“I’ll defend the abbey if anything threatens it, but I won’t be seeking out whatever made that roar the other day.”

  The gathering in the guild training grounds had thinned considerably. After Captain Greymantle confirmed Melia’s participation, he was inclined to send people away.

  It was not done out of some misguided sense of pity for people losing precious time with their amazing new buff, as some of the younger, weaker members believed.

  No, it was because he no longer needed meat to send into the grinder if things got really messy. He told that to their backs as he sent everyone under level 250 out the door.

  Out of the two thousand adventurers, soldiers, and militia that he originally conscripted, only 107 remained. Of those 107, 90 of them were level 350 or lower, which according to Melia’s sensibilities, would be around level 35. That would put them at a much higher level than this zone would have been in the game, which ranged from 10-24, and they would have moved on to the next zone already.

  But this wasn’t a game, this was real life, and the Baron used his kingdom-granted power as a noble protecting his lands to conscript fighters to combat threats. His own strength, he could not lend, needing to remain in Hammerfall in case of the worst, and he needed to report to the king to defend Horizon. Regardless, he had enough pull to drag in 17 people far outside that level 35 range.

  Though not exactly everyone was fit for duty.

  For instance, Y’cennia was about to leave, but she was stopped by her teammates, who rallied to keep her there, since Jessica would have had to leave too. The guildmaster, much calmer now than he was earlier, was still short on temper, but one look toward Melia, who stood by her friends defiantly, and any argument he could form died on his lips.

  That left 15 “outstanding” people. 8 of those were merely a few levels higher, between 350 to 400, nothing too incredible, but rare for the area. At that level, people were starting to be considered “accomplished”, since a very good adventuring career generally carried a person to 500. At that point, an adventurer was generally wealthy enough to retire for life with whatever limbs they had remaining. It took more than a good work ethic and simple hard work to go further.

  That left 7 people who, without the threat of a dragon looming over them and being called back in service, had no reason being there. 4 were between level 500 and 550. One was level 698, nearly level 700, and was a local celebrity, having grown up and started his career in Hammerfall. He always made time to come back, serve, and mentor the next generation. He knew most of the new recruits’ names, including Jess, Al, Elsie, and Cennia. He sometimes took them out and gave them tips.

  By all standards, he was the pinnacle of what an adventurer was supposed to be.

  The one other adventurer was level 818. One of just a few dozen humans in the kingdom to make it to rank 8 and still in fighting shape. And he was the complete opposite of the rank 6. He was a standoffish, arrogant, loner prick, but very few people would say that to his face, because despite his atrocious attitude, his rank was earned. He had every bit of those 818 levels to back up his talk.

  And then there was Melia.

  Who, to the frustration of nearly everybody else, seemed to be refusing to cooperate.

  The Baron asked, politely, if she would share her level and class.

  Many people gasped, the fact that a noble, the famously grumpy Baron Greymantle no less, stooped to showing politeness to a commoner. Most people then remembered that he was the one who mentioned the gnome’s level was at least rank 10 and they excused it. No matter one’s social status, high enough levels demanded respect when they could tear down a mansion with their bare hands.

  Melia, politely, declined.

  The Baron seemed to expect this, and he quickly recovered.

  He asked if she could just go and “take care of it”.

  Again, Melia declined.

  When the poor guildmaster, who really was simply having a very bad day, with many unexpected things landing on his desk during a time when the only thing he should be worrying about was drunken revelers, heard this, he nearly exploded.

  “Why the hell not?!”

  “Because there’s no dragon coming to raid the abbey. That roar was harmless.”

  “You can’t know-” the guildmaster began, but the baron cut him off.

  “Even if it is, I’ve received reports from the scouts. I couldn’t tell you what that first roar was, I’ve never heard anything like it, and for what it’s worth, I pray to all the gods that I never do again, and whatever it was goes back to sleep in the depths of the earth. But it spooked some of the flights that live in the Ashlands, and one of the dragons is making a move on another’s nest or mate or I don’t know what the hell those monsters care about, but three are headed this way. So yes. At the very least, there are 3 dragons we need to worry about. And if they cross those mountains, you all need to be there to stop them from going any further, lest they discover our fertile fields and covet them.”

  Melia felt her gut sink. There it was, tangible evidence her thoughtlessness had actions she couldn’t dream of.

  “I’ll defend the abbey if anything threatens it,” she repeated, “But I won’t be attacking whatever made that roar the other day. Nor will I be seeking anything else out unless provoked.”

