Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO STUBBING AUGUST 15)-12-6. A Heavy Burden

Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO STUBBING AUGUST 15)-12-6. A Heavy Burden

Solomon Thorne sat on the floor of the keep, his back against the wall as he picked at his fingernails with a small knife. The Explorer – a pretty woman with short, black hair – stood near the door, watching for the incoming messenger. Meanwhile, the young man paced back and forth, periodically glancing at the deceptively small treasure in the center of the room. Finally, the stag, a magnificent creature with milky white, crystal antlers, busied itself with a pile of old corn.
The moldy stuff had long since spoiled past the bounds of human consumption, but the beast had no problems eating it. In fact, Solomon had seen the stag eat things that would make most people gag. Whatever dietary restrictions it possessed, they had yet been found.
It reminded him of an old goat from his parents’ farm. That ornery creature would eat anything, but it had been particularly fond of chewing on aluminum cans. But that animal was long since dead, even before the world’s transformation. Just like his parents, who’d both died peacefully in their eighties.
“I hate waiting,” Miguel said, still pacing. “They should have attacked by now.”
Helen – the Explorer – didn’t even look back as she said, “It’s barely been an hour. Be patient.”
“I don’t like being patient,” the young man said, showing his youth. By all rights, the boy was more powerful than any but the strongest in the army. And he was dedicated to his combat prowess in a way that felt alien to someone like Solomon. However, he was still a teenager – a demographic not known for their patience – and he still displayed many of his peers’ worst characteristics.
Youth and power. Not the best combination in the best of times, and being in the middle of a Primal Realm was probably on the other end of that spectrum. If Solomon had had any input, he’d have chosen someone else as his escort. But the boy’s power – as well as his unique abilities that allowed him to traverse the wilderness almost as easily as an Explorer – was difficult to ignore.
At least Helen had a sensible head on her shoulders.
In any case, Solomon continued to pick at his fingernails. After everything, he didn’t think he’d ever remove all the dirt and grime. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been clean. Maybe not since before they’d set out from Argos.
How long had it been?
A year? Two? In the Hollow Depths, the days had long since blended together, and things hadn’t gotten better in the Primal Realm. But at least he knew how long they’d been in the Red Marsh. Almost nine months. Three-quarters of a year spent in nearly constant battle.
It was no wonder he felt dirty.
But Solomon had never been a complainer. If he found an obstacle, he simply went through it. Faced with hardship, he endured. That was what it meant to be a proper Porter. He didn’t have the luxury of complaining or giving up. Not when he had a job to do.
And in this case, his job was more important than any he’d taken before. Idly, he glanced at the so-called treasure. It was just an iron-bound chest sitting in the center of the room. Maybe six feet long and half as deep. By all rights, even the boy should’ve been capable of toting it.
But it weighed enough that lifting it strained even Solomon. And he had both Loadbearer and Iron Spine working in his favor. Thankfully, he’d evolved Porter to Freighter during one of the breaks in the Hollow Depths – before they’d made their mad dash to the Primal Realm. Otherwise, he’d have been stuck at level one-twenty-five.
And he’d have never been able to lift that seemingly normal chest.
The task with which they’d been charged was simple enough. Carry that chest through the Red Marsh to the mountains in the west. That was where they would find a pass leading to their salvation. And the end of the Primal Realm.
Of course, that meant traversing incredibly dangerous terrain populated by not only trolls – wild and sapient alike – but also the deadly wildlife that called the swamp home. And that wasn’t considering the terrain itself, which was treacherous even for experienced Rangers and Explorers.
Solomon wasn’t certain how it was all meant to work. He could see the notification as well as anyone. The win conditions were clear enough. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once they reached their destination. Would everyone simply be teleported out of the Primal Realm? Would there be portals? What would happen to the seemingly endless army of trolls?
“Above my paygrade,” he muttered to himself.
“What?” asked Miguel, damn his sharp ears.
“Nothing. Just an idle thought,” Solomon answered.
Finally, he picked himself up. Even with his constitution, he felt a bone-deep sense of weariness infusing his muscles. Months of constant war would do that to a man, he supposed. Attributes be damned.
He took a few minutes to stretch. Once their journey began, he wouldn’t get much of a chance to rest, so he took advantage of the short preamble. His back cracked satisfyingly as he stretched.
“How are you so calm?” asked Miguel.
“Experience,” Solomon answered. “Not much I can do about any of this. Worrying won’t do any good. Better to just put it out of mind, do your job, and trust that it’ll all work out.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Then it doesn’t. All I can do is my best. If it’s not enough…well, then I figure someone else will pick up the load,” he replied. “Fear of failure never helped anybody.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, the infringement.
“That’s not what I was taught.”
“What were you taught, then?” asked Solomon.
The young man ran his hand through his unruly black hair. “I don’t know. To hate losing, I guess. To hate it more than I love winning.”
“Not the same thing, boy.”
“Seems similar enough to me,” he stated.
“That’s because you’re young and stupid,” Solomon pointed out. “Maybe that hatred of losing motivates you to do your best. To go that extra step. But fear of failure – that’s just a sign that you’re not confident you gave it your all. If you give it everything you’ve got, truly and without holding anything back, and you still fail…well, then there’s nothing you can do about it. So, there’s no point in being afraid of it.”
He finished stretching. “But what do I know? I’m just an old Porter. I’m sure all those other Warriors out there know a lot more than me.”
Miguel looked at him like he’d just said the wrong thing, but before he could continue the conversation, someone else rushed into the room. Solomon recognized the man as one of the other Explorers, who immediately told Helen that the attack had begun.
