Bog Standard Isekai

Book 1: Chapter 7

The group had already packed up their belongings, so they set off immediately, with one last question of how to carry Brin. Galan offered to hold him in a princess carry, with assurances that Brin’s slight weight wouldn’t strain his arms in the least, but Brin objected to it on the principle of the thing. They eventually settled on having him ride on Galan’s shoulders. It wasn’t exactly comfortable to sit on the [Knight’s] armored shoulders, but much more dignified.

The heroes ran in a full on cross-country pace as quick as professional athletes, even while wearing armor and carrying weapons and packs.

Galan’s armor didn’t seem to bother him at all, in fact it barely so much as clinked with his running steps. The detailed work was extremely impressive; all the interlocking plates fit together so well that he could move without any hindrance. It was almost futuristic in the way it fit him so perfectly.

The Heroes ran on, none of them even breathing heavily. Their sheer endurance was legendary in his mind, but they didn’t see it as anything worth remarking on. He had a million questions he wanted to ask. If they could run like this, what role did horses have? Lumina had mentioned taking horses part of the way. Could animals level up like people? Exactly what attributes had they improved to get to this point? How many did you get for a level, and which had they chosen? What about Lumina; why did she have such high physical attributes?

He couldn’t ask any of them. It might be rude to ask for personal details, and he didn’t want to give away his Otherworlder status by asking about things everyone knew.

Lumina must’ve noticed something, because she asked, “Oh you might as well ask. I can see you fighting with the questions on your lips. Ask, before you explode.”

Thinking quickly, he picked the one he thought would be least likely to cause offense or expose him as an ignoramus. “I was wondering, well, you’re really good at running. I thought a [Mage] would put everything into mental attributes.”

“Oh!” said Lumina, raising an eyebrow. He was right. It was taboo to ask someone about their stats.

“Sorry,” said Brin, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t–”Foll𝑜ow current novÊls on nov3lb((in).(com)

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s refreshing, really. Why not just ask? How else will you learn these things? It’s not like you can…”

She stopped herself in time, but Brin heard the unsaid words. It’s not like you can ask your parents about this. Now it was Lumina’s turn to be embarrassed.

She cleared her throat and continued on as if nothing had happened. “The answer is that you’re right. I’ve put every single free stat I’ve ever gotten into mental attributes. Magic, Control, Will, in that order. As for how I can run like this, it’s mostly training, and a few achievements. The real truth is that I’m slowing us all down. I could move faster with Hasten, but I’m conserving my Mana for what lies ahead.”

“Oh,” said Brin. “What lies ahead?”

“Lurilan?” asked Lumina.

The [Hunter] pulled back from scouting ahead to answer the question. “I’m growing certain that these tracks belong to a Lambent Phasmid.”

“What’s that?” asked Brin.

“You don’t know?” asked Lurilan.

“I don’t know what I know,” said Brin, panicking. Was this common knowledge? He started babbling, “I remember some things, but not others. Like I don’t remember my memories, but I know what lots of things are like trees and water and–”

“Apologies,” said Lurilan. “Phasmids by themselves are nothing special. They’re scavengers mostly, and amphibians that eat forest creatures that wander into bogs and drown. At higher levels, though, they stop waiting for things to die on their own, if you catch my meaning. Lambent Phasmids have natural illusion magic. At first they’ll use it to create bobbing lights to lure their prey. At higher levels, they’ll create illusory copies of themselves, and make themselves invisible while they attack their prey directly. They have long, thin limbs that stab like spears. We must assume that this one is very high level.”

“Can it raise the dead?” asked Hogg.

“Well, no,” said Lurilan.

“Then what are we doing right now?”

Galan answered in his slow and steady way. “I believe Lurilan’s train of thought proceeds thusly: that the illusion monster must have been the one casting the false flames upon the undead soldiers we defeated. Is that correct?”

“Indeed that describes my thinking, sir,” said Lurilan.

“That being the case, it seems likely that this beast serves the same master as the army. In which event, following it should–”

“Oi,” interrupted Hogg. “I get the drift, no need to drive it home. Fine, find the servant, find the master. But why haven’t we found the tracks of the master?”

“He flew,” said Lumina, matter-of-factly.

“What?” asked Brin.

“He or she flew. Think about it. Most Classes that involve necromancy branch off of [Witch]. They fly.”

“They really fly? How hard is it to get the [Witch] Class?” asked Brin.

