Blessed Time: The Complete Series: (A LitRPG Adventure Box Set), page 91
An arrow flashed toward Micah, its flight path heralded by a beam of rainbow light from foresight. He jerked his head back, his Agility attribute on full display as he let the projectile pass by. It was so close that the wind from its passage kissed his skin.
Then he was moving. Between Micah’s attributes and haste, he was sure his movements were practically a blur. Still, one of the archers managed to fire an admirably accurate shot that should have hit him in the chest. Instead, Micah tracked its movements, foresight letting him bat the wooden rod out of the air with casual grace, like he was playing some sort of game for children.
The two women charging toward Leeka halted their momentum just in time to meet Micah. Behind him, explosive thicket caused a huge portion of the jungle floor to transform into a thresher. Tree roots, sharpened to razor edges by Micah’s magic, lunged upward, all but shredding one of the two archers.
Micah bent backward at his waist, letting a spear thrust pass just over his head. The attack seemed clumsy, almost as if it were moving in slow motion. Of course, that was hardly the case. From the warrior’s stance to the way her entire body flowed into the strike, it was clear that she had an Agility in the high teens as well as years of practice with her weapon.
It hardly mattered. Micah wouldn’t have had much trouble fighting the woman even without the enchantments that layered his body. His left arm blurred upward, grabbing the weapon by its haft and ripping it from the woman’s hands.
Her eyes widened in surprise, but before she could react, Micah slammed the knife into her chest. It was an inelegant attack, little more than a punch from a hand holding a dagger, but given the gap between their attributes, it was more than enough.
Ribs snapped like kindling under Micah’s fist. He left the blade buried in her, instead whirling the spear he had appropriated into a two-handed grip. The wooden butt of the weapon slammed into the side of her head, knocking whatever fight might have remained out of the injured woman.
Another arrow whirred toward Micah even as the remaining hatchet warrior charged toward him. She kept her shield in a guard position and had her axe prepared for a killing blow.
He hopped backward, letting the arrow pass harmlessly between them. The woman tried to follow, but a dizzying display of thrusts forced her back on the defensive.
The moment she brought her shield up to protect her face from Micah’s dancing spear strokes, he spun the weapon in a low arc, shattering her left knee. Even as she collapsed, Micah twisted, launching a quintet of air knives in rapid succession at the tree he thought the remaining archer was hiding behind.
Wood chips exploded from the bark as the low-level spells peppered his assailant. Amidst the flurry of Air magic, a strangled scream confirmed that one of his attacks had hit home.
An orange woman clad in furs staggered out into the open, loosely holding a bow in her right hand as she clutched a bleeding gash on her bicep with her left. Before she could say or do anything, Leeka popped up from cover, planting an arrow in the other archer’s throat.
A pinprick of pain brought Micah’s hand to his neck, where he found a small needle with fletching made from delicate brown feathers sticking from his skin. Almost immediately, nausea and dizziness began to assault him.
At his feet, the sole surviving Roktoll fighter slid another needle into a hollow tube before putting the weapon to her lips.
Micah didn’t give her a chance. He threw the spear with such force that it buried itself almost two arm-spans deep in the woman’s chest, killing her instantly.
Faintly he heard Leeka shouting his name. Her voice seemed strangely quiet and distant, almost like she was trying to attract his attention from the other end of a long tunnel.
He ignored her, struggling to focus over his growing headache as he cast panacea. The woman’s hand touched his shoulder just as the spell washed over him, cleansing Micah’s system of the powerful poison he’d just been shot with.
“Micah!” Gods, was Leeka loud. She had him by both shoulders, shaking him slightly while she screamed. “They used bleeding venom. You need to stay calm, Micah. One of them must have the antidote. Just don’t move while I look for it. Physical activity will make it move through your system faster, and there’s no curing the venom once it reaches your heart.”
He reached up, wiping his face. Blood from his nose and open mouth covered his forearm. With a shake of his head, Micah removed one of her hands from his shoulder and stepped backward.