  She did her best to ignore her teammates behind her. Ellesea was whimpering and Jessica was steadily chanting under her breath, “please cooperate, please cooperate.” Melia felt bad for them. To be a low level under the scrutiny of not only high level adventurers looking down on them and judging them, they also had what Melia assumed was their boss (maybe boss’ boss’ boss) in the form of the guildmaster, and the actual lord of the land, too.

  And there she was, being stubborn and drawing all the attention in the world. She stared up at the men, both towering over her as she barely came up to their knees, but she didn’t back down. Their ire washed over her like low tide against a mountainous boulder jutting up from the depths. At one point she felt what she guessed was some sort of expression of presence or pressure trying to crush her or break her, like some extension of hidden aura or something cliche like that. She was not cowed or intimidated. Her left pinky toenail was scarier than anything in this room, which made her snort.

  Once it was obvious she was unbudging yet reluctantly compliant, the guildmaster stepped forward to explain the details of the operation.

  “We’ve got a caravan ready to take you all to Abbyton,” he said, standing tall and imposing. Gone was every trace of discomfort and incompetence Melia was labeling him with, she could begrudgingly admit he was probably a capable leader. “Logistics of this sort take time, so everyone be prepared to leave in an hour at latest,” he glanced down at Melia and she swore his eyes darkened, “or consider yourself in dereliction of duty according to the guild’s bylaws and subject to punishment from the crown.”

  Several murmurs arose, but by now everyone here was pretty much on board.

  “Space is tight. Don’t expect a luxury carriage. It’s 25 per bus, or thereabouts for some of you blokes that take up enough space for two.”

  There was some laughter, but it quieted down quickly.

  “Personally, I don’t care if you’re all traveling in your teams or if you get separated. Frankly, we’re in a rush, and it’s only a couple of hours, so suck it up if you’re split and reconnect once we get there.”

  He stared around, as if asking if anybody had any questions, but the obvious answer was everyone was expected to not ask any.

  “Good. Next up is the important part,” he continued. “We’ve already broke you down into your assigned groupings. Once we get to the abbey, you are to make camp according to your assignments. You can mingle with whoever you like, but be prepared to respond at a moment's notice. You are all on call and are expected to be vigilant, no matter how much standing around we have to do. As much as it pains me to admit it, we’re at the mercy of the monsters. Can’t rush what can’t be controlled.”

  “It sucks a rat’s ass!” somebody from the middle of a large group muttered clearly loudly enough for everybody to hear. There was more laughing, and the guildmaster actually smiled, but he waved a hand and silence soon came.

  “Now, for what actually awaits us,” he said, suddenly very serious, which washed over the assembly with a somber mood. “Our scouts, imperial [Scouts], [Recon], and [Rangers] from his majesty’s service, have identified a swarm of around 50 monsters heading west.”

  Melia didn’t think 50 sounded like a whole lot, but judging from how several people around her gulped and paled, she was in the minority. As for heading west, that was directly toward Abbyton…and Horizon.

  “Most of those are [Lava Spiders], [Flame Crawlers], and [Living Avalanches],” the guildmaster paused, a small, sardonic smoke forming as he watched the younger members present start to shake. “You know. The small fries.”

  “Small…?” somebody had the nerve to mutter, which was heard because of the silence of the yard.

  “Yes,” the guildmaster singled them out with a stare. It was a young man, probably slightly younger than Melia’s group, meaning that he most likely had a high degree of success to still be present despite his age. From the wrappings around his wrists, Melia guessed he was some sort of martial class, likely a [Boxer], [Pugilist], or [Monk]. The guildmaster held his stare, the youth seemingly unable to look away.

  “Each and every one of them in the 490 to 550 level range. So you can imagine what devastation they will wreak upon these lands if they cross the mountains.”

  Melia could hear the murmurs and whispers of people around her. With the majority of those present below the 350 mark, there was little they could all do against a dozen level 500 monsters, let alone 50. If she was not present, things would be very bleak.

  8 of the adventurers present could possibly fight an effective retreat in the event of such a swarm, biding enough time for the lower levels to flee. There would be casualties.

  6 of the adventurers could probably take on small groups of them, and the rank 7 and 8 could possibly solo a monster or two, though there was no telling how long that would take or how long they could keep it up.

  If Melia was not present, Abbyton could very easily be lost.

  “Oh, but there’s good news!” the guildmaster said in a sarcastic tone that spoke in no uncertain terms the futility of said news. “The scouts have reported that these monsters are not acting on their own. This is not a wild stampede. Rather, they are all following a leader. And, yes, if that leader is rebuffed or destroyed, they will flee back toward their nests and holes, no longer under its sway.”

