Chapter 22: 22. The Pack

Fighting a pack was very different from fighting a group of creatures. An individual creature, even a strong and intelligent one, had one course of action. Thanks to the markers his skills provided him, Dallion could see that action and react in the most suitable fashion. Whether it was one, three, or five panthers that attacked, he had the speed to protect himself then counterattack, usually resulting in an instant kill.

The pack had a wholly different behavior. At this stage it was no longer a tactical bather, rather the boy felt as if he were a general in a war; a general that had to follow his own orders and suffered each time he got things wrong.

Four creatures split from the back, attacking Dallion all at once. The entire space around the boy became filled with green markers, constantly shifting position as the beasts approached. At this point, skills were no longer enough to guarantee him victory. While the boy could see all possible defenses, he couldn’t determine which of them to take. Retreating, he raised his buckler arm just as two of the panthers leaped at his face.

Barely did he have enough time to deflect them off—using his force to lift-toss them above his head like pancakes—when the second pair rushed on taking advantage of his unprotected body.

“Back!” Dallion shouted, waving his sword wildly like a feather duster. The blade managed to slice through the leg of a panther injuring it, but the second managed to get a bite of it, sinking its teeth in his leg before quickly disengaging and running off.

MINOR INJURY!

Health has been decreased by 5%

 

The pain was nowhere near as intense as Dallion expected, but that didn’t change the fact that they had succeeded in their attack—a painful reminder that he wasn’t infallible despite everything.

Dallion took one last swing at the wounded panther, slicing it in two. The ease with which the creature died only annoyed him further.

Defeated by a sword of ants, the fear popped in his mind. For a split second he imagined himself lying on the ground and defeated by well cracks. Definitely not a very heroic way to lose his awakening, and almost as bad as losing a major battle because of a tooth cavity.

The boy’s senses quickly caught the sound of claws on stone. The two creatures that he’d thrown off with his shield were now charging towards him from behind. Maybe that too had been part of the pack’s plan—a triple attack disguised as a double attack. Not a bad move, fortunately for Dallion he still had one advantage they didn’t.

Ignoring all skill markers, the boy turned around. His reaction speed allowed him to visualize the creatures before they could bite. One clean arc attack and both were defeated, poofing out like a ball of smoke.

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A third of the enemies were destroyed. Any other day he would see this as a good sign. At the moment, he was far too busy scurrying away from the back to care. Waving his sword out of instinct, Dallion continued backwards off the foot of the mountain. The pack sent a few of its parts towards him, growling and barking as they did. At one point, however, they suddenly stopped.

What the heck? Dallion wondered.

There was no reason for them to stop. Even if he were the better fighter, their tactics were vastly superior. Even as he stood more and more creatures approached, forming one big blob of claws and teeth less than ten steps away. And still, no one dared move an inch further, as if they had reached some invisible line.

For almost a minute, the boy stood there, breathing heavily, buckler raised, sword in hand. Only then did it dawn on him. The creatures were part of the mountain. Like the cracks in the mending labyrinths, he had gone through during his week of training, the beasts were part of the well. They couldn’t go beyond it, just as a crack couldn’t leave the object it had formed on. The central mountain along with its multitude of streams and rivers represented the well and the panther-like creatures were the cracks. As long as Dallion didn’t venture into their domain, they wouldn’t attack him, and that meant he could get some rest without fear of being devoured. Just to be on the safe side, though, the boy spent ten minutes walking away from the mountain, all the time keeping his guard up. Fortunately for him, no one followed.

Exhaustion kicked in. The pain in his leg, along with the lack of the adrenalin rush that had kept him going during the fight, hit him like a foam pillow, slowly bringing him to the ground.

I’ll just close my eyes for a moment, Dallion said, suppressing a yawn. Next thing he knew, it was already morning.

The clouds had cleared out, letting warm rays of light cover the entire ground. Looking at the perfect azure sky above him through the cracks of his eyes, Dallion did what anyone in his place would—grumble and covered his face with buckler. Ten minutes later even that proved incapable of saving his sleep, so he stood up with a deep sigh and stretched.

Faint stinging still emanated from his leg. When he rolled up his trouser leg to check, though, he found that the wound had largely healed, leaving only a purplish-red spot where the creature had bitten him. That meant that bites—at least from these creatures—weren’t overly harmful in small quantities. Not that he would want to attack on the pack head on again. To win against such an enemy, he’d need a plan, and one that did more than rely on skill markers.

As Sun Tzu famously wrote, “if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not hear the result of a hundred battles.” Translated in the language of first-person shooter maps, that meant check out the terrain in search for good camping and ambush spots.

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