Path of Dragons

Book 1: Chapter 34: The Black Sheep

Eason Cabbot ran his hand along the thick bristles of his blood red mohawk as he sat at the desk he’d been given. Ostensibly, he could have commandeered any building in the budding settlement of Ironshore – that was what his contract had said, at least – but he knew better than to make any power moves. For one, it wouldn’t do much good. He was just the head of security, and as such, the miners and other settlers wouldn’t follow him. For another, he had no aspirations of rule. Instead, he’d come to this out-of-the-way backwater of a newly integrated planet with one goal: to get strong enough to return home and claim his rightful place.

But it wasn’t going well.

Certainly, there were opportunities for him and the mercenaries he’d brought with him. No restrictions on hunting. No guards to keep him from challenging any interdimensional rift he came across. And the local wildlife was just that – wild. Back home on Norat, everything was so restrictive. The rifts were well-guarded, and the wildlife had long since been tamed. The only way to get ahead was to join a guild – or to convince his parents that he was worth their investment.

But that had never been possible for him. The sixteenth son of a minor noble house, gaining any degree of power was a tall hill to climb. Moreso because he’d taken a class that painted him as an uncontrollable barbarian. In his defense, though, Berserker was the most powerful class he’d been offered, and it wasn’t even close. He would’ve had to have been a fool to take any of the others.

His parents didn’t see it that way, though. Nor did his siblings. And as a result, Cabbot had been forced to take drastic measures – like joining a mercenary group called Black Sky and buying passage to the newly integrated world unimaginatively dubbed Earth. When he’d arrived only a few months before, he’d found that the settlement had only barely been developed. However, the miners had found signs that there was true iron beneath the local mountains, so there was every indication that Ironshore would turn out to be a profitable settlement.

Still, Cabbot didn’t care about that. Certainly, he would gain a bonus based on the town’s profits, but it was a pittance compared to what he’d need to get ahead. That was why he sought a shortcut.

And his eyes were set on the mist-wreathed island across the strait, which was why he’d sent a scouting team over. They’d been gone for three days, which meant that they were already two past due.

He rose, hopping down from the chair. It had been made for a much taller dwarf, and so, it was about two times too large for his diminutive stature. He’d commissioned some gnome-sized furniture, but the local carpenter was a busy goblin with a wait list a mile long. It would take time to fill Cabbot’s order, and in the meantime, he had to make do with what he had.

Which infuriated him.

But the answer to that question was a resounding no. To them, he was just the mercenary they’d hired to see to their security. Did it matter that he’d purposely stunted his own progression in hopes of securing just such an opportunity? If he’d let himself gain any more levels, he wouldn’t have been able to make the trip at all. So, he was stuck at level twenty-five.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t remain at that level for much longer. Already, he’d started to participate in local hunts, and it wouldn’t be long before they started finding minor dimensional rifts. And with any luck, they’d discover a tower. Not only would the reward for a first clear be significant, but it would also be a perfect opportunity for him and his most trusted subordinates to quickly progress.

None of the local non-combatants knew that, though. And even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. They had all the power. All the money. Sure, that would change if he ever pushed ahead and became an Ascendent, but that was a long way off. Most fighters never sniffed such a lofty status.

But Cabbot’s parents had, even reaching the next tier of existence as Demigods. Two of his siblings were well on their way to that goal as well. Not Cabbot, though. His parents wouldn’t invest that kind of etherium or political capital into his progression, and so, he was forced to seek out other means of advancement.

He would prove them wrong, though.

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All it would take was one lucky encounter, and he’d blow them all out of the water. Because while he hadn’t gotten the same opportunities as his siblings – or even his contemporaries in the other noble houses – Cabbot had long known that he was special. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been offered such a powerful class. Sure, it came with weaknesses, but he could deal with those.

Mostly.

But it was fine. There were always going to be growing pains. And if it meant having killed a few of the wrong people while in a murderous rage that had begun as a bar fight, so be it. That was another reason he’d come to Ironshore. He wasn’t afraid, per se. But getting out of Norat just seemed like a good idea.

Once again running his fingers over his mohawk, he checked his weapons. Using Arsenal, he pulled out a large, two-handed axe. Then, making certain that it was in good condition, he checked the greatsword as well. Then, the pair of shortswords. A few daggers. Finally, he inspected a large glaive.

The ability was one of the most useful he’d been granted upon gaining his class, and though it precluded the use of higher-grade weapons, he had no complaints. Likely, that was because he couldn’t afford anything better than Crude items for now, and those weren’t enough better than peak Unranked items to matter.

Sure, they were usually much more durable, but with Arsenal, losing out on a little durability wasn’t the detriment it otherwise would be. After all, if he destroyed one weapon, he could almost always just summon another.

After checking his weaponry, he crossed the small room – it really wasn’t much bigger than a closet, which was something that would have to change, and soon – and left his office behind. When he did, he immediately stepped into a mud puddle.

Grimacing, he looked down at this boot. Like its partner, it was a Crude grade item, but it had still been expensive. Besides, would it have killed Ramik to pave the roads? That seemed like a minimal level of development. The goblin who ran the town, though, clearly had other things on his mind, because the settlement was still little more than a few hastily-thrown-together buildings and an imported Branch.

