The Last Experience Point

Chapter 151: One-Man Army

Zach needed to hurry.

They found the bodies.

Sirens rang out in the middle of the night, alarming an already traumatized population. Whistles were blown. Spotlights erected. But all of that was behind him now on the beach from where he’d exited Yorna’s. He’d hoped to be farther along by this point, yet he’d done as much as he could with the half a minute of invisibility that he’d had. Luckily, only very, very few of the structures in Shadowfall Coast were taller than five or six stories. This made it relatively easy for Zach to proceed unnoticed as he journeyed farther into the city.

With a soft click, he landed in a crouch atop a four-story building. He immediately sprang back up, sprinted to the other end of the roof, and leapt into the air. The ocean’s breeze and the smell of burnt ash melded together as the wind blasted into his face. Having flung himself forward, he could see troops and a few guild members patrolling the street below even this late at night. He was grateful that they didn’t look up as he flew over them. A moment later, he landed on the railed-off rooftop of a three-story school building. He continued to sprint ahead the instant his feet touched down. Pumping his arms as he ran, he dashed his way along it, then jumped forward and off the other end.

Have to be careful here.

There was a pretty big, wide-open park between the school and the next building in the distance, and it appeared to be very lightly patrolled. Thus, he let his momentum carry him as far as it could. Once he began to fall, Zach flipped his body face-down and extended his right palm, slapping it on top of a set of monkey bars in an enclosed, fenced-in playground, which brought him to a halt. Bending his elbow, he performed something of a one-armed, upside-down pushup, which sprang him back up and off the monkey bars, where he then spun himself right-side up midair before dropping down onto the soft grass below. Wasting no time, he took off farther into the night, but not before sending his foot forward and kicking down the locked fence barring his passage. Afterwards, he began racing through the park.

They don’t know it’s me, he thought as the sound of emergency vehicles echoed from the street behind him. They all sounded like they were heading towards the beach. They don’t know why I’m here.

As Zach stormed his way across the park, he tried not to focus on the jarring sounds of distress coming across over the Comm that he’d stolen. He was hearing a whole lot of things that he’d really much rather not listen to, yet it was important that he continue to eavesdrop just in case something came up related to Vim. So far, nothing relating to the leader of the Royal Roses had been said over the Comm. It’d mostly just been a bunch of chatter from primarily young guild members and troops that gave off a steadily increasing level of shock and fear.

Even before the bodies had been found, there’d been a significant amount of panic coming from the Guild of Gentlemen. They seemed to be aware that Mr. Oren and the Elves were about to launch another attack on the city, and it had been the only topic of discussion up until a patrol group stumbled upon a few of the corpses that Zach had left behind. This led to them immediately searching the area—only to find even more of them. Each time, Zach felt a tugging sensation in his chest as he listened to their reactions upon finding the people he’d butchered. But now, one in particular really tested the limits of his resolve.

“Gods, no, please!” a woman screamed into the Comm. “Aelor’s dead!” What followed was a moment of shrieking, then wailing, and finally, sobbing.

“Please, you have to calm down,” a male voice said to her. “You were ordered to remain at your post. You can’t just—”

“My husband! They killed my husband! I want the queen’s head for this! I want Elf blood!”

“Calm down!” ordered the commanding voice of someone Zach believed was named Gaelan Malakor, the sixth in command of the Guild of Gentlemen. This, Zach had picked up just by listening to them for the past few minutes. It’d been enough to piece out a few details, including the man’s rank, his name, and the fact that he seemed to be in charge of the patrols in the city.

“Forgive her, Sir Malakor,” a man said over the Comm. “One of the KIA is her husband.”

“You have my condolences,” Sir Malakor said, now seemingly addressing her directly. “But this is a hard time for us all. You have my leave to take as much time off as you need to mourn. But please: you need to abstain from speaking again on this Comm frequency. Clear communication is the best way for us to find the rotten, Elvish son of a bitch who killed your loved one.”

Zach knew he should be relieved by the fact that they suspected an “Elvish infiltrator” of being responsible for the things he’d done. And in a way, he was glad—at least from a mission standpoint—that they had no clue he was here or what he was attempting to do. But from a different, more emotional position, he felt guilty that his deeds were being blamed on the Elves. Not that Queen Vayra would mind, of course. She definitely wouldn’t. If anything, she’d want them to think she’d killed their kin. It was more that Zach, on a deeper level, felt like he deserved to be blamed for what he’d done, justified or not.

