The road was slow, tiring. My arms trembled as I gripped the hammer. It was not that I lacked the strength to swing it—I only needed rage, and my fatigue evaporated. This particular enemy required my courage. It was one of the walking dead from the Steppe Wolf Clan—elite among their ranks. It could not withstand the Dark Elves' arrows, and now, because of that damned breach in the elven citadel, it was standing again. With a tenth of its speed but more than twice the strength. It must not have a single chance. It did not matter if there was a cure, if the Overlord managed to solve it—this idiot had to die!
My hammer crushed its knees, shattered them. It fell forward—just enough for me to strike with the edge of my shield. A crack. It was beautiful. It was dead again upon falling. And when I noticed that, the exhaustion returned. I was sleepy, very much so. My eyes burned with fatigue, but I could not sleep—not with that damned god ruining my rest. Even in the best physical condition, facing him was exhausting. Now, at the limit of my strength, with more than four hundred undead—or whatever they wanted us to call them—incinerated or torn apart behind me, with few provisions, carrying the weight of my tools and a few ores, I felt like I was living in a waking nightmare.
The first ten hours were no problem. A few enemies, dispatched. Reaching Lilith's refuges, where humans still fed succubi and incubi according to their tastes, resupplying with food. Walking another two days, eliminating, evading, dozing. That was when the torture began. Even asleep and half-deafened by the god of justice's screams, I could hear their dragging feet. Now I was not only facing the few who had made it inside the forest—these days, I faced every warrior, mercenary, elf, and beast that had not survived the Lich King's horde's attack. I managed to stand. Fury consumed me because they had been denied eternal rest. I finished them and ended only a little more exhausted than the previous time. But doing it again and again and again—I was at my limit. I needed sleep. Protection. Something.
After another day of wandering, I continued to find traces of the convoy. It must have been large. With pain, I saw dwarf warriors whom I also had to eliminate. I was convinced they did not suffer—at least, in my hands, something like that did not happen. All their pain had been experienced at the hands of other, more unpleasant beings. Finally, I saw the forest's edge. I thought this forest was even larger to the south, but I was beginning to see it thin little by little. Just before emerging into the plains, I saw another cave—like the one where I had taken refuge long ago, at the beginning of my adventures.
It was small and made of clay. Perhaps it served as an outpost for human hunters or species of similar size. After meeting the nagas, I did not want to think it belonged to them, but a glance convinced me of the absence of hair, as well as traces of scales or smells characteristic of some of the many magical species that surrounded or lived here. With great slowness—partly due to physical and mental exhaustion, but more than anything out of anticipation—I entered. Instantly, the murmurs of the forest diminished. There was no doubt it was a little too big for me. It must have been a supply cave, but with what I carried, I could barely fill a few cubic centimeters of it, and they would be reduced even further, as I had not eaten in almost ten hours.
My stomach growled at the meager provisions—a little dry bread and cold jerky. I only had two waterskins of wine left, so I drank water from the last stream. It was sad. I longed for a beer, which I could not get even if I could. I must not, if I sought my vengeance. Before falling asleep, several thoughts shook me. Even a couple of shudders jolted me from drowsiness, and I returned to sleep.
The dream I had was similar to the rest, but its ending was what woke me. Knowing that I could expel attack magic as an unconscious measure against the "good" god's onslaughts, I had stored everything in bundles of lava lizards, so I was not concerned about finding coal for my tools or the like. But it did not matter—not after the words of that stupid god warned me:
"Your vengeance, if you still want it, awaits you in the north. Your brothers await you in the south. You can only go for one of them. I foretell that if you choose one, I will personally ensure you lose the other forever."
While searching for the damage I might have caused, I noticed the circles of heat that had scarred the cave. The clay cracked as it cooled. It was obvious I had slept almost a full day. The sun hit me at sunset among the great mushrooms that were now the trunks of a forest that was only a shadow of what its inhabitants once had—only this time, they would defend it.
As I left the cave, a smell distracted me. It was delicious! Meat, vegetables, broth—someone had cooked a stew of some animal—I could not distinguish by smell what it was. On top of the cave, a pot bubbled from the heat of the cavern I had kept like a stone oven. Around the cave, a handful of undead lay scattered. An arrow between their eyes and several sword cuts indicated they had not gotten far. Someone had taken care of them.
A whistle distracted me, and immediately I felt the air. My scales could handle it, but that was not the intention. So I raised my hand and stopped the arrow with it, while the hammer hung from its strap at its base. I saw a bloodstained tip—they had used this arrow before. Before I could begin charging my runes, I realized I could not have stopped that arrow before, not with the intense exhaustion I had felt. So someone had watched my back while I slept. I could only do one thing while they decided whether they were friend or foe. I dropped the arrow and shouted at them: "I am going to drink this stew. If you want, I will share it. It was not very polite to use me as a stove, but a few bites of food will cover the payment for my work."
No answer. Perfect. With one hand, I held the maul—already charged. With the other, I took the ladle—damn, it was hot—and took a few test sips, waiting for something strange, a taste that indicated poison. But after a few seconds, I forgot caution. It was delicious. Rabbit stew, of a quality I had never known before. Its seasoning was subtle, yet I identified many complexities. A true meal that identified the one who prepared it.
Just as I began to see the bottom of the pot, I felt another arrow on its way. I did not even dodge this one. It came charged with a +2 magic missile, but that was useless against my scales. At a signal, they detached from my pauldrons and began to float, waiting to intercept. They did so well—the scale that stopped the arrow did not even dent. But before it finished impacting, mine was already flying. The maul came with Tremor magic originally, but this time it was combined with speed and resistance. The impact struck the trunk from which the arrow had come. A sharp cry rang out, and a well-camouflaged figure fell. I approached without hurry.
It was a Dark Elf. I could not judge well, but he seemed young. Several bags hung from his shoulder, and a miraculously intact bow. I knew I should respect them because the Dark Lord wanted it so, but if he tried another stupid move, I would have to kill him. As one of our own, it would be a quick death.
By the time I reached him, he had already gotten up, checking his belongings. Deciding he could spare me a little of his time, he turned his face to me—a face full of smiles and shining eyes. "I am Moon Reflection, your greatest admirer! I will help you on your journey!"
Perhaps it would not have been so bad to kill her before she said such stupid things.