Miguel looked down at his armor – or what was left of it. After eight months of constant fighting in defense of the fortress, then another few weeks racing across the swamp, it had been torn to splinters. What’s more, it was covered in mud, blood, and other detritus, much of which smelled as horrible as it looked. The only relatively clean bit of his gear was his sword, which he’d taken the time to protect at all costs.

  But even it was worse for wear.

  Tiny cracks had spread across the blade, and a good portion of the hilt had been sheered off by a claw swipe from a massive possum-like creature that lived in one of the swamp’s squat trees. It wasn’t the first ambush he’d been forced to endure, and he expected that it wouldn’t be the last, either.

  Over the past couple of weeks, he had fought swamp beasts of every variety. From enormous, six-legged alligators to short, hairy humanoids that smelled far worse than anything else he’d ever encountered, the enemies were as varied as they were numerous. He and Helen had been forced to fight a couple of trolls as well, though they were not quite as regenerative as the common footsoldiers. Scouts, as far as he could tell, which meant that killing them was of paramount importance.

  If any of them had escaped to relay their position to the rest of the trolls, the mission would have been over. Miguel was honest enough with his self-appraisal to know that, while he was a talented combatant, there wasn’t much he could do against an army of trolls. Especially in their native habitat.

  Squatting at the edge of the small island, he stared out across the swamp. There were no dry paths, at least as far as he could tell. Just stagnant water, most of it waist deep. Anything could be hiding beneath the surface. Helen’s abilities kept them concealed from most of the wildlife, but there were plenty of beasts that could see past those skills. And that wasn’t even considering the environmental dangers. Sucking mud and concealed sinkholes were a very real problem, and even Helen failed to detect all of the dangers.

  In short, the trip through the swamp had been one of the worst experiences of Miguel’s life, and they still hadn’t reached the edge.

  However, he knew he had no room to complain. For all the hardships he and the other two had faced, it was nothing compared to what his mother and the others were going through. Sure, they had power. They had numbers as well. But away from the fortress, they were exposed, and not just to the environmental dangers. They also had to deal with the trolls.

  Miguel let out a sigh.

  “Trust them,” said Helen.

  “What?” he asked, glancing back to the center of the island. There rested his two companions. Helen was just as dirty as him, and she looked even more exhausted. Not surprising, considering that she had been forced to keep multiple abilities active at all times. Without them, the trio would have long since succumbed to disease or been mobbed by hostile wildlife.

  If it was possible, Solomon was even dirtier than Helen and Miguel combined. The only relatively clean parts of his body were his face and hands, which was only because he’d taken a few moments to wash them before settling down to rest.

  At present, the Freighter leaned against the chest that was his all-important cargo, silently chewing on a bitter but edible root Helen had found a couple days back. The man had lost some weight over the past two weeks, though his muscles still bulged imposingly beneath a still-significant layer of fat. He wasn’t obese or anything, but even after spending nearly nine months on short rations, he clearly hadn’t missed many meals.

  By comparison, Miguel’s body had shed every last bit of fat he’d carried into the Primal Realm. So had Helen, whose cheeks were hollow. If the woman weighed more than a hundred pounds, it wasn’t by much.

  Still, she showed no physical effects of the lack of nutrition. She was just as strong and energetic as ever, courtesy of superhuman attributes.

  She responded to his question, saying, “We have to trust them. They know what they’re doing.”

  Miguel let out an exhausted exhale. That wasn’t necessarily true. There weren’t enough Explorers in the army to accommodate every group, which meant that some of those squads were completely exposed to the dangers of the swamp. On top of that, if they were cornered by trolls, there wasn’t much most of them could do. They’d take a few of the monstrous creatures with them, but they’d go down all the same.

  That was why the plan was to keep moving.

  But even if everything went perfectly according to plan, they were all on a timer. They could only keep ahead of the trolls for so long before they were caught.

