112. The Long Shots

  Now that the game was well and truly underway, Team Serac moved into the real meat of their strategy. To that end, they ‘snuck away’ from the main beach where all the action was concentrated, intent on finding a quiet patch of the Netherpool all for themselves. The logic, according to Petter Svensen, had been thus:

  “The Realmhunt is all about smiting Aberrants to lure more Aberrants until you possibly luck into the Frostkrill. Now, that naturally leads to a lot of congestion around the main beach. Why do you think that is?”

  “I guess it’s kind of like a virtuous cycle,” Serac had taken a stab. “Team A starts smiting in Location A. More Aberrants show up, which then draws more teams to the same location, which then leads to more smiting and more everything, etc etc. Everyone wants to stay within this hotbed because striking out on your own could prove too risky.”

  “Exactly! Not only that, but staying close to the Hubstation is also a big factor. There’s not a whole lot of time until sundown, and you don’t want to waste any of it traveling to or from your reconstitution spots.”

  “Sounds like you’ve really done your homework, Pete,” a rare, sincere compliment from Zacko. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a Wayfarer already.”

  “M—m—me? A W—W—Way…” Petter’s mackerel face had turned a deep shade of mustard. “A—a—all kidding aside, Miss and Mister, my point is, we’d want to strike out on our own when no other team would. B—b—because…”

  “Because we’ve got the [Frostkrillbane] on our side,” Serac had come to her easily flustered friend’s rescue, “which means, hotbed or no, we’ve got a natural advantage when it comes to our chances of luring the big prize. And it just makes sense to do it far away from the rest of the competition where we can hoard the smite to ourselves.”

  The [Frostkrillbane] was only the latest product of Chef Petey’s thirst for Wayfaring knowledge and dedication to his culinary craft. With a complicated recipe that required five special ingredients—all ‘random drops’ from different Wildspawns—it was exceedingly rare for anyone in Pretjord to have the means to make one.

  Indeed, the last time the stars aligned just so was as far back as 20 odd years ago. Petter had been but a twinkle in his father’s eye then, but this same father later told tales of the absolute bloodbath that particular edition of the Realmhunt devolved into. Wayfarers hunted Wayfarers, every one of them trying to get their own hands on the legendary lure, until many of them ended up spending more time reconstituting than actually scoring any points. To add insult to injury, the Frostkrill itself didn’t even surface that year—the result of too much infighting and not enough smiting.

  Which made it all the more ironic that a Narakite had come equipped with a spell tailor-made for ‘target-farming’ Wildspawn drops. With [Harvest] in one hand and Petter’s shopping list in the other, Serac had needed just a few days to collect what would otherwise have taken several decades of prayers and dumb luck.

  Yes. In a very real sense, this ragtag trio of two outrealmer hunters (one of whom couldn’t swim and the other couldn’t ripple-read!) plus one complete novice of a spotter was arguably the best-prepared team in the entire competition. But… the less everyone else knew about it, the better.

  Except… Team Serac’s attempt at sneaking away without notice didn’t go completely according to plan. As they waded through the sea of points-hunting Wayfarers and inched away from the hotbed that was the main beach, Serac felt a familiar tingle in her right temple.

  The ‘Circlet’ was trying to tell her something. Whether it be danger or opportunity, Serac couldn’t rightly ignore it, so she paused to look over her shoulder, scanning for the source of the ‘signal’.

  And that was when their eyes met for only the second time today. Hers and Loha’s.

  By then, the queen was firmly entrenched within the spectator section, seated upon Palmr’s raised platform along with several other VIPs. All other eyes in the vicinity were predictably turned onto the organized chaos that unfolded on center ice. But not Loha’s. Loha’s eyes—now narrowed in suspicion as well as hatred—followed Serac as the latter moved away from the warm bodies and towards the quieter parts of the Netherpool.

  For at least one moment, the tingle in Serac’s right temple swelled into a full-blown twinge of pain. But then the queen looked away just as quickly—perhaps purely out of disgust—and she made no move to inform her neighbors of what she’d just witnessed.

  Was it nothing then? Or an omen of things to come? Either way, Serac was thankful for her Circlet’s warning, and she promptly turned to include her teammates in the discovery.

  “Guess we’d better hurry,” she’d concluded, “because our ‘secret weapon’ might not stay secret for too long.”

  The trio did, however, take the time to make at least a quarter turn clockwise around the Roots, well away from the sights and sounds of the main event. Ashvanaga proved vital for the endeavor; if they’d tried to walk one quarter-way around the base of the Realm, they’d be here until sunrise let alone sunset.

  Once they were certain of their isolation, it was time for Team Serac to start their own Realmhunt ‘loop’. Here, their clear disadvantages came to bear, chiefly due to Petter’s inexperience in the art of spotting.

