Chapter 32: Die Harder

Henry watched Sera’s face scrunch beside him as the credits started to roll. She looked adorable with that Santa hat sitting just over her ears. It was the first movie he’d shown her, but Die Hard seemed to have thrown her for a loop in more ways than one.

“I’ve yet to see what particular qualities render this a… ‘Christmas’ movie. I’d have thought your ‘Christmas’ celebrated this ‘Christ’, through feasts, festivities, familial gathering?”

Henry leaned back. He was gonna offer an answer but Ron beat him to it, sprawled in his chair with that shit-eating grin of his.

“Shootouts, explosions, and a badass saving the day. Perfect Christmas vibes.”

“So, your holidays oft involve guns and explosions? Truly, you are a most peculiar people.” The amusement in her voice made Henry grin.

“Hey, to be fair, Christmas does sometimes involve guns and explosions.” He reached over the left side of the couch, grabbing a gift-wrapped box. He brought it up and presented it to her. “Merry Christmas, Sera.”

“This paper is a marvel.” Sera laid her hand on it but hesitated, glancing at Henry. “Are you certain this was made to be torn? It seems a cruel end for such finery.”

The little culture shocks were indeed things to look forward to. Something about the way she treated the wrapping made him chuckle. “It’s supposed to look fancy so you’ll feel bad tearing it. But… that’s sorta half the fun. Plus, we’ve got a fuck ton of it sitting in storage, so it’s not like you’re committing a crime against art or anything like that.”

She still looked unsure, but started tearing at the tape anyway. Her uncertainty only compounded as she finally got the wrapping off the box and opened it to reveal a hard-sided case.

She lifted it up but paused right after. A smile grew on her face. That case, those latches, the weight of it – she knew exactly what this was. Almost like she was unveiling a crown jewel, she eased it open, dragging out the dramatic reveal. Lo and behold, it was a pistol, massive and ridiculous in all the right ways: a Desert Eagle.

Sera didn’t even need to say anything; Henry could see it in her face. She reached for it, allowing the weapon to catch the Christmas tree’s lights as she examined it like it was some legendary Baranthurian artifact. “So, this is your ‘serious punch’, is it?”

Henry grinned. He knew she’d like the gift. “Yup. The Hand Cannon.”

“Thought you might appreciate something with a bit more kick than the M18,” he continued. “I think you’ll be able to handle the recoil better than most people could even dream of. There’s holsters and other stuff in there too. Full kit. Couldn’t fit too much ammo though, but you can always grab some more down at the quartermaster’s. Stuff ‘em in your Holding Bag, maybe.”

She confirmed his decision making. “A finer gift I could scarce imagine. Truly, Henry, you spoil me. And yet, it’s almost as though you sought to match my gift for you.”

Sera reached into her Holding Bag. “I’m afraid I had not the foresight to wrap this – yet fear not, for where I lack paper and ribbon, I more than compensate with presentation. Merry Christmas, Henry.”

Out came a silver case, damn expensive by the look of it, covered in flowing curves that may have equally been decoration or runes – perhaps both. No other markings on the box, though; not even the usual ones he’d see with corporate products. Whatever this was, it was no Mithrilforged or Red Sail item. It was privately commissioned, like those suits billionaires wore – where real money skipped Gucci and Prada and went straight to master craftsmen.

Henry opened the box. Inside lay an amulet, fancier than what he’d even imagined, yet with a simple elegance to it. The runes along the surface all connected to a blue mana crystal in the center – smooth and refined, like the Baranthurian ones he’d seen. Honestly, with how often they'd come across ancient artifacts in their missions, he wouldn’t be surprised if it actually was a Baranthurian crystal.

The Nobian amulets they'd recovered looked shoddy in comparison, but if those stored enough mana for consistent mid-tier casting, just how much mana did this thing store? Not that mana capacity mattered much to him. He couldn’t cast at all, so why this of all things as a gift?

Sera seemed to have picked up on the confusion in his face. “Oh, fret not, dear Captain. I’d not burden you with some trinket demanding magic. What use would that be to you? Nay, a mere tap will rouse it to life. Put it on.” She held the box out like it owed her an answer.

Henry picked it up and brought it around his neck. But he didn’t secure it just yet. “It isn’t gonna turn me into a frog, either. Is it?”

“Turn you into a frog? Why, the amulet is far too fine for such mischief.” Her vibrant fuschia eyes bore into his, damn near threatening to lock him in place. “Besides, it would be a shame to squander such looks on webbed feet and warts.”