  Solomon spoke up, “Just carry the burden, kid. That’s the key to being a good worker. You don’t complain. You don’t worry about all the ways things could go wrong. You just put one foot in front of another until you get where you’re going. No point in worrying yourself to death over things you can’t change.”

  Miguel didn’t respond. Not because he disagreed with the stalwart Freighter’s assessment. He didn’t. The issue came from his own thoughts, which he couldn’t control well enough to banish those worries, even when he knew they did no one any good.

  After a couple of minutes, Helen crouched beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. “You need to eat,” she said, offering him one of the bitter roots.

  “Just give it to Trevor. He’s the one doing all the work,” he said dismissively.

  At the mention of his name, the stag gave a little snort that Miguel heard from nearly ten feet away. He didn’t need to glance at his companion to know that Trevor’s white coat had been stained a dull brown. The only parts that had survived the swamp unblemished were his crystalline antlers, which had reached a mature breadth of nearly three feet wide.

  “Trevor’s eaten more than the rest of us combined,” Helen said, referring to the deer’s habit of eating anything he could find. Fortunately, with his constitution, he could digest nearly anything without much in the way of consequences. She shoved the root under his nose. “You need to keep your strength up.”

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  Miguel sighed, then took the offered root. He couldn’t deny his own hunger, but it hadn’t quite reached the point where he could look forward to eating the unappetizing meal. Still, he bit down on it and forced himself to ignore the acrid taste. He washed it down with some water from his canteen. Thankfully, thirst wasn’t a problem, courtesy of some alchemical tablets that could purify even the dirtiest water in seconds.

  For the next twenty minutes, Miguel continued to nibble on the root until it was all gone. The meager meal did little to satisfy his hunger, but he had to admit that he felt a little more energetic in its wake.

  The trio remained on the island for another couple of hours, with Solomon somehow managing to doze off into a catnap. Miguel and Helen remained wary, keeping watch for any dangers that might present themselves. Fortunately, they remained unmolested until, at last, Helen said, “It’s time to move. We can’t afford to rest any longer.”

  With a sharp exhale, Miguel pushed himself back to his feet and stretched his weary muscles. As he did so, he said, “I’ll scout the route. Fifteen minutes.”

  She nodded.

  Miguel called to Trevor, who approached with all the giddiness of an energetic colt. Clearly, his reserves were far deeper than any human’s, which was a good thing, considering that Miguel would be relying on the stag from here on out.

  He vaulted onto Trevor’s back, and a moment later, they were off. Even in his fatigued state, Miguel couldn’t deny the sheer joy he felt when gliding a few inches above the water’s surface. There was just something freeing about the speed and ability to fly that would never grow tiresome.

  As he took off, he used Camouflage, which made him far less detectable, to conceal his passage. It wasn’t as good as even the weakest of Helen’s stealth abilities, but it was enough to keep him safe from most ambush predators – so long as he did nothing to draw their attention.

  Thus cloaked, he scouted the path, looking for a viable route. Over the past couple of weeks, he’d learned to recognize the shallower parts of the swamp. Or more accurately, the deeper bits that would swallow his companions in seconds. Not only was submersion in the stagnant water an issue – especially for Solomon, who was carrying the immensely heavy chest – but there were usually creatures like eels, snapping turtles, and aggressive catfish that lived in the deeper parts of the swamp.

  And that wasn’t even considering the water snakes, many of which grew to more than a hundred feet long and as big around as an oak tree.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, Miguel charted a course, using his sword to slash markers in nearby logs and trees. He made it about half a mile before he was forced to turn back and guide the others along. During the first few days of their journey, he’d relied on his markers to show them the way, but increasingly, the swamp had grown dangerous enough that he couldn’t abandon them for long.

  After all, neither were combatants.

  They weren’t helpless, but against some of the creatures in the swamp, they might as well have been. He was as much a guard as he was a guide, and he took that job very seriously.

