Just Cause Draft 01 CH 13 (Patreon)

Returning to the clearing took longer since Michael wanted to ensure they were as quiet as possible. He sent the other contubernium around with Dervel and Bantia to rescue the people while the rest attacked as a distraction.

It had caused an argument, but Michael had been adamant that the priority was the rescue. The beastkin that escaped could be hunted down later, once everyone was safely away from here. Ideally back to Novus Roma. As the Prefect, Michael’s decision stood, But Joran and Caius weren’t happy about it. They saw them as pests, while the others were indifferent.

Michael watched the clearing while he waited. Two of the beastkins were fighting hard enough fur and blood were flying. Two less to worry about, Michael figured. He counted six wolves, four cougars, two boars, an easy dozen of the squirrels, and another of a mix of rats, some sleek animal Michael thought might be ferrets, and one that was definitely a beaver.

If not for the occasional cries of anguish from the prisoners and the now tired and bloody fighters, Michael could believe this was some sort of kid’s show.

Watching the beastkin eat their kills raw in front of the prisoners, snarl at them, as well as one another occasionally, force the prisoners to also eat raw meat was getting Michael to agree with Joran. They were worse than animals. He wanted to act now, instead of continuing to watch the mistreatment, but without a way to signal each other—and not risk giving away their presence—they’d agreed on two hours. Every time he checked with Joran, the man shook his head. Still more time to go.

Finally, Joran gave a nod, and with a yell, Michael ran in the clearing, the other five behind him. He batted the closest old with his shield, sending him flying. The next one he sliced into two with one slash. He stabbed a cougar through the chest and the rest of the beastkin camp caught on to the attack.

After that, the fight was quickly over. Those who fought were no match for Michael and the others. He made sure to keep an eye on the prisoners, but Bantia and Dervel easily kept them at bay while the others freed the prisoners.

They lost three of the farmers, who’d been working on the structure when Michael attacked. Beastkins had ripped their throat out before launching themselves at the legionnaires.

In the end, it was a massacre, and Michael didn’t care. Not after those three needless deaths.

You are now level 38

Michael stared at the notification as silence fell on the clearing. How had he gained a level out of this? When had he gained his last one? However the system determined this, he felt like he hadn’t deserved it.

He dismissed it, assigned one of five points to his strength, agility, and endurance as usual, and looked around. Dead beastkin littered the clearing. Lierin was going through them, making sure they were dead with a dispassionate knife.

He wondered what drove the beastkin to attack. Was some Outlander forcing them, or was it just in their nature, like Joran said. Michael tried to feel bad about the killing, but this had been justified. They’d brought it on themselves by abusing their prisoners, by coldly killing the three.

“Are you alright,” Joran asked.

“I’m angry,” Michael answered. “There was no need in killing those three, no point to it.”

“It’s what the beastkin are,” the legionnaire answered coldly. “To expect anything else leads to this.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. Maybe they would still be alive if I had.”

“Do not put this on yourself, Michael. They did it, they are responsible, and they paid for their actions.”

“Do you know how many fled?”

“Not many, but I did not count.”

Michael didn’t look, didn’t count. He found he didn’t want to know how many had escaped. “The prisoners?”

“I do not know,” Joran answer with a chuckle. “The fighting has just ended.”

“Right.”

“You should see to your wounds, then we can join them and see how they are.”

Michael glanced at the half dozen bleeding debuffs he had stacked. Looking down, he saw his hit point bar wasn’t even close to the three-quarter mark. If he lost more hit points, would he feel like he deserved the level?

He shook his head to clear it and took out the pack of bandages. He wasn’t some masochist who needed pain to justify gain. This fight had just been the little needed to push him over the leveling threshold, nothing more, nothing less.

He cleaned his wounds and bandaged them, then headed for where the farmers were seated, being looked after by the legionnaires. They were malnourished, a few of them had broken arms and legs. After their state, the disparity in features surprised him the most. Despite the size of the house, he’d expected this to be one family, but some had what he’d considered Caucasian features, even under the dark skin, while others looked oriental and another group Michael couldn’t place. Seventeen adults and five children, from various families and ethnicities working together. There was another way this place was better than Earth.

“How are they?” he asked.

“In rough shape,” Batia answered, “but with help, they’ll be able to travel.”

“We must return to the farm,” a heavyset older woman said. “We must harvest the fields.”

Michael shook his head. “We’re going to Novus Roma. The Praetor will want to make sure you’re all well. And you’re in no state to do the kind of work needed. We’ll pass another farm on the way, we can see if they can handle it, or at least send a bird to the city to see how the Praetor wants to handle it.”

She tried to argue but didn’t have the strength to remain standing.

While they were tended, Michael and his contubernium gathered the beastkin in a pile and burned them. Biers were constructed for the three dead humans and they all gathered around as they burned, then began the trek back to Novus Roma.