Chapter 30: Checkpoint 1
Dal's arms trembled, his wrists ached, and he had no idea how he was even able to keep his hands closed. It was likely due to nothing more than his immensely strong will to survive that he was still alive and still climbing.
How could they possibly have gotten me through this journey if I wasn't cooperating? he wondered.
"You're almost there, kid," Volorn said, his tone encouraging. "Just a couple more holds and we're at the rest point."
"You got this," Grolm encouraged.
The last ten minutes had been pure agony. Put simply, a Goat Castration Specialist was not meant for mountain climbing. Come to think of it, Dal had once spent a day as a class specifically designed for such a task. He'd been level 45 in it, too, which had given him a massive CD. Having been nowhere near a mountain during that time, he'd ended up climbing anything he could: decorative poles, the sides of people's houses, and a whole bunch of trees. But nothing had been able to scratch the itch he'd felt all day.
Now, however, he longed for such a class, as a high-level mountain climber would probably be even better at climbing than a Battle Class, if only slightly. With a river of sweat pouring down his face and the burning-hot sun making every inch of his climb just a bit more unbearable, he groaned loudly and forced his aching, tired limbs to obey as he found a hold with his right foot and used it to ascend just a little bit higher.
Above him, there was an indentation in this westward face of Mt. Ahna, and it seemed to be fairly deep, as it disappeared into what, from his perspective, looked like dark shadow. Was it a cave of some sort? He hoped so. He needed to lie down.
At the moment, Volorn and Grolm were sitting on the ledge with their hands extended as if to reach for him. Dal was struggling badly, though.
"Don't do that," Volorn warned as Dal looked over his shoulder. "Don't look down."
It was too late. The treetops, which themselves were high above the ground, now looked like the tops of tiny mushrooms from where he'd climbed. A fall from this height would be fatal. And "death" was the one thing Dal would likely not be able to recover from. Injuries? Sure. No matter how grave, he would always be healed whenever he shifted. But death? Although Dal had never tried it, it wasn't an experiment he wanted to conduct any time soon.
Damn, I'm so high up.
Even if by some miracle the trees broke his fall, Dal would be in an even worse situation if he slipped, because then he'd be back down in the darkness beneath the trees, paralyzed and unable to defend himself from the massive number of terrifying monsters that dwelled as though eagerly awaiting a human to plummet into their domain.
"Just climb up one more hold and we got ya, kid," Volorn said. "Just one more."
Dal nodded, though he did so while wincing. His arms were on fire. His wrists…his wrists were even worse. But he couldn't let himself fall. Not when he'd already made it this far. And so, with every bit of determination and strength he had within him, he listened to Volorn, who indicated that there was a mini ledge just above his left foot, which was currently below his right.
"Lift up your left, and then grab the rock above you. And then you're there. Don't you go fucking falling on us!"
"Okay, okay," he said, panting.
With another groan, he used his right foot to push himself upwards while swinging up his left such that it was now above his right and secured on the ledge they indicated. Then he immediately pushed off his left and grabbed a hold with his right; overall, he moved only a modest distance. But now, he was within reach of the two marauders.
"Okay, reach for us! Let go. We got you!"
Dal hated the idea of trusting them, but he had no choice. He was going to fall any second. His body was spent. And his spirit, though strong, could not possibly make up for how utterly exhausted he had become. And so, with no other choice, he pushed himself upwards one last time while desperately reaching out with both hands.
Immediately, Volorn grabbed his left, and Grolm grabbed his right, and then the two yanked him up, over, and inside a dark cave with a shockingly high ceiling. "Got ya!" Volorn said happily.
In an instant, Dal went from baking in the sun to cooling off in darkness, as the slanted angle that led to this recess was such that it did not allow much light to filter inside.
And that was just fine with Dal.
"Oh, God," he groaned, rolling over onto his back and lying spread-eagled. "I can't clench and unclench my hands," he said with a laugh, feeling a bizarre, seemingly contradictory mixture of both pain and numbness in his wrists. His body was drenched in sweat, and he was badly dehydrated.
"Do we have any water?" he asked the two marauders.
"We do now," they said.