  “So,” said somebody else who was smart enough to connect the dots but dumb enough not to keep their mouth shut, “All we need to do is kill the leader?”

  Melia could hear the groans of people who understood how daunting a task that would be.

  “Oh yes,” the guildmaster smiled wickedly. “All we have to do is kill a level 850 dragon,” he said, drawing out the words. “Easy, right?”

  At first, Melia couldn’t understand why they were only sending out this ill-prepared party against such a foe. But the baron stepped forward to explain the finer details.

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  This “army”, for what it was, wasn’t designed to “win”. Their goal, even from the start, was to push the leading dragon back, make it reconsider its life choices and go back to the crater. For such a goal, a massive raid of a hundred people could be feasible. With enough healers, tanks, and damage dealers, it was possible to lay down enough damage to turn the dragon back. It would be a death by a thousand cuts, and in the end, the monster would still live, but go back to its proper zone.

  Or that was the hope, at least, while the scouts reported to his majesty and a proper force could be deployed to permanently remove the threat.

  There was just one thing bothering Melia this whole time. The level 818 [Dragoon], Sable Lane, was earning his reputation splendidly. He kept making snide remarks under his breath about the mortality rate among the rank 3s and 4s, casually debating the usefulness of bait, decoys, and disposable distractions. He seemed to revel in their pain and misery, and when he didn’t get the response he wanted, he’d tsk loudly and start talking about what loot he could expect from a dragon spawned in the Incinerated Spire.

  And yet nobody could say anything against him. The only one higher level than him was Baron Greymantle, and for better or worse, he mostly stayed silent. If anybody did dare grumble back at him, Sable would push a little energy through his spear, a giant thing 7 feet long, causing power to thrum visibly through it, terrifying those around him for retribution. The baron rebuked him once, after which he quieted down his taunts and mocking, but his eyes smoldered with arrogance and cruelty.

  Melia was reminded of many players she had the misfortune of crossing in the game, who were very full of themselves and took joy in lording over weaker players, but she did not interact with them for long. Thankfully, those sorts were mostly in the pvp community, a crowd Melia did not often mingle with.

  As the briefing went on, Melia decided she would do whatever she could to make sure everybody went home safe, even the douchebag [Dragoon], despite what it might mean for her reputation, for good or bad.

  Melia glanced up at her teammates with a smile, but it did little to calm their visibly tense nerves.

  The ride back to Abbyton was uncomfortable for everybody. Melia was not allowed to sit on the roof of the box carriage this time and was forced to endure the misery of a tightly packed space with too many adventurers that didn’t believe in the concept of bar soap. Most of them were already wearing their armor and a few of those looked like they hadn’t been cleaned for weeks. The smell was nauseating, but Melia couldn’t tell if it was terrible for everybody, or if she was only on the verge of puking because of her new draconic senses.

  To top it off, the carriage they were lumped in housed a party of strictly male [Bersekers], which sounded awesome in isolation until they all piled into the carriage like a bunch of oversized linebackers with no shirts on. Yes, Melia could have easily lifted their huge weapons and punted them herself, but she didn’t dare jump down from her seat and risk looking up those “kilts”.

  Instead she allowed herself to be held atop Ellesea’s lap while the [Mage] rubbed her back and fiddled with her hair. Being treated like a living doll was…a mixed bag, honestly, but it beat getting squished by the meatheads, who each took up enough room for two, if not three people.

  To make things absolutely worse, one of the other randos they were all grouped up with was chatty. Like a real mile a minute, talk your ears off, how-are-they-still-breathing chatterbox. Melia would normally be all over a potential new source of information, but she wasn’t that outgoing.

  As if to prove the point, word had gotten around early that Melia was a [Bard], despite her display at the bonfire which the majority of the adventurers were present at, and the protests of Melia herself. They fell on deaf ears.

  Melia could tell her companions wanted to ask her things, most likely about what the Baron said about her level, or maybe even how she knew the old man. Perhaps what the battle had been like, or what it was like living during, what were they calling it, the Age of Upheaval?

  But no. There was a time and a place for such questions and packed into a rickety wooden box like a can of sardines was not it.

  While the ride to Hammerfall felt like it was over too soon, the ride back to the abbey would have seen Melia bouncing off the walls if she wasn’t trapped firmly between Ellesea’s arms. She did everything to distract herself from the agony of her current spot in life, going so far as counting the revolutions of the wheels on the cart due to imperfections in the wheel rather than listen to Chatty McChatterton any longer. When they finally pulled to a stop through Abbyton’s walls just after noon, she flew out the door, not minding who her hair whipped in the face as she squealed: “freeeeeeedoooooooom!!”

