“So explain again why we’re not just leaving?” George asked idly. “I mean sure, I get you wanna build something, but can’t you just buy it instead?”
Sarah thankfully saved Mitchell from having to explain it. “Fine, but this is the last time. We want Dungeon Gate. Dungeon Gate is useless until it links to a Dungeon. A Gate is linked to a Dungeon by being cleared by the Gate’s Settlement. Are you with me so far?”
“Yea, but I know for a fact we didn’t have the Gate when we left.”
“That’s true. Construction was held up by a lack of stone.” John answered, finally able to add something new to the conversation.
“Thanks hon. So going back and buying stone <i>would </i>be a good idea… If Kyla, Dalton, and Tommen weren’t all working towards making the cash to do that themselves as we speak. I think the French dwarves are helping too.”
“Okay. First, we only have one set of dwarves, so the French part is unnecessary-”
“Always has been…” Mitchell muttered.
“-<i>but </i>it still doesn’t explain why we didn’t just do that before. I mean, we were making shit loads of cash with crops and art before right?”
“That we were spending on food. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s more people in the Legion than outside of it. Soldiers are hungry folk. Plus equipment, as we still don’t have a smith.” John defended.
“So how can we afford it now? I mean, besides Miriam lucking her way into being a millionaire.”
Miriam was busy in her mental model from the looks of things, but Mitchell imagined she’d have choice words at the depiction of luck. She worked hard, and deserved what she’d gotten.
Sarah glanced over to Mitchell with a pained expression. “We can’t. Well, we kind of can’t? This part gets a little convoluted.”
Mitchell sighed and stood, significantly lighter in just the polished cuirass he’d gotten from his class chest. “Alright, this is the last time. It doesn’t even matter if you get it, I’m just trying to be nice and keep you informed.”
Mitchell drew a circle on the dusty stone. “This is good Ol’ Milltown. We kinda rushed through things, but we were 3rd level during the Raccan event, then we upgraded to the fourth afterwards. Now, we’re looking to upgrade to the fifth, where our Village becomes an actual Town. Like us, our settlement levels and ascends through grades. Are you with me so far?”
George nodded. “Settlement is level four, we want five. Why are we pushing for it though? We’re doing just fine.”
Mitchell nodded and drew two shapes in the circle, a square and a triangle. “We are, but soon we won’t be, and we need to prepare for that. Specifically, the jump to fifth level will unlock the majority of our capabilities. Over half of our potential buildings are locked behind level five. Importantly, though, there are two buildings we need to unlock and build as soon as possible: The Mana Spire, and the Siege Workshop.”
“Okay… Siege weapons and Mana, sounds good.”
Mitchell sighed, having noticed George was lost again. Or at least, not getting it. “Siege Workshop allows us to start building weapons, yes. The Mana Spire is what we’re going for though - it’s a structure that basically puts a giant force field over our town. Stops spells, projectiles, and we can set it to stop people as well if we’re under attack.” He drew a dome extending from the triangle over the circle. “If you don’t have one in the Systemized world, you’re just asking for some mutated bird to turn your clock tower into its new roost.”
“No more flaming walls.” John cut in with more relevant facts. “Stops them from launching anything over too.”
Mitchell nodded. “With the town safe, we can go on the offensive, take the fight to the Khanclave, then the Raccans.” He drew a line from the square out through the wall. “Historically, cavalry was defeated by ranged weapons, spears, walls, opposing cavalry, or sufficient battlefield prep to ensure they couldn’t contribute to battle in the first place.”
“Alright, that makes sense. I get the push for upgrading. So why are we delaying it?”
“Because they’ve already begun constructing the Gate and were ordered to be done in three days. That’s why I brought so much food, and why I’ve been absolutely fine with us dicking around here for the last hour. We’re going to time the completion of the Dungeon to coincide with the completion of the Gate - if it works, we’ll come right out in Ol’ Milltown instead of the middle of the forest.”
“Three days? I could take the money and be back by then!”
“Yes, but then the Dungeon would take longer to clear and the Khanclave could make a move in that time. As it stands, from what you said there were no motions towards us on their side when we left.”
