Demon Wolf

Wolf jogged through the parched, deciduous forests and tall, yellowing grasslands. He took deep breaths as he ran, enjoying familiar herbal scents while heading towards the grand wall separating the Forsaken Waste from the Unholy Empire.

Even though he never grew tired, every other day, Wolf made camp. Qi fueled his body, while his crippled Anima production compensated for the recovery a night’s rest offered, but he still needed to prepare copious rations for the next leg of his journey.

Every other evening he roasted, cooked, breaded and fried mounds of Lindworm flesh to sate the hunger he incurred with his unnatural growth spur. And yet, no matter how important he found the food, Wolf craved those breaks for another reason.

He needed breaks to bathe. For days Wolf struggled to expel the phantom stench of blood, which he believed had suffused the folds of his skin and the cracks beneath his nails’ edges.

The maniacal obsession with food came second, as he chewed on Lindworm bite-sized snacks at least once an hour. Years ago, during his first expeditions in Fellwood, he had developed the habit of filling his holdingring with stocks of various items and rations. He still shuddered at the vivid memory of losing control over his body; recalling the metallic taste and slimy touch of spasming muscles squirming in his mouth.

In Fellwood, after reaching the fourth stage of Star Body, Wolf had snapped. Unprepared for the voracious outburst, he savagely tore a drake with his bare teeth, ripping chunks of flesh to sate his ravenous body.

Suppressing the memory and munching on some fried, well-seasoned snake, Wolf encountered a lake. Without thinking, he stored his clothes. Using the chance to rid himself of the illusory stench, he dove in. As he swam, alien leeches bit him, but Wolf slapped them dead after the worm-like creatures failed to pierce his reinforced skin.

Even parasites around here have Qi. Wolf muttered a silent complaint as he strode out of the pool. He refilled his barrels with water, then continued jogging. He yearned to return home immediately. However, the books he read and his personal experiences taught him that rushing often meant arriving ill-prepared. When moving towards your goal, you should mind yourself.

His slight delays lessened the inconveniences he might suffer later. If a hunger pang struck him around manlings, he could not guarantee he would not devour them. If he stank and came covered in gore, civilized people would shun him, perhaps even attempt to incarcerate him.

Swiftly reaching your goal is important. However, reaching it without proper preparation will waste your haste. As he quoted The Ruler’s Way, and assured himself a day he lost over the course of two weeks would impact nothing, Wolf reached a swamp.

The place reeked, and he circled around it, speeding up by burning additional Qi to compensate for the extra distance. He could have arrived at the wall in ten days of sprinting, if he was willing to burn all his Qi on running. But then, if someone ambushed him, he would not be in his peak combat state.

This bog was not the first obstacle Wolf avoided. He had previously detoured around two small barbarian settlements.

Quoting books and muttering to himself, Wolf passed the marshland and entered an expanse of underbrush; several hours later, he trotted out of the shrubs and onto a neatly trimmed lawn. In five steps, he halted, taking in the surreal landscape before him.

The thicket ended abruptly, one hundred meters before the ten meter tall ramparts. The gigantic construction was dark brown, with breastworks so perfect they looked like an artist’s drawing. 

Wolf gawked, turning his head left and right, noting that the monumental creation stretched into infinity. He could not tell how wide the walls were, but towers spaced every one hundred meters reached twenty meters above ground, each of their sides ten meters wide.

Wolf resisted his urge to awaken his senses and inspect the massive fortification. Instead, he swallowed, then non-threateningly walked towards the walls, unaware he had raised his hands.

Acting subconsciously, he stuffed a cube of breaded anaconda meat into his mouth. After two weeks, he no longer noticed its perfect juiciness, nor the masterful blend of seasonings he used to elevate the already exotic aroma. What drew his attention was a wooden signpost planted ten meters before the sentry tower.

Use the gate. 

Scaling the wall is strictly forbidden. 

Nearest gate 87.8 km

Nearest gate 112.2 km

Illiteracy does not reduce legal accountability.

Damaging, altering, or obscuring this sign is

punishable by law.

Pooping near this sign is punishable by law.

That’s awful inconvenient, Wolf thought, then chortled after processing the last line. What the hells?

He almost snorted the half-chewed meat through his nose before laughing aloud, sending pale fried flesh flying in a savage display.

Gods, people are crazy. There’s no way they added that line randomly… Wolf shifted his gaze from the humorous wooden plaque and towards the humongous construction.

