Chapter Thirteen: Traveling Companions

When I parted ways with Xian Ge Yayi, he said he would descend to this plane again the next day. Yet when his name shone anew in my magic journal, it was already the afternoon of the sixth day. From my previous experience, I knew that the Timewalkers’ concept of a “day” was vastly different from mine—what they called a day often stretched into six or seven days for me. I suppose this discrepancy arises from the differences between our planes of existence.

Shortly after his arrival, my magic journal signaled me. I flipped to the “Social” page where his name was inscribed, and found a line written beneath it:

“You’re so diligent, online already? What level are you now?”

This was one of the other functions of the magic journal: those who have exchanged soul marks can communicate remotely through it. It’s a feature well suited to wandering adventurers—no matter how elusive your whereabouts, your friends can always reach you when they miss you. On the other hand, the drawback is clear: when you wish to be alone, you can always be found just as easily.

I tapped on Xian Ge Yayi’s name and wrote beneath it, “Almost level nine,” then sent it off.

His reply came swiftly:

“Whoa, that fast! How did you do it? You didn’t use an external cheat, did you?!”

In these three short sentences, there were two I could not comprehend. First, the strange “K” in his opening exclamation—I didn’t know what it meant precisely, but it seemed to express amazement. The final phrase, “external cheat” garbled with odd symbols, radiated a sly, arcane aura. I couldn’t even begin to fathom its meaning. I could only respond to the one sentence I understood:

“I did a few quests, killed some wild dogs, and then leveled up.”

“Whoa, you’re awesome…”—yet another perplexing phrase—“…Have you taken the Sabertooth Mountain Bandit quest yet?”

“No, I was just about to.”

“Perfect, I’ve found a few friends to do it together. With you, we’ll have a full party. Hurry, we’re waiting for you at the city gate.”

Receiving a friend’s invitation is always a delight, especially when I have nothing else to do. I headed to the city gate and saw my near-sighted elven friend waiting there, flanked by two men and a woman, all strangers.

Though Xian Ge Yayi had his eyes wide open, searching for me with all his might, he still looked anxious and lost—clearly, his poor eyesight could not pick me out from the crowd until I stood right beside him.

“I’m here!” I called out, knowing that if I didn’t speak first, he might not find me even if I pressed my face to his nose.

“Ah, you’re finally here!” My presence still startled him, despite my efforts not to appear suddenly. He greeted me warmly, grasped my hand, and led me to his companions, introducing them:

“This is Longbow Shoots the Sun, a priest already at level six,” he said, pointing to the only female adventurer.

She was a human maiden, appearing gentle and demure, her long brows lowered shyly as if afraid to meet one’s gaze. She wore a white gown threaded with metallic luster, fitting attire for a priest. The only thing that struck me as odd was that above her head, where her name was displayed, it read “Fei Yin.”

The young woman offered me a gentle smile, then delicately placed her fair, slender right hand on the inside of Xian Ge Yayi’s right arm. Just as I thought this was an intimate, perhaps flirtatious gesture, her thumb and forefinger suddenly pinched hard—

“Ow, ow, ow…” Xian Ge Yayi instantly demonstrated his hidden tenor talents, his sharp yelps outclassing even the most fervent bards. Most alarming of all, the girl’s two fingers exhibited a force rivaling that of a rabid Kaplan hound’s claws, delivering a critical blow that sent Xian Ge Yayi’s health plummeting by thirty points in an instant.

“Who are you pointing at? Look properly before you speak! How dare you mistake a gentle and beautiful lady like me for that deranged killer? That’s simply unforgivable, utterly hopeless…” The lovely girl pinched his arm while stamping on his toes with her dainty boots, grumbling indignantly all the while. Such a “gentle and beautiful lady” was truly a rarity in my life. After a long moment, the sorceress finally released him, then meaningfully rubbed her two fingers as she addressed the elf, who looked as if he might weep:

“As a lesson, next time buy me the Emerald Star ring.”

“I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t see clearly… Please forgive me. That thing costs three gold coins—even if I sold everything I own…” Xian Ge Yayi pleaded, face drawn in misery.

“I’m also missing a Blue Crystal Necklace that restores mana…” The girl ignored his entreaties, toying with the pendant at her chest and casting him a sidelong glance.

My elven friend made a wise and noble decision at once. He puffed out his chest and, with the bearing of a knight, proclaimed loudly:

“It would be my honor to serve you. Tomorrow, I shall present the most beautiful Lady Fei Yin with the Emerald Star!”

