Chapter 347: Follow
The remains of the Boar King were still emitting steam.
Modi sat in the mud, his knee-wound having been treated with a specialized
medicinal powder from Piers' kit. Bandages were wrapped in three neat layers;
the technique was so fluid it looked as though Piers had performed it ten
thousand times.
Karl knelt beside the beast's skull, using a tactical knife to extract the
tusks. The two ivory curved blades were longer than his forearm, the roots
stained with a deep, viscous crimson. He wiped them clean on a patch of long
grass before sliding them into his pack.
"This serves as the 'Proof of Completion'," Karl stated. "The Guild will audit
the biological remains upon return."
Piers stood nearby, flicking the blood from his obsidian blade with a sharp,
downward snap before sheathing it. He turned his gaze toward Modi.
"Your laceration is shallow. Avoid excessive kinetic pressure on the joint. The
walk back should be statistically safe."
Modi nodded, pushing himself up. He performed two test-pivots. There was a dull
throb of pain, but his motor functions remained operational.
"My gratitude."
Piers gave a dismissive wave and turned to depart. Karl rose instantly,
following in his father's wake. Their synergy was evident; even their walking
rhythm was synchronized to the micro-second.
Modi stood in the mud, watching their receding backs.
Two units. One armored and heavy, the other light and versatile. A former
Imperial Guard and a son who could detonate Tier 3 monsters with a finger-flick.
They were in a different league entirely.
But Modi's legs initiated movement before his brain could finalize a refusal.
"Halt!"
Piers and Karl stopped. They didn't turn fully, merely tilting their heads to
offer a profile. Modi sprinted to catch up, stopping before them.
His face was a mask of mud. The bandages on his knee were beginning to show a
faint pink bloom. His hair was a chaotic nest. But his eyes were sharp and
focused.
"Permission to join your party?"
Piers watched him, silent. Karl looked over, his expression flat, his gaze
performing a quick audit of Modi's knee before looking away.
"Objective of the request?" Piers asked.
"Requisition contracts. Monster liquidation. Currency acquisition. Scaling my
Tier."
"You can perform those functions as a solitary unit."
"If I operate alone, I terminate," Modi countered, a jagged grin touching his
face as he pointed to the smoking corpse behind them. "I nearly experienced
system-failure minutes ago."
Piers didn't offer a "Laughter-Response." His expression turned serious, as if
he were auditing a new recruit for the Vanguard.
"Identify your current rank."
"Tier 2."
"Are you aware of the contract-tier we typically accept?"
"Unknown. But statistically higher than my current threshold."
"Then why do you petition? You will merely be a burden to the group's
efficiency."
The words were blunt, bordering on abrasive, yet they lacked malice. Modi
calculated for two seconds.
"I provide logistical support."
Piers: "Clarify."
"Hauling cargo. Camp setup. Fire-ignition. Culinary duties. Errands. I will
ensure I do not obstruct your tactical movement."
"I shall engage when commanded. I shall remain passive when directed. I will not
impede the mission."
Piers was silent for five seconds. He looked at Karl. Karl's expression remained
a null-value, but he offered a singular, microscopic nod.
Piers let out a breath that sounded like a weary sigh. "Integration authorized.
Under two primary protocols."
Modi hit high-alert status, archiving the rules.
"First: When I command a NIGERUNDAYO maneuver, you run. Do not look back. Do not
audit the reason."
"Understood."
"Second: When an encounter exceeds your parameters, do not attempt to 'prove'
your valor. Maintain safety."
Modi's jaw worked, wanting to argue, but he gave a sharp nod. "Understood."
Piers turned and resumed his walk. Karl followed. Modi broke into a trot, taking
the rear-guard position. His pack swayed and his pace was roughly 30% faster
than theirs to keep up, but the rhythm was set.
The three sets of footsteps in the swamp mud slowly synchronized into a single,
rolling beat.
On the route back to the Guild, they encountered two solitary Tier 2 Swamp
Lizards. Piers didn't even break his stride. Karl performed a half-pivot, his
right index finger snapping out. Two [Concentrated Flares] achieved direct hits.
The lizards hit the muck, terminated before their nervous systems could register
a threat.
Modi watched the kill, slowly retracting his short-sword into its sheath. He had
already drawn it, but the combat-cycle was over before his arm could reach peak
extension.
"The hides possess mercantile value," Piers said without looking back.
Modi froze, then knelt. He began the skinning process. Karl stood by, offering
zero assistance but zero pressure. Modi's technique was unoptimized; it took two
incorrect cuts to localize the proper seam. The scales were rigid, and his blade
lacked the necessary sharpness. He had to exert excessive force to separate the
dermis from the muscle.
"Edge is dull," Karl stated.
Modi looked up. Karl tossed a small sharpening stone toward him. Modi caught it,
performing several sweeps across his blade. The edge sharpened significantly.
"Gratitude."
Karl offered zero reply, turning his gaze toward a distant ridge. Modi finalized
the harvest.
They reached the Guild in the late afternoon. Modi approached the window with
the Boar King's tusks. The registrar who had stamped his parchment earlier let
out a visible breath of relief upon seeing him.
"You actually achieved extraction?"
"I am functional, yes." Modi slammed the tusks onto the counter. "Reward: 300
gold. Hand it over."
The registrar audited the remains and pushed the purse across. Modi weighed the
gold in his palm. He walked to the corner where Kayla was still sitting. She had
a fresh beverage, her posture identical to the morning.
