Chapter Seventeen


    Ambrose stood on the path leading to the Redscales city. It looked nearly the same as the Bluescales city, complete with the same temple. There was a difference, each hut had a red hue to it. The redscales themselves also had, well, redscales. They went about their business, unaware of Ambrose’s attention on them.


    Noelle was sitting beside him, cleaning her paws. The big cat showed not the faintest hint of concern at anything that was going on. Ambrose scratched her ears as he thought about his options. First option was violence.


    He couldn’t prevent a wry smile from curling his lips.


    Violence doesn’t have to be your go to solution, boy.


    That little nugget had always been interesting to him. His father had exclusively trained him to be violent, after all. In fact, when he asked his old man what other options he may have had, he appeared stumped.


    Scratching his chin, he had told his son,


    “Well, you could try talking. For what that’s worth.”


    Given how the bluescales had reacted to his presence, he didn’t think the redscales would be willing to entertain conversation, and further, he doubted they would even understand him. Likely, they had a priestess like Lizella, but he didn’t think she would be willing to talk if he slaughtered scores of her people just to get to her.


    Then there was option two, which he was leaning towards. Tempered violence. That was often the best answer. Not a lot of violence, nor too little. You needed just the right amount. None of the kobolds here could match his spirit. It would be easy to suppress them all, stroll on through and collect the item he needed.


    The one and only issue with that route was what would happen after. Yes, he would be able to walk on in and take what he wanted, but it would leave him with enemies.


    It doesn’t matter. If they could follow me out of the dungeon, maybe, but that isn’t so Ambrose mused to himself. In fact, no matter what he did, the kobolds couldn’t retaliate in any meaningful way. He was just…beyond them. Maybe some of them were registered as D-Grade but he knew that it went beyond just stats. You had to condense your core.


    Beyond that, there was his spiritual skill and training with it to consider. Ambrose had rigid control of his spirit, and all it had cost him was a painful understanding of himself. It had led to power. Not only could his spiritual skill be used to defend himself as a shield, but he could bring the full pressure of himself down upon anyone within a decently sized area.


    Even if the kobolds had all been true D-Grades, it didn’t matter even one whisker. With no one among them having a spiritual skill or the control to match him, Ambrose may as well have been a god amongst them. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    He looked at Noelle.


    “It feels wrong, though. Like I’m taking candy from a baby.”


    Noelle flicked an ear at him, chuffing.


    A predator doesn’t care about such things, she seemed to tell him.


    Rolling his neck from side to side, he sighed and with little fanfare, released the mental hold he had on his spiritual skill.


    When you reached a certain understanding of yourself, your spirit began to leak from the skill. Like a bad faucet. If you let it go fully, it begins to spray uncontrollably.


    It resulted in a mountain of pressure that bore down on everything around himself stretching a couple miles out. He didn;t doubt the bluescales may have felt it at the fringe of their territory.


    Redscales Ambrose could make out immediately pressed flat onto the ground like a giant spatula pressing onto cooking meat. With Noelle by his side, he began his walk to the temple. Eyes swiveled to regard him, filled with utter horror at what he was managing to do. Noelle’s tail swished from side to side as she walked beside him.


    Striding through the temple, he found a priestess not unlike Lizella, on a throne not unlike hers, except her throne was the red found in freshly spilled blood, her attire was the same.


    Carefully controlling his spirit, he removed the pressure from her. She gasped, as if he had just saved her from drowning. Her eyes moved to stare at him, they were the red of a sun baked desert.


    Ambrose held up a hand before she could speak, shaking his head.


    “I don’t speak your language, just so you know. I am here for the claw of Akaroth. Give it to me.”


    Her jaw snapped closed, not unlike an alligator snapping up prey.


    Then she spoke, sounding much like Lizella.


    “I am the high priestess Deira Swiftclaw. Who are you, human?”


    Ambrose shrugged,


    “Impatient.”


    To punctuate the statement, Noelle roared, lightning playing across her sharp teeth. Her roar shook the very stones, and shadows danced over the room from the flash of the lightning in her jaws.


    Deira’s redscales turned white for a moment.


    “The claw isn’t an item!” She squeaked out.


    Ambrose blinked. Even Noelle cocked her head, ears twitching.


    “Explain,” he stated.


    Deira rubbed her snout, sitting up in her throne.


    “It’s not an item. The claw is a kobold, a high priestess of the bluescales. She is known as the Claw of Akaroth.”


    Ambrose crossed his arms. He waited.


    She went on hurriedly,


    “In order to summon Akaroth, you need her claw, her chosen priestess. You sacrifice her at her alter, and the dragon will appear.”


    “Why can’t I sacrifice you? Why does it have to be Lizella?”


    “How do you-of course. She sent you here, didn’t she?”


    Deira muttered to herself, shooting him a look she went on, a hitch in her voice.


    “Look, it switches every cycle, okay? I don’t know why. Take it up with the System. Every cycle, or every dungeon reset, who the claw is between us changes.”


    Ambrose looked at Noelle. She laid down, putting her head between her paws. He snorted. Lizella had manipulated him. A heat bubbled in his chest, causing his very blood to boil. She had tried to use him like a tool, and he hated that. Hated it more than anything.


    Eric had used him, had manipulated him in such a way as to give Eric an excuse to kill him. His fists clenched. He was tired of being used, of people thinking they were cleverer than he was. Of using him like some kind of blunt weapon. Luckily, he had taken a step back and didn’t just start cutting into them.


    She wanted a hammer to solve her problems? He was going to give her one.


    “So you know you’re in a dungeon, too. Very well, it seems Lizella and I need to have another long talk.”


    A portal of hellfire split the very air, a vertical tear in reality.


    Noelle’s blue eyes were narrowed in a dangerous way that a predator does when ready to pounce on prey. Her tail swished, her paws flexing. A hungry gleam was in her blue eyes, and the smell of lightning filled the air.


    Both of them went through the portal.