When the streets woke up with the sounds of scraping brooms and the contagious yawns, Thorin and his brothers roamed the town and gathered all the information they could.
Moonstead Town was little more than an extension of the street market that shared its name. The Moonstead Street-Market was what Byram had enquired about and what the Aether brothers were heading to when they left their hometown. Since the bulk of all transactions happened there, the only businesses left in this town were those that catered to mortals and weaker Magi who couldn’t afford higher prices. The stronger hunters who stayed here came just to rest their wings. Anything that this town sold couldn’t interest them. And so, after confirming and confirming again that there was no Shepherd activity in the area, the trio bade farewell to Byram, who was grooming the bulls, and headed towards the street market.
It was a walk of nearly half an hour under the gloomy sky.
The street market sprawled along the grey woods where silence reigned supreme. Its premises kissed the dense mist that marked the entrance of the battlefield, where entering and exiting groups clamored. Yet the dark fog smothered the garbled chatter and hushed their voices. Even the deathly screams coming from the battlefield fanned out only as whispers.
Thorin and the two stayed and gazed at the wondrous mist churning before them. The blades of grass refused to grow wherever it drifted. Even the earth had given up its vitality before the rule of the undead. This was the domain of absolute death.
They spent several minutes in awe, taking in the wonder that this battlefield was. When the guard nudged them, they snapped out of it and registered their names at the gate. The layout inside matched the Greysnow Street-Market a lot, even down to the map of the market at the entrance. So, they had no trouble finding their way.
After touring the area and familiarizing themselves with the shops, they stopped at a stall in a plaza to buy a map of the battlefield.
“How much is it?” Clay asked, spreading the coarse sheet that marked legends inside a large circle. Trails and rings divided the circle with marks of different colors and designs. It was an incomplete map that detailed the outer area but only carried sparse information of the inner circle.
“That’s three mana shards,” the seller said. “If you buy it with a dog, it’ll be five mana shards total.” He pointed at the stack of cages behind him, each carrying a puppy. Most looked at the passersby with their beady eyes full of curiosity, while some barked at the top of their lungs. Only one kept staring at Thorin in utter silence from the moment the brothers walked over.
“Does it look like we’re in the market to buy a pet?” Thorin asked, chuckling.
“I’m not selling them as pets,” the seller said. “They’re guides. Once you’re inside the dense mist, it’s much easier to lose your way. These puppies have a strong sense of home. So, they can send you out if you get lost.”
“If we buy one and it becomes free, won't it just come back to you?” Thorin asked. “Some profitable business you’re running.”
The seller laughed. “That’ll be your fault then. If you buy it, you’re responsible for keeping a leash on it.”
“Let’s buy one,” Quin whispered after the brothers discussed it among themselves. “I’ve seen some Magi carrying these puppies around. It should be true.”
“Alright,” Clay said. “It’s not that expensive anyway.”
“You say that now because we have enough mana shards,” Thorin quipped.
“Exactly,” Clay said. “Our mindset should change according to our situation.”
Thorin paid the seller five mana shards and let Clay pack up a map. As for the dog, indulging his curiosity, he picked the one that kept staring at him. He held it by its scruff and stared into its icy-blue eyes. They were mesmerizing, but even more so was the quiet intellect behind them. It was a ‘he’, and he never barked.
Thorin laughed, then broke into a guffaw when they left the stall. He checked the dog thoroughly, from his paws to his fangs to his ‘fifth leg’, despite his indignant gaze, and confirmed his identity. What they’d bought wasn’t a dog.
It was a Grey Direwolf.
“What the fuck?” Clay exclaimed when Thorin told them.
“Didn’t that fucker check it before selling?” Quin added.
“Who knows,” Thorin said. “But we got a really good deal on this.”
“What do we do now though? We still need a dog,” Quin said.
“Let’s test the outer circle by ourselves,” Thorin said. “If it’s not doable, we can come back and buy again. Let’s not waste mana shards more than we have to.”
“What about the Direwolf?” Quin asked. “Do you want to keep it?”
“Why not?” Thorin lifted the Direwolf again and stared at him. The pup hadn’t taken his eyes off him, even while dangling by the scruff. He wondered what had drawn the little beast so strongly. “He seems amusing.”
“We can buy a contract,” Clay said.
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“Not now,” Thorin said. “We’ll see how things go later. I’m already an Arcanist. I don’t want to mimic a Tamer or a Summoner.”