This is one solid piece of stone? He blinked in disbelief. Something like this is impossible without magic.

“May I touch it?” he asked aloud, but the sentries up in the tower remained quiet.

Silence is acceptance. He moved over to the wall, noticing tiny runes along its surface. Spell Formations? Running along the entire wall? Gods know how much this cost.

He traced his finger against the smooth surface. Its texture matched glazed ceramics better than a stone structure. Did someone sculpt the earth, then made it solid?

Dust repellant, moisture repellant… He examined the Spell Formations and found none with proper defensive effects. Every single one existed to make the wall look good.

How vain are these people? he wondered, then asked the more obvious question. How confident must they be to only expect good looks from their fortification?

Wolf stepped away from the wall and started jogging towards the nearest gate. He expected to reach it in three hours of relaxed running. However, after five kilometers, he encountered a shepherd leading hundreds of sheep.

Despite the heat, the man wore a white woolen sweater and black woolen pants, topped with a nearly one meter tall white wool hat. Wolf greeted the fluffy woolen creature, and the herdsman nodded with a serious expression and a proud glint in his eye.

He looks like Duke Silverhound waving at commoners.

Thirty kilometers later, Wolf encountered another smug sheepman, then another thirty-odd kilometers later.

“Good day,” he hailed, then approached the man herding sheep to trim the grass. “Pardon my asking, sir, but what are you doing?”

Wolf spoke politely, seeing these menial laborers’ regal bearing. Maybe, in their civilization, owning cattle meant nobility.

“I’m herding sheep for the greater glory of the kingdom. Performing the task issued to our great people through a Glorious Tyrant’s mandate.” The peasant held his nose up, speaking about his position with more pride than a viscount introduced his lineage back home.

These people are insane. And did he quote someone? He slurred some words there. Despite harboring such thoughts, Wolf acted along.

“You act for the greater glory of your kingdom?” he asked with wide eyes, recalling what Mandy taught him about intelligence gathering. “Is your uniform a mark of office?”

All it took was some simple questions to get the conversation going. Wolf learned the basics about the kingdom of Boreo, its mother empire of Dowin and Glorious Tyranny, while walking along with Marcus, the Lawn Enforcer, for three quarters of an hour.

The shepherd wasted most of Wolf’s time, but tripe hid important bits of information; words a simple laborer found insignificant, but they were glaring signs to Wolf.

Wolf’s main gain regarded religion. Forsaken Wastes’s tribes established no churches. At least, the medium and small tribes had none. However, the kingdom of Boreo had a dominant religion; Earthmother’s Church of Passion. Wolf never entered Earthmother’s temple, but his world worshiped a god bearing the same name, and her church was also called Church of Passion.

Wolf hoped that meant Church of Fairness also existed. 

“Do you have Houses of Fairness?” He gambled and inquired. At worst, the farmer would think him crazy.

“Sure we do. But that’s mostly for them traders and when you need to buy something you can’t find. We have a temple back at Whitesheep.” He pointed behind with his thumb. “But that’s not important…”

Wolf grinned while Marcus continued explaining the importance of sheep and short-trimmed grass for the safety of their kingdom, which had never suffered a barbarian invasion since their founding.

When they passed yet another sign, Wolf thanked the public servant and resumed his journey. He pointedly did not ask whether sheep were legally accountable for relieving themselves near the royal proclamation. Given Marcus’s intelligence, such conundrums might fry his brain.

Because of his chat with the Lawn Enforcer, Wolf took an extra hour to reach the gate, but he thought the information he gained was worth it. Simple knowledge that Church of Fairness existed eased his heart. Not to mention warnings on odd infractions and anal obsession with rules Boreo exercised.

Twin towers flanked the enormous gate. Its door was twenty meters wide and eight meters tall, covered in ornate gilded patterns. The giant portal remained closed, while a compact doorway in its corner stood open, leaving enough room for two men to ride abreast.

Marius mentioned traffic was sparse. The giant gate only opened for Lawn Enforcers taking their flock on a round of duty, which was a fancy way of saying they took sheep grazing.

Yet, despite allegedly low traffic, Wolf spotted a group of sentries talking with seven women in front of the small entrance.

“… please make sure you provide two copies of your manifest to the Import Office…” a bored nasal voice droned on and on as Wolf examined the patterns adorning the reinforced wooden gate.

He found that most of them had merely a decorative nature. Dust repellant again, protection from weather and erosion… Not a single reinforcement. Truly, these people are accustomed to peace.

 

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