June arrived, and the economic impact of the crash continued.

Crossway felt it with several businesses and farms going under and declaring bankruptcy. That was just here. Nationally, it was worse. The northeast was the hardest hit by the economic crash.

I watched it all. This was the second crash I had been present for, but it was the first that I could fully grasp the implications of. I remembered that the next century had a far worse one. Would this timeline have it too?

I was wandering around the graveyard, thinking about my current situation.

I was six kills short of my next level, which surprised me as I had expected to reach it in another two or three years. I was pleased to have exceeded my predictions. I had been thinking about the new Perk when I levelled. I was torn between mausoleums and crypts. They were the favourites, but the list might supply me with a new option that I would have to take.

The Supreme Court ruled on a case that caught my interest. The story was tucked away in the back pages. The case was Plessy v. Ferguson, in which a mixed-race man named Homer Plessy was prevented from sitting in a rail carriage that was claimed to be for whites only. The Court ruled that this was illegal, as Mr Plessy was a citizen of the United States, he could not be prevented from using that service or sitting in that railway carriage.

I remembered that the South was rebuilt under Lincoln, and much of the old system had been swept away. It seems they had prevented much of the segregation that occurred during my time with this ruling, perhaps being the nail in that coffin.

I thought about that as I looked over the land around me.

The other question was when the other two members of the Way of Athamos would show up to test themselves.

June 1893 was not over yet.

On the 18th, it was reported that Former President Abraham Lincoln died at 82 and a day of national mourning was declared for the 19th President of the United States.

Two days later, Lizzie Borden was convicted of the murder of her parents.

July came and brought visitors.

Five riders approached the gates from the trail. It was a bright and clear morning.

I had shifted down there to get a better look at the riders. They were all in their late thirties to early forties, dressed in tough, worn clothing. As they approached, I heard the conversation.

"… what will it cost us a day?"

"Jack, we are not from around here, but I hear the stories."

"Stories that all, Bill," Jack said. "It's a graveyard, not a home of demons and monsters."

Several of the others sniggered at Jack's dismissal of Bill.

"It will cost us a day to look around; if there is no gold, we carry on." Jack stopped close to the gates and turned his horse to see the rest. "If there is trouble, we are armed. Some hot lead will convince bad things to stay away."

This time, there was open laughter. Bill seemed unhappy with the decision or the laughter at his expense.

The men dismounted and tied up their horses. Each was armed with pistols and knives, and shovels were pulled from their saddles.

"Treasure hunters or grave robbers. Hard to tell."

[Alert! Intruders are not recognised as Challengers.]

They had ignored the plinth and turned north. I told my Hunters what they were facing and where the ambush would occur. Rigger was out of this one, as was the Hateful Spirit. That left me three Hunters and five Intruders. Not good odds.

I had chosen a junction with little space to cover for the Hunters to ambush the Intruders. After considering the group, I made one change.

"Roberson, head north, and I will guide you to them. Let's see if we can pick any off before the main ambush."

As he followed my directions, I returned to the group.

"…this place is bigger than I expected. It's odd, how many people are buried here?" Jack was talking as they walked.

"Reckon it more than a few." One of the others answered.

"True, true. I heard stories of places like these in the east or old countries, but never this far west." He was looking around with interest. "Let's get to the church and start there."

The group continued discussing how the search would unfold. Bill was the group's nay-sayer, but the others ignored him. They were not moving quickly, allowing Roberson to catch up with and shadow them, waiting for opportunities to strike.

The group did not split up, and Roberson was left to follow them. The ambush point was fast approaching.

"Looks like you are hitting them at the ambush point, Roberson."

The group was not expecting trouble and was now walking at a leisurely pace. They were now relaxed, having been tense when they entered. The warm day and the absence of threats were lulling them into a false sense of security. They were just stories about this place after all. The longer they walked, the faster they realised that no monsters or goblins were behind every blade of grass and gravestone.

"We start in the church and work from there." Jack was saying.

"I think others have searched this place before us." Bill retorted.

"Why do you say that?" Another asked.

"We're not from here, but we have heard the stories. Surely someone from the town has come and investigated this place already." Bill pointed out.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It just costs a day to look." Jack was trying to keep the others focused on the search at hand. Bill's words had planted a seed of doubt in many of them now.

The conversation continued as they walked. I looked around to check on the positions of my other Hunters. They were ready, as this group had now reached the ambush point.

"Go."

