Charlemagne bawked with pride as the Squiggles once again judged his efforts to be worth.

  Josephine ignored the bird’s boasting and walked over to Phatagin, her bare feet making scarcely a sound. She looked down at him and shook her head.

  “You do know that anything that wasn’t ‘the word’ would have sufficed, right? We were just supposed to do the opposite of what the pillar said, not speak the phrase backwards. In hindsight, I reckon we should have figured that out earlier: the room clearing condition gave us a pretty big hint.”

  The pangolin looked at the attendant, his beady eyes shining with mischief.

  “Yes, I am aware. But I felt that, somehow, saying anything different would have lacked a certain…panache, if I do say so. And our score was sufficient to please Charlemagne, which is what counts.”

  “I guess,” the Attendant said as she looked over at the rooster, who had wrapped up his self-congratulatory squawking and was practically sprinting toward the exit, which had appeared behind the obelisk, a door frame with a shimmering portal standing by itself in the middle of the waste.

  “But we should scoot,” she added. “He’s on the move.”

  The trio passed through the room’s exit one after another. The scenery on the other side was much more agreeable than the rocky wasteland had been, and the group found themselves standing in the middle of a grassy field bordering a forest of deciduous trees. Three clear paths offered passage through the woods, each marked by a sign. Then the Squiggles arrived to explain what was going on.

  “It seems that this room is much more involved than the previous ones. Perhaps we should find a source of food and water before determining our next course of action,” Phatagin suggested.

  Josephine remained silent as she looked around. After a moment, the high heels she was still holding vanished and were replaced a short time later by a pair of much more comfortable-looking closed-toe flats.

  “If I’m going to be gallivanting through the woods with you lot, I need better shoes,” the Attendant asserted as she put the shoes on, balancing on one foot to avoid sitting on the slightly wet grass.

  “Well, what say you, Charlemagne? The System mentioned being able to recruit allies. Perhaps we should find a population center and see if they are willing to render aid and provisions,” the pangolin said. He had forgotten to eat the night before and was feeling peckish.

  “Bawk,” the rooster asserted. He leapt into the air and flapped his powerful wings a few times. His strength and control had grown to the point where he could easily hover despite his body shape, which was definitely not made for delicate aerial maneuvers.

  “What…what are you doing!” Josephine objected as Phatagin similarly leapt into the air and curled in a ball. Without any warning, he suddenly adjusted his course and gently collided with the center of the Attendant’s chest. Out of reflex, Josephine caught the living projectile but seemed unsure what to do next. She gave Phatagin a rather annoyed look.

  “I beg your patience for a moment, my lady Attendant,” the Squire’s voice emerged from within the ball. “All will be made clear shortly.”

  The fulfillment of Phatagin’s promise arrived almost immediately thereafter. Charlemagne, having learned how to better carry humans after several unfortunate incidents on his farm, wrapped his claws just below Josephine’s shoulder and lifted her into the air by her arms.

  “Put me down this instant! This is no way to treat a lady!” the Attendant gasped as the rooster accelerated into the sky, his immense strength trivializing the burden he was carrying.

  “Bawk!” he shouted over the wind as he allowed mana to flow from his Ember Core into his body. He began to grow, doubling his size in mere moments.

  Phatagin uncurled to get a better view of their surroundings as the rooster continued to gain altitude, although his weak eyes were not very useful for spotting items of interest.

  “This is quite exhilarating,” he said encouragingly to Josephine, who was squeezing him for emotional support as they whipped through the air.

  “It’s terrifying!” she countered. “How fast are we even going?”

  “I think Charlemagne is being rather considerate,” the pangolin answered. “Last time we did this, we broke the sound barrier.”

  “That’s just plumb crazy,” Josephine gasped. “He’s not even level 50 yet.”

  “He is Charlemagne,” Phatagin said simply, as if that explained everything.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The rooster had tuned out the conversation in order to focus on the immense influx of sensory data that he was trying to process all at once. Not only had he pushed his mana sense to its limit, he was also trying to interpret all the data being fed to him by his enhanced vision. The experience was giving him a headache, but it was good practice in pushing his mental abilities to new heights. After a few minutes, the strain became more manageable as he learned what to tune out and what to focus on. That is, until his senses uncovered a town full of what appeared to be humans.

  His overclocked brain practically melted under the strain as hundreds of mana signatures appeared almost at once. If it hadn’t been for his Inferno’s Embrace skill, the rapid spike in temperature would have resulted in severe, if temporary, brain damage. As it was, pain seared across Charlemagne’s neurons, jumping from dendrite to dendrite as calcium ions flooded his synaptic terminals. His ion pumps jumped into overdrive in an attempt to restore balance, consuming huge amounts of ATP and starving the brain of glucose.

  Between the pain and the sugar loss, Charlemagne was one grumpy rooster. He made a beeline for the population center as he dialed back his mana senses, relying on his keen eyesight to guide him once the town appeared over the horizon.

  “I think I see something!” Josephine shouted a minute later. “Straight ahead!”