“You already are though,” Quin retorted. “With Vraak and more to come.”
“It’s different.” Thorin shot back. “That’s the Necromancer aspect of my version of Arcanist.”
“How is it different? It’s the exact same thing,” Quin said.
The three brothers moved on to the stalls of spellcards next. They were running low on their stock, so they bought batches for defense and recovery—
“Your
“I still need to test it properly,” Thorin said, checking the stack of control-type spellcards on the stall. “But yeah, let’s buy a few.” After selecting from the available options, they bought a few cards of
“Most likely, it’s just the same elements canceling each other,” Clay said on the topic of
“Hmm, seems like the case,” Thorin said, and paid the seller thirty-five mana shards. The higher price was because all the spellcards were of adept level.
“It is like that,” the seller chimed in. “If you use my
“Brother, we’re going to enter the battlefield soon,” Quin said. “Do you have any tips for us?”
“Just one,” the seller said. “Don’t overestimate yourselves and don’t underestimate the undead when they gather in numbers.”
“That was two,” Clay said under his breath.
The seller chuckled. “What can I say? I’m generous.”
“Thank you,” Thorin said to the seller and walked away with his brothers.
“Can we go to the battlefield already?” Quin grumbled as the three strolled streets of the market. “Shopping is boring. I want to crush some Walkers’ skulls.”
“We can keep the other materials, but we still have to sell the storage bags you made,” Clay said.
“What’s the point? We can just use them to store our loot from the battlefield,” Quin said. “Why not sell them all at once. Let’s just go.”
“A used bag and an unused one sell for different prices,” Thorin said. “But forget it. We don’t have a large stock anyway. Let’s just use them to keep our loot for now.”
“Alright!” Quin hollered, drawing stares from nearby pedestrians. “Let’s go! I’m going to find a treasure here once we heal your heart. I heard there are plenty of relics buried here.” He grabbed both his brothers and dragged them towards the exit.
……
The dread and anxiety of determining his fate tightened around Thorin’s chest as their steps carried them closer to the battlefield. His brothers chatted and laughed, but a deafening ring had silenced all sound for him. His heart thumped in fear. His first hunt of the specter-type undead would determine whether he lived on or died within weeks. This was it.
As the rolling mist inched closer, his breathing grew heavier and heavier until he began to hyperventilate.
“Thorin, what’s wrong?” Clay asked, patting his back when he didn’t answer at first.
“Nothing,” Thorin said, wiping sweat from his brows. He took a deep breath and steeled his heart. His eyes hardened. “Let’s go.”
“You’ll be alright,” Quin said. “Don’t worry so much.”
Thorin nodded and stepped into the battlefield with his brothers, the Direwolf following behind on a leash. Their view shifted from the pale gray outside to the dark fog within, a dusty glow lingering in its depth. As if welcoming his heart, the realm of the undead seethed. A hushed roar stirred the fog, and the air thickened with greed and awe.
They didn’t need to search for an undead.
A Wraith lingering at the outskirts lunged at them.
Its cloak hid its rotten visage, but it stared directly at Thorin, he knew it. It gave him no time to hesitate. He deployed his chained blades from his shadow and let them dance with the incoming Wraith. Quin and Clay stepped back, watching the surroundings, while the Direwolf fixed its gaze on Thorin’s battle.
The chained blades battled the Wraith, slicing and strangling it. The creature screeched at Thorin, but it couldn’t move an inch under the relentless barrage.
Papervine: Firestrands!
Papercut: Hoarfrost!
Thorin cast his spells, hurling a salvo of frozen paper-blades after searing the Wraith with burning paper-vines. Within a minute, as frost and fire disrupted its resistance, the blades seized the opening and stabbed deep.
The Wraith released a final howl before scattering into a small pile of ‘Ashes of Death’.
Thorin closed his eyes and smiled. The smile turned into laughter, then faded into a long sigh of relief.
“Death washes away hatred.” He joined his hands and whispered a prayer, but the words faltered today. “It concludes all conflicts. I will carry your end... no, I can't. Not anymore…Rest in peace, if such a thing still exists.”
The angst, anxiety, and fear drained from him in a single breath. His body felt lighter than it ever had. His shoulders loosened. His nerves eased.
He had tested fate.
And fate had answered.
Even the specter-type undead couldn’t heal his heart…
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