George shook his head. “Nope. I didn’t stay long, but they seemed to be patrolling more than ranging into the forest. Something forced them into a defensive stance.”
“Our math had it at three days for a full force to move between our settlements?” Mitchell clarified with John.
“Two with my skills and the Legion making a forced march. Three at standard pace. With cav, that could be as low as one for a group of scouts, but I estimate a standard pace march with horse through that forest would also be three days.”
George nodded. “The tree cover is deep and the path can get real muddy after a rain. I’d say with weather on our side, we might be able to get four days.”
“There you go. This plan has us performing more duties to upgrade our Settlement in concert with efforts back home, has a low chance of something bad happening while we’re gone, and has a high chance of gaining us levels and loot, which will only improve our odds of making it out of the Tutorial alive.”
The grim reminder gave pause to the conversation, one the Page quickly filled as he stood and stretched. “Now. My shield’s fixed itself, I’m rearmoured, and quite frankly starting to feel weird - I still haven’t gotten any experience from the last fight, which means this fight has been technically going on this whole time? I say we end it.”
<hr>
David was a simple Farmer. He worked his field with whatever the Core of the Clan asked him to grow. He performed basic fortune rights over his fields, despite the standardized growth rate of a level four farm - all of his own! Truly, the Branch Clan were as generous as they were prescient.
His latest batch of crops were soybeans, not something particularly fit for his table but more than enough to make him a few coins selling them to the Market - the Branch asked for no more than their standard taxes, so a large amount of the profit remained his own. Those coins bought him a most valuable commodity: Salt.
With his wife, Elaine, one of the hunters that supplemented the town’s food supply - when those dastardly Raccans weren’t throwing their dung about! - the two had managed to gather the coin and ingredients, and had rented out the cookhouse.
Normally, David would never dream of something so grand, but Elaine had worked incredibly hard to keep her level up, and it was only because of her that they’d been made Outer Members. He wanted to thank her for everything, and salt was the very last thing he needed.
The stew he made was rough, unrefined, and watery, and yet to David it was one of the greatest things he had ever made. Elaine, too, found herself enjoying the stew more so than other meals the pair had purchased from the Market.
Little did they know, a fourth-level cookhouse provided small bonuses to the meals crafted within.
As the two sat at a small, rough-hewn table in the fading light of twilight, David clasped his hands over his heart and closed his eyes. Elaine was surprised - David was typically a non-theistic man, and Old Milltown was not a place supportive of religion. They would not shun those who worshipped the gods, but they would also lift no fingers to create temples or shrines. This much was known.
Yet, as one of the first to live here, David knew that there was power in actions, in history.
And so, David prayed nonetheless. “Gunther, saint of heroism, vigilance, and self-determination. Hear my prayer. We ask not for your blessing on hearth, home, nor table. We do not ask you to make our harvest bountiful nor our wombs fertile. We pray that you allow us the just rewards of honest work - that we receive that which we supply. We pray you watch over the community with your vigilant eye. We pray for the Core of our Clan, who even now work towards the uplifting of us all. Blessed be the Branch Clan, and blessed be Old Mill Town.”
With those words, David looked up and saw his wife’s sparkling eyes reflecting the golden twilight sun. “That was beautiful, darling.” She replied, wiping her emotion from her face. She’d put on make-up with her own meagre profits and would not ruin it now!
<hr>
Miriam’s eyes snapped into focus. “Finally!”
She raised both of her hands and a set of arrays formed above her head - a bolt of lightning as thick as a sausage beamed forth and impacted one of the two Guards who had been idly watching, sending it crashing back into the smoothed stone of the tunnel behind them.
In a blink, George and Nimbus were up, running off to the side to flank. John no longer had a shield, but with the provided time had used his carpentry to Fuse a pair of javelins together into a makeshift spear that he was wielding with both hands.
Mitchell and Sarah shared a glance, and she rolled her eyes at him. “Let me guess? ‘They don’t even know I gave up a quest for ultimate power for them.’”
