical items, shopping, and clothing. They gossiped about the competition and bragged about their skills and talents.
In other words, they were completely calm and at ease.
He felt as if he had stepped through a portal into another world.
The atmosphere was completely different from outside.
This must be why they are called 'Adventurers'.
Eorlund approached the counter, and then he saw them. It was unmistakable as to who they were.
A monstrously large woman who radiated strength and courage.
A young woman with long blonde hair with a sword as black as night.
A small girl with a blood red robe and an enigmatic mask.
And twin girls adorned with a blue and red ribbons respectively.
The pride of the Re-Estize Kingdom.
The adamantite adventurer party, Blue Rose.
Eorlund hastily looked around.
He did not see 'Red Drop', the second adamantite adventurer party of the Re-Estize Kingdom.
It seems they have decided not to attend the tournament. A pity.
He shook the feelings of reverence and awe as he remembered the reason he came to the Adventurers Building. He continued to approach the counter when he heard it.
"WAIT! What do you mean Momon isn't here today?"
The sudden declaration drew the attention of many of the adventurers in the room.
A loud, collective sigh came from the crowd.
Eorlund turned around with a disappointed look on his face.
Maybe next time. I will come back tomorrow.
He had never laid eyes on the famous adventurer, Momon the Black. Momon the Dark Hero. Momon the adamantite adventurer from the team 'Darkness'.
His glorious deeds were well publicized and renowned. They said he was a true hero. They said he was humble and kind. They said his strength rivalled or even surpassed the heroes of old. They said he slayed a giant basilisk. They said he fought in single combat with a demon lord and won. His feats were legendary and peerless.
Eorlund was a skeptical man. It was part and parcel of his occupation.
He would have loved to meet this illustrious hero.
As he exited the Adventurer's Hall, he heard a loud 'Ahhhhhh" and a chorus of laughter.
…
…
Alright, next stop!
He was hungry. His stomach growled and grumbled. It was time for lunch.
He peered into his coin pouch and saw a depressing sight.
Nothing fancy today.
He strolled down the street, taking care to make careful notes of his experiences.
He noted the sight of small cottages and large manors.
He noted the sound of travelling carriages and wagons.
He noted the smells from taverns and food stalls.
He noted the feeling of the cold breeze of the late summer air.
He noted the taste of-
He noted everything his senses provided him.
Finally, something caught his eye. It was an odd sight.
There were two large reptilian creatures walking on the street.
Lizardmen?!
They were significantly taller than the humans around them. They had webbed feet and dark green and charcoal grey scales that were similar to those of a crocodile. They had humanoid fingers with the exception of short claws protruding from the tips.
They strode with confidence on the street. One of them was armed with a fearsome looking dagger that seemed to emit a hissing mist.
Were they slaves? Or adventurers? Outcasts?
Eorlund struggled to recall the culture and traditions of these Lizard creatures.
Before he could do so, they had disappeared from his sight.
Oh well…
Then another baffling scene presented itself.
A small band of armed goblins marched forth with military-like discipline. They were about ½ the height of a fully grown human adult, but sturdy and well-built. Rippling muscles and sinew could be seen from underneath their chain mail armor. In the center, standing over them, was a small nervous-looking village girl.
A hostage?
No, that wasn't right.
The girl was nervous and frightened, but it did not seem to be due to the goblins. If it was not for the surreal sight, he would have thought she was afraid because she was a village girl in a big city.
As the formation drew nearer, Eorlund caught snippets of conversation between the goblins and the girl.
"Make way for our Queen!"
"Excuse us! Thank you!"
"We will protect you with our lives, General Enri!"
"Guys, stop it! People are staring!"
"Make way for General Enri!"
…
...
Eorlund was perplexed.
Firstly, it was the Lizardmen. and now it was goblins and a human goblin general?!
What's next? A war troll?
…
While pondering this thought, Eorlund somehow managed to unconsciously navigate himself and ended up in front of an unfamiliar building.