  She heard laughter behind her but she didn’t care. She was a dragon, she should be able to do what she wants! And what she wanted was to finish building those large vegetable planters she needed fertilizer for.

  Melia found a brother meditating in the garden and, as fed up with loud and obnoxious people as she was, managed to calm herself long enough for him to acknowledge her, stifling his laugh at her fidgeting as he promised to send the garden caretakers her way.

  Finally, she was back to where she was meant to be! Besides the wolves and Wololols, she found being an adventurer to be tiresome and stuffy, full of politics and cliques. Granted, she had exactly one interaction to base that off, but she really did love to craft things.

  So she threw herself down her hole, exactly where she left it though the brothers had wisely roped it off so nobody fell in. She planned to make two plots, but these were proof of concepts more than anything and she could always expand on them later. The hole itself was dug, now it was time to finish.

  Building furniture and props for player housing worked slightly differently than crafting equipment, even in game. It still had the quality system to measure better craftsmanship, but in game they had no difference from a one star to a five star.

  In life, that was probably different, so Melia chose to use the absolute best materials she possessed on these prototypes, even if it would be horribly overkill. And expensive, if it was anybody else but her.

  First was the bedrock foundation. The recipe called for [Quarried Stone], which could be found in every zone, from level 1 to 100. She chose to use [Abyssal Slate], pulled out of the depths of UnderCore, an endgame zone set deep in the planet during the 4th expansion where elementals started raging across the lands, the “spirits of the planet” being enraged. The player had to travel deep into the heart of Ebonvale and soothe the planet itself.

  There was some choice rock down there.

  Melia pulled several “blocks” of the material from her storage, which had simply looked like a cube of rock with no indication of how big it was or how heavy it might be. As she set them in the bottom of the hole, Melia got the feeling she shouldn’t be able to lift those, regardless of her stats…they were just too huge. Each one probably weighed half a ton, if not more. Melia tentatively tried shoving one, and just like when she lifted her scale, she was initially met with resistance, unable to budge the slab, but her stats kicked in and she shoved it with ease.

  Assembling the planter was novel, too. In the game, she would have built the whole thing and it would become an item in her inventory which she would then place in the world with a blue outline that turned red if placement was denied. Not so here. Instead, she just got an instinctive feeling for what she needed to put where, and how far she could nudge things before the craft would fail or degrade quality.

  Several heads of astonished looming brothers peered at her from the top of her hole, but she paid them no mind.

  Next was lumber for the siding, and she had choices. She could either use [1000 Year Pine] gathered from the Jade Forest, or maybe [Petrified Heartwood] from the Evergloom….

  Jessica, Alastair, Ellesea, and Y’cennia finally managed to secure a place to pitch their tents, which was not easy considering the number of parties that had been sent to defend the abbey. Most parties had between 4 and 5 members, some had more and some had less, but that left them with over 20 parties.

  Most of which needed more than a single tent. So the open land around the abbey filled up quick, and the less fortunate, more easily bullied, or weaker teams were forced to scramble for the less optimal locations. Some tried squeezing into Abbyton’s alleys, only to get complained at loudly by the residents, while others took their chances in the spawning fields.

  That was an option for the team, but sleeping in an active spawn area, no matter how low level, required a guard or watch at night. Hands down, no exceptions. It was one of the first rules one learned when starting out. Spawn areas did not care for simple intrusions like personal space inside their borders, and would just as soon spawn a wolf inside your tent while you were dressing as it would at the other end of the field.

  So they fought off parties looking to encroach on their claim, Jessica and Ellesea hurling insults and the occasional (tiny) fireball at anyone dumb enough to contest them, while Al and Y’cennia set up their tents. It took them longer than usual, despite being in a “calm” zone, but after an hour, they were complete.

  Exhausted, but complete.

  There was only one problem.

  They lost their gnome again.

  “Anybody seen Melia?” Y’cennia asked, voicing what everyone else was also slowly starting to contemplate.

  “You mean since she went “weeeeeeee!!” and exploded out of the caravan?” Ellesea asked.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Then no.”

  Jessica snorted.

  “And to think, about an hour ago I was almost terrified of her, thinking she was over level 1000.”

  “Eh, she might still be,” Alastair said. Jessica threw him a pout which he ignored.

  “But, like, does anybody else think she’s, um, kind of…” Y’cennia fidgeted, clearly not quite comfortable with whatever she was thinking.

