Drun wasn't dead.
It made no sense. No kicking or shouting from the house, and not even an attempt to open the door?
Drun was a paragon of reliability in Welt's mind, there's no way he'd fallen in his sleep. Welt was taught all about night-time ambushes by the man himself. Drun always scouted their camp locations, and even purposefully allowed them to be ambushed by monsters and bandits on a few occasions. All for his education.
There were two possibilities in Welt's mind:
Drun had been kidnapped (or completely incinerated) by a monster or person far stronger than himself.
Or, Drun had left on his own.
Welt wasn't sure which of these it could be, but even in the rubble, there was no signs of a fight or struggle from Drun. If he was captured, he was either completely ensnared by something without the chance to fight back, or had surrendered to it.
Welt didn't know what could be much stronger than his mentor - who was the strongest human Welt had seen in his life. He did, however, know one thing.
'The strong reside in the East.'
Drun had told Welt this many times, saying that he himself came from closer to The Slabs than The Oathsome, much further East. He never said a name, though. It would be a long time before he reached that far East, maybe a month?
In the case he had left, East was still the safest bet. There was little doubt in Welt's mind that Drun would've headed that way through process of elimination:
North is the Bulwark, a dead-end for most journeys.
West is the Veil, only useful if you want to be slaughtered by fresh monsters.
South is the Shore, where nothing but water stretches endlessly.
East, however, there were towns, cities, all the bastions of humanity laid on the road East.
So, with a ruck-full of rope, leather, some fire-starting equipment, and enough rations to last a week, all kindly provided by the Beginshold family head, Welt set off over the hills to the East.
He had hardly noticed, in all the thinking and puzzling, that his wounded leg no longer limped.
***
The fields of the Harvestlands stretch far. In most directions Welt could see some place painted golden or near-golden, with wheat and grass all in the same colours. On clear days, these landscapes looked rich and full of life.
And, well, they were. The Harvestlands prided themselves in the work of providing food and resources to many of the cities further East. The trade networks that shipped all these goods came from the very East of the area, in a town called Endsham.
Endsham was Welt's goal for now. It was a little under a week by foot the last time he journeyed there, North East of the Beginshold farm.
Travelling East at this time of the year, The Harvest, was not uncommon. There was a good chance Welt would land himself in company of fellow travellers or farmers families who were headed to the East to barter and sell their crop for the year.
However, Welt wanted to keep to himself right now. He stayed off main roads and took the weed-covered and thick-brushed paths through small woods and unkept land. Drawing the attention of people when he was so uncertain of his situation could only be a detriment.
He also needed to figure out what his Truth was.
Every Champion has a Truth that they are bound to, and these give people certain characteristics and abilities based on which Truth they are anointed for.
For example, the Champion of Fruit, who could raise the dead. Or the Champion of Locusts, who could soar through the sky with the birds.
Champions could also be given The Instrument, some kind of physical tool like a sword, a piece of armour, a horse, the list goes on. The Instrument was often a major aspect of their Truth powers, so understanding what it was and how it worked was vital.
According to the stories he'd read, Champions were told their Truth during anointment. Some were even given explanations of how their powers worked during the ceremony.
Welt was given a stick and nearly burned alive.
All he had to go on was that the imp tended "The Oak Tree", whatever that meant.
Endsham had a pretty extensive library, so maybe he could find out there.
Welt was regretting not studying the Champion Tales more seriously. Getting too engrossed in the stories and ignoring more important pieces of information had come back to bite him.
Welt had walked steadily for most of the day through woods and fields, by now the sun had almost fully set before him. The sky had darkened, and its last shades of orange and pink were fading into dark blue.
The air was considerably cooler now that dusk was leaving. The breeze shook the branches above Welt in the small wood he had been forging a path through, and he covered his body more fully with his dirty cloak to shield himself from the wind. The forest was whistling with the wind passing through, accompanying the sounds of bugs skittering, foxes and rabbits hunting and fleeing one another, birds making their nests, and more.
All of the earthy smells of the dirt and wood blended around Welt, he could even smell some of the animals on the wind. It carried scents of the grains and wheats that were ready for harvesting in the fields upwind, and the hints of steel and fresh blood mixed with the moss-like smell of the moon rising.
Steel? Fresh Blood?
Welt crouched to the ground, focusing his keen nose and ears. Ahead of him, through near to the end of the clearing, a few minutes walk, he could hear rustling, punching, slashing, even some muffled screams.
Something was happening near the road.
Should he check it out? Welt wanted to keep a low profile on his journey, it was unlikely that investigating would even lead to something beneficial, it wold probably just put him in danger.
His leg was fully healed, somehow. Maybe it would be a good chance to figure out what level he is at? Maybe he could even find out more about what kind of powers his anointment had given him?
Slowly, he inched forwards, trying to stay as quiet as he could. This was very difficult, given that the enormous weight he felt was still pressing down on him. It didn't feel as heavy as before, but that was because Welt felt more adjusted by the end of the day; his footprints were still the same unnatural depth.
Out of the clearing, down on the roadside below, was the remnants of an ambush. Bodies scattered about shattered carriages, horses with still eyes laying dead beside them.
A group of four men and a woman, roughly armed and ununiformed, sat near a bonfire. They cheered and drank and ate food in amongst the slaughter that they finished but a few moments ago. A pile of tinder and broken carriage planks was being set alight, and pieces of meat and fresh crops were pierced on bloody swords and spears, ready to be cooked in the coming fire.
Bandits. Not too uncommon this time of year, a lot of people would be eager to take the profits of a farmer's year of harvest for themselves. Drun and Welt were often hired as bodyguards in the later days of the Harvest season.
Rarely, though, were they given the chance to ambush the bandits.
The farmers were dead, but the tables had also turned for these folk.
***
10 minutes passed, the bandits were singing merrily and dancing, their food nearly ready. This had been their best haul of the season, and would likely last them an entire year without any more dangerous theft.
That was when one of their heads rolled onto the floor.
And Death came from the sky above.