Chương 31: Chapter 020 Beneath the Roots, With A Corpse (Part 2)

Jack looked at the leather armour the dead rogue was still wearing.

"Should I?" he considered taking it. It wouldn't fit him, but he might be able to use some of the accessories and sell the rest.

"It's all silver, but…" He glanced at the arrow still in his side. He searched through the rogue's pockets and pack and stuffed anything of value into his own pack, keeping the cloak to wear on his return to the city.

"It's a shame your right ear isn't worth 3 silver," he muttered, half serious as he rolled the body back into the hole.

"I don't need this." He tossed the rogue's empty pack into the hole as well and used the shortsword as a makeshift shovel to cover the corpse with soil. Finishing the job, he tossed some of the root debris and grass sods over the area.

"That will have to do." Taking a moment to catch his breath, he surveyed his work.

"Shit! I-I killed a man." Realisation hit hard as he prayed something big would find the body and devour it.

"I had no choice." Shaking his head, he dragged himself out of the hole, wincing with every move. I really didn't have a choice. Sitting on the edge of the root pit in the fading light, he asked himself, "Should I pull it out?" as he looked down at the arrow fletching that protruded a few inches from his side. He'd been lucky; the arrow had entered a couple of inches from his side, hopefully missing anything vital. The arrow shaft had plugged the wound, so it wasn't bleeding too much.

Jack recalled from the medical books he'd read and memorised that, unless necessary, an arrow should not be removed unless a healer was present. Its removal could cause the wound to bleed out before proper treatment is administered.

"Shit. I don't have enough coin." He had 4 silver in his coin purse and estimated another 8 or 9 silver from the dead rogue. He hadn't bothered counting the coins before tossing the bloody purse into his pack. Getting his wounds healed by an Apprentice Healer would cost him over a gold.

"I can't afford a healer." He placed all the good arrows into the rogue's quiver, which was of better quality than his own. Though they might be worth a few coppers, he discarded any damaged arrows in the tree root hole and stuffed his now-empty quiver into his pack.

"Okay," he said to himself, "now I have to carry this back with me." He grimaced at the idea. What he had wasn't heavy, but it was awkward. He now had his packs, two bows, a quiver, and a shortsword. The dead rogue's dagger was already in his pack. The real issue was his injuries. He winced again as he added the rogue's shortsword to his left side.

"Fuck, that hurts!" he moaned while securing his pack to his back, the two bows resting on one shoulder and the quiver on the other. Taking a moment to steady himself, he began the four or so mile walk back to the city. He trudged along the well-worn trail on his journey back to Lundun.

Jack had already been walking for an hour and had covered about half the distance; the sunlight was fading fast, and the moon was growing brighter. At least I'm not in the pitch-black, he thought as he took another painful step. He was exhausted from having fought a goblin and then the ratty rogue to the death. He felt as if he'd been half-beaten to a pulp with branches before being stabbed in the side for good measure.

Each step was punctuated by a stifled grunt or groan as the effort made the arrow wound in his side sting. I was so close to getting through that fight with no major injuries. Jack grimaced at another pain-generating step. Had I been fitter or a little better at controlling my breathing, I might have got two arrows in the rat bastard before he had a chance to retaliate. He tried to keep his mind off the pain by analysing his mistakes during the fight with the rogue, but it wasn't working.

He offered a wry smile as he recalled the shock on the rogue's face when the arrow hit him in the gut. The bastard didn't see that coming. That's what you get for trying to kill me. He laughed nervously and then winced at the pain it caused. Right. No laughter. He remembered. It wasn't the first time he'd laughed and regretted it over the past hour. Living in a kill-or-be-killed world, he felt little guilt about the rogue's death.

He was vermin, willing to kill him for about a gold's worth of weapons; as far as he was concerned, the rogue deserved to die. However, killing a man for the first time was affecting him mentally. He was close to spiralling out of control; everywhere he looked, he expected Baron Greaves to appear, brandishing his drow blade. Keep it together, Jack. Greaves isn't a threat yet. He reflected on the way the adventurers had acted, trying to assure himself he'd made the right choices.

None of them cared that the rogue went to kill me. He groaned as he took another painful step. They were more concerned about not getting a share of my gear. How many people have those bastards killed? I can't be the first. The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Jack considered informing the guards about what had happened. It would be my word against theirs. No. Better to avoid more trouble. It made him think of Baron Greaves again.

Why do the Gods allow so much evil in the world? He stared at a shadow of a tree where he thought he saw the Baron hiding.

"I'm safe. He's not here." Time passed in slow motion until he saw the city lights and breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced at the moon. Damn it. Mom's going to be really worried! His stomach rumbled at the thought of his mother cooking more out of worry. How am I going to explain all this? Jack paused for a moment to think and heard a noise behind him. He drew his dagger while turning around, expecting to see Greaves approaching. Off to the side of the trail, not thirty feet away, he saw a wolf in the moonlight.

