Contents Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Fourty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven Chapter Forty-Eight Chapter Forty-Nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty-One Chapter Fifty-Two

Prologue The Spirit of Al'rashia marked its ruler with golden eyes. None were ever

born with the symbol of Royalty. It was only when the current king neared the end of his life that another would appear with the unmistakable favor of the nation's Spirit. They might come from one of the seven greater clans, or the seven lesser clans that made up Al'rashia's nobility. They might even come from among the clans of commoners.

Rarely did the children of royalty inherit the throne. Being born with the silver eyes of the nobility, they might dream of the day that their eyes would glow with gold; some thought it was these dreams that made their hopes impossible. The Spirit of Al'rashia respected ambition, but honor had to be earned.

There was one clan that produced generations of rulers. The first king and the subsequent six all descended from the Dross. The eighth queen of Al'rashia was an Embra, but even after they were replaced, the Dross Clan remained first among the greater clans.

When it became apparent that the nation could not withstand the plague of creatures that assaulted them, the people of Al'rashia gathered their wealth and fled. All except the Dross. The Dross Clan left their riches behind and, instead, collected their weapons and marched for Windshire Stronghold. There they knelt and begged the king, Darak Fairdor, to allow them to stand with him.

Five thousand of the Dusk Wraiths were all that remained of Al'rashia's formal armies. The Awakened Dross numbered nearly fifty thousand. Warriors and Mages, Archers and Rogues, the silver-eyed Dross were all prepared to die with their king and his violet-eyed troops. Their numbers would make no difference in the end, but their clan had built the kingdom; it was fitting for them to be there.

Darak Fairdor denied them their request. He loaded the Dross down with supplies and materials and sent them away. Ordering them to find a new home, he instructed the clan to rebuild and see a new Al'rashia rise. It was the second to last command Darak would give as king. His final words would send the Dusk Wraiths charging into the ranks of an enemy they could not defeat.

The Dross obeyed their king and for ten long years they searched for a new home. It was no easy task to establish a seat of power. They would need a Major Trial with a domain large enough to shelter all their people. It needed to be close enough to fields that could be farmed. It had to have suitable wild areas nearby for both young Awakened and old in which to hunt and level, and it had to be far enough away from other established nations that the Al'rashians could rebuild their society without fear of conquest.

By the time the Dross reached the Streg River, their numbers had grown. They had swept up thousands of Al'rashian refugees and displaced Awakeneds. Traveling with a hundred thousand people, a full half of whom were noncombatants, was exhausting, so when they arrived at the banks of the Streg, the Elders called a halt to their search.

This place had almost all they needed. It had been two years since the Dross had last visited territory claimed by another, though a determined group could reach the nearest center of civilization within eight months. There was water and farmland, stone quarries and forests, everything they needed to find, except for a Trial.

A temporary camp was erected. Hoping there was at least a minor Trial nearby, Scouts were sent to scour the surrounding area. If not for a child playing where he should not be, the Dross might have moved on after they had rested.

It was a young Awakened playing on the river who found what the clan leaders could not. When his makeshift raft carried him miles down the Streg and deposited him on the far banks, that Level 3 Warrior's only thought was for the punishment he would face when he returned. Thinking of the strict discipline necessary to keep one hundred thousand people in line and safe while traversing the Wilds, the Warrior decided that a solitary life wasn't so bad and resolved to live right where he was.

Hunger prompted him to explore the hillside located at the bend in the river. Curiosity led him into a small cave halfway up the hill. The realization that he was the first to clear a low-leveled Hereditary Trial caused the Warrior to swallow his fear and report his discovery.

The Dross found their home. The hill that the Trial was located on could be more accurately described as a small mountain. Protected on three sides by the Streg River, the position was defensible. Once Geomancers flattened the top, there would be enough space to build a scaled down replica of Windshire Stronghold. The hillside was carved and shaped so that buildings could be

erected, and a walled courtyard was built around the Trial entrance. The city the Dross founded was never named, but, privately, they referred

to it as Beacon, with hopes that the scattered clans of Al'rashia would eventually be drawn here. Refusing to trust fate and luck, the Dross sent out messengers with word to the Adventurers' Guild, so Al'rashians would know a place had been prepared for them.

Years passed by and the messengers never returned. More were sent and were never heard from again. The Dross continued to build, continued to wait and more messengers were sacrificed.

A second Trial was found within the territory the Dross had claimed. Its entrance was a crack in a bell-shaped rock. The Trial was a single room, and its Beasts only suitable for newly Awakened to challenge while they earned the XP to gain their first Class. That was enough to celebrate. After all, Trials expanded the more they were challenged.

Every permanent Trial had a domain, an area which prevented wild Beasts from approaching and wandering Trials from appearing. With time, the Trial at Bellrise would have a domain that would touch on the domain of Beacon's Trial, which had already grown from a circumference of two miles to five.

It was at the town which they named Bellrise, that another Al'rashian clan contacted the Dross. This occasion was far from the joyous one that they had been waiting for. It was not the Embras or Wygons that arrived but the Verrens.

The Verrens bore the silver eyes of nobility, but theirs was a minor clan. The least of the minor clans and one with a poor reputation, the Verrens were known for promoting themselves at others' expense. This clan had not come to join the Dross but to demand that the greater clan acknowledge them.

The Verrens had established a kingdom, and using their considerable wealth, populated it with slaves and refugees. They claimed this gave them the right to rule. They presented the Dross with a charter, a binding magical contract, and implied that conflict would follow a refusal to sign.

Seeking to prevent a war with another clan, the Dross complied, but they insisted on two provisions. The first was that the throne in their fortress must never be occupied except by a true Al'rashian king. The second was that the charter would be revoked when that king arrived.

The Verrens agreed but added an addendum of their own. The Dross would become the Al'dross under Verren leadership. That demand almost

caused swords to be produced. The Verrens felt they were elevated by the addition of the Al to their name. For the Dross, it was a mockery of their heritage and an insult.

In the end, the charter was signed. The Dross had faith. They had faith in the Spirit of Al'rashia. They had faith that an Al'rashian king would be found. They believed that on the day a golden-eyed Al'rashian sat upon the throne at Beacon, the Verrens would come to realize the mistake they had made.

Beacon became Al'drossford, and the Dross became the Al'dross. Their bloodline would fade over the centuries, as they intermingled with the other races in the newly established Al'verren kingdom. Silver eyes would turn blue, and, eventually, when you looked at the Baron of Al'drossford, you would be hard-pressed to see any hint of Al'rashian nobility in him.

Chapter One The first structure built by the Dross was not the fortress at Al'drossford's

center, neither was it the wall that surrounded and protected the city. The Dross had built with hope, and that hope had been that their brethren would approach easily and feel welcome. With that in mind, the Dross had constructed bridges to smooth the journey.

Night had settled over the territory, and moonlight played on the waters of the Streg River. Beneath the bridge, small fish risked the open air to bite at bugs hovering over their home. Standing on the stone that crossed the river, a masked Swordsman leaned against the rail to look at the ripples below.

The Swordsman was of average height, no more than five feet and eight inches. His appearance was battered, and in the dark, someone making their way across the bridge might have thought they had stumbled upon a ghost.

His boots were well-made but scuffed and worn. The black trousers that covered his legs had obviously been repaired many times by someone using a low-leveled Mend charm. But at least the holes in those loose-fitting pants of Beast hide had been closed. The scale mail that covered his torso had no such luck.

In some places, the small metal plates of the armor had been knocked off, revealing leather underneath. There was a rent in the left side, where, if you looked closely through the opening, you could see that the Swordsman wore a shirt of material identical to his pants. The hole on his left shoulder was the worst. Most of the armor was gone, and it appeared the damage had been done by teeth.

His cowl was in good shape, black as the night and probably holding a higher Defensive Rating than his mail. But with his hood up, and a featureless silver mask covering his face, it wouldn't have been a surprise to see a superstitious Commoner run screaming from him and swear off late travel for the rest of their lives.

The Swordsman wore vambraces on his forearms that had similar scales to his mail shirt. Those arm guards rubbed against the stone of the bridge as the Swordsman leaned out further. Behind his mask, Trent Embra bit his cheek and wondered what exactly held the structure up.

There were no supports or pillars extending from the bottom of the bridge

into the water. As far as he could tell, the arched bridge was suspended sixty feet above the surface of the river by nothing, unless it rested on the air itself. Which could be true.

Magic could accomplish amazing things. Trent himself did not have enough Mana to cast more than charms, but even those were impressive to the young Al'rashian. Trent's Status said he was twelve years old, but that was a lie. It had only been…. Two months? Three?... since Trent had first come into the Infinite World believing himself to be a summoned creature.

He would have to start paying more attention to time. Time and distance were two things the importance of which escaped Trent. He knew that it was the month of Augina, and that meant it was Autumn. This was a recent discovery, though. He had overheard a Guardsman commenting on how winter was fast approaching when he exited through the city gate.

As for distance, the contemplation of that tricky subject was why he had stopped to lean against the railing. Trent had once taken a trip to the north of Al'drossford, to an area between the town of Slyhill and the Burning Lake. On horseback, traveling at an unhurried pace, the distance between Slyhill and Al'drossford had taken a week.

Returning had taken longer, but then they had not traveled a very straight path. Sergeant Cullen said they covered twenty miles a day. Trent roughly knew how far a mile was, and the Sergeant had been lying. Cullen did that sometimes to keep his trainees on their toes.

Going full out, with the Skill Dash activated, Trent could run a mile in seven minutes. With a Stamina pool of 495, and the secondary Attribute Endurance slowing the rate at which his Stamina depleted and enhancing its recovery speed, Trent could maintain that pace for over an hour. It was a feat which he could repeat three or four times a day. More, if he had Stamina potions.

They had not run the whole way from the Garden of Clarity to Al'drossford. Cullen made allowances for Tersa. The redheaded Recruit could not match Trent for speed. Still, Trent was certain twenty miles a day was just the Sergeant's way of telling them to shut up and concentrate on moving their feet.

What did distance and time count for anyway? For the first time, Trent's schedule was his own. He didn't have anyone telling him what to do or where to be. He didn't even have a destination in mind. He had been traveling south, but only because he had been standing near the keep's southern gate when he

decided to leave. A well-maintained dirt road continued from where the bridge ended.

