All The Skills - A Deckbuilding LitRPG

Book 2: Chapter 34: Scattered

As one, the scourge-weasels looked their way. Some stood up on hind legs, long teeth clacking.

Penn placed himself between the royals and the bulk of the weasels. Arthur took the other side.

Echo started to shrink back to her regular form. She had to reset in order to regain her battle form. By her side, Marion started his own arcane gestures to replace the camouflage spell. However, that would take some time.

With a butchering cleaver in hand, Arthur faced the oncoming scourgelings, for once brimming with confidence. Thanks to the competency boost he was at level 45.

It was easier than ever to imagine the disgusting, half rotted scourgelings as pieces of real meat to be butchered.

His cleaver slashed down on the first weasel to reach him, effortlessly parting skin from flesh in a perfect filet. The next strike took the head off the weasel. After all, butchering meant dispatching the animal.

The pack of weasels coming at him hadn’t had time to group up, so he was able to take them on as they leapt one at a time.

He killed three in a handful of seconds. The fourth was a hair too quick for him and bit down at his pant leg. Its teeth caught mostly fabric and Arthur sliced down at it before he kicked it away.

He caught a glimpse of Echo out of the corner of his eye. She returned to her original form, though she looked pale with dark circles under her eyes. Changing from one form to another was obviously taxing.

The twelve-year-old girl wasn’t letting that stop her. She was sprouting a beard even as Arthur turned back.

He took on another weasel before two more jumped at him at once. Arthur threw his forearm up to block, chopping down on one and preparing himself to take the hit from the other. Hopefully it wouldn’t injure him as bad as last time…

A gleaming silver arrow struck the attacking weasel, pinning it to the ground.

Arthur finished his chop on the second weasel and turned to see Echo was fully returned to her battle form. She held a delicate bow and arrow in her giant hands. Gleaming silver, it was decorated with pink flowers up the bow’s length and looked utterly ridiculous with her battle body. But he couldn’t complain about the results.

“Almost done,” Marion said. “Gather close to me.”

His hands had not stopped flashing the arcane signs for a moment.

Arthur glanced at Penn. His ego popped like an overfilled bladder as he saw the small mound of scourge-weasels in front of him.

Arthur had only battled off scraps of the attack – the bulk of the scourgelings had attacked Penn. All were dead and Penn didn’t even look winded.

He needed a combat card. A good one.

(He could have had one had he been willing to ignore his morals.)

The fight had gone faster than he’d expected. Still, Arthur checked his heart deck dashboard and was surprised to see he had less than ten mana points left.

“Almost out of mana,” he warned.

This was the test. Once his area of effect shield ended, would Marion and Penn drop back into the falling illusion?

Everyone clustered around Marion who was finishing up the last of his spell.

Arthur counted his mana down. “Three… two… one…” He let go of his hold on the skill.

Marion’s fingers faltered, but he continued doggedly on. Penn sucked in a breath, then let it out again.

“Well, I’m not falling. But the fog’s back. I can’t see a thing.”

“And now, neither can they,” Marion said, finally dropping his hands.

As he did, Arthur again felt magical power rush over him. Like a flash of a rainstorm falling over his head and shoulders before rolling on.

“I can still see,” Echo said smugly.

Dropping the area of effect hadn’t disrupted Arthur’s own internal mental resistance skill. The land looked clear to him as well. “How long can you keep this camouflage spell up?” Penn asked Marion.

“An hour or two before I have to take a mana potion. Most of the power is used in the casting.” Marion glanced at Echo. “Its easier when you’re not running three cards at once.”

Echo flashed him a hand sign no twelve-year-old princess should know.

Penn turned his frown to the rest of the field. “Since Marion and I can’t see, we’re going to depend on you two to keep watch. One of you should go harvest from our fights before someone else does.”

“I thought proving ourselves with loot was a subliminal suggestion?” Marion asked.

Arthur shrugged. “Collecting what we can is still a good idea. I’ll do it.”

No one had objections – it was either him or Echo and anyone with eyes could see the girl needed a break.

Arthur exited the camouflage zone, paused to pile up a couple sticks to mark the spot or else he wouldn’t find his way back, then quickly went about harvesting from the myriad scourgelings.

All came back with card shards from Common to Common. But there were several corner pieces. If someone else had some corners, they might have enough to make a new card.

He found the sticks and stepped back into the camouflaged zone.

Penn and Echo immediately demanded to see the loot. Marion, however, was frowning and glancing at the card anchor tattoo on his wrist.

He must have realized one of his cards was missing. It wouldn’t have been immediately obvious as if one had been removed from his heart, but all he had to do was check his anchor inventory.

Arthur struggled with himself for a moment. Should he keep the card? Admit to the theft? He’d done it out of need, but that might raise Penn’s suspicions even more.

He should have known better. Marion was a few seconds ahead of everyone else. Before Arthur could do more than consider the question, Marion looked at the way Arthur gripped the knife.

He shot him a very significant look. “You and I are talking later.”

Echo glanced up from where she was counting a small pile of shards. “About what?”

Neither replied. Marion held Arthur’s gaze until he nodded. He could only be grateful Marion wasn’t throwing a fit right now.

Knowing nobles, it meant Marion wanted something.

“Kane, you didn’t see any other active scourgelings out there, did you?” Penn asked.

“They’re everywhere,” Arthur said. “We’re still at the edge of the eruption, but none in the field. Why?”

Penn frowned and turned to stare off in the distance. “I have a Common danger sense card. It’s screaming at me.”

Instantly, everyone was at full alert.

“Can you tell where it’s coming from?” Arthur asked.

“No, it’s only a Common. The best it can do is tell me there’s danger nearby. Not where, or from whom.”

“There are scourgelings everywhere,” Echo said. “It’s probably alerting you to that.”

“No, it’s more—”

Arthur caught movement toward the distant tree line. And by movement, it was two trees parting as something as larger than a horse blasted through it.

It was another scourge-weasel. A massive one. And it was heading directly their way.

Echo saw it too. She would have to have been blind not to. With a gasp, her silver and pink flower bow appeared in her hands, an arrow on the string.

“Don’t shoot,” Arthur said. “That might tell it where we are.” He turned to Marion, about to ask a question. Of course, the prince preempted him.

“The camouflage spell is strong, but inflexible. Something strong enough might be able to see through it.”

“What is it?” Penn peered in the direction they were looking, but to him it would have been a wall of fog. “What’s out there?”

“The scourge-weasel’s mother,” Arthur muttered.

Penn’s eyes lit. “If it’s strong enough, it’ll have a card. Maybe two.”

“That is not a good thing,” Arthur snapped. “If it has cards, it can use those cards—”

Abruptly, the mother weasel stopped a hundred yards away. It lifted to its hind legs – belly marred by patches of rot – and then slammed back down to all fours again.

A blast of wind hit them like a focused hurricane. Arthur lost his footing and was blown like a leaf in the wind. They all were scattered in every direction.

He felt something indefinite shatter and suspected it was the camouflage spell.

They might have been well hidden, but it didn’t matter if they could be knocked out of their hiding place.

The blast of wind was mercifully short. Arthur scrambled up to his knees, fingers still around his butcher’s cleaver.

The mother weasel was headed straight for Marion.