Part II

  The poor girl disappeared into the forest. Grant rubbed his face and groaned.

  That had not gone well.

  She screamed at the sight of him, then she was gone, her berries and mushrooms scattered across the forest floor, her skirts torn on a thornbush. Based on the sound, it wasn’t the kind of hole a few stitches would fix.

  Perhaps yelling at her about diseases wasn’t the best idea.

  Grant jumped up on her boulder and pulled off his boot, shaking out a pebble that had been his only companion for the last few miles. Demonic Regalia did precisely as it said. It kept itself clean, so there was not a speck of dirt staining its fabric. It kept itself repaired, so there was not a scratch on the soles of its boots or a tear from all the branches that had hooked into it. It had not even faded after two miserable days and two even more miserable nights of torrential rains a week back.

  He still hadn’t found a way to stop the rocks from getting in, though.

  The harsh weather reminded him that well-traveled clothes should not look so clean, so he altered their appearance to make them appear so. Mud streaked the right side, some spots of dirt, a hole in the left knee. Perhaps he’d done too good a job and made himself look like a vagrant, and that was the reason the poor girl had fled.

  He propped himself on his palms, listening to the roar of the river. The forest looked, smelled, and sounded little different from it had past the cliffs of Bay’kol’s fortress. Between the insects to keep him miserable, the static monotony to keep him lost, and the giant wyrm searching for him, keeping up on his social decorum was not a high priority.

  The first two days were an exhausting battle to put as much distance between himself and her fortress as possible. It took him another week to stop diving into the bushes every time a tree rustled, another week to stop flinching at every bird’s chirp. Once he was convinced he’d lost Bay’kol, he marched south, using the sun to guide his path, marking a tree every few hundred yards to make sure he hadn’t walked in a big useless circle.

  He hopped up from his spot, and after a short stretch, collected the scattered berries and mushrooms, placing them back in her basket as best he could. It had only been a few minutes, so the girl couldn’t be more than a field’s length away.

  She had a head start, but Grant paced himself anyway. With her long skirts catching on the undergrowth, he was unlikely to lose her, but if he got too close, she would catch another glimpse of his face. He didn’t want to terrify the poor girl any more than he already had.

  For better or worse, she was his best chance to get out of this Goddess-damned forest and find the capital. Perhaps her city had a ship he could take, or at least a horse he could buy. Grant had never ridden a horse, but there was a 20,000-Point Equestrianism Skill on the Store which he would happily purchase if it got him south faster.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He glanced down at the berry basket in his left hand as he walked.

  They weren’t strictly his, but curiosity got the best of him, and he popped the smallest one he could find in his mouth.

  He instantly regretted it.

  The berry’s sweetness overwhelmed his senses. It was juicy, tart, and somehow floral, like nothing he had ever tasted. When he exhaled through his nose, he tasted it all over again. Airet bread kept him nourished, but after a week of eating nothing else, expecting him to have just one was like expecting a starved dog to leave a side of beef be. There was no way the entire basket was making it to town.

  He had another.

  The girl’s tracks meandered through trees, traveling north for a time before she had seemingly remembered herself and corrected her course toward the south. They exited the forest into two unattended fields divided by a dirt road, which led to large, wooden city gates. The stone walls were higher than Estreia’s, and guards patrolled their tops, halberd tips raised to the sky and helmets gleaming off the sun. The buildings high enough to see over the ramparts had been built from wood, with blocky exteriors and flat rooftops. He also spotted a red-brick bell tower in the distance and what seemed to be a stone castle. From what Grant could tell, it was almost as large as Iori, and probably could hold about five to ten thousand Airet.

  The girl’s brown hair disappeared behind the small opening in the gates, and they slammed shut again.

  Grant stepped behind a tree while opening his Customization options on Demonic Regalia, starting with his pants. His time in the forest had been long and boring, but constant practice had brought him confidence in adjusting its appearance quickly. He copied the color of the girl’s skirts, turning his slacks dark brown, as he lengthened their hem to his ankles. The tunic turned green, just as her blouse had been, and buttons appeared on the front breast. Between his height, his stature, and his black hair, there was no way he’d pass as a local, but perhaps he could pass as a traveler from the southern part of the country.

  He sighed. “Nothing out of the ordinary here. Just a weary adventurer looking for shelter.” When Erlan, Nevara, and Vaeri found him unconscious, they treated his wounds and gave him food, water, and information. Grant would not pretend to know everything about Airet culture, but they seemed friendly enough until he revealed he had gone through the Portal with a party of prisoners—a detail he would be omitting from any questioning this time around.

  He placed the baskets at the edge of the path and stepped out of the forest, leaving the shadows of their canopy and revealing himself.

  Trying to sneak in without Invisibility was pointless, as there was nothing to hide behind, and the guards had likely already spotted him from the parapets. The girl had probably shouted warnings about his arrival anyway, so Grant decided that an honest approach was the best way. He kept his palms high and clearly visible, giving his friendliest, least threatening smile. If the other Airet he met were any indication, they wouldn’t kill an unarmed traveler. They would likely welcome him with tea and shelter after they learned he’d saved Estreia.

  At fifty paces away, there was a whistle, then a thud. He spun back to find an arrow protruding from the dirt behind him. Another followed, missing him on the other side. Grant squatted and hunched in the dirt.

  “Turn back!” a voice yelled. It shook unconvincingly. A sharp face popped up above the arrow slit. “We aren’t taking visitors! I—I don’t want to stick you!” Its speaker waved his bow overhead, with another arrow nocked, and ducked back down.

  “Very well!” shouted Grant. “I wish you no harm! I will take my business elsewhere!” He backed away, making sure to keep his palms raised.