I can’t pretend I’m not doing what I’m doing.

As he made his way across the park unseen, he reached the point where a row of large bushes in front of a chest-high fence marked the dividing line between the park and the sidewalk. A moment before he would’ve dashed right through the fence, onto the street, into traffic, and possibly roaming patrols, Zach stopped, squatted down to his knees, and then jumped into the air while propelling himself forward, exerting a great deal of strength in his legs in the process.

In defiance of gravity, he launched himself upwards and into the air, feeling a churning sensation in his stomach as he rose more than eighty feet in height. Then he began to plummet, falling faster and faster until touching down with a hasty forward-roll onto the top of a five-story apartment complex. Very quickly, he completed his roll, jumped straight back up to his feet, drew his sword, spun around full circle, and delivered a fast and lethal cleaving strike into the belly of a level-1 guard stationed on the rooftop.

The sight of a fast-moving splash of blood accompanied the sound of tearing flesh and ripping cloth as Zach fatally opened the man up before he could react. His guts and intestines spilled out of him, and he stared at Zach as though confused. Then, the man, armed with a prehistoric-looking, bolt-action rifle, murmured something indecipherable and fell over on his side, his weapon dropping out of his arms and landing beside him.

“The Gods damn it all,” Zach muttered to himself, wiping off his blood-soaked blade on the deceased troop’s uniform. Most likely, with the expectation of an impending invasion, they’d once more begun the process of relocating forces onto rooftops to serve as snipers. Zach needed to get in and get out before this place became any more locked down than it already was.

Sheathing his blade, he stepped around the dead soldier and walked slowly to the opposite end of the roof. As best he could amid the dark of night, he peered out into the distance, searching for where to proceed. He knew they were storing Vim in the very southwestern reaches of the city in a human-made dungeon constructed out of ancient building materials from the adventuring world that could contain someone higher than level 1. Zach was well aware that such things existed, as Olivir had bound him with restraints back on Archian Prime that he could not break free of. Hopefully, Zach had enough strength to break whatever needed breaking when he got to Vim.

I didn’t come all this way to fail! Now, where is this place?

One of the members of the Guild of Gentlemen that he’d interrogated had claimed that the dungeon’s entrance looked like a giant, round, and metal vault door, and that it was partially obscured, nestled between two large, but single-story warehouses at the end of a row of factories in Shadowfall Coast’s manufacturing district. If so, he wasn’t far. Ahead of him, he could see smoke, though not the smoke of war: but of engineering. Incidentally, this would be one of the places Fylwen and Mr. Oren would be striking in a few hours, as it was one of the locations they seemed to believe had a high chance of being used for weapons manufacturing. Personally, Zach thought it seemed a bit too obvious.

This would be the first place an enemy would check.

Stepping forward, he wrapped both his hands around the rooftop’s rusted, metal safety railing, and then he hopped over it and quicky turned himself around. Now, dangling over the edge, he held himself in place just until his legs stopped swaying, and then he released the safety railing and let himself go; this, he did to ensure that he fell straight downwards in a controlled and careful way. The wind beat against him as he picked up speed; given it was only five stories, he landed in just a few seconds. Though it wasn’t necessary, he touched down in a crouch, something he’d actually learned from observing Kalana. By doing so, it dampened some of the sound. And thus, there was only a small click as he found himself facing the part of the city where homes and businesses slowly gave way to more industrial manufacturing centers.

“Are we sure an Elf did this?” a man asked over the Comm. “If the intruder came through the dungeons, it was probably one of Donovan’s people, no?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gaelan Malakor replied. “Adventurers wouldn’t dare. We know from the dragon incident that the Elvish can use the portals too. Almost certainly, we’re dealing with a scouting party sent to cause chaos ahead of the invading force coming our way. We must not give in to hysteria or absurd conspiracy theories.”

“Understood, Sir Malakor.”

“Keep strong and keep vigilant!”

