Chapter 45 Wyld Reach

I opened up my inventory. I used to think this was poor etiquette, to open my HUD whilst I was with others, but I was over it now. Besides, I had noticed Miggy doing it on many occasions himself. I did my usual tidying. I was low on heals and arrows. I’d only had time to farm materials and craft a bone bow and spear. It would have to do for the time being, as I went through my hotbar, setting them from one to ten.

The brief memory of Miggy cycling through his hotbar faster than I could keep up resurfaced. I’d need to ask him how he did that, as I finally came to opening the original Reaver’s inventory. I stared at his object. Useless piece of junk. It had failed me at the precise moment I’d needed it. That’s what I get for trusting a system that hadn’t been updated in over two centuries.

The annoying thing was, I had specifically picked shield. Due to my level, and this thing being from some unknown future epoch, I didn’t even meet the level requirement to examine it properly. At least shield was fairly self-explanatory. But summon? Summon what? A horde of beetles? Harsh words to fling at my enemies?

It was maddening, I thought, as the terrain dipped. I closed the HUD and saw that we were walking across a crater. Crater. Only one thing had the power to do that in this place. The metal gods.

My eyes narrowed as thoughts began to coalesce in my head, and I wondered how I could get back to that developer zone.

I finally sorted through the notifications that I’d been ignoring. There were several new achievements, most of them too depressing a reminder for me to want to actually sort through them. I accepted the loot boxes gratefully, granting me several health potions, a bundle of horn arrows, and a new consumable I’d never come across.

[Vandal’s Fire – Fire infused from a shaman’s staff. Applies fire to weapon for two minutes. Adds the burn status, but reduces damage. May cause terror.]

Terror. I thought briefly back to March of the Marrow. Those were simpler times. I closed down the achievements, before hesitantly opening up my quest log. The main quest was updated again. I frowned, mentally clicking on it.

[Dawn of the Spear – Your enemy lies broken at your feet. The Gate is activated. Proceed.]

So Kaleo’s death had registered. That tracked. He was the required level. He’d never left the mountain. Now there was nothing stopping me from walking through the Stone Gate. Leaving the savage lands behind once and for all. But that wasn’t an option. Not now.

We were back in the Disputed Lands. As soon as we crossed the threshold, my quest log updated immediately.

[Warlord’s Grip – The Warlord is the indisputable master of the humans of the Disputed Lands. Work with the local tribes to break his grip, attacking his strongholds and forces. Only once weakened will the Warlord be vulnerable himself to attack.]

I felt a cold sweat. I…hadn’t expected that. It had been confusing with Kaleo. Everything done out of the right order. He had taken me directly to the Stone Gate, effectively skipping the main quest. That had broken things. This quest had actually disappeared, now it was back. I looked to Miggy, his eyes glazed as he looked over his own HUD. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, and I knew the quest had appeared for him as well.

I hadn’t really thought about it. Too wrapped up in my own world, so it was only now occurring to me just what Miggy had lost. Finally accepted, chief of the Komo tribe and within days the village was destroyed. His tribe, what was left of it, scattered to the winds.

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He hadn’t really spoken about it. Damn it. He was too much like me. Pushing that grief down. Focused on the mission at hand. Pressing forwards. At least he had motivation. He had just as much reason as me, if not more, to carve Ironclad’s head from that meaty neck of his.

Now we would have to break his hold. One more quest. Just another objective. That’s all he was. Another boss. An obstacle in our way.

So we’d keep it simple. “Hey,” I said to Miggy. “We grind. Loot. Win.”

He looked slightly taken aback, as he processed my words. Then he nodded, and maybe, just maybe, lit a little fire in the teenage chief. “Grind. Loot. Win,” he said, as we approached Wyld Reach, home of the vandal shamans.