“I’ll be fine, Leeka. I managed to purge it from my system in time.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, hovering over him as she tried to inspect Micah closer. “I think you’re looking pale, but I’ve never met a pink person before. Your eyes aren’t dilated right now, but I don’t even know what to look for. Maybe the bleeding venom’s symptoms are different for you?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, a quick check of his status sheet drawing a grimace. He’d only been afflicted with the poison for a matter of seconds, and already he was missing almost 400 hit points. “I’m not in a hurry to repeat that experience, but I have a spell that can treat most poisons and diseases.”
“Wait.” Leeka looked from Micah to the two dead warriors on the jungle floor. “You’re not just a spellcaster. You overpowered the ambush party with physical force. That’s something only a woman can do.
“And your skin isn’t lilac like a male’s,” she mused out loud, taking a step back from Micah to ponder his disheveled appearance. “Maybe—”
She paused. A moment later, her face broke into a broad smile, the spark of an epiphany lighting her eyes.
“By the Sixteen, no,” Micah said, shaking his head. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Obviously there are some major cultural differences between your people and mine. I just want to find someone I can talk to about purchasing weapons, getting traveling supplies, and pointing the way to Jakint for me.”
“It’s so simple, Micah!” She jumped up and down gleefully. “Your skin isn’t colored like a male or a female, and you have the abilities of both males and females. That must mean that you’re both male and female!”
She smiled happily down at him, clearly ecstatic that she had cracked his enigma. Behind him, Jakaw cackled from a tree branch, obviously taking pleasure in Micah’s distress.
“Just take me to your village,” Micah replied, putting his head in the palm of his hand as he tried to massage away a headache that had nothing to do with his recent brush with poison.
FOURTEEN
WHEN IN PASHTA
Torch flames crackled on either side of Micah as he sat cross-legged in the center of a large wooden building. On his right sat three small figures, their features obscured by cloaks made of iridescent bird feathers. Behind them on the wall were lacquered wooden plates, all bearing stylized drawings that had been etched into them with green ink. One displayed a hammer, another a leaf, and the final one a boulder.
To his left sat three women. They weren’t wearing much beyond breastplates made of layered, hardened animal hide and battle kilts fashioned from weighted strips of leather. Like the concealed figures, the women also had wooden circles hanging on the wall, one for each of them. Green ink etched into the stained and treated wood formed the shape of a bow, a spear, and a net, respectively.
More importantly, two people sat on raised chairs in front of him. On the right was a short man, a feather hood draped around his shoulders and accenting his light purple skin. Next to him sat a huge orange woman, red hair flowing down her back.
“Leeka,” the red-haired woman said solemnly, “you have brought an outsider to our tribe when we are on the eve of war with the Roktoll. For all you know, he could be working with their tribe to undermine or harm us at a critical moment. What are your intentions in bringing him here?”
“Micah isn’t a him!” Leeka offered cheerfully from her spot sitting cross-legged to his left. “Micah can cast spells and use a spear. That means that they are in both the warrior and the wood adept castes.”
“No.” The purple male struggled to keep the corners of his mouth from turning upward at the distress on Micah’s face. “He is an outsider, but unless he is hiding some secret from us, he is most definitely male. Those from outside the jungle have fewer differences between the sexes. I’m afraid your new friend is fairly normal.
“Well,” the man continued, cocking his head to the side slightly, “as far as I remember, most outsiders don’t excel in both spellcasting and physical combat, so maybe he isn’t entirely normal.”
Leeka’s upper body swiveled until she was all but facing Micah, gaping down at him in disbelief, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“But Micah,” she sputtered, “you said you were—”
“No, I didn’t,” Micah replied, shaking his head. “Every time I tried to mention that I was male, you would get all flustered and tell me that your people were very accepting and that I shouldn’t be ashamed of myself.”
