The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 473: Night Eyes

“Welcome back.” Mason grinned as the White Stag stepped from some trees in the fey and stared at him with its dark eyes. He had just stepped into the fey from the tree in Nassau. The stag had apparently been waiting.

I never left, ranger. It was only my meaningless prime form that was destroyed.

“Interesting. So if I come to the fey you’re always here? And uh, does it hurt, you know, when you get killed in the prime?”

Of course it does. I just don’t complain about every little thing.

“You got ripped in half,” Mason said, but the stag just stared. “Well. I’ll be heading pretty far through the fey now. I might need some guidance.”

The creature gave him an increasingly familiar ‘of course you will, you’re incompetent’ sort of look. But Mason decided it was best to rise above. He was in too good of a mood to be bothered by the cranky old creature.

He was going beyond the map! Clearing out some grey in two planes at the same time, seeing parts of the world that for now were just a mystery. Who knew what he’d find? Maybe some new artifact. Maybe more players to bring to Nassau.

And mushroom girl, chimed in the horniest part of his brain. Don’t forget about her.

Like he could, not with his eternally horny passenger always reminding him. But in this case it did make kind of a good point. Should he try and pick up Demi before he did much exploring? She implied she could keep up as he traveled. But then she probably hadn’t anticipated leaping back and forth between planar dimensions.

He supposed it would be a good test to figure out if he actually could take someone. And, worst case scenario, it didn’t work and he left her in her ‘swamp’ and came back after.

No, pointed out his paranoid side. Worst case scenario you fuck up and get her lost and killed in the fey.

Sometimes he really hated that side.

What are we waiting for? The Stag was staring. Do I need to literally help you with the first step?

Mason felt his eyes narrow but he let that slide, too. He decided it was the mountain, first. He had a rough idea of where Demi was on his map, but actually finding her would take a bit of doing. Better to get closer and have a few tries under his belt before he got her involved.

Using his own, Stag-enhanced innate knowledge, Mason moved through the fey with step after careful step. The terrain blurred around him, but he focused all his senses on his ‘direction’ and target.

The fey was basically designed to distract you. You were bombarded at all times with sights and sounds, little shadows and colors at the corners of your eyes that if you looked made you lose track of where you’d been going.

There were also multiple paths leading everywhere. Mason realized now he hadn’t even been able to see half of them before he’d bonded with the Stag. He recognized how blind and lost he’d been, practically walking straight into ‘trees’ (a kind of area of the fey he wasn’t supposed to go), and ‘ley lines’ on the ground (yet another kind of path he wasn’t supposed to touch).

He still didn’t exactly know why, except something like fey-creature territory. But did that still apply? With Cerebus now somehow free and in charge, Mason supposed things might be a little different. But even the nature god had talked of ‘rules’ that applied to him just as much as they applied to anything else. Mason doubted he was an exception.

For now he followed the clear paths and listened and watched. Once or twice he allowed himself to get distracted, hearing female voices laughing and bits of twirling color at the edges of his eyes.

Fairies and pixies, Stag explained. They will lead you to valleys or creeks. It will all be very beautiful, and you’ll sleep and wake up in a hundred years.

Mason winced and stayed on target. Even the mountains had a ‘song’, like a thousand men’s voices chanting or singing some ancient, melodic rhythm. He did his best to use Wayfinder, to compare it against the ‘landmarks’ he was seeing. Nothing in the fey looked exactly the same as the ‘prime’, but it usually had some thematic resemblance.

Great trees were still trees. Rivers were at least streams or ponds. Deserts were a single dead circle of plants or patch of sand. Mountains, apparently, looked more like piles of rocks, or a cave.

“What mountain is this?” Mason asked, and the Stag picked some leaf off a tree and stared.

Shall I spray you with the scent I leave on it?

Mason rolled his eyes. “You can brain talk. Use your brain words. The elves call it, uh…Methless. Does that ring some kind of…”

I don’t know or care what elves call anything, ranger. Go and look. You can walk to the fey easily now. Stop asking questions and see for yourself.

Mason decided Stag was noticeably crankier after his death on the prime. But he was probably right. With a deep breath and his eyes held firmly on the ‘cave’, Mason took the last step and touched the side of the stone.

The ‘real’ world returned, starting with a huge rock cliff that rose vertically and totally covered his sight with gray and white. He blinked and turned to see a red sunset smeared across the sky, rising over other mountain peaks in a large range.

It was warm here, warmer than the great forest, despite the evening coming fast. The air was dry and almost sweet, and Mason walked the edge of the mountain looking for life.

Plenty of plant-life was clear, though much of it was dry to the point of failing. Mason slowed when he realized the ‘sweet’ smell started to include rot and death.

As he stepped over a rise and saw a wide-sweeping view of the area, he stared at maybe a hundred corpses of something like cows, some just over his hill. Voices and the sounds of violence were carrying on the wind from above, and Mason turned to see more animals and maybe centaur racing down a slope on the nearby mountain side.