Trent had no idea where that road led. Maybe he should have taken Agatha up on her offer when she said he could stay with her for the night. He was not tired, but Agatha might have had a map he could look at.

Thinking of the old woman with the scarred face, Trent reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a wooden disc. Agatha had helped him get this. It was a Guild Token. Having it meant Trent was now officially an Adventurer. He was one of those brave souls who fought Beasts and challenged Trials for a living.

The Token was wide enough to cover Trent's palm. Appearing to be made of a pale-yellow wood, the disc was thin and fragile looking. It held a few carefully drawn lines and a dark grey ring marred the outside border. Those markings were supposed to detail the Trials that Trent had cleared and the Beasts he had defeated. Agatha had studied them and seemed to know how to decipher them. To Trent, they were just random scribbles and stains.

Trent squeezed the Token in his hand and the wood flexed. He looked at the water below and was tempted to throw the disc into the river. He didn't want to be rid of it, but Agatha said it was impossible to lose or destroy a Guild Token. She had said if he threw it away, he would find it back in his pouch, eventually. Trent was curious how long the process would take.

Instead of chucking the Token, Trent put it in Storage. It would be safer there. Maybe it was impossible to lose it, but better not to take a chance. Trent had no family, and his bond with Kirstin Al'dross had been severed. His friends…

Trent felt a pang of sadness. Tersa would have been jealous of his Guild Token. Trent thought Cullen might have been proud; the Sergeant had been an Adventurer once, after all. They both might have felt something if he showed them the disc, but, then again, neither Tersa nor Cullen had seemed to have any use for him since the Garden.

The frail-looking Token was all Trent had that said he was a part of the world. It made him an Adventurer. No, he did not want to risk it. He peered over the side of the railing. It would be fun to see if the Token would float or sink, though.

Trent supposed it would float. The Token was lightweight. If it did float, would that mean he could watch it drift? He would be able to see how far it went until the disc's enchantments kicked in and it winked out of existence to

reappear in his pouch or hand. That sounded like something worth seeing; it sounded fun.

Trent cleared his throat and stepped back from the edge. He did not have time for fun. He had a Quest! A mission set by his Survivalist Class to live in the Wilds alone for two weeks. He didn't know where the road south led, but all roads would eventually take you out of settled territory and into the realms of Beasts. South was as good as any direction.

Adjusting his sword belt, Trent set off. The Streg River was over half a mile wide at this point. It was lonely crossing the bridge by himself with the wind whistling around him. Trent broke into a light jog, and soon enough, he left the stone and stepped into the dirt.

He dropped back to a walk. Al'drossford ended at the city wall, but there were plenty of homes scattered about the far side of the bridge. Trent supposed the people who lived here considered themselves citizens of the city. But from what Trent could see, their lives were quite different from those of Al'drossford's residents.

Even at this time of the night, the city streets had been busy. There were businesses in Al'drossford that never closed, and others that only opened after the sun set. Outside the walls and across the river, life wasn't so hectic. Trent could hear laughter and conversation coming from the houses. He could smell the smoke from fires built for cooking and warmth.

The only people Trent spotted were children. They ran about the road and chased each other between the houses. They laughed and teasingly called as they engaged in seemingly pointless activities. They slapped one another and ran away. Sometimes they hid and tried to repress giggles as one child searched alone.

It was some sort of training; it had to be. These young people could not have been Awakened; they hadn't yet received access to their Statuses. Trent admired them for trying to pick up Skills like Tracking, Stealth, or Dash, years before they would be able to use them. He was also a little jealous. Very little of his own training had involved giggling.

It probably wouldn't be fair if he asked to join them. After all, he had a Status and all the Skills these unAwakened children were trying to learn. He also had a mask which gave him the Dark Vision Ability. Maybe if he held back, they wouldn't mind his butting in on their drills.

Trent did not stop, though. He stretched out his legs and passed the playing children as quickly as he could. He would not improve his Skills

here, and he had to be alone to complete his Quest. His brief exposure to people enjoying each other's company did achieve one thing. It emphasized how boring it was to walk through tamed lands alone.

Normally, he had Cullen and Tersa's bickering to listen to. Cullen would also insist that Trent and Tersa work on improving their Skills, and he would arrange breaks for them to do just that. Those breaks left them more tired than running did. That was proof that they needed to work harder; they couldn't even rest right.

Improving his Skills would help liven up the journey, only Trent wasn't sure what to practice. Anyone seeing his Status would be amazed at the number of Skills and Abilities the Level 9 Awakened had. The problem was most of those Skills required a partner, or opponent, to train with.

Stealth and Camouflage only leveled if they were preventing another from noticing him. Dodge saw an increase when Trent was avoiding things. Weapons Skills could be practiced alone. Going through the movement those techniques taught would bring a certain amount of improvement, but Trent would not make much forward progress while swinging his sword and hefting his shield.

There was always Dash. It had reached Level 9, and Trent was curious what would happen when Level 10 was achieved. Sergeant Cullen had implied Trent might learn a new Skill when Dash reached its maximum level. Maybe in the coming days, he would feel like running, but for now, Trent set Dash aside.

That left Steady Footing, a Skill that made it easier to cross rough terrain. Unfortunately, the Duke's highway could hardly be described as rough. Tended farmland bordered the road, and Trent knew that these fields would meet Steady Footings requirements, but he also had the feeling that the Farmers who worked those fields wouldn't appreciate him trampling their crops. He would find himself training Dash in order to outrun Militia members if he trespassed.

The sound of squealing laughter drifted to Trent's ears from a distance. Those children were still hard at work, it seemed. While Trent was certain he had never made such a sound in his life, it gave him an idea. There was one Skill that had made him laugh. And it could be used to travel, he had already proven that, though Cullen hadn't been impressed by Trent's discovery.

Acrobatics had a passive effect, which improved his Agility. It was passive, but to level the Skill up, it had to be actively practiced. Trent's

Acrobatics was at Level 2. To reach Level 3, Trent had to perform rolls, somersaults, and cartwheels. Cullen had disapproved of Trent doing so while he was supposed to be scouting, but Cullen wasn't here.

That thought settled it. Trent could do what he liked! Raising his arms above his head, Trent stepped forward in a lunge. Leaning to place a hand against the ground, Trent kicked his feet up.

His cowl and mask remained in place. Those soul-bound items were never affected by his movement or the weather. It was his sword and armor that betrayed him. Shifting and flopping, they pulled him off balance, and Trent found himself lying on his back looking up at the stars.

Hopping to his feet, Trent was glad to be alone. Maybe Acrobatics wasn't the right Skill to work on, or maybe Trent could make an adjustment to his wardrobe. Guilty fingers went to the buckle of his sword belt. Removing it, Trent placed the weapon in Storage.

He looked around, waiting for the inevitable lecture on how stupid it was to go around unarmed. There was nothing. Cullen didn't leap out of the bushes to yell at him. Trent had half-expected that to happen. His armor was taken off and put away.

Standing in only his regular clothing, Trent felt vulnerable. How long had it been since he had last been unarmored? With the Self-Clean Charm, there was no need to strip in order to bathe, and Trent had gotten used to sleeping with his mail on in the Land of the Undying Lord.

Trent spread his arms wide and went up on his toes as he stretched. His body was light, unencumbered, free! Trent reattempted a cartwheel and this time, though he wobbled unsteadily, his feet successfully found the ground. His lips broke into a wide smile. It wasn't the quickest way to travel, but he would get better.

Trent continued his journey through the night and until the evening of the

following day. He had traded his various herbs to Agatha for dried rations, which he ate when he was hungry, and he had an enchanted waterskin to drink from when he was thirsty. He walked, jogged, ran, and practiced Acrobatics until he was tired out, then he curled up next to the road to sleep.

His eyes were open long before the sun rose the next day. Although Cullen wasn't present, the habits the man had hammered into the boy remained. Rising, Trent began the exercises he had been taught and practiced

with his sword for an hour. Military Fencing didn't level now, but Trent thought it would soon. The movements felt more natural to him every time he went through them.

A small creek ran alongside the road here, and Trent took the opportunity to wash his face in the cool water. Self-Clean was a marvelous Spell, but washing with water was more refreshing. In the early morning light, Trent caught a glimpse of his reflection.

His hair was getting long. A striking black with hints of blue, Trent had never paid much attention to his hair. His fingers reached for his belt knife with the intention of hacking the unruly mess into some semblance of order.

The sight of his own violet eyes studying him stopped him. His eyes were like Orion's, white at the edges but without any sign of a pupil at the center. They were Al'rashian eyes. Trent was Al'rashian. He wasn't sure what that meant.

He had only met three other people with sharp, angular features and eyes like his. Orion, Darak, and Ranar were the only Al'rashians he had encountered. He was aware, from things Orion had said, that the people Trent supposed he belonged to now had a long history.

Thinking of the three men, several things occurred to Trent. Orion's eyes were the only ones that were really like Trent's. Darak and Ranar had had no white to their eyes at all. Golden and silver orbs better described the eyes of those men.

Trent had received items from both the king and the traveling merchant. Ranar had pressed a book on Al'rashian history and a compendium of Skills on Trent, though the boy had wanted to buy the Spell Fireball. Among other things, as Trent's reward for clearing a Trial, Darak had provided him with a Skill Stone containing the unarmed technique, Three Steps. The king had said all Al'rashians learned it.

Trent dismissed the idea of reading the books, which were hidden in a golden chest in his Storage. Although reading might bring increases to his Intelligence and Wisdom Attributes, gains he admitted he needed, Trent

preferred to be moving.

Standing back from the creek, Trent's feet fell into the narrow stance of Three Steps. He bent his knees and lowered his shoulders. A step forward, one back, and then to the left. Repeat, but this time, Trent moved to the right.

His arms came up. When he moved forward, his hands crept up to block a high strike. Back, they swept down to knock aside a low blow. To the side, he pushed at an invisible shoulder or arm to change his opponent's balance.

Trent worked through the movements that were the basis for all Al'rashian combat for another hour. He moved deliberately, without haste, but by the time he was finished, sweat poured down his face from the effort he exerted.

Three Steps was different than any other technique Trent had learned. There was depth in the simple movements that Trent could not plunge into. He had the knowledge but understanding escaped him. Maybe with time…

Trent's cowl was in place, and he set aside thoughts of his Al'rashian heritage as he jogged down the road to the south. He passed by others, but they were all heading north. Wagons, Farmers, and groups of Adventurers all going to Al'drossford.

