The Hunter’s Guide to Monsters - Chapter 66

Cerkanst

26th Day, 7th Circling, 9116 AS

*

Most of Krow’s plans for his Redlands monster hunter career were broad strokes, with few specifics.

With the amount of differences between game and Zushkenar, he didn’t want to come across a variance that would derail some meticulous scheme.

He didn’t have the patience to deal in meticulous schemes, anyway.

And yet, in the morning sun after fourteen days and nights of slogging through the wilds and wonders of the draculkar kingdom, he keenly felt even the broadest of broad strokes take a last laugh before breaking into sad pieces and crumbling into nothing.

Because Cerkanst.

Was not.

A town.

It wasn’t even a large village.

Krow laughed at himself, just outside the lower gate of that less than impressive village.

He’d planned almost everything with general objectives, except this one.

Somehow, Cerkanst had gotten into his blindspot.

He stumbled to the side of the road, slumped onto a mossy rock, face blank, laughter dried up as quickly as it started.

Why had he been certain that Cerkanst was a town?

He lifted his head to the sky, eyes flickering as if to search the blue expanse for an answer.

A vague memory suddenly became clear.

Krow chuckled, the sound almost a barking, hoarse and ugly.

Findrakon.

The guildleader of Findrakon had lamented from time to time, that the town the guild had taken over was not as resource-rich as Cerkanst, not as fortunately located, not as prosperous.

That was the reason?

That was it?

Weeping graves.

How long was the shadow of that guild going to haunt him? How deep had the claws of that experience sunk into him?

Just for the chance of outclassing that mudcrawling bastard, Krow had made this large a mistake.

He giggled into his hands, furious and amused, despairing and enraged.

“Excuse me,” a voice asked timidly. “Are you okay?”

Krow calmed himself down, took ten deep breaths before looking up.

A teenaged draculkar girl stood some ways away, carrying a woven basket that seemed taller than she was. It was filled with…Tasseline Verdant Herb?

Whoa.

That grew here?

Krow lifted a hand, waved away the concern on her face. “Just a little lost, that’s all. What is the name of this village?”

“This is Cerkanst. I bid you welcome, traveler.”

It was really Cerkanst.

The girl was smiling.

Like she didn’t just crush the last of his hopes.

The urge to guffaw hysterically rose in his throat; he shoved it down with all the force he had.

“Cerkanst. That’s a good name.” He stood. “My name’s Krow. Does this place have a visiting-house?”

“I am Menrike. Well met, Krow.” Her smile fell into a doubtful twist after the introduction. “Most who come here stay in the guest quarters of the First Tower.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“Not a lot of people come by, so there’s plenty of space.”

“Looks like it.” He took another deep breath, smiled his best at Menrike. “So, guest quarters? Who do I have to speak to?”

“That would be Sarnaan, who keeps the tower. I’ll introduce you!”

He fell into step beside her, taking the massive basket from her silently. She made to protest, but he only hitched the basket of herbs higher on his shoulder and increased his pace toward the towers. It was lighter than it looked.

“I am not a delicate maiden,” she stomped faster to catch up with his pace. She poked her walking stick into his arm, emphasizing her words. “That needs help. With a single. Basket!”

Amused, he glanced at her narrowed eyes, furrowed brow, the timidity of her first words to him entirely disappeared. He put down the basket.

“But aren’t you glad for the minute’s rest you had from me carrying it this far?”

Her scoff was high-pitched with added irritation at his only slightly apologetic grin. She hefted the basket and strode on without looking at him.

“It’s the big one,” she yelled over her shoulder. “You can’t be so stupid as to miss it!”

He laughed. “I hope not!”

She halted like she was going to say something obviously scathing, but in the end only narrowed his eyes at him and stomped off.

Ahaha. It seemed he’d lost his guide.

A flutter of wings brought his eyes to the vid-eye owl in the trees.

He’d never returned it to his inventory.

Mostly because he forgot it existed until he had to edit a video.

Did that mean his small breakdown earlier was recorded in three angles, lossless multichannel, and ultrahigh-definition?

Ugh.

The owl better brush off its delete functions.

Or Krow would give in to the childish urge to twist the voyeur bird’s head off.

Walking through Cerkanst, the village, was a revelation.

It appeared that the advancement of Cerkanst was as much from the efforts of the guild that took it over as its location in a fortunate area.

Below the village stood a vista of tree-covered mountains and hills stretching to the horizon, the edge of the Grandshield Forest.

He looked away.

Last he knew from Zushkenar gossip, Cerkanst had twelve towers. This reality was very different.

This village had only three.

An isolated village, small and uninteresting.

Oh well, not entirely uninteresting.

It was pretty.

The same as every village in Redlands, probably.

The entire village stood on a rock formation jutting out from a cliff, with a winding road precariously carved toward its single sloping side. On the sides that did not slope, a steep drop fell long enough to be impressive before it covered its shadowed feet in mist.

A waterfall cracked the rock formation, and villagers had built a waterwheel there. The falling water also separated the three main towers of the village from what appeared to be a ruin.

Krow stopped, paled a little.

