Accidental Healer-Chapter 130 - 44 - First member

Norso sat hunched in the corner, elbows rested on his knees supporting the weight of his drooping head. He was surprised that the home where Jared led him was larger than both his and Layton's. The lumber used to construct it was so fresh he could still smell the pine. There was a fireplace stocked with wood, and lights powered by mana shards, but he chose to leave the room dark.

Outside the front door a man with a spear stood guard, along with several others, each looking as capable as the next. According to Jared, he wasn't a prisoner, but he was also not allowed to leave.

Just before Jared left he'd informed Norso that this would be his home for the time being, so he ought to make himself comfortable.

He felt nauseous. This was more than he deserved.

If it was Teklen who'd caught them Norso would already be dead, lying in a circle of his own blood next to Tavion. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd always figured that was where Tavion's schemes were going to land them.

By all accounts, he should be dead.

And yet, here he was.

Alive.

And not only was he alive, but he wasn't even in chains anymore. He wasn't in prison, or beaten or even punished at all. If anything Layton had been more harsh with Enora than himself, the man who'd plotted to usurp him.

His fingers tangled in his hair.

Tavion was dead, and all Norso could think was that he should be with his friend. He should have hated Tavion, but instead, he missed him. He couldn't blame Enora though. Everyone knew the rules of the game, the stakes, if they failed.

Then Layton appeared, and the rules changed. The evidence was damning.

Laughter echoed through the window from people passing by, it sounded haunted in his empty home.

How did that boy do it? How did he dismiss Norso's crimes against him so easily? It must've been a trick, a ploy.

But to what end?

Perhaps he still planned to kill him? Feign mercy only to plan an "accident" when he least expected it?

But even as he thought it he knew it didn't make sense. Layton was the faction leader, he didn't need pretense.

In that room, when Layton had spoken, his words hadn't sounded like mercy. They'd felt like law—something written into the marrow of the world.

"Your brother died so you can live. What will you do with it?"

The echo of that question pulsed inside him, as if the System itself were waiting for an answer. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Norso sat up straight and wiped his eyes.

What he would do is live, he'd live to understand the man who'd given him back his life. As long as he breathed his life would be dedicated to the protection and understanding of Layton Shepard.

A notification appeared in Norso's vision.

A new order has been born. Would you like to add your name to a list of applicants within faction Layton Mischief?

***

Boretek glowered at the ratty human youth kneeling before him.

It wasn't all that uncommon for members of the surrounding factions to request an audience. In fact, this was the second human request he'd allowed just this week.

At first he'd been skeptical about the need for a translator, tenders had no need to speak with livestock after all. Or, at least, that's what he used to think. He wasn't too proud to admit he was wrong.

"What brings you to the throne of Boretek, human?" He asked in a tone of superiority only a true narcissist could ever really capture.

The young man prostrated himself flat against the clay that made up his pyramid.

"I've come to offer myself as a humble servant to the great Boretek."

"Come to save your own hide? You're far from the first human to offer to be my servant. You'd serve me better as experience!" Boretek's booming laughter echoed into the night.

The human supplicated himself deeper, but didn't whimper and cry like many of the others.

"I have information on your enemies, I can help you conquer them." His voice trembled, but his words were measured.

"And which enemies would that be?" Boretek asked, amused.

"I'm from New Boise, I'm close friends with the faction leader, I have information you might find useful."

Boretek leaned in. "I already know of New Boise. Why do I need information on a faction that won't exist soon?"

The boy flinched, keeping his face flush to the floor. "I can tell you, but I need your word that you won't kill me—assuming you find my information valuable."

Boretek grinned, feeling pleased. There was something about the boy that he liked, he seemed different. He left his throne and a spear appeared in one of his four hands. His bare feet slapped the cold clay until he was looming over the prone figure. The boy let out a hiss as the point of the spear pierced his flimsy leather armor, pricking his skin beneath.

"Alright then."

"They plan to run." He whispered.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Boretek twisted the spear. "That's hardly a surprise."

"And they have the means to do it." The boy said in a rush.

That gave Boretek pause. He'd met with Taylor, the faction leader of the Taylorites and he knew from that meeting that New Boise was strong. Boretek was confident he was stronger and he figured it was a possibility they felt the same way. It had already occurred to him that they might run. Still, where could they go that he couldn't follow?

"What means do they have?" Boretek asked, letting of the spear slightly. The boy let out another hiss.

"I will tell you, but I have requests!"

"Name them and I will decide if your answer is sufficient to grant them."

"My mother lives in New Boise, I want you to spare her." The boy paused. "And I want to be strong, I want you to let me grow strong like you."

Boretek wasn't surprised by the demands, but he chuckled at the boy's tenacity. It reminded him of his own.

"What are their means?"

"They have an interfaction teleporter."

Boretek nearly dropped his spear. He narrowed his eyes. If the boy was telling the truth, this information changed everything. He pulled the spear away.

"What's your name, boy?"

