Dead End

VANCE

Vance was caught in a moment of indecision over whether or not he should take human lives for the first time. If the leader of this ragtag bunch had been a better fighter, maybe he would have noticed Vance’s internal debate and chosen that moment to strike. But he only stood on the defensive, waiting. Perhaps he was simply trying not to provoke Vance any further.

Coward.

Vance was pretty sure that fighting these men would give him at least some experience. The system that governed levels and skills didn’t come with a manual, but the general consensus was that just about anything you did granted experience toward levelling up. The catch was that doing something repetitively or too easily yielded next to nothing. To truly advance, you had to push yourself to your limits — and beyond. The system rewarded risk and effort in order to promote growth.

Fighting these men was not a challenge. He’d max whatever experience he got out of them by defeating them, but would probably gain very little, or nothing, for killing them. And as little risk as there was, why drop bodies when you don’t have to? Surely, he could find a more profitable use for these men while avoiding any unpleasant mess from killing. Why risk an inquiry from the guild or any other authority?

While that left his practical side feeling satisfied, Vance did feel a lingering regret at the idea of sparing their lives. A dark little voice inside of him urged him to slaughter them and prove beyond all doubt how much power he had over others, how superior he was. He’d just have to find some monsters in the forest instead. For now.

Didn’t mean he was done with the swordsman yet, though.

Vance studied the other man. As he did, he idly flipped his dagger into the air, letting it tumble end over end a few times before catching it again without looking. It was an old habit, one he’d cultivated to prove he could do it and to show off. “Let’s make this more interesting. I’ll take you on with only one arm. Don’t worry; I’ve decided not to kill you guys despite the fact that you tried to kill me. But how good a fight you put up is about to determine whether you go back with both arms, or missing one like your dying friend over there.”

The leader’s lips pressed together, and some of the fear seemed to leave him. But, if anything, he grew even more focused. “What are you waiting for then?”

Vance smiled wide. “I like that.” He turned his body perpendicularly to his opponent, more like a fencing stance, but leading with only his dagger. He wondered if making it more of a challenge would lead to more experience. Could you benefit from limiting yourself? Knowing the man would never strike first, he slid forward two paces and lunged.

The sword blocked the first, easy, telegraphed strike. But Vance did not let up. He sheathed the rondel and only used his other arm for balance. With his dagger, he probed and tested the other man’s defences, and while the man put up some resistance, he was slower and less skilled. Vance flicked the defending longsword to the side and kicked out, hitting the man in the hip. Rogues used their whole bodies to fight, punching and kicking, using traps, and changing weapons. They were highly flexible fighters.

But the other man was no slouch. Neither was he unaccustomed to being kicked in a fight. Many people assumed that those who fought with swords or spears or most weapons only used their weapons. That wasn’t true. There are no rules in a real fight, and that meant someone wielding a longsword used their body as well. Which is why the leader rolled with the kick and shoulder-slammed Vance in the side.

Before the man could rotate again and bring the longsword around for a powerful backhand blow, Vance leaned away from the shoulder-slam and then ducked. The sword sailed over his head. Then he was rising, dagger stabbing. He put three holes in the side of the man’s ribs, one on top of the other, causing him to grunt. Vance could have killed him by sinking the steel into the man’s armpit and lung, but what fun would it be to end the fight too early?

The man clutched his side with his free hand. Blood leaked between his fingers. For a moment, he made to move away, instinctively defensive. But it lasted only a second before he changed his mind and decided that the only way he was going to stand a chance was if he became aggressive. So he slashed with the longsword to force Vance to parry, then threw himself forward, probably hoping to tangle the two fighters together, just like a struggling boxer will wrap themselves around an opponent to give themselves time to catch their breath.

Vance chided him, “Uh uh uh.’ He deftly slipped out of the attempt. With a vicious side snap, he kicked the side of the man’s knee, tearing.

The man cried out and fell, his leg unable to hold his weight. To his credit, he rolled onto his back, face twisted in agony, and brought his sword up to defend.

Vance sheathed his dagger. “I’m bored now. Obviously, I win.” He beckoned the man to his feet. “You can get up now. Oh, wait.” He chuckled.

The man grimaced but didn’t lower his sword yet, not trusting Vance, which was smart of him. Still keeping a wary eye on the man who’d crippled him, he quickly glanced over at the others who were already down.

Vance followed his lead and looked as well. Both men were dying, bleeding out all over the path to the village. He contemplated for a moment. Then he reached into his magic bag and brought out three small red healing potions. They were only tiny vials, holding no more than a shot glass would, and of medium quality. Vance had them to treat minor abrasions and the like, while he had far stronger potions for real injuries. But why suffer even an inconvenient cut or bruise when he didn’t have to? He dangled them in front of the man on the ground. “How much are these worth to you?”

The man’s eyes locked onto the potions, which would probably allow him to walk again and may even save his companions. He struggled not to show his longing, then looked away, bitter. “If we could afford something like that, do you think we’d be living out here?”

“Hmm. I suppose not. But that’s ok. I don’t need your money. I have lots. And these are cheap.”

The man snorted. Even a small vial of healing potion was expensive to most folks. The average family in the city would be lucky to have one of these in the house for real emergencies, and they’d be hidden well or locked up tight.

“Tell you what. You’re from that shitty hamlet or whatever up ahead, yes? The one full of exiles and criminals and the like?”

The man reluctantly nodded.

“I’m an adventurer, as you can probably guess. I’ll be hunting in the area for the next little while. Out in the forests. I’ve got two others coming to help; should be here in a day. We’ll be making your…what’s the name of the place?”