One of its eyes shone amber, the other green. You have to be kidding me. A wolf. Was it stalking me? The wolf stopped when it realised that Jack had spotted it. Have I enough time to nock an arrow? He didn't like the idea of fighting a wolf with a dagger. I don't think I do. What did the books advise about wolves? He scanned his memory using [Perfect Recall] for passages on dealing with wolves and summarised his thoughts. Wolves hunt alone and in packs. Don't run. It triggers their hunting instinct.

Back away slowly. Make yourself look bigger. Make loud noises if it persists. If attacked, fight back aggressively and protect your head and neck. Jack almost laughed aloud at the 'fight back' part. What's the alternative, rub its neck and hope it's friendly? The wolf still hadn't moved. Jack backed away; each step was even more painful as he walked backwards.

"Shit, this hurts even more." After a few steps, the wolf started to follow again, but didn't close the distance. As Jack moved away, the wolf continued to follow. What does it want? Is it part of a pack? In the moonlight, he could see up to forty feet away. He scanned the area for more wolves but saw no others. Jack took a few more steps back, and the wolf followed. Should I risk an arrow? He stopped. The wolf stopped. Jack sheathed his dagger and equipped his bow. The wolf did nothing. He retrieved an arrow.

It was one of the better quality arrows he'd taken from the dead rogue. He nocked it and activated [True Aim] as he drew the arrow back. The wolf remained still as Jack silently counted to six. One. Two. The wolf tipped its head inquisitively to the side while he continued to count. Three. Four. Five. Six. He was aiming at the wolf's head. A difficult target for a Novice Archer with his [True Aim] skill still at level 0. The wolf still did nothing as Jack continued holding the empowered arrow.

He didn't know why, but it felt wrong to shoot the wolf. His tired arms trembled from the exertion. He relaxed the tension in his drawn bow and lowered his weapon. The wolf straightened its head. Jack waited as the wolf still did nothing.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and go eat the dead rogue?" The wolf appeared to nod its head before turning and disappearing into the darkness. Jack's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Was that a nod? He shook his head. No, it couldn't have been. He waited a few minutes to see if the wolf would return before continuing on his journey to Lundun, relieved that he didn't have to fight a wolf. As he approached the city's huge walls, he could see the two dirigibles protecting Lundun.

The airships reflected the muted moonlight off their bronze coloured exteriors. He sighed with relief at feeling safe. Exhaustion hit, and he had to take a few minutes to catch his breath and rest his aching body. He rested on an old, discarded cart in view of the city, gripping the handle of his dagger; the rough texture offering comfort as he watched the shadows for Greaves. The towering sandstone walls loomed over the clearing where a small stream of people entered the city.

Very few exited at this time of the evening. In the moonlight, he appreciated some of the tall towers that housed aether-powered cannons designed to repel monsters and invading armies from neighbouring kingdoms. Despite the Kingdom of Mercia having been at war for most of its long history, the city of Lundun had never fallen. It had been besieged by foreign invaders only once. The capital was a living testament to the Kingdom's enduring power. While he rested, he reorganised his gear.

He emptied his pack and sorted through the items. His fingers brushed against a small glass jar that rattled like it held pills. Curiosity turned to horror as he tipped out its contents onto his hand; his eyes widening in disbelief.

"It's his fucking teeth!" he exclaimed, before tossing them into the grass like rubbish.

"What sort of ratty freak keeps their bloody teeth in a jar?" After wiping his hands on his trousers and recovering from the shock, he stuffed whatever he could into his pack, drank the little water he had left, and chewed on a piece of jerky. With a little more energy, Jack joined the trickle of late arrivals and limped towards the city gates.

The twin ironbound doors stood open beneath the aether-lanterns, and two guards leaned against the stonework with the air of men who had already decided nothing interesting was going to happen this watch. That assessment changed the moment Jack came into view. One of the guards straightened, squinting at him.

"Well, I'll be fucked and fed to the crows. Looks like someone lost an argument with one of them new trains." The second guard snorted and nudged his companion with an elbow.

"Nah, look at him. Dirt, blood, limp." He chuckled.

"I bet ya 10 coppers he met a friendly goblin or two." The other guard laughed.

"I ain't taking that bet." Jack slowed as he reached them.

"Evening," he said, forcing a grin that looked more like a grimace.

"You should see the other guy." The first guard laughed and leaned closer, peering at the dried blood on Jack's clothes.

"Other guy still breathing?"

"Not particularly," Jack replied.

"And the goblin looks worse." That earned him a proper laugh from both of them.

"Told ya it was a goblin," the second guard said, standing a little taller.

"I'm never wrong about these things."

"Fair enough." The other guard waved Jack through with an easy flick of the hand.

"Get yourself home, lad, before something else decides you look tasty." He nodded his thanks and shuffled past, chuckling despite the ache in his side. Behind him, he heard one of the guards mutter, "I told you tonight would be boring," followed by another laugh. Jack made his way into the streets of Lundun, already dreading the conversation that awaited him at home with his mother.