She pulled back, grinning. “Though, if it does sprout you a pair of webbed feet, you’ve my word – I’ll keep you in a gilded pond fit for a prince.”

Well, that was convincing enough. Henry put on the amulet and let it hang. “What,” he grinned. “You’re not even gonna try to restore me?”

“Ha! I’ve heard tales that a kiss might break the curse, but I’ll not risk catching warts on your behalf.” She tapped the crystal.

A blue flash lit up the air around Henry as the barrier sprang to life – damn near invisible, but that slight distortion was recognizable. It was the same type of shield Kelmithus used to throw up when things got dicey, though that initial flash had been a deeper, more intense shade of blue.

Sera smirked. “See? Not a wart in sight!”

“Woah!” Ron called out from the side. “The hell’s that? A magic shield?”

Ryan whistled. “Seems to be comin’ from that there necklace. Any chance you got a spare?”

That was the most assured ‘no’ to a question he’d ever seen. The thing looked like it costed more than a house, probably only affordable by the highest tiers or by nobles with connections. “Uhh… we can try to see if we’ve got any down at the quartermaster’s?”

Ryan let out a long, defeated sigh. “Hell, couldn’t think of a more far-fetched dream.” He shook his head and started turning toward the kitchen area. “Gonna grab some choco, gimme a minute.”

As he left, Isaac called out to them. “Join up when y’all are done. We’re boutta do Secret Santa.”

“Yeah, we’ll be right there,” Henry responded. He turned to find Sera flicking the magic shield with her finger.

“Strike it soundly, and it shall glow the loveliest blue – a sign it holds fast. But should it pale to that wretched white? Why, you’d best hope you’ve a few spare mana crystals at hand.”

The barrier flickered with a faint azure tint where she’d flicked it – concerning, to say the least. Either that crystal was hella sensitive, or Sera packed more strength in those delicate fingers than he’d thought. He hardly had the time to even register that when Sera moved on.

“The barrier will hold steady, though it’ll sip at the amulet’s mana while it does. Or, should you wish to keep its strength for dire need, a single tap will rouse it when you choose.”

Tough decision, but it was better than no decision. They wouldn’t have Kelmithus with them on every mission, and Sera could only do so much by herself.

“Thank you.” Henry meant it. Not only was the gift pretty sweet, but it also had significant potential.

Their eyes met… again. This would probably be one of those times where an interruption was due, but none came. Instead, Sera brought them back to the alarm. “That mistletoe tradition… would you care to explain it at last?”

Henry had been all set to demonstrate back then. Now? Well, it didn’t quite feel the same, especially not with the whole crew sitting there. So much for all that resolve. It was probably better to gauge her reaction first anyway.

“It’s a Christmas tradition. Basically, if two people find themselves underneath it at the same time, they kiss.”

“Kiss? My, what an… intimate custom. And tell me, Henry – does tradition require us to abide, or is it but a suggestion?” The shift in Sera’s voice was killer. All those ridiculous mommy ASMR videos he used to make fun of? Henry finally understood now.

“Well, it isn’t an like… an obligation, per se.” Henry shrugged, trying to play nonchalant. “It’s more like an excuse for couples, or sometimes a way to give a little push.”

That smirk crept across her face like she’d just struck gold. “Oh, I should hate to dishonor your Christmas traditions. But perhaps it was for the best that we were interrupted. After all, some moments are better savored than rushed – certainly not squandered on excuses.”

Correction: they both struck gold. But Sera barely gave him any time to react. “Now, let us see to this ‘Secret Santa’ ritual, shall we?”

– –

Secret Santa and the subsequent feast on assorted monster meats – exempting goblin meat, of course – had been pretty fun. But once Christmas was over, they had to lock in. Now, having completed the Tier 7 exam, Henry almost wished he hadn’t locked in so hard. Between their consistent studying throughout their time at the Academy and the mere existence of that guidebook, the test had been extraordinarily easy.

It was different from their first exam – more conventionally difficult, certainly. But that was precisely what made it easier. Most of the test focused on the stuff that separated novices doing odd jobs from leaders undertaking massive quests. And most of said ‘stuff’ happened to be things they already knew by heart: operational planning, logistics, advanced tactics, budgeting, math that didn’t even compare to the various orders of ODEs they had to go through prior to joining the Space Force. Most importantly, Henry was already familiar with the management of large-scale missions – or as the Guild called them, Campaigns.