The youth let out a deep breath of relief.

"Kevin." He whispered. "My name is Kevin."

***

Morning was close, and we were right at the tail end of speed running the third and final anomaly. The Catkin were leveling nicely and although this was the hardest anomaly in terms of sheer levels they were making light work of it.

"How do you feel about so many of the Catkin using human weapons?"

I asked from my stone seat high on a hill overlooking the third wave where the Catkin battled.

"They seem to be working, why should I care?"

"You told me anyone that uses a weapon is a b—" I trailed off. "Huh…"

"What is it?"

"Norso?!" My face contorted like I'd eaten something sour. "This can't be right?"

Mischief raised an eyebrow. "The elf that wanted to kill you? He uses a weapon."

"I know he uses a weapon." I rolled my eyes. "What I don't know is, why the system is asking if I'd like to accept him as the first member of my order."

"Nooo." He said dryly. "He stole it from me."

"If you're not careful, you might not even be welcome." I mock pouted, folding my arms.

"Oh don't even say it, please let me join the Order of Tranquility." Mischief teased, putting special emphasis on the word Tranquility.

"Careful." I warned, pointing at him.

"You should be careful or the system might change the name of the order to the order of whiners."

"Yeah well, if it did you still couldn't join." I grumbled. "Imagine the great Mischief, denied entrance to the order of whiners."

"Because I'm not a whiner."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Damn you." I huffed, realizing my defeat. "You've won this round, but you'll be sorry."

"I already am."

"Do you think it would be a bad idea to allow a known backstabber into my order?"

Mischief listened with one ear, watching the battle closely while still giving me adequate attention.

"He's only really dangerous if he's a threat. Are you worried he's dangerous?"

"Not to me. But maybe he'll pull something like Aggard did?"

"He'd have to be pretty stupid. Aggard is dead, and so is his other traitor friend. So far the people who've plotted against you have had pretty bad results."

It was hard to argue with that logic. Even if Norso harbored some resentment it would take a fool to try for round three, especially after his first attempt failed so miserably.

"You know…Nick said they thought we were making you up. And that I only won my fight against their faction leader because he didn't know I had shields."

Mischief grinned showing his fangs, tail whipping playfully. "Maybe I should say hello. And you should probably get used to people underestimating you with a face like that."

I shoved mischief playfully. "What if I shave my head and wear war paint? Do you think that would help?"

"I think you should try it out."

Smiling ruefully I noticed the battle was coming to a conclusion, which meant it would soon be time for Bracken's fight with the champion.

"Should we head down?" I asked, stretching my arms high above my head and yawning.

Mischief arched his back and we walked side by side down the steep hill to join the Catkin below. The three anomalies had done wonders for the hundred or so felines. Many now wore simple clothing ranging from leather straps around the loins to loose fitting cloth pants and shirts.

Clothes that were now quite covered in blood and viscera.

By the time we'd arrived, the system notification appeared and closed signifying that Mischief had chosen his champion.

Bracken, who was now one of the cats that donned the loose clothing, stepped through the portal and faced his challenger head on, quietly and methodically dispatching the mana spawn without a hitch. The creature fell in a heap covered in vines and festering cuts.

Rewards were distributed and I earned a bag of seeds that came in a large burlap sack with a picture that looked similar to a peach tree, plus an xp bonus. Jessie would be excited to have another sample of foreign fruits, and I was excited to increase the variety of food for our faction, plus it would be nice to check in on my little friend Vixey.

There was a rustle of grass, and my eyes drifted towards the noise. Bracken was standing in front of Mischief, head bowed looking at something in the grass. I assumed words were being exchanged, but they both spoke telepathically. I imagined it went something like.

"You should've just cut off its head. Silly Bracken, you need to be better at winning your fights. You're my champion and I can't have you embarrass me now can I?"

And Bracken would be like.

"How right you are, my dear brother, I will be more prudent post haste."

And Mischief would be like.

"See that you do. However for your services here is a gift. Bask in my generosity."

I nodded, pleased with myself. Yeah—that's probably exactly how the conversation went.

Then noticed as Bracken leaned down into the tall grass and when he stood back up I blinked, confused.

Samurai armor? The Japanese chest plate puffed away and then reappeared fitting snug against Bracken's muscled chest. Dark brown rawhide and leather complimented a polished forest green armor chestplate with silver etchings of what looked like thorns at its edges.

It clacked and clinked as he reached down again and a skirt of iron wrapped around his legs, followed by bracers, and then boots. He reached down once more and when he stood his face disappeared, and its place was an ornate silver helmet with…were those bear claw horns?

Bracken turned his head towards me, but where his face should be was a mask shaped like an ogre with tusks painted delicately over crimson red lips. The ogre's eyes were filled with midnight black pupils and bloodshot with no visible slits, likely using some form of magic to allow Bracken to still see.

In short, Bracken looked ferocious.

I set my hands on my hips. "Bracken, have you ever heard of the Order of Tranquility?"