Chapter Text
Arlo fights himself awake.
There’s a sound. No… sounds. He sits up, trying to pick through the banging going on in the shop and the ruckus outside. What is that noise? It’s coming and going in a pattern. Far too organized to be random noises. Arlo groans. It would be so simple to turn over and ignore it. He groans again. Arlo rolls his shoulders and glances at his bedroom window. The glass is frosted over. White ice eating up the outside frame like he didn’t scrape it off hours before. Arlo snorts.
This isn’t his fault.
Uncle Visse must have forgotten to turn the heat on again.
Arlo clicks his teeth.
That is if the forgetful fart even remembered he had one.
Living with Uncle Visse in town is beginning to be a real pain in his ass. Ever since his uncle came back and opened this potion shop, there has been nothing but trouble. Who sells rotten potions? Why would anyone want an empty bottle? Where was the value in taking in the junk adventurers dropped off?
Arlo couldn’t begin to understand his uncle’s business sense.
He just knows his parents expects him to keep the place from burning down. Impossible.
Arlo yawns.
His room in the shop is more or less the same like it would be on the farm. Four sturdy walls. A bed. A desk. A chair. He brings his eyes to glare at the desk. A stack of papers are there, their looming white sheets threatening him with paper cuts from afar. In Uncle Visse’s words, the man is more of a ‘big picture’ guy. He couldn’t be bothered to go through the bills or item inventory or shipping inbox. So all of those responsibilities landed in Arlo's unwilling lap.
The bastard should be grateful Arlo finished with his schooling a year ago or they’d both be in trouble.
Arlo drags a hand through his brown hair. He should go find out what’s making the noise. Either in the shop or outside. Arlo glances at the window again. He can’t see anything definite through the creeping ice but there are some odd colors being flashed back and forth. Black smog. Reddish mist floating on the lazy winter wind.
The old shop creaks.
Did he really, really want to know?
He’ll be obligated to do something about it as the shop’s only employee.
Arlo swings his legs over to the side. Regrets it. His bare feet meet agony in the form of a messy bedroom floor. The freezing hardwood stabs into his soles and he’s off, grabbing yesterday’s clothes hanging on the chair and runs out of the room. With spring just around the corner, he’s gotten ahead of himself when it comes to sleepwear. At the farmhouse, he’d never rush around in nothing but a pair of boxers. The Brey farmstead had too many nosy visitors for that laid back lifestyle to fly.
With a long winter this year, he’s gotten paler than usual. White skin almost ash pale.
But with the list of duties choking his free time, he’s hasn’t gotten any less fit. He shuffles down the hall, regretting each step. This time, he’ll lose his toes, he’s sure of it. He slides on his gray tunic and black slacks. The extra layer of fabric warms him up but his feet are still suffering.
Passing the stairs heading down, Arlo reaches the heat switch.
He fiddles with the knobs and the large magic gear that controls all of the magic wards in the building. The warming ward is switched on. All of the pipes of the potion shop rattle, creaking through the old frame. Arlo rubs his hands together. Finally, the heat begins to rise. Warmth grows through the hardwood floors, toasting his feet nicely.
Arlo breathes a sigh of relief. Wiggles his toes.
Great.
He still has all ten.
Arlo looks towards the stairs’ railing. The light’s on downstairs. Arlo groans. He isn’t just a shop employee. He’s also an uncle babysitter. It really is a shame that the shop isn’t in more capable hands. Uncle Visse went to all the trouble to refurbish the old storehouse into a new potion shop and he’s never going to run it right. Arlo knows his M.O. Visse buys a place. Loads up on all the junk he could get his hands on. Then runs before the Royal Contraband Committee could get their hands on him.
Supposedly, Uncle Visse paid his debts to society after his last con.
But if that’s the case, why did Arlo have to forge all the legal documents to a Mister Viktor?
The banging below his feet gets louder and he rolls his eyes. Either its his uncle trying to offload some bad merchandise to a pack of tourists or it’s a band of adventurers that couldn’t read the sign, “We’re Closed.” Knowing Visse, it’s probably both. But he has to go and check to be sure. Don’t blame the cat for what the dog brought home and all that.
Arlo carries on to the end of the hall.
His uncle’s room sits next to the bathroom. Arlo would have been a little jealous if he didn’t know what the scientist likes to brew in the tub. He knocks politely. “Uncle. Uncle?” Then outright kicks the door open. He used to be a politer person, he swears. It’s just the faster Arlo can get Visse to double think about recreating a mage’s explosion spell in the shop, the less likely they won’t die... That day.
“Spirits, why can’t you ever air out your room?”
Arlo does not step inside. Having to wash his clothing daily from the potion fumes is already too much washing in his opinion. It doesn’t matter. The sour stench of a cauldron’s crust and chemical salt greet him like an old enemy. He bats them away as best he can. Ugh, how can his uncle stand this? Arlo’s eyes roam the stale room. It matches his uncle’s personality pretty well. There’s a cot and nothing else that could be considered normal. Uncle Visse has several portable cauldron set up in his room. They’re apparently for his personal experiments. Other than that, the room is packed to the ceiling with reference guides and books on local flora and fauna.
He closes the door and heads down the hallway.
According to his poor nose, Uncle Visse hasn’t been up here for a few hours. Weird. There’s never an old smell in his uncle’s room. Visse usually leaves a cauldron on to boil for a few hours.
