Chapter 105 - History

Tucker leaned against the cottage’s wall, his beefy arms crossed over his chest. Like always, he wore what appeared to be a simple, tailored shirt and a pair of sturdy breeches. Over the shirt was a leather vest, sewn into which was a series of pockets with various alchemical ingredients that he could combine on the fly to create emergency potions. It wasn’t ideal, and the resulting potions were useless to anyone without an [Alchemist’s Constitution], but that wasn’t his problem. So long as they might keep him alive, they would serve their purpose. With a thought, he summoned one of his grenades – a fire-infused variant created from a particularly rare mushroom found on the outer edges of the Ashen Fields combined with a drop of the equally rare blood of a juvenile wyrm.

Incendiary Grenade (infused) [G] – A grenade that combines the volatile essence of a juvenile wyrm and a flamecap mushroom. Effective against most creatures, but particularly deadly against cold-aligned beings. Infusion: 78%.

Like the [Blessed Grenades], it was infused with so much mana that it couldn’t be safely handled by anyone but him. If someone else were to even touch the thing, they’d have a very, very bad day. Even if they survived, which was unlikely, they would be burned beyond the skill of any healer Tucker had ever encountered, and they would spend the rest of their lives a scarred husk of the person they’d once been.

Idly, he tossed the globe up and down, studying the creature on the other side of the room. Gerd. That was the monster’s name. Or that’s how the pretty, blonde girl kept referring to it, as if it were a person. Tucker knew better. Of their tentative party, he was the only one who’d ever had any dealings with the Jotuns, so he knew just how vicious and warlike they could be. Regardless of how the Framework labeled them, the frost giants were monsters, and as far as he was concerned, the only good one was a dead one.

Not that he could just come right out and say as much, of course. Tucker wanted to trust his new companions, but old habits died hard. And for years – decades, even – he had adopted a policy of paranoia. By necessity, he’d kept his discoveries to himself, lest one of his competitors discover his secrets. Alchemy was a deadly profession, and not just because he regularly dealt with extremely volatile substances. No – the real danger came from his fellow alchemists; a light tread was necessary when dealing with the sorts of people who could brew the kinds of substances a decent alchemist could create in his sleep. His [Alchemist’s Constitution]combined with [Blood of the Basilisk] could protect him to some degree, but a talented alchemist knew how to get around such restrictions. No – it was better if no one knew his secrets.

Zeke stood over the prone Jotun, glaring down at it as it stirred from unconsciousness. The huge monster’s eyes slowly fluttered open, then widened in panic when it realized it couldn’t move its arms or legs. For a few seconds, it struggled against its bonds, but the rope was enchanted for strength, and the knots were well-tied. It wouldn’t escape easily. Not without help, which it wasn’t likely to get after its entire hunting party had been slain by the prey they’d stalked to the nearby valley.

Tucker shook his head. Jotuns weren’t stupid creatures. In fact, they were incredibly clever and could mimic human levels of intelligence to a frightening degree. However, they were infected with a level of pride that wouldn’t let any challenge go unanswered. To Abby, who’d watched the battle between the giants and the mammoth herd, it had probably come off as sheer stupidity for the Jotuns to charge the alpha and its herd, but Tucker knew that intelligence never even came into it. When challenged, few Jotuns could resist the instinctive need to respond in kind. That even one – an apparent scout, given its leather garb – had resisted was borderline unbelievable. To Tucker, their inability to control themselves was only further evidence that they were not, in fact, people. They were monsters. He was certain of it.

Though he didn’t acknowledge it, Tucker was keenly aware of Talia Nightingale’s eyes. Doubtless, she was busy trying to glare a hole in his head. Regardless of what she’d said, she had not forgiven him for his part in her descent into undeath. Nor did he particularly blame her, especially if she’d been aware the whole time. If so, she had likely heard him talk about the entire procedure with the kind of nonchalance that only a hardened serial killer could muster. However, what she didn’t know – what she couldn’t know – was that it was a defense mechanism. The first few times he had been forced to assist Micayne in his macabre experiments, Tucker had been incredibly distraught to the point where he could barely function.  And the resultant mistakes had brought plenty of punishment at the hands of the lich or his minions. So, Tucker had, by necessity, emotionally distanced himself from everything, lest he be deemed superfluous.

Sure, he’d benefited from the arrangement, but at the end of the day, he had still been a slave. A prisoner who was forced to do horrible things just to survive. Knowing that he hadn’t had a choice was the only thing that let him sleep at night, but justified though his actions were, he knew he didn’t deserve the girl’s forgiveness. Nor would he seek it out, because he still hadn’t really forgiven himself, despite his internal justifications.

