The boar charged, a steam engine made of muscle and ivory. Mud

  didn’t flinch or cower. He calmly leveled the Staff of Embers, and

  a firebolt hissed through the air, catching the beast squarely on the

  side of its jaw. The impact forced the creature to veer, its hooves

  digging deep into the dirt and loam as it skidded to a halt.

  Before the beast

  could recover for a second pass, the shadows of the plains came to

  life.

  A tide of fur and

  teeth erupted from every crevice. Led by Ricky, the small army of

  rats swarmed the boar, scaling its legs like acrobats and burying

  themselves in its thick hide. The boar squealed, bucking and twisting

  in a wild attempt to dislodge the biting frenzy. Its health bar

  flickered, bleeding away under a dozen tiny, relentless attacks.

  With a desperate

  heave, the boar sent the last of the rats flying and lowered its head

  for a final, suicidal charge. Mud was already prepared. His firebolt

  hit the monster directly between its eyes.

  There was an

  explosion of white, and it was over.

  [Mud has reached

  Level 3]

   [Ricky has

  reached Level 3]

  [Summon Monster

  reached Level 3: Master and Commander Unlocked] Summon

  multiple monster

  simultaneously. The number of monsters summoned depends on the

  strength and mana of the caster.

  The small army, two

  dozen strong, sauntered back toward him. They sat on their haunches

  in a perfect, eerie semicircle, forty-eight beady eyes locked onto

  Mud with absolute discipline. At their head stood Ricky, a general

  among his men, thanks to his new ability: [Rat King]

  With a silent wave

  of his hand, the rats fanned out, vanishing into the brush in a dozen

  different directions, hunting for a specific target.

  This was their

  eighth kill this morning, if you counted the five that Layhla had

  effortlessly destroyed nearby. But none of them were the target that

  Mud was searching for.

  The system prompt

  was clear: .

  That was the

  stipulation needed to add the Great Boar to his team, but first he

  needed to locate his old nemesis.

  “You’re

  improving!”

  Layhla trotted

  over. She glanced at the lingering line of rats as they dispersed

  into the tall grass. “I can’t say I’m a fan of Ricky’s new…

  fan club, but I can’t deny their usefulness. They’re effective

  little terrors.”

  “The smaller ones

  are good practice, but they aren’t the real prize,” Mud said,

  adjusting his new black feather cloak. His gaze traveled over the

  emerald, shimmering reaches of the plains. “If we can bring their

  boss down, it adds an incredible boost to my combat effectiveness.”

  “I like this side

  of you,” she said, shoving him playfully. Her eyes were bright and

  proud, offering him one of her rare, genuine smiles. “You’re

  finally starting to find some confidence in yourself. Something that

  might be even more important than being a good fighter.”

  Mud kicked at a dry

  patch of hard-packed dirt, creating a small wave of dust that floated

  gracefully away on the breeze. He watched it scatter, trying to hide

  the sudden red that enveloped his cheeks.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I don’t know

  if I’d call it confidence,” he whispered, “More like

  make-believe. Like a child playing with dolls.”

  He grunted and

  shook his head. “Fake it till you make it, I guess.”

  Sudden, acute

  turmoil replaced the smile on Layhla’s face. “Fake it till you

  make it…” she repeated, her voice quietly trailing off, lost

  somewhere in the vast open plains.

  With a sudden jolt,

  she turned on him. Her bright blue eyes weren’t just angry; they

  were desperate, a thunderstorm.

  “I hate that

  saying. It’s stupid. It’s… it’s a lie,” she hissed, her

  voice trembling with an unnatural intensity. “Don’t ‘fake’

  anything, Mud.”

  She jabbed her

  finger into his chest, her touch pointed and sharp. “Just do. Push

  forward. Overcome the obstacle. When you stand over that smoking hunk

  of meat, victorious.” Her finger pointed directly between his eyes.

  “Look for another obstacle.”

  For a second she

  went blank, completely frozen, like the world had lagged for just a

  moment. Her arm, that had been aimed for his face, dropped

  mechanically to her side.

  Mud stared at her,

  nearly petrified and confused by the raw, existential panic behind

  her eyes, as if his simple, off-handed statement had tugged at a

  thread that threatened to unravel her entire persona. “Okay…”

  he stammered, placing a jittery hand on her shoulder to steady her.

  “Layhla? Are you alright?”

  She glared at him,

  but it was becoming softer and losing its edge. “I’m fine, let’s

  just push forward.” She swiped his hand from her shoulder. “And

  don’t touch me.”