“Ain’t got an official name. Folk been calling it Dead End. Cuz everyone gets sent out here dies sooner or later.”

“Dead End. Catchy. Yeah, I’m gonna set up in Dead End. Bet you don’t have an inn or anything yet, do you?”

“No. Only got a few buildings. Elves keep burning them down. Or the monsters crush ‘em whenever they raze the village.”

“Figured. I’m gonna leave my horse and some gear there. But I know people are stupid. And desperate people are even more stupid. You, and your mates here, if they survive, will look after my stuff. In exchange, I’ll give you guys these potions. And, depending on how long I’m here and how good a job you do, maybe you’ll even earn yourself a wage. How’s a silver a week sound?” It was spare change to the likes of Vance.

But the man’s eyes fractionally widened. He was trying hard to control his emotions and not give his feelings away, but wasn’t all that good at it. A silver to a guy like this, living out on the edge of the wilderness, expecting to die, that would be good money. There was probably no way to earn anything out here. Folks in Dead End were probably relegated to only surviving by whatever means they could. Even a silver a week would mean the ability to buy supplies. If they were even allowed to go back to the city to spend it. Or if there was a trader who ever came through.

The man mulled it over and must have come to the realization that money earned would be tough to spend, giving Vance the impression no traders or merchants came this way, and they weren’t allowed to leave, but his eyes returned to the health potions. “All right. Deal.” He put his sword down.

Vance tossed the three vials onto the man’s stomach. The glass was reinforced and unlikely to break. He watched the man down one, and much of the pain drained from his face. If the man was subsistence living out here, a torn knee that would take months to heal on its own would probably be a life-ending injury. Likewise, if the potions saved the lives of the other two, he’d possibly gain some goodwill. It was a decent bargain he’d made with Vance.

The other two were badly wounded. The arrow had to be pulled out of one man. The potions barely healed the worst of the damage, leaving both with open wounds, but neither one was bleeding to death after. Both agreed to the same bargain the first man had.

Vance smirked at the trio. Three goons acquired for a pittance. The encounter had turned out to be convenient. Assuming the men weren’t completely brain-dead and did their new jobs, Vance wouldn’t have to take his mount into the forest and worry about protecting it while he hunted. It was something he hadn’t thought of before, so this worked out well.

The man with the longsword, whose name turned out to be Benji, called in the archer who’d run away. Then Vance remounted, and the four led him to the hamlet.

Dead End was unimpressive. It was an attempt to expand the kingdom’s borders into the wild lands to the west of the city. The east was the ocean, and the easily farmable northern lands had already been claimed and turned into proper new villages, all the way to the only other city on the continent, a few days’ ride north. It had been easy to take over the region north of the city because it had been partly grasslands and low hills, with only pockets of forest.

The region west and south of the city, however, were ancient, old-growth forest, home to the now-battered elven kingdom, all kinds of huge monsters, and potentially other threats. It had proved extremely resistant to incursion. Even trying to burn sections of the forest down hadn’t worked. But the king wasn’t giving up. More land under his control meant more people could live here, and more people meant a larger economy, and more taxes, more wealth and power.

Dead End was one of a few outpost-type places the king had ordered set up on the borders. The army and a force of laborers had first arrived a couple of years ago, fought off attacks as they hacked down a section of forest for farming, and established a place for a village to grow in the center. The village right now was barely an encampment at this stage. Since the whole place had been razed to the ground multiple times, because the king never sent anyone to defend it, it had never had a chance to grow. Each time the village was reborn, they only put up a wooden pallisade, which was a ring of sunken logs about three meters tall that formed a wall.

Outside the wall were enormous spike barricades made of sharpened logs buried into the muddy earth. They were easily large enough to stop a cavalry charge, and looked big enough to make an ogre think twice. Yet they hadn’t been enough to prevent some creature Vance had never seen from charging the wall. The powerful quadruped looked like a cross between a boar and a lizard. It was taller than a horse and three times as long, not including its tail. Arrows stuck out of its bristly brown hide, and it lay draped over a section of spike barricade and the wall, where it seemed to have gotten hung up thanks to its short legs while the defenders had managed to kill it.

At the sight of the battle’s aftermath, the four men leading Vance all ran on ahead.

Vance took his time and sauntered into town atop his horse. Passing through the open gate, he could see that his was the only large animal in Dead End. He could tell because there were only two buildings. One was made of stone blocks and was the size of an outhouse. It had a limp flag of the kingdom hanging over the door. It was probably for representatives of the king when they visited, if they ever did. The only other actual building was a small log cabin with a dirt roof that was covered in a vegetable garden. Everyone else appeared to be living in a variety of tents and half-tent, half-clapboard things. While the ground nearer the wall was green with weeds and flowers, the center of town was a muddy bog. The place stank of rot and shit.

Vance gagged at the scent. His eyes searched around for a bare place on the green sward to plant his tent, and he walked his horse to a likely location. But even as he arrived and surveyed the flat space, with two nearby canvas tents, the air thick with the smell of a latrine and flies, he was disgusted. Maybe it would be better to camp out in the forest.

One look at the massive beast partway through the wall suggested that would be foolish.

Pinching his nose closed, he looked around town and naturally saw the cabin. He turned his horse in that direction. Arriving at the structure, he dismounted and banged on the solid wooden door.

A woman’s voice called out, “Hold on!” A few seconds later, the door opened, revealing a stout woman in a dark green dress and apron. She started at the sight of Vance, then warily eyed him with suspicion. “What you want?”

Vance allowed a smile to creep across his lips. From what he could see, the place was neat and clean, full of furniture, and would make a much nicer living space than a tent in the muck. “Nice hut. I’ll take it.”