I gave the word, and it began. The three Hunters were far closer to them, and at first they did not realise that the monsters had emerged. The men looked around in confusion as they spotted two of the Hunters, not seeing Roberson coming up from behind.

Over the years, I've seen many people die in my dungeon and learn to read the reactions of those who are facing violence. I watched these men and realised they were rough living men, not hardened, violent men.

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My Hunters were amongst them.

Jack was the first to die. Rodrigues came up from behind, the gravestone was a short distance from him, and he threw his tomahawk. My hand had been practising intermittently for years before he even came to my dungeon, and his aim was true. The tomahawk's blade buried itself deep into Jack's skull, slicing through his hat. The impact made him stagger for a single step before blinking in confusion, and then he collapsed to the ground.

[A Hunter has made a Kill.]

The others don't even bother going for their weapons as they all turned tail and started to run. Bill ran straight into McGregor and found a knife buried in his gut. McGregor, in his usual sadistic fashion, twisted the blade with an evil grin on his face as he listened to his victim groan in pain.

The other three were trying to pull the guns as they ran, and they were introduced to Roberson. The man furthest back was the first to see him, and this was the last thing he was ever to see. Roberson stepped out and swung in his cleaver-like blade, catching his prey in the neck. A bright spray of red blood erupted from the wound as a man's momentum carried him onto the blade and almost decapitated him.

[A Hunter has made a Kill.]

The other two screamed out in horror, with one dropping the pistol he had just pulled from the holster. The other aimed widely at Roberson and let off a shot. My Hunter pulled the dead man's body into the angle of the shot, absorbing and deflecting the bullet.

Rodrigues was behind the shooter, grabbing him by the hair on the back of his head. This pulled his head back, exposing his throat, which was introduced to Rodrigues's other knife. Another spray of bright red blood erupted from the man's throat as he drowned in his blood.

[A Hunter has made a Kill.]

Roberson abandoned his primary blade and pulled out a secondary. The fifth and final man had collapsed to his knees and had pissed himself in fear. This was clear from the dark stain in the crotch area of his trousers.

He was babbling, trying to beg for his life. Roberson just drove his knife into his skull, making his death quick.

[A Hunter has made a Kill.]

I looked back at McGregor and saw him finishing off his kill.

[A Hunter has made a Kill.]

I summoned my avatar and looked around. My Hunters were already searching the bodies. I suspect they will find too much, and the saddlebags on the horses would also be relatively light in terms of loot.

"Bury them around here. It's getting a bit full around the central ring. Then deal with horses outside."

The Hunters didn't look up from what they were doing, but I saw them all nod. They were focused on their various tasks, not wanting to be around each other for long. They knew that the faster they completed the jobs assigned to them, the quicker they would be away from each other.

Roberson caught my eye as he looked up from the man's body, he was searching. Before he could ask, I nodded, and he understood my meaning. At least one of these bodies would not be buried.

He would be the one to take the horses down to the Driver household. The other hunters were finding it more challenging to leave the dungeon now. The rating also helped him develop his levels; it would not be long before he could go for long periods again.

He and Rigger were still hunting in the local forest, but I noticed a change in their habits as I spent far shorter periods outside than they had in the past. They still brought back their kill, but they spent only a few hours beyond the walls, not the days/nights they once spent.

Four of the men were buried, with Roberson claiming one for himself. There was a surprising amount of alcohol and tobacco gained from the bodies and horse saddlebags. Almost no money was recovered, and what little was sent was carried down to Herbert on horses.

This marked the end of this little visitation.

August had arrived, and the next cult member appeared.

It was the second day of the month, and he had just written up to the gates. I had identified the familiar cult blade he was sporting on his hip. He was slightly taller and broader than the last one. He walked with much more confidence, and I suspected he had quite a significant amount of training.

He had arrived late in the day, and the sun was moving towards the mountains in the west, indicating its setting soon. He carried the usual satchel and lantern, but this time, along with his cult blade, he also had an additional one that resembled a short sword.

What did the Romans call it? A gladius, that's it!

It was very similar to a gladius. About the same length but narrower.

He walked into the courtyard and read the inscription on the plinth.

He looked to the north and the South. He chose that direction to walk down, and I was now fairly sure that the cult knew there was a much more dangerous threat to the north, and their best chance of reaching the church was to the South.

[Cult member is recognised as a Challenger.]

I was still strangely intrigued as to why the system that was part of this place always recognised them as cult members. They must have some unseen determining factor that made them identify them differently. I suspected that even the outer members of the organisation knew something about magic, which was the reason.