  In the end, Serac took pity on her mackerel friend’s hemming and hawing, and decided on a spot herself, viability be damned. First, she ‘marked’ the ice by shooting unimbued bullets in a rough circle. Next, she bent down and aimed PULVERIZER into the circle’s center.

  [Auxiliary Technique: THE GRIND]

  Serac might not have a Hilde Vindsdatter to send her into the sky, nor a GUNGNIR with which to punch the ice. But she could certainly drill a hole with her trusty rock-vambrace. It was a much messier process than Rathor’s example, ending with hundreds of uneven ice fragments that remained floating in the water. A chokepoint was a chokepoint, however, and it’d have to do for now.

  Next up was Zacko, he of the sleeveless tunic and swimming competency. He had the same duty as Hilde’s, which was to seek and flush out any Aberrants within range.

  Where the manta-ray Yaksha had used some mysterious spell for maximum volume and efficiency, the Manusya had only VISAGE and his NINEFOLD techniques. Needless to say, neither was particularly suited for the job. But Zacko had come prepared, having done his own theorycrafting on how best to fit a square peg into a round hole.

  [VISAGE Aspect: SINNER]

  Zacko’s wrathful-red aura shone through the distortion of ice and water. He’d gone into [Berserk] mode which, in addition to a massive Attack Value buff, also dramatically increased his ‘threat generation’. Thus, at the hefty cost of 1,000 ? per second, Zacko turned himself into an underwater flare gun, sending out ripples that read ‘come and get me’ to any sentient in the vicinity.

  But the maneuver really was costly, which was why the Wayfarers had agreed on a hard time limit. One—two seconds max—for each activation, then it was time for Zacko to jump back onto the surface and shut off the imbuement. It was vitally important that he find solid ground before doing so, for another harsh penalty of [Berserk] was a forced Poise-break at the end of its duration.

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  That was how Zacko ended up flat on his back, panting and shivering into his angry Prajna mask. Meanwhile, Serac knelt beside the chokepoint with REVOLVER locked and loaded.

  The routine was an inelegant one, not to mention heavily reliant on the chance that at least one Aberrant happened to be within range of Zacko’s broadcast. But it was also the best idea a pair of outrealmers could conjure up, and—at least on this occasion—it paid off.

  A dark, scaly shadow sent ice shards flying as it flopped into the air. One Mennesketer was the first to take the bait, [Hungry] for anything to sink its too-many teeth into. And it was in luck… because Serac was more than happy to oblige.

  “Here, fishy fishy!”

  Fighting past every instinct of self-preservation, Serac presented her left arm for the Mennesketer’s pleasure. It bit, PULVERIZER and all, and began to chow down—loud, messy, and bloody.

  [53!], [62!], [59!], [47!], …

  Once a Mennesketer sank its teeth into you, that was it. It’d deal continuous damage until you either pried it off or ended its life. Since the former was all but impossible, the only option left to Serac was to smite it as quickly as possible. To that end, she pushed REVOLVER’s barrel into the piranha monster’s one red eye, and…

  [131!], [131!], [131!]

  A triple burst to whittle down its health, followed by a violent swing of her PULVERIZER arm to slam the whole thing onto solid ice, where a now Poise-recovered Zacko waited to…

  [THE THIRD DAO—CESTUS]

  A simple and economical NINEFOLD finisher. For all its relentless [Hunger], the Mennesketer wasn’t particularly tanky, and this combination of the Wayfarers’ most trusted moves proved enough to send it onto its next life.

  [376 ?]

  Even taking into account that the smiting blow bonus had gone to Zacko, this wasn’t the greatest return for Serac’s trouble. The whole sequence was also quite clunky, especially compared to the benchmark set by Team Rathor.

  Yet, without a burning trident with which to one-shot the Mennesketer, a gunslinger needed a way to ‘immobilize’ her prey while she fed it some lead. Sacrificing her own arm as well as a chunk of her health just happened to be the most fit-for-purpose method she could come up with. Besides, Serac Edin certainly was no stranger to pain.

  The first encounter was quickly followed by a second, again with a lone Mennesketer. At this point, Zacko was up and about, so he took the liberty of dealing the first blow: a [Staff] kick to send it bouncing onto the ice.

  The piranha monster immediately flopped upright, chomping and gnashing all the while. But its mobility on land was as limited as Serac’s in water, so the latter took her time to line up her shots.

  [131!], [131!], [131!]

  [564 ?]

  [Realmhunt Score: 10]

  To the smiter went the spoils! About an hour into the competition, and with the winter sun making its rapid descent towards the horizon, Serac was finally on the board. She couldn’t celebrate yet, however—not when she had her eyes on a much bigger prize.

