The Chosen Pervert

Chapter 16: A Year and a Half

The first week on the road taught me something important: traveling in a fantasy world f*****g sucked.

There were no cars. No buses. No trains. Just your feet, the dirt road, and the endless horizon that never seemed to get any closer.

My legs ached. My back hurt. My boots—new when we left Thornhaven—were already starting to wear thin.

And the weather.

Rain. Mud. Heat. Cold. Wind that cut through your cloak like a knife.

This isn't like the games, I thought bitterly as I trudged through another muddy stretch of road. There's no fast travel. No convenient rest stops. Just walking. And more walking.

But I didn't complain.

Because every step brought me closer to Rue.

The first real fight came on the third day.

We were passing through a forest when Lyra's bear—Kael—stopped suddenly, his massive head swiveling toward the trees.

"Something's wrong," Lyra said, her hand moving to her bow.

"Goblins," Kira said quietly, her eyes scanning the shadows.

And then they came.

A dozen of them, maybe more, pouring out of the trees with rusted weapons and feral snarls.

Fuck.

"Defensive formation!" Aldric barked.

We moved instinctively—Borin and Grok at the front, Sszareth and I in the middle, Lyra and Kira on the flanks.

The goblins hit us like a wave.

Borin's warhammer crushed the first one's skull. Grok's greataxe cleaved another in half. Kael roared and tore into a third with his claws.

I raised my hand and cast.

Ignis.

Fire erupted from my palm, engulfing two goblins in flames. They screamed and fell, writhing.

Sszareth's mace glowed with holy light as he smashed it into another goblin's chest, the creature disintegrating on impact.

Kira moved like a shadow, her daggers flashing as she slit throats and disappeared into the chaos.

It was over in minutes.

We stood in the clearing, breathing hard, surrounded by goblin corpses.

"Everyone alright?" I asked.

"Fine," Borin grunted, wiping blood from his hammer.

"Grok is good!" Grok said cheerfully, his axe dripping.

Lyra nodded, her expression grim. "We need to keep moving. Where there's one pack, there's usually more."

She was right.

We encountered three more goblin packs before we left the forest.

The villages we passed were in ruins.

Some had been burned. Others were abandoned, their inhabitants fled or dead.

We helped where we could.

In one village, we found survivors hiding in a cellar—families with children, terrified and starving. We gave them food, cleared out the orcs that had taken over the town square, and stayed long enough to make sure they were safe.

In another, we fought off a demon that had been terrorizing the locals. It took all of us to bring it down, and Borin nearly died when the creature's claws raked across his chest.

Sszareth healed him, his hands glowing with divine light, but the scars remained.

"Thank you," the village elder said, tears streaming down his face. "Thank you."

I nodded, my chest tight.

This is what the Calamity did, I thought. This is what the Gods' war left behind.

And it made me angrier.

We asked about the portals everywhere we went.

Most people didn't know much. They'd seen them during the Calamity—massive tears in reality that swallowed people whole—but they'd been destroyed since then.

"King's orders," one merchant told us. "Mages have been going around, closing them. Can't have more demons pouring through, can we?"

"Are there any left?" I asked.

He hesitated. "There's one. In the capital. Solmarch."

My heart skipped a beat. "Why hasn't it been destroyed?"

"Don't know," he said, shrugging. "Some say the King's studying it. Others say he's keeping it as a backup plan. Either way, it's under heavy guard. No one gets near it."

I exchanged a glance with Aldric.

That's where we need to go.

The nights were the hardest.

We'd set up camp, build a fire, and sit in silence, too exhausted to talk.

But slowly, over weeks and months, we started to open up.

It was Lyra who spoke first.

We were camped in a clearing, the fire crackling between us. She was sitting with Kael's massive head resting in her lap, her fingers absently stroking his fur.

"My village was destroyed," she said quietly.

I looked up, surprised. She rarely talked about herself.

"During the Calamity?" I asked.

She nodded. "Creatures came through the portals. Demons. Orcs. Things I didn't have names for. They tore through everything. Killed everyone."

Her voice was flat, emotionless.

"My family was among them," she continued. "My parents. My siblings. My friends. All of them."

She looked down at Kael. "He's all I have left."

"I'm sorry," I said.

She shrugged. "It's why I fight. So others don't have to go through what I did."

I nodded, my chest aching.

She's just like me, I thought. Fighting for something she lost.

Borin opened up a few weeks later.

We were resting in an abandoned farmhouse, sheltering from a storm. He was sharpening his warhammer, his expression distant.

"My clan was split," he said suddenly.

I looked over at him.

"Half of us were pulled through the portals," he continued. "My brothers. My cousins. My father."

He paused, his jaw tightening.

"I don't know if they're alive," he said. "But I have to believe they are. Because if I don't..."

He trailed off.

"I understand," I said quietly.

He looked at me, his eyes hard. "That's why I respect you, lad. You're fighting for the same reason I am. You're not giving up."

"I can't," I said. "Not when there's a chance."

He nodded. "Aye. Neither can I."

Grok surprised me the most.

We were sitting by the fire one night, and he was staring into the flames, his expression unusually somber.