  “Childish?” Jessica completed for her, the catkin nodding fervently.

  “Don’t let that fool you,” Ellesea warned. “All gnomes are childish. It’s their nature. Even the old, ancient sages. We had a Grandmaster [Enchanter] visit the academy that was a gnome, and his favorite thing to do was enchant chair cushions to make farting noises when you sat down. It was…eye opening, to say the least.”

  “I bet you were real disappointed,” Al sighed in commiseration as Jessica snickered.

  “Yes, but perhaps that’s just who and what gnomes are,” Ellesea said thoughtfully. “They’re easily mistaken for children, they’re about child size, and they never seem to lose that childlike wonder of the world. I think more races could stand to learn a thing or two about that.”

  “Huh.”

  The others fell into thoughtful silence…but that did not magically summon their gnome.

  “So where do you think she got off to?” Y’cennia asked. Jessica groaned.

  “I know exactly where that troublemaker went.”

  Jessica couldn’t get the image of a tiny gnome sitting on the roof of a carriage talking about fertilizer out of her brain, and sure enough, after a short hike back to the abbey and rounding the corner leading to the small, supplementary vegetable patch, they found their culprit.

  And a whole lot more.

  Melia wasn’t initially visible when they turned the corner and found a very unexpected crowd. When they left the abbey the other day, the gnome had been digging a pit under the supervision of a couple indulging brothers.

  Now Jessica wasn’t sure she hadn’t stumbled upon some secret gathering of a cabal about to take part in a weird, dark ritual.

  The…planter box, if that was what it was, was surrounded by an entire parish worth of clergy. Over a dozen brothers had set up tables for scribes to take notes while two more magically inclined researchers took some sort of measurements. There were even what looked like a couple of deacons and maybe a bishop, each one lost in mutterings and contemplations while that frustrating little gnome seemed oblivious to their presence.

  Oh, it wasn’t remotely possible she didn’t know they were there, but from what Jessica knew of the tiny troublemaker, she probably thought it was funny.

  And to be honest, that sort of scared her, the thought of a rank 10 monster with levels in classes no sane adventurer would dare raise, treating a bishop as some sort of insignificant, if interesting, insect.

  Jessica would have to ask Al to make sure, but she was pretty sure most ranks in the church were level based, too, and the one she was staring at was high above hers.

  “...if you observe, the dilation effect does not interfere with the actual growth effect…”

  “...regardless of the physical boundary, the spacial enchantment allows for completely different dimensions…”

  “...but surely it can’t be ezwaz, that’s a containment rune, yes, but for prisons and enclosures, while this should be closer to entnaz, like filling a container, like a bottle or a jar…”

  Yes, Jessica was certain somebody was about to get sacrificed to some crops. She didn’t understand a word they were saying, though, unfortunately, it looked like Ellesea did. She was slowly inching towards the scholar at the table taking notes, already subconsciously nodding along to what the [Mage]-like brother was proposing.

  Jessica punched her in the arm, making her jump, shaking her out of her scholastic daze. They didn’t have time for this. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to stick around once they figured out they were in over their heads and started throwing living bodies at it.

  Fortunately for her, nobody died so the crops might live, and the gnome, the miscreant behind all this, sauntered up. She was smudged with brown streaks that Jessica repeatedly swore to herself were just dirt, nothing but plain old dirt, looking like the queen of the castle.

  “Oh! There you are!” Melia chirped. “It worked! It really worked! Isn’t this great?!”

  Jessica found she didn’t have the energy to care. She was simply too tired, no matter how incredible this feat of engineering and enchantment was. Really. She could admit it was some really high level crap (not even counting the manure), and she didn’t want to guess what skills, levels, and other things went into making it.

  She watched a brother from the abbey approach the clearly defined border of the box, a wooden barrier that traveled the entire 30 feet by 30 feet, and casually step over. As soon as his leg lifted up and over the wood, his whole body shimmered, and Jessica had to blink repeatedly to understand what was happening, because she saw him physically walking away, but he wasn’t moving at all. And yet he was passing row upon row of tilled soil, which also seemed to stretch forever without stretching at all. Her brain hurt trying to understand it.

  Eventually she shook her head.

  “Look, I know this is cool and all, and it’s probably really ground breaking-” the gnome had the audacity to snicker, “-forget the pun! Can’t you at least be a little worried about the fact that we’re about to face a dragon? A real one?”

  Melia looked genuinely a bit hurt by that, but she shrugged it off.

  “No,” she said honestly. “I’m much more worried about food.”

  Jessica threw her hands in the air and stormed off.