  Another couple of days passed like that, with them resting whenever they found a viable island. They weren’t exactly rare, but they weren’t common, either. Most of the landmasses were far from stable enough to support them, and many were occupied by various creatures. Miguel had found that out after wrestling with a thousand-pound swamp bear that thought he looked like a good meal.

  He wouldn’t make the mistake of carelessness again.

  At the end of the third day, he finally caught sight of their destination. A mountain range loomed in the distance, maybe a hundred miles away and towering over the swamp like a massive wall. According to Helen’s abilities, there was a pass somewhere up ahead. Reaching it would bring the Primal Realm to an end.

  Unfortunately, the next day dawned to a new problem. As the swamp gave way to rockier ground covered by dense jungle, Miguel was reminded of the Primordial Jungle he’d visited in the tower near the Hartwood Grove. Traversing the thick vegetation was an issue all its own, but he was far more concerned with the local wildlife.

  Specifically, the pygmies that infested the region. The little creatures were no larger than three feet tall, but they were clearly related to trolls. Even if their hairy bodies weren’t enough of an indication, their high regeneration was confirmation enough. That, combined with their sheer numbers made hacking their way through jungle a truly exhausting affair.

  But they managed it.

  Along the way, both Solomon and Helen again proved that they were far from useless in a fight. The Freighter preferred dropping heavy things on his enemies, while Helen danced around, using misdirection to attack her foes from unexpected directions. Their tactics combined with Miguel’s more straightforward fighting style to mow through the pygmies with efficient lethality.

  Still, their progress was slow, and as the days passed, the constant fighting – both against the local wildlife as well as the jungle itself – proved exhausting. So, when they finally broke free of the rainforest and saw the pass, the achievement came with a sense of distinct relief.

  It didn’t last long, though.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Solomon, his voice low despite the fact they were almost half a mile from the pass.

  “Swamp colossus,” Helen answered, squinting as she used her identification ability. “Level two-twenty-ish.”

  “Shit,” Solomon grunted.

  Miguel didn’t say anything. Instead, he studied the enemy blocking the pass. The creature was at least thirty feet tall, with a body of twisted roots, hanging moss, and mud. It was also flanked by a handful of troll blood priests and bound by a series of ethereal red chains.

  “The trolls?” asked Miguel.

  “Lower, but not by much,” Helen replied. Then, she stated the obvious. “We can’t beat them. Maybe the trolls, but not the colossus. Not a chance of that.”

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” Miguel stated evenly. The pass itself was just a narrow trail leading into the mountains, and it was flanked by steep cliffs they could never hope to climb. Mounted on Trevor’s back, Miguel could probably make it to the top, but Solomon and Helen would have been stranded.

  No – the implications were clear. If they wanted to complete their mission, they needed to go through the swamp colossus and its troll handlers.

  “Do you have a plan?” asked Helen, glancing at him.

  “Hit and run.”

  “What about us?”

  “That’s the run part,” Miguel answered. Then, he laid out his plan. Of course, the other two objected to what he had in mind, but in the end, they didn’t have time for a debate. Moreover, they didn’t have any choice in the matter. The situation was dire, they were on the clock, and there was only one way to end it.

  “That’s not true,” said Solomon. “We could go back into the swamp. Survive for a couple more months. When the timer runs out –”

  “By then, everyone else will be dead,” Helen said. That included her husband as well as nearly everyone Miguel cared about.

  “And I don’t think we’ll survive that long anyway,” Miguel pointed out. If the dangers of the swamp didn’t get them, then the trolls would eventually find their trail. The odds of making it until the timer ran out were long indeed. As dangerous as it was, confronting the swamp colossus was the more viable plan.

  And they all knew it, even if admitting as much was a difficult thing.

  The fact was that Miguel knew he was signing up for almost certain death. He could fight above his own level, but such a disparity was far beyond him. And that wasn’t even including the handful of trolls keeping that thing leashed.

  But if the others made it, any sacrifice would be worth it.

  That was the thought that accompanied him as he mounted Trevor and charged to what he considered certain death.

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