He sprinted out of the room a second later, leaving them alone. Within moments, a series of massive explosions rattled the keep. Dust billowed, and mortar trickled down the walls, but Solomon knew better than to panic. After spending months on the walls, it would take much more to rattle him.
Instead, he finished his stretching, did a few knee-raises, then headed toward the chest. As he hovered over it, ready to get going, evidence of more explosions shook the fortress.
Meanwhile, Miguel and Helen prepared themselves for what was coming. When the time came, they wouldn’t have time for delay. Not until they reached their destination.
For almost an hour, the explosions continued until, at last, they petered out. Less than a minute later, another Explorer arrived to tell them that the counterattack had begun. That was their signal.
Without hesitation, Solomon took a deadlift stance, then with an explosion of strength, heaved the chest onto his back. He had no idea how much the thing weighed, but what he did know was that he’d yet to find a burden he couldn’t carry. Still, the fact that he was the only person in the entire army who could even lift the thing – much less carry it – said enough.
He shifted, positioning the thing on one shoulder, where it settled in nicely. Via Balanced Burden, he knew it would stay in place until his strength gave out. When that happened, he’d shift it onto the other shoulder. Back and forth it would go, and because of Split Lift, one side could rest while the other took on all the work.
“Ready,” he grunted.
While he’d lifted the chest, Miguel had mounted the stag, and Helen had activated a few of her abilities meant to keep them concealed. So, the second he said the word, they set out. The mounted young man – his curious wooden sword bare – took the lead, with Solomon following. Helen brought up the rear.
Thankfully, the way out of the keep was a straight shot. Moreover, the corridors were wide enough that Miguel could exit while mounted, meaning Solomon wasn’t forced to reposition his burden. And soon enough, they reached the exit.
And they saw carnage.
Dead trolls – most of whom had been burned to a crisp – decorated the inner courtyard, while the east wall had been completely destroyed. The other three walls weren’t much better off, though they still stood.
Miraculously so.
It was a shocking display, especially considering that the walls had been defended by only three people. Well, more than that if Solomon counted those dogs, but most people tended to think of Oscar and his pack as one entity. Either way, they – along with Kurik and Sadie Song – had pulled out all the stops. They’d all used their most powerful abilities, burning their cooldowns to defend the keep.
Meanwhile, the rest of the army had taken a page out of the trolls’ book and used underground tunnels to outflank the attacking force. Even now, Solomon could hear the clash of metal on metal and feel the activation of thousands of abilities.
It was all just a distraction.
There was no chance of winning, and they all knew it. The idea was to attack, hard and fast, then disengage into a fighting retreat. It was a risky strategy, but with the keep barely holding itself together and their supplies running short, they didn’t have much of a choice.
People would die, though. Probably a lot of them.
And yet, everyone knew that the alternative was failure. While Solomon had long since come to terms with his own mortality, and to the point where dying didn’t scare him at all, he would certainly fight to the bitter end. The other soldiers had a similar attitude, and they grasped the small chance of survival with both hands.
Even if they knew the odds were stacked against them.
Upon disengagement, the army would break into smaller, nimbler groups. Hopefully, that would allow for more survivors. Still, it was only a matter of time before the trolls caught up.
That was why, when it came to Solomon’s mission, speed was so important.
They reoriented themselves before Miguel dashed off, scouting the way. Meanwhile, Helen kept pace with Solomon, keeping him hidden via her abilities. Neither spoke, so they had only their grunts – and the distant sound of battle – to keep them company. Soon enough, they left the fortress behind and plunged into the swamp.
The first half hour was the worst, though Solomon remained stoic as he put one plodding foot in front of the other. Most of the time, they followed a path set out by Miguel. He marked the stumpy trees, guiding them forward. But every now and again, there was no choice but to wade into the stagnant water.
The sucking mud on his feet was the least of Solomon’s worries. He could deal with that. But the idea of all the creeping, crawling, and slithering things in that water was enough to keep even a stoic man up at night.
Thankfully, that was where Helen came in.
She was the highest-level Explorer in the army, and not by a little bit. Probably the strongest in the world. And all those levels meant that she had every tool she needed to mask their passage, from trolls and wildlife alike. There were still limits, though. If Solomon stepped on a snapping turtle, he’d probably lose a foot.
Or worse yet, if he walked into a water snake.
He tried not to think about such things, and like that, the hours passed. They eventually left the sounds of battle behind, and those explosions were replaced by the tepid silence of the swamp. That was broken only by the buzzing insects and the inevitable sounds of their passage.
Miguel returned after half a day, and Solomon didn’t miss that his sword and armor were both coated in fresh blood. He also bore a thin gash across his shoulder, evidence that he’d fought to clear the way.
“There’s an island up ahead,” he said. “We can rest there for a couple of hours.”
“You don’t think we should keep going?” asked Helen, glancing back the way they’d come. Solomon knew that her husband was among the fighters back there.
Miguel shook his head. “We’ve covered enough ground for a little safety,” he answered, displaying none of his youth. Once the action started, he was as stalwart as any combat veteran. Which he was. “Better to take the opportunity now.”
“Any dangerous creatures nearby?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore.”
And so they continued on, stopping almost two hours later when they found their way to a blessedly dry island. Finally, Solomon heaved his burden from his shoulder, then sat down.
They had managed to escape, but that was only the first step of the plan. The journey would be long and assuredly difficult. But Solomon’s job was the same as always – just put one foot in front of the other. That was what it meant to be a Porter.

12-6. A Heavy Burden