“Don’t even think about it kid. If the System offers you [Witch], say no. Even if you have to keep your [Child] Class,” said Hogg. “And why are we assuming that this is a person? Could be a goblin. Could be a vampire, or a cannibal who turned himself into a wight.”

“Can you fly?” Brin asked. Being a twelve-year-old wasn’t great, but hopefully it was at least useful at giving him a pass for interrupting with inane questions.

“No. Someday, maybe,” Lumina answered, then to Hogg, she said, “Brin described the undead army as growing more

“A [Witch],” repeated Hogg. “This keeps getting better and better.”

“Why can’t I be a [Witch]? Are all [Witches] evil?” asked Brin.

“Regretfully,” said Galan. Brin couldn’t see his expression from atop his shoulders, but he sounded sad.

“Not that simple,” said Hogg at the same time.

Galan frowned at Hogg from beneath his golden helm, and Hogg glared right back.

Hogg snorted. “Alright kid, let me tell a story. You’re still a couple years away from needing to learn all this, but there’s no reason you can’t hear it now. When you turn fourteen your System will unlock, and you’ll get the chance to pick your first Class. Most of the time it’ll be the option to keep your [Child] Class or switch to a tradesman Class, usually whatever your parents did for a living.

“Some kids will get a third option. A rare Class. Doesn’t always mean it’s better than your common Class, just means that it’s unusual. Some of these Classes,” Hogg gave Lumina a significant glance, “you should never pass up.”

“Why not?” asked Brin.

“Because they’re too powerful,” said Lumina.

“There are others,” Hogg continued, “that you should never accept.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re too powerful,” said Hogg.

Brin could tell where this was going, but he didn’t mind playing his part. He needed to know this stuff. So he put on the attitude of the guileless child and said, “Wait, but you just said–”

“[Witch] is one of those Classes you should never take. I said I’d tell a story, right? Well, this is about a girl named Siphani. A foundling, like you I guess, she was rescued from a wagon train that ran afoul of bandits. Her System day came and went, and everything seemed to be fine. She said she had [Herbalist], and no one had any reason not to believe her. The potions and salves she made really did work, even better than the [Physician] using the same recipe.

“She grew to be pretty popular. She grew to be pretty… pretty. It’s not rare for kids to go through a lot of changes right after they get their System. Attributes start messing with them right at the same time as puberty; it’s all we can do to keep them from going crazy. But Siphani, she seemed to grow into womanhood as naturally and easily as a rose unfolding its petals. She was beautiful, her voice was like music, she had all the money you could want, her clothes were always spotless, and you never saw her with the tiniest cough or sniffle.

“That last one was unusual, because there were a fair amount of colds and fevers going around that year. And Siphani, with her herbs, was said to save quite a few lives that summer. For a modest sum. The young people started to think of her as a town folk hero.

“Maybe if that’s how it stayed, that would have been the end of it. If she’d been content to heal, content with her life as the most popular and beautiful woman in town, maybe she’d still be around today.

“Or maybe not. Even then, there were some whispers. The town elders, this was Hammon’s Bog, they were quick to shut down whispers like that. Witch-hunts rarely find [Witches], you see. It usually ends with the villagers hanging some poor [Weaver] or the like. [Weaver] gives you weird Skills at higher levels, though that’s beside the point. The elders didn’t even want an accusation until they knew for sure. They waited. They knew that if Siphani was a [Witch], she’d show her true colors soon enough.

“One thing I’ve learned is that it’s really hard to resist the pull of power. It’s why so many people turn bandit. Killing one person gives you as much experience as months and months of working your trade. And if you can kill one person, why not ten? Why not a hundred?

For [Witches] it’s even worse. If you could get free levels by making other people sick, only they had no way of knowing it was you, can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t do it? And you don’t have to make one person really sick. You can get half a lifetime of levels by making a thousand people just a tiny bit sick. Just a scratchy throat, for only a day or two. Throw in the fact that you fully plan to heal them back up again, and it seems easy to justify. You’re obtaining this power for them. So you can heal them better the next time a real disease comes along. If anything, they should be grateful.

“And that’s just the bottom rung of a [Witch’s] power. There are all sorts of temptations. Little of a [Witch’s] magic is calculated or premeditated. Sometimes all she has to do is want something to happen, and it’ll happen. Sometimes it’s as simple as being upset with someone to trigger the magic.

