Meanwhile, in the Divine Realm

  "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE KILLED MALACHAR?!"

  Aria stood in her celestial office, staring at the monitoring orb that showed Pete casually picking berries from a bush, completely unaware that every creature within a twenty-mile radius was hiding in absolute terror.

  Her assistant, a minor deity named Kelvin who managed wildlife populations, looked equally shocked.

  "The energy signature was massive. I've never seen anything like it. For sixty seconds, his power level exceeded yours."

  "Exceeded mine?" Aria's voice went sharp.

  "Yes. And you're a managing deity."

  Aria sat down heavily. "But I only gave him a simple blessing. Sixty seconds of immortality, four uses. It shouldn't have" She paused, reviewing the blessing's code. Then her face went pale. "Oh no."

  "What?"

  "The vitality boost. I made him accidentally immortal, true immortality, not just long life. And when he activated all four blessing uses simultaneously while already immortal, it cascaded."

  "Into a force multiplier," Kelvin finished, his expression horrified. "You created an exponential power boost from a linear blessing."

  "For sixty seconds, he had the divine protection times four, multiplied by true immortality, channeled through a mortal body with no limiters." Aria put her face in her hands. "I made him a godkiller by accident."

  "What do we do?"

  Aria looked at the orb again. Pete was now sitting against a tree, eating nuts and staring at the sky with an expression of quiet contemplation.

  "Nothing," she said finally. "We do nothing. He doesn't even realize what he is. Look at him, he thinks Malachar was average. He's literally waiting to die."

  "Should we tell him?"

  "Absolutely not. If he knew he was functionally invincible, he might actually try to die. This is a man who's been punishing himself for a decade. The moment he realizes nothing can kill him..." She shuddered. "No, we let him figure things out naturally. And I'm going to gently nudge him toward civilization. Humans might help him heal."

  "Which humans? The Borderlands are full of slavers and bandits."

  Aria smiled slowly. "Then I'll send him the right kind of human. Someone who can be a friend and hates slavery, but isn't perfect himself. Someone with humor and heart."

  She waved her hand over a different monitoring orb, searching. "There. Michael Cordovan. B-rank adventurer, twenty-three years old, good heart but rough edges. He's heading far into the Borderlands on a hunt. Let's... adjust his path slightly."

  "You're matchmaking."

  "I'm helping a depressed forty-year-old who just killed a dragon with his bare hands maybe make a friend," Aria corrected. "There's a difference."

  ***

  Back with Pete

  Pete felt strangely fresh after days of walking, surviving on whatever strange fruits and nuts he could find.

  "Here bunny, bunny, bunny," he called to the empty landscape. "I promise I won't eat you."

  He hadn't encountered a single animal since arriving. So far, that dragon was the only living thing he'd seen.

  "Maybe he ate them all?" Pete wasn't sure if he was thinking or talking aloud anymore. At this point, it didn't really matter.

  "I keep hearing something in the distance, but it could be thunder. At least it isn't raining. What kind of climate is this anyway? Shouldn't it be cold near mountains? It's pretty hot around here."

  A massive mountain range dominated the horizon. He'd been walking toward it for days, though he couldn't say why. There were mountains in every direction.

  "Or is that why they call it the Demon's Maw? Those peaks do look like crooked teeth sticking out of some giant mouth."

  "BUNNY!" He screamed it at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing across the empty plains.

  The outburst surprised him. He felt useless just wandering around with no purpose, no direction.

  That made him think about Sarah.

  He'd bought her cute little bunny ears once, and she wore them every day for a week. Then she lost them somewhere, and they'd searched the whole house but never found them.

  "Maybe if I find a bunny here, I'll find some purpose too."

  The thought hung in the air, absurd and sad at the same time.

  For weeks he walked, not knowing he was guided by a certain deity.

  "I was happy for the change in scenery at first, although this forest doesn't make walking any easier."

  Pete let out a deep sigh.

  "Can't really complain though. I'm fit as a fiddle." He could feel firm muscles through his clean shirt.

  In his younger days, he'd been lean and fit, but after ten years of self-destruction, his body had withered away.

  "Just what did she do to me?"

  "I remember her saying I'd feel like a young man again, but no one mentioned divine clothing! I've been spit out by an overgrown, self-important lizard. Dug out roots like a caveman. And I'm pretty sure my aim was off a few times when relieving myself. How am I still clean?"

  Pete kept walking. Not like a man with purpose, he walked because he didn't know what else to do. So he kept putting one foot in front of the other. Talking. Thinking.

  "How many days did I go without water? Was it five? Six? Even feeling young again, I shouldn't be able to survive that long without drinking."

  "And what about poison? What are the odds of eating random stuff and NOT getting poisoned?"