Finally, the blonde woman, Abby, sat atop a rough-hewn table, her legs kicking back and forth. She looked completely at ease, but Tucker had seen her in action. While he knew she was only level sixteen, he couldn’t help but feel warier of her than anyone else in the group. Zeke was obviously the stronger fighter, and Talia wasn’t that far behind, but Abby had a ruthlessness that told Tucker that crossing her would be a mistake. It wasn’t her stats or skills, either. Those weren’t anything special, as far as he could tell. But rather, she seemed the type that, so long as she felt it was necessary, wouldn’t blink before slitting his throat while he slept.

“Where am I?” growled the squirming Jotun, its voice like rocks grinding together, but still somehow feminine in pitch. “Who are you? Why am I bound?”

“We saved your life,” Zeke said, putting his hand on the creature’s sternum. With a little effort, he pushed the thing flat. “If you answer our questions and prove that you are no threat to us, we will let you go.”

The monster redoubled its efforts, but Zeke effortlessly held it down. The man’s strength was truly impressive, though from what Tucker had seen during his sparring matches with Talia, he’d barely begun to tap into his own power. That, more than anything, spoke to Zeke’s youth; his rise must’ve been truly rapid indeed. It would take years – maybe even decades – before he managed to harness his own stats.

Finally, after a few more seconds of fruitless struggle, the Jotun let itself go limp. Then, it spat, “State your terms, human.”

“I want to know about the raids,” Zeke said. “And Jotun society in general.”

“Ask the Dark One,” the creature rumbled, its eyes flicking to Tucker. “He was once an ally.”

All eyes turned to Tucker, and he suddenly felt smaller and more vulnerable than he had in years. Decades, maybe. Zeke asked, “What is she talking about, Tucker? You’ve dealt with the Jotuns before?”

“I’ve already told you that I have,” Tucker said, his tone even.

“And?” asked Abby. “Anything you can tell us?”

“That they’re little more than vermin that should be wiped from the face of this world,” Tucker stated. “They’re monsters. Sure, they’re clever. Intelligent, even. But their entire existence revolves around killing –”

“Lies!” spat the prone frost giant. Straining against its bonds, the corded muscles in the creature’s neck flexed. “The humans are without honor! They hunt us for sport! We cull them before their numbers spread to our mountains!”

Tucker sighed. He’d heard it all before, and more times than he could count. The fact of the matter was that it was all a lie, even if it was one most of the Jotuns believed. “Humanity poses no threat to you and yours,” he said.

“Says the Dark One!” the Jotun screamed.

Zeke shook his head, then asked, “Can there be peace between us? I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to fight. I’ve already gotten what we needed, but I can’t let you go if you’re just going to turn around and start killing humans. I won’t, regardless of whether you’re a person or a monster.”

“Kill it now,” Tucker advised. “The Jotuns have no concept of a life without battle. They won’t stop their raids.”

“You know nothing, Dark One,” the Jotun hissed, the sound like sandpaper scraping against itself.

To Zeke, Tucker said, “Can we talk about this without that thing interrupting? I need to explain some things.”

Before Zeke could respond, Abby said, “Go ahead. I’ll watch her.”

“Follow,” Zeke said, jerking his head toward the door. Tucker did, and when they were outside and far enough from the cottage that they wouldn’t be heard, Zeke said, “Okay – explain what’s going on. Why does Gerd keep calling you ‘Dark One’?”

Tucker looked away, then said, “I told you I had some experience with the frost giants, right? Well, I might’ve undersold it a little. About a decade ago, I spent three years up here.”

“What? Seriously? And you didn’t think to tell us this?” Zeke spat, clearly angry. Tucker didn’t blame him.

“It didn’t seem relevant,” was Tucker’s response. “You only said you wanted to kill a few of them. I didn’t think you were going to take prisoners, and I certainly didn’t think you would hesitate before killing a monster.”

“She’s not a monster, though,” Zeke stated.

“Sure it is,” was Tucker’s response. “They all are.”

“Not according to The Framework,” Zeke said. “It’s clear that –”

“Does it really matter?” Tucker asked, interrupting. “Monster or person, I didn’t think you would hesitate to clear a threat. That monster in there wouldn’t hesitate to rip every single one of us apart, given half a chance. And it could. Believe me – I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the cages where they keep their captives. Humans. Goblins. Orcs. They send them down into their mines, where most of them pray for death.”

“Why were you up here? What were you doing?” Zeke asked.