He waved and called greetings to them, and his lips twisted when faces looked shocked to notice him. That had been happening a lot lately, ever since the Garden of Clarity where he had lost his Bond. Sometimes Trent wondered if he was fading away.

There were people that noticed him first. Militia members patrolling the field would see the figure running along the road, turning flips and cartwheels, and stare at him bewildered. They restricted themselves to glances, though. It wasn't every day you saw someone acting so strangely, but the road south led to Bellrise, and the mounted men dismissed Trent as an Adventurer heading to the Trial or Academy there. After all, Adventurers were an odd lot, prone to incomprehensible behavior.

On the fourth day, a series of flips carried Trent from one side of the road

to the other, and he almost ended up in the ditch. Arms windmilling, Trent caught his balance in time, but it was close. Acrobatics had leveled up again and provided him with another point in Agility, but he had a long way to go before he would be in complete control of his body.

Trent was pleased with his progress. Acrobatics was fun and provided Attribute increases consistently. It was a Skill everyone should learn! Ranar had told him Sewing would be as reliable for increasing Dexterity, but Trent was hardly going to tear his clothing just to test that claim.

Taking a chunk of dried meat out, Trent gnawed on it as he continued down the road. He was getting tired of his monotonous diet. He had been tempted to venture into the villages he had spotted dotting the landscape to see if the people there had better available, but thoughts of his Quest stopped him. He had to reach the wild areas. Meat and wild vegetables were there for the taking if you had sharp eyes and a blade.

A cloud of dust in the distance drew Trent's attention and brought him to a standstill. Travelers were a common enough sight here, but wagons and small groups didn't generate nearly that much billowing dirt.

Far Sight enchanted Trent's vision, and what he saw caused him to retrieve the sword belt he had left off for days. The approaching riders traveled in three columns, and those disciplined lines contained more people than Trent usually encountered all day.

They were soldiers but not members of the Guard. Dressed in white and gold, instead of the black and silver of the Al'dross, this group of armed and armored men sat straight on their mounts and looked dismissively about. They were alert but obviously did not consider the local population a threat.

Trent moved to the center of the road and planted himself there with his hand on his hilt. He didn't know who these riders were, but he did know they didn't belong here! He was intent on discovering what had brought them.

Chapter Two Fortunately, the riders were still a long way off, and Trent had time to

realize how stupid he was being before they arrived. What was he thinking? He wasn't a member of the Guard. Al'drossford and its territory didn't belong to him! He had no responsibility or authority to make demands of anyone.

Even if he had been a Guardsman, there were at least a hundred mounted men coming his way! It would be the height of foolishness for Trent to confront them! He hadn't even put on his armor, just buckled on his sword, as if that was all he needed to stand against the world.

Blushing, Trent scurried to the side of the road and hoped the soldiers hadn't seen his provocative actions. When the riders arrived, Trent lifted his chin, but kept his hands behind his back, far away from his weapon. He studied them and was studied in return, but no words were exchanged.

It wasn't until the formation of soldiers was halfway past that any conversation could be heard over the clumping of horses and rattling of steel. It was at the halfway point that Trent realized the riders were divided into three different sections.

At the front and rear, disciplined soldiers with white and gold armor rode in careful lines. The forty or so people at the center of this protective detail lacked the soldier's precision. Dressed in colorful silks and cloaks, the middle group laughed and slumped in their saddles.

They traded jests and wineskins and seemed to have no concerns in the world. Two women rode at the head of this group, and they were the only ones present who maintained any sense of decorum.

One was a woman who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. With black hair and green eyes, dressed in comfortable and practical traveling clothes, the woman paid no attention to the chaos behind her. She rode easily and only talked with the girl beside her.

That girl, with her silver hair and black clothing, brought the colors of the Al'dross to mind. She was younger, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, and not as practiced at ignoring fools as the older woman. She cast irritated glances over her shoulder in between her replies.

When the pair drew closer, Trent was startled to see that the girl's eyes,

while very Human, were the same shade of silver as her hair, the same shade that Orion and Ranar's eyes held. Trent hadn't been aware Humans came with that eye color.

About the same time Trent was noticing her, Eliora Al'verren caught sight of him. She was taken aback at first. She had almost passed by this Swordsman without seeing him. That should not have been possible given the challenging set of the man's shoulders. When Eliora did spot Trent, she found him fascinating.

Not Trent himself, rather, she found his cowl and mask fascinating. Her eyes lit up at seeing the equipment. Her own hooded cloak was fine, but this Adventurer's mask would perfectly complement the image Eliora intended to create for herself. The cowl was ideal for an Assassin! Was it an enchantment in the equipment that made the eye want to slide past the Swordsman?

She directed her horse off the road and swung down from her saddle to stand before Trent. Trent took a step back as he heard a man call for the column of soldiers to halt. What was happening? No one had taken the initiative to greet him in days, and now a hundred soldiers he did not want to speak with were looking his way.

"Hello." The girl didn't seem to care what Trent wanted. "I am Eliora Al'verren. Have you come from Al'drossford?"

"Trent Embra," Trent replied, absently nodding his head. Not meeting Eliora's gaze, his eyes went to the large, uniformed man, with hair more grey than blonde, who had dismounted to stand next to her. When the black-haired noblewoman joined them, Trent wondered if it was possible to outrun a horse using Dash. He wasn't using Identify, but he still felt pressured by the woman and older soldier.

"Embra?" The woman raised an elegant eyebrow. "Is there a Riding in the area?"

It took great effort for Vanessa Al'dross to keep her shoulders from tensing. Solitary Al'rashians, adventuring with companions from other races, drifted through the kingdom occasionally. But no member of a greater clan, no Embras or Wygons, had ever set foot here. Her forefathers had seen to that.

A Riding from Clan Embra could change everything! Lewis would be ecstatic! The charter the Dross had signed forced her husband and his family to obey policies and laws set by the king. It had not occurred to the Dross signers that the Verrens would pass laws preventing them from contacting the

other clans. No more than they had thought the Verrens would maintain their power by repressing knowledge that was common to the rest of the world. These actions were insane and invited disaster!

Vanessa had long opposed her family's policies. She had run away from the capital as a girl, and she had planned to live the rest of her life as an Adventurer, but fate had brought her Lewis Al'dross. She had returned to Al'drossford with him and was bound by those laws once again. She was prevented from telling even her own children how foolish they were being, how much they were missing out on by remaining at home.

But if a clan arrived of their own volition… only the presence of her nephew Seth, and the gaggle of Nobles behind him, stopped Vanessa from grabbing hold of Trent. She wanted to shake answers from him and drag him back to Al'drossford before kingdom spies learned he existed.

Trent didn't know how to answer Vanessa's question. What did she mean by "a Riding?" Helpless, Trent's shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. He was tempted to activate Fairy Cloak and see if that would cause the group to forget about him, but Agatha's warning rang in his ears. The old shopkeeper had seemed serious when she told Trent to leave the Ability alone.

"Are all peasants in this place so ill-mannered, Aunt?" Seth rode over but did not dismount. He stared down his nose at Trent from his saddle. "This one doesn't even bow when he should kneel."

"We're coming from Bellrise, Trent." Eliora moved to stand between her brother and the Swordsman. "How is the road to Al'drossford?"

These people were determined to ask him senseless questions. The girl was standing on the road; couldn't she tell what it was like? Trent cleared his throat. "The road…is right there. It looks just the way it does here, all the way to Al'drossford."

Eliora laughed politely at what she thought was an attempt at humor. "Roads can be like that. I wonder, Trent, your mask, is it for sale?"

"No." Glad to hear a query he knew the answer too, Trent replied succinctly.

"Are you sure? I can offer a good price," Eliora tried again. "It's not for sale. I can't sell it, it's soul-bound." Trent wished he could

take the words back the second they left his mouth. Eliora's lips parted in surprise, and even the stern-looking soldier blinked. It was Seth's reaction which caused Trent the most regret.

The nobleman's delicate features made him look almost as pretty as some

women Trent had met. His auburn hair was carefully styled, and the dust of the road avoided settling on him as if it knew better than to sully his clothing. That was probably the result of an enchantment, and it looked like one that everyone in the group possessed. But from the way Seth held himself, it was apparent that he thought himself above the rest of the world, and the dirt should share his opinion.

"Soul-bound equipment? In the hands of a beggar? Colonel, you must have a Mage capable of severing his ownership. If not, you know the alternative method, I'm sure." Seth's eyes gleamed with avarice. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his lips.

"Nephew!" Vanessa spoke sharply, and the look she directed at Seth caused even that self-satisfied man to wither. "In these lands, we do not rob or murder travelers! You seem to have forgotten that your family name does not put you above the law. Do not make me remind you again!"

"Ladies, if you are through, we should be on our way," Colonel Bromden suggested. Trent felt a wave of gratitude for the man.

"Of course, Colonel," Eliora assented. "It was good to meet you, Trent. Perhaps we will run into one another again."

Trent offered a short bow and muttered a goodbye. In the future, if it were up to him, Trent would never cross paths with anyone who chose to travel with a person like Seth. He watched the women mount and the procession resume, and once the last soldier passed by, he continued on his way, a little faster for the interruption.

His armor came back out of Storage. The comforting weight settled on his shoulders, and Trent swore he wouldn't go without it, or his sword, from now on. It might not have been able to protect him from a hundred mounted soldiers, but it bolstered his confidence, nonetheless.

Trent would not practice Acrobatics for a few days. Instead, he aimed all his energy into increasing the level of Dash. He even activated Steady Footing to make sure nothing tripped him up. The girl, Eliora, had said they came from Bellrise. Trent wondered what he would find there.

Two days later, Trent had the answer to his question. Or very nearly. The

walls of Bellrise could be seen in the distance, less than half a mile away. Inside those walls were shops that might sell the equipment and supplies he needed. They also promised to contain people, but Trent was not sure he liked the idea of meeting more strangers. He was trying to decide whether to

enter the town, or bypass it, when his journey was interrupted again. The road was empty except for Trent and one other. That other was small;

Trent could step over it without any trouble, yet it barred his way more thoroughly than the soldiers had. Upon seeing the mounted troops, something inside Trent had squared his shoulders. This tiny obstacle, however, made Trent want to run back to Al'drossford.