  The heavy,

  suffocating silence was shattered by a returning line of rats. Ricky

  trotted proudly at the head of the swarm, chittering and snapping his

  jaws as if delivering a military report. He reached up and snagged

  the hem of Mud’s robes with his fangs, tugging firmly towards the

  horizon.

  For the next few

  minutes, Mud and Layhla followed the rats at a rapid pace. Mud was

  surprised to find that while his lungs were still working hard, he

  wasn’t gasping for air. The increase in his Stamina stat was

  helping. He was merely breathing heavily, instead of knocking on

  death’s door.

  Finally, Ricky came

  to a halt at the edge of a quaint, lush oasis, a ring of ancient,

  gnarled trees surrounding a placid pond. Behind the water rose a

  gentle, grassy hill.

  Standing atop that

  hill, towering over the savanna, a lord presided over his land.

  The Patriarch was

  colossal, his scarred hide a hymn of past battles and conflict. He

  stood motionless, watching over his kingdom, unaware of the intruders

  who had come to claim him.

  “That’s him,”

  Mud whispered. His throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

  His hands began to

  twitch uncontrollably, his fingers drumming against his staff. Then,

  his head jerked, an involuntary snap of his neck to the side. It was

  a nervous tic he hadn’t dealt with since childhood, a ghost from

  his past life.

  Layhla’s frown

  deepened as she studied the Patriarch. “This is going to be rough,”

  she whispered, her hand tightening around the hilt of her blade.

  “He’s a higher level than both of us. Honestly… he’s even a

  step up from that owl.”

  Mud took a long,

  steadying breath, fighting to still the unwelcome tremors. He forced

  his lungs to expand, trying to drown out the frenzied pounding of his

  pulse. “I have a few ideas,” he said, his voice steadier than he

  felt. “But I don’t know how well they’ll work on something of

  this scale. I… I forgot how large he was.”

  Reaching out, he

  called to Chedda, willing a second string of mana to life.

  With a soft pop,

  Chedda appeared. The Forest Imp stood before them, looking

  uncharacteristically focused, a small white knapsack tied firmly

  across his chest.

  Layhla’s head

  snapped toward the Imp, her eyes wide. “You can summon two at once?

  I… I didn’t think that was possible.”

  Mud wiped a bead of

  sweat from his brow. The mental strain to maintain both summons was

  much higher than he expected. “It’s a first for me, too. I just

  unlocked the ability when I hit level three.”

  Testing the limits,

  he reached out once more attempting to force Sludge’s viscous body

  into existence. The air rippled, then went still.

  Nothing happened.

  “I think two is

  my limit for now,” he said.

  “Masta, I has

  whats you asks for.” Chedda gestured proudly to his knapsack, but

  his bravado withered as his gaze climbed the grassy hill to the

  Patriarch. “Oh… he’s a biggy-boy, isn’t he?”

  “Don’t worry.

  Between you and Ricky, we’ve got this,” Mud said, patting the

  Imp’s head in an attempt to steady both of their nerves.

  “What is a…

  Riggee?” Chedda asked, butchering the name, his head tilted in

  confusion.

  Mud pointed down at

  his feet. Ricky was sitting there, chest puffed out, staring up at

  the Imp with an air of authority.

  “Riggee is dinna

  food?” the Imp asked, his voice hopeful.

  Ricky erupted. The

  rat shrieked and squealed with heated indignation, his jaws snapping.

  Chedda flinched, looking slightly abashed as the rat’s tirade

  continued. For the next few seconds, the two summons engaged in a

  chaotic, high-pitched argument, clearly debating who held the higher

  rank in Mud’s growing army.

  “You two need to

  stop,” Layhla hissed. “You’re going to alert… wait.”

  She went dead

  silent. The bickering stopped instantly, their gazes going up to the

  grassy hill in unison.

  It was empty. The

  Great Boar had simply vanished.

  Chedda’s scream

  decimated the stillness. It was a high-pitched squeal that was cut

  short as the Patriarch exploded from the brush behind them. It plowed

  through the space where the Imp was standing, a force of nature. It

  was a mountain of bristled muscle and thundering hooves; its twin

  ivory tusks nearly as long as Mud’s entire body.

  A spatter of green

  blood marred the dry earth where Chedda had been standing. The Imp

  was gone, his terrified screams echoing through the open tundra.

  It was time for the

  rematch.