If he were to remain here, gaining any significant traction for after the Quake meant he’d have to buy the village.

And then develop it into a town himself.

Something which, in the time before, took the strength of more than one guild to do.

Crafter guilds only started popping up after the craft upgrade/expansion, as subsidiaries to the battle guilds. The guild that held Cerkanst likely was the same. Being a subsidiary meant they had a sure market for their wares and a source of armed strength at the same time.

Krow had none of that.

He stepped away from the drop and headed toward the First Tower. It was, as Menrike said, the biggest.

From the ruin, it was evident that the village used to be larger, with at least five towers.

The ruin was old, however.

The glory days were in the far past.

He walked into the high-ceilinged entry hall of the village’s administrative hub. The feeling of antique degradation was evident here too.

The First Tower was also old, with something extra, a hint of the ancient dignity he’d felt radiating grandly from Nyurajke’s preeminent spire, a stately air that could be seen from afar.

This tower, however, hadn’t fared as well as that tower.

“Fair morning to you, stranger, what brings you to this lonely village?”

Lonely?

That was true.

The empty streets, the too-large First Tower, the ruins – there was something forlorn about the village.

The speaker must be Sarnaan.

Krow greeted her. “I was told I could find a room here, as there’s no visiting-house.”

“A traveler? Be welcome to Cerkanst! This is indeed where you get a room. I am Sarnaan bal Galfrevan, and I’ll take you there.”

“Thank you. I’m Krow.”

She retrieved a few things from a desk they passed through and led the way up the stairs. “Will you be staying long, Krow? The waterfall gardens are always a popular treat with those who come to visit.”

“A few days. Then we’ll see.”

She took him to the third level. If it kept to the standard layout, then these would be the barracks of the council guards. “There are a lot of rooms.”

She agreed. “We used to trade a lot of herbs, according to grandmother. This was where the merchants coming to secure a connection stayed. But of course, that was before the windcats.”

Krow turned inquisitively. “Windcats.”

“An old myth in the village.” She cleared her throat. “One day, an herb-grower, tending to her fields, heard a cry of distress. She followed it, for it was beautiful, and she had children who cried with less despair. She found a kitten, with a cloak of wind and eyes the color of the stormy seas, and knew it for an ancient enemy. It cried, a lovely sound, and her heart was soft, for it was but a child and distraught. She brought it home to raise, that one day it might guard her fields and children.

“But the kitten had a tribe. Angered by their loss, they gathered and came for retribution. Blowing down the towers and the grain, the fields and the children, they came with storm and song.” She gestured out the balcony toward the ruins. “They cursed the village in beautiful harmonies, and since then no herbs grew in the soils of Cerkanst and the children were lost evermore.”

Sarnaan turned to Krow, smiling. “The story of Cerkanst as told by grandmother. What do you think?”

“Interesting.”

Vague ideas started to churn in the back of his mind.

She laughed. “I still can’t get her to tell me the real story. Everytime I ask, she says I know nothing, and retells it.”

“Oh?”

“She says she remembers when the village was whole, so if the story ever happened, it would be less than 400 years ago.” She shook her head. “Windcats haven’t been seen in the lowlands for thousands of years.”

“That is a shame. I’d like to see one.”

He’d seen one.

He’d seen many.

Windcats were a popular pet in a future update. They did have ephemeral wings of wind and silver-green eyes. But they were the size of the average housecat, and didn’t sing. They didn’t even fly.

The village was destroyed by those fluffy-tailed things?

They had purely defensive skills, and even a hundred of them pawing cutely at a tower could not topple it.

But there was a similar monster that could be said as ancient.

It wasn’t from the draculkar nation though, but from the Stormfell Isles.

The Stormsea Lion, which had a mane of poisonous mist and grey-blue eyes, with the ability to create lightning storms. Their wind attacks whistled in the air, which if they attacked together could harmonize and be heard as singing, plus they were as large as rhinoceroses.

They didn’t migrate though, or travel far from the sea.

But there could be a hundred reasons why a pack of Stormsea Lions would be in the draculkar lowlands.

If it even was a Stormsea Lion attack.

But to destroy half a village? A single Lion was more believable than a horde of aggressive windcats.

“I think we’ll never know.” Sarnaan handed him a key. “Just return it when you leave. Have a good day, traveler.”

“And you too. Ah, wait! What’s the name of the nearest town?”

“It’s Rakaens! Up the mountains to the northeast.” She smiled as she turned the corner.

Krow turned over the cylindrical key in his palm.

It was in two parts, one that allowed him entry past the security of the tower, and then the one that allowed him access to his room.

Hah. It was the first time he’d ever been handed a key to a First Tower without first doing a goodwill quest of some kind.

He opened the room.

It was simple, a bed and bedside drawers, the ubiquitous draculkar balcony, and a small bathroom.

He checked the Map.

Rakaens was sixty-five kilometers away.

That was ten to fifteen in-game hours by cart. Running the whole way, he’d get there in four to six hours, rest stops included.

He groaned, flopped onto the bed, and logged out of the game.

There were things he needed to check.