Seeing the situation from afar, it would have looked ridiculous. A Swordsman whose path was blocked by a rodent? He must be a coward. A Commoner could stomp the animal flat with one foot! But if you were standing in Trent's shoes, you would understand. You would feel his anxiety.

It wasn't a rodent stretching out its long slender body that was regarding Trent. It was a ferret, with jet black fur and red glowing eyes. This was no animal. It was a Beast, as strong, or more likely, stronger than any Trent had yet encountered.

The boy held himself immobile as the ferret rubbed its paws together. "No greeting for me, brother? No 'well met,' or 'how was the hunt'?"

Trent expected the Beast to be capable of speech. No creature possessing the power the ferret clearly held was simple. If the ferret's voice were deeper, a growl instead of a squeak, a growl you could feel in your bones, well, Beasts followed their own rules regarding what was appropriate.

What Trent didn't expect was the delight in the ferret's words. There was laughter mixed in with the questions that made no sense. The ferret dropped to all fours and took a step forward. Then it was gone, replaced by a Dire Wolf, a Wolf larger and sleeker than Arakai, the Wolf which had pulled Ranar's wagon.

"Well,Trent Embra, do you have nothing to say?" The laughter was still in the ferret turned wolf's voice, but it was mocking now as it said Trent's name. It stalked forward fluidly. Trent tracked it with his eyes until the Shadow Wolf disappeared behind him.

When the Beast stepped back into view it had changed again. Now it wore the appearance of an Al'rashian. It looked like Trent, if Trent's skin was dipped in shadow and his eyes burned red, "What do you remember, Trent Embra? How much of you is left?"

The shadowy Al'rashian reached out a hand and pushed Trent's mask up. "Do you know why your eyes are like that?"

"I am Al'rashian." Trent enunciated each word carefully; his fear was changing into anger. This creature's actions and questions prodded at his

sense of pride. The shadow creature threw back its head and howled laughter to the sky.

"You were always Al'rashian! What else could you possibly be? That choice was never up to you. But violet eyes? Those you would have chosen in memory of me.

"A memory you have lost." No mocking laughter now. There was sorrow in the Beast's voice now. "Why do you reek of forgotten magic? Have you met one of the three?"

Trent was lost by the sudden change of topics. The creature didn't wait for him to respond. "And there's a hole where your Bond should live. The Wizard wouldn't bother doing that. The Dragon would never harm you, and if you had met her, we wouldn't be speaking, because you would be too busy being digested."

"My Bond was severed," Trent said uncertainly. "And that's none of your…"

"Severed?" A hand reached out and grabbed the back of Trent's head. The creature pulled him forward until their foreheads were touching. "I do not speak of what that arrogant girl did to you. That was no Bond! There is a hole inside of you, a hole where your companion, the companion that is the birthright of all Al'rashians, should live! Who has done this to you?

"You will not speak? I do not blame you!" A second hand settled on Trent's shoulder as the creature continued to hold him in place. "You may never have a Bond, but there is still a place for a familiar within you. I swore… but that vow was made before… you are too weak."

The creature released Trent, only to reach down and grasp his forearms, his vambraces. "But there is a place for me until you are stronger, isn't there?"

The Beast let out a long sigh. "You will be stronger. I can wait. We will hunt together as we did. But first, there is one way I can help you." The black Al'rashian released Trent's arms and stepped back. The shadow's left hand streaked towards Trent's chest, and before Trent could scream, long fingers pushed through his clothing and entered his body.

Trent expected pain. He looked down to see the gaping hole in his chest that must be there. He wondered how he would stop the blood flow the injury must have caused. When the Beast withdrew its hand, Trent was surprised to see his clothing intact. There was no agony or unrelenting pain. It was like nothing had happened.

But something was different. One shadowy hand held a crystal now, a blood-red diamond. The Beast stared at it with disgust. "You are done with this!" The creature brought the crystal, the Ability Stone that held Fairy Cloak, to his face. Trent winced at the crunching sound of shattered glass that came from the creature's mouth as it ground the stone to dust.

The Beast swallowed and licked its lips. "An Ability created with old magic. It would have harmed you more than it would have helped, but there is no denying its power. What I can provide now does not compare, but I think you will find it more useful."

The Beast took hold of Trent's forearms once more. "When you see Ranar again, tell him he is a decrepit old man, too blind to see, and too weak- willed to act. Master of the Dusk Tower? He had you within his hand and let you slip away. He's not fit to be his own master, much less the Tower's!

"We will hunt together again when you are stronger, brother. You were never one to accept protection, but for all the times you looked out for me, the least I can do is provide you with an upgrade. I will be with you but sleeping. I can offer no aid, but I will always be there at your side, as I should be. Be well, Trent Embra."

The figure split into two, and where his hands had touched Trent's vambraces, it stuck, flowing into the armor. Trent's forearms grew cold as his equipment shifted and grew. Extending in both directions, soon a shadow covered Trent's arm from fingertips to elbow. The blackness solidified, and the vambraces Trent had worn since he had found them were replaced.

The item that had once matched his mail now went with his cowl. Trent didn't think they could be called vambraces any longer. They had become long gloves that clung to him like a second skin. He flexed his fingers, and the material didn't hinder his movements.

A red jewel covered the first knuckle of his right hand and a brown stone, the knuckle of his left. These were the Elementals that had taken up residence in his armor. He extended Earth and Fire Manipulation one after the other, but if the Spirits were upset by the change to their home, he could not sense it. They slumbered as peacefully as ever, though, at his contact, he felt a slight plea for sustenance.

It was a request he ignored. The Spirits didn't require food, but Mana matching their element would help them develop. Trent wanted to provide for them, but they had outgrown Charms, and he hadn't learned any stronger Spells yet.

Spiritual Gloves of the Hunt

Rare item/ Excellent Quality

Soul-bound/will grow with user

Armor Rating 40

1 Level to all Blade Skills while equipped

Trent told himself he should be pleased with the changes he found using Appraisal. Up to this point, besides a decent armor rating and a home for sleepy spirits, his vambraces had not been especially useful. His armor rating was double now. and the increase to Skills like Thrust and Slash was unbelievable. Still, Trent wasn't pleased!

He was resentful. The shadow knew things about Trent! Knew things that were hidden! They would meet again when Trent was stronger? Yes, they would! And when they did, Trent would know the things the shadow knew, even if Trent had to cut the answers from the creature's hide!

Trent was tired of words like "weak". He was sick of hearing how he had potential, despite his pathetic Attributes. He was fed up with running into men he could not defeat and Beasts that could hold him in place with a glance!

He looked towards Bellrise. The instinct to avoid the town was gone. Why should he extend his walk by going around? He would find out what was beyond those walls and only then finish his Class Quest. Trent was through with hiding and fear.

Chapter Three Even before the Awakening, the gods chose Champions from among

mortals to serve their interests. Champions were blessed with extraordinary strength and Abilities. Those chosen were to Adventurers what Adventurers were to Commoners. Champions developed quickly, and there were few within their level range that could stand against them.

Most gods simply picked a Champion that suited them. Others required their chosen ones to pass a test. One such god was Sallor, god of murderers. It was not an honor to be chosen by Sallor. He was worshiped by Assassins, who preferred to ply their trade rather than clear Trials and fight Beasts.

When Sallor needed a Champion, he chose thirteen people and imbued them with a Trace of divinity. To become Sallor's Champion, all you had to do was gain all thirteen Traces by murdering the others chosen. Even those who worked as killers for hire flinched at the thought of attacking other men and women just like themselves, Assassins, who would know you were coming and would prepare to greet you.

Martin Vane leaned against the wall of a tavern called The Lucky Pig and cursed. His legs were crossed in front of him and his arms were folded over his thin chest as he glared at the traffic passing on the streets of Bellrise. Young Adventurers from the local Academy were skipping off to delve the Dungeon, and housewives were picking over the goods of the open-air market. No one paid any mind to the ordinary-looking man glowering at them.

Martin knew how he had ended up in this sickeningly cheerful town in the middle of nowhere. Bad luck! Martin was a Level 20 Thief and a Guild member with a Copper Token, but he never set foot in a Trial unless times were hard.

Pickings had been slim in Bellrise. The town was too small and the Adventurers too poor to accommodate Martin's tastes. Purses here never held silver, much less gold. Martin rubbed at his forehead at the thought that he might need to work the Dungeon if he wanted to keep sleeping indoors.

Martin had reacted the way most did when Sallor's eyes fell on them. He swore and railed at the uncaring god, while constantly looking over his shoulder. Then in a fit of inspiration, Martin had joined a trade caravan

heading for far off places. Those chosen couldn't kill him if they couldn't find him!

For a year, Martin's fingers had rusted while the caravan traveled. He could hardly steal in such a closed society. Merchants and Guardsmen with missing purses would not have any trouble finding the Thief in their midst when that word was clear on Martin's Status. He had gone a little wild when they finally reached a city. He picked a few pockets he shouldn't have and left one step ahead of the noose, by jumping onto a ship heading north along the Streg River.

After six months aboard ship, the captain had demanded almost all of Martin's coin because of the unconventional way the Thief had booked passage. Six months to end up in a Barony with empty pockets and no way out. And the Guardsmen were no slouches here. Martin had some small success robbing naïve Adventurers, but he was painfully aware of how much he stood out.

It was Sallor's fault! Martin was a Thief, not an Assassin! Sure, he had slit a throat or two. He'd given the knife to a few people who objected too loudly when he tried to take an item he thought should belong to him. Why would that draw the attention of a god of murder?

He could not even hide. He could feel the Trace of divinity inside him. If he came within sight of another of the twelve that shared his misfortune, that divinity would mark his position like a flare! He could only run, and running had brought him to Bellrise.

Bellrise, with its cheerful townsfolk and optimistic Adventurers! The Adventurers were the worst. Martin had joined the Guild because a Token could open doors that lock picks couldn't, but he was no delver. He laughed at those idiots who risked death for coin. Coin that Martin could find on the streets.

