Chapter 31: The Marauder Village
If Dal could fairly describe the previous day as having been "grueling," then he wasn't sure what word existed that was strong enough to describe the sheer depth of how laborious, exhausting, and torturous today had been. It was such that he had no idea how he was still alive or how he'd ended up making it this far.
Ignore the pain, he told himself. It'll be gone in just a few hours.
His knuckles were bloody, he had cuts and scrapes all over his body, some of them deep, and so much sweat had gotten into his eyes that it was hard to see; this, despite the temperature having dropped a bit as he neared a point that was more or less a quarter of the way up Mt. Ahna. Fortunately, they weren't heading anywhere near the summit. But unfortunately, even coming this far was a nightmarish trek he hoped to never experience again, at least not without a more capable class.
Every ache from yesterday was twice as bad.
Every pained sensation flared with twice the intensity.
And it wasn't like it had started simple and had become difficult; no, from the moment they'd set out in the morning until now, in the late afternoon, it had been one lengthy stretch of climbing after the next, punctuated only by brief periods of rest or, in the case of C2, a slightly longer one with some meat and buttered bread to help bring at least a little relief into his hungry, tired body.
But even the two-hour break they'd taken at C2 hadn't been enough. No, his body was in shambles, and if not for the upcoming shift, he likely would've inflicted long-lasting wear and tear on his ligaments.
"You holding up okay, kid?" Volorn asked.
As of about an hour ago, the rocks had become whiter in color, and the incline had become perfectly straight so that, once more, it was like climbing a wall rather than a very steep slope. But this, Dal knew, was because they were very, very close to wherever it was they were going. Turning his head upwards, he saw what looked like a flat, large, town-sized plateau, and though it was difficult to tell from where he currently resided, it seemed to have buildings and various structures along it.
Dal, too exhausted to reply or even nod, simply lifted his eyes and made brief contact with Volorn, who was casually hanging from a hold with one hand and dangling carelessly while looking down at him. Dal hoped the half a second during which the two locked eyes would serve as enough of a response.
"You're doing good," he said. "After this, you're done. Just keep climbing."
And that was exactly what Dal did. Oddly, the knowledge that he was so close seemed to wring out just a bit more from his nearly broken body. It ushered him on; even as he now groaned in pain with each and every movement, he tried to send his mind elsewhere. He tried to erase his own sense of being and replace the world with nothing but climbing: a tranquil state where there was no him and there was no such thing as exhaustion. There were just two hands, two feet, and a mountain to climb.
For a time, it worked—even with a pain so fierce that it almost made him want to die.
Up, and up, and up, he traveled along a path that Volorn and Grolm called out to him. His wrists were now so inflamed and so swollen that his fingertips were starting to change colors. But still he crossed half the remaining distance between himself and the cliff above that would mark the end of this journey.
And then, suddenly, he stopped.
It wasn't that his will was broken. It wasn't that he'd had an abrupt change of heart, either. He simply hit the point where he knew that his body could no longer proceed any farther. This, he realized, was as far as he could go. If he unclenched his hand even just one more time, he would never be able to clench it again. Of that, he was sure.
"I…I can't go on anymore," he whispered, not even sure if they could hear him. To his surprise, Volorn did.
"Dal, come on, man. You're right there."
"I can't."
Volorn scrunched his lips together. Then he looked above himself. "Grolm, get a rope. Maybe we can yank him up. And hurry!"
"Got it!" Grolm called back.
To Dal, Volorn said, "Just don't let go."
"Trying…"
Feeling dazed, Dal continued to hold on, but only because his wrists were now so inflamed he didn't think he could open them if he even wanted to. But at least it didn't seem like he'd have to wait long for aid. Grolm, now moving about ten times as fast, actually looked as though he were running up a wall as he climbed the rest of the way in under a minute.
No wonder they don't have any climbing equipment set up, Dal thought. Battle Classes don't need it.
Even people in magic-based BCs were stronger and faster than ordinary Commoners, just not to the extent of melee-focused classes. In other words, Denin or Rethi could've made this trip with ease. But Dal? He wasn't sure if he would even be able to cling to this mountain long enough to wait for the rope.
"Just a bit longer," Volorn said. "We got you."
True to his word, Grolm reappeared less than five minutes later, and now, Dal was groaning and grunting nonstop as the pain really started to catch up to him. Above, he saw a shadow appear over his head, which soon revealed itself to be a rope, which Volorn caught. "Can you tie this around your waist?" he asked.
Dal shook his head. "I can't move my hands at all."
"No problem. All right, hold still."