Modi stopped before her. "Status: Alive."
Kayla lifted her eyelids, her gaze moving from the mud on his face to the
bandages on his knee.
"Solitary win?"
"Party assist."
Modi offered the truth. Kayla gave a slow nod, returned to her drink, and
dismissed him. Modi turned to the door where Piers and Karl were waiting.
The trio was finalized.
During the first week, Modi nearly experienced terminal failure three times.
The first was during the pursuit of a Tier 2 Wind-Horned Deer. The beast had
entered a "Frenzy-State" and dived into a dense thicket. Modi pursued too
deeply, accidentally breaching the perimeter of a Tier 3 Poison-Wasp nest.
By the time Piers hauled him out, his face bore seven localized swellings and
his ocular sensors were reduced to slits.
"Protocol One," Piers said, his voice a calm drone. "When I command the run, you
run."
Modi's mouth was so distorted by the stings he could barely vocalize. "But...
you didn't... shout it..."
"You projected that chasing a frenzied beast into a Tier 3 zone didn't require
an external prompt to run? Logic error."
Modi went silent.
The second event involved drawing the 'Aggro' of a Stone-Clad Bear for Karl. The
plan: Modi draws the charge toward a clearing while Karl provides high-output
fire from the flank.
Modi's movement-velocity was insufficient. As the bear's claws swept toward his
back, Piers' sword intercepted the strike.
"Protocol Two," Piers reminded him. "Do not overestimate your parameters."
Modi sprawled in the dirt, his back burning from the near-miss. "I didn't
overestimate. I'm just statistically slow."
Piers offered no reply. But starting the next morning, he mandated a three-lap
circuit around the camp before departure. No laps, no expedition.
The third event occurred during a hive-clearance of Tier 2 scavengers. There
were six Grey-Back Wolves—two adults, four juveniles. The plan: Piers handles
the adults, Karl suppresses the juveniles. Modi anchors the tunnel entrance to
prevent extraction.
One juvenile managed to find a side-crevice, lunging directly for Modi. He
raised his blade. The creature was barely level with his knee.
Modi hesitated for a single second. Adventurer codes generally discouraged the
liquidation of younglings.
In that second, the wolf sank its teeth into his calf.
"DO NOT HESITATE! TERMINATE!" Karl's voice roared from the cave.
Modi gritted his teeth and delivered the strike.
That night, Modi sat by the fire, staring at the fresh bite-marks on his leg.
Piers was organizing the gear, offering zero commentary. Karl walked over,
handing him a piece of roasted meat.
"The next cycle, do not pause your logic," Karl said.
"Archives updated."
"The second of hesitation is a vulnerability that threatens the entire party.
Not just you."
Modi took the meat and bit down. it was tough and the seasoning was
sub-standard. But he chewed for a long duration and swallowed.
The second week showed optimization.
Modi's stamina-parameters were scaling. The three laps Piers mandated moved from
"Terminal Breathlessness" to "Manageable Fatigue." He began to recognize Piers'
non-verbal signals.
Right fist raised: Halt. Index finger forward: Target localized. Palm down:
Prone posture. Fist flicked left: Tactical retreat.
Piers hadn't instructed him in these codes; Modi had archived them through
observation. The first time he replicated a signal correctly, Piers glanced back
and offered a single, sharp nod.
The nod provided more "Joy-Points" to Modi than the three hundred gold coins.
The synergy of the trio began to take shape. Piers was the anchor—melee
suppression and defense. His blade-work was stable, zero-waste, every strike
aimed at a structural weakness. Karl was the precision-artillery. His combat
logic was unique: he utilized only his right index finger to manifest fire. The
projectiles were small, but the accuracy rating was 99.9%. He could target a
bird's wing-joint from thirty meters.
Modi assumed the roles of Scout, Lure, and Logistician. He also performed
"Cleanup-Strikes" on wounded mobs. The opportunities for glory were few, but he
executed every strike with clinical intensity.
"Your blade-logic is flawed," Piers stated one evening.
They were sitting by the fire in the third week. Modi was currently sharpening
his short-sword.
"Identify the error."
"You are self-taught."
"Affirmative. I focused on Magic at the Academy, but my innate talent was a
null-value."
"Self-instruction is viable, but your grip is too static. It anchors your
joints."
Piers stood up, walking to Modi. "Provide the weapon."
Modi handed it over. Piers performed several test-arcs, adjusted the angle of
the hilt, and returned it. "Anchor here. Shift the thumb half an inch forward."
Modi complied.
"When you strike, do not rely on the musculature of the arm. Utilize the torque
of the waist."
Piers demonstrated three movements using a fallen branch. Slow. Clear. Absolute.
Modi replicated the set ten times. On the eleventh, Piers stated, "Adequate,"
and returned to the fire.
Modi remained standing, performing twenty more repetitions. Karl leaned against
a tree nearby, eyes closed, seemingly dormant. But a small curve touched the
boy's lips.
By the fourth week, the trio had finalized twelve contracts. Eight Tier 2, four
Tier 1.
They accepted zero Tier 3 missions. Not because Modi lacked the desire, but
because Piers forbade it.
"Until you achieve the Tier 3 rank, you do not engage Tier 3 objectives."
"But you and Karl can handle them—"
"Our capacity to kill is not a shield for your inability to survive."
Modi ceased his vocal resistance, but he archived the phrase. It wasn't a
restriction. It was a benchmark.
☆☆☆
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