Mitchell snorted and smiled. “I don’t need them to know. Just happy everyone’s still eager. Before all this… well, going through half of all this would have broken men twice as hard as us. I’m just proud.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Sarah looked at him oddly, a vulnerable expression on her face, before whacking him on the back with her staff, sending him a staggering step forwards. “Get on up there, tough guy, and get your shit kicked so I can farm you for experience.”
Mitchell’s smile only grew. “Exactly.”
Significantly less armoured, his speed was higher than before and he caught up just as John approached the still standing Guard. The ant held its great-shield in between itself and George, arrow after arrow pinging off of the slab. The Ranger kept it up, forcing the ant to keep the shield off to the side instead of between itself and the approaching melee fighters.
“John, follow up! Miri, keep the other one down!”
A pair of wordless shouts echoed back, and Mitchell felt himself teetering on the edge of unthinking combat, the lines and impressions of Weapon Mastery threatening to take over and guide him into a whirlwind of violence.
For the first time, he resisted the urge to follow the Mastery’s suggestions.
His instincts screamed at him to push forward, slashing the back of the ants supporting leg to bring it down. He advanced halfway and crushed the rim of his shield into the front of the joint, cracking the chitin and forcing the Guard a step back.
The ant was itself well-trained with its weapon and sent the massive bladed head crashing down at where the Page stood with a solid stance.
Mitchell saw this, and stepped forward under the head, the shaft of the massive weapon coming down beside him. Dust flew up from the impact, and the sound of falling stone clattered across the cave, but Mitchell had found himself in a different kind of focussed state - not lost to the battle, but fully immersed in it. Even as dust obscured his vision, he saw the ant using the now buried head of the halberd as a hold to prevent itself from falling back.
Another crash of thunder sounded, and Mitchell had to blink the afterimage from his eyes, a line seared into his retinas for the briefest moment but quickly healing.
He had an unbalanced, eight foot ant in front of him. “John, now!”
Mitchell’s own agility wasn’t low - if George could do it at 10, he could do it at 33. With a jump he hoped wouldn’t have any effect on his Class’ experience gained, he found himself standing on the halberds shaft as it was pried from the ground. Two more steps had him looking down at where the ants pincer-hands gripped deeply into the grip. Close up, he could tell it was some kind of slate-grey wood, wrapped in an oddly translucent cord.
However, the ant was still made of ant, and those wrists had a lot of thinner bits to allow flexibility.
Mitchell stabbed deep into the wrist with his longsword, the impact causing the Guard to flinch in pain and shake the halberd enough that he was knocked off balance and only saved himself from falling by hanging on to the sword.
With a furious chittering sound, the Guard let out a screech and lowered its head to eat the Page whole.
John flashed forwards, his own feet tapping up the halberd’s shaft and lunged with his spear, piercing one of the ants eyes and sending its painful flinch into a roaring defiance. With some stroke of physics, or luck, Mitchell found himself flung back around, his feet on either side of the Halberd’s shaft as he took a heavy blow to the groin that knocked the breath out of him and tore him out of his focus. A cramping feeling began to spread, but in a burst of Willpower, he shoved the pain aside.
“Hammer!” He called out to the Centurion, who had Fused his own spear to the halberd’s shaft to hold on. When the writhing ceased and the Halberd began to swing at the nearby wall - an attempt to flatten the two - John reached out and grabbed the rim of Mitchell’s shield.
In the briefest of moments, the two shared a glance, and Mitchell saw a deep, burning fire in John’s eyes. With a grin, he slipped his arm out of the shield''s straps just as John let go of his spear and the two traded places. The airborne Centurion didn’t stop there, using his momentum to swing off the sword and towards the wall a quarter second before the halberd did.
John flipped himself over halfway in the split second between release and hitting the wall feet-first. Eyes hard, metal shield held by the rim with two hands, John swung with all of his considerable might.
The longsword - the one Mitchell had used in every single battle since he’d gotten his class - shattered in a burst of sparks and light, the force of the impact shoving both of the humans away. They crashed to the ground, the ten-foot fall seeming almost like falling off a curb to their trained bodies.
The Guard was much worse. With the injury to its wrist, the pincers hung limply, leaving it unable to grip both the greatshield and halberd. In its anger, it cast the shield aside, the stone slab crashing to the ground with a monumental clatter.
