I Destroy the Empire

Chapter 10: Going shopping

Pyralis was alone.

He stood for a moment, listening to the faint, distant sounds of Lyra cooing at Slimey.

A small, genuine smile touched his lips. “Weirdos.”

He turned and headed deeper into the woods, his new metal feet silent on the damp earth.

The Drake Woods was a special kind of hell. It had a reputation for a reason.

The very air was thick and magical, and it had a nasty habit of changing paths. Trees would shift, streams would reroute, and clearings would vanish. Most adventurers wouldn’t dare enter without a compass and a prayer.

Pyralis, however, had a photographic memory.

Where a normal man saw a confusing, hostile labyrinth... Pyralis saw a map.

He remembered every tree, every rock, every twist from his days as a mercenary-in-training. He did pull a small, brass compass from his pocket, but only for emergencies.

“Still... west,” he muttered. The needle was spinning uselessly. He huffed. “Redundant, but Kaelen would approve of the thoroughness.”

He pulled out the parchment list.

“Alright, Kaelen, you magnificent bastard... what’s the shopping list?”

Heartscale of a Marsh-Drake.

Shadow-Rot Fungus.

Eye of the Croaking Bird.

Grave-Moss Root.

Whisper-Lichen.

He sighed. “Heartscale... means finding the swamp. The fungus and moss... that’s the old, rotten part of the woods. The Croaking Bird... those only nest in petrified trees. And Whisper-Lichen... gods, that only grows on ancient, magic-infused ruins.”

He smirked. “This is a multi-day trip for anyone else. Good thing I’m in a hurry.”

He was so lost in his planning, his head down, that he almost walked right into them.

Clumsy footsteps. Too heavy.

He looked up.

Two men blocked the path.

They were classic forest filth with thick leather armor that hadn’t been cleaned in a decade, rusty, notched weapons, and the smell of unwashed-body-and-bad-ale.

One was big. A classic brute, all shoulders, and no neck, wielding a chipped axe.

The other was wiry and small, with nervous, shifty eyes and a dagger that looked like it had been used to pick his teeth.

They were in the process of eyeing Pyralis—who, with his enchanted amulet, looked like a soft, average-faced man with clean, expensive-looking clothes.

Pyralis just sighed and tried to walk around them.

This, apparently, was the worst insult of all.

“Hey!” the big one barked. “You! Stop right there. The boss wants a toll.”

Pyralis stopped.

He turned, slowly, and gave them the most theatrically bored, flirty smile he could muster.

“Ladies, I am so flattered,” he purred, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I’m afraid I’m not in the mood to be... assaulted... today. Can we reschedule? My dance card is just... full.”

The two men looked at each other, confused.

“I’m Grunk,” the big one said, puffing out his chest.

“And I’m Shiv,” the wiry one added, trying to look menacing.

Pyralis put a metal-gloved hand to his mouth to hide a fake giggle.

“Oh, Grunk? Seriously? Did your mother just give up after the first syllable?” he taunted. “And Shiv. That’s adorable. Is that what you... use? Or just what you’re... going to get, when you try to rob someone who actually knows how to fight?”

Grunk’s face went bright, pulsing red. “I hate talkers! Shut up and give us your purse, or I’ll cut that pretty mouth off your face!”

“My purse?” Pyralis said. “Or my... face? Make up your mind, Grunk. A man can’t multitask with so many... compelling... offers.”

“ENOUGH! GET HIM!” Grunk roared.

The brute charged.

The bigger one, Grunk, roared and moved his shoulders for a wide, sloppy overhead swing.

Pyralis already knew where the attack would land before the man’s axe even cleared his head. It was an amateur, telegraphed move, all power, and no brain.

Pathetic.

The other one, Shiv, shifted his body position to the left, his dagger low, clearly aiming for a stab to the kidney while his partner took the “glory” of the main attack.

But Pyralis saw it instantly.

Shiv didn’t fully adjust his footing. His weight was too far back so he wasn’t committing.

It was a feint.

A trick to lure him into dodging right, into Grunk’s actual (and only) attack path.

Pyralis smiled internally. ‘A feint? How adorable.’

He decided to take the bait though.

Pyralis stumbled “awkwardly” to his left, away from the feint, seemingly right into Grunk’s swing.

Grunk’s eyes lit up. He’d “got” him. He put all his weight into the swing, a triumphant roar already building in his chest.

At the last second, Pyralis didn’t dodge. He stepped in.

Inside the arc of the swing.

He slammed his enchanted metal palm, the one with the Ossian Claws retracted, straight into Grunk’s chest.

It wasn’t a killing blow but a push.

The force of the impact, combined with Grunk’s own momentum, was devastating.

The massive man’s feet left the ground. He flew backward, his arms windmilling, and crashed through a thick, thorny tangle of bushes, landing with a wet thump in a patch of muddy, dark fungus.

Shiv, the wiry one, just... froze. His dagger was still out. His plan had failed, and his partner was gone.

In this world, when a person is that skilled, you definitely need to be wary.

Pyralis ignored him though.

His eyes, now that the bushes were clear, were locked on the fungus Grunk was currently groaning in. It was a dark, pulsing, sick-looking mushroom.

“Well, well, well...” Pyralis said, his voice full of delighted cruelty. He walked over, his fiery eyes glinting.

He looked at the groaning Grunk, then at the terrified Shiv.

“Grunk! Get a load of Grunk!” Pyralis cheered. “You should really follow in your partner’s footsteps and be helpful. Look at how he helped me find what I was looking for!”