It was an unassuming structure with a red roof tiles and a rug on the front steps that spelled 'Welcome'. There was an alluring scent that wafted from inside. It stimulated pangs of hunger from his stomach.
Perhaps this is how I ended up here.
He walked inside and was greeted with a stronger aroma of stewed vegetables and broiled beef. It had a savory scent.
There were five circular wooden tables in the living room with chairs to seat five people each.
That itself was an impressive sight, as carving and sanding a table into a perfect circle was a laborious task.
He looked around the room. It seemed to have been previously a house which had been repurposed into an eatery. A café of sorts.
Two of the tables were already seated.
Eorlund eyed their meals. It looked to be some sort of hearty potato and vegetable stew. There were also slices of bread slathered with butter, and several goblets of a sweet citrus smelling drink. The cutlery was made of a sparkling metal with elaborate engravings while the plates were porcelain with golden rims. The extravagance seemed out of place in their current setting.
He sat himself down in one of the empty tables and looked at the counter.
He had to stop himself from drooling. It was not from the food or the appetizing aroma.
There was a girl that surpassed loveliness. She had luscious black hair tied with a frilly white ribbon that gleamed in the light like a silver tiara. An azure blue neck corset was tightly wrapped around her small neck and a cerulean ribbon was pinned in front of her shirt. She wore an elegant maid outfit with matching glasses. Her complexion was flawless and she held herself up with discipline and authority.
It was a goddess in a maid's attire.
Eorlund meekly raised his hand, and said.
"May I order, please?"
The celestial beauty shot him a piercing look that reminded him of a school teacher.
She then gracefully took out a small hand-held bell and rang it.
The figure that emerged from behind the counter left him speechless.
…
…
…
A hooded figure hovered towards his direction. Remnants of skin was stretched tightly across its face like a leather mask. It had hollow sockets for eyes and its rotten teeth were visible within its lipless smile. Desiccated skin seemed to envelop its skeletal body, wrapping its decaying muscles and sinew. Remnants of a tattered robe were hanging off its rotten flesh. It stood at least 8 feet tall and radiated with a malicious aura. Swatches of darkness seemed to be encircling the revenant like a thin fog.
This was an unholy abomination.
An evil, depraved undead being who specialized in foul black magic.
This was a lich.
And it was wearing a Maid's uniform.
…
…
...
"How. May. I. Serve?"
The voice emitted from its rotten lips was harsh and raspy.
…
Eorlund was paralyzed with fear. He barely managed to muster the strength to clutch his heart, as if to reassure himself that it was still beating.
Beads of sweat rolled down his temples and his entire body began to tremble uncontrollably. He felt a knot in his throat as he struggled and gasped for air.
He was unable to gauge the reactions of the other diners as his eyes were transfixed on the horrendous figure hovering menacingly towards him.
He began to silently mouth prayer to the Four Gods.
He was not a religious man, but today was different.
Today, he was about to be consumed by a being that was evil incarnate.
Today, he was about to die.
…
…
As if beckoned by his silent prayers, the dazzling goddess got up and stretched out a beautiful alabaster hand that radiated warmth and benevolence…
-and violently pulled the terrifying lich back.
The sheer force propelled the lich into the counter as it crashed with a loud 'thud'.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!"
"My sincerest apologies, Yuri-Alpha-sama!"
"This one was only trying to help."
The creature bowed deeply while gesturing at the maid attire.
"This is not your role!"
"Who gave you that?!"
"Where is Tsuare?!"
The lich replied.
"Tsuare-sama is in the kitchen. She was afraid and hence requested this one to assist."
"WHAT?! That girl! This entire thing was supposed to teach her how to interact with other humans."
"She needs to confront her fears!"
"Summon her at once!"
The undead lich bowed and hovered dejectedly back to the kitchen.
It looked sad.
Eorlund would have felt pity for the creature if there was not a dark pool of liquid on his chair.
…
…
…