A short journey

Surprisingly, the trip back from Eldham went a lot faster than it took just to get to the barren little village. Where one journey seemed like it took them days, the other took under an hour for the three of them. The hills and ponds that he had noticed the first time around weren't anywhere to be seen this time around, and by the time they crested over the third mound, they were already within eyesight of the whole tribe. The only reason he could find to explain why the trip had been so short came from his kingdom management screen when it told him that fast travel had been activated.

In a way, the fast travel function was very similar to the way John's Craft ability worked. It sped him up to an extent, and then if he wanted it to go faster, he could expend more mana to immediately finish the journey. Unfortunately, the function only seemed to work with areas that he had already claimed and captured. If the area was not his, then he actually had to make the grueling journey. More than that, if he wanted to immediately fast travel from one city to another, John couldn't bring any of his pack with him.

It worked for him and him alone. He was barely able to bring his raiders along when he let the new function work automatically, but only because of the fact that they were in his pack. If he wanted to take any civilians or strangers around... then he had to lead them along the journey normally. There was no fast travel option for moving large groups of people, and he didn't expect there to be. He assumed that if he wanted something like that, then he would have to have a portal or something made specifically for that purpose.

He didn't want to consider how much material or money that might cost him.

Bleakfield was full of energy when he got back. As John and the others were riding up to the edge of town, the tribesmen came out to greet them. Many of the people were already cooing and crying out in astonishment as they saw all the tarnished gear that had been brought back. The raiders who had come by to look on and try to seem unimpressed especially watched over each Orc's haul. Some stared at John for a brief moment, furrowing their brows in confusion at the lack of equipment on his horse, but it was never for very long. The fact that he 'seemed' to have given his men most of the loot was more than enough to inspire little bouts of jealousy in some of the tribe’s warriors, and a few even called out to Mub and Rugga as they steered back towards the man that they had rented the horses from, insisting that they didn't need so much gear to deal with and that it would have been better for them to give some of it away.

John's pack ignored those shouts.

Most of the amazement came from the people in the tribe who weren't warriors. The fact that John and the others had come back from their raid seemed to prove to a few pack members that killing off the Hallowed wasn't just a sham, John could actually do it. Most still seemed skeptical but eager to see the new village for themselves. They wanted proof, but that would have to wait.

John followed after his men to the Orc he needed to repay for the horse he lost and then watched silently as Mub and Rugga got down to talk to him first. The conversation didn't actually go on for very long. The Orc that they had received the horses from glared at John when his men told him what had happened, then he heard about John's plan to buy the horses, gave them an offer... and his pack paid in his place. Without even missing a beat, before John could bring himself to accept a price of iron and steel, Mub and Rugga both unsnapped a bundle of weapons and armor and tossed them at the stableman's feet. He seemed stunned for a moment that they would actually give him so much until his pack asked for the man to watch after their new horses until they needed them again. He agreed... readily, and then with a happy smile, he ushered John's pack on their way to bask in the thrill of their most recent victory.

"Why did you guys do that?" John asked when they were finally out of earshot of the stableman. His pack members huffed once as if to move on past the conversation, like the moment hadn't even been worth mentioning... but when John continued looking at them expectantly, they finally answered him. Various slaves came up to help Mub with all of his new gear while Rugga continued carrying his own. As it turned out, Rugga didn't own any slaves. His lack of victories in the past had left him without any help or ownership for anything other than his tent, but he was happy enough to try and deal with his new belongings on his own. He was even happier when John and Mub stopped to help him unload at his own little pavilion.

"You did good." That was the best and only answer that Mub gave for their kind actions. They both nodded in agreement at the statement and then turned to look at John. "There were a couple of moments where you seemed like you might be a coward," he growled on the last word, "but... in the end, you came back and finished the fight instead of completely hiding from it." A small smile crossed over the lips of both of his men... and after a moment, John realized that they were both playfully taunting him. He gave them both a glare and a frown and watched as they both broke out into laughter because of it. One patted him on the back and then pointed off to a nearby dining area and insisted that they all meet there after they were done unloading their new gear.

They separated and went to walk back to deal with their own belongings. John decided he would stop by his own tent to check on Urga and his mother very briefly, but along the way he got sidetracked. He stopped to look at the various buildings and apartments that had been set up in Bleakfield by the tribe members... and found himself gawking at some of the way the stuff had been built. None of the buildings were especially tall, they were just... wide. They were built to maintain lots of people inside each one, and many were left open or just built without a door entirely. A few times he passed by an open home and watched as a couple or... more than a couple of people mating inside turned and grinned at him, hooting and howling over the loud slapping noises of flesh on flesh. He blushed and cleared his throat on multiple occasions, trying to excuse himself, but no one even cared if he saw anything.