Zach, with his hood drawn, began to walk casually and calmly down the nearest sidewalk as he made his way to where he was fairly sure he’d find the “dungeon” entrance. Though he definitely stood out, it was well after midnight, his face was concealed, and they were looking out for an Elf, not him. Also, there didn’t appear to be any patrols in this particular part of the city right now. It was just ordinary citizens, which meant the level of risk to him was low.

With that in mind, Zach risked openly strolling down one street after the next, and to his surprise, though he was given sidelong glances from numerous citizens along the way, no one actually bothered him. They must have assumed him to be a member of the guild dressed in non-standard attire or something. Even with his sword visible on his back, they simply avoided him. Thanks to the hood of his cloak, which concealed his face in shadow, they would not recognize him even if they looked directly at him. Really, it was only his adventuring equipment that threatened to draw suspicion.

“We’re closed,” an obnoxious-sounding man said to him literally out of nowhere, drawing Zach’s attention. He was standing in the frame of a dusty old shop halfway down this particular city block that sold rare electronic parts for antique devices. “Did you hear me, kid, I said we’re closed!”

“The fuck? I wasn’t planning on going in your store, sir. I didn’t even look at your store.”

“Yeah? Well, you can’t come in, so…”

“So nothing,” Zach said. “I wasn’t planning on entering.”

“Doesn’t matter if you were or weren’t. You can’t.” He tapped the door to his shop like it was an old, trusted vessel that had sailed the world’s seas. He laughed smugly. “Nope. You’re not allowed in.”

Dismissively, Zach flicked his hand at the man and continued on his way. The guy was clearly just some lunatic. Ignoring him, he marched about ten or so steps down the block. Then he stopped, tensed up angrily, and took another few steps—only to stop in place yet again. Now, he muttered a swear under his breath and began walking directly backwards to where he’d just been. “Okay, you know what? Fuck your stupid shitty store,” he said with a growl. “Is this like some kind of power trip or something?” he asked the chubby, disgruntled-looking man. “Do you just randomly tell people they can’t come into your store because it makes you feel, like, I don’t know, powerful or something?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes.”

Zach shrugged. “Okay. Well, that argument is over with.”

“Haha! You’ll never get to know just how good our prices are,” he taunted.

Zach continued on his way. Yet even as he did so, he was mad at himself, because now he wanted to go into the store just to see what was so special. It wasn’t until he’d crossed another two blocks that he realized the mean, bitter store owner was actually some kind of sales super genius. When Shadowfall Coast was peaceful again, and all this horribleness was over, Zach now had to come back and see what that Gods-be-damned guy was selling. In fact, he would much rather think about the man’s prices than the soldier he’d just gutted a few blocks away. He’d rather think about anything than that.

How good can the prices possibly be? he wondered. He’s bluffing.

For the next half hour, Zach continued his way southwest, and in doing so, it reminded him of something very important: something he hoped others could bring themselves to see. In particular, that the people of Shadowfall Coast were odd. They were a bit quirky. They had very weird ways of interacting with each other and tourists alike—especially potential customers. But they were good people. They were really good people. Even that store owner who put on an act just to get him interested in his wares: he, and those like him, were a big part of what gave this homely city such a distinct feel.

Yes, the citizens here were miserably racist towards anyone not human, but that was something instilled into them by the Guild of Gentlemen. They were indoctrinated, likely from birth, and it wasn’t all their fault. Some of it, maybe. But the ordinary people couldn’t just be condemned. How could they be? Their whole lives, they’d been told that their struggles with upward mobility were the fault of the Dwarves, or the Lizardmen, or the Orcs. This, despite it clearly being the fault of Peter IV—or maybe not. That actually wasn’t clear anymore. What was clear was that, at their core, Zach did not believe them to be deserving of what had and what would happen to them. They were good people at heart. He knew it. This caused him to feel even more conflicted about things.

He knew what needed to be done. There would be no future for humanity or even the world while the Guild of Gentlemen remained in control of this city. Even still, the coming battles would be nothing like the organized, small-scale, open-field combat fought primarily along political grounds for a century. And they wouldn’t even be like the battles that had only just taken place—and which left a smell in the air that still had yet to fade. No, something far worse was coming. He could feel it in his gut. Anyone could. Even just a cursory glance at social media was enough for Zach to realize this.

I’ve never seen people hate each other this much before, he thought.

