Unforged

Chapter 4: Soulbound

Tristan

Of course he knew I was there, Tristan scolded himself. The Brightshield is an even higher level than Dad.

He watched as the legendary paladin, Hesden Brightshield, exited the inn. The crazy part was that no one else seemed to realize that he’d even been there. The few that had noticed didn’t seem to recognize him. That felt insane: the man was as big as a house!

It must be some skill or an item, Tristan considered.

Brightshield had been adventuring for far longer than Tristan had been alive, though he’d only been called the {Beacon of Hope} for the last fifty years. Through it all, he’d been a pillar of the Light. People sang stories of his exploits and wrote books about every member of his party, like the Untouchable Swordsman Orson, and Celeste the God-healer. There were even stories of people he’d merely saved throughout his journey.

Tristan himself had a poster of the man hanging over his bed so that every day when he woke up he could see what could be possible for those dedicated enough. He knew he’d never be as righteous as the Brightshield, but Tristan would be no less dedicated to his own Path.

Most impressive to Tristan was that his father had always counted the man an equal, a rare man worthy of his respect. There were only a handful of people in the world who passed that test.

Meanwhile, Tristan could hear his father struggling to explain to his wife why he was going to cut dinner short and head back to the forge immediately.

It was going exactly as well as Tristan expected.

Like his mother, he didn’t fully understand why his father had to leave. Though it clearly had to do with the Brightshield’s visit. Maybe it was to add something to the brilliant armor in his shop. Maybe Tristan would even be able to help now that he was Awakened!

“But we’re here to celebrate Tristan’s Awakening!” his mother argued. “Tonight is meant to be for him! Why can’t it wait? What’s really going on?”

Tristan heard her, but he also knew his father. If the man said he had to go, Tristan knew it was for a good reason. Which, honestly, only piqued Tristan’s curiosity more.

Neither of Tristan’s parents seemed to notice their son sneaking toward the door. They should have, as he clearly hadn’t gotten the [Stealth] skill from his Awakening. But they were distracted, so there was nothing stopping him from following his hero out the door.

It had gotten eerily dark outside. Yes, the sun had set hours ago, but something about the darkness bothered Tristan, before it came to him. Aren’t there normally more torches lit?

Even in the dim light he could still clearly see the paladin approaching his steed, Pristine. Even without her battle armor, she was unmistakable: a monstrous seventeen hands tall and pure white from crown to tail, with golden sparkles that chased every toss of her mane or stamp of her hoof. It was widely known that Pristine was an astral capable of using potent holy and light magic.

Brightshield gripped his side hesitantly before attempting to climb into the saddle. A questioning nicker came from Pristine, which was answered by the paladin patting the astral’s flank with his other hand. Which quieted the horse for now.

He’s hurt, Tristan realized as the man’s hand came away dark, his shirt damp. Perhaps bloody. Anyone that could hurt the Brightshield must be some sort of monster. That must be the reason he needs my father’s help. It was the only explanation that made any sense to Tristan.

A cool breeze from the street brushed along Tristan’s arm, teasing its way up to the nape of his neck. The darkness had become deeper than before. Almost tangible. Tristan couldn’t explain why, except that goosebumps remained on his arms long after the breeze faded into silence. There was also a hint of an odor, slightly acrid, floating in the air. The wrongness of it bothered him more than uneven sheets of metal in a stack.

Strangely, it was like all the sound drained from the area as the Brightshield trotted away atop Pristine. In just moments, Tristan couldn’t hear the massive horse’s footfalls at all.

The absolute silence put the boy on edge.

That was when Tristan decided to follow his injured hero out into the darkness, alone, on the night of his Awakening.

- - - - -

It shouldn’t have surprised Tristan that the Brightshield took the road out of town and into the surrounding woods. He clearly couldn’t stay at the Roadside Inn for the commotion it would cause, but Tristan hadn’t expected him to go into the forest. As he followed the mounted paladin, the songs of crickets were deafeningly absent. No owls inquired who he was. Not even the leaves in the surrounding trees rustled, despite the persistent wind blowing through them. His goosebumps hadn’t relented since he’d left the doorway of the inn. Something profoundly magical was afoot.