  Buoyed by the auspicious start to their hunt, the outrealmers stood by the chokepoint, ready to take on all comers. But—at least on this occasion—their optimism proved premature.

  Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. A whole minute went by without a sign that a third Wildspawn would make its appearance. The water, now somewhat muddied by Serac’s own blood, remained perfectly still with nary a ripple.

  “I think we’ve got a dead spot,” Zacko muttered through chattering teeth. “What do you reckon, Pete?”

  “Un—un—unfortunately, Mister Zacko, I think you’re right,” Petter said, obviously dejected (and doing his best to avoid looking at Serac’s bloodied arm).

  “Do you think it’s still worth casting the [Frostkrillbane]?” Serac asked, not with much hope. To this, Petter shook his head sadly.

  “No, Miss Serac. Even with our special lure, the principle of ‘threat escalation’ still applies. We need a loop that generates a lot more Aberrants and a lot more smites to have any hope of drawing out the Frostkrill. No, I think our best bet is to move on and find a different spot, hopefully with better Aberrant density.”

  And therein lay the rub. Team Serac had an ace up their sleeve, one the other teams would kill for if they knew about it. But for it to do its work, they first needed to replicate to the best of their abilities what everyone else had been practicing on an annual basis. A tall order for a pair of outrealmers guided by a novice spotter.

  “Well, there’s no point moping about it,” Zacko said, now barely intelligible as his shivering got worse and worse. “Let’s hop back on our castle and scout out our next location, yeah? I could definitely use the warming up.”

  And off they went, traveling further clockwise along the Roots. Back atop Ash’s ramparts, Serac tried to keep a positive outlook.

  We’ve still got time. And one lucky break is all we need. Zacko and I are never going to outscore Rathor by frying small fish. One lucky break to draw out the big guy, then we’ll be home free.

  And because she was so distracted by her own thoughts, it took Serac some time before she realized she was seeing something strange. Something that didn’t belong in the picture, especially after Team Serac had taken such pains to isolate themselves from the crowd.

  A humanoid shape cut a lonely figure upon the frozen sea. Not knowing whether it was friend or foe (but instinctively leaning toward the latter), Serac tugged on her ropes and gave the signal for ‘brake’. Ash slowed dutifully, and continued its approach at a much reduced pace.

  The figure made no move in turn, which allowed Serac to eventually get a clearer view. It looked to be a Yaksha woman, but not anyone Serac recognized.

  The woman, bundled up in multiple layers of blankets, sat on a chair next to a fishing hole. Behind her was a large, hemispheric mound, dusted in snow—a sign that it’d been there for some time. Maybe the woman’s tent? But it had a strangely weighty appearance that set it apart from all the other tents Serac knew about.

  Sensing that the woman presented no immediate danger, Serac brought Ash to a full stop and hopped off. She then approached on foot, her right hand resting against her holster, just in case. No Pathsighted designation. The gunslinger relaxed her hand, now knowing that the stranger was an Anchored soul.

  Up close, it became apparent that the woman was sleeping, with the scarf around her face fluttering to the rhythm of her snoring. She was also very old, with ample wrinkles tracing every part of her features.

  Oh, but she’s stunningly beautiful, Serac marveled to herself. Those red-and-gold ribbons around her eyes. So striking against a field of lotus-white. I wonder what typing she is, and I wonder—

  “Grrnk?”

  “Eek!”

  Serac jumped back with an undignified yelp, as her hand once more reached for REVOLVER. But the low, guttural sound hadn’t issued from the sleeping woman. No, it’d come from the snow-dusted mound behind her… which was no longer a mound, for it’d stood up on its four legs and stretched out its long, wrinkly neck.

  It’s one of them tortoises! Serac realized with considerable relief, though her heart continued its pounding. But it’s also the biggest one I’ve seen around these parts. Queen Loha had her kitchen pantry, but you could probably fit a whole person or two inside this bad boy.

  For a brief second, the tortoise stared at Serac as if to take the measure of her, with its morose eyes momentarily flickering towards the hand on her holster. It then took some heavy, lumbering steps to place itself between Serac and the old woman.

  And that was when the woman herself finally roused. She blinked sleepily several times, before her hazy eyes focused on the gun-toting stranger.

  “Oh.”

  The scarf slid down, revealing a dainty mouth that formed a little ‘o’. Then the woman’s whole countenance—along with the red-and-gold ribbons around her eyes—softened into a gentle, welcoming smile.

  “Hello, child. Come to keep this dusty old soul company, have you? Well, go on, don’t be shy. There’s plenty of fish for everyone.”

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