Arlo heads to the railing and follows it down to the start of the staircase. He really, really, doesn’t want to think of what it could be. A pack of adventurers wanting a refund. Traveling thieves puking their guts out by the register. His uncle blackmailing the local priestess into drinking his latest batch of poison.
He groans and makes his way down.
Why didn’t he just go back to bed? His parents raised him too well.
Now on the first floor, Arlo finds what he expected. Trouble. His uncle isn’t here and everything that should’ve been nailed down is everywhere. The front door is ajar. He sees on the street people running back and forth, chased by creatures made from that blackish fog.
But more than that, where’s the broom?
Almost all of the display merchandise is broken and on the floor, staining the rugs meant to brighten up the old place. Chairs are broken. Sofas have been thrown. The cash register is still in one piece, thank Aulra, but how the hell is he suppose to…
“Hey! Arlo! What are you doing?”
The voice catches him off guard. He’s moving over to the counter and is counting the number of rotten potions they have on sell. Maybe he could tell his uncle they were also destroyed by mysterious raiders. Shamelessly, he uncorks one and starts pouring it on the floor. He’ll have to mop tomorrow anyway.
Arlo looks up.
“We’re under attack?” he reasons. “Smog creatures are attacking the village.”
Arlo knows the face.
It’s… Minra. The girl who works at the cafe shop. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Three sisters.
She looks over her shoulder before she looks back at him.
“You’re taking this awfully well.”
“We got picked for the annual monster raid, right?" he says, confused by the look she's giving him. Was he growing horns or something? She's waiting for him to say something so he continues, blabbing. "Uhh, the kingdom sent its knights to chase all their monsters into a village for both training and exterminating purposes. They got to learn how to fight around civilians and we get the leftovers of the monsters.”
Arlo thinks for a moment.
“I’m not really interested in participating if that's what you're looking for. I’ll wait it out here. You guys have fun with your screaming fest.”
“Is that what you think is happening?”
Arlo shrugs.
“Yeah.”
Monster raids has never been his thing.
Even when he was a kid, he was never interested in them. Monsters show up one day and villagers are stuck cleaning up the next two weeks. Monster raids might be fun for the folks who got to run around like clueless villagers for the knights. But for everyone else, it’s extra chores. Plus, the knights draw even more monsters around. It is not fun to be out the house when that happens. Tripping over a fucking slime because so idiot knight decided to get drunk on the sidewalk.
But he’ll admit, he’s a little surprised. Wasn’t the village by the mountain suppose to handle the monster raid this month?
Minra takes a deep breath. “We’re under attack.”
"Okay. I think I said that a while ago."
"No." she shakes her head. "There are monsters attacking the village with the intent of attacking the village."
"Now I'm just more confused. Isn't that what's suppose to happen?"
"It's not my fault that you don't understand." Minra gestures to the others in the streets. "Why is everyone I'm warning like this! The monsters are going into the houses!"
What?
"Are you playing a joke, Minra? We went to school together. You know well enough that monsters can't enter human houses."
Even if the monsters broke past the ward stones that surround the village, they couldn't enter human homes in a humanized zone. Natural magic and all that. It’s the same reason why we can’t invade monster dens in a monster-controlled zone. Even if there’s a huge horde of monsters passing through, they’d need to go out of their way to break every single stone and-
“You’re not getting it. We’re, I repeat, under attack. It’s a boss monster! The wards stone are-”
One of the smog monsters swoop around Minra, stealing her breath. She briefly struggles before her eyes go blank and she smiles, drooling. Arlo takes a step forward. “Minra?” The girl sways from side to side, that smog substance sticking to her clothing. Plant roots rise up from the ground. Leaf skin stretches out from each root and with them, Minra is captured in a monstrous bud. The plant prison glows and he can see her outline being dragged into the earth.
Arlo moves to the front door and looks outside.
“W-what?!”
Roots and vines are growing over main street, diving in and out of homes. It’s gathering the people. Putting them inside of plant buds and delivering them to where all the vines are growing from. Arlo lifts up his head. A boss monster. A horrific plant creature sits onto of the town’s hall, bloated and disfigured from the eyes and black bulbs growing out its massive face. The bulbs shudder. Their dust falls and transforms into more of those smog creatures.
Arlo takes another good look at it.
It’s still there. Massive. Disgusting. Human-eating.
Only adventurers could take something like that down.
“I’m going back to bed.”
Arlo goes to step back inside and a smog creature flies straight for him. He manages to shut the door in time and backs away. The potion shop creaks and groans. White sparks pop and flash against the walls. It couldn’t be… Not the house wards. No monster cares beyond the village wards. They’d never go after the house ones. The entire structure roars and the white sparks grow into a burning flame. Then it goes out. Forever. The smog creature slips through the cracks of the door. Unharmed. Not repelled by the magic that should be working.
In front of his eyes, the potion shop reveal the stats of the invader.
[Warning! Warning! Warning!]
[A hostile monster has entered the shop.]
[SPAWN] Pollen Phantom Alraune
[LVL]: 53
[Species]: Monster
[Race]: Plant/Specter
[HP]: 5000/5000 (+5000/sec)
[MP]: 3000/3000
Arlo stares a little blankly.
“I have impressive stats too,” he mumbles with Lady Death hovering in his doorway. “Err, shop?”
[Villager] Arlo Brey
[LVL]: Undefined
[Species]: Human
[Race]: Non-Participation Character (NPC)
[HP]: 100/100
[MP]: 10/10
“I don’t want to have to hurt you?”
Here ends the short life of Arlo Brey, dead man.