He felt his arms lifted, and he realized they had once again grabbed him, one hand apiece, and now he found himself sliding backwards across a strange surface that felt as though it were soft on top but hard beneath. And it was only now, as his eyes adjusted to the lighting, that he realized that the inside of this cave was anything but barren.
Wow, he thought.
Looking around him, he realized he was sliding over carpet, and there were cots all around him, along with baskets containing seemingly fresh fruit, and barrels filled with water. It seemed that this place was some kind of shockingly comforting shelter that the marauders took very good care of and kept well stocked and furnished.
Picking him up and then dropping him onto a cot, the two of them went over to a polished, smoothed rock wall, where a calendar-like sheet resided along with a writing utensil hanging from a cord. Volorn picked it up, wrote something that looked like the date and time, then signed it. Grolm did the same.
"Restock was yesterday," Grolm said. "Fruit should be fresh. No meat, though."
"C2 will have meat," Volorn said.
Dal wasn't sure what they were talking about. He tried to sit up, but he wasn't ready. So instead, while lying on the cot, he asked, "What's C2? Or C1, for that matter?"
"C1 is checkpoint one," Volorn replied. "It's where we are right now. There are different checkpoints depending on where you're heading. We're going to see Boss, so we only need to go just a bit past C3."
"How long will it take us to get there?"
"Depends," Volorn said. "If it was just me and Grolm? We'd probably keep on going and get there tomorrow morning." He turned around, walked halfway to the cave's entrance, and looked up at the sky. "Sun should set in another hour or so. So uh…assuming we sleep here tonight and get up early tomorrow morning…we could get there just before sunset tomorrow."
Dal ran the calculations in his head. Assuming they arrived around sunset tomorrow, he would likely be just two hours out from his next shift. If the person they were taking him to see really was Ahni, he would just have to improvise until he was able to shift. But this, of course, was still a very dangerous proposition, as defending himself from Ahni would require that he was not only lucky enough to "pull" a Battle Class, but he'd need something that was either tier-3 or higher; if not, he'd need something no lower than tier-2 and level 50. Otherwise, she was going to obliterate him.
"Can we wait until after sunrise to head out tomorrow?" he asked, hoping to arrive just a bit later so that he would be closer to his next class shift.
Volorn grunted. "Why?"
"Just so I know I'll be well rested enough to survive the trip."
Grolm sighed. "We might as well. I don't want to risk having him fall because he can't see properly."
"Good point. All right, we'll wait until after sunrise."
Dal said his thanks, then closed his eyes. He needed to rest.
*******
Garrick slammed the bartender's head into the countertop with enough force that he dented the wood. Four nearby patrons jumped up and out of their seats as about ten different marauders all drew their weapons and closed in on him.
"D-don't!" the bartender warned, blood dripping out of his forehead. "This is Lord Garrick Ashmere! He's a Dragon Knight! He'll kill us all!"
At this, the marauders began backing away fearfully. "L-Lord Ashmere?" one of them cried. "That's…that's Lord Ashmere?" The marauders continued backing away. This was a shame. Garrick would've liked to spill a little blood in the name of Jona.
"I'm gonna ask you one last time," Garrick growled. "And if I don't get the answer I want, I'll grab one of those mugs, slit your fucking throat, and drink your blood from it like it's wine." He narrowed his eyes as he grabbed the man's mid-length black hair and forced him to meet his eyes. "Did three men come through here: two marauders and a young kid around 18 years old with shaggy blonde hair?"
"Y-yes," the bartender said.
"How long ago, and where did they go?"
Unlike the first few times he'd been asked, the bartender finally decided it was in his best interest to answer the question. Garrick listened carefully, asking just a few pointed questions. Then, once Garrick was certain he'd gotten the information he required, he lifted the man up by his throat, spun his own body around, and then made a throwing motion with his arm, launching the man across the pub and into the opposite wall, where he slammed against it with a plop.
With that, he stormed his way to the exit, forcibly shoving two marauders out of his way and knocking one of them over in the process. "Follow me and I'll rip you to pieces," he threatened. "You're lucky I'm not here to shut this place down." He spat in one of their faces, daring them to try something. The man simply trembled and averted his gaze. "That's what I fucking thought. Out of my way."
For good measure, he socked this one in his belly, causing him to double over and cough up a wad of phlegm. And with that, he made his way to Hell's Pass.