Grunk just moaned.

He was winded, his pride... and probably several ribs... broken.

Pyralis walked over, plucked a handful of the mushroom, and inspected it. “Number two on the list... ‘Shadow-Rot Fungus.’ Check.”

He turned to Shiv, who was now trembling, his dagger clattering against his leg.

“Now. You two seem like... resourceful... locals,” Pyralis said, his voice suddenly cold, the flirty charm gone. “And I am so very busy. So, here’s the new plan.”

He pulled out Kaelen’s list. “You’re going to find these for me.”

“W-what?” Shiv stammered.

“This…,” Pyralis said, holding up the fungus, “…was item two. You have four more to find. If you run...” Pyralis’s metal claws snikt-ed out from his fingertips, long and black. “...I will hunt you. And I won’t just push you.”

He gestured vaguely into the woods, in the direction Lyra had gone. “And if you fail... I’ll feed you, piece by piece, to my... pet. And it’s very hungry.”

The two men, one on the ground and one trembling, agreed instantly.

“Yes, boss! Right away, boss!”

“Good,” Pyralis smiled, his claws retracting. “Grunk, you’re dumb, but you’re strong. You’re going to the marshes in the east. Find me a Heartscale from a Marsh-Drake. Don’t worry, they’re slow. Just... don’t get eaten.”

“Shiv, you’re the ‘smart’ one. You get the Grave-Moss Root, the Whisper-Lichen, and the Eye of the Croaking Bird. Now... go.”

They scrambled away in pure, unadulterated terror.

Pyralis found a comfortable log, sat down, and sighed. Finally. Some peace.

He closed his eyes, focusing.

<Slimey. Status.>

<...BURP...> The telepathic reply was sloshy and felt... satisfied. <...Gristle. But... many.... Am full. But... not satisfied.>

Pyralis rubbed his temples.

<Stop complaining and eat. I want you back at full capacity by the time we get to the road. Don’t wander off.>

<You’re not the boss of—>

<I am literally the boss of you. The contract says so. Eat. Quickly. I’ll be back soon.>

<...Fine>

An hour passed.

Pyralis was starting to get bored.

“Boss!”

Shiv, the “smart” one, came sprinting back, his arms full of moss, lichen, and a small, petrified bird’s nest. He dropped them at Pyralis’s feet, panting.

“Good boy, Shiv,” Pyralis said, impressed.

A new sound. A high-pitched, terrified scream.

“AHHHHHH! IT’S BEHIND ME! IT’S BEHIND ME!”

Grunk, the “dumb” one, burst through the trees, running for his life, his face pale with terror.

And right behind him... was the creature.

It was a thing of nightmares.

It looked like a hound, but... wrong.  It was the size of a pony, but its flesh was... rotting. Patches of mangy fur sloughed off to reveal diseased, grey muscle. Its spine was a row of exposed, black spikes.

Its eyes were milky, blind, and... weeping. And its jaws... its jaws were unhinged, like a snake’s, lined with teeth of sharpened, black bone.

It was the Marsh-Drake. A creature of rot and decay.

Grunk screamed and dove behind Pyralis. “THE DRAKE! THE MARSH-DRAKE! I-I-I hit it, but it just got mad!”

Pyralis just sighed. He stood up slowly, brushing dust from his trousers.

“Grunk, you are... spectacularly incompetent,” he said, his voice dripping with disappointment. “But at least you’re a good delivery boy. You saved me the walk.”

The Rot-Drake bounded, ignoring the cowering Grunk, and lunged straight at Pyralis, the new, bigger threat.

Pyralis didn’t even move.

“Sit.”

He drew his Flammard. ‘King’s Folly’.

He ignited it.

FWOOOOOOSH!

The serrated, flamberge blade erupted in roaring, white-hot flames, illuminating the dark forest and instantly drying the damp air.

Grunk and Shiv, mouths open, just stared.

The Rot-Drake skidded to a halt. It hated the fire. It hissed, its unhinged jaw snapping.

That one-second hesitation was all Pyralis needed.

He moved, a single, silver-haired blur.

The creature tried to attack but sidestepped the creature’s clumsy, snapping lunge, his flaming blade a blur.

SSSSSHHHHIIIING-THUMP.

One strike.

The creature’s head, seared and cauterized at the neck, rolled to a stop at Shiv’s feet. The massive body stood for one, long second, then collapsed in a steaming, rotten heap.

Pyralis sheathed his sword, the flames dying with a soft whoosh.

Silence.

Grunk and Shiv were just... staring. Their terror was valid and now, it had been replaced by a new, profound, absolute veneration.

Pyralis flicked his wrist, wiping a spot of black, sizzling blood from his metal glove.

“Well?” he said, his voice bored again. “Don’t just stand there. Go get the Heartscale. It’s the big, iridescent one, just above the... what’s left of... its heart. And try not to puke on it.”

The two men snapped to attention as if he’d struck a bell.

“Yes, boss!”

“Right away, boss!”

They scrambled to the corpse, knives out, suddenly eager to please.

Pyralis yawned, bored again.

He looked at the pile of moss, lichen, and other assorted magical garbage at his feet. “Ugh. Now I have to carry all this.”

Grunk and Shiv finished, holding up a thick, shimmering, palm-sized scale.

“Good,” Pyralis said. “Now, pack it all up. You’re carrying it back to the road. My... friends... and I are waiting for our carriage home.”