“That sounds about right for Leeka,” the unnamed female said gravely, leaning forward in her rustic throne. “But it doesn’t answer Bisthos’ question. Tell us, Micah—why did you come to Pashta? What do you want from our people and what do you hope to accomplish here?”
“Would you believe me if I said that it was as simple as me going overboard on a passing ship and then washing ashore?” Micah asked hopefully.
“Maybe,” the man—Bisthos, apparently—began, only for the orange woman to cut him off.
“But we would need proof.” She leaned forward, concern creasing her burnt orange forehead. “The Roktoll have been restive as of late. Their warriors and huntresses have begun venturing into our hunting and trapping zones. It’s only a matter of time before our border dispute erupts into open violence, and then out of nowhere you appear, claiming to have washed up on our shore despite the sparsely traveled trade routes that skirt our jungle.”
“Oh, that’s simple, then,” Leeka supplied proudly. “The Roktoll have already attacked. Micah encountered me just after I had escaped from an ambush party. When they caught up, he killed most of them. I would have died out in the jungle without him. Even Jakaw was impressed.”
Micah shifted slightly, barely able to stop himself from groaning. Both Bisthos and the orange woman’s eyes sharpened as they scrutinized him, obviously even more suspicious about the timing of his arrival.
“See!” Leeka continued, reaching out to slap Micah on the back with one of her huge mitts. “Thanks to Micah’s miraculous timing, I’m alive to report back about the Roktoll attack, and he helped kill two of their huntresses and two of their warriors. He simply can’t be a threat to Pashta.”
“What do you think, Stella?” Bisthos asked, eyes not leaving Micah. “You’re the one in charge of providing the tribe with food and assessing potential threats. Do you think that this newcomer ‘couldn’t possibly be a threat’ to our village?”
“I’ll cut you off there,” Micah interjected, trying his hardest to flash a charming and unthreatening smile at the two of them. “My timing was fairly suspicious, but it’s hardly anything I can control. That said, I’m far from where I want to be. Right now, I only want to buy supplies and a map to Jakint. I can hardly betray your people if I’m far from them.”
Stella opened her mouth to retort, but Bisthos held up a hand, silencing the larger woman. He leaned in, whispering something to her. She responded in kind. Micah was unable to make out any of the specific words, but there was no question that her tone was much sharper than his.
She leaned forward, putting a hand on the much smaller man’s shoulder. Insistent whispers grew louder. Calmly, Bisthos put his hand over hers and picked it up off his shoulder. He wordlessly shook his head, silencing Stella. She slammed her back into her chair, crossing her arms and glowering at Micah.
“Hypothetically,” Bisthos said slowly as he regarded Micah, “let’s say that we believe you. Right now you want to buy supplies from us and journey to Jakint. In ordinary times, my craftsmen would jump at the opportunity to trade with you, but with a war lurking on the horizon, I’m unsure what we can spare.”
“If that’s the case,” Micah responded, shrugging at the shorter man, “I guess all I can ask for are directions toward Jakint. Of course, all I’m really looking for is a new spear—preferably a well-crafted one—a couple days’ worth of food, and a map. I’m more than willing to handle enchanting whatever I buy on my own if you can point me in the direction of a high-level monster.”
“Enchant?” Bisthos hissed, eyes almost dilating as he leaned forward in his chair. “What level is your skill in enchanting? Are you in the double digits yet?”
Next to the purple man, Stella snorted, arms still crossed. Her glare shifted from Micah to Bisthos. Ultimately, she said nothing, instead content to just roll her eyes.
“I am well into the double digits,” Micah said agreeably. “Although I am primarily a spear fighter and a spellcaster, I’ve also spent a significant amount of time training as an enchanter. There is a significant amount of synergy between the two sets of abilities. Enchanting lets me improve my combat capabilities, and fighting skill lets me capture the sort of creatures I will need for truly powerful enchantments.