Volorn fearlessly let go of the holds he was grabbing, and then he free-fell nearly twenty feet before effortlessly grabbing two others that were just beside Dal. Both of them were now level. Then, using just one hand, he wrapped the rope around and around Dal's waist, then tucked it beneath itself, creating what was most assuredly an unsecured, sloppy harness—but one that would only need to hold for a brief moment.
With that, he began climbing with one hand and holding the other end of the rope with the other. And Dal, letting his arms drop and go limp by his sides, found himself being pulled upwards. His wrists were still closed, however, and they were bloated and disfigured. Whatever had happened to him was such that he'd likely end up with both hands amputated if he had been anyone else.
Exhausted, all Dal could do was gratefully swing a bit midair as he was hoisted higher and higher until, finally, at last, Grolm grabbed his shoulders and yanked him up and over the ledge, where he found himself lying flat on his back on some short, neatly trimmed stalks of grass.
"Maaa," a goat said to him, licking his face and then walking away. Dal couldn't help but stare at the creature's balls as it lazily strolled off. Dal felt like castrating it. And this caused him to laugh loudly.
He'd made it. He'd actually made it.
He could cry with the joy and relief that flooded into him. But then, all such joy gave way to a dark, grim feeling of foreboding as he remembered the person who might be waiting for him ahead. It caused a pain to erupt in his belly, one of nerves, and a secondary one to erupt in his chest, this one borne of guilt—and also longing.
Was it bad that there was a part of him who wanted to see Ahni?
Ahni, he thought, his mind flashing back to the beautiful little girl who jumped up and down and hugged him whenever he came home. The friendly, happy, cute, and tiny angel that everyone in the village loved and adored.
"Don't get all sentimental on us," Grolm said. "Knock it off, you bastard."
"Huh?" Dal asked.
"Your eyes."
Only then did he realize he'd begun shedding a few tears, none of which he could wipe away, as his hands and arms were currently out of service.
"Can you walk?" Volorn asked him.
"Walk? Yes, I can walk. The problem is I can't stand up."
"I can help with that."
Volorn grabbed his right wrist and yanked him to his feet. The pain was immeasurable, but Dal did his best not to vocalize it. And so, now, back on his feet, he ambled along the shallow grass and took in the sights ahead of him. And honestly? What he saw surprised him.
Here, on top of one of Mt. Ahna's many plateaus, was an entire, functioning village with a population that had to be at least three hundred if not more, all of whom would be members of Battle Classes.
"Vol, Grolm, welcome back," a marauder wielding a two-handed axe said. He then narrowed his eyes angrily. "That the mother fucker who killed Maks?"
Volorn waved his hand at the guy. "Relax. He's cool."
"Cool?" the man asked, perplexed.
"A lot happened since we scooped him up. Where's Boss?"
He gestured with his chin at someplace behind him. "She's in the command room."
Dal steeled himself as the two led him onwards. Yet even amid his nerves, he was still able to spare a feeling of awe as he walked beyond several fully functioning farms, an item shop, and several rows of well-constructed homes, some of them two stories in height. The ground that led between and ahead of them was also paved in stone, which was typically the sign of a wealthy community.
If not for the marauders themselves walking about, you'd never think they were the ones who lived here.
Everywhere Dal looked was the sight of armed, dangerous-looking people. Even the women were armed, but many of them had a feral look to them that Dal shamefully found to be attractive, as several strolled around in two-piece, string "outfits" that weren't far removed from underwear. Many also wore nylon stockings and were well-endowed. If one wanted to know what could possibly inspire a man to become a marauder, the women were certainly one reasonable incentive.
"I see you looking," Volorn said, snickering. "The women here are very easy on the eyes, but don't get any ideas, Dal, they'll eat you up and spit you out."
"Noted," he said.
"I'm not kidding ya, kid. You castrate goats, right? These gals castrate men."
"It's true," Grolm said. "See that cherry-blonde over there?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "I gave her a nice smack on the ass two weeks ago, and she threw me off the mountain. They had to use three healing potions to save my life."
Volorn barked out a laugh. "It was worth it though, right?"
"Sure was."
Dal filled with disgust at the way marauders behaved, though he was hardly surprised. They did not share the same civilized values that were common even in the far reaches of the east, such as the concept of consent. No, it was well understood that marauders killed and raped without a second thought. For this reason, it made sense that the only women around here were those strong enough to defend themselves.
I wonder why they dress so provocatively. Is it some kind of statement?
Dal decided not to let his mind linger on it. He had a far more pressing matter to concern himself with, as the stone path widened up ahead until leading to a large, oval-shaped structure at the opposite end of this plateau; rather than a door, a red, velvety curtain served as its sole entrance.
She was in there, wasn't she?
Ahni. How are you still alive?
Dal felt a rumbling in his chest and his stomach. Yet he continued to walk onwards, as there was no denying this was fate.
And fate could not be ignored.