The Brightshield must not be able to sense it, Tristan realized. Some part of his instincts were warning him--in his father’s voice-- to ‘Turn around, go back home, and mind your own business.’

He shook his head. Except Dad wouldn’t do that either, if he were here. He’d find a way to help.

Tristan couldn’t just leave his hero out there alone. That felt wrong, too.

He’s being hunted, possibly led into an ambush. Tristan pinched himself. And what makes me think I’d realize it before him?

Tristan kept debating, allowing his legs to lead him deeper and deeper into the dark woods. There were still no sounds, which made Tristan all the more careful. Just because he couldn’t hear didn’t necessarily mean that whatever was causing this silence couldn’t. So he tiptoed around fallen leaves and dodged dried twigs, all while darting behind towering tree trunks.

The magnificent horse kept a slow, but steady pace. It was just leisurely enough that Tristan could keep pace even with his attempts to hide, while never losing sight of its golden sparkles in the darkness.

Five minutes outside of Woodsedge, Tristan became surprised when the man literally began to glow. A pure and serene white emanated from him, dimly extending a few feet into the darkness.

They stopped.

Immediately Tristan crouched and held his breath, pressing against the nearest tree. His heart was beating too fast. Its usual, steady rhythm was abandoned. He watched his hero look calmly left and right and then left again. The man stared into the forest, almost as if awaiting a challenger in a friendly spar. After a few uneventful moments, he spurred Pristine, and they began trotting deeper into the forest, seemingly unfazed.

Tristan waited for thirty seconds, afraid to move while the light surrounding the Brightshield drifted farther into the forest. I can’t just stay here, he scolded himself.

When he could hardly see the light any longer, the sounds all returned. One moment, Tristan had hardly been able to breathe. The next, his skin practically burned with the malicious intent filling the suddenly symphonic forest. It was like emerging from underwater, only to be dunked into acid.

Gods, that’s an aura!

Without further thought, Tristan ran toward his hero.

He no longer tried to hide or be quiet. He rushed straight toward the dim light, immediately grateful for the relief of the paladin’s soothing aura, somehow present even at this distance. As Tristan grew nearer, he even began to shout, “Brightshield!” over and over.

He bolted into a clearing, where he realized his hero had already stopped.

The man had drawn his sword and shield, though Tristan was certain they’d been nowhere on the man or his horse before now. He knew all high-level adventurers had some access to magical storage, but Tristan had seen precious little of it in his corner of the world. It was another show of power and prestige, and another reason why the boy sprinted as though his life literally depended on it.

Until the Brightshield spun and leveled his sword directly at Tristan.

Just as quickly, the man’s eyes narrowed, and his sword bobbed, rising slightly. “Young Hammerson?” the paladin clearly mouthed, but the sounds failed to reach Tristan through the dark air. The aura of silence pressed in around him again.

Tristan was panting, but he threw his empty hands up. “It’s an ambush!” he tried to say, slowly drawing nearer and pointing to his ears. “There’s an aura--!”

Perhaps his words reached the Brightshield, or perhaps the man finally recognized the oddness. The paladin dismounted in a flash and was at Tristan’s side.

As soon as Tristan was within the man’s light, his fears and chill melted away, replaced by the deepest sense of warmth and bravery.

“You mustn’t be here,” the Brightshield said.

And Tristan heard him. It was such a relief, his shoulders lowered slightly. “I had to warn you!”

“And you have,” the paladin said, stabbing his sword into the ground so he could place a comforting hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “Now you must flee. They aren’t here for you, lad, though if you tarry, they may see fit to eliminate you as a witness.”