As his mind caught up, he realized: it was a God damn buffalo jump. And he was right under it.

Instinct overcame thought, and Mason turned and ran. He’d run a good hundred feet before he really considered he wasn’t really in danger with his stats and powers. The fact that he could probably catch a giant falling animal or just walk off after getting crushed wasn’t something his animal brain had internalized.

More of the beasts were at the base of the mountain racing around in panic. The centaurs had managed to separate them and were using the herd’s desire to gather and protect each other to send them off the cliff.

Something about it sent a shiver up Mason’s spine—and put a tinge of red to his vision. They weren’t just taking the weak. They were wiping these animals out in numbers the herd couldn’t replenish. It was hard to believe there’d be enough of the half horse creatures to eat them all. But Mason tried to keep calm.

He used Speak with Nature and touched the cracked, dry clay of the earth, pushing his will towards the herd at the bottom.

Ignore the danger and follow me, he commanded, waiting for the few bulls to find him and stare with aggressive pawing at the ground until Apex Predator glowed. The animals instantly rose up with some kind of submission, and the herd moved behind them.

Mason pulled up Wayfinder and watched the terrain as he moved. He ran the animals out and away from the mountain towards what he hoped was at least flat ground. The dryness and dead life receded quickly, and Mason was surprised to find healthy grassland stretching out from the range.

He wondered why the animals had been anywhere near that mountain for a good half a mile before he crested another rise and stopped. Tents and campfires littered the plain. Hundreds of multi-colored tarps covered something like Mongol yurts arranged in circles.

Thousands of centaurs raced and roamed around them, some small enough to be children, but most strong looking males circling the edges with weapons. Mason froze as he felt the animals coming up behind him.

He was about to turn and urge them back, but the Centaurs had already noticed them. He could hear whoops and shouts starting up all around the camps.

The animals must have been trying to hide in the mountains as they roamed elsewhere. No doubt they were on some specific path they knew would keep at least some of them hidden.

Mason had led them straight back to their hunters.

Horse men, rumbled the frightened voice of the bull behind him. We run. Must run now.

Mason grit his teeth and felt some alien force pounding in his mind. Whether it was his druid or ranger classes or one of the natural Gods, it twisted like a grandmother’s grip on his ear.

“I’m not going to abandon them,” he practically growled, annoyed at something trying to manipulate him into doing something he was already going to do. He took a deep breath and let the animals move away, urging them through his magic not to run too far.

It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with centaurs, and if he was being honest, they were starting to piss him off. As far as he could tell, the different groups were always hunters and raiders that attacked and killed anything they could catch, and didn’t have much to justify his tolerance.

He summoned his bow and armor and stood in plain sight, hoping the look of his armor or auras or Apex Predator would give the creatures a little pause. But he also wasn’t above frying a few with lightning.

A pack came whooping and screaming as they raced up towards him with spears and bows. They got inside bow range, but he waited. They eventually stopped, and a group of eight male centaur came closer.

Most were smiling or at least showing their dyed orange or red teeth. Their human-like faces and torsos were painted, their horse bodies covered in barding-like leather.

“First sport in days, Night Eyes,” said one of the younger ones, gaze moving up and down Mason’s body. A few others clicked their tongues or even spit in some obvious gesture Mason didn’t understand. Only the middle centaur—who was obviously ‘Night Eyes’, with his almost entirely black irises—did not look happy.

“This one’s not sport,” he said sharply, causing a few squinted glares, clucks and clicks from the others. “This one hunts shadows and death.”

The others all looked to their leader with surprise and maybe annoyance, but when he didn’t flinch their lips covered their teeth, their bows went slack in their hands.

“What do you want with us?” asked their leader. “We have no fight with Death Hunters. It is forbidden.”

Mason decided this centaur must have been some kind of shaman that could see his auras. It must have known he was a demon hunter, and approved of that fact. It was one point in their favor, at least.

“The herd.” Mason gestured with his head. “You’ve killed enough. The rest live, or I’ll…interfere.”

The centaur’s dark eyes seemed to move over everything. He gave no expression, but Mason could tell he understood the situation before he confirmed it.

“They won’t be touched. Why have you come, Hunter? Does a shadow come to the mountain? The plain?”

Mason shook his head, and the centaur sagged as if in relief. He gestured back towards the camp.

“Your kind is welcome here. This is a gathering of clans and tribes, and many feasts are being held. It would be an honor for you to sit with me and the elders of the Green Sea clans.”

Mason took a deep breath, every instinct to say no and go on his way. Except he was here to explore, to learn about the world. And what creatures could possibly have more knowledge of the area than a literal gathering of nomadic horse-men?

“I accept,” he said, banishing his bow, which caused a few widened eyes. “Name’s Mason. Pleased to meet you, Night Eyes. I’m glad I didn’t have to kill all of you.”

Most of the centaurs bristled and turned back towards their camp with aggressive movements as if offended. Their leader only smiled.