The World Which Is

Chapter 03

I fight to keep my breathing under control as another building crashes down. That thing's big. How long do I have to delay them? A minute, two? Are they scent driven? Maybe I should have taken the Cryptozoology classes behind my father's back.

The dust flies ahead of the last building falling down and I stop breathing. Not only so I won't choke on it, but because the form I make out is big. Like three times taller than I am, four times wider? Five? It's no longer moving, other than scraping a hoof and ripping the stone out of the paving.

I can't run.

Oh, do I want to run. There's no way I can do anything against something that big.

But if I run, it might go after the others.

Two minutes. Two minutes, then I run. I run toward the front, and hopefully it chases me so others can take it down.

The dust thins as it settles. It's a quadruped, twice as tall at the shoulder as at the rear. Okay, not as big as I imagined, but still bigger than I can hope to win against. This is going to be about avoiding being rammed. My dex training skill is maxed out, as are my running and jumping. My armor's on the lighter side, so penalties will be minimal.

I should be okay.

I glance at the buff on the upper right.

Roger's Revitalizing Bars

1:23

Just stay there for another minute plus, big thing, and you can chase me to your heart's content.

More dust settles, and something on its back moves.

It's got a rider.

The rider drops off, and I can make out the muscular form of a Ramthom. It steps forward, making motions toward the beast, which calms, the way Mitchell's attack dogs do when she signals them to stand down.

The Ramthom wears hides for clothing, with a belt that's too fine. That's something it's taken off a victim. A club appears in its hand as it equips it, and it bangs it against its large horns twice, then comes to a stop five meters from me.

Okay, this I have a chance against. And if it gets to that, I can definitely outrun it.

It bangs the club against its horns twice again with what feels like insistence.

Okay... what does that mean?

I raise my sword and touch the flat of the blade to the side of my head—and it runs at me, head lowered to make the horns the first thing I'm going to feel.

If it connects.

I easily step aside and slash at it. The hide clothing is thicker than I thought. It swings and I block the club. The strength nearly sends me off my feet. I regain my footing in time to deflect its next swing, and even that throws me off balance, but I score a slash at its arm and it backs away with a series of grunts and shaking the arm.

It snorts at me, takes a step and pauses, looking to the side.

Are they clever enough to try to fake me out? I just flick my eyes in that direction and don't see anything. It shrugs and comes at me again.

I stay out of its reach, watching, studying. The attacks aren't wild. Ramthoms aren't smart the way we are, but they're not dumb monsters either. They are smart enough to learn to ride that beast, after all.

Grandmother teaches that anyone who learns to fight, instead of blindly flailing about, learns bad habits. If we can find those, we have to exploit them. It's easier to do with a higher perception skill and with knowing what style they're using. But in the end, it's all about patterns, and that's mainly about paying attention and—