  "Don't put that in your mouth, Sarah. You can't eat that, sweetie."

  He'd said that over and over again. And look at daddy now, eating anything that looked edible.

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  "No, daddy! Don't eat that purple thingy. It'll make your tummy hurt." Pete said it out loud, laughing.

  It felt good to laugh again, even if he was alone. Maybe especially because he was alone.

  Suddenly Pete's head jerked up.

  Humans?

  "Look here, boys, we got a live one! What're you doing out here, pops?"

  A rugged man, missing part of his ear and scalp, grinned at Pete.

  "Something wrong with you? I asked what you're doing out here in these woods."

  Pete was flabbergasted.

  "Just walking. Thinking. Eating berries. You know, the usual."

  Two more men came into view. One carried a big axe and wore leather armor. The other had a loaded crossbow. Both weapons glowed faintly.

  They didn't look clean, but their gazes were sharp. Pete had a feeling these were hard men. Warriors. Could he trust them?

  The one missing an ear, clearly the leader, spoke again with that filthy grin.

  "Don't worry, you're coming with us to Greyport."

  For a moment, Pete felt something like excitement.

  "Even if you're a little old, a strong fellow like you should fetch a decent price at the market."

  Great, Pete thought. Slavers.

  He slipped into that familiar dark place inside himself automatically. He deserved this. Why would someone like him deserve any better?

  A loud click pulled him out of his own head. He hadn't even noticed them snap a pair of glowing manacles around his wrists.

  "Don't think of running." The youngest of the three nudged their leader. "Marcus here is the best tracker around. Almost B-rank adventurer. We won't be cruel if we don't need to be."

  During their two-hour walk back to the makeshift camp, the bandits didn't talk much. Pete had decided to refer to them as bandits, not adventurers.

  Adventurer had a heroic ring to it. Anyone selling humans into slavery didn't deserve a heroic title. But he had to admit, they looked professional with their hand signals and powerful physiques.

  The walk and anger pulled him out of his downward spiral enough to make his mind function again. Somehow during the hike, his manacles had fallen off. So now he just sat with his back against a tree, rope wrapped around him to keep him secure.

  He'd learned their names. Marcus, the scarred leader. Leo, the younger one who'd made the thinly veiled threat. Brandon, the quiet one with the axe who hadn't said a word the entire trip.

  "Quiet around here," Marcus said, scanning the tree line. "Real quiet."

  "Haven't seen a single monster in what, twenty miles?" Leo shifted his crossbow. "That's weird for the Borderlands. Usually you can't go five miles without running into something."

  "Weird is good," Brandon grunted. First words Pete had heard from him. "Means we stay alive."

  Marcus didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue.

  The camp was basic. A cold fire pit, bedrolls, some dried meat hanging from a tree branch. Hunting gear. They'd clearly been out here tracking something before they'd stumbled across Pete.

  "Lucky find," Leo said, poking at the dead fire with a stick. "We've been out here five days hunting direwolves, and nothing. Not even a rabid fox. But hey, at least we got him." He jerked his thumb at Pete.

  "A Direwolf pelt would've paid better," Brandon muttered.

  "Yeah, but the Direwolf would've fought back," Marcus corrected. "Old man here is easy money. No fight, no risk, just walk him to Greyport and collect."

  Pete watched them from his spot against the tree. The rope wasn't tight, meaning they clearly didn't see him as a threat.

  "You're taking this better than most," Marcus said, crouching near Pete. "Most men cry or beg. You just sit there."

  "What's the point?" Pete said flatly.

  "Smart man. Life's easier when you accept reality." Marcus pulled out a waterskin and took a drink. "The Borderlands ain't kind to the weak. There ain't no laws out here. No town guard. Just people doing what they need to survive."

  "Survive," Pete repeated. "That what you call this?"

  "It's honest work," Leo said defensively. "We're out here risking our necks hunting monsters. If we happen to find someone stupid enough to wander the Borderlands alone? That's just good business."

  "They're alive, ain't they?" Marcus shrugged. "Better than being eaten by a direwolf or torn apart by a razorback. Hell, most people we sell end up with decent owners. Merchants need laborers, nobles need servants. It ain't great, but I reckon one could do a lot worse."

  Pete stared at the cold fire pit. "You ever sell children?"

  The question hung in the air.

  "Sometimes," Marcus said carefully. "If we find them out here."

  "Kids wander the Borderlands alone?" Pete's voice was colder than he'd intended.

  "Orphans, runaways, kids whose parents got eaten by monsters." Leo shrugged. "What are we supposed to do, leave them to die? At least if we sell em, they'll have food and a roof."

  "How generous of you."