The general concept reminded him of MMO Raid content: massive operations where dozens of independent groups had to coordinate against world bosses and regional threats like legendary dragons. The Guild test had covered historical examples, from coordinated hunts targeting Tier 9 or 10 monsters to dealing with massive stampedes and their resulting evacuation efforts. Their recent defense of Eldralore Academy had essentially been an impromptu Campaign, though a rushed one.

The biggest challenge in Campaigns wasn’t the combat; not really. Most relevant Clans had the resources to tackle Tier 9s, and the best ones – those with ‘Exalted Paragons’, could take on Tier 10s. The adage back home still rang true here: logistics wins wars. Campaigns were no exception.

Major clans like the Mithril Order served as informal leaders through reputation and influence rather than authority, not unlike how major raid guilds often took point on world boss events. Government representatives provided strategic objectives and high-level organization, while the Guild itself maintained information networks and basic infrastructure.

But at its core, success depended entirely on how well autonomous parties could work together. Henry had to smile at that part of the test – the Guild’s solutions weren’t far off from how NATO handled coalition warfare, just with more magic and monsters in the mix.

The monster physiology section had been particularly interesting, especially after Dr. Perdue’s work on the Sentinel Lindwyrm. Dragons were almost similar, especially when it came to those dense mana channels. Their entire physiological structure was built around magical integration, from reinforced bone structures that could channel elemental energy to specialized organs that could generate and store massive amounts of mana. Another reason why the Tier 10 Elemental Dragon in the Ovinne Mountains had drawn so much attention.

Naturally, a large portion of the test was about harvesting procedures; couldn’t let valuable dragon materials go to waste – or worse, unsold. Scales for armor and blood for alchemy were just the tip of the iceberg. The Guild’s cut from material sales alone probably explained why they left distribution protocols vague; let the Clans negotiate amongst themselves while the Guild profited either way.

Dr. Perdue would probably have a field day if they ever managed to bring one down and secure rights from other Parties and Clans. The Mithril Order’s reputation and involvement probably gave them first pick, which explained how they maintained their edge in equipment.

Of course, it was all self-compounding. They get rich, fund more operations, get even richer, and put themselves ahead of everyone else.

Their own party funds of nearly half a million lumens had seemed excessive at first – rewards from completed quests, the sale of Lindwyrm and Vorikha materials, and various rewards had added up quickly. Looking at the test’s cost breakdowns, it was no question why the Guild emphasized financial management so heavily. A two-week Campaign could burn through 100,000 lumens in basic supplies alone. Add in emergency reserves, potions, and new equipment, and high-tier adventuring started looking less like lucrative hero work and more like running a small military operation.

Not that these constraints applied to Alpha Team. Armstrong handled all their supplies, and their ‘emergency reserves’ included everything from Apache gunships to Ccruise missiles – assets most of Gaerra didn’t even know existed yet. Their lumen reserves were purely discretionary, free to be spent on whatever opportunities arose during the Campaign. Perhaps Elara from the Mithril Order had caught a whiff of that when she tried to recruit them.

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The remaining sections felt almost routine after their recent experiences; just monster ID, alchemy, basic questions about various flora and fauna. Nothing particularly surprising after facing Vorikhas and other high-tier threats. If anything, their practical experience had made these sections feel like afterthoughts.

The physical portion proved just as straightforward as the written exam. Wind and fog during the precision test hardly fazed them – nothing compared what they’d trained through back home. Even the extended range barely registered. A little simulated fog and wind was nothing compared to the real deal, and felt almost relaxing compared to Henry fighting for his life against the Sentinel Lindwyrm or cloaked Nobians moving through smoke.

The adaptive target phase showed more teeth. The proctors moved their targets with the same fluidity they’d seen when spectating Professor Valtor’s little demonstration out in the woods. The magical shields on the targets were new too, forcing them to adapt. But compared to what they’d done, it was still trivial.

“You have done well thus far,” Taldren said as they wrapped up with the second phase. “Yet this next trial, though greatly akin to the golem combat, demands sharper wits and steadier resolve. Attend, and I shall explain.”

He gestured to the training ground where several earthen figures were already rising from the soil. Unlike the simple rocky humanoid forms from their Tier 6 test, these were more refined, with distinct armor-like plating and articulated joints. Most notably, they had multiple cores. That alone garnered a raised eyebrow from Henry.