  “Where?” Phatagin asked.

  The rooster ignored the pair as he continued his approach, moving at a fairly sedate speed just below Mach 1. Up ahead, the humans had noticed the trio approaching, and there was panic in the streets as unarmed men and women ran to and fro, while larger figures wearing armor and carrying shields, spears, and bows took up positions along a stone wall that was solid-looking if rather short. A few of the braver humans took potshots with their bows as Charlemagne swooped lower, but loud shouts to cease firing rang out before any of them struck the rooster or his allies.

  It was the only thing that saved the town from utter destruction.

  Charlemagne arrested his horizontal momentum and released Josephine and Phatagin, who dropped mere inches before landing gently on the cobblestone square in the center of the town. He thumped down moments later and began issuing demands.

  “Bawk!” he screamed at the armored figures that had dared to approach him.

  “You will not make a meal out of us!” one of the helmeted men yelled. He appeared to be some sort of leader, as his armor and weapons were of better make than the other armed humans approaching, and he appeared slightly stronger as well. As if to prove his position of leadership, the man reached into his scabbard and unsheathed a sword that glittered with powerful enchantments and pointed it towards the rooster.

  “Bawk bawak,” Charlemagne clarified, allowing his tightly controlled mana to flare out, filling the square with a suffocating heat. Josephine and Phatagin began to sweat from sheer proximity.

  “Will you take a vow on your Knighthood that will deliver us from the Empress of the Forest should we provide you sustenance?” the man asked.

  “Bawk,” the rooster agreed, allowing his aura to strengthen. Those soldiers who had moved to support their leader panicked and retreated to a safe distance, while the head guard lowered his weapon as well as his head, acknowledging in one gesture both the oath and Charlemagne’s superior power.

  After expressing his deference, the head guard turned and barked out orders.

  “Ser Garinne, gather up 5 helpers and have them collect comestibles. Keep a tally of what we owe, so we can settle up later, but make haste. And tell everyone else to remain alert but stand by…we do not want to accidentally alarm our guests.”

  “At once, Knight Captain!” a woman’s voice responded from underneath one of the guard’s helmets as she hastened to obey. The man paid her no heed as he continued to instruct his subordinates.

  “Ser Barruque, take three guards and bring a table. And chairs. We’ll need…at least five. And someone run for Ser Hastings, separate her from her tankard, and tell her to bring a barrel of her finest ale.”

  After giving instructions to his underlings, the Knight Captain turned back to Charlemagne.

  “I assumed that you would take your meal here, for you seem to be in great haste. If that displeased you, may I offer my personal hospitality? You will all be welcome under my roof.”

  “Bawk,” the rooster declined.

  “Well, if you are satisfied, then we are happy to serve you here. Might I stay with you, in order to ensure that there are no additional misunderstandings?”

  “Ser Charlemagne would be honored by your presence,” Phatagin broke in before the rooster could answer.

  Perhaps we can learn more about our quest from him, or obtain additional aid before we depart, he sent through Party Chat.

  The rooster appeared mollified by the explanation and settled into a brooding position to meditate. He allowed his size to return to normal as his mana recovered quickly, drawing from the dense ambient energy that seemed ubiquitous within the Delve. Without anything else to do, he spent a few minutes expanding his Ember Core, allowing himself to be drawn into a deep trance.

  His Brooding Skill increased as his consciousness drifted, giving him a clearer view of his internal structure. The changes that Inferno’s Embrace had wrought were fascinating, and he leveled up another Skill as he dove into the changes to his bones, muscles, organs, and circulatory system.

  A loud noise suddenly pulled the rooster out of his trance and back to reality. A large man wearing a ridiculous puffy shirt of rich purple, matching pants with leg holes so wide each one looked like a skirt, and a velvet cape had clapped his hands together an arm’s length away from Charlemagne’s face. The first thing that the rooster noticed as his eyes opened was the pair of golden rings glinting on the man’s fingers. The second thing he noticed was a horrified Phatagin and Josephine desperately attempting to get the man’s attention.

  Charlemagne moved without thinking, tilting his body forward and extending his neck further than a normal rooster’s should. His oversized beak snapped shut twice in rapid succession like a pair of wire cutters, removing the rings. And the fingers they were still attached to.

  The foppishly dressed man screamed in anguish and retreated, staring at his mutilated hands in horror as both rings and fingers disappeared down the rooster’s throat. The Knight Captain, who had been standing a bit to the side, shouted and drew his sword once more. Rather than attacking immediately, however, he moved in front of the injured man and started backing away slowly.

  “What have you done, Ser Charlemagne! You were our guest…how dare you attack Lord Valdaran! You have broken the sacred covenant of hospitality!”

  The rooster, who had made no promise to that effect, was not moved by the Knight Captain’s accusation. He was about to give up on peace and massacre the entire town, but as he took the first step toward the armored man, his leg trembled. He took another step, and the strange feeling intensified. Suddenly, he realized what was going on.

  He had promised to save these people if they provided him a meal…and they had.