The Adventurers in the Al'verren kingdom were the stupidest Martin had ever encountered. He had been warned by members of the caravan not to speak of the most common truths. Here, talking of Levels and Classes could get you executed faster than murder. The king employed more spies than soldiers to make sure his people were kept ignorant. Martin couldn't fathom the cost, but what was truly unbelievable was how easily the Al'verren citizens swallowed the lies!

Take this Swordsman sauntering through the city gate. Battered armor, worn scabbard, and not a thought in his head. This idiot was probably proud

of his ragged appearance! He probably thought that mask made him look mysterious! All the while blissfully unaware that the outside world…

Martin's nose twitched. It did that when it smelled an opportunity. His arms fell to his sides and his legs uncrossed. Martin hated Warriors like the one looking around Bellrise. They were arrogant and proud, thinking themselves above it all. He hated them all, and they were his favorite marks.

This Swordsman was new. Martin was sure he had never seen the man before. Looking closer, while the Swordsman's armor and weapon looked cheap, that hooded mask and the arm guards that covered to his elbows told of wealth. Sure enough, a fat purse hung from the man's belt.

Martin slipped into the crowd and fell in behind the Swordsman. There were enough people about to cover his movements, and Martin quickly closed with his target without drawing attention. A sharpened piece of metal, a knife without a hilt, fell into Martin's palm. The Thief strolled past the Swordsman and, without looking, his blade went to work. Purse strings were no match for a Level 20 Thief.

At least, they weren't usually. Martin was jerked to a halt as slender fingers closed about his wrist and held him fast. Had he misjudged? The Swordsman did not look like a high-leveled Adventurer. Just one with a bit more luck than most. How had Martin been caught?

A practiced flick sent Martin's blade back into his sleeve, and he belligerently demanded, "You got a problem?"

Trent did not miss much since he'd gotten the Perception Attribute. Sometimes he noticed too much or concentrated on seemingly unimportant details. He was sure the fingers of the wrist he held had brushed his belt pouch. There had been a glint of metal as well.

That glint was gone now, and Trent thought he might have made a mistake. The man had brushed against Trent accidentally; had he overreacted? His reactions had nearly gotten him in trouble in Al'drossford. He had thought he was beyond that now, but apparently not.

Why would this brown-haired man with the narrow face have touched Trent's pouch anyway? All that was inside was a sharpening stone, flint and steel, and a few odds and ends he had picked up. Trent wore the pouch because he had always worn it. He was sentimental about it, but anything he valued went into Storage.

Trent dropped Martin's wrist. "No, no problem. Excuse me." Martin's nose twitched again, and his ears perked up. This was no

experienced Warrior. The man's, the boy's, voice was young. Behind that mask was a fresh face and wide eyes, no doubt. Martin, being twenty-three himself, must be years older. It was only right to lend the junior a hand. That way he could find out where the Swordsman would be staying, and when he took off the expensive looking bits of gear…

"No harm," Martin assured Trent. "But you should be careful. You must be new in town. Come to join the Academy?"

"Academy? No." This was the first time Trent had heard the word. "Then you're here for the Dungeon? Tell you what, I have been meaning

to make a delve myself. Why don't we look out for one another?" The Dungeon would be the perfect place to relieve the Swordsman of his equipment. No one questioned what happened to Adventurers inside a Dungeon.

"The Trial? Maybe some other time. I have a Quest." Trent started to walk away, and Martin fell in beside him.

"Then it's the Guild you want! I can show you the way, and after you turn in your Quest…" Martin could taste the money Trent was going to give him. Calling a Dungeon a Trial? The kid was even newer to the Adventurer's life then Martin had thought. He hadn't picked up the slang and terminology yet. He was as green as a sapling could be.

"I'm not going to the Guild. I'm headed for the Wilds," Trent interrupted absently. His attention was completely on the grilled meat a nearby stall was selling. He stopped and asked the stall owner how much a meal cost. He had not had hot food for so long his mouth filled with saliva at the thought of biting into the sizzling meat.

Martin waited patiently as Trent was informed a wooden skewer cost a copper. Martin had to reach up and hold his nose. The twitching had gotten worse when Trent asked if the stall owner had change for silver. The answer was yes, but only if the Swordsman bought twenty coppers worth of meat.

Martin's twitching settled down when Trent produced a coin from nowhere. The Thief's suspicions were confirmed when Trent kept two skewers in his hands and made eighty coppers and eighteen portions of meat disappear. What were the odds of running into a rich fool with Storage?

Storage was a problem. What the kid carried looked expensive, but his real valuables would be out of reach. Anything in Storage was safe from a Thief's fingers, even in death. Torture might work, but he would need to get Trent alone and far from listening ears for that. But then hadn't the kid said…

"You're going to the Wilds alone? Dangerous that! Let me guide you, I can show you the best hunting spots!"

"Have to go alone," Trent said around a mouthful of the most delicious food he'd ever tasted. "I have a Quest."

Martin's twitch traveled from his nose to his shoulders and down to his fingers. This kid was Martin's lucky star! Stupid, rich, and heading to his own mugging without complaint. "Well, a Quest is a Quest, far be it from me to interfere. Let me show you the way to the edge of the Dungeon's domain. No, I insist! The name is Martin Vane. I have a feeling we're going to be great friends!"

Nothing Trent could say dissuaded Martin from coming along, and he

didn't try that hard. Trent was not sure if the last week counted towards his Quest. The description in his Status specified the Wilds as the place he had to survive, and the Al'dross territory hardly qualified. There was no harm in letting Martin tag along. It was only a few miles anyway. The Trial at Bellrise was a minor one. Its domain extended no further than a man could walk in an hour or two.

Martin walked beside Trent and chatted away in his weedy voice. He asked Trent all about his Class and Level and slipped in questions about Trent's equipment as naturally as he was able. Trent deflected the questions when he could and was vague about the rest. The word soul-bound never crossed his lips. He had learned his lesson there.

Trent found Martin's queries a little intrusive, but harmless. The man talked as if a partnership between them was a done deal, and Trent wasn't opposed to that idea. His current Quest said he had to be alone, but he was considering clearing the Bellrise Trial eventually. When he did, it would be best to bring someone along, and Martin was friendly enough.

A little too friendly, really. They had reached the beginning of a forest, and Martin showed no sign of turning back.

"I think I can make my way from here," Trent suggested. Martin looked over his shoulder. Bellrise could still be seen a few miles

away, and this spot was a little too exposed for what Martin had in mind. "I'll stay with you a little longer. You said you'd be gone two weeks, yeah? I should know what direction you're headed in, just in case you don't show up on time. Might as well start looking out for each other now, right?"

Trent grunted, but said nothing as he continued walking and Martin

followed. When Trent left the road and started down an animal trail, Martin made another excuse. He would tag along until Trent made camp for the night. Never fun to sleep in a new place without a familiar face nearby, right? In the morning, Trent would have his feet under him, and Martin would head back.

Trent picked up the pace. Steady Footing made his feet sure, but Martin kept up without any difficulty. Trent hadn't asked the man about his Class and Level and was beginning to think he should have. There was only one major Trial in the Al'dross Barony, and as quickly as Martin moved, he should have been in Al'drossford, not Bellrise.

Martin was starting to get a little annoyed. This kid wasn't bright, but his eyes were sharp. Trent noticed his every movement, and when Martin closed in, he always found a silver mask turning his way. While he thought he could take the boy in a straight fight, accidents happened in those situations, and Martin did not want to risk killing Trent, not before the Swordsman emptied his Storage.

This was it! Trent was distracted by something. Martin drew a knife from behind his back. Angle the blade downwards through the hole in the boy's armor, and nothing vital would be struck. It would put Trent on the ground, though, and then it would be easy to disable his limbs. Shit, why was he speeding up?

Trent was distracted! There was something off about those two trees on either side of the trail. They weren't like any of the others around. Their needles ended in silver tips, and… was that frost at the base of their trunks? He broke into a jog, eager to explore the mystery, and his Perception Attribute missed seeing the blade that swept by his back.

The kid wanted to make things hard? Martin was willing to play along. That hole in his shoulder was a good target as well, and Martin could hold Trent still while he inserted his knife! Quiet feet drew close as Trent stepped between the two trees. A flicker of light and the boy vanished!

What!? Had he been playing Martin for a fool? Unless Trent had been lying, a Swordsman did not have enough Mana for a Skill like Blink or a Spell like Teleport! Martin whirled and stepped back. He searched for his walking pot of gold and his back stiffened at what he found.

The forest behind him had changed. Night had fallen, and Martin could see from the moonlight that frost coated the ground. A full moon? That was wrong as well. It was weeks until the next full moon. Even the trail they had

been walking down had shifted and changed. Martin was standing in the brush, and the nearby path had widened as if

whatever used it was bigger and heavier than a common woodland animal. The twitch in Martin's nose wasn't caused by an opportunity this time. Now his nose quivered from a more primal instinct that said he was fucked.

Martin turned in a slow circle to find Trent behind him. The boy was just standing there, and as far as Martin could see, he was staring at a tree with silver bark. The tree was unusual but given the situation not worth close study. Martin had the perfect chance to plunge his knife into Trent but lowered it instead. He might need the boy a little longer.

Trent wasn't looking at the odd-colored tree. He had noticed it and Herbalism wanted him to take a closer look. More specifically, Herbalism wanted him to examine the green vine with its silver petals that curled around the trunk of the tree, but for the moment, Trent was absorbed is his Status. He was reading a message only he could see.

You have entered a Trial, The Moonlit Forest.

Chapter Four Junior Guardsman Tersa was on wall cleaning detail. It was a task she

had been assigned every day directly following morning drill for a week. A week! It wasn't fair! She should be sparring with her squad! She should be going on patrols, fighting bandits and Beasts. She was supposed to be Sergeant Cullen's personal protégé!

Technically, the Sergeant had said project, not protégé, but Tersa was sure he had misspoken. The Sergeant was always doing that, saying one thing when he meant another. He was back to calling her Idiot again. He said, "Idiot," but Tersa heard, "Your Divinity," just like that time at the temple.

Behind her, the Corporal assigned to supervise her yawned. The man covered his mouth with one hand and then tossed a handful of dirt into the wall with the other.

"You missed a spot, Junior Guardsman! Pay attention to what you're doing!" The Corporal barked a command that turned into another yawn.

The yawn was a result of Tersa's "training." She had Calming Presence activated. She always had the Skill running these days. She was supposed to keep it active until its Level was higher than her Enraging Aura.