“Mark this well; each construct has not one core, but three. A single strike upon any will fell the beast, aye, but do not think this makes your task simple. These creatures are cleverer than their lesser kin, for they are guided by proctors.” Taldren pointed to a makeshift catwalk above the testing grounds. “They guard their weaknesses and strike where you are most vulnerable.”

The Guildmaster swept his hand over the training ground. The environment began to shift, sections of earth rising in the same way Kelmithus had done during their training prior to their ‘vacation’ to the Academy. From the looks of things, the terrain wasn’t entirely random. Despite the shifting barriers, clear lanes of fire and defensible regions. Like any well-designed combat arena, there were power positions and choke points – opportunities for those who knew how to use and abuse them.

“The arena itself shall mirror a true battlefield. Your shields will hold for three solid strikes, and no more. Should they fail, you are ‘dead’ and your test ends there.”

The golems finished forming – five of them. “Each construct bears purpose,” Taldren continued. “One shall shield, another shall strike from afar, and others shall close upon you with unrelenting force. Their tactics are their own, unrestricted by rule or pattern. Some may be merciful; others may show no quarter. I hold no sway over their choices, nor do they heed any limit. You must adapt not only to the constructs but to the temper of their masters. Captain Donnager, step forward. Enter the field when you are prepared.”

Henry analyzed the field, zooming into the distance with his IVAS. Uneven terrain with barriers, trenches, and elevated positions characterized the area. The catwalk’s elevated position gave the proctors good coverage of most of the field, but there were still some blind spots, hidden beyond large trees, boulders, and makeshift structures. One of them included a depression near some stone barriers – perfect place to set up shop for an ambush.

The challenge would be reaching it. He’d have to use the barriers and elevation changes to break line of sight during his approach. But first, he needed to identify the safest route.

The eastern approach looked promising. The tallest barrier would block the catwalk’s view for half the distance, then that trench would take him straight to the depression. The golems were still inactive in the center, likely waiting for him to step inside before starting their sweep.

Five golems; two proctors. One took two, the other handled three. Their formation suggested they’d coordinate well. Even if he took out the first proctor’s pair, that proctor could theoretically take control of some of the remaining units to maintain efficient distribution.

But that assumed equal proficiency. Looking at their loadouts, the first proctor’s pair were clearly built for speed and maneuverability – lighter frames, streamlined forms similar to the skirmisher he’d seen Valtor control. The second proctor’s three were more varied – two with shields and heavy plating, plus one with a spear.

Simple combined arms approach. The spear golem would keep him at bay while the shielded ones advanced, eating up his attention while the other two came in from the sides. Pure talent wouldn’t cut it here – fitting for Tier 7, yet a walk in the park given Henry’s background.

He entered the field, sprinting right. The golems angled towards him, but line of sight had already been shattered. Knowing that he went in this specific direction wouldn’t be enough for them to do anything meaningful. The two shieldbearers came lumbering after him, leaving their backs wide open as they rounded the barrier.

Easy pickings, their cores basically begging to be shot. But Henry refrained – trigger discipline. The shield golems were tempting targets, sure, but popping them would just leave him staring down the real problems: the agile skirmishers and that spear unit. Bad trade.

The shield guys were slow, predictable; mostly just walking walls. Even if they managed to box him in later, he could deal with their plodding advance. The skirmishers, though – well, Valtor’s demonstration was enough of a reason to avoid fighting those types. Add a spear pinning him down, and he’d be cooked. Better to let the shields go and wait for a clean shot at the real threats.

He sank deeper into the trench. A stone dug into his ass – no Diddy, but what could he do except endure it and pray the skirmishers showed themselves soon? Of course, they somehow psychically knew about his predicament and took their sweet time. But his prayers were finally answered when the distant foliage rustled roughly a couple minutes after the shieldbearers had lumbered past. One skirmisher vaulted a low wall to his right, the other circling wide to the left. Perfect. They’d split up just like he’d figured, trying to cover more ground. Sucker move.

Two quick bursts and both skirmishers dropped. No muss, no fuss, but there’d be no more easy shots from here on out. He lowered his M7 and moved deeper into the trench. The next bend was another blind spot from the catwalk, offering a sliver of respite. He could make it there, easy enough, while they were still puzzling over the skirmishers and investigating the trench.

When he reached the bend, he risked a quick glance upwards. The two shield golems led the way, a mobile wall of stone. The spear golem trailed slightly behind, providing overwatch. He was directly perpendicular to the approaching golems. Angle right now wouldn’t cut it.