Disgusted, Cabbot hopped over the mud puddle, then strode down the street. He had to avoid a few carts along the way, but miraculously, he managed to avoid any more accidents as he trekked across Ironshore. Eventually, he reached the expansive barracks and went inside.

The front of the building was a tavern that a group of mercenaries ran during their off-time. Cabbot didn’t mind the split focus, mostly because they’d paid for the privilege. It wasn’t much of an income stream – just a few copper etherium a week at present – but it didn’t require any effort on his part. And over time, it would start to add up.

In any case, it was the only place in town to get a decent glass of gnomish whiskey. As tempting as that was, Cabbot resisted the urge as he passed through the tavern – called the Slow Dwarf – and entered the actual barracks. The room was long and lined with two rows of beds, each equipped with a sturdy footlocker and a cabinet for the mercenaries’ other belongings. By no stretch of the imagination was it glamorous, but it was also temporary. As the town grew, the mercenaries would be given land and materials to have their own homes built.

If the planet’s Ethera levels continued to rise, then those homes would be incredibly valuable going forward.

But that was a worry that wouldn’t bear fruit for decades, if ever. So, Cabbot pushed that out of mind and continued on to the back of the building. Along the way, he greeted a few of the gnomes, but he all but ignored the goblins and dwarves. He wasn’t quite as prejudiced as most of his race, but neither could he ignore the facts. By nature, goblins were tricky, crude, and often cruel, and dwarves weren’t much better. Those were just facts, and no amount of goodwill or understanding was going to change reality. All Cabbot could do was recognize their obvious flaws and adjust his own expectations accordingly.

Soon enough, he reached his destination and knocked on the door. A moment later, it swung open to reveal a pink-haired gnomish woman. He grinned broadly and leaned against the doorframe. “Nirea! So good to see you! May I come in?” he asked.

“I was working.”

“Right. That’s what this is about,” he said, pushing past her. She was just an Administrator, which meant that she didn’t have the ability to stop him. Still, aside from being quite a beauty – which was what had caught his eye in the first place – she was an incredibly valuable member of the mercenary band. Without her, logistics would devolve into an unsolvable mess, which would in turn, create an unmitigated disaster. Mercenaries were only so loyal as their last payday, and if the coins stopped flowing, they’d turn pretty quickly.

Nirea pointedly left the door open as she sighed and crossed the office to plant herself in her own, gnome-sized chair. That she had one irritated Cabbot something fierce, but he nobly pushed his annoyance to the side.

“Have you heard from Dena and those two idiots she works with?” he asked without further preamble. Right to the point. Then, he’d get to personal matters.

“No. Dena, Braxon, and Vtigt are still missing. Do you want me to organize a search party?”

Cabbot shook his head, closing the door. What he had to say wasn’t something he wanted the rest of the mercenaries to hear. “No. If they encountered what I think they found…no. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

“You think there’s a guardian over there?”

Cabbot answered, “I do. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Dena might’ve had bad taste in partners, but she was smart and capable.”

“Highest level in the band.”

“Was she?” he asked, a little surprised. That was certainly news to him.

“She found a minor dimensional rift last week. Then, she encountered a herd of lizard creatures. Ran on two legs, short arms, big teeth. She said they looked like six-foot birds, but with scales instead of feathers. They weren’t that strong, but there were more than a dozen of them. She gained a level there and one in the rift.”

“Oh.”

“There are a few others who are on the verge of catching her, though. Well, now that she’s…missing…”

Cabbot said, “Whatever’s over there must be strong, if it took out three of our higher-leveled fighters. If we go over there, we need to go in force. And we’re not ready for that yet.”

“When will we be?” she asked, drumming her fingers on the desk.

He sighed. That was certainly a good question, and one he couldn’t really answer. The truth was that, though the presence of a guardian meant that there was probably some potent natural treasure on that island, they were ill-equipped to handle such a threat. Guardians weren’t just powerful beasts. They were intelligent and cunning, and their sole purpose was to protect that natural treasure until it reached maturity. The World Tree permitted them to exceed the level restrictions imposed by the System, which meant that Cabbot and his mercenaries would almost assuredly be unprepared to face such a creature.

Dena and her two hangers-on had discovered that first-hand.

“Soon. We just need to get stronger,” he said.

“Very well. What should I tell the others about Dena, Braxon, and Vtigt? They were popular, and their absence has already been noted.”

“Tell them that they all received opportunities to go home,” Cabbot stated.

“Lie?”

“Of course. To do otherwise would only invite a response. They’ll go over to that island, and they’ll die just like Dena and those other two idiots. If you think about it, we’re saving lives,” he said smoothly.

She thought about it for a moment, then said, “Very well.”

“Now that business is done, perhaps you would like to accompany me–”

“My apologies, captain, but I have a good deal of work to do. We will have to do it another day.”

Cabbot ground his teeth together, then once again ran his hand over his bristly mohawk. Then, he forced a smile he didn’t feel before saying, “Alright then. I’ll hold you to that.”

Without anything else, he turned, opened the door, then strode away. However, he did hear something that sounded very much like “asshole” coming from the office he’d just left behind. Clearly, he’d misheard, though. Right. Obviously.