His face was etched with tragic heroism, like a martyr marching to a noble death.

Satisfied by Xian Ge Yayi’s answer, the girl smiled. Suddenly, she turned to me. In that instant, her entire demeanor transformed in an astonishing way: the fierce, intimidating presence vanished, replaced by a gentle tranquility as soft as water. A shy blush spread across her cheeks, her long lashes making her clear eyes seem even more innocent.

I had never known a person’s expression could change so drastically in such a short time. Though her features remained unchanged, her entire aura was utterly different, as though she were a completely different person. Most incredible of all, she shifted from the fiercest creditor to the sweetest girl with nothing but a single smile.

“He mistook me. I am Fei Yin…” she said softly, almost bashfully, her voice as clear and gentle as the strings of a lyre. “…a level ten mage. He is Longbow Shoots the Sun…” she added, indicating the sturdy dwarf beside her. Whether it was my imagination or not, when Fei Yin pointed at the dwarf priest, he seemed to shudder involuntarily.

At this moment, the half-orc standing nearby introduced himself before Fei Yin could speak. “My name is Yangtze Delta, level eight rogue.”

In my mind, rogues were always slender, agile types, lurking in shadows and dispatching foes with swift efficiency. But Yangtze Delta’s appearance overturned all my preconceptions. Frankly, his name was misleading; he was neither “long” nor “triangular.” If you ignored his hands and feet, his basic shape was that of two intersecting spheres—his neck was almost negligible. You’ve guessed it: he was fat, and not just a little. His belly was round, taut, and elastic, quivering with each step, the flesh rippling in soft waves. If he wished to see his own toes—believe me, it would take tremendous effort.

With such a physique, brandishing two battle axes to charge the enemy might be imposing, but as a rogue…

Perhaps noticing the doubt in my eyes, the “well-padded” half-orc promptly drew a dagger from his waist—a rogue’s typical weapon—performed a flourish with practiced ease, then patted his belly and explained sheepishly, “I haven’t exercised in a while, so I’m a bit out of shape. But I really am a rogue…”

The dagger looked sharp, its edge glinting with deadly promise. Yet in Yangtze Delta’s hand, it seemed almost comical—I doubted even if he wore nothing at all, that dagger would penetrate the layers of his belly fat enough to do real harm.

Sabertooth Mountain was the highest and most treacherous peak near Kampnavia. Its forests teemed with beasts—red-maned hyenas, mountain wolves, even blood-red bats with wingspans as wide as three or four men. All these creatures were one or two ranks stronger than their kin elsewhere, ranging from level eight to ten, and they lived in dense packs, making our progress slow. Of course, not all impediments were due to combat:

“Xian Ge Yayi, skin this bat… Just do as I say, and don’t forget the rags, the wings, the claws—these are all money, every little bit counts… Ah, iron ore! Yangtze Delta, dig up that ore—yes, all of it, including the stones… Shoots the Sun, take those wolf eyes—what? Your pack is full? You want me to take them? You expect a gentle, delicate girl like me to carry such gruesome things? Hand me your pack… Goodness, toss these out… I know it’s a quest item, just do it again later, remember the value of every scrap… Oh, sage, so many herbs—damn, why does no one know alchemy, it's all money going to waste…”

As you can see, the magic maiden Fei Yin had an extraordinary obsession with collecting anything that could be sold. After every battle, she would comb the field so thoroughly that not even the most worthless animal claw was left behind. Any battlefield she cleared, the corpses would rot faster than usual—there was simply nothing left to decay.

“Another pack of wolves ahead—what do we do?” Yangtze Delta pointed to the thicket. These wolves weren’t blocking our path; we could easily avoid them.

Fei Yin cast a conflicted look at the beasts, for in her eyes, these huge, savage creatures were nothing but gold coins with fangs and fur. Letting them go was hard to stomach. Yet our packs were already two-thirds full, and the loot from the bandits ahead would surely be more valuable—where would we put it all? Waste time or waste money? For a thrifty mage, it was a tough choice.

“What are you all dithering for? Just kill them!” Before Fei Yin could decide, one of our party had already charged off alone. The raucous voice and reckless tone made it clear—our priest had snapped again.