He ducked back down and moved past the bend, deeper into the trench. He pressed himself against a wall, angling his body so he could see the approaching golems at a diagonal. Much better.

One of the shield golems faced ahead while the other angled its shield toward the trench on its right. Henry could see everything from his diagonal. The spear golem was tempting – a single shot could take it out of the equation entirely. But then what? The shields turn on him and he’s left without any way to actually get past the shields outside of a lucky flank or flashy movement.

Better to go for the arm joints and drop the shields. His first burst zipped toward the shield golem. The impact sent chips of stone flying, and the massive shield lurched to the side, momentarily exposing the golem’s flank. Before the second golem could react, Henry shifted his aim and fired another burst at its corresponding joint. That shield also swung wide, leaving all three golems now vulnerable.

Three shots, three kills.

The final golems crumbled, and Taldren’s voice rang out. “Well done, Captain Donnager.”

Henry climbed out of the trench, brushing dirt off his ass. That rock had done a number on him – his worst blunder in the entire exam, but fuck if he was gonna let anybody know he’d been touched by a rock. He joined the others by the observation area to watch the rest of the trials.

The rest of the team followed in turn, each handling the golems like it was just another day at the range. Light work, honestly, especially when compared to the shit they’d handled at GB-2. Not a single person had their shields scratched – a new record for them.

Taldren had a few more examinees to go over, and although it would’ve been interesting to stay and watch, Henry didn’t want to piss off his grumbling stomach.

“Tavern?” he asked his team. Several excited smiles was all he needed to see.

The built-in restaurant was busy with the usual lunch crowd, if not lighter with the absence of the large Clans. Most of the adventurers grabbing food were lower-tiered, grabbing food between quests. Henry spotted a couple familiar faces from their brief time at the Academy, but no one worth interrupting their meal for.

His main concern was whether Taldren would finish his evaluations before they could finish their food. Hopefully not – probably not, given how tedious test-grading must’ve been without Scantron.

“So,” Ron said, scanning the menu he probably had memorized by now. “Anyone else think those golems felt a bit sluggish compared to Valtor’s?”

“Mmhmm.” Henry nodded, barely glancing at the menu. He’d been craving the fenwyrm steak since morning, and with their latest ‘culling’ back at the Academy, the Guild was bound to have a ton of quality fenwyrm meat. “No offense to the proctors but yeah, you right.”

“Yo, how crazy was that skirmisher though?” Ron asked. “Muhfucka moved like it was chromed up. Super speed and shit.”

Dr. Anderson raised his glass. “I can imagine that’s why you dropped ‘em first, eh, Donnager? Soon as you clocked what type they were?”

“Yup. After watching Valtor’s demo? Yeah, wasn’t gonna take any chances.”

“Dang, it’s just like that movie,” Ryan said, snapping his fingers. “Real Steel. Y’all seen it? The one with the robots?”

Hell, was there anyone who didn’t? That movie was a classic. “Yeah yeah, where they copy the movements –”

“Sure ‘nuff!” Ryan grinned. “Fella’s gotta know how to scrap to make his golems fight like that, don’t he?”

“Yeah, the proctors were probably support mages or something.” Isaac glanced up as the waiter finally arrived.

They placed their orders, throwing in some of the local juices to experiment a bit. A short while later, the server returned with their food – plates loaded with premium cuts that definitely came from that Fenwyrm culling. Henry was already halfway through his steak when Ryan spoke up.

“Y’all hear the news ‘bout the Dean?”

Henry’s fork stopped midair. “Huh?”

“Lyrus. Bastard’s gone missin’, apparently.”

Yeah, that was news to him alright. Henry didn’t think he’d ever have to hear about Dean Dickhead again, but here he was.

“What happened?” Isaac asked.

“Them Sonaran knights showed up lookin’ to ask him ‘bout them runes, but his office was clean empty. No note, nothin’.”

“Well shit.” Henry popped another piece of steak in his mouth. “Guess that explains how they got into that Central Tower.”

“Kind of a retarded move though,” Ron said through a mouthful of his own. “Shit’s basically an admission of guilt. But... damn. The Nobians for real infiltrated that deep? Insane.”

Pretty crazy to think about. Insane, truly, as Ron said. But honestly, Henry had enough on his plate – and not enough fenwyrm, by the look of it.

They finished lunch without rushing, opting for another round of fruit juices. Yeah, they could get up and dip; perhaps wait in the lobby, but it wasn’t like anyone was waiting for their table.