“One day, Siphani had a small argument with her best friend, and a boil grew on the friend’s elbow. The [Physician] took care of it; it was gone the next day. But she crossed a line. It was Siphani’s first curse. It made the elders sit up and take notice, but even then they didn’t know for sure. Sometimes girls are prettier than other girls. Sometimes people get sick. Sometimes people get boils. All these things can just happen; there don’t need to be [Witches] involved.

“Maybe the lack of obvious suspicion made Siphani grow bolder, because the next day a vegetable seller cussed her out and by nightfall the old lady was covered in a stinging rash. The elders got together and they decided to send out the Prefit.

“Prefit Elmon is a great guy. Popular, charismatic, a born leader, with a good heart. A [Warrior] Class, but he stayed in the village he was born in, to protect it, rather than seek his fortune in the wider world. The Prefit will know what to do. That's what we thought.

“He had a plan, see. He was just going to have a chat with the girl, to persuade her to turn aside from the darker abilities of her Class. He thought they could come to an agreement. Maybe if she stopped concealing what she was doing, the town would consent to letting her use her powers, in a lesser way, if she asked. The Prefit figured lots of people would consent to getting small illnesses here and there if she promised to heal the more deadly diseases. The biggest issue was that she never asked.

“Personally, I don’t think it would have worked, but they never got the chance to find out.”

When the story had started, Brin had assumed it was some kind of moralistic fairy tale, but as it went on it sounded more and more personal. Siphani wasn’t just some random name picked from thin air. This had really happened.

As Hogg told the story, the Heroes continued to run, with Brin on Galan’s shoulders. They’d long left the road behind, with Lurilan guiding on the trail of the mysterious illusion-beast they were after.

The forest seemed to only grow wilder as they went. It wasn’t exactly dark with the sunlight streaming through the dappled leaves, but it felt dark. Wild. It felt like the type of place where savage witches were waiting to spring out and feast on lost children.

It was that type of place. It was that type of world.

Hogg continued his story. “By the time the Prefit got to her house, Siphani had already fled. Her adoptive parents were on the floor, comatose. They were thin, weak, and at least ten years older than when they’d woken up that morning.

“So what do you think those old elders did next? Only one thing they could do, send someone out to track her down. And I’ll tell you what, they didn’t send bright and noble Prefit Elmon, did they? No, sir. They sent a retired adventurer who’d lived in the town for years but who no one really knows and no one really likes. A nasty old man by the name of Hogg.”

“The End.”

The Heroes turned in shock at the abrupt ending, apparently not expecting that ending any more than Brin did. Galan actually stumbled, but caught himself before he and Brin hit the dirt.

Silence reigned for a long moment, before Galan said, “I apologize.”

“Why?” said Hogg. “What’d you say that was wrong?”

“Nothing. But I thought unkindly of you, and that was wrong,” said Galan.

Hogg straightened his back, smiled slightly, as if trying to act like he was unaffected by what he’d just confessed to. And why wouldn’t he be? If Brin was right, he had been inches away from slitting his throat earlier in the day. Hogg might be the type of person who could kill evil or dangerous children, but apparently he would feel bad about it afterwards, and that at least made Brin think better of him.

Hogg chuckled. “You know, I don’t tell this story to someone your age very often, Brin, but usually when I do, they say something naive like ‘Why’d you have to kill her? She didn’t do anything worth killing over, did she?’ And maybe you’d be right. Her parents never really recovered all the way, but I bet if I had asked them they would have forgiven her. The point is–”

“No,” said Brin. “No.” He practically spat it out. His voice sounded dark, much darker than the normal kid persona he was trying to act out, but he didn’t care. “I’m glad you didn’t forgive her. The [Witch] who destroyed my home, it probably wasn’t too long ago that she was just some pretty, popular girl with no self-control, was it?”

“He’s right,” said Lumina, eyes distant. “[Witches] level fast, especially when they throw morality to the wind. The one we hunt likely isn’t even eighteen years old.”

A weight seemed to settle on the party, as they realized exactly what it was that they were about. At the same time, a weight seemed to lift from Hogg. Maybe he had expected some kind of condemnation for killing Siphani, but even noble Galan hadn’t found fault in it.