Tristan felt the truth in his hero’s words, and for the first time since reaching the light, fear entered his mind. The words of the Brightshield hammered out the flaw in his resolve. But before he moved, his eyes went to the darkened wound beneath the glowing shield. “Will you...?” Despite the newfound bravery, he lacked the courage to finish the question.

“We’ll soon find out,” the Brightshield whispered. Then the man thrust his hand into Tristan’s chest, shoving him away--as a blast of solid darkness flew right through the space where he’d been only a moment before.

But, as Tristan flew back nearly ten feet, he saw that because the Brightshield had shoved him, the paladin himself took the blow fully on his unarmored chest.

The attack had been cleverly aimed, and deviously precise.

Tristan skidded across the underbrush, silence belying all pains as twigs and rocks shredded his sleeves and arms. He came to rest at the edge of the clearing, barely able to move. He didn’t understand what had happened. Surprise mingled starkly with his pain. His concern rose as he watched his childhood hero also struggling. The man pulled his sword from the earth slowly, as if it weighed a ton. Then, in a blinding flash, it was ablaze, bathing the entire clearing in white hot intensity. Tristan found himself gasping for breath as something slid down his chest into his lap.

It was as heavy as a horseshoe, but not made of metal. It glowed like a weak whisper of whatever the Brightshield was currently doing. Tristan got the impression this faintly-golden symbol of light was strong magic, despite not doing seemingly anything for him.

A notification began blinking in the corner of his vision, but there wasn’t time to check it.

The symbol started glowing brighter, and warmer.

Even still, the darkness was closing in all around Tristan, seeping into him, pushing him toward exhaustion.

The Brightshield’s mouth was moving like he was trying to shout something.

Tristan yawned. The darkness was creeping up his legs and into his fingers.

He saw the paladin’s shield come up to deflect another bolt of darkness, only to have it explode on contact.

Words slammed into his head, simultaneously a booming shout and a kind whisper. It didn’t make sense, but he still heard the words:

Use the talisman.

It almost sounded like the Brightshield’s voice.

Tristan tried, but all he saw was a red notification:

Unable to use items that are not Soulbound.

The last thing Tristan saw was a pitch black dome, rapidly expanding toward him. Then all feeling evaporated.

- - - - -

Shadow

As the final light faded, and the shield returned to the negligent god that had deigned to bestow it, the man called Shadow smiled.

A message blinked in the lower corner of his vision.

[Quest complete: A Legend’s End]

You have gained the title: {Legendslayer}.

As soon as he opened the notification, experience flooded into him, enough to push him up three levels when combined with the kills. Triple what he would have gotten even from a Path Quest. The massive experience gain felt good. He hadn’t had a rush like that in... in far too long.

And a brilliant title to boot? He exhaled slowly, resolving himself to check that later. Control yourself. Assess the situation.

The astral horse had fallen earlier, so that was no concern, though he made a mental note to tease Redblade about his broken ribs. Getting behind a horse in bloody combat, let alone an astral one! It was probably smarter than him. Amateur.

He pivoted, taking in the battlefield, and was truly amazed that it had been so contained. Most of the clearing was barren and broken, obviously, but it hadn’t spread beyond that. Weeks of setup and research, and the fight lasted less than an hour. Sometimes the prep work goes a little too well.

At least he’d gained a new skill that would help him against bruisers in the future, and building up [Insight] as he analyzed his enemies did sound particularly appropriate to his Path.

His focus shifted to the broken tree at the forest’s edge. He walked toward it, considering with every step the idiot boy whose broken body lay crumpled just beyond.

“What do we do about him?” Curse asked, appearing at his side.

Shadow studied the scene and considered his answer. He tried to recall the exact terms of their employment, but chose to tap into his [Eidetic Memory], pulling up the document and reading it again very, very carefully.

The boy hadn’t truly been involved, and he definitely hadn’t seen anything. Honestly, he’d made the fight easier for them, serving as a distraction twice at critical early moments. Still...

