Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

“A silk ribbon?!” Mary shouted, realizing what a prize had just slipped through her hands.

No previous events managed to stop her from grabbing the mage by the throat and strangling him.

A heartbeat later

The Stumps had to work their feet — after Racker’s death, the citadel, created with the help of magic, began to collapse. That is, if that was what you could call the process that turned the once-mighty fortress into a pile of rubble. As a result, the adventurers found themselves sitting on a small island of tranquility in the midst of a scorched valley. Despite all of today’s events, the valley retained its chaotic serenity — as weird as that might sound. The volcano was still spitting ash and smoke, and the clouds were still flashing with thunder and lightning, but the Stumps felt relatively safe.

“So, you’re Ash,” Blackbeard began. He had to fix his injured arm the old-fashioned way as Alice couldn’t do much without her want.

“In the flesh.” The mage nodded, swaying on his heels.

“You know,” Tul mused, “I expected more—”

“—from someone named Ash, I know,” the mage finished for him. “If I had a coin for every time I heard that...”

Mary didn’t join the conversation, quietly lamenting the fact that a notorious scoundrel and wanted criminal was a part of her squad. However, for some reason, this didn’t prevent the Stumps from keeping him in the squad and considering him their friend.

“A liar!” Lari snapped.

Everyone turned to him. Having used the commotion to get ahold of Ash’s bag, he was now rummaging through it. But all he found were some shells, pebbles, candy wrappers, trinkets, pieces of glass, and other useless baubles.

“Where are the treasures that legends speak of?!”

But before he could get his answer, he, and the rest of the Stumps, were forced to cover their ears to protect them from a high-pitched scream. To their surprise, the source of the noise turned out to be no one other than Ash. Falling to the ground, he gathered up his innumerable treasures, snatched the bag from Lari, and began to return his trinkets into it.

“No one loves me!” He sobbed. “No one wants me! They even began robbing me!”

Tul scratched his stubble and stared thoughtfully at the mage.

“You know, your jokes aren’t as funny as they used to be.”

“What jokes?!” Ash cried with tears in his eyes and shoved a cracked shell under the archer’s nose. “That barbarian almost broke my precious possessions!”

Blackbeard cleared his throat.

“People seemed to have lied to us... This ‘demon’ is not at all demonic, and his treasures are nothing but trinkets...”

The mage’s trembling lip and watery eyes didn’t allow him to finish. Suddenly turning pale, Ash groped for his staff. Realizing that something was amiss, the Stumps turned around and immediately jumped to their feet. An Ifrit was approaching them quite quickly. The creature was famous for killing many a Ternite.

A vaguely humanoid column of fire stood about eight feet tall. It didn’t seem as a threat if you didn’t know its destructive power.

“Pft!” Mary snorted, shaking her hand. “There’s no reason for concern, we have a Master on our side!”

“That’s right!” Tul exclaimed.

“Oh, we’ll be rich! Think he could help us kill a dragon?”

“Dragon? No, no, we’ll be killing only demons from now on!”

“Better yet, sea monsters!”

“Yes!”

“Guys,” Ash said with a slightly mocking smile, “I don’t want to upset you, but Ifrits are born from the First Fire.”

“And?” Mary asked without turning around.

“My fire can’t hurt them.”

Pause.

“Why didn’t you immediately say so?!” Lari shouted with panic in his voice. “What should we do?!”

Silence.

The adventurers turned around and saw Ash walking away as he tired the scarf around his head.

“Run!” he shouted, but his voice sounded like the cry of someone falling from a cliff. Distant and fading.

A month and a half later

Garangan, who had grown much older and haggard during these months, stood surrounded by a dozen of court officials. Elassia, holding on to her husband’s elbow, watched as the court —healer moved his hands across the body of their daughter. Ten squads were sent out to find a cure for her magic fever, but none returned. Whether they disappeared or chose to ignore the king’s request, no one knew.

There was a thin wheeze and Elassia almost fell, so exhausted was she by the pain of her child. The king only clenched his teeth more tightly, but his graying hair and dozens of new wrinkles showed that he, too, was exhausted.

The courtiers whispered behind them. Many of them schemed, but most sympathized with the loss of the royal couple. No one doubted that the girl would die before Myristal rose.

The healer looked up and shook his head. Elassia buried her face into her husband’s shoulder and quietly wept. The king gently stroked her head and prayed to the Gods. For which sins he had been punished so, no one knew. No one but him and those he had harmed.

“Sire! Sire!” The majordomo burst into the room. “Sire! The Wandering Stumps have returned from their mission!”

The courtiers gasped, and the eyes of the king and queen lit up with hope.

“What are you standing there for?!” Garangan barked. “Let them in immediately!”

“Right away!”

Six figures entered the hall. Even though black hoods covered their faces, it was clear by their bearing that they were exhausted and were holding on only by the strength of their will.

“By the Gods and Spirits,” the king almost pleaded. “Please, tell me that you have good news.”

“We have the flower,” said a quiet female voice.

One of the figures stepped forward and threw back the hood. Many of the present immediately recognized the famous swordsman and leader of the Stumps — Mary Birch.