104. The Pretjordian (Part 1)

  To hunt in a Realm of ripple-readers, one must learn to minimize their own imprints on their surroundings. Predation became a game of distance and speed. How close could you get to your target before they noticed your presence and intent? And how fast could you bridge that gap, whether by foot or with your weapon of choice?

  Serac Edin, on the other hand, didn’t worry about any of that. Not because she didn’t see the merit, but simply because she didn’t possess the requisite skills or tools. Instead, she’d invented her own hunting strategy, namely that of using herself as bait.

  The Roots’ revival had sparked the return of plants and wildlife to the region. Which in turn brought about increased Yaksha activity as well as the resurgence of Aberrants drawn to the fresh supply of souls to feed on. The circle of the afterlife. And more Aberrants, of course, also meant the need for stronger Wayfaring presence.

  Serac and Zacko had been more than happy to provide said presence, not least because no one else wanted the job. In exchange, they received food and board at Rotgard’s soon-to-be-rebuilt Town Market. They’d in turn hired a personal chef to convert Serac’s [Harvested] ingredients into ready-to-use consumables. Perhaps most importantly (at least in Serac’s mind), they had access to an on-demand tailoring service, just in time for the new season.

  Presently, as she stood atop her living castle’s ramparts, Serac felt warm, comfortable, and fashionable in her winter attire. It consisted of three sensible components: 1) long-sleeved undertunic and leg wrappings, 2) a woolen, knee-length tunic for the middle layer, and 3) a fur-lined cloak to wrap everything together, dyed the same ash-gray as Serac’s own hair. Not for any practical reason, but simply because she liked the color.

  If she had one complaint about her new clothes, it was their rather tight fit. In fairness, she had herself to blame for that, having pumped three of her last six level-ups into [Substance] to give herself somewhat respectable muscle definition. All in all, the slight discomfort was a fair price to pay for a significant buff to [Style]. If she were to act as bait to lure in some monsters, she wanted to look good doing it.

  Over the last two months, Serac and Zacko had slowly but surely integrated themselves into the Rotgardian ‘food chain’. Their presence in the ecosystem had served as invitation for a certain subset of Wildspawns: those attracted to the glow of the Wayfarers’ ‘soul’ rather than the substance of their flesh. One such Wildspawn was called the [Nokken]. And one such Nokken made its approach now, playing that typical game of distance and speed.

  From atop Ashvanaga’s battlement, Serac failed to see the Nokken’s approach with her Rakshasa eyes. All around her spread only stubby grassland, already ravaged by frost. An unfortunate irony of Rotgard’s return to form had been its coinciding with winter’s arrival. Hunting opportunities would be harder and harder to come by, and Serac would do well to make each one count, even if her latest target happened to be a master of camouflage.

  Failed by the more traditional sensory organs, Serac turned to her horns. She shut her eyes and calmed her mind, the better to focus all of her energy on reading.

  “Did I hear you correctly, Miss Serac?” had been Petter Svensen’s round-eyed response when she’d first broached the subject. “You want to learn how to read the ripples?”

  “Yup! Do you think I could do it?”

  “No! Well, actually, I don’t know anymore. I always thought you needed scales or a close substitute to ripple-read, but… if what you say about the Finless is true, I suppose that rule doesn’t quite hold up.”

  “Yeah, Renate’s as smooth and pink as my little Trinket here,” Serac had said while fiddling with Froggy at her belt. “She did say you Yakshas have to learn it from a young age, though. Do you think it’s too late for me?”

  “I suppose we won’t know until we try.”

  And try they did, every evening for the last two months, as they gathered for supper at the end of their respective ‘work days’. Petter, admittedly, was a much better chef than he was a teacher, but he couldn’t be faulted for effort or sincerity. After two months of trial and error, a Rakshasa did learn to use a scale ‘substitute’—her horns—to read the ripples.

  Well, perhaps ‘read’ was far too strong a word. Even with her other senses shut off and all of her focus trained on the signals that passed through her horns, the best Serac could produce was a kind of blurry abstract painting. Wind, rustling grass, and even the susurrus of tiny critters all conspired to confuse and misdirect.

  “When that happens”—one of Petter’s more coherent pieces of advice came back to her now—“it’s best to look at the picture as a whole, rather than try to identify its individual elements. When you take a step back, you might just catch patterns that weren’t there before. I think my dad called it a g—ges—gestalt.”

  Read the gestalt rather than the individual ripples. Serac followed that advice now, which was much easier said than done. She’d had plenty of experience ‘zooming in and out’ with her eyes, but doing that with her horns was a different matter.

  Yet, even in the midst of her struggle, she managed to perceive a promising signal. A set of willowy waves appeared to move as a discrete group and out of step with everything else. Most tellingly, there was a sense of ‘direction’ to the waves’ movement. In this case, they inched closer and closer toward Serac and Ash.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Gotcha. Serac made sure to use her inside voice, careful not to spook her predator. Then she promptly threw the [Blood-Tipped Javelin] in her right hand, with practiced power and precision to match her six-shooter marksmanship.

  [180!]

