The water of the Frontier Lake is a liquid border between two worlds. Behind me, the shore of Kryndal fades, taking with it the ghosts of betrayal and the remnants of the man I used to be. Before me, the bank of the Untamed Lands takes shape, a dark and inhospitable line. This is the shore of the man I must become.
I land on a beach of black sand, as fine as ash. The vegetation here is strange, twisted. The trees have gray bark and leaves of a purplish hue. The air itself seems different, heavier, vibrating with a wild, untamed magic. There are no paths, no signs of civilization. Just nature, in its most primal and indifferent form.
I pull the boat onto the shore and hide it as best I can under a tangle of roots. I have no intention of turning back.
My first encounter with the local fauna is not long in coming. As I walk along the rocky coast, a section of the wall begins to move. What I had taken for a lichen-covered rock unfolds, revealing a stocky, six-legged creature with a stone carapace and a pair of massive pincers.
Analyze.
Name: Rock Stalker
Level: 9
Status: Territorial
Skills:
[Reinforced Carapace (Passive)]: Very high physical Defense.
[Crushing Strike (Active)]: A slow but powerful pincer attack.
Weaknesses: Leg joints, very low movement speed.
Essence: Elemental (Earth), Stable. Medium absorption potential. Can strengthen constitution and earth affinities.
Level 9. A monster that would have been a major challenge a few weeks ago. Today, it is an opportunity. Its essence is Stable, Elemental. A new flavor.
The Stalker lets out a rumble that sounds like two tombstones grinding together and charges. Its charge is slow, predictable. It is a moving wall of stone. I don't even try to stop it. I am the river.
I dodge to the side, its pincer smashing where I was. I am already on its flank, my dagger aimed at the exposed joint of one of its legs. My blade sinks into the softer cartilage.
The creature cries out in pain and pivots heavily. I am already on the other side, striking another joint. The fight is a lesson in patience and precision. I cannot pierce its carapace, so I am dismembering it. I am a macabre sculptor, carving into living stone.
Deprived of several of its legs, the Stalker collapses, helpless. I put it out of its misery with a dagger thrust to its single eye, hidden under a fold of its carapace.
You have defeated [Rock Stalker]!
450 XP
I place my hand on its still-warm carapace. Devour.
The essence is dense, solid. It is like swallowing hot gravel. I feel my own Stone Skin skill vibrate, resonating with this new power.
You have devoured the essence of [Rock Stalker].
Your Constitution has been slightly increased.
Your [Stone Skin] skill has assimilated the earth energy.
[Stone Skin (Lvl. 1)] → [Stone Skin (Lvl. 2)]: Your physical Defense is moderately increased.
So this is the Untamed Lands. An all-you-can-eat buffet of new skills and enhancements. A predatory grin spreads across my lips. I am in paradise.
I follow Ritcher's map. After a day's walk through this strange and dangerous landscape, I finally spot signs of intelligent life. Not a peaceful village like Whisper-Rock. A fortress.
The Chasm's Bastion is a scar on the side of a mountain. It is a city built not for beauty or comfort, but for pure survival. A high palisade of blackened tree trunks and salvaged iron plates surrounds a tangle of mismatched buildings, built one on top of the other. The city seems to cling desperately to the mountain, overlooking a chasm so deep I cannot see the bottom.
The entrance is a massive iron gate, guarded by two rough-looking mercenaries. One is a scarred human, the other a half-orc missing an ear. Their armor is a patchwork of mismatched pieces.
They block my path, their spears crossed.
"New meat," the half-orc grunts. "Wanna get in? Gotta pay the tax."
"The tax?"
"The non-aggression tax," the human explains with a toothless grin. "Ten silver. Guarantees you don't get stabbed in your sleep the first night. At least, not by us."
The law of the strong, in its purest form. I don't argue. I pull ten silver pieces from my purse and give them. The human pockets them with a satisfied nod.
"Welcome to the Bastion, kid. Try not to die too quick. Gives the town a bad name."
They raise their spears. I cross the threshold.
The inside is a vibrant chaos of energy. The main street is a sea of mud, crowded with a cosmopolitan and dangerous population. Human mercenaries, dwarven miners, wood elf hunters, and even a few tribes of goblins and orcs who seem to have reached a precarious non-aggression pact with the other inhabitants. It is a refuge for all the world's outcasts.
A forge, run by a massive orc, spews sparks. An apothecary, his face hidden by a beak-like mask, sells suspiciously colored potions. There is no city guard, no nobles. Just the unwritten law of strength and reputation.
I feel strangely at home.
Kryndal was a cage because of its rigid hierarchy. This place is a jungle. But in a jungle, a predator can thrive. No one here cares about my name, my past. They will judge me only on my strength, my ability to survive.
I find an inn, "The Last Gasp," a name that speaks volumes. I pay for a room, a simple pallet in a common dormitory. The proximity is a relative security; robbing your bunkmate is the surest way to wake up with a knife in your throat.
I sit in the common room, order a stale ale, and listen. Conversations are the best source of information. People talk of mercenary contracts, rare ore veins, and above all, the dangers surrounding the city.
One name keeps coming up: the Ash Pit.
"...another group that didn't come back from the Pit," a dwarf at a nearby table says. "Went off to hunt the Ash Saurians. Fools. That place is cursed."
"They say the Saurian King guards a volcano heart in its center," his companion replies. "An artifact of immense power."
The Ash Pit. A Saurian King. A volcano heart. The words resonate within me like a promise. This is the kind of place that can forge a king or break a god. This is the kind of place I need to go.
I finish my ale. My plan is simple. I will use the Chasm's Bastion as my base. I will take contracts, earn money, upgrade my equipment. I will explore the Untamed Lands, hunt its unique monsters, devour their essence, evolve my skills.
I will train. I will grow stronger. I will rise so high that even the King of Kryndal, from his distant throne, will not be able to ignore my shadow.
I am no longer on the run. I am in training. My quest for vengeance is on hold, replaced by the methodical, relentless pursuit of absolute power.
The hunger is here. And in this lawless land, the buffet is open.