Shadow used [Identify] on him, because a second of gathering information now could be hours saved later. No one knew when a little more could be important. He didn’t like surprises that could be avoided.

[?, Human, level 1, Blacksmith]

Only level 1. It’s a miracle he survived at all. He doesn’t need to die if he won’t be a problem.

He straightened and adjusted the hood, making sure it fully covered his face, though he knew his projected shadow always did.

“We leave him,” he finally said. “If he survives, good for him. But I’m certain he saw nothing. We've fulfilled the contract.”

“We could just help him along,” said Venom, an apt name by any measure. He was twisting an arrow between his fingers, trying to keep the poison from dripping off the tip. His lascivious sneer was enhanced by the scars that permanently twisted his lips.

Shadow knew just how much Venom would enjoy killing the boy. He planned to look into whether the man earned more experience the weaker his opponent.

“No,” Shadow said. “The terms are clear: Kill the Brightshield, leaving no witnesses; minimize collateral damage. The kid is innocent.” He glanced toward Timetwister as she reappeared. “Assuming he’s still out?”

The mist-clad woman walked up and gave the slightest kick toward the boy, barely touching his leg with her foot. A moment later she nodded. “For at least two more hours, presuming he makes it.” She removed her foot. “Looks like he will, but it’s too far out. Either way he’s going to have a nasty scar.”

Shadow walked back toward the center of the whole mess. Redblade was there, arms and chest covered in blood. More than usual. He was kneeling by a chest between the two fallen Legends, clearly sifting through the drops and ignoring the growing pool of blood.

“Loot?” Shadow asked.

“Just holy shit,” the scarred, shirtless fighter said. “A spell scroll, vials of blessed water, several bags of coins, an empty potion vial, and a helmet from his storage. But, that’s it? Who doesn’t carry spare weapons or anything else?”

A pro, Shadow thought, taking all the coin bags and spell scroll into his own storage. “We’ll divide this at the rendezvous. Want the helmet?”

The bleeding man nodded eagerly. “No one else--?”

“You’re the only one who wears plate, so it’s probably meant for you anyway. Just be careful. Even if it’s a system-made copy, it still looks like the original.”

Looking around, Shadow gauged the others’ responses. “We should move out.”

“The bodies?” Redblade asked.

“They won’t be recognizable for long,” Timetwister said, aging the corpses with a touch of her time magic. “What was the scroll?”

Shadow used [Identify] on the spell scroll in his storage. “It’s holy-aligned, but epic. Unload it and split the proceeds?”

Timetwister shrugged. “Works for me.”

Venom began stroking the horse with his free hand, his eyes tracing its curves. “I’m going to test some new--"

“Leave them,” Shadow said curtly. “If one of the gods actually cares enough to stop them from rotting, fine. But we will not actively mutilate Legends.”

He looked around the circle of his party, not putting his daggers away. He made direct eye contact with each of them, lingering on Venom. “We’re done here. Split up, but do not touch that boy.” He narrowed his eyes at Venom, seeing the man's hand reaching for his bow. “And do not go back to that little shithole town. Rendezvous in five days.”

He waited for everyone to nod in agreement. Venom stabbed his arrow into the massive flank of the once-white horse instead and spat something deeply green at the head, both of which quickly began to dissolve. Only then did he acknowledge the order.

“You know that could lead them back to you,” Shadow admonished.

Venom licked his arrow suggestively. “And I’ll be waiting.”

Shadow noticed in his party interface that Venom was the only one who hadn’t equipped the new title yet, choosing to still wear {Defiler} instead. He gritted his teeth. I’ll have to tail him to be certain he follows protocol. That meant days of wasted time. If only he wasn’t so damn effective, he thought. It was the only reason Shadow had agreed to bring him along. If the contract had been any less airtight, Shadow would have easily killed the monster.

But he’d risk nothing for five more days. The contract would be over soon enough.

Without another word, what would now be known as the Legendslayers went their separate ways, obscured by the [Enhanced Darkness] Shadow had created.