  [NOKKEN Status Effect: BLEED]

  Serac opened her eyes. For one fleeting Ksana, she was able to spy the Nokken’s startled figure using her more traditional sensory organ.

  On land, the thing took the fancifully elegant form of a tree-and-horse hybrid, its overgrown mane of leafy vines providing the basis for its magical camouflage. In the brief time where its spell wore off, it made itself rather large, rearing on its hindquarters and letting out a silent scream. Ash’s Javelin could be seen sticking out of its haunches, which to be fair, must’ve been quite painful.

  The equine Wildspawn quickly recast its camouflage as it turned tail and ran. The Nokken was a cowardly creature who’d give fully to self-preservation at the first sign of trouble. But thanks to an old trick she learned in Naraka, Serac could see the trail of blood as her quarry fled.

  “Time to go!”

  Serac reached with both hands and tugged on the ‘reins’ to either side of her. Ash the mobile fortress rumbled to life, in response to both its master’s command and ‘steering’ by the Manusya inside its cabin. The navigator-driver partnership was back on, and so was the chase. Let’s hope we can catch it before it reaches the river.

  The Nokken, as was typical of cowardly creatures, could be very fast when it wanted to be. Indeed, it managed to keep its slim lead on a living castle at full throttle, even while its trail of blood snaked this way and that.

  By now, Serac was well-versed in the art of ‘leading her target’. But having to do that against a near-invisible one certainly upped the degree of difficulty. Her first shot missed, leaving a wisp of smoke that overlapped with a drop of the Nokken’s blood. She settled her nerves and took her time with the next shot. She needed to make this one count.

  [Chamber Two: HARVEST]

  [83!]

  [NOKKEN Status Effect: EARMARKED]

  It hit! With the necessary preparations in order, all that was left was to actually smite the damn thing. To that end, Serac continued to rain bullets from above, a little more liberally now that ‘Chamber discipline’ was no longer of paramount concern.

  [131!], miss, [131!], [131!], speedload, Stamina break, miss…

  Back to Chamber Two. Swiftly, Serac reached into the pocket of her cloak and retrieved a [Rumpepille]. It was the same Tadpole goop from the erstwhile cave expedition, since air-dried, ground up, and compressed into consumable form. Even after two months, Serac still had plenty of it, thanks to the large haul of ingredients she’d [Harvested] from a Rumpejette.

  She popped one into her mouth now and chewed as fast as Rakshasa-ly possible, doing her best to ignore the unpleasant gunpowder taste. The [Rumpepille]’s effect on a [Synthesis]-adept Wayfarer was to reduce the rate of her [Satiety] depletion for the next hour. The reduction also applied to spell-casting costs, which paired perfectly with:

  [Chamber Two: APPETIZER]

  The end of REVOLVER’s barrel now took on a faint green aura, ready to unleash its Zealous-imbued bullets. As for the gunslinger herself, she went right back to blasting.

  [165!], [165!], miss, [165!]

  At Karmic Level of 44 now, Serac had spent the other three levels on [Immanence], further boosting her Zealous BAV—always the highest among her three available damage types. A 34-point buff over Physical was nothing to sneeze at. But on this occasion, even that fell short of finishing the job.

  The Nokken, as was rather atypical of cowardly creatures, was tanky as all hell, in both Health and Poise. Between the Javelin, the [Bleed] DoT, and REVOLVER shots both Physical and Zealous, it must’ve taken upwards of 1,300 points of damage. And still, it continued its invisible gallop, its trail of blood never losing its helter-skelter momentum.

  In the end, Serac was forced to pause her blasting and reach for Ash’s reins again, this time to brake. The chase had already taken them to the edge of dry land, and Serac wasn’t about to risk water damage to the interiors of her castle.

  The Nokken’s trail cut off at the riverbank. Only a moment later, a sloppy splash indicated where it dove into the water. The tree-but-also-horse monster would’ve taken on its even slipperier aquatic form now, and its bloody marker would be washed away.

  Somewhere from beneath Serac’s feet, Zacko’s muffled shout barely made it past Ash’s stone exterior: “Did we get it?”

  “Not yet!” Serac shouted back. “But don’t worry. I don’t intend to let a perfectly good [Earmark] go to waste. Time for plan B.”

  With that, Serac dismissed Ash into its portable form, not even bothering to step off the battlement. The castle disappeared in an instant, only to reclaim its spot on its master’s belt. Zacko was left standing on the snow, his hands gripping the air in the shape of a steering wheel.

  As for Serac, she lost her stone footing and fell through the air, only to land neatly atop a turtle shell.

  The turtle, large enough for tandem riding, had been leased for private use. Just another perk of being Rotgard’s resident Wayfarers. The pair brought it everywhere with them on their foraging runs, usually stowed safely inside Ash’s cabin. Right now, however, it was time for the turtle to spearhead ‘plan B’.

  “Let’s go!”

  Serac called cheerfully, even as Zacko hopped on to take his place as oarsman. And as Serac and her turtle splashed onto the river, the dense-boned Rakshasa showed not a single sign of fear. Because, like any Pretjordian worth her salt, she’d learned to fight on both land and water.

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