Right now, ordinary citizens from regions controlled by the Royal Roses, People of Virtue, and other non-Guild-of-Gentlemen territories were calling for war. This was something that would never feel normal to him. It was so strange that it felt totally unreal. It was at odds with how things usually were and were meant to be.

It had always been the case that war was the sort of thing the guilds did with each other and normal people just shrugged off. Like, when Zach was a small boy and the Whispery Woods region—then controlled by the Guild of Gentlemen—had hosted a field battle against the forces of the Royal Roses from Giant’s Fall, nobody actually cared who won. Only guild nerds and fanboys actually paid attention to that. It was all ego-based bullshit between rich, powerful, and leveled men and women.

Therefore, when the Royal Roses had won a battle against the Guild of Gentlemen, nobody in Whispery Woods hated the citizens of Giant’s Fall as a result of it. Even the thought of that was outrageous. Of course it was! After all, the people were not at war with each other: the guilds were. The only ordinary people who fought were those who voluntarily chose to do so for money, and they had to sign waiver after waiver acknowledging the risk and their desire to participate. When a loved one died in a war, it was viewed as something they chose to do, not something they had to do. But Gods, this was different. The attack on Ogre’s Axe had sparked something completely new—something terrifying.

As a result of the nuclear weapon, normal, ordinary people were speaking like they themselves were part of the guilds. Pulling out his phone, Zach could see it for himself, and it was undeniable. It had spread even down to his friends from school, who not long ago, couldn’t be paid to care about these kinds of matters.

“We need to kill every fucking one of them,” was one comment Zach spotted in his feed.

“@AvengeTheDeaddd Agree fuck racist POS Shadowfall Coast. Can’t wait to see Lord Oren stomp them into the ground. #WEDONOTSURRENDER.”

“@FuckShadowfallcoast no fuck YOU bitch! U r a piece of shit go live with the dwarves and orcs if u love them so much LEAVE OUR PEOPLE ALONE!!!!”

Zach sighed and put away his phone. It actually hurt to read this garbage. And really, who the hell was “we?” People kept using that word. “We.” They were saying things like “we” need to kill them, or “we” need to do this or that. The idea of there being some kind of “we” was definitely new to him. He couldn’t believe how the entire continent of North Bastia—and Shores of Wrath—had gotten so swept up in this war.

The bomb changed everything.

As Zach continued his trek through the city, he was able to really see for himself the toll that the prior battles had taken on Shadowfall Coast—and how uneven that toll was distributed. Constantly, he’d alternate between blocks that still looked exactly as they had before the war and ones that were so damaged that, if the sky had been red, you could have fooled him into thinking he was on Earth. At one point, he actually had to duck down and then slide through the middle of a downed building, which completely blocked the road and had yet to be cleared out.

Through it all, he glided from street to street undisturbed. In some places, the people were so beaten down, exhausted, and depressed, that they did not even seem capable of arousing the level of emotion necessary to form a suspicious or alarmed feeling in response to seeing a strangely dressed person with a sword wandering down their sidewalk. It was almost bizarre just how much ground Zach was able to cover without issue. Yet he knew that, eventually, his luck would run out.

And it did.

As the city finally began to fully transition away from apartment complexes and businesses, he navigated his way down a very wide street lined with warehouses to his left and a single, massive factory to his right, and it was here that a lone infantryman approached him warily. “Hey!” he shouted. Zach paused and turned in his direction. “Who the fuck are you? Show me your face!”

Zach looked at him, and the man stirred uneasily. “Is there a problem?”

“I can’t see your face,” he said, coming across as nervous and uncertain. He pointed his rifle at Zach, then made a swinging gesture with it. “Take off that hood,” he said, gesturing a second time. “You’re not supposed to be out past curfew, and this area’s off limits. Is that…is that a sword on your back?”

“Yeah,” Zach said, nodding. “Let me show you.”

Zach reached for the hilt with his right hand. Then, in one fluid motion, he drew his sword and slashed it directly upwards, cutting the man’s rifle in two pieces; both fell out of his hands, and as expected, the soldier opened his mouth to scream. Immediately, Zach swung his blade back downwards, splitting the man’s head open vertically right down the middle of his scalp and causing a puddle of very dark red blood to stain the pavement as he collapsed.