If Fei Yin’s obsession was restricted to coin, Longbow Shoots the Sun, the dwarf, was a hopeless—Fei Yin called him this—a homicidal maniac. He was the epitome of violence: a bloodthirsty berserker, corpse mutilator, and a fanatic for slaughter. He had all the makings of an excellent barbarian: as long as an enemy drew breath, he could not calm himself. Even the fiercest monsters would be shamed by his valor. As for his priestly profession—that was pure irony. Who ever saw a priest charge into battle swinging a club?

Longbow Shoots the Sun’s weapon deserved mention. In our first battle, I dutifully raised my shield, standing before him and Fei Yin as custom dictated. But he darted beneath my belt, charging a level-eight hyena head-on. He wielded a short staff, about as long as my forearm—though it looked longer in the dwarf’s hands. Just as I thought he’d pay for such folly, he stunned me utterly: grasping each end of the staff, he yanked hard, splitting it in two, with an iron chain connecting the pieces.

Then, gripping one end, he swung it in reverse, chanting rhythmically and indistinctly, “Better use nunchaku, hm hm ha he…,” the iron-tipped end crashing into the hyena’s jaw, sending it reeling.

The dwarf priest pressed his advantage, wielding the split staff with relentless fury. In his hands, the weapon spun around arms, elbows, and waist with the speed of a juggler, the flickering shadows forming a curtain about him, accompanied by his wild, rhythmic cries. It was violence rendered beautiful by its sheer incongruity.

A priest in cloth armor, armed with two short sticks, felled four level-seven or eight hyenas in the blink of an eye, while I, sword in hand, was still tangled with two. The disparity left me dispirited. Later, Xian Ge Yayi told me that Longbow Shoots the Sun’s secondary profession was weaponsmith, and his “nunchaku” staff was his own invention. Originally, it had been a failed experiment, but after adding a chain to the two broken halves, he had succeeded.

This strange staff was a deadly weapon, the iron-clad ends granting it +3 attack, and its speed far surpassed other weapons. Oddly, it was still classified as a “staff” despite looking like nothing more than two fire pokers chained together, with no magical power or spell effects.

Most astonishing was the berserk dance Longbow Shoots the Sun displayed in battle—a magic spell, no less, which he had devised himself. It was called “Jeet Kune Do,” a name as martial as the technique it described. The chant, “hm hm ha he,” was the incantation.

This was the first time I’d seen “magic” cast with fists and sticks. Reportedly, this spell created a magical shield, reflecting fifty percent of melee damage and offering a twenty percent chance to deal triple physical damage to all nearby enemies. It also consumed mana at a prodigious rate.

Now, Longbow Shoots the Sun was already in the midst of the mountain wolves, unleashing his exuberant, strange magic. We had no choice but to grit our teeth and join the fray. I admit, for all his battle-madness, he was not completely unhinged. Occasionally, he would remember his priestly duties and “accidentally” heal his comrades—though, in my case, this always happened only after I’d already choked down a health potion.

Though our party had five members, in battle one was always missing: the overweight rogue, Yangtze Delta.

Yes, I said “missing.” Rogues possess a coveted skill: “Stealth.” It isn’t magic, but a special technique allowing them to vanish in plain sight by finding the “blind spot” in an enemy’s vision and remaining hidden there until the moment to strike.

I could not imagine how Yangtze Delta managed it. By this logic, if he hid his left side, his right would be exposed, and vice versa. But in fact, as we charged the wolves, his broad form melted into the afternoon shadows.

Comical as he looked, Yangtze Delta truly had a rogue’s talent. Even in peacetime, his movements were furtive: he skulked in deep shade, shunned sunlight, walked close to roots and rocks, his steps quick and light, sometimes tossing pebbles ahead to check for traps.

In battle, he surpassed himself. Even when not in stealth, his movements were unpredictable—a swollen wraith flitting through chaos, ready to seize any opportunity. He was the most agile fat man I had ever seen, and the most unscrupulous.

This is not an insult; for a rogue in combat, “unscrupulous” is the highest praise.

Yangtze Delta had shown me his dagger, but he rarely used it. More often, he preferred his hammer. He was a cautious opportunist—I never saw him confront a beast head-on. He always emerged from behind, stunning his target with a blow to the head, then, when the victim was nearly dead, finished it off with his dagger.

In this, he was the opposite of Longbow Shoots the Sun—always calm, always targeting the strongest foe, reducing the pressure on the rest of us (mainly me), and making our fights much more efficient.

And so, under Fei Yin’s leadership, we dispatched the last pack of beasts, skinned the final hide, pulled the last tooth, scraped the greasiest scraps from the field, and finally, the path up the mountain lay open before us.