“As for the Roktoll…” He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about them other than the fact that they attacked Leeka and I. To be fair, Leeka also attacked me, but she apologized for it and I tend to believe her. If you need me to fight against them to prove that I am not a threat to your tribe, so be it. So long as you provide me with a weapon, and your battle plan doesn’t involve weeks and weeks of waiting, I’d be happy to engage in a beneficial exchange.”
“Just how powerful are you?” Stella asked, her eyes slitted as she contemplated him. “You’ve been dropping hints this entire conversation that you’re some sort of accomplished warrior. Before I commit to anything, I need to know how much of an impact you can make in our war with the Roktoll.”
Micah reached up, scratching his cheek in embarrassment as he debated how much to share. Leeka’s tribe was already on edge. Revealing exactly how much he could do might send them into a spiral. At the same time, the dual chiefs were fairly sharp. If he told an outright lie, they’d probably have some idea that he was twisting the truth.
“I could probably defeat one or two level sixties in a fair fight,” he finally answered, shrugging.
Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. He certainly could kill one or two level sixty blessed in a fair fight, but one of his regular jobs for the Red Sands government had been clearing a level 60 dungeon located a day or two outside of town. Although Trevor and Drekt would come with him, they’d mostly been there to gain experience and serve as a safety net. He’d soloed the dungeon before, and if he managed to fix the disruptions the Third Prince had inflicted on the timeline, he fully planned on soloing it again.
“Impossible!” the woman sitting under the sigil of the spear shouted, exploding to her feet. “Stella is the only one in our tribe even approaching that level! There’s no way that a man could defeat her.”
Five arcane words, muttered under Micah’s breath and accompanied by two quick, decisive hand motions, were all it took for him to cast stasis. Just as the orange warrior finished her interruption she froze, a grayish-blue glow flickering across her skin.
Slowly, Stella stood up, glowering at Micah. Bisthos ran past her, barely taller than Micah’s sitting form when he was standing at his full height on the chamber floor, and poked the immobile warrior with a finger. The grayish-blue field brightened, refusing to allow him passage.
He glanced at Micah quizzically, as if asking him a question.
“She’ll be fine,” Micah answered, waving a hand. “I’ve used a spell to cut her off from the flow of time. For about the next minute and a half, she will be unable to move but utterly invulnerable. Once the magic fades, she won’t have any perception of what happened. For her, one minute she was finishing her monologue, and the next everyone will be in new positions. Unless she can pick up on context clues, she won’t even know what happened.”
“Stella,” Bisthos said. The single word contained a whole volume of information. He nodded at his co-chief before returning his attention to the frozen woman.
The female chief glowered for a couple of seconds, her eyes flickering between Micah, Bisthos, and the unnamed warrior. Micah remained unmoved, legs still crossed as he returned her stare placidly.
“If you truly are this powerful,” she ground out, “how did you end up lost and on our shores? A blessed of your capabilities should be working for one of the great nations on the plains or leading a major guild. Our jungle isn’t where someone like you belongs.”
“To be honest, I do lead a guild,” Micah replied with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I was on a treasure hunt with a couple of my companions when I ended up overboard. The rest of the story is a bit of a secret, so I hope you won’t mind me holding back some of the specific details.”
As he finished speaking, the warrior standing next to Bisthos jerked, the glow around her fading away. She blinked, eyes widening as she looked down at the small man standing next to her. He shook his head at her and smiled kindly.
“Fine,” Stella sighed, returning to her seat. “If your request is for a spear, supplies, a guide, and a target, that is something that can be arranged. You should know that my huntresses will be watching you, alert for the slightest slip, but if you are true to your word, we will honor your request.”
To the side, the woman sitting under the plaque emblazoned with a bow and arrow nodded.
“Micah.” Stella addressed him directly, glaring down at him from her raised throne. “Bisthos has agreed to have his craftsmen make the finest spear they can from their available materials. In return, we ask only three things.
“First”—she raised a single finger—“that you enchant two items: my spear and a seashell necklace for Bisthos.”