  "Look, I get it. You're one of those from the Central Kingdoms, right? Nice little place where slavery's illegal and everyone pretends the world is fair?" Marcus stood up. "But this is the Borderlands. Different rules. No one's coming to save you out here. So you either get strong, get smart, or get sold. That's reality."

  "And if you don't do it, someone else will," Pete said quietly. Not a question.

  "Yessir." Marcus looked almost relieved that Pete understood. "We ain't no monsters. We is just practical. There are slavers out here who'd hurt kids, torture people for fun. We just transport. Clean business."

  Something in Pete cracked.

  Not the numb depression he'd been carrying for ten years. Something older. Something that remembered being a father.

  "Practical," he repeated, his voice deadly calm. "You sell children and call it practical."

  "Better us than the real monsters," Leo said. "We treat them decent. Feed them, don't hurt them. That's more than most would do."

  Pete thought about Sarah. About how she'd look at the ground when she was scared. About how she'd trusted him to keep her safe.

  About how he'd failed.

  But these men? They'd sell a scared little girl and call it mercy.

  The rope around Pete's chest snapped.

  In the same instant, the forest exploded with movement.

  Everything happened so fast that Pete barely registered it.

  A crossbow bolt sprouted from Leo's throat. He made a wet gurgling sound and collapsed.

  Brandon spun, raising his axe, and a blade punched through his back and out his chest. He looked down at the bloody steel in confusion, then crumpled.

  Marcus had his sword half-drawn when a figure materialized in front of him, twin blades flashing. Marcus's sword clattered to the ground along with the hand holding it.

  Marcus screamed, clutching his bleeding stump.

  Pete was still standing against the tree, the broken rope dangling from his chest. He hadn't moved. The whole thing had taken maybe three seconds.

  The attacker was a young man, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, with brown hair and an expression that was cold as winter. He held two short swords that dripped with fresh blood, and he looked at Marcus the way someone might look at a bug.

  "Please," Marcus gasped, pressing his good hand against the stump. "Please, I can pay. I've got coin hidden in Greyport. Three hundred silver. It's yours. Just let me live."

  The young man didn't respond.

  "I've got information too," Marcus said desperately, his voice shaking. "About the slave routes. The buyers. I can tell you everything. You're interested in that, right? I can give you names worth way more than my head."

  "I'm listening," the young man said quietly.

  Marcus's face lit up with desperate hope. "The Crimson Chains, they run the whole operation in Greyport. I can draw you a map to their settlements. Give you contacts. You could take down the whole ring."

  "Interesting." The young man tilted his head. "And in exchange, you walk away?"

  "Yes. Yes, exactly. I'll leave the Borderlands. Go west. You'll never see me again."

  "And the kids you've sold? The people whose lives you've ruined?" The young man's voice was flat. "They just stay ruined?"

  "I... I was just trying to survive. You understand that, right? Out here, you do what you have to."

  "I don't have sympathy for slavers," the young man said.

  His blade moved almost casually. Marcus's eyes went wide, then empty.

  The young man cleaned his swords on Marcus's shirt, sheathed them, and only then seemed to notice Pete.

  "You okay, old man?"

  Pete realized he was still standing against the tree, broken rope around his chest, staring at three corpses.

  "I... yes. I think so."

  "Good." The young man walked over and picked up Leo's crossbow, examining it with professional interest. "Nice piece. Might keep this." He glanced at Pete. "You were about to do something stupid when I showed up, weren't you? That rope didn't break itself."

  Pete looked down at the snapped rope. "I was... angry."

  "Yeah, I could tell. Heard the whole conversation about selling kids. Made me angry too." He offered his hand. "Michael Cordovan, B-rank adventurer. Nice to meet you old man."

  Michael's expression had warmed considerably, the cold killer replaced by something that almost looked friendly. "So. Want to tell me what a guy your age is doing wandering the Borderlands alone?"

  Pete opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at the three bodies.

  "Long story," Pete finally said.

  "I like long stories." Michael gestured at the camp. "These idiots have supplies and I'm starving. You can tell me your story while we raid their stuff. Fair warning though, if you're secretly a slaver too, this is going to get awkward real fast."

  "I'm not a slaver."

  "Just messing with you" Michael grinned, and Pete realized the young man couldn't be much older than twenty-five at most. "Come on, old man. Let's see what these bastards were hoarding."

  Pete took a step forward, then stopped. "You just killed them, without any hesitation."

  "They were slavers," Michael said simply. "The Borderlands might not have any laws, but not everyone wants to live like that. Slavers don't get any second chances from me." He paused. "Is that a problem for you?"

  Pete thought about Sarah. About children being sold like livestock. About Marcus's justifications and Leo's casual cruelty.

  "No," Pete said. "Not a problem at all."