In battle, Calming Presence could counter fear-inspiring Skills. It could hold a group together in the face of overwhelming odds; on wall cleaning detail, it made Corporals yawn. The constant yawning was annoying. The dirt throwing; that was just plain mean.

Tersa scrubbed harder with her brush. She did not mutter under her breath or swear at the Corporal. Every time she did that, they gave her a smaller tool to clean the wall with. At first, she was handed a scrub brush that she held with both hands. She suspected her current implement was meant for adding fine details to paintings.

An object moved between Tersa and the sun, casting a heavy shadow

over her. "Junior Guardsman, you will join your squad for unarmed combat."

The rumbling sound of Sergeant Cullen's voice was music to Tersa ears! She threw her paintbrush down and spun on her heels. "Bloody Flaming Shit, Sergeant! It's about time!"

Tersa chose this moment to test out a new expletive. She got the weirdest looks when she shouted her preferred war cry. Judging from the way Cullen's eyes narrowed, her new catchphrase was not a hit. The Sergeant didn't even look at her discarded brush.

She ducked down and retrieved the tool, tucking it in her belt behind her back, safely out of sight. "I mean, yes, Sergeant! Right away, Sergeant!"

"With me, Idiot." Cullen waved for Tersa to follow and led the girl to where her squad was standing in a circle on the training grounds. "You will be facing Junior Guardsman Vinson. You may both begin when you are ready, by which I mean immediately!"

Tersa hurried into the circle and squared off against her assigned opponent. Vinson was a full foot and a half taller than Tersa, and heavily muscled. He was the best unarmed fighter in the squad, and no one else ever volunteered to face him.

Tersa would have volunteered! Vinson was the perfect opponent for her. Once she ground him into the dirt, the others would accept her! She had not made any friends among her squad yet. They hardly spoke to her unless it was required. Now she could show them what she could do!

Vinson had the Grappler Class. It was why he was acknowledged as the best close fighter in the squad. If he got a hold of you it was all over. Tersa wasn't going to let the bastard touch her.

She had heard the others talking. Vinson was slow, they said. All you had to do was keep your distance and the Grappler was finished. He had a Specialized Class and excelled at unarmed combat, but so what? Tersa had an Advanced Class and had spent weeks learning from Sergeant Cullen himself!

Now was her time to shine! That was the thought that ran through her head as she directed a low kick to Vinson's knee. Soften him up with a few hits to the legs, put him off balance, make him angry, and it was all over. Vinson was good at brawling, but Tersa was the champ when it came to making people angry!

How had Vinson got a hold of her leg? The pissing bastard was tall; she hadn't kicked high! Why was she being swung around? How had her arm gotten twisted behind her back? Had the dirt always tasted this bitter?

This could not be happening! She must have dozed off while cleaning the wall! Sure, her Level said 1, but she had the Attributes of a Level 25! She had an Advanced Class! Vinson should be kissing her boots and begging for mercy!

Attributes… Tersa pulled up her Status. There it was, there was the problem! She had the Attribute Points, 65 of them, but she had never spent them! Vinson let go of her arm at Cullen's direction, and Tersa rose to her feet.

"Pathetic, Junior Guardsman…." Cullen began.

"Hush," Tersa held up her hand, palm out towards the Sergeant. Collectively, Tersa's squad, including Vinson, stepped back and wished they were anywhere else. Blood rushed to Cullen's face as he drew a deep breath.

Tersa was focused on her Status. She needed to be faster. 20 Points to Agility. Strength would be good too; she had heard that Strength played a role in speed, another 20 Points there. 10 Points to Dexterity, to help with her dueling wand practice. 10 Points to Intelligence and 5 Points to Wisdom!

She wanted to throw a bunch of Points into Constitution, but her new Class used magic, speed, and Strength. She had to Shore up a few of her weak spots. She should have done this weeks ago! If she had spent the Points when she got them, that runty bastard she used to spar with would have never laid a finger on her!

"I'm ready now, Sergeant! Let's go, you piss drinking…" Tersa balled her

fists and took a step towards Vinson. The earth swayed and bucked beneath her. Was the bastard using magic? That was cheating! Tersa found herself face down, fighting to hold back a stomach that wanted to crawl out through her mouth.

Sergeant Cullen squatted down next to her. "Junior Guardsman, did you just spend a significant portion of saved Attribute Points?" Tersa's nose dug a trench in the dirt as she nodded.

"I thought so, Idiot!" Cullen straightened up. "Listen close! At some point, you may be tempted to save Points gained from leveling. You may gain a new Class and want to wait and see what that Class requires of you. This is smart!"

Cullen glowered and looked around to make sure he had everyone's attention. He did. Except for Tersa, who couldn't raise her head, every eye and ear were focused on him.

"What is not smart is spending a great deal of hoarded Attribute Points all at once! A change in your Attributes is a change in your body! A change that requires adjustment! This is a lesson Junior Guardsman Tersa is currently learning! To make sure you all learn it as well, you will do laps until she recovers! Pace yourself, Guardsmen, you are going to be running for a while! Move out!"

The assembled squad jogged off. They began muttering and complaining once they thought they were a safe distance away. They were wrong, but Cullen let it go. This time their bitching wasn't about him but directed at the redhead who was drooling on the ground. Tersa had not won herself any friends today.

This wasn't working. Cullen's usual methods were not getting through to the girl. It was time to try something new. Tersa was a dull blade that cried out for an edge. Cullen knew the perfect sharpening stone for the job.

Tersa immersed herself in Calming Presence. She had to feel the peace. She had to feel the serenity. She had to pissing figure out how to escape!

When Cullen had led her to her current location, she was sure she was going back to wall cleaning detail. When he took away her brush, she thought she had been demoted to latrine cleaning, a task she would probably be expected to perform with her tongue. She was sure she had heard rumors of a Recruit who had upset the Sergeant so much that the Recruit had choked to death doing just that.

What Cullen intended for Tersa was worse. He was planning on getting her executed! The crusty, old, whoreson had set her up. She should not be in this room. Guardsmen were not allowed here! Guardsmen stood watch outside, but even officers never stepped in!

This was the Duke's personal practice hall. Mirrors lined the wall to Tersa's left. On her right was a row of incredibly lifelike training dummies. These were not the wooden posts that Guardsmen used but replicas of the human form that Tersa suspected moved and responded to attacks.

The unseeing eyes of those dummies drilled into Tersa. They were just waiting for her to move. They wanted her to touch the expensive-looking weapons that hung from the wall in front of her. When she did, she was sure the mechanical men would be revealed as Guardians that would pounce on her!

She wasn't falling for that shit! She understood any single object in this wide hall was worth more than she made in a year. In ten years! Sergeant Cullen probably expected her to break something. That was why he made her wait in this lonely room.

If she were discovered here, the Duke would have her confined for a few months, but that wouldn't be enough for the Sergeant! He wanted her to break a mirror or handle a weapon, commit some offense that would send her to the headsman!

She wouldn't give the Sergeant the excuse he was looking for. Tersa could stand still! She didn't need to touch that axe, even if it did look more impressive that her Cleaver. She wanted to poke at the eyes of the watching dummies. They wouldn't blink! Gods how she wished they would blink.

Tersa's toe tapped. At her side, her hand twitched. She peeked out of the corner of her eye at the lifeless watchers. Her tongue poked out to taunt them. She wasn't afraid! Maybe a little punch on their stupid jaws would show them how unafraid she was!

When a soft cough sounded behind her Tersa leapt three feet into the air. She had been caught! She hadn't even touched anything yet! Could a Guardsman be executed for thinking inappropriately?

"Careful, you'll hurt yourself jumping around like that lass," a chuckling voice said. Tersa's feet found the floor, and she turned to see who had been sent to apprehend her.

She expected a Senior Guardsman. She found a thin, balding man, slightly stooped, carrying a large pack over one shoulder. What was left of the man's hair was grey and gave the impression it could turn white at any moment. He had a certain dignity about him, but he appeared frail. He was not the kind of person you sent to arrest a young Guardsman at her peak!

Tersa recognized the man in a vague sort of way. She had seen him about the keep. He was a dressmaker or cobbler, something like that. No one important. He was probably less welcome in this hall than she was! An old memory tried to catch her attention, a memory of Senior Guardsman Merrill stepping out of this man's way with a polite bow.

She was over her fright now and had turned that fear into belligerence, "Terah's… Rindel's sagging tits!" She had to remember not to swear by Terah. Rindel should be safe. Sergeant Cullen was always swearing by that god.

Tersa, of course, was wrong. Rindel, god of banditry in the city of Cullen's birth, didn't mind if certain types of people referred to his anatomy in an unflattering way. But Tersa was risking more than she knew with her words.

"You shouldn't be here, old man!" Tersa's hands went to her hips. "Shit, if you're… Oww!"

Her right ear stung, and she clapped a hand to it. Had she been bitten? Was the Duke's training hall infested with bugs? It had felt like a pinch, more than a bite, but the old man was barely through the door. One of his hands supported the strap of his pack, and the other was behind his back. As he and Tersa were the room's only occupants, it had to be a bug bite!

"Fucking bugs are… oww!" Tersa's free hand went to her left ear. When she looked at her hand, she found a drop of blood staining the tip of her finger. Just a drop, but it was a bad sign. Bugs could be Beasts, and these were fast. Now that they had a taste for her, they would come quicker!

"Run, old man, there are fu… oww!" She didn't finish the word this time before her right ear was stung again.

"Calm down now, lass. You'll give yourself a fit." Master Taylor set his burden down and strolled forward with both hands behind his back. "Let's see what we're working with, hmm? Cullen thinks you are promising, but to be honest, you seem like a poor learner."

Poor learner? Cullen repeatedly called her an idiot. He screamed that Tersa was a moron, not fit to breathe the gods' good air. He berated her for being a fool. The words, poor learner, spoken in Taylor's genteel voice, felt far more insulting.

"Who are you calling stupid, old man?" Tersa's weight shifted to the balls of her feet, "Don't think I won't… gah!" Her ear was almost ripped from the side of her head. Tears welled up in Tersa's eyes.

"Taylor Craw." the man inclined his head the smallest amount possible as he introduced himself. "Grandmaster Tailor in service to his grace, Lewis Al'dross. As my name and Class are so similar, I trust you will remember them from now on."