Then an arrow streaked in from across the cave and buried itself in the ant''s other bulbous, compound eye, and the Guard finally entered its berserk state. “Shoulda kept the shield!” George taunted from his perch between two stalagmites, firing arrow after arrow at the ant. With its eyes gone, the antenna whirled about frantically, desperately trying to scent them out.
A glint caught John’s eye as a glass bottle flew overhead, crashing against the Guard’s thorax and bursting in a cloud of dark blue smoke. A glance back showed Sarah with another potion hefted in her hand and staff in the other, racing off to Miriam, who was advancing on the other Guard, hand raised and ready to call lightning again when needed.
John’s eyes whipped back forwards as he heard Mitchell roar a wordless battlecry and charge forwards.
Unarmed.
In an instant, he knew why, and knew it was unavoidable as the battle high twisted and focussed into the command calmness he’d felt at the Battle for Fort Cliffside. They were at their limits, riding the edge of full suppression and utter annihilation. The truth was, their plan had gone so well that not a single one of them had been hit so far. Miriam was enough to keep one down, George kept them both honest, Mitchell and he were to fight and defeat this one, then the next one. Sarah kept them all in the fight.
But in reality, it’d taken resources. Miriam’s MP was dropping. George only had so many arrows before he had to start draining MP too, and their effect outside of critical areas was minimal. John had no shield, and a basic Gladius left for weapons. Mitchell had his shield, but it’d been lost when the sword had exploded. Sarah was now burning through potions he didn’t even know she had. They were burning quick, and a quick burning candle would never last the night. He had to finish this, but with what? How?
Then, it finally struck him deeply, a fact resonating as observation and logic met.
John was more than a roman-themed soldier. He was more than the carpenter, more than the Core Member, more than the husband and the friend and the neighbour. Above all, John was <i>strong. </i>
He charged alongside Mitchell, hoping the other man would set aside their arguments and differences long enough to get this done. “Get it to the ground and I can kill it!”
Mitchell didn’t even hesitate, his trajectory changing just the slightest bit and pace picking up wordlessly. Even as the halberd’s head came whistling down, arrows desperately clattering off the weapon and the Guards arms, a dark bundle of fur leaping from wall to shaft and trying to push the weapon off its trajectory, Mitchell ignored it and spear tackled the leg he’d cracked before with his shield.
The halberd came down like the word of an angry god. Dust shot up, more than enough to fill the cavern and send the rest of them into disarray.
Miriam lost sight of the Guard she was keeping down. Frowning, she began to fire off elemental darts into the dust, hoping to keep the second Guard down through volume rather than strength - she couldn’t afford to miss a Lightning Bolt, the MP cost would be too high and give the Guard a chance to counter-attack.
From back where she was, Sarah saw the second guard stand, her ears ringing after the massive impact. Her mind desperately tried to think of her husband, of their Patriarch, of their fatal last moments, but she had her own Willpower to draw on. She watched as the Guard raised its own halberd maliciously, antennae directed straight at Miriam, who she could tell was unaware of the danger.
Pained chittering echoed off the walls from somewhere.
Sarah’s gut sank. She could see only one way to save Miriam, and the odds of her even getting there in time were slim to none. Her blindness potions had failed miserably, despite her trying to save them for a trump card. Her bone breaking spell wouldn’t work on the Guards - they would flatten her before she even got close.
A crackling sound emerged from the dust, like the splintering of wood.
Sarah took stock of her potions as multi-coloured bolts flew from where she knew Miriam still stood in the dust. Basic healing, basic MP and SP, temporary blindness, sleeping drought, and a pitiful speed potion that would increase the consumer''s speed by 1% for ten seconds, then reduce it by 10% for a hundred seconds.
Her hands fell limp as she saw the halberd swing down, whistling through the air, splitting Miriam in half as it clanged against the… ground..?
A burst of pressure shot out, forcing the dust down the tunnels, clearing the air, revealing the battlefield.