As they went, the area seemed to grow wetter and even though he barely thought it possible, greener. The moss covered the trees completely, then spread out on the ground, choking out all other life and leaving a soft carpet for them to run across. Streams wove themselves throughout everything, but they were never wide enough to slow the party down. The largest was five feet across, and the Heroes leapt across without slowing or even remarking on it.

Lurilan ran ahead, disappearing into the foliage ahead. The party kept running in the same direction, until fifteen minutes later he returned, and had them adjust their course slightly to the left.

Again he disappeared into the forest ahead, and didn’t return for twenty minutes. When he did, he had them adjust sharply to the right, fully perpendicular to the direction they’d been running.

The next time he left, he was gone for a full half hour. When they saw him again, he was sitting on a rock, waiting for them.

“The beast did not flee in a straight line. It has been changing directions, going in circles. It leaves false trails, some of them convincing enough that I followed them for several miles before I noticed the deception. It even runs in streams for short distances, so as not to leave tracks. Clearly this beast is worried about pursuers, and has been taking steps to lose us,” said Lurilan.

“Can we overtake it?” asked Galan.

“For truth, I believe I may have lost the trail had it fled in one single direction, but by running in circles it has allowed us to catch up,” said Lurilan.

“Why would it do that?” asked Brin.

“Because its destination is somewhere nearby. In this forest, if I have my guess,” said Lurilan. “In fact, if our Lady [Mage] would agree to hasten herself again, I believe we could find it before nightfall.”

Lumina tapped her cheek, thinking. “That should be acceptable. Certainly, it is not an issue if all that awaits us is a singular illusion beast. But if I must fight a [Witch]...”

“I could carry you as well as Brin,” offered Galan. “A little extra weight would not slow or tire me.”

“No need!” said Lumina, her face growing slightly red. “A small spell like Hasten? Hardly a drop in my Mana pool. Yes, we shouldn’t waste any more time. Let us away.”

Lumina spoke a sentence of magic, and they took off again. They ran in a mad dash that Brin could barely believe. It was one thing to see someone else move that quickly, it was quite another to be on top of someone’s shoulders.

Galan’s steps were so quick that they stopped sounding like individual thumps and blurred together like the roaring of a car. He jumped over fallen logs and twisted between trees with effortless elegance, barely jostling Brin to avoid all obstacles.

Lumina hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said that she was holding the rest of them back. With her spell in place, she ran next to Galan like a ghost. Lurilan looked light and casual while he ran; only Hogg was huffing and puffing, though he kept up just as well as the others. Brin fully believed the old rogue could run like this all day, though not as easily as the others.

Cars were faster, to be sure, but that was on an open road. Moving this fast while weaving through a forest made the journey feel blisteringly fast.

Two dozen miles went by in a flash. The trees started to grow thinner and further apart, until all at once they disappeared completely. The party arrived at a wide, open field. It stretched out for at least twenty miles in a perfect circle before ending in trees again.

At first glance Brin thought it was a prairie, but the uneven ground and tepid pools meant it was more of a swamp. No, a bog. Obviously.

They stopped at the edge of the clearing. The heroes paused, giving each other significant glances.

“Why did we stop? What is this place? Why is it in a perfect circle? It’s unnatural,” said Brin.

“This is Kryst’s Bog. Or maybe Ylla’s Bog. And you’ve got the [Child of Travin’s Bog] Class but you don’t know why the Bogs look like this?” asked Hogg. Before Brin could make excuses he said, “Well, neither do I. It’s convenient, though. Great farmland, and the forest won’t expand into the circle for whatever reason.”

Lumina said, “To answer why it looks like this I’d have to get into the Fall of Ithmall, and perhaps this isn’t the time?”

“Indeed,” said Galan, lifting the faceplate on his helm. “Brin, I’m going to set you down.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

Galan set him down, and no one answered his question.

Lurilan cut a straight branch off a tree, one swift stroke like it was nothing, and whittled it down into a straight staff in a matter of seconds. He didn’t look up as he worked, and no one spoke.

It was strange. These guys weren’t jerks–except maybe Hogg. So why were they being so reticent? Oh, that was it. They were worried someone might be listening. The monster, the Lambent Phasmid, maybe they had all noticed some sign that it was nearby. Or maybe it was something else.

He was the only one here without years and years of experience in this type of thing. The best he could do was try to keep up and stay out of their way.

The Heroes positioned themselves in a ring around him, and let him set the pace as they entered the bog. There didn’t seem to be any kind of destination in mind; there was nothing there. Just a big empty field.