"Grok had tribe," he said quietly.

I blinked. "You did?"

He nodded. "Good tribe. Strong tribe. Grok's family."

His massive hands clenched into fists.

"Demons came," he said. "Killed everyone. Grok tried to fight. But too many. Too strong."

His voice cracked.

"Grok ran," he said. "Grok is coward."

"No," I said firmly. "You're not a coward. You survived. And now you're fighting to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else."

He looked at me, his eyes wet.

"Grok's tribe would be proud," I said. "You're honoring them."

He nodded slowly, a small smile breaking through.

"Grok fights for tribe," he said. "And for new tribe."

He gestured to all of us.

My throat tightened.

Yeah, I thought. We're a tribe now.

Sszareth's story came during a quiet evening in a ruined chapel.

We'd stopped to rest, and he was kneeling before the altar, praying.

I sat beside him, waiting.

When he finished, he looked at me.

"My temple was desecrated," he said. "Dark forces came during the Calamity. They killed my brethren. Defiled our sacred halls."

His golden eyes burned with quiet fury.

"I am one of the few who survived," he said. "And I carry the weight of their deaths."

"It wasn't your fault," I said.

"Perhaps," he said. "But I must atone. I must fight for a purpose higher than myself. This quest—your quest—is righteous. It is redemption through action."

I nodded. "Thank you for being here."

He inclined his head. "It is my honor."

Kira didn't talk much.

But one night, as we sat together on watch, she finally spoke.

"I lost her," she said quietly.

I looked at her.

"Rue," she continued. "I was supposed to train her. Protect her. And I failed."

"You didn't fail," I said. "The Calamity—"

"I should have been there," she interrupted. "I should have kept her safe."

Her hands clenched into fists.

"If we find her," she said, "maybe I can make it right."

"We will," I said. "And you didn't fail. You gave her the skills to survive."

She looked at me, her expression softening slightly.

"I hope you're right," she said.

The seasons changed.

Summer turned to autumn. Autumn turned to winter. Winter turned to spring.

We fought. We bled. We survived.

I turned sixteen somewhere along the way.

I was taller now. Stronger. My magic had grown more powerful, more refined. I could cast spells I'd only dreamed of before.

And I was learning what it meant to lead.

It wasn't about giving orders. It was about trust. About knowing when to push forward and when to retreat. About keeping everyone alive.

And I was getting better at it.

We encountered other adventurers along the way.

Some were friendly. Others were hostile.

We heard rumors about the King—King Valorian Diamond-Drake of House Diamond-Drake.

Some said he was a hero, working tirelessly to rebuild the kingdom. Others said he was a tyrant, hoarding power and resources.

But everyone agreed on one thing: he was the most powerful man on the continent.

And the portal in his castle was the key to everything.

A year and a half after leaving Thornhaven, we finally saw it.

Solmarch.

The capital.

It rose from the horizon like a dream—massive stone walls, towering spires, banners fluttering in the wind.

And at its center, dominating the skyline, was the King's Castle.

It was a fortress. A palace. A monument to power.

Golden spires reached toward the sky. Walls thick enough to withstand a siege. Towers bristling with guards and mages.

That's where the portal is, I thought. That's where I need to go.

We entered the city through the main gates.

And I was overwhelmed.

Solmarch made Thornhaven look like a village.

The streets were packed with people—nobles in fine clothes, merchants hawking goods, refugees huddled in alleyways. The buildings were taller, grander, more ornate.

And everywhere, there were guards.

"This is going to be complicated," Aldric said quietly.

"Yeah," I said. "We can't just fight our way in."

"We need information," Kira said. "Connections. A plan."

I nodded, my eyes fixed on the castle in the distance.

I've come this far, I thought. I'm not stopping now.

We found an inn in the lower district—a place called The Broken Shield.

It was cheap, crowded, and smelled like stale beer, but it was safe.

We gathered in our room, sitting around a small table.

"So," Borin said. "What's the plan?"

"We need to get into the castle," I said. "And we need to get to that portal."

"Easier said than done," Lyra said. "The place is crawling with guards."

"We could try bribing someone," Kira suggested.

"Or we could find someone with connections," Aldric said.

"Grok could smash door," Grok offered.

"No smashing," I said quickly.

Sszareth leaned forward. "Perhaps we should gather information first. Learn the layout. Identify weaknesses."

I nodded. "Agreed. We take our time. We do this right."

That night, I stood at the window, staring at the castle in the distance.

It was lit up, glowing against the night sky.

Rue, I thought. Mom. I'm so close.

My hands clenched into fists.

I don't know what's waiting for me on the other side of that portal. I don't know if you're alive. But I have to try.

Behind me, I heard Aldric's voice.

"You alright, Wyatt?"

I turned. He was standing in the doorway, his expression concerned.

"Yeah," I said. "Just... thinking."

He walked over and stood beside me, looking out at the castle.

"We'll get there," he said. "One way or another."

I nodded. "I know."

I have to believe that, I thought. Because if I don't, I'll break.

And I couldn't afford to break.

Not now.

Not when I was this close.