Tucker looked away, and for a long moment, considered lying. It wasn’t so much that he was ashamed of what he’d done. He wasn’t proud of it, but necessity is a powerful motivator. He had made his choices, and he refused to make excuses for his actions. But that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about what he had done. However, he was backed into a proverbial corner, and he knew just how tenuous his position was. If he wanted to stick around with this group, he needed to be honest.

So, after taking a deep breath, he said, “The Jotuns have a lot going for them. They are strong, durable, and they live for centuries. But those advantages are balanced against a very big problem – they are all but infertile. Frost giants don’t have children very often. It means that their population has a tendency to stagnate. Add to that low birth rate the fact that they are a warlike people who venerate violence, and you can see the issue, right? They’re hard to kill, but it’s all but impossible for them to replace the ones who do fall. So, their population has been falling for centuries. Hvitgard, their city, was once home to more than a hundred thousand of the monsters. Now, it has barely more than a tenth of that number. And every day, the population dwindles a little more.

“That’s where I came in,” he went on. “I was a little west of here when I got a Framework quest that sent me to Hvitgard. They weren’t accepting at first. In fact, I was lucky they didn’t kill me the moment I showed up at their gates. But they didn’t, and after spending about a month in captivity, during which I made it plain that I was there to help, they let me start working. It took almost a year, but I eventually came up with a potion that could help them with their fertility issues. After that, they accepted me into their city as an equal.”

“I’m sensing that something went wrong after that,” Zeke stated.

“It did,” Tucker admitted. “You have to understand that I had no reason to mess with my situation. I’ve mentioned how valuable frost giant blood is, right? Well, so long as I brewed the fertility potion, they gave me access to as much blood as I needed. That alone helped me progress further along my path than I had in the previous five years combined. But once I started looking around, and I saw what was going on in the mines…before that, I just didn’t know. But after I saw those people…”

“You had to do something,” Zeke stated.

Tucker nodded. “I did,” he muttered. “So, I altered the potion.”

“In what way?” Zeke asked.

“I made them completely infertile,” Tucker said. “It didn’t take effect right off. No – that would have gotten me killed. Instead, after being taken, the potion lays dormant for eighteen months. Then, it does what it was meant to do. And if a child is born in the interim? That child will be born infertile. I basically committed a delayed genocide. Then I fled, hoping I would never see another frost giant again.”

“T-that…that’s…I don’t know what to say,” Zeke admitted.

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Tucker said. “Needless to say, I’m not the most popular person in Hvitgard.”

In fact, it made a lot of sense, now that Tucker thought about it. The Jotuns had never been the most cautious of creatures, and now that their race was doomed, they’d probably lost all sense of self-preservation. What did it matter if they died now or in a few more decades? Whatever order they’d possessed had likely disintegrated beneath the existential terror that came with knowing that your entire species was doomed to extinction.

“I’m sure your suggestion would be to just kill Gerd, then,” Zeke said.

Tucker shrugged. “I would,” he said. “And I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, either. Like I said, they’re all monsters. But it doesn’t really matter that much either way. If it’ll weigh on your conscience, by all means, let the thing go. If you do, though, be prepared to get out of this area pretty quickly. They probably won’t follow too far.”

Zeke sighed. “I’ll think about it,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I’ve been there, you know.”

“Where?” Tucker asked.

“The same place you were when you decided to kill the giants,” was Zeke’s answer. “I was reborn in a huge cave system infested by trolls. I don’t know that I killed all of them, but I’m pretty sure I got most. They were killing and eating humans, so I felt justified. Then, I did the same thing to some drachnids – you know, kind of like centaurs, except with spiders instead of horses. They were raiding caravans and eating their victims. Killed all of them, too.”

Tucker was a little taken aback by the frank way Zeke referred to decimating entire populations of monsters. Not only was it terrifying that someone so young had done such a thing, but Tucker feared a man who possessed the resolve to do what was necessary. He’d done it himself, but it had taken him months of waffling back and forth before he had decided to act. Perhaps he’d been mistaken when he’d labeled Abby as the most dangerous of the group.

“My point is that I know how you feel,” Zeke said. “I don’t really regret doing what I had to do, but I don’t revel in it, either. I hate that it was necessary, but I refuse to let myself regret it. You shouldn’t either, so long as it was the way you said it was. I would’ve done the same thing. Maybe not with potions, but…well, I’d have figured something out.”

Tucker sighed. “Thanks,” he said, shaking his head. He’d given himself similar speeches, but they hadn’t helped. Hearing it from someone else who’d faced a similar situation was oddly comforting, though. “That helps.”