Almost half an hour passed with no word from Mira or any of the other Guild staff. How long did it take to grade a few tests anyway?

“Alpha Team! Taldren’s ready for ye!” Mira said, appearing beside their table.

Finally. Henry got up, finishing up his juice and leaving the payment for the bill. They followed after Mira, entering Taldren’s office.

The Guildmaster shifted through papers, probably fresh from the graders. “Your proofs lie before me, Alpha Team. They speak well of your worth.”

Henry nodded. He’d gladly accept that praise.

Taldren set the papers aside. “Your advancement quest stands ready – a rescue operation most urgent. The Lost Seekers, a Tier 6 party, ventured forth to retrieve a Baranthurian artifact – a reliquary – from ruins in the Mirrowen Forest. They stand a day overdue, despite the trivial expectations of the quest. Their silence breeds grave concern.”

So, a rescue mission. Get in, smack some Nobians who’d probably tried to steal the artifact, and get out.

Taldren spread a map across his desk. “The Sanctum Arcanum commissioned this venture, yet speaks little of the artifact itself. More pressing still are local reports. Mere hours after the Lost Seekers found themselves lost, villagers began witnessing phenomena that speak of a spectral presence.” He paused and looked up, probably knowing this’d elicit some sort of reaction.

It did. Spectral? That alone tossed out everything Henry had anticipated out the window. But, just to confirm… “By spectral, do you mean…ghosts? And not, say, threats using invisibility magic?”

“Aye.” Taldren’s simple nod was a punch to the gut. “Your primary task is to find these ‘Seekers’ and return them safely. Should circumstance permit, complete their original quest. The Sanctum offers 100,000 lumens for the rescue alone, with an additional reward negotiable should you secure the artifact.”

Henry felt a migraine hitting him already. Monsters were straightforward enough; they were just deadly animals with magic. Nobian cloaking? Just people with blades and bows, who happened to have decent spellcasting. Even the Vorikha Apex and Sentinel Lindwyrm they could deal with conventionally.

But ghosts? Well, there were tons of easy answers: holy magic, consecrated weapons, and so on. They had exactly none of those, except what they could buy. And while holy water was easy enough to find in shops…

For a split second he almost considered treating their ammo with it. Yeah, bad idea. Water and firearms were a hard no, holy or not. They’d need another solution. Maybe blades they could treat, but that was a problem for later.

“Alright. So, ‘spectral presence’… Do we know what the villagers actually experienced on site?”

Taldren steepled his fingers. “Those who venture near the ruins report a cold that cuts to the bone, as though an unseen hand of ice grips them. They speak of whispers, faint as wind through the trees surrounding the ruins, and fleeting shapes in the shadows, vanishing ere they can be rightly marked.”

Localized cold, then. Tied to the ruins. And the whispers… the effects seemed to be contained to the ruins themselves, at least for now. Whatever the phenomena was, something was in that ruin, producing them.

“Has anyone else gone missing?”

“Not as yet, and let us count it a blessing,” Taldren said. “Yet there was an incident, though no harm befell the men. A patrol of sentires, while keeping watch near the ruins, spoke of a wave of despair that struck them – an utter hopelessness. Fear. For most, it passed swiftly, but one among them was left greatly unsettled.”

Emotional influence. So the ghosts could also mess with minds. It also meant that possession might even be on the table. “Alright. And what are our conditions for mission success?”

“Rescuing the missing party remains the goal. Yet we know this – after a day’s passing, their survival grows doubtful. Should they be lost, your task is to recover what remains and identify or eliminate the cause of their fate.”

‘What remains.’ That sounded real hopeful. But there was not much else they could do here; turning down the advancement quest wasn’t an option, especially if they wanted to get to Ovinnegard on schedule. Henry had wanted to avoid anything to do with ghosts and apparitions for as long as possible, but if the Guild wanted him to play Ghostbuster, then so be it.

Their first stop was obvious enough: pick up some holy water. The five vials Henry split among the team were expensive as shit, and he still didn’t have a clue how he’d actually make use of it, but he wasn’t gonna argue against old sayings. Better to have something and not need it, than to need something and not have it.

Next on their list was to head back to base. It was in the opposite direction of the Mirrowen Forest, but apparently, Dr. Lamarr and Dr. Perdue had already prepared something in anticipation of supernatural threats. Having to deal with ghosts had been a topic of concern ever since they learned about their existence. After all, how could you kill something that was already dead? Hopefully, whatever solution they’d cooked up would be capable of making said threats die harder.