That last attack was not a bite! Bugs don't twist ears! This Taylor person hadn't moved, but Tersa was sure…

"Did you pinch me, you ba… Taylor!?" Tersa wanted to growl this accusation, but there was too much whine in her voice for it to be

intimidating.

"Who can say, lass, who can say." Taylor's hands came out from behind him. He wove his fingers together and stretched. "Cullen has asked me to provide you with a few pointers. The first lesson is that in my presence, you will maintain a civil tongue. You will address me as Master Taylor and complete the tasks I give you promptly, without complaint. Cullen has been easy on you. You will find I am not so kind."

"What am I supposed to learn from you, Master Taylor?" Tersa did not like the way this was going. When Taylor's hand produced a pair of clubs, Tersa covered her ears.

Not this time, you old… wait, those are not clubs; those are dueling wands. Tersa's hands fell to her waist. The sheaths she touched there were empty. Taylor held her wands! How was this old man so fast?

"These weapons don't have much in common with knives, but like knives, they require grace and speed to be most effective." In Taylor's hands, the wands wove intricate patterns that mesmerized Tersa.

Tersa's shoulder stung. Then her elbow and wrist. It wasn't so bad as the ear pinches had been, but the strikes kept coming. Tersa retreated, stumbling backward, and Taylor followed. He slowed his movements enough for her to see what was happening.

Maybe he meant to be kind, but, for Tersa, being able to see the blows that she couldn't block was worse! Her hands dropped to stop a thrust and failed. When she doubled over with a grunt, her shoulder was struck again. No matter how hard she tried to move out of the way, how quickly she moved to block, Taylor always hit his mark.

The blows ranged from stinging taps to light prods. Taylor was careful to never hit her anywhere too sensitive. Tersa's joints and muscles were fair game, though, and all got their fair share of the attention.

Taylor backed her into a corner and gave her one last rap on the knuckles. "Well, lass, are you convinced I have valuable skills to pass on?"

Sucking on her bruised knuckles, while rubbing her elbow, Tersa muttered something that could have been, "yes, Master Taylor." Most likely, it wasn't, but Taylor didn't enjoy beating on young girls, so that was what he chose to hear.

"Good, then we can get started." Rolling his neck, Taylor returned to where he had dropped his pack. "Come along, lass."

Biting her lip, visibly struggling to control her temper, Tersa approached. "Can… can I have my wands back, Master Taylor?"

"These?" Taylor held up the items in question. "No, these you can have back when you prove to me that you are clever enough to use them."

Tersa's prized pair of dueling wands, weapons she had never gotten a chance to use herself, disappeared. Tersa wanted to shout and demand them back, but with the bruises underneath the silver and black of her uniform, she considered her words carefully. If Taylor made her wands reappear, he might decide she needed another lesson.

"Take these instead." Taylor pressed a pouch, a small piece of cloth, and a wooden circle into her hands.

Tersa stared at the objects dubiously. "What are these for?"

"Embroidery," Tailor said succinctly. "Today, you will learn…"

"No! No f-f-f…just no! I'm a Guardsmen, not a seamstress!" Tersa found herself in an odd predicament. Her instincts told her to throw the things Taylor had given her on the ground and stomp them into dust! Her bruises once again counseled a more reserved approach.

"A very slow learner." Taylor's head shook, but Tersa was relieved to see his hands return to their place behind his back. "There is much I would do if Cullen asked. But no amount of pleading would see me take you on as an apprentice Seamstress.

"However, you will learn to sew. Sewing will train your hands and teach

you patience. Those are two things you are in dire need of! Now, sit!"

Tersa steeled herself to argue further and was surprised when her legs collapsed beneath her. She stared at the embroidery hoop in her hands. This wasn't fair! Why did she have to do this? And why alone?! Trent should be here. Trent liked stupid things. He would probably get a kick out of learning to sew!

"Where is Trent?" She asked the question wishing to have a partner to share in her torment. Saying the words out loud, it occurred to Tersa that she hadn't seen Trent in forever. That pissed her off. Trent was probably getting special training while she was stuck on wall cleaning detail!

Tersa had been speaking to herself. When Taylor answered, she was caught off guard.

"What did you say?"

"Trent, where is Treeeent?" She stressed the name. The old man probably had hearing problems. "Trent likes this c-c-stuff. You were talking about knives. Trent likes knives. Shouldn't he have to learn to sew too?"

Her glare traveled from hoop to man. She thought 'man' because Master Taylor had left at some point. The man standing over her now had nothing in common with the hunched old tailor.

This new man was tall and whipcord thin. Twinkling eyes had been replaced by dark storm clouds. The man was an unsheathed blade, falling for Tersa's throat.

"Where is Trent?" Taylor repeated Tersa's question with an entirely different inflection. His words were a demand and promised violence if he did not get the answer he wanted. An answer Tersa did not have.

Trent, Kirstin's summons, a lad Taylor had only met twice. This imbecilic girl was absolutely correct. Trent should be here. Taylor had agreed that Cullen's field training would benefit the boy, but he had done so grudgingly. Trent was a boy with promise, a boy Taylor was eager to mold.

Cullen and his Recruits had returned over a week ago. Taylor had received word that Kirstin and her companions were back as well. They had arrived last night. The report Taylor had gotten had made no mention of the boy the keep knew as Kirstin's servant. For Trent to be absent, for Taylor and Cullen to fail to notice the boy's absence….

Taylor didn't know how that was possible. He meant to find out.

Chapter Five "Is this part of your Quest?" Martin struggled to keep calm. No use in

upsetting the boy now. "Did you know there was a Field Dungeon here!?" He spoke a little louder than he meant to. He was no Adventurer. He had never been in a Roaming Dungeon before and was quite happy to keep things that way. Field Dungeons were worse than Permanent ones. There would be no well-mapped paths or planned strategies here.

The question broke Trent out of his musing. The notification in his Status was important, but he was aware that Martin probably had not received one. No one Trent met ever did. It was strange for him to be studying his Status after entering a Trial.

"No, we're just lucky, I guess." Trent cleared his throat and shrugged. Martin stared at him as if he'd gone mad.

Lucky? The air was different here; maybe it was distorting the words that reached the thief's ears. Trent couldn't have used the word lucky. And that excited inflection in the boy's voice had to be a trick caused by the sound hitting the kid's mask. Adventurers called Trials "Dungeons" because they were easy to get into but hard to leave. An unknown Dungeon was a death sentence. A Level 9 Swordsman should be petrified right now.

"Lucky? Yeah, right, we're the luckiest fucking saps in the world." Martin gripped the hilt of the knife that he held pressed against his leg. He wanted to keep Trent calm, but the kid insisted on pissing him off. "Do you realize…?"

Martin's head jerked back. His nose wiggled and he drew in a deep breath through widened nostrils. The blood drained from his face as the sound of branches breaking reached him.

"Moon cursed… why did it have to be moon cursed?" Martin's breathing was ragged as he hissed the question under his breath. He had to get out of here. He had to run! He would need a diversion to get away from what was coming.

"Moon cursed?" A distraction offered itself up. The kid was going to be useful after all, and judging from his curious tone, Trent had no idea how "lucky" he was.

The light from the full moon illuminated the cold air of the forest just

enough that Trent did not need Dark Vision. If he hadn't been wearing his mask, he would have rubbed his eyes. Surely, they were deceiving him! Martin had looked human this whole time. A little thin maybe, and his face was pinched, but he looked ordinary enough, up until now.

Now, Martin's chin sunk inwards and his nose lengthened, his features growing distinctly rat-like. His ears had moved from the side to the top of his head and now protruded above his hair. The stubble on his face became more pronounced, and were those the whiskers of an animal that extended from his cheeks?

Martin was not Human; he was Kindred. Beastkin was the more common term. Trent had only met Humans and Al'rashians before this, but the title of another Awakened race popped into his head at the sight of Martin's transformation. Another word escaped him. That word was the proper mode of address for Ratkin. Trent knew the term Beastkin was mildly insulting to the races it referred to. Each variety of the Kindred had a unique name. They were not related in any sense, but the other races grouped them together anyway.

The word Trent was reaching for slipped away because Martin's knife was coming towards him. Trent brought up his arm, and the Thief's blade glanced off his long gloves instead of tearing out his throat; glanced off and did not penetrate. Trent was knocked backward from the force, and his forearm went numb, but he was unharmed.

Beady eyes glared at Trent, and he reached for his sword. Before he could draw it, Martin dropped to all fours and rushed off into the underbrush. Trent's back was pressed against the silver tree, and he almost drew his sword anyway, unsure if Martin planned to return. Then he heard what had caused Martin's retreat.

Snapping branches and a low growl told Trent that Martin had run from whatever was making those noises, not from him. The Beast was getting closer and it was big! Trent was tired of overly large Beasts pushing him around! He wanted to stand his ground, he would if he had to, but it would be best to see what he was facing first.

No immediate cover presented itself, and Trent feared that the Beast was too close for him to get away without attracting attention. What did that leave him? Trent looked up. A branch five or six feet above him looked like it could bear his weight, and if it didn't, he hadn't lost anything by trying.

Recent gains in Acrobatics and Agility sent Trent upwards. His fingertips

gripped the branch, but just the tips. Climb kicked in, and Trent was able to hold on. Pulling himself upward while pushing with his feet against the tree's trunk, Trent adjusted his grip, managing to heave himself onto the branch without letting a grunt of effort out.

Rotating his palms, Trent pushed again and brought his knee on to the branch. From there, it was simple to creep up the tree, higher and higher, until branches and needles shielded him from view. He had known it was a good idea to train Acrobatics! He would work on it more often, but, for now, it was time to train Stealth and Camouflage.

These were two of his weakest Skills. Both were still at Level 1. They had no effect on whatever the Undead used to sense the living, so Trent had never had the opportunity to practice them. Now he was wishing that he had made time to gain a few levels on the concealing Skills. He kept still and peered down through the needles to see what this Trial had to offer.

The Beast that came into view walked on two legs, and its arms were so long that they almost dragged in the dirt. The creature's teeth were large enough that it couldn't fully close its jaws, which was impressive given its long muzzle and oversized head. That head bore a resemblance to a wolf's, and the grey hair that covered its body added to this impression.