If anything... they tried to show him what was happening, like they were trying to prove themselves better than him in some way or they were proud of it. Most of the buildings were built upon the ruins of the old houses of Bleakfield. What little bits of stone and wood hadn't rotted away from the Beacon's destruction had been fixed and used as a foundation for the new inhabitants. Once a frame was complete, the tribe mostly just decorated it. They threw fur or cloth tarps over the building’s remnants again and again until makeshift walls and ceilings had been put up. If anything needed solidifying, then alchemists and professional builders got involved. They mixed up hardening substances to smear across the tarps to help keep it in place and seal up holes, and then when an adequate amount had been applied, slaves began hanging trophies. Lines of leather and cloth straps were pulled taut around the outside of each home, and then little baubles were hung from them. Bones, coins, jewelries, broken weapons, and various bells jingled and clanked together loudly as he walked past them, but for once he was more in awe of all the buildings than he was repulsed by them and their crudish decorations. He looked past all the bones and skulls and focused more on the way they tried to celebrate and do things.

He walked through the city, following the gentle tinkling noises of bells through every street and alley, until finally... he was on the edge of Bleakfield again. The outskirt and fields around it met him with relative emptiness as most of the tribe tried to stay inside the village boundaries... but the bells hadn't stopped leading him out. His brow furrowed and knit together as he carefully began following the noise to inspect what could have been happening outside the village, and within moments he crested over one of the nearby hills and out of sight from Bleakfield. His hands clenched up into fists as he came across a small clearing... and then he stopped when he saw the target.

A literal target, one made of hay and string, sat a little on the far side of the clearing. Line after line of dangling bells swung with the wind as John stared at the red circle in the center of the target and watched as a familiar green figure stomped around in the dirt and mud behind it. Urga, still completely naked, pawed silently at the ground as John approached, searching blindly for something as he tried to comprehend the scene he had stumbled upon. His eyes widened… and then fell for a moment as he thought that she might have gotten lost... and almost went to try and help her.

Then he stopped, stunned as he stared while the Orcess picked up a narrow, bell-decorated, wooden shaft from the ground. His **** let out a small exclamation, unable to even look at the arrow anymore, and then clambered to her feet again. A small grin curled up around her tusks as she brushed her knees off... and then picked up the nearby bow that she had taken from John's loot pile. She walked back around the other side of the target, audibly counting her steps until she was a good distance away from the hay bale... and then stopped when she reached thirty. Her breathing slowed and evened out as she took a moment to calm herself again, her breasts jiggling and heaving up and down with every inhale, while the straps of silk she had also taken hung from her biceps. The slightest breeze moved the silken, makeshift armbands and sent the cloth swaying against her skin as she stood there, and once she seemed to have a good feel, she nocked another arrow. Her arms pulled the bowstring taut and up to her cheek, but she never looked at the target... she still couldn't see it.

Instead, she just craned her head and listened... waiting for the dangling of bells on her mark while John stared at the scattering of lost arrows in the background. She had been there for so long, he realized, that she had lost all but one of the arrows she had taken with her, and just like with the previous shots, when she finally fired and the arrow flew high over her target, she had to trudge back after it to try and get it again. She stumbled back down into the dirt, scraping her knees and growling, and then pawed again and again at the ground as she tried to find where the arrow had went. On the lucky occasions when it stuck up out of the ground, she could hear the bells that had been tied to it to help her find the arrow.

She was not so lucky with the most recent shot. John stood there in stunned silence as she clawed again and again at the ground, ripping up whole handfuls of dirt in frustration... and nearly went to help her again before a stray thought stopped him. She had refused help when they walked to keep up with the tribe... and she didn't ask for it before she left to practice with the bow. She wanted to do it on her own, and his heart ached when he considered actually letting her. He took another step towards her to intervene... and then watched as she stood up again with the arrow locked tightly in her grasp.

Again, she walked back to the other side of the target... took aim...

John swallowed hard. The bells were there to help her hear everything. The silken straps on her arms helped her to try and find the immediate direction of the wind, but she was still shooting blindly. She still wanted to do it on her own...

...so he turned away as she missed another shot.