The man’s body hit the ground. Zach lifted his arm and turned his blade around, reaching behind himself to once again sheathe it. But then he stopped—and grinded his teeth in frustration. In what could only be described as an absurd bout of bad luck, an entire fucking armored tank, which just-so-happened to be turning the corner to roll down the block at the precise moment Zach killed the rifleman, somehow managed to catch a glimpse of Zach in the act of doing so. The tank literally arrived just in time to witness his bloody deed. And now, all at once, the world around him lit up so brightly that he had to narrow his eyes just to see as the tank shined some kind of spotlight on him. An instant later, a terrified-sounding voice began to scream into the Comm he’d almost forgotten was in his ear.

“THIS IS FIRE TEAM 8 WITH THE 201ST BRIGADE!” a man yelled into the Comm. Somehow, Zach had the feeling it was the tank operator, as a mechanical hum began to fill the night as it turned its long cannon in his direction. A mounted machine gun also began to spin near a hatch atop the vehicle.

“What is it now?” Sir Malakor asked.

This is bad.

“THERE APPEARS TO BE A—”

Zach couldn’t allow them to give away his position. Assuming a fighting stance, he lifted his sword and then slashed it downwards while shouting, “Wave Slash!”

At the exact same time, the cannon fired, missing him narrowly and blowing a tremendous hole into the warehouse behind him. The machine guns also began opening up fire. What had, only moments ago, been a quiet city block, turned instead into a war zone as a repeating crack of gunfire rang out with an echo while another flash preceded a loud bang as the cannon fired on him a second time.

"What are you doing!" a factory worker shouted at the tank. "Stop it! You're killing us! You're—"

The man's words ended in a gargle as a bullet whizzed by Zach's right ear and struck him in the throat. Frowning, he realized there was no longer any chance of him keeping a low profile until reaching Vim, because in addition to the gunshots that riddled him with a storm of bullets that he could barely feel—and that his equipment was too powerful to be damaged by—there was now yet another explosion behind him. There was just no way it wouldn’t cause hundreds or thousands of people to rush their way over here. Even still, Zach put a stop to it fairly quickly as his Wave Slash, which had finally finished forming, tore its way across the street and viciously cut straight through the tank, lobbing off half its nose-like cannon before sinking right through the armor and making its way inside.

A half—maybe even a quarter—of a second went by. And then, abruptly, the sound of screaming, agonized voices filled the night; it sounded like there were three of them, in total, and all seemed to be coming from inside the tank. Due to the fact that the Wave Slash left behind a tear too small to see through, Zach wasn’t able to visually tell what happened to the men. He also didn’t want to know, either. Not that Zach actually needed to witness the source of their anguish to understand it. No, he could tell from the blood-curdling pain in their voices that the Wave Slash had continued on, ripped them to pieces without fully killing them, and from the sound of subsequent cries coming from the factory across the street, it was still flying off somewhere and still causing more suffering.

I hope it doesn’t kill any civilians, he thought, becoming worried. I can’t use that again no matter what.

Zach, with a few beads of sweat now gliding down his forehead from using the Moderate exertion ability, remained focused on his task and continued on his way even as the sound of tortured screams from numerous individuals inside the tank all continued to cry out, howling and in some cases whimpering.

As Zach hurried his way beyond the tank—and those inside of it—a highly disturbing sight filled his eyes. From the side of the tank, and through the curved, punctured tear in the armor caused by his Wave Slash, a steady stream of blood was now spilling out. This blood then trickled all the way down the side of the camo-colored vehicle in a straight line before pooling up at the base, where it would then turn into bloody droplets—droplets that grew in size until finally dripping off the tank and joining a rapidly forming puddle on the concrete road below the vehicle. Even without being able to see the carnage done to their bodies, he was still made to see their blood.

Zach ripped his head away, not wanting to see any more of this. Now, with a growing sound of activity as the guild sent people here to investigate, Zach fled the scene before he ended up starting a battle that he either couldn't win or, even worse, wouldn't be able to forgive himself for winning. With haste, he took off at a mad dash, leaving this street behind. Even as he fled, he could still hear the men inside the tank moaning, their voices growing softer as they died a terrible death.

I’m sorry.