Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (essential reading .txt) 📗

dead), the bounty hunter would be given a reward of forty-seven thousand gold, which was enough to buy a duchy with a castle, five thousand servants, almost fifty villages and have enough to live comfortably for the rest of your life.

Chapter 7

“H ere you go!” The leader of the gang tore a purse from his belt and threw it at the young man’s feet. His friends followed his example. With a clink, the coins rolled out of the purses, but the young man, whose face had lost all its child-like naivety and joy, didn’t so much as look at the glittering silver and gold. “Take it all! If you want, you can take our ammunition, potions, scrolls... Whatever you want!”

Falling to their knees, the bandits emptied their pockets, satchels, bags, threw off their armor, handed over vials and vials, and dropped their weapons. They didn’t dare look up.

“Oh, but I want fun...” The young man smirked. “First Form: Incarnation.”

Before anyone could react, Eric turned into a pile of gore with glassy eyes. In his chest was a gaping hole, four inches in diameter. The stench of burning flesh hung in the air.

The young man towered over the corpse. At the end of his staff was a solid ball of fire, so bright that it was almost impossible to look at.

The necromancer was first to come to his senses. Running his fingers over the bone necklace around his neck, he yelled: “Spirit of Death!”

The air trembled with a burst of hellish laughter, and a group of ghosts emerged from the ground around Eric. They looked different from the ones the necromancer had summoned before: these looked real, except that they were made out of the dense fog, and that their appearance was very unsettling. Their faces were rotten skulls, hands cracked yellow bones, and eyes flickers of green flame. Having spent all of his strength on summoning his most powerful attack, the necromancer collapsed.

But his sacrifice was not in vain. The archer, pulling the bowstring, whispered something. The tip of the arrow turned red. The bowstring sang. The wooden bow creaked. The projectile, capable of breaking through the skin of a Havel bison (although even a cannonball couldn’t penetrate this creature’s skin), passed through the specter.

“I’m bored,” Ash muttered and spun his staff around, hitting the ground with the ball of fire.

There was an explosion. Orange waves spread from the epicenter, covering everything in flames. Cloth burned. Ghosts turned into dust. The red arrow disappeared. The air itself turned into a weapon, burning the lungs of those who inhaled it. Dying screams joined the crackling of fire that merrily licked the wood of the burning homes and turned the temple’s bell into a chunk of molten metal.

When the firestorm subsided, only ashes remained. People were crawling from under the piles of ash and debris, frightened and slightly wounded, but otherwise alive and well. For some reason, the fire didn’t touch them. The houses and other wooden structures, unfortunately, suffered the same fate as the robbers did. Only the temple remained standing, albeit it, too, had a couple of cracks in the stone.

The young man’s face was once again filled with childlike joy. Smiling shyly, he scratched the back of his head.

“I overdid it again, my bad,” he muttered apologetically.

The scarf, miraculously untouched by the fire, flew back to him and neatly tied the ashen hair. The boy, whose eyes were once again blue, looked at his staff and wagged his finger at it as if he was scolding it. Then he bent down and held out his hand to help the old potter up.

“Aaah! A demon! A demon!” she screamed and backed away. “Go away!” she yelled. “Help! A demon!”

For a moment, the young man’s eyes were filled with sadness. But then he smiled again.

“Sorry about the village,” he said, straightened up and walked toward the gate.

Well, to what had once been a gate.

He needed to get as far away from this place as possible. The square will soon be filled with the imperial guards, adventurers, bounty hunters, and members of various guilds, united under the same banner ― to find and kill the Ternite.

Forty-seven thousand gold was a hefty sum to be placed on anyone’s head, be they an Ernite or a Ternite. The most powerful and experienced of bounty hunters didn’t seem to mind that the young man’s score was now up for seven lives and one more village...

But who was counting, anyway?

Three days later, Mystria Road

Vane the Stinker gave another order and put the old telescope to his eyes. The lenses had long cracked, turning the image into a kaleidoscope, but Vane didn’t have the heart to sell or exchange it, let alone throw it away. He had stolen it from Reiki, the most famous pirate on the planet, on one of the many raids on the Seven Seas.

No longer a pirate, Vane spent his days leading a local band. Today they were observing a caravan moving along the main road of the Middle Kingdom. No one in their right mind would dare attack the road, as even the neighboring kingdoms knew how well it was guarded. It was precise because of those rumors that Vane had decided to get involved in this adventure.

There were many currencies in this world, ranging from magical trinkets to gold, but the most valuable currency of all was one’s name. Many doors would become open for those whose name was known throughout the kingdoms...

“Chief,” Bloodhound whispered in his ear, one of the newcomers good for being cannon fodder and not much else. “Everything’s ready. We start at five.”

Vane nodded and raised his hand. The archers immediately dipped the tips of their enchanted arrows into jars of poison and the marksmen began loading their muskets. Vane, being an experienced killer, preferred doing business the