Another question I might never know the answer to. That was just a typical day for me, then.

He was moving at a decent speed. He had drawn the short sword over his cult dagger when he entered the southern pathway. His speed made it seem as though he wanted to arrive at the church before sunset. A respectable tactic in the long run. But would he make it?

McGregor was the first one up as we were in his hunting ground. I moved slightly above the challenge as he moved along the pathway, following him somewhat from behind, looking around my Hunter.

New Midian was a two-mile circular graveyard, one mile from the church to the gates. The average graveyard only occupied a few acres, making my dungeon quite the anomaly. Every time I levelled, the graveyard became denser, with an increasing number of gravestones, statues, trees, and mausoleums. This worked both for and against my Hunters. It allowed for much more room for ambushing, but it took longer to find their prey.

Thankfully, if the prey stays on the pathways, they are easier to find, like this Challenger was. McGregor found him near the edge of his hunting ground and stalked him for a good few minutes to get a feel for what he was facing. He had learned caution over the years, as he had come out badly from several encounters with Challengers.

He made his move and went for a quick kill. He moved up as fast as he could behind the Challenger, trying to keep his movements as quiet as possible. It was a bit of an impossible feat to move quickly and quietly simultaneously. As was proven this time, he advanced, alerting his prey to the danger.

The man turned quickly on his heel, facing my approaching Hunter.

McGregor hissed in frustration, now up for a fight. He was not one for fighting; he preferred ambushing and inflicting slow, painful deaths.

But he was committed, and he continued his advance.

He was at a disadvantage not only because his opponent was aware of him but also because his opponent had a slightly longer blade than he did. But he did have the advantage of being a multilevel Hunter in my dungeon. This meant he was an experienced killer, much more durable than the average human.

McGregor pressed, and the fight was on.

He lashed out with his blade, but the Challenger blocked it. The dull clang of metal on metal echoed. McGregor's blade was firmly stopped by the other. His momentum was not entirely arrested, and they closed together.

The cult member pushed forward, forcing McGregor to back up. They broke apart as McGregor leapt away instead of being forced into a bad position. The Challenger didn't let up, pressing forward, keeping my Hunter on the defensive. McGregor was forced to block strikes this time, and the dull metal-on-metal impacts echoed around the area.

The adrenaline made them move fast, and their breathing got more ragged as the fight continued. Each moved to avoid the other, dodging and weaving while blocking or striking back. The two were locked in the dance of death, and I was eager to see who would come out on top.

The Challenger stabbed forward with his blade, forcing McGregor to step aside and try to deflect the blade with his own. He did not fully manage it, and the edge of the blade sliced across his upper arm. His heavy coat took most of the blow, which cut through, causing a wound. He snarled in pain, and around the cut, the skin darkened with his blood soaking into the material.

Both men broke apart again, circling each other and breathing hard. McGregor was now angry and wanted to inflict pain on his opponent because of what had just happened to him. He liked to inflict pain, not to take it back.

He went on the offensive.

He made slashing motions with his blade, making the Challenger move back. He deflected several slashes. They were still moving, never stopping.

He was trying to overwhelm the Challenger, but this was his mistake.

He slashed again, and the Challenger stepped in, catching his arm. McGregor tried to get away, but he was held firm.

The Challenger stabbed at him again. The blade slashed across McGregor's chest, slicing through his coat and into his chest. More blood flowed, and he snarled again in pain. He could not separate from the Challenger and was in danger.

The Challenger went to stab him, but McGregor punched him in the face with his free hand. The fist's contact snapped the Challenger's head back, causing him to release the arm.

The two were separated again. The Challenger's lip was bleeding. McGregor was bleeding from two wounds.

He had to choose again.

His wounds were serious but not life-threatening. He would slow down as they slowly drained him. He had to win or run.

He backed up, and the Challenger tensed. Was he going to charge?

No. He turned and ran.

He knew this part of the graveyard well and vanished into the growing darkness.

"Not my bravest by far."

McGregor was developing a habit of avoiding or running from fights that endangered him. He was immortal in many ways, but he did not seem to want to undergo a return to life again. His retreat voided his part of the trial against the Challenger.

The Challenger was a bit bemused by this turn of events. He waited until my Hunter was gone from sight, and as the darkness was almost total with the sun setting, he lit his lantern.

He continued along the path towards the church, more alert for dangers.

Rodriguez was next.

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