Miriam stood with one hand held high, the other holding her book open though the pages flipped madly in the whipping wind. Surrounding her, a pale-blue dome of energy flickered once then shattered as if glass. Her hair was matted down and soaked, and her robes clung to her form. A small trail of blood dripped from her nose, but a manic smile lit up her face.
“Come at me bitch! I’m a fuckin’ wizard!” She shouted back defiantly, a set of arrays forming over her head before flickering and winking out. Sarah could tell she was low on MP, and again regretted hoarding her potions. The Acolyte fell to a knee, breathing heavily but staring defiantly up at the Guard, who was raising his halberd high, higher, reaching as tall as it could-
Then, the Guard crashed back as its allies'' massive weapon slammed into its chest, easily splintering the chitin and sending a spurt of blood and gore flying.
<hr>
John and Mitchell had not, in fact, been killed by the first Guard’s strike.
Setting aside their armour which had yet to truly test, their defensive stats which had yet to be overcome, and their speed and ability to dodge. Set aside all of that, and a single factor ensured their survival.
John was <i>strong. </i>
As Mitchell performed his best impression of a human missile to break the Guard’s leg, John had stepped forward, braced himself deeply…
And caught the halberd by its shaft. It was not easy, his body nearly buckled under the weight alone before the Guard continued to push, but he refused to give in even as his elbows creaked and shook.
Then he felt a hand slap against his booted foot, and looked down to see Mitchell prone, an errant boulder having pinned his leg. The Patriarch’s hand glowed with a golden light, pumping John full of energy and healing.
They locked eyes, and Mitchell gave an order.
“Kill this fucker.” He said calmly, coldly, before the glow faded and he had no more healing left to give.
However, with the fortune boost that came from the direct order, John’s tactical mind found a way through. John <i>pulled </i>on the weapon, and with only one leg, the Guard began to tumble forward.
Then, with a monumental effort, he planted his feet and <i>pushed. </i>The halberds shaft began to flex and bend under the stress, but John would not be halted. He took first one step, then another, pitting his strength against the Guard who seemed to be looking in astonished surprise as it was pushed back.
Then, the Centurion gripped, and spun, and tore the weapon from the Guard’s injured pincers. He continued to spin, eyes on the Guard who dove for its shield, but was too late for the ant.
John slammed the halberds massive blade right on the Guard’s torso, splintering it into pieces. With a deep breath, he wiped the blood from his face as the exhaustion hit him all at once.
“Weapons up, soldier!” Mitchell shouted at him, jolting energy back into his veins. “The battle isn’t over yet!” John’s gaze followed his pointing finger to see the other Guard up and advancing on Miriam, George and Nimbus doing their all to distract it but failing. With a quick glance at the distance, then the massive weapon still in his hand, he had an idea pop into his head almost as if planted there.
“Body, don’t fail me now.” John prayed, heaving the halberd that was twice his size with both arms. It was <i>heavy, </i>much heavier than a tree twice its size, but John handled it with great effort, spinning once, twice, ignoring Mitchell’s complaint as the blade flew inches above his head, three times, until the momentum was high enough and he pulled and yanked and <i>heaved </i>and then the halberd was in the air.
And then the halberd was in the ant. Experience flowed as horrified laughter broke out among the group. Wounds were treated as the horror was discussed. Tactics were examined and dissected. Potions were revealed, a certain Page finally managed to level and gain a new skill, and there were many shouts of “Come at me bitch, I’m a wizard!” which were taken with dignity.
Then, they moved forwards. Low on arms and armour, low on resources, low on intel.
Yet despite this, united and high in spirit. John, for one, had found himself a new weapon.
<b>Pillar of the Colony - (Polearm | Rare | F-Grade)</b>
<b>Requires Strength 50, Fortitude 50 to wield.</b>
<b>This 12-foot halberd was a gift from the colony to the ranks of the Royal Guards. Made of hardened stone as its blade, with a chitin reinforced slatewood shaft, this weapon also serves as a badge of office. </b>
<b>Ability: Unbroken Formation - While stationary or bracing, you and nearby allies gain increased resistance to knockback and stagger effects. This only applies to allies that are stationary or bracing as well.</b>
<b>Grants +10 to Vitality.</b>