After Martin's transformation, you could see both the Rat and the man in the Thief. This wolf was the same but taken to the extreme. Its body held the musculature of a man, and it walked upright, but its fur, teeth, and claws were all wolf. The way the Beast panted and growled as it trod forward, its seven- foot frame breaking branches and leaving deep impressions in the trail, reinforced its animal nature.

But its eyes were milky white. The sight of those eyes made Trent's skin crawl. This was a Trial Beast modeled after one of the Awakened races. It was said to be a blessing that the Trials gave this visual clue, so delvers could differentiate between Beasts and other Adventurers. Trent supposed that was true.

But then, seeing the man-wolf below, no one would confuse it for an Adventurer. With its slobbering jaws and mindless snarls, an observer could see clearly that the creature was a threat. From hints in the message from his Status that Trent had been reading before Martin interrupted him, the boy thought the creature was called a Werewolf. Trent was about to activate Identify to see if the Skill would confirm this hint when a sound from above him made Trent realize he hadn't taken stock of his surroundings as

thoroughly as he should have.

As the Werewolf paused beneath the branches of the silver tree, its nose testing the air, Trent slowly lifted his gaze up. Yellow eyes met Trent's as the boy studied the creature balanced on a branch three feet over his head.

This creature wasn't as big as the Werewolf, but that was small comfort. A cross between a Cat and a lizard chittered softly at Trent, as he pushed his back against the tree trunk. Its flat body was scaled, but white fur broke out in tufts around its head. Powerful paws flexed, and claws bit into the wood, as the creature shifted its yellow eye from Trent to the Werewolf and back.

The passive effect of Identify told Trent that the Cat thing was dangerous but manageable. The Werewolf was the bigger threat, but it still had not noticed the two beings in the tree. Together, the two Beasts were enough to shred the boy to bits, especially since Trent's current perch wasn't the best fighting position he could ask for.

Oddly, Trent found himself unafraid of the Cat-Lizard. Its presence was unexpected, but he sensed no hostility in its body language. Instead, the Beast's gaze fluctuated between the boy and the Wolf below, as if it were trying to convey its thoughts. It crept out to the end of the branch it was balancing on, and with one last look at Trent, flung itself off.

The creature yowled as it soared through the air at the Werewolf's head. Claws like long needles were extended to rend the flesh of its enemy. The Werewolf looked up for the first time, and when it saw the flattened form rushing for it, the Wolf's jaws opened menacingly.

The Cat-Lizard wrapped itself around the Werewolf's head, hissing and biting as it tore at fur and muscle. The Wolf howled. At first Trent thought the sound was caused by pain, but when he saw the Cat creature's body lock up and his own muscles tensed, he realized a Skill had been used.

The Werewolf lifted a heavy hand and grabbed its assailant. It tore the Cat-Lizard away, and pieces of the Wolf's own skin were ripped off, as it tossed the stunned Beast against the tree trunk. The Cat-Lizard hit the ground and regained its mobility. It crouched and swatted at the air as it prepared to

leap again.

The Wolf let loose with another howl, but this time a red light was emitted along with the sound. The Cat pounced, and when it made contact with the red light, it screamed in an almost human voice. Its momentum continued, but the closer the Beast got to the Werewolf, the more of its skin peeled away, revealing blood and bone beneath.

The Wolf's jaws snapped forward, catching the Cat-Lizard in its oversized muzzle, and stained teeth crunched down on the bloody mess the Cat had become. It shook its head vigorously, then opened its teeth sending the Cat plummeting back to the ground. The Cat creature lay on the earth, dead, and the Wolf howled again, this time in victory.

Trent could not process what had just happened. He had expected both Beasts to attack him, but instead… had the Cat been trying to convince him to attack with it? If Trent had, could they have defeated the Werewolf together?

The Wolf didn't bother consuming the fallen Beast and started to trudge away. Trent shook off his confusion and took the opportunity to activate Identify before the Wolf was out of view.

Werewolf - Trial Beast, Level ???

Identify leveled up. Identify now Level 5.

He had been right, but Trent's rattled nerves were not soothed by this information. He suspected he only learned as much as he did, because it was information he already had and that was displayed due to Identify's increase. The important thing was that Trent confirmed a thing he had been told in the past but never experienced for himself. Some Beasts could sense when an active Skill was being used!

The Werewolf whirled around and came rushing back to the tree. It huffed and snarled, white eyes searching for signs of what had disturbed it. Trent breathed softly and thought small thoughts. Fortunately, the Beast never looked up. Stealth and Camouflage, combined with his height, kept

Trent safe.

The Werewolf resumed its trek, and once it was out of sight, Trent carefully climbed down from the tree. His knees flexed as he landed softly on the grass. The body of the Cat-Lizard was hardly recognizable beside him.

Trent crouched down. A Beast Core could be seen among the shattered wreckage of the Cat's breastbone. Trent reached out a hand but ignored the treasure. Instead, he placed his fingers in the dirt and activated Earth Manipulation. That Ability and the Herbalism Skill begged him to pay attention to the green vine, with its silver petals that wrapped its way around the tree he had sheltered in. He ignored their demands and urged the Earth Elemental in his glove, which was starting to stir, to continue its rest.

For the first time, Trent used Earth Manipulation for its true purpose. The dirt he pushed aside with that Ability left a foot-deep hole, more than enough to contain the remains the Werewolf hadn't bothered to eat. Gently, Trent slid the Beast's body into its grave and used his hands to push the soil over it.

This was a pointless gesture. Trials cleaned up after themselves. Bodies of Adventurers who fell here would never leave unless their companions carried them out. Before long, the signs of battle, tracks left by the Werewolf, and this disturbance Trent had created in the terrain would all be erased.

Trent knew it was pointless, but he felt the gesture had to be made. Maybe the Cat-Lizard had not been able to express itself, but it had tried to communicate. Trent was the one who failed, and that failure weighed on him.

Despite his inaction, the Cat had taught Trent an important lesson. He wasn't sure, but he felt the creature was near his Level. In some ways, Trent was stronger than the Beast. If it could harm the Werewolf, then Trent could kill this creation of the Trial. Doing so would be his way of apologizing to the hunter that had wanted to work together with him.

Trent stared at the blood and dirt that covered his gloves. He wondered if there was a Death Elemental housed within them which would respond to the unintentional offering he had provided. When no black dot appeared to clean the mess for him, Trent cast the Self-Clean Charm. He cast it twice and while

his gloves looked unstained, Trent thought he could still see the signs of blood on his fingertips.

Trent climbed back into the tree and once he was safely hidden by Stealth and Camouflage as well as its branches, he accessed the message in his Status he hadn't finished reading yet.

You have entered a Trial, The Moonlit Forest. Clear conditions as follows:

Poor clear - find the exit. Simple Clear - defeat 10 Wererats and find the exit.

Average Clear - defeat 10 Wererats, 10 Grey Werewolves, and find the exit.

Above Average Clear - defeat 10 Wererats, 10 Grey Werewolves, 10 Black Werewolves, and find the exit.

Perfect Clear - defeat 25 Wererats, 20 Grey Werewolves, 15 Black werewolves, and the Trial Guardian.

The Truce amongst Hunters holds. The clear conditions were laid out for him and, for the most part, made

sense. Trent could leave anytime he liked if he could find the way out. The perfect clear condition bothered him. It made no mention of the exit, which could mean there were two ways out, or that the exit and the Guardian were located in the same spot.

Trent did not waste time considering this. The last sentence about the Truce amongst Hunters held him enthralled. That phrase, he was sure he had never heard it before, yet reading the words caused his heart to beat faster. It pried at the corners of his mind and demanded to be heard. It whispered about prey shared and the sheltering safety of darkness.

Trent lost his tenuous hold over those thoughts and almost his place on the branch when a snapping noise and a panting growl announced the presence of a Werewolf. How long had he been lost in thought? Hadn't it only been seconds? If that were true, Trent was in a tough spot.

He couldn't tell if this Beast was the same from before or a new one. Whatever the case, the Beast behaved similarly. It paused beneath the tree and pawed the earth where Trent had made a makeshift grave. Then, after testing the air, heavy feet continued down the trail.

The glimmer of an idea formed in Trent's mind; a good idea if he could pull off. Seeing the Cat-Lizard wound the Werewolf gave him the belief that

he could kill one. He also knew that he would suffer the same fate as the Cat if he were caught in the Wolf's strange Skills. The only difference would be that no one would bury Trent's body.

He did have a few options that might help. Trent still had nearly 2000 XP that he had not spent. Not enough to level either of his Classes, but Trent had five open Class slots and seven Profession slots. His saved XP would be enough to bring a new Class to Level 3 or better.

Was that the answer? A higher level meant more Attribute Points, and if Trent chose one of the Specialized Classes that were available to him, he could get new Skills. But Trent had been told not to level a new Class until he reached a point where his current ones required more XP than he could earn easily. Level 15 was generally considered the point when it was time to choose a new Class.

And 3 levels meant 12 Attribute Points. What would that get him? It wasn't enough to bring his Strength to 36 and his Dexterity to 40, numbers which would allow him to use the sword gathering dust in his Storage. Thinking of that blade, Trent opened his Storage and examined its contents.

A golden chest holding two books he'd never read, a third book on Herbalism, two broken knives, a sword he couldn't use, and a short bow that was useless was all he found. There was also a month's worth of dried goods and eighteen skewers of meat that he had purchased in Bellrise, but Trent didn't need food, any more than he needed a slight increase in his Attributes or new Skills. He needed…

Trent's head leaned back against the trunk of the tree. He did not know what he needed! He had been excited to find himself in a Trial. Now he realized he was as unprepared for this Moonlit Forest as he had been for the Land of the Undying Lord! Why hadn't he bought potions and new weapons in Bellrise? He could have found new armor and clothing.

Martin had talked him out of all that. The man had hustled Trent along and urged him not to waste his money. Sergeant Cullen had once said that Trent listened too well sometimes. He had said it wasn't wise to be led around by the nose all the time. Ironically, Trent had forgotten the Sergeant's advice and obeyed a man who attempted to kill him.

Trent swung his arm backward and pounded a fist against the tree in frustration. His action dislodged one of the vine's silver blossoms. The petals clinked and clattered as they bounced off branches and fell to the ground.

Clinked and clattered? Shouldn't the petals have drifted silently to the